#throttle loves him some BLACK

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

let the band play

one-shot

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is the last straw. While out on recon with Butcher and Hughie, Ben went into your bedroom and used your favourite shirt to clean himself off. You're going to let the smug idiot know exactly what you think about him. Trouble is? He likes it.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben being his own warning again, language, creative insults, smut (panty-sucking, p in v, clitoral stimulation, cum on face, biting, sucking, licking, kissing, throttling, rough sex, slapping), misogyny, dirty talk, degradation, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 3,930

A/N: OKAYYYY, I got another one written and I lowkey (very, very highkey, actually) love nasty, mean, rough Ben more than I can ever put into words. Can you even imagine the pure hate-fucking this man is capable of? Ungh. <3 This one was inspired by a song... if you wanna give it a listen, then please do: "Let The Band Play" by Badflower. It's dark and gritty and just delicious for the tense vibes of this one-shot. As always, please give me feedback, if y'all feel like it. Until the next one! All the love.

"Oh, you lazy, no good, deadbeat Lying, woman-hating, piece of vile fucking scum You fucking downright piece of shit I'll spit on your grave, I'll make you suffer I'll massacre you, you fucking bastard You vile piece of shit, I'm coming for you You hear me? I'm coming for you! I'm coming for you! Ah!

And let the band play" 

Let The Band Play - Badflower 

The rhythmic slosh of the washing machine filled the cramped space, a dull, ceaseless churn that did nothing to tamp down the blistering heat rising in your chest. Your arms were folded tight, foot tapping against the scuffed linoleum, jaw clenched hard enough to make your teeth ache. The faint smell of detergent curled in your nose, too clean, too artificial, grating against the raw fury pressing like a hot coal against your ribs.

You weren’t even supposed to be here right now. You should’ve been upstairs, knocking back whatever cheap whiskey was left in the cabinet, decompressing after another long recon run. Instead, you were here, waiting for your shirt—your favourite black shirt—to be scrubbed of his fucking filth.

Because Ben had gone into your room. Again. He’d slithered his way into your space while you were out with Butcher and Hughie, ransacking your drawers, shifting your weapons, mixing your bullets in the wrong order—his usual bullshit. But this time, he’d taken it further. This time, you’d picked up your shirt and felt it, the crusted, stiff stain scraping against your fingers before your brain even caught up with what it was.

That fucking bastard.

The worst part? You weren’t even surprised. You’d known for a while now—panties disappearing, small things out of place, the gnawing suspicion sitting ugly in your gut. He’d been toying with you. Pushing, needling, waiting for you to catch on. And now you definitely had.

The door creaked behind you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. The air changed when Ben walked into a room—went heavy, charged, dangerous. That insufferable, lazy swagger, the barely-there drag of his boots, the scent of cologne and gunpowder and sheer, unrepentant arrogance.

“You’re stompin’ those pretty little feet like you got somethin’ to say, sweetheart.”

Your teeth snapped together so hard your molars screamed. His voice was dripping in amusement, thick with condescension, his usual cocktail of shit-eating smugness and predatory glee. He’d been waiting for this. Fucking waiting for it.

Slowly, you turned, arms still crossed, eyes slicing up to meet his with a glare sharp enough to slit his throat. He was leaning against the doorway like he had all the time in the world, watching you, his gaze hungry, expectant.

“I’m going to kill you.”

The words were calm, measured. Deadly. They only made him grin wider.

“Yeah?” He took a step forward, slow and deliberate. “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?”

Your nails dug into your palms. “You know exactly what.”

Ben hummed, tilting his head like he had to think about it, like he wasn’t fully aware of what he’d done, like he wasn’t thrilled about it. Then—mock surprise, all wide eyes and fake innocence.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, lips curling. “You mean your little t-shirt?”

The rage that slammed through your system nearly made your vision white out. He knew. He fucking knew.

“Are you—are you fucking serious?” Your voice came out strangled, barely contained. “You—you used my shirt? You went into my fucking room and—“

“Oh, come on,” he cut you off, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you were wearin’ it.”

“That’s not the fucking point!”

Ben chuckled, a low, dark thing, rich with enjoyment. He took another step closer, and you barely stopped yourself from stepping back. You wouldn’t give him that.

“You’re gettin’ all worked up over a little mess,” he mused, voice syrup-thick with mockery. “What, you never had a guy come on your clothes before?”

Something inside you snapped.

The next thing you knew, you were shoving him—hard. He barely moved, but it didn’t matter. You wanted him to feel it. You wanted him to know that if you had a knife in your hand right now, you’d be planting it between his ribs.

Ben laughed.

A deep, rich, obnoxious fucking sound, like you were the funniest thing he'd seen all day. Like your rage was a fucking delight to him. His grin stretched wider, slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with something sharp and dangerous.

“Aw, c’mon now,” he drawled, brushing nonexistent dust off his sleeve. “That all you got?”

Your hands curled into fists. “You are a scummy, vile, dirty old man,” you spat. “You’re just an old fucking dog, and I shouldn’t be surprised that you can’t be trained, because you can’t teach old dogs new tricks.”

Ben preened. Actually fucking preened. His broad shoulders straightened, his smirk turned smugger, his eyes burned with excitement.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, faux concern dripping from his tone. “Keep twitchin’ that little eye of yours like that and you’re gonna pop a blood vessel. Then what? No man’s gonna wanna fuck you.”

Your nostrils flared. Your pulse roared in your ears. Oh, fuck this.

Your hand snapped out, grabbing the first thing within reach—the bottle of fabric softener sitting beside the washing machine—and hurled it at him.

It hit him in the chest with a solid thud, and the bastard laughed.

“You’re real fuckin’ feisty, you know that?” He taunted, shaking his head. “Maybe if you weren’t such a mouthy little fuckin’ bitch, you’d actually get laid.”

Your vision blurred with rage. “And maybe if you weren’t such a festering, antiquated, deadbeat, woman-hating piece of shit, Payback wouldn’t have sold you out to the fucking Russians!”

His expression flickered. Just for a second. Just for a fucking second. And then his grin turned razor-sharp. His entire body shifted, and before you could register it, he moved.

He was on you in a breath.

One second, the space between you still existed—thin, crackling, electric. The next, gone. Ben stepped into it, filled it, drowned you in it, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go. He was all heat, size, weight, a walking, talking fucking menace with that razor-blade smirk cutting across his face.

“Say it again,” he murmured, low and lethal, a dark, dangerous purr that slithered up your spine and coiled in your gut.

Oh, he was furious. You could see it in the taut set of his jaw, in the slight twitch of his fingers, in the barely restrained tension vibrating under his skin. But it wasn’t just anger. No, it was something else, something filthy, something that made his nostrils flare and his chest rise just a little too quickly.

He liked it. He fucking liked it.

So you gave it to him.

“You’re a no-good, perverted, misogynistic, chauvinist fucking cunt.” Your voice was steady, vicious, every word sharper than the last. “And if you ever step foot in my fucking room again, I’ll kill you. For real.”

His smirk twitched. Something flickered.

You weren’t done.

“You’re not a fucking war hero, Ben. You never stormed a goddamn thing in your life. Your entire legacy is bullshit—a propaganda piece for a country that doesn’t even fucking remember you. You’re just a relic of Vought’s past, and even they didn’t want you anymore.”

The groan that rumbled out of him was filthy. Deep, appreciative, dragging through his throat like smoke and sex and something far, far worse.

His hand slid down his front, blatant as all hell, and he palmed at the hard line of his cock through his jeans—adjusted it, made a whole goddamn show of it, a smirk creeping across his mouth as he let his head tip back just a little.

“Fuck, you’re really gettin’ me going now, sweetheart.”

Your stomach turned. Your lip curled into a vicious scowl, disgust and rage flooding through you all at once. You swung for him. Fast. Hard. Unforgiving.

He caught your wrist mid-air. Effortless. And then he moved.

A sharp yank, a forceful shove, and you were bent backwards over the still-rumbling washing machine, your spine curving against the vibrating metal, heat searing across your back from the sheer force of it. The room tilted, the whir of the machine filling your ears.

Ben’s weight pressed down, locked you in place.

One huge, brutal hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you down, thumb digging against your pulse, while the other clamped down on your hip—heavy, immovable, possessive.

A slow exhale ghosted across your cheek, the warmth of it infuriating, unbearable, suffocating.

His voice was a murmur, low and deep and satisfied as all fucking hell.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Get the hell off me.”

Your voice was sharp, but the angle was all wrong, your body bent backward, pinned at an unnatural curve against the still-running washing machine, his hand locked around your throat, fingers flexing just enough to remind you he could tighten his grip whenever the fuck he wanted.

And he laughed. Again.

That deep, gravel-rough chuckle, smug and entirely too entertained, rolling through his chest like you’d just told the funniest joke of his goddamn life.

“Sweetheart, I could pop your fuckin’ head off right now if I wanted to.”

Your teeth bared, rage coiling tight and vicious in your gut. With a sharp growl, you surged up, trying to fight against his hold, trying to push through the weight of him—

He used it against you.

Fast. Effortless. Completely, infuriatingly controlled.

His grip tightened around your throat, his other hand locked down hard on your hip, and suddenly, you were being lifted, hauled up like you weighed nothing. The room tilted, the washing machine’s hum shaking through your spine as he set you down on the edge—your thighs now spread around his waist, your body trapped between the vibrating machine and the sheer, unrelenting weight of him.

One of his hands clamped down on your hip, fingers curling in deep, holding you in place while his other shifted, the grip around your neck moving—repositioning—until his forearm was suddenly braced against your throat, keeping you folded against the machine, against the wall, against him.

And fuck.

Your breath hitched—not just from anger.

He felt it. He heard it.

That small, involuntary whimper that spilled from your lips the second he shifted, the hard, thick length of him dragging against you through your clothes—through nothing but layers of fabric.

His grin sharpened.

Head tilted, eyes dropping low, slow, deliberate—watching exactly where his hips were pressed up tight against yours. Then, back up to you. Those green eyes burned—mocking, amused, completely, utterly in control.

“You wanna get fuckin’ spread open, doll?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing down the humiliation pooling hot and unbearable in your gut. Your body was betraying you.

Every slow, deliberate grind of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat rippling through you, the thick, heavy length of him dragging against the growing dampness between your thighs—and he knew it.

Of course he fucking knew it.

Your fingers curled against the vibrating metal beneath you, desperate to keep some grip on your sanity, your dignity, your fucking composure. You still had fight in you. You weren’t going to let him see you fold.

Your lips curled, voice dripping in mockery, even as your breath hitched.

“Surprised you can even still get it up, Grandpa.”

His grin was wicked.

Then—pressure. A sharp, sudden grind, his hips pressing hard into yours, forcing the full, thick line of his cock against you, pinning you in place with nothing but pure weight and heat and dominance.

Your breath punched out of you in a soft, humiliating whimper.

Ben just grinned wider.

“That feel like I got any performance issues, sweetheart?”

His voice was thick, syrupy and dark, the rasp curling at the edges, drenched in amusement. His forearm pressed harder against your throat, not cutting off your air, but reminding you—reminding you exactly who was in control.

Your hands twitched, nails biting into the fabric of his jacket, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

Then, his mouth dipped lower, his voice dropping into something slower, heavier, more dangerous.

“I know you wanna get fucked by me.”

Your stomach flipped. Your body went rigid, your breath caught hard in your throat.

His smirk stretched wider, all sharp teeth and victorious smugness.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he murmured, tilting his head, his hips rolling slow and steady, rubbing deliberately, cruelly against your aching core. “When you think I’m not watchin’. When you think you’re bein’ real fuckin’ subtle.”

Your brain screamed denial, denial, denial, but fuck, fuck, fuck—

Because he wasn’t wrong.

Your mind flickered back—to the safe house gym, to the few times you’d ended up in the same room, both of you training, ignoring each other, keeping your distance.

Except you hadn’t really been ignoring him.

You remembered it too well—the way your gaze would drift, the way your teeth would sink into your bottom lip without thinking, watching the sheer power of him, all raw, solid muscle, all sweat-slicked, feral fucking strength, the way he moved, like a goddamn beast barely caged.

You had watched him.

And he’d fucking seen it.

“Shouldn’t feel too bad,” Ben continued, his voice low and thick, that tone dripping with mock sympathy. His hips rolled forward again, slow, deliberate, grinding his cock hard against you, dragging that pressure right over your aching, humiliatingly wet core.

“I watch you too, doll.”

Your breath hitched.

Oh, fuck.

“Barely hold myself back from comin’ over n bitin’ your fuckin' ass when you’re doin’ squats in those stupid little shorts.” His voice went rough, nearly gravelled, all hot and smug. “Y’know the ones, sweetheart—the ones that look like they’re painted the fuck on.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Because your eyes had flickered down—without thinking, without meaning to—and suddenly, you realised you were wearing those shorts right now.

Your body went rigid, heat flaring over your cheeks, over your chest, a full-body flush of anger, humiliation, something else.

Ben’s smirk widened. His forearm pressed harder into your throat, cutting off just enough space to make you feel the pressure, to make your breath catch.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips nearly brushing your jaw. “I noticed.”

Your stomach flipped.

His hips ground into you again, the full, thick line of his cock pressing exactly where he wanted you to feel it.

Then—his voice dropped into something low, dark, final.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Real nice.” His smirk twitched. “Do you wanna get fuckin’ split open—” another sharp grind, your body jerking at the friction, your mouth parting in a whimper—“or are you gonna keep pretendin’ to be the little modern feminist pussy we both know you ain't?”

The word tore from your lips before you could even think.

“Once.”

The second it was out of your mouth, he moved. His lips slammed into yours, all teeth and heat and hunger, a brutal, ravenous collision, his tongue licking into your mouth like he was trying to devour you from the inside out.

He growled into the kiss, biting, sucking, wrecking your lips like he had every intention of leaving them swollen and bruised for days. His hand snapped up, tangling roughly in your hair, tugging, tilting your head exactly how he wanted.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your mouth. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You scrambled for purchase, hands grasping, clawing at his hair, his jacket, trying to pull him closer, tighter, anything—but your angle was still off, your back still pressed at that awkward arch against the washing machine, still trapped by his weight.

You barely had time to process before he grabbed the neckline of your shirt and—

Ripped.

The fabric tore in half with one sharp pull, the pieces hanging uselessly off your arms, baring your heated, flushed skin to the cool air of the laundry room.

Your eyes snapped up, scowling.

“You’re a dick.”

Ben grinned, chest heaving, thrilled.

Then you fisted his own shirt, fingers curling in tight, and ripped it straight down the middle—just like he had done to you.

He laughed, a deep, rasping sound that sent heat pulsing between your thighs. Then he hooked both hands into your shorts, yanked hard—

Riiiip.

The material shredded apart, leaving you in nothing but your soaked underwear.

Ben hummed, voice all mock innocence, the barest smirk curling his lips.

“Oops.”

Before you could snap back, before you could snarl and shove and cuss him out, he shoved you down, pushing you flat against the washing machine, his hands pressing down heavy on your thighs to keep them spread.

And then—his mouth was on you.

Right over your slick, soaked underwear, latching on, sucking hard, loud, obscene, the heat of his tongue pressing hot and wet through the fabric.

A sharp, wrecked sound tore from your throat, your hands flying out to grab for anything—his hair, the edges of the washing machine, the crumpled remains of your shirt.

Ben moaned against you, soaking in your reaction like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking heard.

And then—he did it again.

Ben’s groan vibrated straight into your core, deep and wrecked, as he sucked hard, his mouth sealing over your underwear, dragging the fabric and your aching cunt into his mouth. The heat of his tongue pressed, the wet suction pushing through, and your hips jerked, a sharp, unbidden gasp ripping from your throat.

Then he pulled back, lips slick, breath ragged, eyes burning as he flicked them up to yours.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dark and guttural, half-taunt, half-worship. “Real fuckin' sweet.”

Before you could fire back, before you could even breathe, his hand snapped up and—

Smack.

A sharp, stinging slap right over the spot where his mouth had just been.

A startled yelp tore from your lips, your body tensing against the vibrating metal beneath you, and Ben just grinned, eyes gleaming with something hungry, predatory, insatiable.

You barely had a second to recover before he was shoving his jeans down, just enough to free himself, his cock thick, flushed, hard as fuck, and you were already struggling, fingers shaking as you tried to yank your underwear down.

You got one leg free—

Then he was back on you. His hand slammed against your chest, pinning you back down, your underwear still clinging to your other leg, tangled just above your knee.

“Nah, sweetheart,” he rasped, gripping himself, lining up. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

And then—

He sank in.

One, long, achingly slow stroke, stretching you open, shoving in deep, until he was buried to the fucking hilt.

Your mouth parted, a wrecked, breathless moan spilling past your lips, your hands clawing for something, anything, nails scraping over the metal of the machine, the bare skin of his biceps, the solid muscle of his stomach.

Ben let out a rough, punched-out breath, his head tilting forward, his forearm tightening where it pinned your throat again.

Through gritted teeth, voice low and shattered, he muttered, “Holy shit, sweetheart—way fuckin’ tighter than I thought you’d be.”

You barely registered the words.

Your mind was already white noise, your body blissed out, wrecked from the stretch, from the sheer, impossibly full feeling of him seated so deep inside you, from the unrelenting weight of him pressing you down.

Then he pulled back.

And slammed home again.

Your head hit the wall, a strangled moan punching out of you as the pressure built, his hand still wrapped tight around your throat, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, keeping you open and helpless and fucking ruined beneath him.

Ben was ruthless.

The hand not wrapped around your throat dropped, his fingers sliding down, knuckles dragging over the plane of your stomach, the sweaty dip of your navel—before they pressed, rubbed, circled your aching clit just right as he kept slamming into you, rough and unrelenting, shoving you higher, higher, higher—

And then he laughed. Low, dark, mean as all fucking hell.

"What happened, sweetheart?" He rasped, his breath hot against your jaw, grinning as your back arched. "Ain't you supposed to be some big, bad feminist? All that moral high ground, all that virtue-signalling bullshit—" he gave a brutal, punishing thrust, making you gasp, your hands scrambling against his shoulders—"melting right the fuck outta your pretty head now, ain't it?"

You shook, legs trembling, your body betraying you, the heat coiling tight and hot and fucking unbearable.

"C'mon, use that big mouth of yours." His fingers rubbed harder, faster, pushing you closer to the edge, his cock hitting deep, hitting perfect with every driving snap of his hips. "Tell me how much you fuckin' hate me, sweetheart. Tell me how I'm a misogynistic piece of shit while you're soakin' my cock."

Your breath hitched, a sharp, wrecked whimper slipping from your lips.

His smirk deepened.

"That's what I fuckin' thought."

He was so fucking smug. So fucking cocky. He was growling into your skin, sneering at your unraveling, at the way your nails bit into his skin, at the way you tightened around him, nearly choking his cock, your thighs clenching, your entire body locking up—

And then you cried out, pleasure ripping through you, your body shaking, spasming, your orgasm hitting so fucking hard it knocked the breath out of you.

Ben groaned, biting hard against your collarbone, his tongue lapping over the mark immediately after. "Yeah, that's it," he gritted out, his cock still pounding into you, working you through it, keeping you locked down, shaking, helpless. "All you fuckin’ needed was a good, hard fuck to get that attitude outta you, huh?"

Your mind barely processed it—not when he was licking and sucking, his mouth everywhere, his teeth scraping rough along your throat, biting at your face, dragging his tongue over your cheek before kissing you filthy and deep—

And then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The washing machine. Your shirt was done.

Ben stilled for a half-second. Then he fucking laughed.

The second his laughter faded, he was right back at it—pounding into you, all force and greed, using your wrecked, overstimulated body to chase his own high, the smug, cocky bastard making sure you felt it.

His hand dug into your hip, his grip on your throat tightened, pulling you into every brutal thrust, forcing you to take him, take it, take all of it.

“You better hurry up, sweetheart,” he mocked, voice raspy, strained, dragging his teeth along your jaw, pressing a wet, biting kiss just beneath your ear. “You wanna come again, you better fuckin’ keep up.”

His fingers found your clit again, but his movements were deliberate, lazy, cruel—not giving you enough, not letting you have it until he wanted you to.

“Such a good little fuckdoll,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your damp, overheated skin. “So fuckin’ sweet when you’re just takin’ it, huh? That’s what you needed. Just needed to get fucked stupid, yeah?”

You whined, barely coherent, barely able to even snap back at him.

Ben groaned, tension knotting in his stomach, his pace turning desperate, erratic.

“Where d’you want it, sweetheart?” He rasped, voice thick and hungry, hips snapping into you harder. “Inside you? All fuckin’ deep, fillin’ you up, yeah?”

Your brain kicked back online real fucking fast.

“Under no circumstances can you fucking come inside me.”

Ben snarled, gritting his teeth as his pace stuttered, his grip tightening in irritation.

“No fuckin’ fun.” His sneer was vicious. “Fine. You want it on your fuckin’ face, then?”

Before you could even breathe, his grip on your throat yanked you forward, pulling you off the washing machine. Your knees hit the floor, legs still shaking, useless, your mind still spinning as he fisted his cock, his other hand gripping your hair, holding you right in place.

“Fuck, sweetheart—"

With a low, guttural groan, he spilled across your face, his breath ragged, loud, unrestrained, groaning deep and shameless, his entire body tensing as he pumped himself dry, streaking hot, thick ropes over your cheeks, lips, chin.

And then—

"Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Your blood turned to ice. Your entire body locked up.

"Pair of fuckin' animals."

You whipped your head toward the door—and there stood Butcher. One hand on his hip, the other rubbing his temples, shaking his head like he'd just walked in on two stray dogs humping on the sidewalk.

And then?

He turned and walked right the fuck back out.

