#and god the way green really came back together today was such a delight to watch

[iprobablyshipit91]

Magical Blooms

Genre: romance / mutual pining / fluff

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: none I think?

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

Square filled: Flower Shop AU

SPN Masterlist

My first ever Dean Winchester fic and I’m terrified. Please let me know what you think! Also, all the flowers used at each part of the story are used for a reason…

This wasn't a big deal. Nope. No. Not at all. Not in the slightest. Actually, it was the exact opposite of a big deal. An insignificant speck if you will. And one that certainly hadn’t even registered on your radar. After all, there was a flurry of customers walk through the doors to Magical Blooms each and every day, and quite a number of these were regulars. Just because one of those regulars was an undeniably gorgeous man that flirted shamelessly, owned more flannel than you thought possible for one person, had adorable bow legs, and the most captivating green eyes that you had ever seen was most certainly not a big deal. And just because he was inexplicably absent today after you’d seen him every Friday without fail for the last six months was also not a big deal. It's not like you had really noticed anyway, having spent the morning softly singing Christmas songs along to the radio whilst putting together a similarly themed bouquet with holly, pine, and red chrysanthemums. And okay, maybe you were secretly hoping he would love said bouquet, but that also wasn’t a big deal. You just liked to please your customers. And anyway, all of this had to be no big deal whether you liked it or not because he had a girlfriend. A girlfriend that he came and bought flowers for weekly without fail, coming into the store and carefully choosing something different and unique rather than having an easier standing order. You couldn’t decide if he was completely in love or just an incredibly attentive boyfriend. Either way, you couldn’t let it be a big deal.

He had first rushed in to your little shop at the end of May and purchased a beautiful and remarkably expensive bouquet of white roses. You couldn’t help but drink in the way he had looked in a dark Henley, red plaid button down and jeans, shaking yourself a little to ensure you weren’t just gaping as he paid with his card. The small smirk on his face before he hurried out told you that you might not have succeeded as well as you’d hoped.

The next week he was back much to your delight; his dirty blonde hair gorgeously disheveled and green eyes sparkling at you the second he walked in. After casually browsing the shop he made a beeline towards you.

"Which of these do you like better?" he had asked as he approached, one hand holding yellow carnations and the other deep pink gloxinia. You put the pen down on top of the order form you’d been failing to fill out for the last ten minutes and forced yourself to go into professional mode. You were used to helping guys pick flowers; just because this one looked like a damn Greek god didn’t stop you doing your job.

"They are both great choices. Are they for a special someone? Or maybe a special occasion?"

"Well sweetheart, I guess I would say they’re for a special someone." he smirked, wetting his lips with his tongue and you couldn't help the way your heart beat a little faster at his deep rumble.

"Okay, well what sort of flowers does she like? Or does she have a favourite colour maybe?"

"Uh…" he faltered.

"Or he." You quickly amended, hoping you hadn't offended him. His eyes bulged a little and you were sure the flowers weren't for a man. You couldn't help feeling a little pleased.

"No." he shook his head, looking a little flustered. He took a deep breath. “No. I…" But his answer was cut short by the sharp call of Rowena, your interfering but well meaning boss and the owner of Magical Blooms.

"Y/n!"

"Excuse me just one second," you told him before meeting Rowena at the door to the back room.

"I don't pay you to flirt with customers now do I dear. I don't care how attractive they are." You felt your cheeks heat up at the volume of the older lady’s Scottish brogue. There was no way he hadn't heard her.

"Rowena!" You whispered indignantly. "Don't be embarrassing. He is buying flowers for his girlfriend!"

"Well that is a damned shame" she whispered back with a mischievous smirk, her eyes darting over to the perfection still stood at the counter. “Because that man is delicious." You rolled your eyes. You had a strange but very close relationship with the older woman having worked in her shop since you were a kid. From the way you spoke to each other though people wouldn’t have known. Most of the time your conversations sounded more like arguments. You spun on your heel with Rowena calling with a smirk "Remember I won't hesitate to fire you!"

You heaved a sigh, biting your lip to stop the retort that was brewing. Instead you made your way back to the handsome customer, plastering on a smile to cover the fact you were positive he had heard every word.

"Sorry. My boss." You rolled your eyes again.

He laughed; a deep sound that struck you low in the stomach and sent your heart into overdrive once again. "I understand, Sweetheart."

You shot him a grateful smile, keeping eye contact longer than was necessary. The green captivating you completely.

"So…do you know what flowers your girlfriend likes?" You asked again, desperately clinging on to your professionalism.

He shook his head a smirk on his handsome face. "We have only just met."

"Hmmm…." You thought briefly, glancing between the flowers. "I would say most women would probably pick the carnations out the two. They are a pretty safe bet."

He nodded but looked at you thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes, like he was trying to read your expression. "I asked which you liked better though, and you prefer the pink ones, don’t you?"

You tried to hide your surprise that he had noticed your preference for the gloxinia. You frowned and his smirk grew, his eyebrow rising mischievously.

“Yes, I just think they’re beautiful." You said honestly with a shrug. With a satisfied nod and a breath-taking smile that lit up his whole face, he quickly returned the carnations to their place.

"Gloxinia it is then!" he said; his smile boyish and utterly adorable.

You grinned back helplessly as you reached for the flowers in his hand and firmly ignored the hum of electricity in your body as your fingers gently brushed.

"My name is Dean." He said as you rung up the bouquet.

"Y/n."

That visit was just the start and you very quickly found that you looked forward to your Friday shift more than any other. Each week Dean would walk around the shop in his flannel shirt, examining all the available arrangements and then ask for your input and opinion. There was always a smile and usually a wink or flirty comment too and you couldn’t help how quickly he became your favorite customer. As the weeks went on you eventually started talking about other topics. You learnt early on about Dean’s pride and joy; a sleek black Impala that he affectionately called Baby. It almost frightened you how soon the hum of the engine became familiar to you as you eagerly awaited his next visit.

In late July he told you that he would be gone for two weeks while he visited his younger brother in California, pride once again colouring his tone. You had been taken aback at how much you had actually ended up missed him in that fortnight and realised just how important his visits had become to you. Remembering his girlfriend however you mentally scolded yourself and forced your thoughts elsewhere. But then Friday had rolled back around and he was there, almost first thing, in relaxed jeans, his favourite red plaid button down and damn it if your heart didn’t do a flip just at the mere sight of him. There was an eagerness to his expression that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he had missed you too.

"Welcome back!" You smiled despite the promises you made to yourself to take a step back. To not let yourself fall for someone who was already taken.

"Thanks sweetheart! It's so good to be back," he said as he closed the space between you. "I, er, well I brought you something." He pulled a small wrapped box from his pocket. You looked at it quizzically. "A gift, for my favorite florist." he explained. "I saw this and, well, it made me think of you."

Your eyebrows shot up; you didn't know what to say. After hesitating a moment too long he shook the box slightly for you to take.

He waited patiently, rubbing his jaw with nerves, as you unwrapped it. It was a dainty gold necklace with a small primrose pressed in glass dangling from the middle. It was beautiful and so very thoughtful. "Dean… wow. Its wonderful. I absolutely love it." You smiled up at him shyly and you saw him visibly relax as he beamed back.

"I could er, help? Put it on I mean. If you wanted me to?”

You nodded, passing him the necklace before turning slowly and moving your hair out of the way for him. You steadied your breathing as best you could, feeling your heart pound in your ears. His warm fingers brushed softly against your neck as he fastened the clasp and you felt yourself shiver involuntary. You looked back over your shoulder to him, his hot breath tickling your neck from your proximity yet he didn’t step away and you found you couldn't move either. You were trapped in a space full of his smell, his body heat, and your own thudding heart.

"Y/n. I…" Dean began only to be interrupted by the thudding of the shop door as a frantic customer came barrelling through. The spell you were both under immediately broke and you stepped away, breathless and eager to get rid of the interruption. But after fifteen gruelling minutes of helping debate the merits of pink roses over red; Dean motioned that he had to go. It was only later that night that you realised he hadn't bought any flowers.

The beautiful gift and his lack of purchase had filled you with a strange hope. Had he perhaps broken up with his girlfriend? What would he have said before you got interrupted? Would he have asked you out? The questions plagued you all night and into your shift the next day. Your fingers toying with the trinket around your neck constantly as your thoughts wandered to Dean. You were still brooding over the possibilities as you helped your best friend Benny pick out flowers for his anniversary.

"These are perfect as usual! What would I do without you, Sugar?" Came his Southern drawl as he wrapped his arm around you and kissed your head affectionately. You rolled your eyes at his antics when you suddenly noticed Dean in the middle of the door way, your heart soaring at his unexpected appearance. You smiled brightly but he didn’t return it; a strange, sullen, look on his face. You stopped yourself from frowning and turned back to your friend; eager for him to go so you could speak to Dean alone, preferably before Benny realised who he was as the embarrassment opportunities would be just too great for him to pass up.

“So, I’ll see you this weekend?” You say, remembering Andrea had invited you and some other friends over for dinner.

“You will indeed,” he replies easily, pressing another kiss to your hairline before retreating out the shop, the door thudding behind him.

You turned, your eyes searching the shop for Dean. Benny is long forgotten as your mind turned towards finally finishing your interrupted conversation. He was studying a wall of flowers, half turned away from you.