Mortification. Pure, searing, full-body mortification. You were still on your knees, still panting, wrecked, still covered in Ben’s cum.

And when you turned back?

Oh, he was grinning. That shit-eating, cocky, bastard grin.

Your stomach sank. Because in one hand, Ben was holding—your shirt.

Your freshly washed, still-warm shirt that he’d clearly grabbed right out of the machine while you’d been frozen in horror, looking at Butcher.

And now? Now he was wiping himself off with it. Casual. Smug. Completely unbothered. Once he was done, he tossed it at your face.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His smirk was lethal. “Get cleaned up.”

@mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @itshellfire @nevercameraready @suckitands33 <3

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##04

James Potter x f!muggle!reader

word count: 1,163

warnings: none?

a/n: HELLO IM ALIVE- ummm did break up with my boyfriend, after spiraling for a week i am feeling much better! I did what was right for me and i am happier for it!! JAMES OR SIRIUS WOULD HAVE NEVER TREAT ME LIKE THAT! so yea I'm back :D thank you for putting up with my disappearances i should be uploading SEMI regularly just bc classes r in full throttle now

series masterlist

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It hadn't been as difficult as you thought. Getting rid of Josh was a pending item on your to-do list for months. But for some reason or another, you never could, not completely. More often than not, he’d find some weak spot in your resolve, and crawl back in like a cockroach. 

But not this time, at least not yet. After that day, when James’s call saved you from a bit of an uncomfortable situation, you managed to easily avoid his calls, if he knocked at the door Charlotte and you stayed unbearably still until he went away. He left voicemail after voicemail, called Charlotte’s phone with a bit more anger, and called your phone with crocodile tears. 

But you weren't sweating it. You had fallen into an easy pattern with James, he’d fill the time that you would've been itching to fill and end up calling Josh out of boredom. 

James was a good friend! At least that's what you’d tell Charlotte. She’d look at you with a glint in her eye and a smirk on her lips that you ignored. If only she was so keen and observant with women that she liked, she tended to lack awareness often. 

You didn’t dare tell her about the playful jabs, the comments you didn't dare label fully as flirty, or god forbid the butterflies that fluttered at the pit of your stomach every time he called, laughed, or gave you some stupid cloying nickname. 

“Come on pretty- just tell me” You could hear the pout in his voice

You groaned in defeat, “Okay okay- if I had to be any creature…” You thought about it for a second more “Potter this is stupid”

“Indulge me”

You sighed “Fine, I think I would be… a witch”

“That's not a creature love”

“Well they are to me”

“I know a few that would be greatly offended by that comment” he retorted

“Oh yeah? You’re friends with witches?” you mirrored the smirk you heard in his voice

“Quite a few actually, nasty women the lot of them…” James smiled, thinking of his friends. How Marlene would probably flick the side of his head, and Lily would wholeheartedly just roll her eyes. Dorcas would definitely send a book flying straight to his head if she heard, not that she hadn't done that often enough during their time at school. It was always deserved. “love them nevertheless though- Pick something else, witches are human”

You hmph in disagreement and thought about it momentarily

“I don't think it would be very pleasant to be a werewolf you know? A bit inconvenient-” you thought out loud

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said under his breath

“Vampires sound kind of cool… wouldn't be able to go out into the sun though so that's quite a shame” James hummed in agreement “Maybe a mermaid, they’re pretty right?”

“Allegedly, they’re more scary than anything else- foul foul creatures” The ones in the Black Lake had messed with him more than once. 

“Oh, what do you know Potter?”

“Quite a lot thank you- more than you anyway”

“And why do you think that? Mermaids aren't scary dummy”

“You say that because you haven't seen one pretty” James’s mouth was faster than his thoughts, he prayed you’d just laugh it off.

“Oh, and I suppose you have?” He slapped himself on the forehead as he thought of some excuse. The witches' comment he was able to get away with, maybe his tone had been too matter-o-fact.

“Well, yes I have!” he said, confidently, ironically. You started laughing, his worry melted away. Would you even believe him if he told you?

“Is that so? Well okay, what creature would you be Potter?”

“A hippogriff I think”

“What the hell is that?” James burst out in laughter

-

You could feel Charlotte’s eyes on you as you scooped ice cream into your lips. You focused on the cold chocolatey flavor and whatever movie she had found. You didn’t know what you were watching, you thought of James.

James and his stupid laugh, and the way he always called you pretty or doll or some other completely repulsive nickname you wanted to hate. But you couldn't. He was sweet, and he always asked how you were, after he found out about your roommate’s existence, he asked about her too. 

“y/n”

“yes charlotte?”

“What does he look like? is he cute? Is he tall? I reckon that’s an important one with men is it not” you groaned as she launched question after question

“Char, I already told you I don't know anything about him”

“But you talk all day, every day” She scoffed

“It’s not every day- nor is it all day I have things to do you know”

“It is though, every bloody day, you come in and launch yourself at the telephone like clockwork” You stared at your pint of ice cream, suppressing the small laugh that threatened to leave your lips. 

You felt a tad silly.

“It’s just-” You started to say, Charlotte leaned in with an excited smile on her lips as if egging you on. “It feels stupid, I could be getting totally scammed right now- sure he sounds young, and sure he said he’s twenty- but he could be anyone, anywhere” 

“Let’s think about it though- you guys talk a lot he has to be in England no? Calls out are so expensive” She grabbed the pint of ice cream from your hands, shoving a spoonful into her mouth. 

“That doesn’t change anything Char, I don't know him” She waved the spoon around dismissively. For someone who was so cynical about her own love life, Charlotte was always ready to be invested in yours. You never minded though, you were happy to bond over the raging disaster that it seemed to be.

“You guys have never thought about meeting up? You haven’t even talked about it?” You shifted uncomfortably as she wiggled her eyebrows “Have you even asked him what he looks like?” You took the ice cream tub back, shoving ice cream into your mouth

“We’re missing the movie y’know?” She scoffed at your weak attempt to change the subject

“As if I care about that- come on, you’re rolling in laughter every time you’re on that damn phone so there is clearly some chemistry there”

“So what I also have chemistry with circus clowns?” You said, turning to give her a deadpan stare. 

“You know what I mean” She took the ice cream back

“What if I meet up with him and he kidnaps me…” she offered you the last few scrapes left in the tub. When you shook your head she ate it gingerly, a small smile on her face. “Suddenly I’m in the arctic tundra being trafficked”

“As long as it's not with Josh,” she shrugged her shoulders “I reckon anything is better,” she said, snorting 

“You’re terrible” You both fell into laughter

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc @katsusayhi @auroresce @lovemiss-vale @alessiaparigim @unconventional-lawnchair @moonydoodlez @eissaaaa @ailoda @nahhhwhatthefrick @notapoetjustscar @hiireadstuff @the-rat-king1902 @n1ght-vngel @littlewhitel1es @rreporterbby

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

PLEASE PLEASE LMK IF I MISSED YOU I HAVE BEEN GONE FOR WEEKS AND I DID MY BEST TO COLLECT EVERYONE AHHHH thank you for reading <3

[casuallyanidiot]

Ok, first of your yandere stories are to DIE FOR. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH AAAAH! I'M SO GLAD I FOUND YOU.

and second of all, I can't get enough of that scummy asshat Danny(as fcked up as that is). My mind just makes up this what ifs scenarios and I just had to ask--

- you mentioned that Danny liked her for years now, assuming it went back all the way to their highschool years, and his pride of being seen with someone as her kept him from acting up, i was wondering WHAT IF someone (another yandere perhaps?) just suddenly appears and swoops(or attempts) to swoop her away? (kinda like a yandere!city boy v.s. yandere!farmboy AAAH)

- and with the main story with Daniel, what if some guy (a or THE yandere!city boy maybe) comes knocking in the [Last Name] house's doorstep, claiming that he was the one who did that to her that night and is planning to take full responsibility? What will Daniel do?

-AND finally, what if they're married right? And like yandere!city boy or maybe yandere!business man, takes an interest on her despite knowing she's already married?

Sorry, it's a lot, my mind just can't stop running right now 💀 , no pressure in answering of course! Just curious on what the scenarios would be if those were to happen and also again, I love your yandere stories and characters so much AHH and I haven't even read the rest yet! 💖💖

Having someone from outside of the community around who is interested in the reader would certainly shake things up. Compared to Danny, Yandere City Boy isn't well trusted by the town. It's not that he's bad or mistreated, but there's an air of mystery about him that people don't really like. No family background, nothing to base opinions off of... he's a black hole in terms of reputation.

A large part of Danny's control over the reader is the fact that she has no one to turn to, so if the Yandere City Boy shows up and suddenly starts pursuing her, it means that there's at least one avenue that she has to escape him.

Not only would Danny be jealous, but he'd be afraid of losing for the first time.

He'd be furious that someone besides himself even thought of Reader in that way. She's supposed to be his secret, his girl that he chases in his mind. All these years of hard work go out the window if some asshole city dweller who doesn't know his head from his ass goes and fucks it all up.

If yandere City boy tried to pursue the reader back in high school, then Danny would've acted sooner. He might inform your folks that some strange guy is sniffing around, or he might just go full throttle and try to get you to date him instead of some random guy who doesn't deserve you.

I think Danny would also feel surprisingly secure if he had already married reader when the Yandere City Boy turned up. Like, he's already gotten her so far under his control at that point that he doesn't even fathom that she could still dream of being away from him. I think he'd genuinely believe the reader loved him back, or at least appreciated the life he gave them enough to not leave. Of course, his arrogance could then lead to her actually getting stolen.

Danny would be the most livid if the City boy tried to claim that he was the one who got the reader pregnant. In Danny's eyes, he was the one who put in all that effort into finally catching you. I mean, it's perfect for him. You're in a tough spot, no one else believes you, and you have no one else to turn to but him. It's literally years of pining and desperation spun into one sinister plot that he's finally caught you in, and someone else is taking credit? No way. Not on his watch.

I think he'd try to spin it in a different way. Like, you said someone forced themselves on you right? Well if the City boy is claiming he's the father of your baby, then he must be the one who did such horrible things to you!

Danny would use his family's influence and money to make it so that your very own words would be twisted against the City boy, and the crime would be pinned on him instead. I think he'd really get his hands dirty in that scenario and try to get rid of his competition for certain. And hey, while he's locked away in jail, wouldn't it be terrible if something happened to him?

But yeah I think Danny would honestly respond to a rival differently based on how far along he was in his plan on obtaining the reader.

[eddiazx]

riding full throttle - evan buckley x reader

(in honour of the finale tonight, here's something about buck on the motorcycle since I'm still not over that scene)

The rational side of your brain can attest that motorcycles can be dangerous and come with a significant risk that other vehicles may not pose.

The horny side of your brain saw a video of your boyfriend riding a motorcycle, got into a boxing ring, and knocked out that rational side of your brain.

"Hey, Buck?" You say one evening, as the two of you do the dishes.

"Mhm?" He hums, giving you a lopsided smile to let you know that he was listening.

"What are the chances that you can rent a motorcycle for a night... for the two of us?"

Buck nearly drops a plate into the sink at your question. "Are you serious?" He asks, eyes bright and excited. He knows how you (and frankly the entirety of the 118) feel about motorcycles, so he stopped riding them a long time ago. That doesn't stop him from wistfully gazing at them when he's on the road though.

"Just for a day. I think it would be fun to have a little joyride, dont'cha think?" With that, you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek and get ready for bed.

You should've known that Buck would find a solution quickly. Your man is nothing if not resourceful, and the following Friday, when you park your car after work in your apartment's underground parking lot, you're met with a beautiful sight.

That sight being Buck straddling a motorcycle with his thick thighs, wearing all black. He holds out a helmet for you, before putting on his.

"Hop on, babe." Buck tells you cheekily.

You rest your hand on Buck's right shoulder before swinging a leg over the bike. Your front was flush with Buck's broad back, and you wrap your arms around Buck's firm middle. Even though he was wearing two layers, you can feel his body heat under your palms.

"Ready?" Buck murmurs.

You nod as a reflex, then utter a soft "yes" when you realize that he probably couldn't see you while he was facing forward. Your nerves were shot with both adrenaline and the fear of being on what Hen would call "a death trap", but you trusted Buck.

Almost as if he could read your mind, he reassures you: "I researched spots that were low traffic so we could be safer. I'll also stop or slow down whenever you want - just say the word, okay?"

You smile softly. Of course he had done his research. "I love you, you know that?"

"I love you, too. Let's go?" With a squeeze of your thigh behind him, Buck zooms out of the lot.

You couldn't help but feel alive with the wind whipping in your face, the rumble of the engine, and the comfort of Buck underneath your touch. You don't know how long the two of you rode - time felt endless and magical - before Buck eventually stops in a secluded area. He takes off his helmet, and you couldn't help but bite your lip in appreciation. Helmet hair should not look that good on anyone. He then helps you dismount, completely oblivious to your inner thoughts, before pointing up at the sky.

"Found an area where we can properly see some stars. It's not much, but..." Buck trails off.

You can't help but shake your head at his thoughtfulness. You face him, throwing your arms around his neck. "It's perfect. Thank you, Buck."

"You're welcome." He smiles at you, before leaning down to capture your lips with his. It's a kiss that starts off slow and sweet, almost syrupy, before you start tugging on Buck's curls and his hands firmly squeeze your ass in an attempt to bring your bodies closer. You eventually separate, light pants and exhales mingling with the night air. The two of you laugh breathlessly, before walking back towards the bike, hand in hand.

Buck mounts, and before he can put his helmet on, you climb on as well, but this time, in front of and facing Buck. You straddle him fully, and Buck looks up at you in surprise.

"What're you doing?" Buck questions, voice raspy with want, but his hands start to wander from your sides and thighs. His half-hard length (his perpetual state around you, to be fair) stirs in his pants, thickening up fully the longer you sit on him.

"Riding." You state innocently, rocking your hips against his.

"Baby." Buck groans in pleasure, hands flying to your waist, helping you grind against him. You lean down to kiss Buck again, teeth nipping at his rosy, full lips.

Your clothed hips continue to roll against his sensually and patiently, until it became desperate and quick when you knew your release was imminent. "Come on baby, come for me." He grunts lowly, urging you towards your release.

White-hot pleasure explodes behind your eyes, your nails digging into Buck's biceps as you come. Buck follows not long after, a wet spot staining his jeans.

The two of you wince, thinking of riding back in stained clothes. "Sorry." You apologize sheepishly.

"I'm not. We'll just have to go home and get clean together." Buck states with a wink.

Needless to say, your first riding experience with Buck was a hit.

[cybxrcvnt]

18+

Content Warning: Smut, PinV, Virgin!Daryl, Insecure!Daryl, Female!Reader, Unprotected sex (wrap it people), Reader gets bent over Daryl’s bike 😋, brief use of pet names including little dove, Angel, pretty girl.

Authors note: Guys please, I can’t stop thinking about this photo and scene. This got so out of hand. Genuinely this wasn’t supposed to start as Virgin!Daryl but this story wrote itself istg. I think I blacked out. But virgin Daryl is so special to me. I need to teach this man everything and then some.

Please HMO for a minute.

We all know Older!Daryl wouldn’t risk y’all having sex in the woods or really anywhere outside the house or walls of the community, it’s too dangerous with all the walkers and god forbid some psychos stumble across you. But Younger!Daryl is definitely less responsible. I’m talking Quarry or even Farm era, before the group runs into bad people and realises how fucked up people can get after the world ends. Plus we all know Norman played Daryl like he was a virgin, y’all need to remember that cause I’ve NEVER stopped thinking about it.

Daryl’s never been in a relationship before, and he has no idea why reader even bothers talking to him, let alone dates him. But after a solid month of flirting he finally believed you enough to date you. It’s not that he was hesitant, just skeptical. :(

Everything he knows about sex is from what Merle has told him and porno’s, but he refuses to believe any woman that’s been with Merle has actually enjoyed their time, so he doesn’t take his brothers ‘tips’ into consideration at all. Specifically when he said “Women love it when ya throw yerself at ‘em”, because he’s watched Merle get kicked out by security and pepper sprayed one to many times to believe that for even a second.

So when you came along, he never made the first move, always letting you come to him, maybe the occasional hand on you lower back or brush of your fingers but that’s about it. It was sweet at first, and it’s only been 2 or 3 weeks since you started dating, but you’re starting to crave his touch. It doesn’t help that when you try to initiate sex he blows you off with a muttered “ya gotta go’n a run tomorrow” or any other reason you should go to sleep instead.

Last night you finally spoke to him about it, refusing to let him leave the tent until he answers you. The last thing you want to do is make him uncomfortable, and if he simply doesn’t want to have sex with you, you’ll stop initiating until he’s ready. When you told him that, he looked at you in sheer shock, not surprised shock, but a “that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard” shock.

“S’not that I don’t wanna, trust me, jus’ don’t want ya to think ya have to”

You talked for a bit longer, eventually he begrudgingly told you he’d never had sex before, which took you by surprise because how could a man like him not have been around the block. After that he quickly shut the conversation down, he was obviously embarrassed despite trying to hide the fact, so you let him and quickly fell asleep. But you got what you needed from it already.

The next morning you’re both going on a run, you’re sitting behind him with your arms around his torso, typical backpack stuff. The town you’re going to is a bit farther away than the group would usually go, about a 20 minute drive with no traffic and a throttle heavy redneck driving. Your head is resting against the back of his shoulder lost in thought about last nights conversation, then fading to something a little less pg. thoughts of hands travelling, clothes being shed, and lingering kisses.

Your thumb starts rubbing absent minded circles on Daryl’s stomach, a kiss pressed to his trapezius, then another above that, and another, the last just under his ear. His head turns to the side to try and look back at you briefly before focusing back on the road. You felt his body tense with each kiss, then again when you hands start moving from his stomach to his sides, slowly but firmly. You trail your hands down his thighs, then back to his torso, repeating until his body relaxes again. Your hands move from his front to his back, trailing up his spine and over his shoulders, massaging at the knots caused by his crossbow. It’s only when your hands travel south that he’s tensing up again, electricity shooting through him as your hand travel closer and closer to the ever growing tent in his jeans.

Your hands stop just inches from where he needs you most, lips hovering over his ear asking for permission. You can feel the shaky sigh leave him by the way his back moves under your chest, a nod of his head sends your hands moving immediately. Your fingers ghost over his lap, testing the waters, then wrap around his jeans softly, giving a small squeeze. The bike slowly drifts into the other lane though quickly corrected and it doesn’t take long for the bike to slow down and eventually come to a stop in the middle of the desolate road. Daryl practically falls off the bike once it’s parked, you go to get off too but don’t get past putting both your legs over to one side before Daryl’s hand are on your hips and his lips are on yours. You can’t help the gasp the escapes you, shocked by the boldness of the usually diffident man (when it comes to intimacy).

He steps between your knees until his chest is flush with yours, one of his arms snakes around your back to make sure you don’t fall while the other cups one side of your face. He usually lets you take control of the kiss but he wastes no time deepening it himself, the newfound dominance over this aspect of your relationship has your legs weak. You’ve never been more thankful to be sitting down in your life. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull him flush to you, his hand resting just above your ass tightens as he rolls his hips against you, swallowing the surprised moan that leaves immediately after. You break the kiss long enough to say,

“Who are you and what have you done with my Daryl?”

You tease, a smile playing on your lips before pushing him back and stepping off the bike, turning him around and starting to sink to your knees, but he grabs your arm,

“ ‘Nother time, need ya now”

5 simple words have you nearly buckling at the knees, he pulls you to stand back up and kisses over your neck, rushed and needy as his hands shakily explore your back and sides. Your hands wrap around his shirt and go to pull it over his head but he stops you, pulling away from your neck and looking in your eyes with a look you’ve never seen before, one you didn’t even think he was capable of until now. He doesn’t have to say anything before your letting his shirt go and kissing his cheek, bringing his hands to the hem of your own shirt. You don’t press the subject matter and he’s thankful for that, pulling your shirt over your head and laying it carefully over the bike handles so it doesn’t fall to the dirty road beneath you, the small gesture has your heart fluttering, but you don’t have much time to think it over before his hands are trailing down your bare torso and down to your ass, groping them while eyeing your tits before he speaks,

“Dunno what m’doin”

He admits nervously, it makes you smile how sweet he can be even with his hard on pressing into your stomach. You can feel his hands shaking slightly against your skin.

“Can’t do much with our pants on”

I joke, hoping it’ll make him less nervous and it does, a small chuckle leaving his lips and a playful slap to your ass before his hands are trailing to your front.

“Smartass”

He rasps, lips hovering over your shoulder as he works on your pants, watching you pull them and your panties down over the plush of your ass.

“Y’gotta use your hands first or else it’s gonna hurt”

“M’not that stupid”

He says, making you laugh softly, but it’s short lived when he pushes you to lean against his bike, his hand cupping between your legs. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you at the suddenness of the touch, though you’re not complaining, and you certainly can’t blame the 40 year old virgin for being a bit excited.

Two of his fingers slip between your folds, gathering your slick before flicking his fingers over your clit haphazardly. You wrap a gentle hand around his wrist and guide him slightly further up until he’s in the right place, he watches your head lul back slightly and the quiet moan that leaves your lips. He’s torn between watching your face, his hands, or biting at your neck, his eyes never staying in one place for long, flicking over every inch of your skin.

“S’all fer me, huh?”

He growls, voice low and laced with lust, the sound frequency of his voice rumbling through your body and straight to your core. His fingers dip to your entrance, watching your face as he pushes in a finger slowly, looking for any signs of discomfort. Daryl may be a virgin but he’s not stupid, he knows it can hurt if not dealt with properly, but the speed at which he’s going is torturously slow, you buck your hips with a soft whine in hopes he gets the idea and he does, he pistons his finger starting slow but speeding up slightly, though still slow.

“Feels good baby, keep it slow like this but curl ‘em up gently”

He listens intently, curling his finger up tentatively, testing the waters. When your head falls to his shoulder with a breathy groan he can’t fight the smirk that makes its way across his cheeks, watching your face as he continues to move his fingers, finding what you like and repeating, adding a second finger when you get quieter, then a third until he has to stand between your knees to keep them open.

You pull him into a searing kiss, moaning into his mouth while yours hands work on his belt buckle and palm him over his jeans. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the touch, a groan leaving his lips involuntarily. He pulls his fingers from your core and locks eyes with you while he licks them clean (gif, lord help me). You have to physically restrain from rolling your eyes, the view shooting straight to your centre. His eyes never leave yours, even while he’s unzipping his pants and pulling himself out, landing heavy in his hand and using your left over arousal on his fingers as lube to stroke himself once, twice, before stepping towards you again.

“Y’ok little dove?”

His constant check for consent makes your stomach sick with butterflies. You nod fervently, muttering a “please” and “need it, need you”. It’s all he needs to wrap an arm around your back and push in slowly, he groans deeply as you surround him, warm and wet. It takes everything in him to not cum right then and there.

“So fuckin’ tight, squeezin’ me like a goddamn vice”

Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, gasping at the stretch and kissing over his neck haphazardly. He stills for a moment until he feels you relax, giving a shallow thrust and watching for your reaction, when he sees no discomfort he pulls back to his tip, pushing in with a sharp thrust. Your head throws back and his lips immediately catch to the skin, but it’s short lived when a squeal leaves your lips and Daryl’s having to hold your body weight up from slipping off the other side of the bike. He situates you on the bike before letting his words run a million miles per second.

“Y’ok? Ya hurt? M’sorry didn’t mean ta’ was jus-“

You cut him off with a short laugh and a kiss, standing from the bike.

“I’m fine Dare”

You say through giggles at his overly worried tone. Your nails rake over his clothed chest softly before you turn around and rest your elbows on the bike seat, looking over your shoulder to look at him. He instantly gets the message and stands behind you, placing a kiss in the middle of your shoulders before sliding back in, a groan rumbling against your skin. He lets you ease up again before he’s repeating his earlier pace but a bit slower, you can already feel him twitch inside you and know he probably won’t last to long. Not that you mind, you expected it. You guide his hand between your legs and his fingers immediately start working your clit. You were already close from him prepping you, and the noises muffled against the skin of your shoulder could get you to the edge alone.

“I ain’t gonna last”

Daryl admits breathily, his hips already losing rhythm and his fingers sloppy. He angles his hips in a way that has your eyes rolling, a desperate moan of his name while your nails dig into the leather of his bike. Your walls tightening has him pulling out with a grunt, his hand leaving your clit and stroking himself for not even a second before he lets out a guttural moan and you feel the warm spurts of his cum paint your ass. He leans forwards over your back to kiss your shoulder, heavy breaths fogging your brain.

“You’re a fuckin Angel”

He breaths into your ear, hand returning to your bundle of nerves

“Need ya to come for me, pretty girl”

His voice is low and raspy, though laced with satisfaction. His fingers are working fast and messy so you place your hand over his and with your own fingers over his, silently show him to move them in small circles. The change has you gasping his name and grabbing at the bike again, his other hand pushes 2 fingers inside you and his lips leave kisses over your back.

“Doin so good fer me, just like that baby”

And that’s all you need to be pushed over the edge, legs shaking and you lean your full weight onto the bike. Daryl hums in approval against your back.

“Just like that, there’s my girl.”

His fingers slip from your core and trail soothingly over your sides and back, his other hand slowing down significantly as he helps you ride out your orgasm, only letting up when your moans raise in pitch and legs try to close around his hand.

When you finally stand from the bike and spin to face him, he places a doting kiss to your lips. A smile creeping up both of your faces.

[aetherraeys]

thrills

(a night to remember, pt2, pt3, pt4/this)

sirius black x reader ⊹ 8.2k

cw ⟢ swearing, injury, blood, mild hurt/comfort, new relationship, suggestive, biker!sirius, very domestic, fluff

summary: Sirius Black was far more domestic than you'd ever imagined, falling into his new role of boyfriend without a hitch.

a/n: the shame i feel for taking so long to start this...but its here at least, all be it lamost 5weeks later,,,thank you anon for giving me ideas on a final part MWAH! not proofread x

New is fun, new is good.

New is firsts.

And while some kinds of new—that confessional i love you, that leaves you breathless and dizzy and at a loss for words—is more welcomed than others, there is also the other kind.

The first (but most definitely not last) time you had to hold Marlene back from lunging at and attacking Sirius like some rabid animal. That sort of new is...well, new. And admittedly? A little entertaining.

It really was because of that blasted spare key.

Marlene had decided maybe it was best to let the dust settle before she forced her way into your space. To try and console you and make you realise that maybe it was better that Sirius was a right foul git and you deserved better—she had it all prepared, planned it out on the drive over.

Brought your favourite films and snacks in preperation for a long, quiet day of comforting, ice-cream, junk food and trash talking the older Black brother.

So you can just imagine the shock and horror when she pulled into your usually empty drive way, to see that same goddamn motorbike there—blocking her from parking. And though Marlene did eventually find a spot, just down the road—where she had to pay for the parking—it just added to her anger.

Barging into your building in a hurricane of fury.

Because how dare he, the absolute cheek—he’d gone and snogged Emmeline right in front of you—he’d shown up to torture you more, plead his case when that was the last thing you needed. Neither of you had time to compute the sound of the door slamming open, the hinges yelling under the pressure of Marlene’s swing. You’d been asleep, cuddled and scrunched up together on the too small sofa, face buried into the corner of Sirius’ neck.

And when your head shot up at the sound of knob crashing into the wall—hard—wincing at the impact and it surely left a dent. If the way the harsh bang echoed through the room didn’t awake Sirius, the way your forehead knocked against his chin definetly did. A pained groan sounding from him as your scrambled to a stand, hands pressing into his stomach to support your rise—forcing a low “Oof,” out of him.

The look on Marlene’s face had alarm bells ringing in your head—still fuzzy from sleep, the thud of the bags to the floor shook you out of it—allowing you to hone in on the way her face was getting redder by the second. Eyes franctically darting between you and Sirius’ disgruntled, winded figure.

“Are you fucking joking right now?!”

Sirius all but teleported to the other side of the room at the harsh sound of Marlene’s tone—arms mimicking yours in their raised to defense while yours were more to ward her off.

Voice still hoarse from sleep and the night’s shed tears, trying to calm the impending attack on your newly appointed boyfriend—”Marls…MARLENE! Just wait—let me explain—!” you started.

But she didn’t wait—all but vaulting over the couch surely in search of a way to get Sirius into her grasp and throttle him. Rant loud on her tongue, littered with profanity and every insult under the sun as he rounded the corner of your dining table.

Sirius had managed to evade her thus far—breathless on the other side of the dining table—but to his misfortune, he’d trapped himself.

It was only a few more tense moments of back and forth circling the table before you found your way into the mix. Edging Sirius into a safer corner, standing between them brows stretched into a distressed grimance—she took another step forwards—and Sirius mirrored her with a step back.

The whole situation was painfully laughable—sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes, lips chapped and dribble stained. Sirius’ hair pushed up awkwardly on one side, matching the panic in his eyes as you shielded him.

Marlene wasn’t going to give up, threats slipping throught the cacophany of clattering furniture as she advanced.

“Black! When I get my hands on you, I swear to Merlin...” The frown on her face morphed into a scrowl when he responded.

“Not having the best morning? Are we Marls—Oi!” He just narrowly dodged the banana hurtled in his direction, and you hissed out his name in a chiding way that all but screamed not the time. Trying again to have her see some reason, or at least stop throwing objects around your kitchen—

”Marls, please. Just hold on a sec—Please, don’t throw—!”

It was a bit late for that. Another poor fruit from the bowl clattering against the counter—and satsuma this time.

“Why are you protecting that lump of shit, Y/N!”

You could only roll your eyes at the way Sirius muttered from behind you, “I can hear you, y’know,” Arms still outstretched in a rather pitiful attempt at shielding him, pleading with your eyes as much as you could, words urgent and rushed as they leave your mouth.

“He didn’t do it on purpose—it was a misunderstanding!” You step back hazardly, just barely missing Sirius’ sock-clad feet as you back him away from her, she resembled an angered bull more than anything. You could practically see the steam leaving her nose as she huffed out in disbelief—

“How does one snog another accidently?!” Marlene, undeterred, advanced again.

Okay, she had a fair point. But it really was just an unfortunate circumstance, you almost winced at her pitch—“If you gave me a second, maybe I’d be able to explain—”

“Black’s a slick git—you can’t trust a word out of his lying mouth!”

“You have such little faith in me, McKinnon!” Sirius gasped from behind you, like he’d been physically wounded by her words.

“Oh, shut it, Black—” Marlene snapped, advancing another step like she was genuinely weighing whether a cereal box could double as a weapon. “You’re lucky I left the bloody bat in the boot.”

You flinched at that one. Sirius did too.

“Marls, breathe, please,” you said, still firmly planted between them, arms stretched like a human barricade. “Just listen to me for one minute, okay? One. And if you’re still mad after, I’ll let you chuck the whole fruit bowl at him.”

“You say that like I wasn’t already planning to,” she growled, but her pace slowed—just a touch. The red in her cheeks hadn’t faded, but her eyes flicked to you, and some of the fury cracked around the edges.

You seized your chance.

It was rather finnicky to explain, how Emmeline had just grabbed the nearest person in a drunken flurry—all but dragging him into her by his collar—emphasising how it barely lasted not even five seconds.

How Sirius pushed her off in an instant, how it just happened to be him—how he’d never do anything like that to you—his hand coming down to rest on your waist lightly. Marlene looked between you both again. Sirius’ head poked out from behind your shoulder, expression genuinely apologetic now. “It really was just a misunderstanding—swear on my bike.”

“…That’s not very reassuring.”

“It is to me,” he muttered, then visibly winced when you elbowed him.

Marlene let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of her nose, chiding thoughts interrupted by Sirius’ almost goading comment he murmured, “Can’t have a morning with my girlfriend without getting chased about the kitchen.”

Her eyes snapped up at that, and he knew well that she’d hear it—the room was all but silence, still edge with simmering tension as Marlene contempleted whether to let him live despite it all.

Narrowing her gaze like she’d just caught wind of something foul. "Girlfriend?" she repeated, voice climbing to a sharp pitch, eyes darting between you both like she was genuinely concerned for your well-being. "As in, officially? Now? As in overnight?!"

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. But you could feel the burn start in your chest and crawl rapidly up your neck, setting your ears ablaze. Sirius, behind you, seemed completely unbothered by the sudden exposure of it all.

“Yep,” he said simply, rather chuffed with himself like he wasn’t outing something so fresh it was barely processed even by you. And you froze as he stuck his tongue out at Marlene over your shoulder and then pressed an obnoxiously loud, wet kiss to your cheek with a ridiculous mwah noise, hands still casually resting on your waist.

So startled by the contact and the very bold declaration that your body went completely stiff under the affection. Heat surged to your face in mortifying waves as Sirius just grinned, completely unapologetic.

Marlene recoiled with a grimace. “Oh bloody hell,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re so lucky she’s soft.”

Sirius grinned wider. “She is. It’s why I like her.”

“You’re pushing it,” Marlene warned, still eyeballing you both with such profound disbelief it could've peeled wallpaper. “Good thing I found that out before I keyed his bloody bike.”

That got Sirius’ attention. His expression dropped like a stone. “You were going to key my bike?!” he gasped, scandalised.

Marlene only shrugged, turning on her heel like it was the most casual thing in the world, shopping bags swinging in her hands as she marched toward the living room.

Sirius was already following after her like a panicked puppy, tugging you along with one hand still clasped in his. “Marlene—I swear to Merlin—my bike! What did it ever do to you?!”

“Oh calm down,” she drawled over her shoulder. “Didn’t even have time to scratch it.” She let out a long, theatrical sigh as she dropped her bags on the coffee table. “Guess I won’t be slagging off Sirius Black today.”

“You can stay, you know!” you protested, finally finding your voice again, still trailing behind Sirius like your brain was lagging ten steps behind this whole morning. “At least stay for a cuppa—”

Marlene made a gagging noise so exaggerated it almost echoed. “No, no—I won’t intrude on your morning—” she checked her watch, “afternoon with your boyfriend.” She shot you a pointed look over her shoulder, fingers wiggling in a phone gesture as she mouthed we’ll talk later.

Sirius, meanwhile, was still stuck somewhere between relief and residual panic. “You almost keyed my bike,” he muttered, half to himself.

Marlene didn’t even grace him with a second glance as she slipped out the door. “I still might, Black.”

The door clicked shut.

And then it was just you and Sirius in the stillness of your flat, your face still hot, your limbs still awkward, and Sirius—as ever—completely unfazed.

He turned to you, that stupid smirk tugging at his lips, eyes dancing with mischief.

“You froze when I kissed you,” he teased, tilting his head as his hands slid back to your waist, fingertips pressing gently.

“Shut up,” you muttered, still burning, unable to look him in the eye.

But then he was walking you backwards, slow and deliberate, until your back met the cool wall and he caged you in with a certain smugness.

“You’re really cute when you’re all flustered, y’know that?” he murmured, eyes soft but playful, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “Think I might have to do that more often.”

You glared at him, or tried to, but it lacked conviction when your face was still hot and he was looking at you like that—eyes all lazy delight and intent amusement, lips quirking like he had you pinned in more ways than one.

“I will literally kill you,” you muttered, trying not to smile—failing—as you turned your face away, pulse ringing embrassingly loud in your ears, heart thumping rapid beneath your ribs. .

“Ooh,” he grinned, leaning in closer, his breath warm fanning over your cheek, “is that a threat from my girlfriend?” He exaggerated the word with a mock gasp, like it still thrilled him to say it aloud. Which, honestly, it probably did.

“You’re lucky I don’t set you on fire,” you muttered, voice tight with embarrassment.

“I’d let you,” he said, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “Burn me to ash, darling, but kiss me first.”

You let out a splutter of laughter that you tried to smother with your hand, but he caught your wrist, gently pinning it to the wall beside your head. The other hand skimmed your waist, touch maddeningly light, and he grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I hate you,” you whispered, but it came out soft and breathy and baseless.

“Oh I know, sweetheart,” he whispered back with mock solemnity, brushing his nose against yours. “Tragic, really. Because I’m about to do something unforgivable.”

And before you could ask, what—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft, not exactly—it was all smugness and heat, lips pressing ato yours with that same teasing confidence he wore like a second skin. He kissed you like he was winning, like he’d caught you mid-swoon and was soaking it in. Letting his hand sliding up your back, keeping you close—his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your bed clothes, the wall behind you keeping you from melting into a puddle while your knees did their best impression of useless.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was obnoxiously wide.

“You froze again,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours now. “Gods, I’m good.”

“You’re insufferable,” you managed to say, breath shaky, though your hands had somehow wound into his shirt like you’d forgotten how to let go.

“Mm. And yet…” he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your collarbone, just barely grazing the skin with his teeth like he couldn’t help himself, earning him a quiet gasp. “Here you are. Still kissing me. Still blushing. Still all mine.”

New titles, new teases, new thrills.

Because Sirius really did bring a blood-pumping, head-spinning thrill into everything, every moment laces with and intertwined with the intoxicating feeling that was just him.

Even the mundane wasn’t just that with him—it was more, it was better—everything it had already been and everything you’d hope it to be.

He made his presence known in your little flat with purpose, claiming an entire shelf in your bathroom cabinet—and you welcomed it.

Watched it fill slowly, piece by piece, with his things: the woodsy-sweet aftershave that you fought the urge not to take a swig of some mornings, a crooked stack of faded hairbands, a few silver chains that clinked together gently, a worn tin of hair gel, cologne, a hard bristle brush. The toothbrush you’d given him “just in case” had somehow multiplied into three.

And you put his array of toileties to use—mainly helping him though.

You’d thought it nearly impossible for Sirius to be at yours more than he already was. Yet somehow, he proved you wrong, subtly phasing out of his shared flat with James and all but moving in with you.

His boots in the hallway. His coat thrown over your chair. His bike helmet permanently perched on top of your record player.

Although it wasn’t official—no formal conversation, no labelled drawers or declarations—it was becoming more and more apparent how well integrated Sirius was becoming into your daily routine.

It was most obvious in the mornings—and though you’d shared many before, it was different now somehow.

The alarm buzzed obnoxiously, sharp through the hush of your room, cutting through sleep like a blade and your hand shot out from under the covers, patting around blindly until you found the button and silenced it.

For now.

Sirius hummed softly from behind you, arm still looped lazily around your middle, you tried to sink deeper into his warmth, eyes squeezing shut, cheek pressing into him like the night had only just begun.

“You’ve got to get up now, love,” he whispered, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear, lips curling into a smile when you shook your head defiantly and mumbled, “Absolutely not. I’m deceased.”

That earned a soft chuckle, and the vibrations rumbled through both your tangled forms. “You said that yesterday. Still here.”

“M’time was tragically short-lived.”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice a warm rasp in the low light. “I’ll get up with you.”

Another unintelligible mutter left you, but your eyes cracked open—just barely—a reluctant olive branch. Then, before you could react, protest to his offer, he was shifting out from under you, gathering you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Curling into him you hummed, limp in his arms, arms clinging around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom, bare feet padding quietly across the wooden floor. Pushing the door open with his hip and deposited you gently in front of the sink, keeping his arms around you when your knees buckled slightly from the shock of standing. You slumped against him, eyelids heavy again, pout forming without thought.

“Merlin,” he breathed with a smile, brushing your hair gently out of your face, “you’re hopeless.”

All that left you was a sleepy sound of protest, trying to ignore the harshness of the bathroom light with closed eyes—“Open,” he prompted, his own voice till hoarse with sleep—toothbrush already ready in hand.

You obeyed, lips parting slowly. He brushed your teeth for you with practiced care, murmuring something about how spoiled you were. When he held the mug of water to your lips so you could rinse and gargle, he pulled your hair back with the other hand, moving through it all like a routine he’d rehearsed.

When you’d finished, he turned you around by the hips to face him again, your eyes puffy from sleep but a little more awake now. He grinned, leaned down, and pressed a firm kiss to your pout.

“Shower,” he said, rubbing slow circles on your back.

You nodded with a small hum, and he turned to set the water running—one hand testing the warmth before reaching for the hem of his shirt on you. He peeled it off carefully, knuckles grazing your skin like a whisper, and helped you step into the steam.

While you showered, he moved about the flat with habitual ease—setting out your clothes for the day, your work bag prepped with charger and laptop, tea steeping on the counter. He even warmed your towel in the dryer before coming back to swap places with you.

And when you were dressed, now far more alive than earlier but still yawning as you dried your hair, you returned to the bathroom to find Sirius half-ready, leaning into the mirror drying his face and opening the cabinet to reach for—

His brows furrowed at the clear empty space on the shelf that would usually housed his brush, running a hand thorugh his hair—eyes flitting around the bathroom before landing on you.

And you stifled a grin, holding it up smugly from behind him. “Looking for this?”

He turned around, eyeing you dramatically. “My saviour!”

“Hand me the gel,” you said, stepping up onto the little wooden stool you kept by the sink just for this reason. Sirius passed it to you obediently and stood still as you carefully slicked back his hair—your fingers threading through it with far more affection and attention to detail than necessary for simple grooming.

His motorbike helmet sat nearby, ready and waiting.

He watched you quietly as you fussed over his hair. He didn’t say it, but it was in his eyes, swimming gently behind his half-blown pupils—the affection, the comfort, the subtle contentment in the luck he had, that you were the one standing there, fussing over him.

When you finished, you gave his chin a gentle tap. He leaned in and kissed you again, longer this time—smiling against your lips.

“I’ll drive you,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “So maybe a jacket, hmm?”

Like usual, Sirius drove from your workplace to his garage, the familiar hum of the engine beneath him like second nature now. The ride was short, but it was always enough to clear his head and slip him into that comfortable rhythm—the one that only came with grease-stained hands, petrol in the air, and the familiar clangs and creaks of a place that felt more like home than anywhere else.

By the time he rolled the bike up the ramp and into the workshop, the garage was already humming with life.

Music blasted from the scuffed speaker perched haphazardly on a high shelf—something fast and loud, the kind of thing you’d call ‘chaotic’ and he’d call ‘motivational.’ He tossed his helmet onto the bench, ran a hand through his hair—now slightly undone from the ride—and tugged his shirt over his head, leaving him in the plain tank beneath.

Tools clanked as he got to work, fingers nimble as he tuned a few finicky components in the engine. Between adjustments, he took moments to add a few new stickers to the side of the bike’s fuel tank—some sent by friends, others collected at odd shops, and one he’d been waiting to arrive for weeks. Hands working on muscle memory, a towel tucked into the waistband of his faded jeans, ready for the inevitable grease and smudges.

He didn’t notice James arrive until the soft crunch of tires sounded on the gravel outside. The car door slammed, and a familiar voice rang out, slightly muffled beneath the music. Sirius looked up with a grin as James strolled in, carrying a brown paper bag and two takeaway drinks.

“Oi, Pads!” James called, already grinning. “Brought lunch. Figured you’d forget to eat again unless it walked in on its own legs.”

Sirius laughed, tugging the towel from his waistband to wipe the oil from his hands as he made his way over. “Speak for yourself. I’m just incredibly selective with my meals.”

“Selective, my arse,” James shot back, giving him a few hearty taps on the back as they met in the middle of the garage. “You’d eat three bags of crisps and call it gourmet if it came with a pint.”