"Hey!" You said a little breathlessly as you reached him. "I’ve been expecting you." He turned with raised eyebrows "I mean, you know, since you didn't, er, buy anything yesterday." You gave a small smile as your stomach erupted with butterflies. Your fingers latch onto the cool glass of your necklace, the necklace he had just given you the day before, for reassurance. "The…uh… hyacinths are fresh." You gestured awkwardly at the yellow flowers in front of him. “Or I have some marigolds you might like?” You were hoping this would be it, that he was going to turn around and tell you he wasn't here for flowers. That actually, he no longer had someone to buy flowers for. Instead he sighed and pouted. "Yeah, the hyacinths are fine."

You nodded, feeling your heart sink like a stone. Ever the professional though you gesture to an arrangement. "Is this one okay?"

"Sure." He grabbed it without even really looking and swiftly walked past you, heading to the register. Silence reigned as you rung him up. Instead of bright eyes and friendly banter there was a crease in his brow and a slight frown. It was the first time you remembered feeling uncomfortable around Dean and it felt so wrong. Your mind floundered for conversation topics. You paused before handing him his receipt.

"Dean. Is everything okay?"

He finally looked at you, and flashed half-hearted smile that looked more like a grimace at best. "I'm fine, Sweetheart. Just a lot on my mind."

"Oh, sure." You replied stiffly as you handed him his receipt. He took it and turned to go. You felt a weird constriction in your throat; the meeting had not gone as planned. You grabbed at your necklace and just as he placed his hand on the door you called out. "See you next week?"

You meant it as a goodbye but you could hear the question in your voice as clear as day. He paused, tossing you a look back, and his face broke into another small smile, though this one was much more genuine. "Of course, Sweetheart. Next week."

The next week came and he appeared and things went back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened. You talked and flirted and he bought his flowers. You never took the necklace off and felt sure he must have noticed, though he never once mentioned it. You tried not to be disappointed, you tried to be satisfied with your relationship, limited as it was, and enjoy the moments you shared. Mostly you succeeded. Sometimes you couldn't help yourself and tried to pry information about his mysterious girlfriend.

"So, you two must have an anniversary coming up soon?" You asked one day in early November as he contemplated some red carnations.

"Huh?" he turned in confusion.

"Well, when your first came in at the end of May you said you had just met someone. So your six month anniversary as a couple should be coming up." You rushed to explain yourself. You glanced shyly up when he didn't immediately respond. He had a wicked smirk plastered on his face.

"Why, Sweetheart. I didn’t realise you monitored my love life so closely."

"I don’t.” You quickly covered with a roll of your eyes. “It's just my job to remember this kind of stuff. That’s all.”

“Right,” he said disbelievingly, the mischief never leaving his eyes. “And how do you know that we would even celebrate such a minor anniversary? That’s very chick flick.”

You scoffed. "Please. Dean you are such a hopeless romantic. I’d put money on you celebrating any anniversary!"

"I take offense at the idea that I am hopeless or romantic!" He points his finger at you.

"Oh come on! You literally come here to buy flowers for her every week! How much more romantic can you get?"

"Yeah well, perhaps I only come to see you." he shot back, the teasing words sounding oddly serious with his tone. You meet his gaze and find yourself unable and to look away. The moment stretched on before you finally bit your lip and turned away with your heart thundering in your ears. It was only later that night while you pondered what he could have meant that you realised he had, once again, avoided telling you anything about his girlfriend.

You thought about his words often as you absently clutched your necklace. You wondered what he had meant and if you were crazy to think he had meant anything serious.

Benny had caught you in just such a moment of contemplation last week.

"Hello! Y/n! Anybody home?" He called snapping you back to reality.

"Sorry what?"

"What is up with you today, Sugar? It’s like your not even here." Benny asked.

"It's Friday." Rowena responded from her perch behind the register. You shot her a dirty look.

“What’s Friday got to do with anything?” Benny asked, still looking confused.

“Loverboy is coming today."

"Don't call him that." You groaned as Benny perked up at the same time and asked “Loverboy?”

"Well, what should we call him?" Rowena smirked wickedly.

"Nothing! Because he is just a customer. We aren’t dating. We aren’t lovers." Rowena just raised her eyebrows, smirk unwavering and you threw your hands up in exasperation.

“Hold up,” Benny interrupted. “Is this the mysterious Dean you mentioned a few weeks back?”

“Indeed,” Rowena supplied as you pinched your nose in frustration.

“Yes, but he’s just a friend and he has a girlfriend. There’s nothing there.”

“But you like him, Honey. I can tell,” Benny points at you.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel, he’s got a girlfriend Benny. I can’t forget that.”

Benny clucks his tongue sympathetically and pulls you in for a hug.

“Can I…”

“You’re never meeting him,” you interrupt quickly, knowing exactly what your friend is going to ask.

"Actually if you stick around you are guaranteed to meet him." Rowena pointed out unhelpfully.

You pull away from Benny annoyed. “Are you still here?” You grumble to your boss. She just smiles in response and makes her way to the back room.

"That settles it. I’m staying until he shows up." Benny declares and you know better than to argue with him.

"Fine. But if you embarrass me you can find someone else to help you with Andrea’s Christmas present!"

You didn't have to wait that long; fifteen minutes later Dean came sauntering through the door. He was dressed in his usual shirt and jacket combination and of course your traitor heart sped up at the sight of him. Benny had kept out of sight as you helped Dean choose a bunch of snowdrops. He then pounced before you could move to the register.

"Y/n, do you think Andrea will appreciate this bouquet?" He rounded the corner and then gave the biggest look of fake surprise as he pretended to see Dean for the first time.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Sugar! I didn't know you were with a customer." He said with mock surprise. You barely contained your eye roll at his ridiculous antics.

You forced your tone to be bright. "No problem. Dean this is my best friend Benny. Benny, yes I’m sure your wife will love those.”

"Best friend? Wife?" You heard him murmur before Benny began speaking again.

"Me and Y/n go way back. She always knows just what my Andrea will love."

You glanced at Dean and was pleased to see a wide, goofy, grin plastered to his face.

“She always picks out the best flowers,” he agreed.

There was a pleasant pause and then Deans phone rung. He apologised and quickly walked out of the shop to answer.

"I can see why you like him Honey, and he certainly has eyes for you." Benny smiled as soon as the door closed.

“Oh, stop it,” you attempt to brush it off although you hear Rowena’s voice drift out from the back saying “I told you so!”

Dean stuck his head back in. "Sorry. Sam emergency, I’m going to have to leave town. Can I pay for these when I get back?"

"Of course! No problem."

"Thanks. See ya next week?"

You had nodded, already looking forward to next Friday.

But next Friday had come and gone and Dean had not shown up. Which, of course, was no big deal.

"Did I miss Dean today?" Rowena asks offhandedly.

"No. He didn't come in." You try to match her tone.

"Really? Well that is good news."

You jerk your head up in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Well dear, if he isn't buying flowers maybe he’s broken up with that girlfriend of his. Which means the two of you can finally stop making eyes at each other and go out."

You feel a thrill in your heart but reply sarcastically. "Please. If Dean was interested in me I think he would have made a move long ago."

Rowena’s reply was only a knowing smile and a short "Mmm-hmm".

You try not to get your hopes up. You fail miserably.

An hour later, Rowena is gone and your closing up the shop for the night. The lights are off as you pick up your keys when you hear a tap on the door. You turn around expecting a desperate customer and gasp when you see Dean grinning back at you.

He looks just like he always did; hair disheveled, a flannel shirt layered over a black tee, and just enough scruff on his face to add to the whole rugged look he had going for him.

As you walk through the darkened shop with only the street light shining through the windows you feel a mix of nerves and excitement at his arrival after Rowena’s earlier words. You unlock the door and let him in. Cold air sweeps in and you convince yourself that is why you shiver and not because of his proximity.

"Sorry, I hope I'm not too late. I only just got back into town." he says.

You shake your head. "No, it’s fine. I was just leaving." There is a pause and you realise how much more intimate the shop seems in the low light. In the shadow you can't quite make out his eyes, but he’s staring at you. "I was beginning to think maybe something awful had happened to you."

"Like what?" he asks, his teeth flashing in the dark.

"The flu, a car crash, an alien invasion?"

He shook his head. "None of those things could keep me away." His cold hand reaches out and toys with a strand of your hair. You don’t understand how such a simple gesture could suck the breath from your lungs and send your head spinning.

"Rowena thought… well that maybe you might have broken up with your girlfriend." You bite your lip, afraid of his answer.

He chuckles. "Well it seems both you and Rowena were wrong." Your stomach drops and you step back, your hope shattering and walls around your heart flying up. You wish he hadn't shown up at all now. At least then you could have had one night of blissful fantasy.

"I see. I..uh… I need to get going." Your voice dull. "Maybe try the grocery store. I am sure…"

'"No. Y/n. You don't understand." he interrupts, his hand rubbing his jaw. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"What? Since when?" Of all the things you thought Dean might say this was not one of them.

He grins sheepishly, dips his head and rubs his neck. "I never even had a girlfriend. The first time I came in I was in a hurry, getting flowers for my friends wedding. I wanted to ask you out but I didn't have time. So I came back and I had it all planned. I was going to have you pick your favorite flowers and then give them to you and ask you out. But then Rowena threatened to fire you for flirting and I…"

"But she didn't mean that!" You interrupt, your mind reeling to make sense of his story.

"I know that now! But I didn’t then and I was worried. I didn't think you would want to date me if I got you fired. So I let you think I had a girlfriend and kept buying flowers just so I could spend time with you."

"That's…that's ridiculous."

Dean chuckles. "That's what my brother said when I explained everything to him in August. So I bought you the necklace and I was going to tell you everything. But then I saw you with Benny and I, well I thought he was your boyfriend."

"Benny is married!" You protest.

"Again, I know that now! But you two seemed awfully close and maybe I was a bit blinded by jealously." Dean ducks his head and shuffles his feet. "But I didn't want to stop seeing you. So I settled for spending a few minutes with you each week, even though I thought you loved someone else."

"That sounds familiar." You reply. You know exactly what he means because it is the echo of your own heart.

Dean steps closer his hand reaching for your cheek. "Really?"

You nod and lean closer, your heart threatening to leave your body. "Yes. Dean I…" But Dean doesn't let you finish. His cool lips find yours in a gentle caress. He pulls back his breath hot on your cheek.

"Sorry I just, I've wanted to do that for six months." You grin and grab his shirt. Pulling his lips back to yours, eager to taste and claim. You melt into each other, your heavy breathing and occasional moans filling the dark shop. You grip his hair and he caresses your neck. You slide a hand to his chest and he pulls at your hips. When you break, gasping for breath, you both smile.

Dean tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "Can I buy you dinner?" he asks, still a little breathless.

He comes into the shop the next afternoon.

"Are you coming in on Saturday now?" Rowena asks with narrowed eyes.

"Well actually…" Dean begins, scratching behind his ear.

"Dean, what can I help you with?" You appear a broad grin lighting your face. Rowena shrugs and leaves you alone; thinking that if the boy doesn't make a move soon she might have to ban him from the shop.

Dean shoots you a smirk. "I was hoping you might have some mistletoe. With Christmas being right around the corner and all."

"It's your lucky day. I think we have some in the back." You nod your head and Dean follows you to the back room, a bounce in his step.

Rowena doesn't bother to mention that there is no mistletoe in the back room nor does she comment on your disheveled state when you finally emerge empty handed twenty minutes later.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfic #SPN christmas bingo #flower shop au #au #female reader #mutual pining #spn fanfiction #reader insert #spn #flower shop #dean x you #dean x reader #dean Winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #iprobablyshipit91 writes #magical blooms

[silver-weasel]

Diving (Deku x Reader)

Pairing : Deku x fem!reader (aged-up characters)

Rating : E, 18+

Tags : smut • fem!reader (she/her) • best friends to lovers / childhood friends to lovers • quirkless AU • p*rn with feelings (like. a lot of them) • public sex (more or less) • switching • hair pulling? • pining • Deku being flustered and an absolute angel what’s new • Reader being a teasing brat • It’s all soft and fluffy, I’m as vanilla as you can get 🤷‍♀️ • Happy birthday to the bestest boyyy I love him so much it hurts

Word count : 10 600 (Holy sh—)

A/N : Thank you @hoe-doroki my beloved and savior for beta-ing <3

Written for @rat-zuki​’s collab in honor of our favorite birthday boy, The Deku Agenda Escapes no One. Thank you so much for letting me join! (go check out the other amazing writers and artists!)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The ground grinds repeatedly under your hiking shoes, some pebbles being kicked forward on your way. You’re way too deep in the forest to hear any cars passing by and during the two hours you’ve been here you haven’t run into anyone. The place seems empty, the only souls breathing the forest’s thick air being you, Izuku and the birds chirping all around you.

The afternoon is coming to an end, the sun sinking down on its way to hide behind the mountains. The remains of its soft light are filtering through the dense leaves all around and above you. You’re surrounded by green, lush and immeasurable greenery, every plant merging into another.

You’ve left the marked paths, now wandering deep in the richest, boundless part of a forest you both know like the back of your hand after roaming it all over innumerable times. All over, except for this part, in which you’re setting foot for the first time today. Your many previous hiking sessions were shortened by your questionable sense of organization, always arriving too late to explore further into the unknown.

Leaves brush against your knees with every single step you take as you follow Izuku on his heels. He’s moving at a steady pace, his hands holding tight the straps of his yellow backpack that he’s had for as long as you can remember. He’s always so organized, has everything you two could eventually need and generally never do. Two huge flasks of water, an entire meal he calls ‘little snacks’, with sandwiches, fruits, protein bars, even hard-boiled eggs. A first-aid kit with disinfectant, bandages, scissors and painkillers. Hell, you’re even wondering if he has any pads for you in there, in case of an unexpected period. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

You giggle lightly when you see him stumble for the sixth time since you got here; he can’t seem to keep his curious eyes from drifting up and around, looking in every direction, probably retaining every detail and logging it in some impressive mental database of his. And he’s commenting on every little thing he sees too; he makes you notice things you never would have if it weren’t for his candid interest in everything.

“Oh! Look at that bird!” he exclaims, pointing at a branch over your heads. “Do you see it, right there, with the red mark!”

You turn your gaze to where he’s pointing and see a little bird, very cute, but so tiny you’re wondering how one could spot it without specifically looking for it. That’s probably what you like most about Izuku: his attention to detail. That’s the thing—nothing is too small for him, everything is worthy of interest. His eyes always light up with such curiosity, this child-like wonder and it was always one of your favorite things to witness growing up.

When he came over to your house at age six, he was always running around with some bug on his forearm, calling your name, yelling, “Look at this!”

Most of the time, it was a snail or a ladybug, and that always managed to catch your interest. Sometimes, it was a spider or a beetle, and he had you screaming in horror more than once, running to your mother’s legs with weeping eyes. Those times, he always watched you go with wide, sad eyes and a wobbly lip, because, “I would never hurt her, Mom! I swear I didn’t want to scare her!”

“Oh, yeah, I see it! It’s so cute!”

And it is cute, the way his huge green eyes go even rounder in amazement. You treasure these hikes for providing occasions to witness this. But as much as you wish this moment could last forever, the sun is beginning to set, you probably shouldn’t go deeper in the forest at sundown.

“We should probably head back to the car, Izuku. It’s gonna be dark soon.”

“Come on, it’s still so light—there’s no rush!” His lips crook a bit into an impish smile. “Scared that a bear is coming to get you?”

“There aren’t any bears here—we’ve been coming for five years.”

“Because if it’s the bears you’re afraid of,” he begins, ignoring you on purpose, “you know I’ll protect you, right?” he says, sticking out his chest like he’s some superhero.

“Against a bear? Right.”

“You’re underestimating me? That’s just mean.”

You chuckle at his antics, shooting him a look of yours that says, ‘Come on, please?’.

His eyes soften a bit, but he’s used to that look; it’s been years since it worked on him as well as you’d like it to.

“We can just keep going this way, then we’ll make a loop and head back to the car directly! It’ll be even shorter this way.”

“Alright, let’s do that,” you agree, and the smile it elicits from him makes something tingle deep in your stomach.

You move forward again, sinking deeper within the forest. It’s becoming harder and harder to walk, brambly branches and huge leaves blocking your way more and more with every step.

You’re a bit ahead of him when you catch sight of a sparkle behind the bushes. Just a glimpse of light, but you’re positive you saw it. Is there water here? You never really looked at a map of the place before—you just always went wherever you felt like and used the same tracks on the way back. You hurry up a bit, curious eyes fixed on that glimmer of light.

Soon enough the dense greenery comes to an end, and you’re finally out of the bushes, finding your way into a little clearing. You’re standing, speechless, in front of a pond: it’s about forty feet wide, catching the last rays of sunshine in a dazzling reflection. The water is surrounded by gigantic trees big enough to be home to an entire niche of biodiversity, and a half-sandy, half-stony shore with reeds rising from the water on both sides.

It’s all calm and quiet and massive trees, branches pouring, cascading above still water. The air feels cool, filled with a pure smell of dew and spring even though it’s the end of a hot day of July.

Izuku is close behind you and lets out a very cute, “Whoa,” ditching his backpack on the ground next to you in the middle of the cove. The both of you just stand there for a moment in complete silence, aside from the birds chirping. Izuku breaks it first:

“How come we’ve never seen this before? This place is amazing.” He sounds distant as he speaks, soaking up his surroundings like he always does.

“I guess you never know everything about anything,” you say mindlessly, without detaching your gaze of the wonderful view ahead.

He’s standing close to you, very close. You’re only noticing now that you’re coming down from the high of your discovery. Your arms are brushing, you can feel his body heat from how close you two are. It wouldn’t be the first time; you’re no stranger to being physically close to Izuku. You’ve been playing together since you were able to put one foot in front of the other. And you wish you could say it feels any different right now, but that would be a lie. Being close to him always felt the same. Always felt like the only easy thing in your life. The only constant.

Yet it’s not enough. No matter how close, it’s never enough, it never was. You hate yourself for feeling that way; you’ve never been the greedy, unsatisfied type. You have everything with Izuku. Well, almost everything.

But right now this place—this very quiet, beautiful place with no one in sight is doing things to your fertile imagination. Despite the sun just beginning to set, the summer air still remains thick with heat. You find yourself staring in the abyss of that water, admiring the masterpiece of a reflection on the surface, a painting of leaves and clouds and blue sky. It calls you, sings an irresistible song of fresh water on sweaty skin and strong, freckled arms wrapped around you.

You don’t know if the slight, insignificant detail that you would have to undress in order to dive into that water—since you didn’t bring a swimsuit—is a better reason to do it or to refrain from doing so.