Sirius snorted, already peeking into the bag. “And yet you bring me exactly what I didn’t know I was dying for.”

“You’re welcome.” James flopped onto the worn leather sofa tucked into the corner of the garage—its cushions permanently dented from years of lounging, gaming, and midday naps. Sirius washed his hands properly in the sink this time, swapping out his grease-smudged top for a clean black tee before joining James with a satisfied hum.

They ate casually, talking in that way they always did—overlapping thoughts, half-finished stories, laughing at things they didn’t even need to explain anymore. But not long into it, James leaned back and let out a dramatic sigh.

“You know, I rarely see you anymore,” he complained, gesturing lazily with a crisp. “We live together. Or at least, I thought we did.”

Sirius just laughed, brushing the crumbs from his lap as he pushed off the couch and wandered back to the bike. “You’re being dramatic. You see me all the time.”

“Hmm,” James muttered. “Funny. The ghost of you leaves mugs in the sink but doesn’t speak.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, grabbing a stool and plopping down onto it, new stickers in one hand and a blowdryer in the other. He leaned over the bike carefully, lining up the next addition with practiced precision.

The collar of his shirt hung low on his shoulder as he concentrated, exposing just a bit of skin.

And James caught it immediately.

He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing with amusement. A very fresh, very obvious set of hickies peeked out from under the shirt, nestled high on Sirius’ collarbone and flushed faint pink, trailing down further than he could see.

And just like that, James was on his feet with a bounce in his step, sauntering over with all the mischief of a boy who’d just discovered the best secret.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, dragging out each word as he approached. “So that’s who’s been stealing you away then, Pads.”

Sirius didn’t even look up, brows furrowed in concentration as he forced an air bubble from under the letter. “What on earth are you on about now?”

James stopped just beside him, towering over the stool where Sirius was still focused on the bike’s curve, trying to smooth the sticker just right. His voice dipped into a hum.

“Hmm. Not sure. Could be the disappearing acts. Or maybe,” he said, dragging the moment out, “just maybe it’s the very telling bruises on your chest.” Putting a painful emphasis on the s, grinning at him like the cat that got the cream.

That got Sirius’ attention.

He blinked and turned his head sharply to look at James, realisation dawning almost instantly. “Fuck off,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and shifting on the stool, tugging his collar up without too much urgency—but the smirk that twitched at the corners of his lip gave him away.

And James just grinned wider. “Whoever she is, mate, she’s got a serious biting problem.”

“Oh, shove off, Prongs.”

“Does she know you get all flushed like a schoolboy when you’re caught?”

Sirius clicked the blowdryer on pointedly, drowning out James’ snickering. But even over the buzz, his grin was unmistakable, his ears tinged slightly pink.

James wasn’t going to let it go that easily—not when his best friend was clearly smitten. Not when Sirius was practically glowing with the kind of quiet joy that didn’t come from engines or speed or mischief—but from something, or more accurately someone, who’d managed to make even Sirius Black domesticated.

Or at least something very eerily close to it.

Sirius had been doing well to stay off James’ radar. He dodged the teasing with dramatic groans and artful deflections, buried any real details beneath smirks and shrugs and the occasional cryptic comment that meant nothing and everything all at once. You hadn’t talked about it explicitly—it wasn’t technically a secret—but Sirius hadn’t exactly broadcasted it either.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Hell, if it were up to him, he’d happily shout it from the rooftops. He’d staple flyers to lampposts. Spray paint your initials across the hood of his bike. But he also knew—without question—that James would wrestle him off said rooftop if he ever found out.

Not because James didn’t trust him. Not really.

But because James was just as, if not more protective over you than Marlene was. He always had been, you were one of his closest friends too. His sister in everything but blood. And from the very beginning, James had drawn the line so clearly it may as well have been carved in stone.

You were off limits. Non-negotiable.

And Sirius? Sirius understood. He got it. He respected it. Until you kissed him by the pool, your eyes glassy with drink and affection. Until you fell asleep in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Until he looked at you and saw something quiet and golden and terrifying.

And even then—especially then—James had still written it off. Dismissed it entirely.

Even after the way your eyes trailed after Sirius when you thought no one was watching. Even after Sirius had carried you to bed that night, careful and silent and far too gentle, while James followed with crossed arms and a tight jaw, muttering something about “no funny business.”

He’d made his stance perfectly clear. That night was the warning shot.

And Sirius?

Sirius had tried—really tried—not to fall over that line.

But lines get blurry in the dark. And when you invited him in for tea, slowed him down with soft eyes and an even softer voice—and he had no choice but to fall.

By some insane miracle, Marlene still remained the only one who knew.

And it’s not like you were being slick in the slightest—always together, practically attached at the hip, Sirius’ bike a permanent fixture outside your flat, his jacket thrown over the back of your couch, your shampoo smelling suspiciously like his cologne. Clothes folded together, mugs interchanged, playlists bleeding into one another like you’d been tangled up for years instead of months.

Realistically, all James needed to do to figure it out was open his eyes. Drive by your place, see Sirius’ bike parked out front. Stop by unannounced and spot his boots by the door, or worse—him, sprawled on your sofa like he paid rent.

But somehow, the world had yet to catch up with the two of you.

It was a random weekend when Sirius suggested driving you to his garage. “If you’re gonna keep nicking my shirts, might as well see where they end up covered in grease,” he’d said, flashing that easy grin, his hand already on the small of your back as you both headed out.

Placing a helmet on your head before riding out of your road.

It was your first time there—eyes wide with curiosity as you stepped into the wide, sunlit space that smelt like oil, metal, and faintly of something that was just...him.

Music booming from an old speaker tucked on a shelf, some grungy rock track you half-recognised, while Sirius pulled the garage door up with a heave and parked the bike inside.

He’d already shrugged off his jacket, wearing just a faded black tank that clung to his chest and arms like a second skin, muscles glistening slightly from the ride over. You’d been trying very hard not to oogle—failing miserably—as you wandered around, pretending to be interested in the shelves lined with tools you couldn’t name.

Watching from behind him on a rickety stool as his hands worked a wrench into a metal crevice with a whiny squeak.

But then you saw it.

A sticker on the side of his bike, your initials in bold—tucked into the design between a handful of other vinyl patches.

You blinked, scooting closer on the chair, hinges whining with each movement—eyes narrowing, head tilted. “...Is that...?”

He glanced back over his shoulder, lips twitching up into a smirk as he caught your stunned expression—following your eyes to the curve of his bike. “Took you long enough to notice,” he said, eyes glinting. “It’s been on there for weeks.”

You tried—really tried—to purse your lips and school your face into something unimpressed. But the smile tugging at your mouth was impossible to suppress. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, heart thudding against your ribs.

Sirius just wiped his hands on a rag and crouched down beside the engine again, voice light. “Could get you one of your own, y’know.”

“One of what?” You craned your neck to get a better look at him.

“A bike.”

You eyes all but pooped out of your head, jaw slacking. “Why the hell would I want my own personal death machine?”

He rolled his eyes, grinning, voice muffled by the hollow metal he spoke into. “Come on, you’ve been on mine loads of times. At this point you could probably drive me around.”

“Not the same,” you grumbled, arms crossing. “You know it’s not the same.”

But he was already straightening up, seriously considering it. “I could teach you.”

“No,” you said instantly—eyes closed as you shook your head.

“Yes,” he countered, and before you could even protest again, he had his hands at your waist and was lifting you, setting you down onto the leather seat of his bike like you weighed nothing. Voice was pinched and high as you squawked in his hold, “Sirius! I’m not qualified! This has to be illegal—”

“You’ve got a license, don’t you?”

“Not for this! I can barely drive a bloody Prius.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll stick a big ‘L’ plate on the back.” He winked. “That way everyone knows to stay the hell away.”

“Sirius, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s literally not that hard.” He hopped on behind you, guiding your hands to the handles, voice low and patient in your ear. “You’ll be fine.” Settling his hands on your hips as he whispered lowly, words clear with each demonstrative reve of the engine.

You made a few hesitant attempts with him helping from behind, feet planted, steering gently, fingers over yours like a guide. And honestly—it wasn’t that hard. Not with him purring instructions into your ear, chest warm against your back—not with the way he made everything feel stupidly safe.

Eventually, he stepped back and nodded toward the open space in the lot. “Alright. Go on. Try a little circle, hotshot.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re insane.”

“Mmhm. And yet you love me.”

You didn’t have time to deny it before you were inching forward, tires rolling with a gentle hum. Keeping it slow, circling once, then twice, wind brushing past your cheeks and Sirius watching from a distance with that annoyingly proud smile.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, the thrill, the rush—the undeniable adrenaline rushing through your veins, the feeling of invincibility going straight to your head.

Until the front wheel caught a thick stone on the ground just as you accidentally nudged the gear. The bike lurched forward, engine revving with unexpected speed. And panic crashed over you in an instant. Sirius was yelling—something about braking—but the sound was lost beneath the roar of the bike and the rush of blood in your ears.

Your hands fumbled—your balance tipped.

Catching sight of the brick wall in front of you, you swerved, narrowly avoiding it, but the motion threw you clean off the seat. And you hit the ground hard, a dull crack against your temple and your skin scraping viciously against concrete.

The pain was sharp, immediate, blooming hot across your arm and head.

You barely had time to process it before Sirius was there—running toward you, shouting your name—almost drowned out by the sound of the bike still revving a few meters away—shuffling against the gravel—dust kicking around the faintly turning wheel.

“Hey—hey, hey, I’ve got you—shit, love, stay still.” His hands were already on you, gentle but frantic, lifting you from the pavement as you winced, trying to blink away the spinning.

The whole underside of your arm stung, head throbbing as blood sticky and warm trickled from a gash above your brow. Sirius pressed the towel from his waistband to your forehead, muttering soft, soothing nonsense as he picked you up in his arms and carried you back into the garage.

“It’s okay, you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, half-choked with guilt and panic—pulse still ringing in your ears. “The bike—I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what happened—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He settled you on the edge of the workbench, your legs dangling as he stood between them, brushing hair from your face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“But I scraped it up—your bike’s probably all ruined—” you rambled, the words tumbling out in a breathless panic as you stared at the floor, the edges of your vision still fuzzy, the sting of your wounds flaring hotter with every second.

But Sirius was already in front of you, hands cupping your face with the kind of gentleness that shouldn’t have been possible from someone who’d just sprinted like his heart was on the line.

“Love.” His voice cut through your spiral like a balm. Steady. Low. Firm. “Right now, I don’t give a single shit about the bike.”

And then, with impossible tenderness, he leaned in—close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips, smell the faint trace of leather and metal and the shampoo you both used. Soft, fleeting, just a brush of his lips against yours like he wasn’t sure how much pressure you could handle right now. Like he didn’t want to break the moment, holding you like you were made of the finest china.

When he pulled back, air caught in your throat, heat swirling in your chest as his voice reached your ears.

“Just stay still,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nodded

He exhaled, watching your face for a beat longer, like he was making sure you were still in there with him, then turned slightly, tugging open a drawer beside the bench with one hand while the other still braced lightly against your knee.

The first aid kit clattered onto the surface beside you, and he opened it with quick, practiced motions. You watched, dazed, as he tugged on a pair of gloves, popped the cap off a bottle of antiseptic, and gently soaked a gauze pad.

You winced as he reached for your arm, the sting of your scraped skin reigniting the moment his fingers brushed near.

Sirius worked quietly, brows drawn together in concentration, the soft scrape of gauze against your skin the only sound between you. Deft fingers careful and precise, but even then the occasional sting had you wincing slightly, shifting on the bench—legs swinging slightly off the edge, watching the way he moved like he was doing something sacred.

He didn’t say much—just pressed a little harder here, smoothed tape there—and finally muttered, half to himself, "How on earth am I ever supposed to leave you alone?"

It was meant as a joke. A throwaway. But you latched onto it without thinking.

“You…you don’t have to,” you said softly. “You could just move in with me.”

There was a pause.

Not dramatic. Not crushing. Just…quiet. His hand didn’t stop moving, didn’t flinch or drop or freeze. Sirius just kept working, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the last of your scrapes. He hummed faintly in response, but it was dismissive—distant. Unreadable.

Your stomach twisted. Shame crept in, slow and thick, your body tensing in its wake.

Too soon. It’s too soon. You pushed it. He’s not there yet.

Quickly you averted you gaze, focusing on the dangle of you legs—each flick of your shoelaces, retreating into yourself. “Actually, um…I probably don’t need any more fixing up—I feel fine,”

You started to hop off the bench, your head still spinning slightly, one foot hitting the floor with a wobble. Pain flared through your arm and your side as you shifted your weight, making you stumble slightly.

Sirius straightened in alarm. “Whoa, hey—where are you going?”

“M’fine now,” words rushed and breathy, brushing at your shirt like it could distract from your spiraling, arm burning at the stretch of your skin. “Really, I’m okay.”

“You’re still bleeding,” he deadpanned, brows pinched in concern, reaching for your waist again to steady you. “Let me finish. We can go home, yeah?”

You didn’t reply. Just nodded, eyes locked on the floor while he coaxed you gently back onto the bench. He kept working, patching the final gash on your forearm—but now there was something different in the air.

A silence that wasn’t peaceful. Tension had crept in, curled around the space between you.

Even as he applied pressure to the scraps, spread cold ointment over your skin, you remained silent—lips pursed together. Just the occasional hiss, and then silence again. Staring at your shoes, at the concrete your feet swung above.

When Sirius finally finished, peeling off his gloves with a snap, watching you closely. His voice was gentler now, lower—and you could feel his breath fanning over the surface of your skin.

“What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, not looking at him.

So he stepped in closer, arms sliding around your waist, hands warm against your sides, caging you in. He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Talk to me. Does your head hurt?”

You glanced up, lips pursing again as you shake your head slightly. There was no accusation in your expression—just uncertainty. Vulnerability. Like you were already preparing for rejection. And it made him pause for a moment—eyes scanning your face before his lips twitched at the corners.

“I do want to move in with you, love,” he said softly, eyes warm as he looked down at you. “Of course I do.”

He held you gaze as you blinked, lips parting. “You don’t have to say that. I’m not upset. It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to—really. I don’t know why I even said it—” Your voice sounded meeker than you’d wanted it too, not at all convincing.

“I’m not just saying it.” His voice dropped, edged with that dry Sirius Black sincerity that only ever showed itself when he needed you to believe him. “When do I ever just say things?”

Your brows arched upwards, giving him a long look. A very pointed one.

He huffed out a laugh, tipping his head like he was conceding the point. “Okay—fine, fair enough. But you asked me while I was trying to stop you bleeding out, trying to keep you from staining your lovely little outfit, by the way. I’m a simple man. Can’t focus on so many things at once.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped your lips, even through the lingering ache of embarrassment. He leaned in and kissed your cheek—soft, warm, forcing any shame away. His voice was quieter when he added—

“But I meant it. I want to move in. I want to be with you. Always.”

It had your breath stilling in your lungs, he felt so much closer now—too close, maybe. Body still radiating heat, arms still looped securely around your waist, thumbs idly tracing the edge of your shirt. You felt flushed again, but not from pain.

Flushed like the blood was torn on where to go—bouncing around your body, from the tips of your ears, base of your neck to the plastered cut by your brow—torn.

“Really?” you mumbled, dazed.

His smirk curved slow and easy against your skin as he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw.

“Reaalllly,” he drawled, voice low and teasing—before capturing your mouth again, this time deeper. Certain. Like a promise. Like a yes.

And you melted into it, the sting of your wounds forgotten in the warmth of his hands, the slide of his mouth against yours—slow at first, like he was savouring the feel of your lips under his, but it didn’t stay slow for long.

The adrenaline hadn’t fully worn off; it simply shifted—into the warmth of his hands roaming under your shirt, the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the way your legs instinctively bracketed his hips when he stepped between them again. You were back on the counter, your fingertips tugging at the hem of his vest, pressing into the bare skin just beneath it, desperate to feel something real—him, all of him, grounding and warm and yours.

It was messy and breathless and a little bit frantic, Sirius always had that affect on you. Everything holding a bit more intensity than normal—his palms splayed across your hips, thumbs digging into the dip where your thighs met the curve of your body as his mouth trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw.

“’s good you said yes,” you murmured between kisses, breath hitching as his tongue flicked against your pulse, “because…I already cut you a key.”

He froze just slightly—only to chuckle lowly against your skin, lips brushing your throat. “I know,” voice rough with laughter. “Saw it in your bag last week.”

You pulled back, startled. “You what?”

Sirius grinned, impossibly smug, the kind of wolfish, pleased smile that could undo you far more than anything he’d just done with his hands. “Meant to be a surprise, was it?”

The glare you gave him was weak at best, completely undermined by the way your hands were still under his shirt, now dragging lightly against the curve of his ribs.

He laughed again—loud and delighted—before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear, hands sliding to the curve of your back, pushing you into him. “Darling, how did you plan on keeping it a secret when I pack your bag every morning?” he asked, his words broken up by soft bites down your neck, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

But you weren’t listening anymore.

The kisses had gone from teasing to distracting, and you were already breathless again, head tipped back, clutching at his vest as your thighs pulled him even closer.

You didn’t hear the car pulling around the corner.

Didn’t hear the idle screech of tyres over gravel. Or the distant clunk of the garage door as it creaked open.

Not until your eyes flicked sideways—catching a figure in your peripheral vision. A tall silhouette. Familiar glasses. Wide eyes.

A scream caught in your throat—coming out more like a shocked gasp, a strangled noise as you jolted as your entire body tensed—squeezing Sirius into a startle—nearly losing his footing as he spun around—arms coming up defensively like he thought someone had come to attack you.

Instead, there stood James Potter.

Frozen in the open doorway of the garage.

A bottle of wine dangling uselessly from one hand, and the most horrified, scandalised, absolutely floored expression etched across his face. His jaw hung open. Eyebrows nearly in his hairline. He looked like he’d walked in on a crime scene.

Sirius blinked, chest heaving, hair disheveled. “Prongs?”

His eyes landed on you first: flushed cheeks, bruised lips, a fresh bandage on your forehead, sitting on the bloody workbench like you'd been carefully laid out and devoured. His jaw all but fell off its hinges—finger point at Sirius as his eyes darted between the two of you.

James’ mouth opened and closed. Then opened again—arms lifting as he pointed furiously at Sirius. “What have you—what did you do to her?!”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, utterly unrepentant, but James was already in melt-down mode, voice pitching as the dots connected in his head.

“This—you’re, I—”A slow, disbelieving exhale escapes his lips. “No,�� he says finally, softly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “No, nope. I’m not seeing this.”

You scramble a bit—pushing Sirius out from where he was slotted between your legs, hands tugging your shirt straight. “James, I—”

He cuts you off. “No.” He looks at you, expression unreadable—turning his sights on Sirius, who was rather unbothered considering how unbecoming the entire situation was.

“She’s injured, Sirius. Injured. And you’re—what—ravaging my friend in your greasy murder garage?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

“I was being gentle,”

Sirius shrugged with a light tone, dodging the nudge of your elbow that he knew was coming—and James nostrils flared slightly, like he’s biting down a thousand words.

Maybe you should have stayed silent—let Sirius deal with him, but you didn’t—words muttered beneath your breath, “He’s—he was patching me up?”

Sirius looked like he was biting his cheek to keep from laughing.

James gaped at you, expression mixed between disbelief and confusion “Right. Is that what we’re calling it!?”

You and Sirius stand in silence for a moment, his hand sliding around your waist again. And James drags a hand down his face again, throwing his hands in the air as he spun on his heel, already walking out.

“I don’t even wanna know anymore. I—I need a drink.”

[crimsonrubie]

A Quiet Night

Part 2

Biker!Bakugou would have one of the fastest motorcycles in the gang because he's a freak for speed and power. His bike would probably be a Suzuki GSX-R750, black and orange, with 750cc. He would be speeding with this baby everywhere. It's perfect for him because of its aerodynamic design and sharp and aggressive lines.

I imagine he loves taking his bike out on late-night rides. Especially when his mind is running a mile a second, what better way to cool off than speeding through the streets with his bike?