You’ve lost count of how many moments you’ve shared with him just like this one. So many chances for you to take. You never have.

Back to the original issue: can you see yourself walk out of that clearing the way you always do? Can you see yourself going home, adding this missed chance to your growing collection of lost memories, of hands within your reach that you chose not to take?

The answer pops in your mind, crystal clear for the first time since you met him.

You drop your bag on the ground, turning to Izuku with a delighted expression stretching your features. The look on your face reminds him of one he’d seen on you as a kid, bouncing on the balls of your feet in front of the ice cream truck. At this moment he just knows you’ve got some stupid shenanigan in mind, like you always do. Once again, he isn’t wrong.

“Wanna take a dip?” You’re squinting at him from his side, a mischievous smile lighting up your face.

“I-I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” he stutters.

It’s been a long time since he last stuttered in front of you. He got rid of it years ago, but it still resurfaces sometimes in front of intimidating strangers or in a socially uncomfortable situation. Never in front of you, though.

“Me neither,” you answer plainly with that same impish smile, and his eyes go round at your implications.

“Wait, you can’t be—Oh my God—”

His heart does a great flip in his chest when he catches you taking the hem of your shirt up over your head. In less than five seconds, you’ve got him scorching hot, feverish and suddenly he can’t tell right from left.

His reflex is to bury his face in his hands. He respects you too much to take a peek, but you’re making things very difficult for him. He can hear you move towards the water, can hear the thump of your forgotten shoes hitting the ground one after the other, can hear the soft pad of your naked feet on the rocks.

“For the love of God, please, put it back on…” 

“What? Look at this view, it would be a shame not to make the most of it!”

He’s not looking at the view right now, he can’t let himself. He knows very well he won’t be able to focus on the trees when you’re standing pretty much naked—although he’s not sure to what extent—in front of him. You could be entirely naked right now and he wouldn’t be able to tell, his burning face still hidden in his shaking hands. His voice comes out muffled when he stammers, “I-It’s starting to get late, we really should get back to the car…”

“What, you’re scared of the bears?”

He can’t see you, but he knows you’re sporting that smug grin of yours, the one he first saw when you showed him your impressive collection of Pokémon cards on your preschool’s playground. You’ll have to take a lingering silence for an answer.

“Izuku, come on. I don’t bite.”

He’s not entirely sure the sight of you won’t gnaw him to the bone, won’t melt his entire body down and leave him a hot mess. He won’t be a man anymore, just a walking flame fueled by the heavenly sight of you. No, he can’t let himself fall into that. Obviously you don’t know what you’re doing to him.

Nevertheless, you’re probably the most stubborn person he knows. And he’s friends with Katsuki Bakugou, for God’s sake. He won’t be able to get out of this as easily as he wants, especially as he hears the delicate noise of water splitting at your feet as you enter the little pond.

He slowly moves his hands off of his face. You must have your back turned to him, so maybe he can drift his eyes off somewhere—

You are in front of him, thigh deep in the water now. In nothing but your panties. Your white, flower-patterned lace panties that are doing a very bad job at covering your backside. He lets out a long, pained whine, standing in the middle of the little shore with his arms dangling down his sides, not sure what to do with them.

“Why didn’t you at least keep your bra on?” His voice comes out way more wobbly than he intended to.

You turn a little so you can look at him, and it takes every little bit of strength he’s got left to look you in the eye. But as you’re turning around, the smooth curve of your breast starts showing, and God, is that your nipple?

He wants a giant hole to swallow him right now. He wants some forest creature to come for him right this instant, anything to keep him away from you, keep him from doing things he might regret. To punish him for having such thoughts about you, because you trust him, you’re so oblivious, so innocent, and he’s so weak against this inner monster that’s eating him away.

With a little frown, you deliver the answer like it’s self-evident as you kneel into the water, the surface just above your chest:

“I didn’t want it to get wet.”

“But you’re okay with your panties getting wet?”

The realization of what he just said is slow but surely comes. And when it does, he wishes even harder to get erased from the surface of this planet he’s already lucky enough to share with you. There is a long silence, and all he can hear for a few seconds are the birds chirping and the violent pounding of his heart against his ribcage, straining to get out.

You turn back around to look at him, dumbstruck. 

“I’m more than okay with that—”

“Please forget I just said that,” he cuts you off. He’s not sure he can bear to hear more of this.

“I’m never forgetting you said that. It’s pure gold,” you scoff.

He can only answer with a drawn-out whine. He doesn’t have any choice in this, does he?

When you dive in the water, he takes both his shaking hands to the hem of his shirt and starts undressing.

What the fuck am I doing?

The water is so pure you can see underwater as clear as day: the few rocks at the bottom, the little silvery fish all around you, and the last rays of sunlight permeating through the calm surface above your head. The water feels a bit cold on your naked skin since the sunlight and summer heat must only hit the clearing at certain hours of the day. Still, the cold water isn’t enough to clear your foggy mind.

What was I thinking?

You’ve always been a bashful person, why is it changing all of a sudden? Maybe it’s the devastating effect Izuku has on you.

You try to calm down a bit, taking a deep breath. So, you’re pretty much naked in front of him. Well, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time, and it (probably) won’t be the last. Now you just have to go through with your stupid idea. It’s no big deal, it’s only Izuku. Only Izuku.

Only Izuku.

Fuck.

You finally surface, not only because you can’t hide underwater forever, but also because, surprisingly, you’re not a fish, you have to actually breathe.

You push your dripping hair to the back of your head, still careful to keep your breasts under the water. Izuku’s already in to his hips when you turn around to look at him, your vision still blurry from the water trickling all over your face. He’s merciless, standing like that, only the elastic of his boxers peeking out of the water. You’re a bit surprised by the plain, black color. You were expecting something along the lines of blue, yellow and red. Izuku is full of surprises.

But nevermind the color of his underwear—what you find just above is mesmerizing. Your indiscreet, incorrigible gaze can’t help following the thin trail of hair tracing up to his navel, then the stunning lines of his abs, partly hidden behind his freckled forearms shyly crossed over them. The freckles spread up his powerful arms, gently sunkissed, scattering all over his broad shoulders.

Is he actually hiding, though? Doesn’t he know he looks like he was carved by the gods themselves?

“Have you done this before?”

The sound of his voice startles you a bit. Ah, right. You were shamelessly staring. It takes you a couple of seconds to force your distracted mind back into focus. “Done what?”

“Skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s my first time. It looks like it’s yours too.” His big, bright eyes drift around like they don’t know where to look. It’s really cute.

“It is,” he admits, now kneeling into the water as well. “I would’ve thought you were used to this.” You arch a single eyebrow in an amused frown.

“What, do I look like I have a professional degree in skinny dipping?”

“No, it’s just…You look confident, it just seemed like it.”

Confident? You’re nowhere near confident—you’re terrified. You try to keep your cool, but it’s probably the first time you’re putting on an act in front of Izuku.

“Well, you’re not so bad at it yourself.” You don’t miss the little blush coating his cheeks at that. “Also, I’m not exactly naked.”

“You’re not exactly dressed either, that’s a...v-very small piece of clothing.” He’s blushing a bit harder, looking away.

“Oh, seems like you paid some attention to my piece of clothing then, good to know.”

Now he’s quite simply scarlet. A very cute, very hot, freckled tomato. He’s so easily flustered, it only makes you want to tease him some more.

“Were your legendary All Might boxers in the dirty hamper? That’s a shame. I’m a bit disappointed,” you say in a mockingly innocent voice.

He doesn’t retort, simply stands there on his knees, shooting you an unreadable look and a little pout. After a few seconds, you open your mouth to continue, only to be startled by a strong splash hitting you in the face.

When you snap out of your shock, hair and face dripping all over your shoulders, you look up at him with what must be the scariest look of betrayal. Or the most ridiculous, apparently, since he starts laughing, louder and louder, and can’t seem to stop.

“Oh, you’re pretty pleased with yourself right now, aren’t you?” You can’t help but chuckle while talking, his laugh is so contagious.

“I am, yeah!” he manages to articulate, only starting to calm down.

As the calm of the forest returns, you watch his eyes go back to their usual round shape bit by bit, his face relaxing again. His smile causes butterflies to fly up and around in a whirlwind deep into your belly. You chuckle a bit at the feeling, almost embarrassed by how he’s making you feel like you’re in some dumb, cliche rom-com movie. On the outside, you must look a bit like a maniac, but he’s a nice guy, so he simply asks, “What is it?”

And before you can overthink yourself out of it, you’re hurling yourself at him. He barely has the chance to stutter a weak, “Wait!” before you’re putting all your weight on him, sinking his head deep in the water. Izuku may well be a nice guy, but you know he isn’t going to let you get away with this, so you’re not surprised when you’re dragged underwater by your legs. He lets go immediately, a bit abruptly, even, like it burnt his hands to touch you.

You both emerge from the water soon, and it takes you a second to get rid of the water blurring your vision, but then it hits you. How tantalizingly close you are to each other now, your bodies an inch away from touching. You’re both on your knees, enveloped in the coolness of crystal clear water and the reflections of the canopy of leaves above your heads. A spark of electricity makes you freeze on the spot; you’re so close to him your breasts slightly brush against his chest.

After a little eternity, you find the courage to look up at his face. He looks mindblowing, really. Despite the two decades you spent together, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen the pure, astonishing details of his freckles from this close. You would remember it, you definitely would. It’s a spectacular view, one of those visual memories that comes back to hit you in flashes. His nose and cheekbones are covered in them, drawing a mesmerizing pattern, more complex than the Milky Way itself. They’re an uncrackable equation, like a weird quirk of nature that you’ll never understand but don’t question anyway. They spread a little more scattered, but still very present, up to his forehead and down to his delicate jaw.

And his eyes—you could just drown in them. There’s this bright, blinding light there that feels like laying in the grass and looking up at the sunlight coating the leaves of this tree, the one you grew up near and always played under.

You swear you didn’t move, neither did he, and still you manage to get even closer to him. Now it’s you against the inexorable attraction that pulls you towards him like a fierce magnet. And it’s a losing battle, you think, as you’re both entering each other’s personal space like you share just one.

There’s nothing friendly about the way he can’t look you in the eye, seemingly too obsessed with your lips. You drop your gaze to his and find them calling for you. It’s been so long, now the thought of kissing Izuku seems unfamiliar despite being ever-present in your imagination for so many years. Like repeating a word so much it ends up becoming a series of meaningless sounds to your confused mind.

He’s the one who finally closes the distance, his lips landing on yours so softly you can barely feel them. He doesn’t move, simply content with the contact. You’re both eight years old again for a minute. The kiss feels like the little peck a kid would finally give to his crush in the middle of their school’s playground before running away to his friends.

Time seems to stop for God knows how long, and after what feels like no time and forever all at once, his lips move hesitantly against yours, bringing you back to reality. Right then, it all crashes on you like a tremendous wave. The distant echo of your mothers’ voices from the kitchen and the stupid cartoons they made you watch so they could talk for ten more minutes. The games alone together because no one wanted to play with you two weirdos. The piggyback rides, the dumb jokes, the video games (you always won). The neverending texting sessions at night because one of you couldn’t sleep. The fights that never lasted long enough to see the next sunrise because you both are way too weak for each other. All those stupid places that wouldn’t have looked half as breathtaking if it weren’t for him.

His lips are soft but roughly bitten. Hot and wet from the water and maybe from something else. He doesn’t taste like anything other than home, and that’s more than enough for you. His hands went up to cup your face at some point, but you’re too drowned in all the feelings coming up to the surface to pay attention to anything other than his soft mouth pressing on yours, more and more, opening up—

And it’s already over. You only notice that you’ve closed your eyes when you open them again when you don’t feel anything against your mouth other than the summer air. When your mind manages to regain any sense of function, the blurry focus of your gaze settles on his eyes. Wide open. Pupils eating up the dazzling viridian that puts the forest to shame. And a terrified expression in them.

He’s looking at you like he hurt you. His lips should still be on yours, kissing and sucking, not frozen like they are right now, obviously trying to express something painful as a few weak sounds pass their barrier before he finally manages to speak:

“Oh—Oh my God, I-I’m s—”

You don’t let him finish his stupid sentence. You don’t think twice before you take his face in your hands and lean in to kiss him again, with shameless intent this time. No more pretending—you’ve been waiting long enough for this and apparently, so has he.

It’s nothing gentle this time when your mouths crash against each other, teeth clashing and lips bruising under the weight of twenty years. You hold to his face like a lifeline, fingers sinking just a bit into his cheekbones, the tip of your nails getting caught in the knots of his dripping hair just above his ears. It’s messy, your noses rubbing before he angles his face better. One of his hands loops around your waist in a tight grip, forcing your chest to crush against his, the other burying in your hair at the base of your skull.

The feeling is electrifying, indescribable. It’s nothing like the pale, miserable depiction of your imagination. It’s discovering life in color when all you’ve always known was black and white.

The water is cool, but his body scorches against yours, burns your skin in the most exquisite way. The kiss is desperate on both parts, but neither of you is confident. His lips suck on yours with tentative motions, and you respond in kind the best you can. They are hungry, starving for flesh but don’t know how to hunt.

Your hands are gripping more and more of his hair, pulling harder, sending waves of heat all the way down his groin, and he’s not sure he can hide the bulge growing there for much longer.

He has to be sure, he has to be absolutely certain you want this as much as he does, because once he starts, he may not be able to stop. But you feel so good, all pressed against him. Your skin feels so soft under his hand at the small of your back he has to dig his nails in the skin of your waist so he doesn’t cross a line. But the curve just above your ass is begging for him to grip at the tender flesh and squeeze, fill his hands with it. He’s been dreaming about this for so long.

No, he can’t just hurl himself at you like a hunting wolf the first chance he gets—what kind of friend does that?

It takes him every bit of focus he has left to break the kiss, to part away from you. You have to discuss this, he can’t just throw away twenty years of friendship! Now you’re looking up at him with puppy eyes saying, ‘Why won’t you play with me?’ He breathes out a shaky sigh, and begins:

“Um, look. Believe me when I say I’ve wanted this for a very, very long time, and I love you so, so much. As a friend, I mean.” He sees you frown at this, catches a glint of something he doesn’t like in your eyes, then panics. “No, no, no, I mean, a-as a friend, but also more than that, o-obviously. But I don’t know what you want, you might be...d-disappointed, or...um—” His face starts heating up like it hasn’t in ages. He takes another breath, tries to clear up the muddled mess happening in his head. “Look, I just want the best for you, but you look...good, very good, and you’re making things very difficult for me, doing...this—”

“Izuku.” The deafening hubbub filling his mind falls suddenly silent, your voice a comforting, steady rock for him to cling to when his mind is storming out of control.

“Yeah?”

You get even closer to him, since he gradually set some distance while mumbling his anxious thoughts out again. You cup his face in your hands, a gentle, featherlight touch, and look up at him with determination in your eyes. You pull his head down a bit to settle on yours, your foreheads and noses connected, never breaking eye contact. Your lips graze over his, both your breaths mixing there, your voice a quiet whisper as you speak again. “Do you want me?”

Out of the jittery mess of his mind, the answer comes out like evidence, plain and simple: “Yes.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

You take action immediately, kissing him once again and this time he doesn’t hesitate to put his—still rather shaky—hands on you. The feeling of you is addicting, pushing his insecurities further in the back of his mind. He starts at your waist, running his thumbs there, feeling the goosebumps rising on your skin. They wander up your spine, counting every single bump of your bones, all the way to your nape. Then dragging them back down to settle on your hips, his fingers digging in the soft flesh. The little sigh you breathe on his lips causes an impressive amount of blood to run straight to his dick. 

Your mouth is distracting, dizzying, sucking on his bottom lip, nipping playfully. His tongue slides over your lips, then against your own when you open up immediately for him. You’re pressing against him even more, your breasts rubbing against his naked chest and he swears you’re going to be the death of him. You’re hanging from his shoulders by now, your arms circling his neck, still gripping a handful of green hair, pulling. You have to stop doing this—he might cum right away. He doesn’t say it aloud, only lets a moan escape him into your mouth.

He wanted this, wanted this for so long, and now that it’s real, it’s beyond everything he could have imagined. The heat of your skin, the weight on his shoulders as you cling to him, your breath in his mouth, your little sighs.

He’s only now noticing that his hands have gone to reach their destination with a mind of their own. They’re on your ass underwater, feeling the white, wet lace, the sole cloth on your entire body—that thing is just there to tempt him. He’s unsure if you like what he’s doing until you release a whimper, louder this time, enough to send a vibration against his mouth (and straight to his cock at the same time).

Suddenly, he wants to taste a lot more of you. You’re all open up to him for the first time—he has to. He trails a series of open-mouthed kisses from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, savoring every little sigh escaping your lips, then to your neck, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat.

The water is fresh all over you, and he doesn’t miss the shivers running up and down your skin at the contact of the twilight breeze. He needs to warm you up, needs to make you feel good, needs everything to be perfect for you. With his hands still on your ass, he trails lower down to your collarbone, allowing some occasional nips on the way that have you shaking. He freezes, looking up at you from there.

“Is this okay?”

The answer comes out breathy, a little desperate: “Yes, yes, please!” It sends a wave of heat all over him, the way you like what he’s doing to you, the way he’s making you feel good.

He’s not experienced or anything, only had a few hookups a couple of times, so he’s not very confident in his capacities, aside from running his hands all over you because that’s how his instincts are manifesting. You know him better than anyone—of course you would know how lost he could be in this kind of situation. But he also knows you’re not much more experienced than him, and that thought is comforting.

He’s experienced in one thing, though. He feels like the worst, filthiest person on the planet for this, but it’s astonishing the number of times he jerked off to the thought of what’s happening right now. How many times did he fuck his hand in the shower thinking about the water trickling down your skin, about licking it off your breasts all the way up to your neck.

So he does what he’s been dying to do for years. your breasts are just above the surface, so he sits on his heels and licks down your chest. When his tongue finally reaches your nipple, giving it a tentative lick, you let out a gasp, encouraging him to get bolder. And he does, closing his mouth on it like it’s the sweetest lollipop; it’s all cold and hard and raised from the water, but it warms up really quickly against the furnace of his mouth. His right hand leaves your ass to cup the neglected other, running his thumb against the bud, squeezing the flesh. That’s when you reach out to bury a hand in his hair, and pull again. God, you can pull on his hair all day and night like this; he’ll never get enough.

His left hand, still on your ass, rises up to the small of your back, feeling you arching more and more, pushing against his mouth. A harder nip has you gasping and he lets his hands run all over you, wandering without direction. It’s messy and urgent; he can’t help it—you feel so good, so soft under his hands. He’s like a kid getting to open his Christmas gifts in the morning after an endless, sleepless night waiting for Santa.