Warnings: Teeny tiny bit of angst then fluff! Also this is the first fic I've written in years so my writing is floppy at best and English isn't my first language so please excuse any mistakes!!

~~~

The cool night wind of Musutafu swept by and ruffled his blonde spikes as the roar of the engine purred in the background.

It was one of those nights. The silence at his home was eating him alive like an infection and without thinking, Katsuki grabbed his keys, forgoing his helmet and headed to his sleek dark and orange bike. He threw on a leather jacket over his top and sped off from his garage.

His mind hadn't calmed down since the incident this morning when he was on patrol. Heroes are known for doing their best to save everyone, but it's no secret that not everyone can be saved. The thought alone urged him to twist the throttle, revving the engine and letting it drown out his loud thoughts.

At his action, he heard a cheer similar to a kid's and turned his head to the side for only a second. The little kid's bright smile from the car beside him on the highway silenced his thoughts as he focused on him now. The car was keeping up with his bike, due to the empty road this time of night and the kid extended his hand out of the window and mimicked the motion of revving an engine.

Katsuki, to entertain the little boy, did as he wished and twisted the throttle, letting it last for a little longer and the bright smile from the boy brightened a small spot inside Katsuki's heart. The car then took a turn and the boy waved to him, Katsuki giving him one last rev before they separated.

He drove along the road, the streetlights blurring past him as the night remained quiet and peaceful except for a few cars. His emotions were still in chaos, but the low hum of the engine and the distraction of driving provided him with only some sense of satisfaction.

After half an hour, a park became visible in the distance. Katsuki noticed it was deserted for the most part and was situated a good distance away from the busy streets of the city so he decided it was a good place to stop. He parked his bike in the empty parking lot belonging to the park overlooking the beach. He killed the engine and got off of the seat, fixing his leather jacket and zipping it up as the cool air arriving from the sea sent a shiver down his body.

His lungs expanded to take in as much of the salty air as he could, letting it out in a deep sigh. Though looking out into the night sky, far from the blinding lights of the bustling city did little to distract his mind from his thoughts as they came rushing back. Now nothing around him could distract him from his swirling dark thoughts.

He hated it most when he failed in a mission, despised it and loathed it really. Whether he was bleeding all over or even had one of his arms rendered useless because of the damage, he refused to give up. Always pushing forward to save the day and kick some villain's ass. This passion was with him since he was a little boy and never left but only grew when the seed was sowed at the awakening of his quirk.

His quirk was supposed to be used for good, to save and win. What happened today was a complete contrast to that. He hated himself for letting the villain get him in such a vulnerable state. One little mistake lead to a chaotic and traumatizing ending for everyone on the scene.

Just remembering the anguished faces of the boy's parents after he utterly failed to get to him in time shattered another piece of his already broken soul. Now breathing didn't come to him as easily. His breathing was ragged and uneven, and his chest felt like it was being restricted by a boulder. His hands sought out his throat, gripping it as if his life depended on it and he gritted his teeth.

"D-damn it- Damn it all to hell!" His hand heated up without his knowledge, the nitroglycerin sweat on his palms reacting to his quirk. At his yell, a cat jumped up on a stone seat beside him and meowed. His breathing hitched and his eyes scanned the cat. Under the dim lightening of the lamp post beside the stone bench, he could decipher beautiful black fur and slit eyes that rounded out just a little at him. It wasn't a kitten, but didn't appear to be old but maybe a few years old perhaps.

The cat was looking at him, as if interested in what made him yell out into the night but he left it and plopped down on the stone seat, just a few feet away from the cat on the other side and buried his face in his hands. A minute passed which felt like an eternity before the tiniest of sobs escaped his lips. His hands now in his hair, he pulled harshly at the roots, needing anything to distract him from the searing pain in his chest if even for a second.

Gradually, the sobs left him like a dam with a crack, starting out slow and only deepening the crack and breaking it even more to allow more to flood out. His aching chest hurt, and one of his hands left his hair and grabbed at his jacket, right above the scar shielded underneath all the clothing. His fingers clutched tightly at the leather, crinkling it up as tears ran freely down his face, quiet sobs escaping without his permission.

It hurt. Everything hurt. His heart, his mind, his chest, even his hand from how tightly he was holding onto his jacket as if it was his lifeline and he was hanging on by a thread. His head was ducked as he suffered mentally and physically under the dim lightening when a weight was pressed against his thigh.

At first, he didn't notice but another thing landed on his thigh and he then pulled his head back and noticed the cat with its front paws now on his thigh, meowing up at him so softly. It was as if the little being knew he was in a vulnerable state and was offering comfort.

He sniffed, his arm rubbing over his red face and cold nose from the cold air. "You're weird, you know that?" His voice was gruff when he spoke, raspy from all the crying but the cat only climbed further into his lap, curling up as if getting ready to sleep and loafing on his lap.

The added weight of the feline and its warmth chased away some of the demons tormenting his mind. He looked down at the cat and scoffed with a sniff afterwards, realising that the cat in some way, knew to comfort him.

Katsuki wasn't a cat or dog person. His best friend Eijirou Kirishima, owned a Staffordshire bull terrier, the little guy both energetic and affectionate, a carbon copy of his owner but Katsuki never knew the appeal of owning a live animal and taking care of their needs, training them, and just sharing space with a living being he can't directly communicate with.

The cat was snuggled up on his lap and his mind now momentarily forgetting the pain in his chest, urged his hand to pet the soft fur of the black cat and he let out a breath when the soft sound of purring reached his ears. The side of his lip quirked up just slightly at seeing the little creature happily snuggled into his lap and purring like nobody's business.

While he was petting it, he then noticed a thin pink collar hidden under its fur and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You lost or something?" He mumbled under his breath and reached under the cat's chin to look at the tag and saw a phone number. He hummed then seeing the pink collar again, noted the cat must be female.

No wonder the cat wasn't sceptical of him. She was a house cat and well cared for from the looks of it so she didn't carry the same hesitance to humans like other street cats and approached him right away. The cat must have been emotionally intelligent, maybe a service animal?

Pushing those thoughts to the side for now, he got out his phone and texted the number a picture of the cat on his lap and his location.

Found her at the park in front of the parking lot.

He clicked send and not a second later, his phone dinged with a response and he opened it up again, the bright screen illuminating his face in the darkness.

I'm on my way! Thank you so much!!

He left it at that and put his phone down. He continued petting the cat, the notion calming him down as he soaked up the last few minutes he had with his unusual companion before she had to go back to her owner.

He gave a quick glance at the number's profile picture before he put his phone down and knew it was a girl but didn't look clearly to know any more details.

A few minutes passed by of him silently petting the feline and admiring her soft dark fur, letting the time run as he distracted himself with the continuous motion of petting the cute animal. The cat then pressed her paws on his lap then stretched making him chuckle under his breath at the cat comfortably doing whatever she desired on his lap.

"Ohh big stretch! She loves you." At the new voice, his head lifted instinctively and his breath was knocked out of his lungs. His back straightened like a board. This time it was a nice feeling, not choking him up but instead providing him with a sense of calmness and the smell of fresh air. Why, he had no idea but he welcomed the feeling in this dark time.

You looked pretty. With no makeup on and wearing a light colored hoodie and comfortable pants, you looked like you were on a leisurely walk before you lost sight of your feline friend. He found it endearing the moment his eyes skimmed briefly over your figure and back to your eyes.

Your figure closed the distance between you and you sat beside him on the stone bench, your cat upon recognising you, lazily switching from Katsuki's lap and snuggling up on yours instead. You provided her with scratches under the chin and ears as she purred. "You seriously need to be on a leash sometimes." You spoke out to the cat but he didn't detect any malice in your voice. "You always escape right under my nose but come crawling back for food huh?" The cat meowed in response, as if sassily replying to you and he watched the interaction with curiosity.

You suddenly sat up straight with a start and acknowledged the man beside you. Your reaction was similar to his if not the same. Your back straightened up and your lips formed a small rounded shape in surprise when your eyes scanned his naturally pale face. Red piercing eyes stared into yours as if to hypnotize you but you cleared your throat and offered up your hand in greeting, thankful this specimen of a man hadn't made you forget your manners.

"Katsuki bakugou." He greeted you in return, accepting your hand and nodding towards the cat in your lap. "She yours then?" He internally slapped himself for the stupid question.

You didn't seem to mind his gruff exterior and nodded with a smile, "Yes, her name's Aiko." At the familiar word, he remembers its meaning and hums.

"Little loved one."

Your eyes widened a fraction at the fact he knew the meaning and you let out a small laugh. "Yes, I love her so much and after a week of having her, I decided Aiko was perfect for her. She wouldn't hurt a fly and is so sweet with everyone, even little kids who aren't sure how to treat her. Everyone falls in love with her cuteness too, she's charming that way." You purse your lips and a blush blooms on your cheeks when you notice you rambled. "Sorry, I tend to ramble about her." You scratch at the back of your neck and he grunts in response, his shoulders relaxed as he sits back against the backrest.

"It's fine."

With his lack of words, you go ahead and ask a question in return. "You were out on a nightly stroll I'm guessing?" You tilt your head, Aiko now purring in your lap as you tuck her in your hoodie pocket so she won't get cold. It became a habit for the cat since she was a few months old and always crawled into the spacious pocket of your hoodie to warm up and surprisingly still fits.

He hums, fidgeting with his hands in his lap as he looks forward. "Just came here for some fresh air. I needed space and quiet, and found it here."

You hum and he blinks when a second later, you have your hand outstretched towards him, palm up with a snack in hand. "Take this, it's a homemade cookie, I made it. Don't worry I'm actually a good baker and you can take it as a sign of my gratitude for finding Aiko." You nudge your hand in his direction, encouraging him to take it and after a second of confusion, he accepts the cookie.

"Thanks. Do you carry cookies everywhere with you?" He raises an eyebrow at you, his attention now diverted from the beach. You noticed a small smirk appearing on his lips and rolled your eyes playfully.

"Well on occasion, yes. I always go out on walks with snacks and treats for Aiko too. Sometimes I can be out here for hours so I get hungry and speaking of that I also get my books a lot of the time too, I love reading in this park." He watched you talk with a gentle smile while your hands were busy petting Aiko's head that was peeking out of your pocket.

"Oh and I never saw you here before, you aren't from around here?" At your question, he nods in reply.

"I live in the city. I found this place by coincidence and parked here to get some fresh air." You hum and a minute later, he opens the packet you stored the cookie in and takes it out. "Chocolate chip." He comments and you nod with a smile.

"Yes, tell me how it tastes and hopefully you don't completely hate it." You giggle and watch as he takes a bite and chews.

Those few seconds felt like one of those cooking shows where the judge is eating antagonizingly slow as the crowd waits for their reaction. That's how you felt when you watched him chew down on the cookie and swallow. He licked his lips to get rid of the crumbs left and your stomach fluttered at the action but you cleared your throat and looked back into his eyes.

To your utter shame, he was smirking knowingly at you and you knew you were caught ogling at his lips but quickly asked him a question to avoid the embarrassment. "So? How is it?"

He hums and eats another bite, this one bigger than the last and you smile. "I'm guessing it's nice?" He nods, wiping his mouth with his thumb after he swallows.

"Send me the recipe." You blink. Well, that was straightforward.

"Uh, sure-" Your reply gets cut off by your laughter. He had his own unique ways of expressing his liking to something but you took it, sensing that he was just like that. "I'll make sure to send it to you now that I have your number don't worry. Right when I get back home!" He grunts and continues eating till the cookie is finished.

Conversation flowed from there for another hour at least. Talking with Katsuki felt like reuniting with a dear old friend as if you had known each other for years. Unfortunately, it was becoming late making you realise that you would have to part ways with this handsome stranger who helped you find your cat.

"Well, I'll have to head back home sadly. I have a shift tomorrow afternoon so I need to get back if I don't want to go looking like a zombie." You got up with Aiko in your hoodie's pocket, Katsuki standing up with you and burying his hands in his pockets.

"I'll give you a ride home."

"Oh! It's fine you don't need to! My apartment is only a few minutes away."

"I'm giving you a ride home. Whether you come or refuse and get kidnapped out on the street. Your choice." He raises an expectant eyebrow and you hate that he's right at the possibility of you getting kidnapped.

You sigh in defeat and nod. "Fine okay, I didn't want to be a bother that's all!" He grunts and starts walking. You quickly zip up your bag, sling it over your shoulder and jog after him until you're walking by his side.

"You are a man of few words?" He side-eyes you and shrugs.

"Don't feel like talking. Don't mistake it for me not giving a shit about our time together though. It wasn't half bad I guess." You conclude you can't get better than that from him and a smile creeps on your lips. He was being nice in his own way and even though only meeting him tonight, you felt comfortable with him.

He reaches a sleek motorcycle and your eyes bulge out of their sockets at the expensive-looking vehicle. "You gonna keep staring like a creep or what?" He snarks out but you notice a proud smirk on his lips at having his baby be marvelled at. It was apparent that he took pride in his motorcycle.

You then snap out of it and pout. "Hey, I'm not a creep! Your bike is just so cool and I'm not really used to seeing them so up close."

At your compliment, his cheeks redden just slightly and he ducks his head with the cover of taking out his keys. "Anyway get on." He nudges his head towards the bike and you walk over, swinging your leg around it, being mindful of the feline in your pocket and shuffle back on the seat as he gets on in front of you. He swings his leg over the bike with practised ease and his boots find secure footings on the foot pegs.

He inserts the key, twists it and the low purr of the engine roared to life in the silence of the night. "Hold on to me and make sure your little friend doesn't get ideas." You laugh and hold on to Aiko with one arm, wrapping your other free arm around his waist. The moment your arm makes contact with his front a blush explodes on your face at being so close to this stranger.

He had an air of kindness to him that you think isn't seen or noticed by many but when you do see it, you see a part he keeps reserved for only a handful of people in his life. You're glad the stranger who ended up finding your cat wasn't a creep or weirdo but instead turned out to be this handsome man who accepted your cookie and demanded the recipe be sent to him.

"Where do you live?" He asks from behind his shoulder as he kicks off the stand and pulls out of the parking spot, then makes a turn and gets on the road.

You relay your address to him and he scoffs. "A few minutes away? That's at least half an hour's walk away you shitty woman!" He exclaims, the wind from the ride making it come out a little muffled and you mockingly gasp. You guess he's more comfortable with you now with how his words left his mouth so smoothly and with no reluctance.

"Well sorry for declining your gentlemanly offer! I didn't want you going out of your way to get me there because you could be going in the opposite direction!"

"This is nothing. As long as you're fine I don't care how much further it is from my own home, next time you better not be as stupid with me or anyone else!" You open your mouth to retort but find yourself unable to think of anything so instead you grumble under your breath.

He chuckles at your grumbling and you feel your face heat up once again as his body vibrates with his deep laugh. The air is cold this time of night and you instinctively snuggle closer to his back, unknowingly making the blonde flush to his ears but he doesn't complain and the ride is spent in comfortable silence till you arrive at your apartment.

You dejectedly unwrap your arm from his waist and he gets up to help you out of the bike. You're swinging your leg to get off when it suddenly catches on something on the bike and you yelp as you lose balance but before you can fall any further, firm arms are wrapped around you and you're enveloped in the deep musky scent of Katsuki.

"Hey, easy. You okay?" His deep voice reverberates throughout your body and you shiver at the welcoming sound of his voice and nod, your arms braced on his chest while you're still in an awkward position on his bike. You were flustered behind belief because you felt his hard and defined chest underneath and all of it along with his voice will make you combust.

He moves to pick you up from your waist and plop you down safely on the ground and you blink at his strength. No wonder he owns such a powerful bike, it basically represents its owner. Sharp and striking just like his red eyes. Powerful and loud like him but in an endearing way, leading you to realise that you like it.

"T-Thank you, I'm not usually clumsy." You mumble, suddenly shy and he shrugs as he gets back on his bike and nods.

"Stay safe."

"Yeah, you too, Bakugou." You give him an appreciative smile and he nods in acknowledgement, a small smile making its way to his lips and you catch it before he turns his bike and speeds off into the night.

You hear an annoyed meow from your pocket and shiver at the cold air, "Whoops, sorry Aiko, let's go get warmed up in bed yeah?"

[shiongenkai]

City of Ill Omens Spoilers!

Lowkey turned into Hyde analysis

Truly tickles me how many people are fully in the 'Hyde is evil' camp bc of this chapter now. Bc like. TO ME? THIS ALL FEELS VERY NEUTRAL STILL.

Like I genuinely can read it as Benevolent or Malevolent and I really adore that aspect of TKDB's writing. BECAUSE LIKE?

Hodge and Podge were pissy with him. Could be evil! Could also be that they're pissy with him bc he's annoying (lovingly). They cut him off when he's asking to see the mark, which could honestly be a 'He's up to no good' moment or a 'He's a perv and they're about to throttle him' moment (like Rui @ Ed)

Hyde gives Romeo a 'fake' warding card. Malevolent reading says hey yeah, bitch lied about that. Benevolent reading says hey no, he did say anomalous damage could go either way, and Taiga's gun is An Anomaly. They were In The Anomalous Building. You know?

Even the warding card itself goes either way, which is the best thing of all. Snowdrops mean hope and comfort / consolation, etc. It is ALSO associated with death and can accidentally mean 'I hope you die'. Benevolent and Malevolent reading Still Works.

Honestly? I'm on the fence! Taiga hates him a ton which is interesting, but not damning to me. Hyde is rooting for Taiga and Romeo to reconcile in at least one way or another, and he does seem like the kinda guy who'd make himself the villain to give two students a common enemy, doesn't he?

For every Seemingly Bad thing he does, he does a Seemingly Good one. Lies to MC about some things, but lies to Darkwick about others (for his students' sakes). Seems carefree for some things, but intensely serious for others.

You can even read his actions in respect to reinstating the crown in this way. Malevolent reading says he forces us into that bunk deal so we fail at it and the gala isn't reinstated. Benevolent reading says he forces us into that bunk deal because it is genuinely important for the ghouls to Work Together. Malevolent reading says he's tearing Romeo and Taiga apart on purpose, Benevolent says the opposite. It's AWESOMEE.

I just love how often this dichotomy of 'Good or Bad' comes up with him. Black or White. Benevolent or Malevolent.

And I mean this very literally. His colour scheme is Black and White. His ID is black and white (Benkei's, notably, is in colour). His name is Hyde, derived from Jekyll and Hyde. Hodge and Podge are his companions and they are two vastly different personalities and looks. On one hand, on the other hand. This, or that.

He's also like.... His eyes are covered. Is he blinded himself? Or is he blinding Us? Is he covering his eyes so We don't know, or is he shielding them from Us? Kyklos reproduces by having you look at her eyes, the security cameras are Cyclops Eyes, Mesmer Matches require you to look into the flames for them to work... Seeing and sight and Looking are all deeply important to the world of Tokyo Debunker on both a physical and meta level (people are blind to the issues, things are hidden out of sight, etc) and so it's interesting to have a character like Hyde, especially contrasted against other characters like that!! Those who seem the most 'blind' to their circumstances are actually the ones who know the most. I'd argue in some ways MC fits this too. It's just so, so interesting.

It's fun! It's so fun. I genuinely can't make a judgement on him for certain yet. Is he good? Is he evil? Can't he be both? Is he pro-Darkwick or anti-Darkwick? Is he Helping us or Hurting us?

And like, we don't have answers yet to Big Important Questions. Shit like, hey, what's Sho's special mission? What's his involvement in the trial? What is his End Goal? And it's fun to poke at and look at and just explore. God Hyde is so fun. There's so many questions to ask about him and it's fun to try to piece together the answers.

I just love the staff in general too. I love how all of them have very unique motivations and viewpoints, and how many layers there are to it all. I think either version (Hyde is foe vs Hyde is friend) is really, really interesting, and I think TKDB can easily go either way. I love the idea that he's a red herring to somebody else but I also think evil Hyde goes hard. Ough. Hyde............ let me into your brain!!!!!

[hehe-69]

꧁༺ 𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮 ༻꧂

Part 15

A Jacob x reader long fic

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 aka pretty much the best thing I’ve ever written, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

La Smut

Warnings: FLUFF, QUIL AND READER HEART TO HEART, FOUND FAMILY, SOFT JACOB, LOTS AND LOTS OF FLUFF, A DASH OF ANGST, WOLFPACK, PAUL A OLDER BROTHER, PAUL BEING A SOFTY, QUIL X EMBRY MOMENTS

Not proofread…non of my parts are so sorry if it’s hard to read🤣

Summary: Dinner time described in more detail and a continuation of the night. A dive into Quil’s sibling like bond between reader. Lovesick Jacob Black and his dad who loves the both of you.

Tag list: @coldonez aka my wife

—————

THE DINNER

It’s surprising, how easily you all fall back into this family like setting. All it took was some arguing and forgiveness. It’s so comforting, for a while you were so afraid you’d never have this family together again.

—

At the dinner table you sit with Jacob to your left and Leah to your right. You and her spend time talking and making fun of the way Jared stuffs his face. “Dude slow the hell-“SUCK MY TITS!” Jared shouts out interrupting Jacob who was trying to speak. Instantly Jacob starts wheezing, Jared said it in such an aggressive and demonic manner that it made you all laugh. You hold onto Jacob’s arm as you laugh out loud.

That moment is what breaks the ice between you all, and you begin laughing and picking on one another. But also sharing some sentimental moments between each other.

—

Paul pretends to start falling alseep as Jared tells him how much he loves him. “You’re like the best asshole of a brother I could’ve ever hoped for.” Jared fake cries and then stops as Paul begins snoring. “Hey wait-Paul I love you man-PAUL WE HAVE TEQUILA!” Paul shots up at that and grabs onto Jared. “WHERE?!!??”

—

There was infact no Tequila so Jared was throttled like a chicken by Paul for 30 minutes…I’m afraid to report that sadly…sadly Jared did in fact survive…so disappointing.

—

“LEAH I COULD LITERALLY KISS YOU RIGHT NOW!” You say aggressively holding onto her shoulder. She gave you HER dinner roll when Jared took the last one before you could gab it. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment.” She says with fake desperation, and you and her lean in but fail to seal the deal as you both start laughing.