You trail your hand down his chest and his abdomen, a gentle reminder that the power he holds right now could slip through his fingers any moment. He’s willing to give it to you, especially since he doesn’t really know what to do next.

Like you just read his mind, you take his hands in yours, stopping their chaotic race. He’s feeling himself flush a bit—was he going too fast for you? Did he scare you? Or did he just let himself become overwhelmed by his feelings and it didn’t feel good for you? His eyes are looking down directly at your naked chest, he realizes he never took a proper look at them, too busy throwing himself to taste them. They look just as good as they taste, as beautiful as the rest of you.

Tentatively, he raises his eyes to find your reassuring gaze and fond smile. You lead his hands down slowly, setting them on your hips, over the criminal lace fabric preserving your modesty. Your foreheads connect again, but you never break eye contact. Lacing your fingers together, you guide his thumbs into the elastic on both sides, and now that he gets what you’re trying to do, his mind just stops.

Your voice is barely a whisper, a mesmerizing caress on his lips when you speak again. “I think I’ve waited long enough, Zuku.”

Your tone is fond, but you sound so desperate, it’s unbearably cute. His mind fogs up, the smoke of your words filling his skull and he wants to drive you as mad as you drive him. Sure, you’ve waited a lot, but so has he. He isn’t going to rush this, not if he has any say in it.

He slides your panties down your thighs underwater inch by inch. It’s even too slow for him; right now he just wants to rip the stupid piece of lace off of you and fuck you and him both stupid in the water, hard and fast. But even more than that, he wants to take his time with you, wants to take you apart piece by piece. And the testy whine it elicits from you makes it all so worth it.

You shift a bit so he can take your underwear completely off and, in a second, it lays abandoned on the sandy ground of the shore. Just knowing you’re now completely naked in front of him, it sends boiling desire flowing through every single vein in his body. He can’t see that part of you yet, the water darkening along with the sky clouding his view beneath the surface, but nightfall can’t do anything about Izuku’s wild imagination. He’s dizzy, feeling himself slowly falling into a half-conscious daze, but you anchor him right where you are, bringing him back to the reality of your arms hooked around his neck.

He rests his hands on your hips, dragging his fingertips down the soft flesh of them. The idea of touching you down there is making his head spin, he can’t wait any longer.

“Can I—”

“Yes, I want your fingers inside me,” you say before driving your lips back against his.

Without further ado, one of them goes straight to your core, making you jump a bit, breaking the kiss just for a second. He runs his index between your folds, feeling hot slick already coming out of you despite the fresh water around. His touch is light, slow, hesitant as it glides up and down, testing the waters. He’s getting a bit further, putting a bit more pressure with every stroke and earning a few pleased sighs from your heavenly mouth.

He expected a sudden reaction as soon as he found your clit, but that doesn’t mean he was prepared for the drawn-out moan coming out of your gorgeous lips, wet from his mouth and from your dip earlier. He wants to hear that again, every day for the rest of his life. He drags his thumb over it, again and again, slow at first, but then quicker and quicker, and your voice grows louder with every speed-up of his finger.

Your hands go frantic over him, running up his chest and down his abs in repeated motions that feel a lot like it’s lust driving your limbs much more than your mind. You stopped kissing him at some point, your mouth too busy expressing every ounce of pleasure you felt to focus on such basic motions. Your face is buried in his neck, your hot breath crushing against his skin.

He presses his index inside, but he’s so focused on what he’s doing, trying not to hurt you, that he doesn’t notice the shift of your own hand leaning down until he feels it cupping the painful bulge in his boxers. His eyes go wide with a gasp, and when he looks at you, you already have a playful, but intense, gaze piercing right through him.

“Did you think I was gonna let you play all on your own, Zuku?” Your fingers graze over the soaked fabric, down his entire length and to his balls, throwing gasoline on the fire that’s been consuming him for ages. “Don’t be selfish,” you whisper directly in his ear as your hands slip his underwear down his thighs.

As soon as the piece of cloth gets to join your forgotten panties on the shore, you wrap your pretty hand around him. And when you start stroking, his eyes roll so hard he swears he can see the inside of his skull. It feels better than he ever could have imagined; it’s blistering, astonishing. The only idea his brain can manage to work out right now is that he wants you to feel just as good.

He only notices now that his fingers stopped moving, and they go right back to a steady pace, but it’s a matter of seconds before he drives another finger into you. Soon, you’re both fucking the life out of each other with your hands. You’re sucking and nipping at his ear, and every single moan he draws out of you ends up turning against him, breaking into the defenses he built year after year by your side. He’s simply fucking into your hand now. He can’t help it, you feel so good. He doesn’t even want to think about what it’s going to feel like to fuck into your tight little cunt, he might cum hard just from the thought of it.

The spongy spot he finds inside you feels like he just struck gold. It’s glorious, the sounds you make right now, higher, louder. You’re tightening around his fingers, but it’s okay—you can crush them for all he cares. He wants you to moan higher for him, wants you to keep riding his fingers like your life depends on it.

“Izuku, ah—I’m close, I’m so close, please…”

“I got you, baby. I got you, shit—”

He quickens the pace again, feels like his fingers are gonna fall off his hand the moment he gets them out of you, but fuck, what his princess wants, his princess is gonna get. Your orgasms shatter the both of you to pieces, and in the bliss of his high, he can hear some birds flying away, scared by the harmonious, but probably very loud, song of your combined moans.

While his cum strikes out by ropes into the water, his clouded mind can only think about one thing.

He needs more of you.

You can barely stand on your knees, worn out from cumming the hardest you have in your entire life. You actually have to lean on Izuku so you don’t fall into the water head first like some boneless ragdoll. You just let your forehead rest on his shoulder and count the freckles there, splattered in a fascinating work of abstraction.

But apparently, he has other plans. You’re swiftly lifted up and out of the water, huge scarred hands firmly holding the back of your thighs that immediately come to circle his waist.

“Oh, nice. I don’t mind getting carried around like a baby. Where are we going?”

“Not far,” he says with a little grin, walking out of the water. “Do you think you’ll be able to walk?” His voice holds a sarcastic tone, one you’re not used to hearing out of Izuku’s angel mouth.

“I think I can manage, yeah.”

He drops you to stand on your legs, and immediately goes for his backpack. The sun has just set, its last rays of light filling the pink sky over your heads. You can still easily make out everything around you, and Izuku’s body is no exception.

You’re watching him with a raised eyebrow, letting your shameless gaze follow every curve you couldn’t see underwater. The day he started exercising in high school was the day you knew it was over for you. It was the day you couldn’t deny what you felt anymore, you couldn’t deny your best friend was everything you needed, and everything you wished for. The physical factor was only a—very pleasant— addition to the list of things that made you fall hard for Izuku Midoriya.

Your eyes linger over his impressive figure, staring at the dimples at the small of his back. You always knew they were here, but you never allowed yourself to look at them, to imagine how they would grow repeatedly hollow with every thrust of his hips into you.

He finally digs out what he was looking for: a plaid picnic blanket, because of course he would have one in there. He’s wearing a little victorious smile when he stands and turns around to spread it on a grassy spot that looks a lot more comfortable than the hard ground. He turns back to you but averts his gaze to the side, hardly looking directly at you for more than a second at a time. The heat of his gaze tracing your curves through quick glances pools deep in your core. 

“You know you can look, right?” You sure aren’t refraining from doing so after all.

His face reaches its usual redness—hasn’t he learned anything from making you cum like crazy with just his fingers? It’s cute nonetheless; Izuku will never change.

He doesn’t answer your rhetorical question, only gives you a shy command in that tentative, very cute voice of his.

“Could you lay down on this for me?”

You saw this coming, but still, you’re a bit surprised he’s asking you that out loud. You gladly oblige with your legs pressed together, slightly bent. It’s another golden opportunity to tease him a bit:. “This isn’t exactly the right use for this blanket. Aren’t we supposed to eat on this?”

He smiles at the ground while kneeling at your feet.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”

Your sly smile fades away. His tone is a contradictory mix of shyness and determination, so it’s a bit confusing but also unbearably hot—you swear an astounding wave of heat is crashing through your deepest parts, untouched, just from some words and a funny tone. You rub your thighs together before he grabs and parts them to slip himself between them.

He crawls over you and leans down to kiss you, a bit more confident than earlier. His hips are pressing between your legs, where you can feel his hardness best.

He’s rutting more and more against you as the kiss intensifies. You could think it’d be a lot less exciting now that you know he’s going to eat you out, there’d be no suspense. Wrong. The little shit apparently likes to tease you to death, because he left your lips to kiss your face, nip at your neck, suck at your ears. Dragging his devilish hands everywhere, pressing harder each time you get louder. An especially heavy whine makes him buck hard, his mouth back against yours.

“The more impatient you get, the slower it’s gonna be,” he murmurs against your lips, and starts to make his way down to where you want him, kissing every inch of you, clouding your mind with desire. It’s way too much and still not enough; it’s maddening. When he finally reaches down, you’re on the verge of a second orgasm like you hadn’t just come down a few minutes ago.

He’s holding your thighs apart in a firm grip. Just the touch of his fingers burns your skin deliciously, and the look he’s giving you from between your legs...his eyes are clouded, half-lidded, looking at the part of you he’s never gotten to see before. It feels like he’s been looking forever and just a second at the same time.

He finally dips into you, leaving butterfly kisses all over your inner thighs, punctuated by little nips, nuzzling the soft skin. He’s not looking you in the eye anymore, his gaze lingering all over your body—all over except for your face. You can make out a slight blush on his cheeks despite the dimness all around. You know him better than anyone, so you immediately recognize what’s going on in his mind just from the slightest hint in his eyes. He looks like he’s fighting a battle against himself, his shyness against his hunger. And you know who you’re both rooting for.

He finally gives in, and it takes your breath away. A single, slight lick on your clit and you’re gone. And the next ones, more and more intense, more and more hungry, push you further to tumble over your edge. He grunts into your heat, multiple times. Moans like he’s the one squirming under your mouth.

His hands hold a firm grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh and keeping you in place—he doesn’t even give you an inch to move. You can only take and take and take. But you still have the luxury of your free hands, and they rush to bury in the knots of his messy wet curls, your nails dragging, scratching his scalp.

His lips close on your clit and suck just a bit, and before you can refrain, you pull on his hair, hard. He gasps, and the moment you think you hurt him, he breathes his loudest moan, right into you. You’re filled with the vibrations—they spread all over your body, have you throwing your head back, trembling from head to toe.

The louder you are, the hungrier he gets, filling you with his insatiable tongue. You have to look at him right now. And you expected quite a show, but you certainly weren't prepared to see this—him rutting against the ground like an animal. You realize he’s getting off just from your taste, just from eating you out. His hips roll repeatedly, making you salivate just to the thought of those same hips bucking into yours, fucking you into oblivion. And the more he ruts, the louder he gets.

Now if he wants to moan, you’re going to give him a good reason to. 

You hint for him to face you with a light tug on his hair. As soon as he’s back up, he dives in to kiss you. You don’t let him. In a second he’s on his back with you seated on his hips.

“What did I say about letting you play on your own, hm?”

The ‘deer caught in headlights’ look is so cute on him. And the rest is a marvel to look at. You’re straddling him and he has no other choice than to let you devour him with your eyes—not that he couldn’t bounce you off of him with just a thrust of his hips, but he already would have if he wanted to. You let your gaze wander mindlessly over him—it’s surreal. There’s no way he’s actually under you, waiting for you to please him back with his mouth and jaw still shining with your juices. It has to be a dream—it’s always been after all.

You shift so you’re straddling his parted thighs. You can finally take a look at him. The whole thing, that is. His cock is resting against his lower stomach, hard and swollen and thick. It’s a pretty, bright pink, shining with pre-cum at the tip. Your mouth waters just at the sight of it.

He’s looking down at you, his face as flushed as his dick, that usual blush still exquisitely coating his freckles. You take him in your hand, dive in to give a lick to the tip and his head falls back down with a whimper. You let your tongue drag over the whole length on the underside, and your lips close around the tip in a wet smooch. His hips jerk up a bit, startling you.

You finally take him whole in your mouth, and you can feel his whole body tensing under you. You start bobbing up and down, going a bit further each time, earning a series of shameless moans because this boy is loud. You expected him to express himself during sex since he’s such a mumbler—and frankly, it was always one of your biggest fantasies, hearing him come undone because of you, lose any sense of shame and self-restriction when he’s such a anxious person otherwise.

But you could’ve thought about it every night and day and still never be ready for this. It’s sinful. His hand goes to grab your hair just like you did to him, and now you get why he liked it so much. The feel of his nails scratching your scalp is electrifying, soothing and destructive at the same time.

Your tongue hits a precise spot just under the tip and he jerks up again, nearly screams, “Fuck—yes, right there, please—d-do that again!”

And you do, you can only oblige—he asked so nicely. Your lips go up and down, over and over, your tongue grazing this spot with a bit more pressure every single time. You squint over him, and what you find there is a mess. Trying so hard not to buck into your mouth but failing miserably. Sounding like he’s at Heaven’s gate.

“Easy, Zuku. You’re gonna scare the birds away,” you chuckle against him, your lips brushing the tip, dripping with your saliva and pre-cum.

“Do I need to remind you…how loud you were for me earlier?” He’s looking back down at you as he speaks, a tremble in his voice telltale of his approaching climax. “You sounded...so good, baby, I swear...wanna hear you again, wanna make you scream, just for me, fuck—”

You can feel yourself soaking the blanket, can feel the slick trickle down your folds and stain the plaid cotton. Is he aware of what he’s doing? Or is he just saying whatever is going through his chaotic mind? In any case it has you starving. So you let go of his cock and, before he can protest, crawl back to his face and kiss him desperately. Tasting both of your fluids in a mindblowing mix.

You pull back just enough to be able to speak, because you need him to understand you loud and clear when you say:  “Please, Izuku, I need you inside me, I’ve waited so long. Please.”

“Okay, okay, fuck—” He cuts himself off, his eyes slightly drooping like a sad puppy. “I-I don’t have any condoms.”

“You mean you probably have pads in there for me but no condoms?” you say with your eyebrows raised, your mocking tone hinting at a teasing remark, far from criticism.

He frowns in confusion. “How do you know I have pads in there?”

“So the legend turns out to be true. After all these years—”

“Shut up, you’re impossible,” he chuckles heatlessly, resting his hands on your back.

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill,” you assure him with a soft tone.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m on the pill, yeah.”

He rolls his eyes, then clarifies, a hint of hesitation clear in his voice.

“No I mean...you’re sure you wanna do this?” He marks a brief pause, takes a short breath. “With me?”

You don’t even think before answering, it slips your mouth like it’s not even your own words: “I don’t want it with anyone else.”

There’s a silence.

“Fuck, that sounds cheesy,” you scoff, looking away.

“It does, but we’re both cheesy idiots, apparently.”

You look back at him. His smile is so fond, so loving; it melts your heart in the best way.

“I wanna be your cheesy idiot,” you say against his mouth, looking right into his eyes, willing to fall in them.

“You always have been,” he nearly whispers. It fills your stomach with familiar warmth, intense and overwhelming, comforting.

There’s a bittersweet taste in your mouth, one of regret and lost time and God, we’re idiots.

Now it’s about time you make up for it all.

You look down at him, rolling your hips against him, dripping all over his cock, coating him in your juices.

“I think I asked you something, didn’t I?”

A whimper escapes him at the feeling. His hips buck up slightly, hands gripping at your back. When you do it again, you don’t get the chance to see his reaction; you’re on your back again, him towering over you, his thigh between your legs.

He’s looking at you with something in his eyes you don’t recognize, but the tone he speaks with has your entire body quaking.

“And you’re gonna get it, sweetheart.”

He holds himself over his left forearm, his hand thumbing at your cheek while the other strokes the whole length of your thigh. Your noses are brushing, your breaths crashing together. Your hands hold tight to his nape, playing with the short hair mindlessly as you’re waiting to be filled, finally.

You feel the stretch instantly. You try to focus on those mesmerizing emerald gems he calls eyes. They look right through your soul, eating you up and you barely feel the pain. He’s taking it slow, inch by inch, giving you all the time you need, caressing your cheek with a tender stroke of his thumb.

“Relax for me, baby.”

Izuku’s voice is a soothing sound over the incessant chirping of the grasshoppers. It was always one of your favorite things to hear, its every tone another blessing to your ears. It’s loving when he asks if you’re okay, comforting when he whispers sweet nothings to you as you cry on his shoulder, heartening when he’s going on about anything he’s passionate about.

He’s kissing every part of skin he has access to, over your face, your jaw, your neck. You feel yourself relaxing around him, and roll your hips up to give him the hint.

When he starts moving it’s still slow and careful. He doesn’t break eye contact, so you can see his every reaction, and he can see all yours. His hand is still playing with your hair, even as his pace speeds up with every second. The weight of him over you feels amazing, it holds him close against you, countless parts of you both rubbing together: your chests, your stomachs, your thighs. He doesn’t even have a lot of space to move. But getting to touch and get touched by him like this, it's incredible. You always had him so close to you, always right there and still so out of reach.

You still need more; you’re insatiable. You need to see him come undone under you, because of you. You push him to roll on his back, and you end up straddling him, setting the pace yourself. You start bouncing up and down on his cock, taking balance on the hard planes of his abs. He immediately reaches up to grab your hips, guiding you along.

His face tenses up, frowning, his nose wrinkling, his lips parted just to let out a series of breathy sighs. He looks wrecked and dizzy and stunning. He’s keeping his eyes open, fixed up on you, specifically on your breasts, bouncing with your every motion. And you can feel his gaze on your skin just as much as you feel his hands gripping harder at the flesh below your hips.

“Eyes up here, Zuku,” you coo with two fingers pointed at your eyes.

He doesn’t answer, only sits up easily and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You look so amazing, you have no idea what you do to me,” he says with a trembling voice, filled with bliss.

Your heart misses a beat at his words, they fill you with warmth and comfort because he definitely doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing to you. He delves his face into your neck, kissing and nuzzling, his breath coming shorter and shorter, crashing against your skin and his hands running all over you. The sound of his hoarse voice resonates through the forest and through your soul, echoing an enchanting song.

With little effort, he puts you back under him so he can pound into you with full force, and your legs immediately come up to wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper. Your hands grab his hair, tugging to see if you get the same reaction as earlier, and it doesn’t miss: he lets out a groan right into your ear, speeding up his pace again.