Jacob chuckles at your antics, in the past he might’ve gotten jealous. But he’s so comfortable in your relationship and he trusts you so deeply…he also knows that you joke around with Leah about being lovers all the time.

—

You notice that Quil is letting himself actually soak up the love and affection Embry gives him during the dinner. He leaning into Embry, letting his boyfriend keep and arm over his chair, it’s nice seeing how happy and relaxed Quil is in this moment.

But you can’t help but notice the underlying guilt and shame that still wears down his frame.

———

As you’re helping clean up the dinning room, Quil joins in. Working wordlessly beside you as you both collect the dishes. You work on clearing them off and preparing then to be washed as he gets the sink and soap ready.

You sit with him, leaning in the counter and watching silently as he washes the dishes. Before he speaks up. “I don’t want to be like him…but I don’t know how to stop myself from becoming like my dad.” He just whispers it out, to anyone else, this might’ve seemed random but you have learned to read Quil very well. Enough to know he’s been torturing himself over the fright you two had. As much as he tires to hide it, this boy really does wear his heart on his sleeve.

“Just let yourself be happy Quil, let yourself be loved…you don’t have to be afraid of it anymore.” You pause eyeing his facial expression. “Embry is not going anywhere and you always have me here to talk to.” Your tone is soft as you speak to him, theres no one in the kitchen but you two. You eye him carefully as he continues to wash the dishes in silent contemplation, he looks tired, worn out from everything. All the pretending that he’s subjected himself to, the fighting, all the running he’s been doing for years. It’s no secret to you that Quil feels ashamed of who he is still, you know he always hears his parents words in the back of his head, telling him things and replaying thier disappointment in him.

“Quil, you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not anymore.” You whisper out, and you feel your face begin to frown. Quil is such a beautiful person, he deserves to let lose and be as easy going as he so deeply wants to be. “We all see you, we all love you, we accept you and we will never abandon you or make you feel unlovable.” Quil puts the plate he was washing down in the sink. He puts his wet hands on the sides of the sink, head down so you can’t see his face through the curtain of his curly hair. To him, he’s really soaking in your words, he wants to be different, he doesn’t want to be like his dad. But to you, you fear for a second that you have taken it too far.

Before you can even begin to apologize, Quil pulls you into a hug. He burrows his face in you neck and you realize he’s crying, softly and silently, like he’s spent years practicing how to fall apart alone and on his own terms. You sit there with him, holding on tightly as he cries softly, he’s hunched over you and you can feel how much weight he’s letting you help carry.

Quil, in his most raw and honest moments, is so wonderful. He’s goofy and sweet, goes with the flow and brings life into the room he walks in. But he’s spent so long hating who he is and how he feels, his parents have everything to with that. Telling him he’s too soft, that he shouldn’t feel things as deeply as he does, that he needs to man up, and that he can’t be in love with his best friend.

“The house is going to be empty tonight, so it’s as good a night as any for the next big step.” You feel Quil suck in a breath at that, it’s something the two of you had been discussing for a while before everything fell apart. “You’re loved by who you are as a person…not the performance you have had to put on just to survive.” You’ll never know how badly Quil needed to hear those words, how they heal him, make him brave enough to finally let himself go.

“I love you Quil, you’re the best brother I could’ve ever asked for…even if you eat all my snacks before I can so much as look at them.” You whisper out the last part quickly and tighten the hug as if you wished to squeeze him to death for such a betrayal. It does what you hoped it would, it makes Quil chuckle softly, and wetly through his silent tears.

“I’m so sorry for what I said Y/N,” Quil’s voice is full of regret and sorrow. “I hope you know that nothing could be farther from the truth. Jacob is crazy about you, he always has been.” Quil laughs and then continues. “I remember when he first realized he was obsessed with you, he came to me and Embry begging us to help him. Telling us that he didn’t want to ruin your friendship just because he fell in love. As if it wasn’t painfully obvious.” You laugh at that, pulling away to glare playfully at him.

“Are you saying I was horrifically oblivious?” Quil chuckles and shakes his head up and down. “Oh yeah, it was terrible.” You groan out at his teasing voice, shoving him away laughing. He was about to go off on a tangent. “I mean it was so hard to watch!” He says, gabbing a hold of you and shaking your shoulders. “Everyday was like AGONY! Y/N! AGONY!” Quil is on full drama mode, but you can’t help but laugh at how much of his soul he’s putting into his performance.

“Okay, okay, I get it Quil.” You try to sound exasperated but you’re too amused in this moment, and a laugh escapes you. “DO YOU DO YOU REALLY!” Quill shouts out and beofre he can continue Paul comes in and puts him in a head lock and ruffling his hair. “KEEP YOUR LOUD ASS VOICE DOWN!” Paul says laughing out as Quil starts fighting for freedom. “UNHAND ME YOU HEATHEN!!” Quil screeches out in an old English accent. And you laugh at them both as they begin to bicker and play fight. Eventually Quil wiggles his way out and starts running away from Paul.

He watches him run out the room laughing. Before playfully pushing your shoulder. “Told you I’d fuck up anyone who messes with you.” And you grin at Paul who looks so free and happy in this moment. “I love you man.” You say honestly and Paul groans out, throwing his hands up and pretending to be embarrassed at the display of affection. “Don’t go all soft on me now Y/N…I love you too asshat.” Paul mumbles out the last part before walking away to hunt down Quil.

You lean against the counter, it’s wired, just hours ago you thought nothing would ever be the same. But now, now this bond you all share is stronger then before…maybe change doesn’t have to be so horrible after all.

“AHHHHHHH!!!!” you scream out as a pair of warm arms warp around your waist lifting you up into the air. “HAHAHA AIR JAIL BITCH!!!” You hear Jared scream out, and instantly your kicking your leg hard trying to get him to let you down. “RELEASE ME!!!!” You screech out but Jared just giggles like a mad man. “ONLY IF YOU STOP LOOKING SO DEPRESSING ALL THE TIME!!!”

“UNHAND THEM YOU SWINE!” Quil shouts as he’s made his way back into the kitchen after running from Paul. “PAUL WILL SLAUGHTER US BOTH IF YOU DO NOT REALSE THEM YOU FOOLISH BLOAT!” Once again Quil speaks in an old English accent. And both Jared and Quil scream in horror as Paul comes barreling through the kitchen. Jared sets you down before booking it outside with Quil in toe.

Me and my sister do this shit all the time

———

When it’s time to say your goodbyes and go back home, everyone is so clingy and lovey dovey. EVEN PAUL GIVES YOU A FULL ON BEAR HUG!

It’s all so sweet and warm it leaves you feeling fuzzy inside. You all squeeze into Jacob’s truck, Seth sits in the middle upfront with you and Jacob. As Embry, Quil and Leah sit in the back. It’s silent for a bit as you all get situated. Jacob starts the truck up and begins to drive away, waving back at Emily and Sam who wave goodbye from their spot on the porch.

“So Leah…tonight wasn’t nearly as bad as-“I KNOW QUIL YOU DONT HAVE TO RUB IT IN!”

———

Leah and Seth are dropped off at their house, and as you drop off Embry and Quil at yours you give Quil an encouraging thumbs up. He looks so nervous that you and Jacob start giggling at his pain from your seats in the front of the truck.

———

GOING BACK TO JACOB’S HOUSE AFTER THE STEAMY SESSION

Before going to bed, you and Jacob talk about the night. He tells you about his talk with Sam, and how theu reached an understanding. He tells you that Sam said he admired Jacob for how hard he fought for what he believed to be right. Jacob told Sam that he just wishes that none of this happened to them.

You’d be back next week for game night.

———

As you’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth, Jacob comes up behind you and wraps his arms around waist as he sleepy presses kisses to your shoulder and neck. You bring up your left arm to run your hand though his hair that is sticking up in all sorts of directions. Jacob is half awake as he kisses up to your jaw, and then pecks your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder and looking at you through the mirror. He’s hands mover to rub up and down your sides.

He eyes are half open and he’s got this sheepish smile on his face. “Morning.” He whispers out, his voice deep and sleep ridden in a way that heats up your face. “Good morning sleepy head.” You laugh out softly as you lean down to rinse out your mouth. Jacob is shirtless, he got to hot during the night and took off his tee.

When you lean back up Jacob turns you around to kiss you, you giggle at him leaning away covering his mouth. “Ewwww morning breath.” You say teasingly and he laughs softly. “Don’t care.” He mumbles against your hand and shoves it away. He has his arms wrapped around your waist again so you can’t escape. You give into the kiss smiling into it as you run your hands through his hair. Jacob breaths out happily through his nose as he kisses you.

When you pull away he chases after your lips. “You have to get ready.” You remind him laughing once more. “Just one more…please.” He asks and gives you the most desperate look he can muster. And you give in to kiss him once more.

———

“Gotta say I’m gonna miss having you around all the time when you go back home.” Billy says as you and Jacob eat lunch with him. “Jacob is so much more tolerable with you around…I mean he just sulks around the house and-“Dadddd.” Jacob groans out in embarrassment. And you grin as you look at Billy, wordlessly begging him to continue. “It’s kind of depressing sometimes, watching him mopping about the house when he can’t see you.” As Billy continues to tell you all about Jacob basically acting like a lovesick puppy both around you and when you’re gone, Jacob covers his face with his hands.

You laugh with Billy and join in on the teasing of his son who has a look of pure betrayal by your actions. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that the two of you are finally together. I’ve been betting on this for years.” Billy looks really happy to see you every time you visit. On days that Charlie is over, he’s just as happy to see you.

…now that you think about it…Charlie doesn’t know Bella is better, he still thinks she’s sick…OH MY GOD WE FORGOT ABOUT POOR CHARLIE SWAN!!!

—————

IM BEGGING YOU GUYS PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE IN FUTURE PARTS IM RUNNING OUT IF IDEAS!

MOSTLY DUE TO THE FACT PAUL LAHOTE IS COMING FOR ME TO DRAG ME INTO A RABBIT HOLE OF OBSESSION

As always I hop yall enjoyed this part, this was supposed to be like a pallet cleanser after all the stuff I’ve put you readers through.

Next part will involve both you and Jacob talking to Charlie about Bella. Who DID NOT JUST THINK “oh I guess like just tell my dad I’m FUCKING DEAD AND CRUSH HIS SOUL!”

Feel free to comment what else you’d like to see in the next part.

Thanks for reading

Love ya🫶

Part 16

[winters-on-the-wing]

verity fair - a marauders oneshot

james potter and lily evans start to grow closer as they approach adulthood, and feelings between them are developing that they're still struggling to understand. but when severus snape decides to slip some veritaserum into james' drink as a petty means of revenge, truths slip from james before he's ready to admit them.

5.9k words

(@kane5-5)

---

Seventh year was when things started to feel more serious for Lily Evans.

She didn't really consider herself a serious person, she loved to tell jokes and act silly, and she often found herself using things like academics, hobbies, and political activism to put distance between herself and genuine human connection. She was the girl who had everything, the girl who did everything. When people saw her, they didn't detect a trace of vulnerability. And that was because she didn't let them.

At least, she tried not to let them. There was one boy in her life who seemed to see right through her, and infuriatingly enough, that was James Fleamont Potter.

He occupied a little too much space in Lily's mind for her liking, to the point where she could close her eyes and envision a spitting image of him right in front of her. That tall, elegant frame, lithe and strong. That soft brown skin that looked almost milky. Those stupidly huge brown eyes, round as a deer's.

And then, of course, there was his sex appeal. Something that Lily felt awkward thinking about, but once she started, it was hard to stop. How could she not get a little flushed when his long, slender, sweaty hand high-fived her after a Quidditch game, his palm lingering against hers for just a second, enough for Lily to feel their heartbeats pulsing together? Was it wrong to feel a sudden lurch just below her stomach whenever James spoke to her in that pitiful, whiny, pleading tone of his? And those eyes. Even Lily could see how they clouded over, glimmering with devotion whenever they looked her way.

Who wouldn't fall for that?

That was what made this whole situation so frustrating. Of course James was an attractive guy, that couldn't be denied, but Lily often had to remind herself that his personality left plenty to be desired.

He was too smart for his own good, brilliant and arrogant to the point of rolling his eyes and groaning in class because the assignments were too easy. Half the time he did it, Lily wanted to throttle him.

He played stupid pranks, constantly picking fights with her friend Severus, though Lily couldn't deny that it was a bit nice to see Severus fall from grace whenever he made a disparaging remark about muggle-borns. Lily occasionally wondered if James somehow knew how much Snape's comments really got to her. But still, he was rude in a juvenile way, playing immature jokes that were embarrassing to witness.

He was loud, brash and brazen when he was with his friends. Lily often found herself watching the dorky group that called themselves The Marauders. If the four of them had been any less brilliant (or conventionally attractive), they would have been teased mercilessly for such a corny concept. Sirius Black was the ringleader, a boy who Lily respected, but tended to stay away from. He was a powerful force, and an unpredictable one. Lily often felt like she couldn't guess what Sirius would do next, and that was exactly the sort of presence she hated being around.

Unlike Sirius, Lily mused, James was sturdy. He wasn't well-behaved by any stretch of the imagination, but he was tragically predictable. Lily couldn't help but chuckle amusedly as she pondered the way James strolled through life, unknowingly falling into patterns. He was such a smart boy, endlessly bright in all things that could be solved with curiosity. He passed his classes with flying colors without ever opening the book. But there was something about pattern recognition that just escaped the poor guy. And Lily loved it.

She hated the word calculating. When she heard it, Lily pictured narrowed eyes and soft smirks as unsuspecting innocents fell into traps. But she could not deny that to an extent, calculating was what she was. Lily gravitated towards people she could see through.

Perhaps it was a trauma response from her early childhood.

Perhaps it was a lasting effect of being a muggle-born in a world that wanted her exterminated.

Or maybe she was just a bitch.

Either way, Lily couldn't deny such a clear fact about herself. Doing so would be delusional. So she figured it was alright to think about James Potter in such a way for now. It wasn't like he would ever know how deeply he affected her. In a way, this was payback, for his ensnaring her with that stupid, impish little smile.

And besides, everybody had secrets.

If Lily's secrets stayed in her head, then everything would be perfectly fine.

---

"What's the matter, Snivellus? You've always been a hardhead! Now, it's just more obvious!"

James laughed heartily as he watched Severus stumble around the courtyard, a pumpkin encasing his head and preventing him from being able to see in front or around him. Lily rolled her eyes and looked away, hiding a smile behind her book. Melofors. Classic. It was a wonder that Sev didn't see it coming, considering that this was James' third time performing this jinx that month.

"Get rid of it!" Severus snapped, "Now! I'm warning you, Potter, you reverse the spell or you'll regret it!"

James tapped his chin, as if deliberating. His actions were so dramatized that the small crowd that formed around him tittered with laughter at his antics.

"I don't think I will," James declared, "At least, not until you apologize to Lily! I heard what you said to Mulciber about her behind her back, I heard every word!"

Lily couldn't help but peek above her book, her curiosity piqued. She wasn't stupid. She knew that Snape talked about her behind her back. Snape was shy, but he wasn't quiet. Lily had heard her fair share of backstabbing remarks about things so shameful that she couldn't gather the courage to confront Severus about them. How could she when she knew that Severus would only double-down on them anyway?

It was difficult, being friends with a boy like Severus. But at the same time, it was weirdly easier to stay than it was to leave. Lily found herself opening her mouth to fight back against Severus' bigoted views, and then closing it again. Whenever they got into a fight, it exhausted her, and then Severus groveled uselessly until she gave in and forgave him for a crime that he never truly apologized for. It was unfulfilling, but deceptively difficult to break away from.

Though it was grotesque to think about, when James picked on Severus, it was the only time she got to be away from his suffocating, constant presence. It seemed that even when they were apart, Severus' eyes were always on her, but his eyes didn't cloud with adoration the way James' did. They glittered with obsession. And that gaze only tore away when Severus was distracted by James' antics.

"I didn't say anything behind Lily's back!" Snape spat, his voice muffled by the pumpkin over his head.

"Usually, when someone lies, people say that they were caught red-handed, but I'm gonna go ahead and say that you were caught orange-headed," James retorted impishly, before demanding again, "Apologize to Lily."

"You apologize to Lily!" Snape shot back, "You're the one that's always begging her to date you, trailing after her like some lovesick puppy, she doesn't want you, bloke! She's not interested in an idiotic blood traitor like you! It's bad enough she's what she is, and she and I both know that the last thing she needs is someone like you dragging her down farther!"

The courtyard went silent. Not even the birds chirped a single note. Lily felt cold inside. She was suddenly glad that Severus had a pumpkin over his head, for she didn't want him to see the tears that were forming in her eyes.

But James didn't look surprised like the other students in the courtyard did. His large brown eyes blazed, and his lips curled into a snarl of utter disgust.

He muttered the counter-spell under his breath, and the pumpkin fell away, revealing Severus' face once more. James leaned forward, glaring with palpable rage.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed, until finally, James spoke, his voice low and horrible.

"People like you are the reason why this war is still going on," he said, all mischief gone from his voice. Right now, James Potter was dead serious. "And I don't care what I have to do if it means that you'll never talk that way about Lily Evans or any other muggleborn again."

It was terrifying to see James like this. He rarely lost his temper, always keeping his cool, even during the most intense of pranks. But this wasn't a prank anymore. It was politics, and what's more, it was war. Not even James could joke about what was happening. Every day, people were disappearing. Students, professors, strangers. The papers were filled with obituaries of people who hadn't even reached their twenties.

This was so much deeper than putting a pumpkin on somebody's head.

Severus only backed away a few steps. James glared, and glared, and he did not stop until Severus turned around and walked briskly away from the courtyard.

Everybody else visibly relaxed, starting to talk amongst themselves again, but Lily knew this wasn't over. She could tell by the way Severus' shoulders were tensed up to his ears. He was up to something. But as she stood, a hand gently brushed against her arm, turning her around.

Lily was a tall girl, but James was still taller. He held her steady, and the way he touched her was a sensation that nobody else in her life had ever come close to emulating. James was so...gentle. He touched Lily as if she was the most precious, fragile thing, like he knew how much of a privilege it was to touch her.

Even if it was just a brush on the arm.

Lily went red as she caught herself romanticizing such an ordinary gesture.

"Potter," she addressed, stiffening and looking straight up at him, tilting her head to the side curiously. "Did you want something?"

"Well, sorta," James said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Lily could see as he did this that his whole body was slightly trembling. Most certainly, aftershocks from the interaction with Severus. Lily didn't blame him. She was shaking too, and she hadn't even spoken.

James continued.

"I was wondering if we could study together!" he blurted, "At the library. You make really nice flashcards."

Lily opened her mouth to answer, but James interjected before she could get a word out, as if he was already expecting her to say no.

"I'll bring food!" he said quickly, "I mean- I'm learning how to cook. My mum sent me her family's recipe book, and I've been recreating what I can when the kitchens aren't being used. I think I'm getting better, but I like everything I make."

"And you want me to help you decide if it's actually good or not," Lily finished, sighing as she grappled with the thought.

One one hand, studying with James would be insufferable. The way he flirted with her so openly, it flustered her to no end. She wasn't used to receiving compliments, and James always had hundreds at the ready. And none of them were superficial, either. They were all so real, and that was the worst part of it.

But on the other hand, from a practical standpoint, studying with James was great. He always knew the lessons as well as Lily did, and when she could get him to focus on the task at hand, he was brilliant and innovative in a way that was infectious. And besides, it beat studying alone. Lily always found that she felt more secure in the comfort of a crowd, even when that crowd was only one other person. Being alone was...difficult. Especially right now, when Lily was hearing nonstop news stories about muggleborns going missing. Lily didn't like to admit that she felt safe around James, but it was the honest truth.

It's bad enough she is what she is.

Lily shivered as she remembered what Snape had said about her, and then, her hands tightened into fists.

"Seven o' clock," she said, "Tonight. I'll see you then. Don't be late, alright? And bring plenty to eat. I don't focus well when I'm hungry."

James grinned so wide that Lily wondered if it hurt.

"I will!" he reassured, practically stumbling over himself as he ran off, probably to celebrate with his friends.

Lily sighed as she watched James croon to Sirius about how he had been so suave and charming, how he was this close to getting Lily Evans to notice him romantically.

"I think she might even want to be friends," James reported to a bemused Sirius, who had been watching the whole conversation.

"Well, yes," Sirius affirmed casually, "That tends to be the first step. Not everyone goes for the marriage proposal at first sight like you do, Prongs."

"What do you think I should make?" James implored, "I could make sinigang? No, that's too messy to eat while studying. Lumpia? Agh, that'll take too long, I only have two hours."

Then, James gasped so loudly that Lily was certain that China could have heard it. She almost laughed at how comically animated the boy was. How did he not realize that she was still there?

"I've got it!" James cried out victoriously, "I'll make sorbetes! That's genius! Sirius, isn't that genius? Sorbetes!"

"Sure," Sirius said with a laugh, "I don't know what the fuck that is."

"I'll make you a bowl of it sometime, it's like ice cream," James explained, "What flavor should I make? Does Lily even like sweet things? What's she allergic to? Maybe I should have asked her more questions. I've gotta go, Sirius, I have sorbetes to make!"

As James ran off, compulsion overrode composure, and Lily couldn't control the smile that spread across her face as she called out after the flustered boy.

"I don't have any allergies!" she yelled in James' direction, "And I like sweet things!"

James was so shocked that Lily had overheard the conversation that he stopped running for just a second. And then, he started running again. Faster. Lily laughed out loud at the sight, and her laugh rang clear and true across the courtyard.

"Got it!" James shouted over his shoulder, not stopping as he kept running towards the main doors.

Lily shook her head as the doors swung shut behind the flurry of activity known as James Fleamont Potter. That boy was going to be the death of her. She knew she was playing with fire. But she and James had a good thing going. They both teased, they both entertained each other, but neither stepped over the invisible line. Neither did anything that would suggest a commitment. Lily was sure that James never would.

After all, had Lily ever been wrong about her predictions before?

---

"This is so much better than ice cream."

Lily wasn't usually the type to talk with her mouth full, but in this situation, it was nothing short of a necessity.

James grinned in response as he eagerly ate a spoonful of his own serving. Sitting in paper bowls beside their books were three different flavors of sorbetes: ube, mango, and cheese. Lily couldn't stop eating the ube and mango flavors, but she didn't take a single bite of the cheese one.

It was nothing personal. She just hated cheese.

"Don't worry," James said, as if he was committing to a valiant deed, "I'll eat all the cheese flavor so you don't even have to look at it anymore."

Lily couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled through her lips like a brook.

"What a noble gesture on my behalf," she responded dryly, "Come on. Let's crack these books open."

Studying with James, talking with James like this, felt electric. James' body was so close to hers. He could almost feel the warmth radiating from him. And of course he was wearing that dumb tank top, the one that showed off his arms. They glistened a bit under the library's candlelight, indicating that James was sweating. Lily found herself struggling to focus on her vocabulary, which led to her mixing up definitions and stubbornly insisting that she was correct.

But after about an hour, something about the atmosphere...changed. James didn't talk so much. He didn't even look at his textbook. He just stared at a spot on the wall, his lips pressed together to make a tight line.

His face was bright red, and his eyes were afraid.

Lily had never seen James look afraid before.

She reached over James to take another bite of the mango sorbetes. The light, sweet, slightly tart taste lingered as she let the bite melt against her tongue. Even when she turned away, Lily could sense that James was looking at her. It was an unsettling stare, the kind that was practically tangible.

"We should look at the glossary," she said, her voice stiff in the newly awkward atmosphere, "So we can see if the book mentions bat droppings at any other point. Will you take a look for me, and I'll write down the page numbers?"

James didn't respond. He didn't even make a move to touch his textbook. He was still, staring at her.

"James, you're acting weird," Lily mumbled, "You can hear me, can't you?"

"Yes," James said immediately, "I can hear you. I'm ignoring you."

He slapped a hand over his mouth, seeming shocked and ashamed by his own admittance.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled by his hand, "I don't know why I said that."

Lily's eyes bulged from her head and she leaned forward. On a normal day, getting an apology from James for anything was like pulling teeth. Something was terribly wrong.

"James, are you alright?" Lily murmured, leaning even farther forward and studying James' eyes. "What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know," James blurted, grabbing his hair with an air of palpable frustration, "I feel like I can't control what I say before I say it, like something's forcing me to just talk without thinking!"

"You always talk without thinking," Lily pointed out.

"But not like this," James protested, "Not like this, I don't usually feel so- so honest! I don't think I'm that much of a liar, but- why did I tell you I was ignoring you? Why would I say something so rude?"

"Because you're rude?" Lily suggested, but she shook her head regretting the joke, "Oh, James, are you crying?"

It was too late. James' large brown eyes were misty. Lily's heart lurched as she watched the boy's bottom lip quiver. James was the kind of crier who garnered pity so easily. Nobody wanted to look at James cry because when they did, it made them want to cry. But Lily felt oddly fascinated by the sight. She only looked closer, tilting her head to the side.

"Yes," James replied, his voice watery and pathetic. He said nothing more.

Well, that wasn't enough of an answer.

"Why are you crying?" Lily prompted gently. "Was it something I said?"

"Ngh- no," James whimpered through his tears, starting to squirm a little in his seat. "I think you're beautiful. I wish I could look at you forever. I want you so badly, Lily Evans, I need you."

The words poured from James, as if an invisible force was pushing them out. James looked horrified as each word spilled from his lips, as if what he was saying was against his will. As if he was in disbelief that he could even express such thoughts out loud.

Lily was just as surprised. Out of shock, she leaned back, away from James. Sure, he was flirtatious, but he had never acted so...desperate before. Was this how James really felt? His voice was so heavy and teeming with earnestness. His eyes glimmered, and Lily could just tell from those eyes that he couldn't possibly be lying.

How long had James been hiding these feelings, these intense, terrifying feelings? Lily could feel the blood rushing to her face, and she pressed her thighs together, unable to help but squirm a little where she sat.

"Need me?" she repeated, "How do you mean- need me, James? What are you talking about?"

"I- I need you in every way, Lily!" James cried out, bursting from his chair and almost crashing down to his knees before Lily, staring up at her. "I need to hear your voice, I need to feel your body on mine, I need to look into your eyes, I need you, I need you so badly, Lily, I'd do anything for you! Anything you asked, I'd do it!"

Okay, now this was just insane.

Lily steeled herself and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to get butterflies in her stomach, but hearing James sound so desperate...no. She couldn't think about herself. Not when something was clearly hurting James. Why else would he be talking with such passion, tears rolling down his face, his eyes wide and terrified like a lost child's?

"James," she said softly, "Do you really not know why you're talking like this? Why you're acting like this? Is this another stupid prank or something?"

"It's not a prank!" James said tearfully, "At least, not a prank that I know of, but I don't know what sort of prank would cause me to act like this- I feel- I feel so scared, Lily, I'm so scared! I don't know why I'm talking like this, I don't know why I'm acting like this, I don't know! I don't know, Lily, please believe me!"

"I believe you," Lily whispered, with tenderness that was so fond and gentle that it surprised herself.

She slowly held her hands out, starting to card her fingers through James' thick, curly, dark brown hair. She parted it neatly, and it stuck up on end again when she pulled her fingers away. But when she did, James keened, leaning forward as if to try and feel Lily's hands on his head again.

"I need you," James whispered again, "Please, Lily, I need- I need you to touch me, I need to feel you, I need to feel your hands on me, I need you to love me, I'll do anything for you! I want you to control me, I want you to do anything you want to me, I want to serve you, Lily! I would do anything if you let me serve you, Lily, I-"

A sudden, sharp laugh erupted from the other side of the shelf near James and Lily's study space. It was a laugh that Lily could recognize anywhere because it was such a rare sound.

It was the signature laugh of Severus Snape.

Lily instinctively reached forward and grabbed James' hands, squeezing them gently. Of course, she knew that Severus seeing James crying was likely one of James' worst nightmares. Boys were like that, sensitive when it came to crying. And as Severus emerged from his hiding place where he had clearly been spying, it was becoming blatantly clear that he wasn't planning on making this easy for James.

"And he calls me Snivelly," Severus said as he stepped methodically into the scene, "What's wrong, Potter? Feeling a little too honest?"

"I want you to go away!" James exclaimed, mortified, hiding his face against Lily's knee. "Please! I don't want you to look at me like this, I know you're going to laugh at me! I want to be alone with Lily again!"

Snape only raised his eyebrows. "And why do you think I would care what you want? You've never cared about what I want. Maybe you deserve payback, a taste of your own medicine. A taste of your own cheese ice cream, if you will."

As Severus said this, the truth dawned on Lily as if somebody had just lifted a sheet to reveal it.

"Severus," she murmured, her voice low and horrified, "You cast a spell, didn't you? You're why he's like this, aren't you? What did you do to him?"

Severus smirked, his eyes dancing with a malicious sort of glee. The sight made Lily shiver and clutch James' hands tighter.

"Isn't it refreshing to learn the truth about a person, Lily?" Snape asked, gesturing to James' sobbing form, "The big hotshot of Hogwarts is really nothing but a pathetic, desperate, horny crybaby. He's a pig, talking about wanting your body like that. You'd think a real gentleman would have more class than that."

"I'm sorry!" James burst out hysterically, "I didn't want to say it out loud!"

"But you did," Severus retorted joyfully, "And it's the truth, isn't it?"

"Yes," James said immediately, "It's the truth."

Lily's head was reeling. Why would James openly admit something so incriminating, with no pushback, no attempt at lying? It was strange, as James had been speaking with such an immediate, almost compulsive candor ever since they started eating the sorbetes. Lily felt as if the world was moving too quickly around her as she raced through all the studying she had ever done. It was growing obvious that Snape had done something magical to harm James, but what on Earth could cause the typically confident boy to act this way? With such grueling, vulnerable honesty?

That was it.

Honesty.

"Veritaserum," she said, staring over at Severus, "How could you, Sev? That's an awful thing to do to someone."

"You think he hasn't done awful things to me?" Snape shot back, "This is child's play compared to what he's subjected me to! Besides, you should be grateful. I did you a favor! I showed you the kind of person James Potter really is!"

"You certainly did," Lily snapped, "You showed me that James Potter is a sweet, gentle, genuine boy when he's vulnerable. You showed me that James Potter loves me. He loves me more than I ever expected him to."

"He loves your body," Snape corrected coldly, "You know what, Lily? I want to play a game."

He turned to James, who was staring at Snape, speechless from shock. Veritaserum. That explained all this perfectly. But the fact that Lily now knew that all of this was the truth, the fact that Snape was watching him fall apart like this, it was clearly a nightmare.

"A game," Severus repeated, "Where you answer some questions I've always wanted to hear you answer. Without your defenses or your little posse following you around."

Lily was frozen in place. She wanted to interfere, but what could she say? Poor James was trembling so hard that he couldn't even stand, and Severus wasn't the kind to give up before getting what he wanted. Her mouth slowly opened, and she tried to summon words from them, but before she could, Severus started his game.

"What turns you on?"

A horrifically vulnerable question to start with. Lily's blood went cold.

"Severus, that's-" she protested, but before she could say anything more, James answered. The magic forced him to answer.

"I never thought to make a list," he whispered, terrified of what he was being forced to say out loud, "I like being controlled. It feels good, thinking about being told what to do, I- I like the thought of making her feel good, of making her happy, of giving her everything she needs-"

"And who would "she" be?" Severus asked teasingly, even though all three of them knew the answer to that.

"Lily."

Lily went bright red, even though she knew what James would say.

"Severus, this is inappropriate," she hissed, "This has gone too far, stop asking James about this, I'm telling you to stop-!"

"Are you a virgin?" Severus asked with fascination.

"No," James whispered, squeezing his eyes shut as the truth was forced from him. "I wanted to practice before going out with someone for real. Sirius taught me tricks. Sirius showed me what to do."

Severus laughed out loud again, a harsh, bitter sound that made both James and Lily flinch.

"What a dirty thing to do," Severus sneered, "Still think he's all gentle and sweet, Lily?"

"Please," James begged, "Stop it, please- don't make me say anymore, I'll do anything you want, just stop- I can't take anymore of this!"

James was embarrassed beyond imagining. Lily could feel his heart pounding in his chest, she could practically see the blood rushing to his ears. She could hear the misery in his voice.

"It's not up to me," Severus shrugged, his eyes wandering to the sorbetes. Another question seemed to come to him in that moment. "Why are you crying?"

"I don't like this!" James sobbed out, "I don't like not being in control of what I'm going to say, I don't like Lily finding out about all of these things about me this way, I'm scared she hates me, I'm scared she never wants to see me again- I don't like talking about sex- I don't like thinking about what I've done and what I like, it feels disgusting! I hate how I feel about sex, I hate it, I hate it- I know I'm a freak, I know I'm disgusting!"

"James," Lily murmured, unable to say anything else as she looked into those beautiful, tragically miserable eyes, "James...James..."

She didn't know what to do or say. Lily wasn't used to being at a loss. Usually, she was the girl who knew all the answers, the girl who could think quick on her feet and come up with a solution to any problem. But no matter how she wracked her brain, she couldn't think of a way to fix this horrendous situation. She couldn't think of a way to make those bitter tears go away. There was no way she could stop this beautiful, brilliant boy in front of her from hating himself like this.

Severus took a few steps back. He seemed to have gotten what he wanted from this exchange.

"Come on, Lily," he said, extending his hand, "You and I can study together. I won't harass you, or use such dirty language around you. We can work on potions together."

Lily's gaze hardened, and something inside her set sturdily. She didn't know much in this moment, but she did know one thing: there was no way in hell that she would abandon James right now, especially not for the likes of Severus Snape.

"Well?" Snape asked, "Don't you want to actually get some work done?"

"Some things are more important than work," Lily said quietly, and very slowly, she got out of her chair, sitting on her knees in front of James, so that they were eye to eye. She didn't tear her gaze from James as she said, "I'll see you later, Severus."

She heard a noise of frustration and loud, angry footsteps as Snape left the library in a huff, but Lily couldn't bring herself to care. Not when James was sitting in front of her, looking so drained, so tired.

James could do nothing but cry. Every time he opened his mouth, only choked noises came out. By now, Lily knew better than to ask any questions. It would only bring about that terrible sensation. That utter loss of autonomy. But Lily did know that she had to say something.

"I..." she murmured, trying desperately to gather the courage to admit what she wanted to admit. After all, if all of James' secrets were out in the open, maybe it was time for one or two of hers to be as well. "I'm not a virgin either. I don't really care about virginity, and- I messed around a bit last summer. It wasn't a big deal. I just wanted...I don't know. I was curious, I guess. A boy was chasing after me, and I just wanted to...understand what it was like."

James stared at Lily, astounded. The sight was almost funny, but Lily didn't dare laugh.

"I'm sorry I freaked out the way I did," he finally whispered, "I'm not trying to be some sort of- purist asshole. I just- I- I'm used to sex being...a shameful topic. Mum hates talking about it, and Dad doesn't let me talk about it because it upsets Mum so much. I hate to make Mum sad, so I just- I don't talk about- about it, and it's easier for everyone. Mum isn't bad. She isn't mean about it or anything but- she used to- before coming here to England- she- had to...sell her body. I think...she doesn't want me to feel how she felt. But- everything she talked about hating is stuff that I- stuff that- that makes me feel good. And I-...I'm so ashamed."

Lily felt cold all over. Oh, God. This went even deeper than she thought. Her poor, sweet boy.

"James, what you like isn't something you choose," she whispered, trying desperately to find the right words, "At least, I don't think it is. I wish I could make you see that- that it really doesn't matter so much what makes you...feel good, like that, but- I know I can't."

"I don't want you to," James blurted, "You shouldn't have to. You're not my caretaker. I don't want you to worry over me. I don't ever want you to worry over me. You already worry so much."

"No I don't," Lily protested defensively.

But James' large, round eyes were brimming with sureness.

"Yes," he said steadily, "You do."

Lily went silent, and so did James. The strange haze in his eyes was starting to go away. His speech pattern was returning to a more normal cadence. It relieved Lily when she realized that the veritaserum was wearing off. The nightmare was over, but there were still the aftershocks to endure.

"I never thought Severus would do something like this," Lily mumbled, "I can't help but feel like this is my fault. If I only-"

"No," James snapped, his tone alarming Lily. "You can't control what Snivellus does. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine. I egged him on. Something about him just makes me so angry, and I've just got to do something to make him shut up, but- it's consumed me. I know it has. I can't say I regret it, but-..."

"I think Severus took this too far," Lily admitted, "Forcing you to talk about-...about such vulnerable stuff while you were so...while you couldn't make a choice for yourself."

"Aren't you freaked out by me?" James demanded softly, "Don't you want to get away from me? Don't you think I'm- pathetic and desperate and- and stupid...?"

"I don't know," Lily whispered, "I don't know what to think right now. But I do know this: I want to stay here with you, James Potter. And you won't be able to get rid of me so easily. Not until I see that smile again, that real smile of yours, like the one you had when you showed me the sorbetes. It's...it's the least I can do, really. You've given me such a nice treat, and...you're a good study partner."

"A good study partner," James repeated, awestruck, "I think you're a good study partner too. You...really want to stay...?"

"I do," Lily whispered.

And little did she know that this would be only the first time she said that sentence to James, and certainly not the last.

For this was the day that Lily Evans and James Potter learned that love doesn't always follow the path of predictions.

[solitaryearthperson]

Clueless

Summary: Daryl is clueless to the reader's crush on him.

(The reader is gender-neutral and uses they/them pronouns. The ethnicity/race is preferably black/person of color.)

(Y/EC) = Your Eye Color

While Carol continued to pull out more vegetables from her garden, she couldn't help the amused grin that grew on her face as she looked over towards (Y/N)'s house and watched Daryl and (Y/N) talk to each other. He was working hard, on his knees, fixing their motorcycle, while they were kneeling next to him, talking to him about their day. The sight of the two reminded her of two lovesick kids. Except one kid was helplessly in love while the other was absolutely clueless.

"Hey Carol," Rosita greeted Carol, interrupting her watching. Leaving her home, she came walking over to the garden, gently rocking Coco in her arms, and softly cooing to the baby. "What's up with you?"

"Daryl," Carol replied, nodding her towards (Y/N)'s house.

"He's over there again," Rosita asked, surprised to see the quiet archer meeting and talking to someone other than Carol so much. "He's been visiting them a lot."

"Yep. Apparently their bike's messing up again."

"Again," Rosita replied, her brows raised in doubt. "That's like the fifth time this month, right?"

Carol nodded her head in silence as she pulled a carrot out of the ground and placed it in the basket next to her, already knowing the question that Rosita was probably going to say next. She had thought of it as well when hearing about (Y/N)'s supposed bike troubles.

"Don't they have a garage full of tools and shit?"

"Yep."

"And didn't they come here on that bike?"

Not exactly brand new to Alexandria, (Y/N) had found the peaceful community only a few months back. Showing up in dirty, rugged clothing, Rick and the others quickly cleaned them up and helped find them a home to stay in and a way to contribute to the community.

"Yep," Carol replied again, looking back over to the two and watching as they both began laughing at something, their bodies so close, their shoulders were almost touching.

"He's completely clueless, isn't he?"

"Pretty much."

Completely clueless, Carol sighed, picking up her now full basket and nodding her head towards her door, inviting Rosita and Coco inside.

~

"What was wrong this time," Carol asked him, as soon as he walked through the door. Hearing her voice, but not seeing her, he followed where it came from and found her at the counter making sandwiches, Rosita already sitting in a chair close to it and Coco sitting on the countertop, held up by her mother.

"Uh, their engine was making a weird noise and the throttle was messed up." He sat down in a chair next to Rosita and quickly snatched up an already finished sandwich, biting into it hungrily.

"Mm-hmm," Carol hummed, her grin growing at the sight of the archer's cheeks beginning to turn red at the topic of you.

Rosita noticed as well, but chose to hide it, instead continuing to play with Coco.

"What was the problem last time with their bike," Carol asked, her voice giving away some of her amusement at him.

Daryl noticed the change in her voice and furrowed his brows, deciding to ignore it for now and answer her question.

"Their brakes were actin' up," he answered, finishing his sandwich and picking up another one.

"Mm-hmm," Rosita hummed next to him, nodding her head.

At her hum, Daryl looked toward her and found a small grin appearing on her face, similar to Carol's grin. Tha hell they're up to, He wondered, frowning at them. "What," he asked.

"What what," Rosita, asked, her voice full of amusement and her grin growing into a smile.

"Whatcha smiling for," he asked, moving his eyes to both of them.

Placing the knife in her hand on the counter, Carol let out a sigh and told him "You don't think it's weird that they keep having these bike problems?"

He knew it was weird every time he heard a new problem appear, but didn't really care that much, just as long as he could go to their house, speak to them, eat with them, and just be in their presence.

"Yeah, so," he replied, nodding his head, squinting his eyes at them both in suspicion.

"How come they only want you," Rosita asked, pointing at him, to get the point across to him, "to help fix their bike? No one else here."

Letting out a sigh, he finished his sandwich, picked up another then left to go to his room, not wanting to hear anymore of what Rosita and Carol were telling him. He knew what they were getting at, but he had a hard time believing it.

Why me, he wondered. There were plenty of other people who could be there for them. Why the redneck archer who barely talks to anyone? Laying his head down, and biting into his second sandwich, he let his thoughts of (Y/N) run through his head, trying to ignore the blush that came to his face at each memory of them standing close to each other, faces almost touching, sharing food together, laughing at each other's jokes.

Shit, he realized. What Carol and Rosita said were now stuck in his head, and he knew that he'd have to confront (Y/N) about it. He wouldn't be able to be around them without asking. Just to prove them wrong.

~

You had just gotten through picking out the outfit you were going to wear for Daryl, hoping to see his usual shy blush appear on his face, when you heard three loud knocks on your front door.

Huh, he's early, you thought. Usually you were the one who went to him with another request to fix your bike, and it was never this early. You knew sometimes he would leave early in the morning to see if he could catch something quick from outside the gates and didn't want to bother him before he left. Not that you watched him that much to pick up his daily schedule.

I didn't even get to make any food for him, you thought as you walked to the door, and opened it.

Like every other day, he stood on the other side of the door in his usual dark clothing, with his hair almost reaching past his big, broad shoulders in shaggy (probably unwashed) tresses. Even though he always looked like this, it still made you nervous and you had to take a breath before opening your mouth and hoped not to embarrass yourself.

"Hey Daryl," you greeted him, feeling your heart beat faster in his presence. "You're here early. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, lowering his head in his usual shy manner. Just fucking do it, he told himself, lifting his head back up and looked at your face, his heart beating faster as he met your (Y/EC) gaze. "Can I come inside?"

"Yeah, sure." You stepped to the side and let him walk in and pass you. He's been here enough times to know your home as if he lived here himself and went straight to your garage.

Curious you followed after him, wondering what it was that he wanted to talk to you about. Yesterday he had fixed the throttle and the engine, and you hadn't gotten the chance to make up another excuse to get him over.

Entering the garage, you found him walking around the motorcycle, his head tilting slightly and bending his knees a little to get a closer look at each part of it.

Maybe he's making sure everything's alright, you guessed. "Daryl," you called his name.

He didn't answer you, but he stopped walking and turned to you, his blue eyes intense.

"Is everything okay," you asked.

"Um,..." he started lowering his head again, trying to keep you from seeing the blush that he was sure was growing on his cheeks. "You been lying 'bout yer bike?"

Shit, you thought. He figured it out. Should I lie? Tell the truth? "Um, what're you talking about?"

He squinted his eyes at you in that familiar way that let you know that he knew you were pretending before answering. "You know what I'm talking 'bout."

"Daryl, I-"

"You been messing with yer bike, so I could come here. Right?"

You opened your mouth to say something but you couldn't find the right words to say that would make up for the time of his you've wasted, having him work on the bike that you messed up on purpose.

Looking at you trying to speak but can't, he couldn't believe it. He wasn't exactly mad about you for lying, but more surprised that you would go through that trouble to get him to your place.

"Why?"

"Um... I like you and I didn't know how to tell you or talk to you." You hoped he would understand and not find you crazy. "I wasn't sure how to approach you and I noticed you always working on your bike and I thought maybe a perfect way to get to talk to you was if mine was broken, but it wasn't, so I-" you stopped rambling, noticing his silence, and saw that he was looking at you with an unreadable expression. "Daryl?"

"You did it cuz you like me," he asked, making sure he was hearing you right.

"Yeah, basically," you said, hoping you didn't ruin your friendship and what could be a potential relationship with him. "Are you mad?"

He instantly shook his head and that made the weight that had begun to weigh upon your chest disappear.

"But don't mess up yer bike no more. Okay?" He told you with a smile that was rare to see from him unless you were close to him.

"Okay."

You didn't know what to say and was about to go back inside and offer him food as a form of apology, but he had a better idea instead.

"I'm 'bout to go hunting real quick. You wanna come?" He tried to ignore the racing of his heart and waited for your answer, hoping you would accept his invitation.

"Um, I don't know how to skin or gut."

"I'll teach you," he quickly said, hoping he didn't sound desperate.

You tried to hold back the wide smile that wanted to appear on your face and said, "Sure."

~

Carol had just taken down one of the sheets that was hanging on the line, folding it and putting it in her basket, when she heard the familiar loud rumble of Daryl's motorcycle, and she looked up to see him driving toward the gates. She was about to go back and pull another sheet down, when she noticed riding on the back of the bike was you, and you had your arms wrapped around his waist, and a proud grin grew on her face at the sight, happy that her friend was no longer clueless.

[ladylooch]

(Ik your requests are closed so pls don’t feel super pressured to write but you write Nico perfect everytime so I choose you :3)

So we all know neeks isn’t into anything super hardcore or kinky when it comes to sex. But when he’s particularly frustrated with hockey or the media he can get a bit rough, needing to take his emotions out on something. (Here’s the angsty part? Idk if this even counts as angst but) maybe one night after a rough game you’re kind of just letting him use you as he needs, but he kinda ‘blacks out’ for a sec and gets a little too rough with you. Nothing super dramatic but you have to say something about it and he’s instantly reeling himself back in and profusely apologizing and completely shifting focus to make it up to you. Poor baby is in near tears over hurting his girl.

His Superstar- Nico Hischier

A/N: I just love the way I was selected for this blurb. Hahahah! I love you anon 🤭 fluff my feathers, bby. You know it works. Also, you know I have to be big sis here and address this theme: communicate with your partners. Keep it safe and respect boundaries.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ Content, sexual boundaries talk

If one more reporter asks Nico if he’s frustrated with his lack of scoring so far this season, he might have to show that reporter just how frustrated he actually is by popping them in the face. 

Day after day, he stands up there in front of their cameras and microphones, answering questions he really doesn’t want to. 

It never gets easier. The vets told him  it would in this first season as captain. It doesn’t. He still has to resist hulking out at some of the dumbass questions and comments he gets in his media scrums. 

But when he gets home to you, none of that matters. He falls into your world where he isn’t an NHL captain. He isn’t a multimillionaire who is underperforming. He isn’t an international superstar.

He’s only yours. Y/N’s Nico.

You, his sweet girlfriend, were waiting for him in the kitchen with fudge brownies using the chocolate his mom sent from Switzerland. He knew exactly what he wanted from you when he saw you in those tiny, red shorts you know drive him nuts.

And it wasn’t food. 

You were unsuspecting, chewing on your bottom lip at the outward frustration you saw gathering in Nico’s eyebrows on social media that morning. He was at the rink longer- getting treatment. But the wildness in his eyes when he walked in did not prepare you for the position you were currently in.

Nico slams into you deeply again. It feels incredible. You moan out your approval to him again. He has you on the kitchen table so he can use his thick thighs to pound at full throttle. Nico rarely gets like this and the excitement of it all has your nipples piercing the air, meeting his groans. His hands come up, groping your breasts as he leans over you more. He is so far gone, whispering in Swiss German, losing control of himself completely as he pushes harder into you. The table moves slightly. You reach out for his arm for safety, holding and rubbing at him while moaning his name.

Nico grabs both of your arms, pinning you down with his palms on both your forearms. You are so close to reaching your climax. You open your legs wider, taking him deeper. Your breathing stutters and you move to pull your arms from his grip to hold his shoulders for security. Nico forces his fingers deeper into you. You’re eyes snap open in unease. You try again. Now his grip is uncomfortable. 

“Nico let go.” You stutter abruptly, feeling panic close your throat. It takes him a moment to hear your words. His head is knocked back as he begins to dribble into you. The reaction of his impending orgasm has him tightening further. “Nico! Stop!” You yell suddenly. Nico snaps to immediately, releasing your arms. You push at his abdomen until he falls out of you. 

“What!? What happened!?” You are still splayed beneath him, completely exposed. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to ground yourself. You can tell he didn’t mean to, but you suddenly feel very naked and uncomfortable. Nico can see that. He grabs his jacket on the chair to his right, draping it over you. His expression is worried. He tentatively reaches out for your hand. You lace your fingers together. “Did you say something and I missed it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Baby, what did you say? I didn’t hear. I’m so sorry. I’m so…” He trails off, dashing a hand through his hair. He looks around the table frantically, trying to find the pants you both dropped on the floor in haste.

“Nico.” You call, reaching for him to come back to you. He is berating himself internally. You can see it with every twitch of his facial features. His shoulders are slumping inward as he leans over you, reaching out for your cheek then recoiling his fingers. You grab his hand, placing it there and leaning into his touch. “Can you please calm down so we can talk about it?”

“I hurt you!”

“No you didn’t.”

“I crossed a line!”

“Yes, but unintentionally.” You sit up, very aware of your naked core settling against the kitchen table. You open your arms and Nico steps in. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, his jacket still covering most of your naked body. You turn so you can brush comforting kisses along his stubbled jaw. “I asked for you to let go of my arms.” Nico shakes his head.

“I didn’t hear.”

“I know.” You murmur, “That’s why I yelled.” He nods.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am okay. And I want to finish, but can we not do it this way anymore?”

“Of course.” He nods. He pulls away to look at your face. “I’m so sorry. I did not hear you. I would never keep doing something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“I know, Neeks. Now let me finish you off on the couch.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He lifts you up, walking to the leather couch. He chuckles as you shiver when your back hits it, like always. The air of safety returns as you straddle his lap, sliding down until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. He grips your hips tenderly, creating a line for you to buck yourself into. 

When he came into the apartment, he wanted to take you his way. But now, watching you ride him so good, he thinks about how much better this is. You always have better ideas than him. The bed you picked. The apartment you moved into together. The bedding. This couch.

And this fucking tempo. His head falls back; his belly burns with fire. Your inner walls suck him deeper and he releases white ribbons into you.

“Baby.” He moans against your mouth as you wetly kiss him in praise. You’re not quite there yet. He sinks deeper into the couch cushions as you use him for your own pleasure. He watches with heavy and lustful eyes, biting his bottom lip when you shout his name to the ceiling. He curls forward, groaning, gripping himself into your chest as you pulse around his sensitive cock. He shivers when your nails drag along his shoulders, leaving red scratches as you bounce up and down once more.

“Oh god.” You croak out when you find your voice. “That was… Fuck.” 

“You’re a superstar, baby.”

“Thought that was you?” You murmur, raking a hand through his mused, brown locks.

“No… Right now I’m only yours.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Report

Warnings: power imbalance, blood, and some untagged dark elements.

Summary: James is unhappy about the last mission.

Note: please leave some feedback and reblog. It's just a short drabble but I do enjoy chatting it up with y'all. Love yas.

James Conrad is a complicated man, but so easy to read. When he's unhappy, everyone knows it. His silence isn't unusual but it's different, and that tick in his cheek is assurance of pending consequence.  

"Dismissed." He declares. The first word he's spoken in the last hour.  

You don't blame him. There's holes in his shirt where bullets glanced by him. Friendly fire in the frantic scene of defense.  

Gaston doesn't look at his boss, the man he almost ended with his own misfire, and the others are deathly quiet as they back away from the table and shuffle out. You follow but not quick enough. Conrad calls you back.  

You stop in the doorway and glance over your shoulder. You just want to be alone in your cot. You're no less culpable than the rest for the chaos.  

Conrad found you huddled behind a tree.  

"Where's your sidearm?" He asked as he wrenched you up by your elbow. 

Sure, you know how to aim and fire, but you're a medic, not a mercenary. Your pistol was lost in the mud along with your courage. 

"Sir," you face him. 

"Close the door," he orders you. 

You obey. You push until the mechanism catches. He leans forward and winces, a small his escaping through his teeth. He reaches over his head and tugs at the back of his collar. He strips away his tattered shirt and throws it on the metal table. 

He doesn't need to give his next command. You have a job so you do it. You rest your hand on the kit that rests against your hip. You lift the thick strap over your head as you approach the table. 

You put the kit down and unzip it. He's silent. Still. He pushes back the chair, anglong towards you. Along with the small nicks of bullet grazes are black streaks of gun powder. 

You take a sterilizing wipe and bend to clean away the dry blood and dirt. He doesn't even flinch. His inaction, his silence, is throttling. 

You clear your throat as you unwrap an adhesive bandage. The large patch is big enough to cover the breadth of one side of his rib cage. He won't need stitches thankfully.  

As you press it into place, he sighs.  

"You panicked," he says. 

You're too ashamed to look him in the face. 

"Panic gets people killed." 

You weren't the only one, yet you're the only one he kept behind. 

"Yes, sir." You utter. 

"A squeamish medic, what use is that to me?" He says. 

"Not much," you resign and you stand straight, keeping your chin down. "Sorry, sir." 

"Sorry won't unfuck what just happened," he growls. 

You're quiet as you think. You nod. "Should I pack up?" 

"I didn't say so," he tuts and crosses his arms, leaning back on the metal chair as his chest bulges. 

You’re confused, scared even. The anger roils off of him. 

“What use are you to me dead?” He asks pointedly. 

You shrug. He huffs again. 

“Look at me,” he insists. 

Your eyes flick up and meet his, steely and blue. He slowly unfolds his arms and sits up. You watch him, uncertain, and he reaches to flutter his fingers against yours. 

“You are much to pretty to be bleeding in the muck,” he drawls. “From here are on out, you are suspended from field duties.” 

His long fingers trace yours more firmly and he encases your hand in his. You twitch, paralysed by his unexpected gesture. He raises your hand as he leans forward. He nuzzles between your knuckles as your eyes round. What is he doing? 

“I’ve use of you elsewhere.” He presses his lips against the back of your hand, heat spattering across your flesh. 

“Sir.” 

“Say ‘yes, Captain’ and go warm my cot,” he grits as he lets you go. “I will find you once I’ve finished my cognac.” 

“Yes...Captain,” your voice piques sharply as you drag your soles back stiffly. You blink and turn away from him, staggering in the haze of disbelief. James Conrad is truly a complicated man. Much more than you could ever predict. 

[special-agent-sass]

Midnight Ride

Y/N revved the engine of her Kawasaki Vulcan 900 as she sped down the empty stretch of highway, the cold night air whipping against her face. With each twist of the throttle, she pushed the bike faster, adrenaline and rage coursing through her veins.

The needle on the speedometer edged past 100 mph. She knew she was being reckless, but she didn't care. The danger made her feel alive, made her forget everything else. Forget the past, forget the pain. Out here it was just her and the road.

The headlight cut a narrow beam through the darkness as she leaned into the curves, expertly controlling the rumbling machine beneath her. She had no destination, only the need for speed to quiet her restless mind. The events of the day replayed in a relentless loop - the latest heated argument with Gibbs over her recklessness, the biting comments meant to cut deep, the frustration boiling over yet again.

She knew he only lectured her because he cared, but his stubbornness and overprotectiveness felt suffocating. Needing an escape, she had stormed out, hopped on her bike, and pointed it toward the open road.

Miles flew past in a blur, but still her thoughts churned. She resented Gibbs for trying to tame her wild spirit, even as she felt the undeniable pull between them - a volatile chemistry neither would acknowledge, dancing around the sparks that flew whenever they were near. His rare smiles made her pulse race, while his criticisms stung more than from anyone else.

Caught up in her thoughts, Y/N failed to notice the familiar pair of headlights gaining on her until they flashed urgently. Cursing under her breath, she reluctantly slowed and pulled over onto the gravel shoulder. She didn't need to look back to know whose black sedan now idled behind her.

Gibbs approached, his face etched with concern and frustration. "Just what the hell did you think you were doing?" he demanded.

"I was fine," Y/N fired back defensively. "I've been riding since I was twelve and I know how to handle a bike."

"Like hell you do! I clocked you going over 100mph. You trying to get yourself killed?"

Y/N clenched her fists, getting off the bike to face him, refusing to back down. "Why do you even care? I'm just some reckless adrenaline junkie to you, right?"

Gibbs stepped closer, his stern expression softening. “You know that’s not true,” he muttered. "That stunt was dangerous and stupid, but only because I can't lose you." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "I was scared, Y/N. Scared I wouldn't reach you in time."

Y/N froze, stunned. She searched Gibbs' face and saw the sincerity in his eyes. Her anger melted away. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just...I needed to clear my head."

Gibbs lifted his hand to her cheek. "I know. But you have to stop running from things."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, firm and insistent. After a moment of shock, she returned the kiss hungrily, releasing all the desire and frustration that had been simmering below the surface.

They broke apart, breathless. Gibbs rested his forehead against hers.

"Rule twelve be damned," he murmured. "I don't want to waste any more time pretending I'm not in love with you."

Y/N blinked back the sting of tears, overwhelmed by the admission. No longer uncertain, she pulled Gibbs close again, surrendering to the passionate embrace under the moonlight. The empty highway faded away until all that existed was the two of them and the truth laid bare.

Whatever the next day held, they would face it together, side by side. Y/N knew that his love was worth risking it all - even her stubborn heart.

[fastlikealambo]

national anthem:older!steve x black fem!reader

summary: steve harrington is running for president of the united states as the democratic nominee. he's polling well, people like him because he actually intends to keep his campaign promises, he's got great hair and a cute dog.

there's one problem: he doesn't do relationships, he's been seen doing the walk of shame too many times and his campaign manager has had enough. he needs a wife, or a least someone to smile and wave his messy ass through election season before disappearing into obscurity.

that's where you come in.

you're a sweet virgin kindergarten teacher who looks like disney animated birds help you get dressed in the morning. on paper you're perfect for the job and you have student loan and medical debt so you will silk press and laugh your way to the democratic national convention.

here's the thing:

you can't stand his pompous ass and he gets all tongue tied and sweaty when he gets within 2 feet of you.

it's gonna be a long fucking campaign.

bonus: here's two songs that are the background music in this chapter. can you figure out which song goes with what scene? I'd love to know your guesses.

angel - halle bailey

death of me - pvris

chapter one: washington, d.c.

“They’re calling you The Future Slut in Chief, Steve.”

Erica threw a paper in Steve’s lap, pinching the bridge of her nose before sinking into a chair to drink her iced coffee,  the only thing to keep her from reaching across the table and throttling the future President of The United States.

Steve looked down at The New York Post, a picture of him in his boxers leaving someone’s apartment dead center. He shrugged, putting his feet on the table and leaning back in his chair. 

“I look great and besides it’s the New York Post, nobody reads The New York Post, Sinclair. After the speech today no one will give two shits about that, nothing to worry about.” He said, shoving his sunglasses back on his face to block out the fluorescent lighting.

Four more newspapers with nearly identical pictures knocked the sunglasses right off his face and the forty year old nearly fell out of his chair.

“You can’t throw things at me, that’s treason.”

“Not yet.” Erica said sweetly.

“They’re making fancams of you and I quote, ‘ your slutty little waist.” Holly Wheeler said, Erica’s assistant said with a giggle, showing her boss her phone, the same bridge of some Cardi B. song filling the conference room over and over again.

“Send me that to me, won’t you Holly?” Steve said, reaching for his coffee.

“Do not send that to him Holly.” Erica sighed, pushing Steve’s legs off the table before standing up.

“Look Harrington, I joined this campaign because I believed in you. You had feasible ideas, a moral compass, the hair of a Kennedy and so much money I sometimes want to call the IRS for fun.”

“What was that last one-

“Never mind that. Everything about you screams all american but because you don’t have a partner or spouse,  to the general public it also screams ‘I may or may not have people in my basement.’ Nobody likes a single male president.”

“James Buchanan never married.” Steve grumbled.

 Steve Harrington didn’t do relationships, he had his fun every night, came home to his dog and empty apartment and focused on doing some good in his community with the outrageous inheritance his father left him. 

 There was no time for wives or husbands and that’s exactly how he liked it. 

“James Buchanan thought a dime was enough money to live on so maybe not the best example. Steve, you have a chance to be the next leader of this country but doing the walk of shame at your prehistoric age is not going to get the votes you need.”

Erica was absolutely right but Steve would be damned if he said so.

 “You need someone at your side for the last leg of the campaign and I’ve taken care of it. She’s been checked out and briefed, you’ll meet her on stage tonight when you introduce her, I’ve had Nancy edit your speech.”

“What the fuck Erica!” Steve yelled but Erica ignored him.

“She’s smarter than you, beautiful, and most importantly, she’s likable. So if you want to sit in the Oval Office for the next four years, you’ll wear the Tom Ford suit and act like this is the greatest love story ever told. You don’t have to talk to her outside of events if you don’t want to but you will do this. I have yet to fail you so trust that I can do the job you pay me handsomely for. Got it?”

No.

Absolutely not.

There was no way he was going through with this.

“To wrap up my speech so we can all get home safely, I want to introduce you to someone. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, to this campaign, to this country! I’m so proud to finally introduce my fiancée, let’s give her a big hand!” Steve said with a big smile at the cheering crowd, proud of the fact that he didn’t immediately vomit when the word fiancée came out of his mouth.

The click-clack of your heels coming up a staircase had Steve’s heart in his throat. At some point his clapping was no longer forced as he waited for the worst blind date of his life to appear on stage. 

“Get it together Harrington, turn on the charm for two minutes and get the fuck out of here.” He thought to himself.

He could handle this.

Two seconds later, he was wrong.

So, very, wrong.

If there were words to truly describe how beautiful you were, Steve did not know them. 

How could he?

How would ecstasy describe ecstasy?

Fuck.

Like Erica drilled into him a thousand times before the DC rally began, he reached out his hand to you, now enveloped in the scent of orchids and shea butter, and brought you into his arms for the world’s gentlest and fastest embrace. Your lips met with Steve’s cheek with a sweet laugh that made the crowd go wild as you pushed him forward towards the mic.

But no words came out.

That man was so busy looking at you he didn’t know the closing to his speech, the stump speech he had been giving for months now, the one he could recite in his sleep and accidentally yelled out during sex that one time.

A full ten seconds of uncomfortable silence with a sweaty man had you suddenly in front of the mic.

“I’m so happy to be a part of this once in a lifetime event supporting Steve! We’ve got a lot of work to do to get to the ballot box but we are ready to elevate and encourage our beautiful country towards a brighter future! Good night everyone, drive safe!” You nearly yelled into the mic, applause bursting through the audience.

You were quickly ushered backstage away from journalists, happy to get out as just as quickly as possible but Steve followed right with you.

“I-I had that back there!” Your fiance and future president choked out.

“Oh, so you can talk, wonderful! A thank you for saving your ass or a nice to meet you would suffice. I didn’t know a presidential nominee much less an adult man could drool like an infant but you’re full of surprises Mr. Harrington.” You said, rolling your eyes. 

“I was not drooling!”

“My shoulder’s all wet Mr. President.  Are we done here, can I go now?” You asked, turning your attention to Erica.

“I’m so glad you two are getting along! One more picture for all the socials and then you are free to go, Hopper and your security detail will make sure you get to your hotel safely.” Erica said, grabbing her phone for the picture.

“Big smiles, you two!”

You still couldn’t get over the fact that 24 hours ago, you were crying yourself to sleep wondering how you were going to pay your bills and get back on your insurance and now you’re prom posing with America’s Next Top Leader.

“I couldn’t have possibly drooled on you, you wanna know why?” Steve said through a frozen smile.

“Not really.”

“If I got the next First Lady of The United States all wet, you’d know, honey.” He whispered in your ear. 

Motherfucker.

Next stop: Maryland! I hope you enjoyed this, I’m not too sure if it's any good :)

[under0-0s]

hey there love

- @shield-wielder

Tony doesn’t look up from the tablet in his hands when Steve’s voice floats in, soft and familiar. Hey there, love. Two seconds tick by. Then three. Still nothing from Tony. Just the quiet hum of tech around him, and the way his jaw tenses ever so slightly.

Then he exhales, sharp through his nose. Drops the tablet on the counter with a hollow clack. Finally looks up, eyes rimmed with sleeplessness and something more brittle beneath—relief curdled by rage.

“You don’t get to walk in here and say that like you didn’t vanish off the goddamn map for four weeks, Rogers.”

Tony’s voice isn’t raised, but it cuts sharp. Controlled. Cold in a way he rarely is with Steve. Like he’s holding back the flood with nothing but duct tape and coffee.

“No calls. No comms. Not even a cryptic smoke signal. For a month. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? What that did to me?”

He laughs, but there’s nothing amused in it—it’s cracked porcelain, all edges and tremor.

“I thought you were dead, Steve. Again. And I couldn’t even find you this time. I called Fury, Hill, even Nat. You know how many black sites I pinged trying to track your stubborn ass down? I went full paranoid—Jarvis had to throttle me down before I hijacked an actual satellite. And all the while, I'm here. Sitting in this empty tower, talking to ghosts and wondering if I should start planning another goddamn memorial.”

His voice finally breaks on that last word. He turns away, pinches the bridge of his nose, inhales slow like he's trying to gather all the broken pieces back into a shape that doesn’t look like heartbreak.

“I get it, you’re Captain America. You run headfirst into danger, it’s kind of your thing. But radio silence, Steve? Four weeks of it? That’s not brave. That’s cruel.”

Tony doesn’t wait for a reply. Just walks past him, voice clipped as he adds, “Coffee’s still warm if you want some. Or maybe you want to disappear again first.”