The sky is dark now, and all you can hear are his moans and yours and the slap of your hips coming together repeatedly. Your head is thrown back when he grabs you by the hair, forcing you to turn your head and face him.

“Look at me. I wanna see you.”

“Izuku, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby. Let go for me, come on.”

Just the feel of his hand trailing down your stomach awakens something in you, this familiar pressure growing tight in your belly. And when his fingers reach your clit, a couple of strokes are enough to have you screaming his name, tightening around him, and pulling him towards his climax with you. His thrusts come franticly as you milk him dry, clawing desperately at his back, panting in his mouth as he leaned down to kiss you through both your climaxes.

As soon as he comes down, he rolls over on his side, still laying close to you, an arm thrown over you. You both take a minute to catch your breaths and, weirdly enough, you don’t hear anything aside from your panting. You really must have scared the birds away. Izuku breaks the silence first.

“Do you wanna...sleep at my place?”

He’s looking over at you and, despite the sky getting dark, you can easily imagine the blush coating his cheeks right now, like he didn’t make you scream his name, drunk on his cock two minutes ago.

You can’t repress your fond smile at his proposition.

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

You take a minute to gather your clothes from all over the place and get dressed, then grab your bag to tug it over your shoulder.

“You got everything?”

Izuku is waiting for you just outside the trees. You take a quick look around, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything, and turn around without a second look at the place.

Because although it was your first time setting foot here, it definitely won’t be the last; you will come back here with Izuku every chance you get, making it your shared secret, your own little wonderland.

You gladly take the hand he’s offering, making him blush a little harder, and you head straight back into the forest together.

You walk side by side as a comfortable silence settles, only disturbed by the grasshoppers’ incessant, boisterous chirping. The sky is utterly dark now, you can make out a few stars shining above the dense trees. You walk at a steady pace, but Izuku is going a bit faster with every step. Soon enough, he’s walking a bit ahead of you, still holding your hand. Another golden occasion to tease his eagerness.

“Are we in a hurry, Zuku?”

In the dark of the night, you struggle to make out the look on his face as he turns around to look at you. A second later, he’s running, and with your hand firmly held in his, you can’t do much but try to follow along. You giggle as you run, and it quickly grows into a belly-deep laughter. He’s fast, doesn’t get tired, but you follow him anyway, probably as eager as he is. You have to zig-zag so you don’t run straight into the massive trees standing in your way.

You get to the car in no time, but you’re both out of breath when you finally get in your respective seats, ready to go home.

Izuku doesn’t even wait to catch his breath before he starts the car, the engine roaring loudly in the silence of the night, probably scaring the birds away for the upteenth time that night. You catch his happy grin in the headlights glow before he heads back into the road.

You have a feeling the night is not over; you’ve only got twenty years to make up for after all.

#bnha smut #deku smut #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya smut #mha smut #there it is omg it's long af #weasel writes

[buckybarnesdiaries]

what a nightmare

bucky barnes x reader ⎢ masterlist.

request by @marvel-diaries: Hi wifey❤️ So I came across this image and I’ve been cry laughing for like 5 minutes😂So for 2K I wanted to request something kind of based on this image😂 You’re on your period and Bucky takes care of you for the day! Makes you feel comfortable and goes to the store for you to buy what you need. He ends up calling you on FaceTime because the whole pad/tampon section is just so confusing so he needs your help! At the end of the day you and him are cuddled up on the couch together eating your favorite snacks! Please and thank you❤️

word count: 1k.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Once Bucky found you wrapped in your favorite cozy blanket lying on the sofa and with pouty lips, he knew that month your period hit you really hard. You could barely move without feeling cramps all around your lower belly, grunting and curling in a ball with your arms surrounding your abdomen. He left your house without saying a word about where he was going, just placing a soft kiss on your forehead and asking you to not move, to rest. Bucky drove to the closest store, decided to pamper you the whole day or until you felt better. That was the only thing he wanted, to make you smile again and make disappear any pain that you were suffering.

His first stop was the snack sections. Your boyfriend brought you all kinds of junk food —your favorite chocolate bars, chips, candies, peanut butter. Anything he had seen you eating other months, even two bottles of ice cream because one wasn't enough. Bucky bought you one of those stuffed animals with cherry pits inside to put it in the microwave and use it to alleviate the cramps. He took a raccoon. It didn't need an explanation why, it was pretty obvious. He toured the whole supermarket, adding some pizzas to the cart for dinner.

Everything was going okay. Your boyfriend was more than happy to help you and to contribute to your well-being. But that happiness fell into pieces when he reached the pad and tampons sections. “What the hell?” He thought confused like never in his life. If he believed that war was to go to Germany and fight the Nazis was because in his time there weren't too damn many kinds of pad and tampons. They were divided by size, fabrics, brands, smells, colors (...). He didn't know which one you used and he thought about asking somebody working there but each person was a world.

Much to his regret, fucking up the surprise, Bucky took his phone from a pocket and called you via facetime. His heart broke as soon as he saw you on his screen with teary eyes, sniffing in pain.

“Hey, sorry”. He mumbled honeyedly. “Listen, I, uh… came to the store and… what the… hell is all of this? I just wanted to buy you pads or tampons or whatever the hell you use and… honestly, this 's a nightmare”.

You couldn't help but laugh in tears, cleaning them with the back of your hand, just by imagining the situation by the look on his face. He was literally begging for help.

“They're called Tampax Pearl”. You chuckled.

“Yeah, okay… Lemme… Lemme… Just gimme a second”. Bucky was freaking out, touring with his gaze the whole damn hallway.

“They're the color of your eyes”.

“Doll, listen… I ain' playing games, I just wanna go home and never come back”.

Your laughter made you stir because of the lash of pain straight to your ovaries, curling up your legs to your chest.

“Blue and green”.

“My eyes aren't gre— To who the hell are you looking at, uh?”

“You should watch them under the sun, you punk…”

“Your passive-aggressive romanticism overwhel— OH, finally, goddammit”.

You watched the triumphant grimace appearing on his face while adding three packets to the card, trying to glance at what else he had bought with not much success.

“Okay, good… 'M gonna pay, run away and never come back to this place. See you in a minute, doll”.

“Buck”. You called his name when he was about to hang up, not being able to hold back another giggle when you saw his expression turning into pure horror, hoping you didn't ask him for anything else from there. “I love you…”

“I love you too. More than anything. 'M gonna take care of you today, 'kay? Don't you worry, your soldier's comen'”.

You lied down on the sofa after finishing dinner and Bucky cleaned the kitchen, to cuddle, lacing your legs and arms together under your blanket. You felt much better than that morning. You took a warm bath, your pills, a long nap, and filled your stomach with all the things he bought for you —yet having your hot raccoon under your shirt, well pressed to your abdomen. You felt better than in heaven, receiving tender kisses from your boyfriend to any part of your body he had access to, putting more effort and love whenever he could reach your lips from behind.

Bucky was swept off his feet for you, it was something undeniable. You were his anchor, keeping him afloat twenty-four seven. And taking care of you as part of his nature, always feeling that necessity, that urgency for making you feel happy, loved, satisfied in any kind of way. You were his whole life. So, when it came to you, anything was insufficient for him.

Turning around under his firm, warm and fond embrace, you brought your lips to his. It was an ephemeral touch that caused him to close his eyes and sigh completely in love, feeling his heart racing from one second to another under your palm rested on his chest. Your left made his way to the back of his head as soon as Bucky parted your mouth in such a slow-motion to slide his tongue, looking for yours, gently caressing it. Your boyfriend pressed you a little more closely, as if it was possible, letting you almost lie on top of him. There weren't any sexual intentions hidden behind that kiss, just wanting to show him how much you appreciate any effort he did for you.

Both of you ended up breathing through your nostrils, not wanting to pause your session of makeout in the gloomy of your living room. He lived for those long, long kisses, only worrying about tasting your saliva, biting your lips, and playing with your tongue. And, God, Bucky was an expert, causing you soft goosebumps whenever he caressed your back or arms so lovingly that melted your heart completely.

“Thank you”. You whispered as you could, stroking his weak spot beneath his ear with your thumb.

He couldn't help but purr delighted on your mouth, feeling a smile curving up to his lips as he got comfier under your weight after positioning you between his legs, using you as his favorite personal blanket.

“I love you, Buck… So much I can't explain”.

“Try it, darlin'. You have a whole life to bear me”.

“What a nightmare”. You giggled, placing a smooch on top of his nose.

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[lydias--stiles]

because your kiss is on my list

alternatively: four times juke snuck up on each other for affection and the one time they didn’t have to | based on the achingly beautiful fanart by @lovelyrugbee

1. 

Luke was being manic again. And not in a cute: “Oh my God, he’s so passionate about music!”-way, but in a: “He might actually tear his eyes out from these infuriating lyrics that aren’t working”-way. Every once in a while, songs didn’t flow out as easily as they usually did. The topic was a bit trickier, or the instrumentals didn’t mesh, or something was just off. Julie wasn’t too stressed about it. They had plenty of time to rework and fix things before the gig in two weeks. 

Unfortunately, Luke didn’t have the same mindset. 

He has been holed up in the studio all day, cramped on the windowsill to the point of submitting himself to a hernia and scrapping writing scrapping scrapping scrapping. The sound was infuriating, Alex being the first to poof out and Reggie following soon after when Ray became far more interesting than a guitarist going haywire. Which was sad, cause her dad was just unloading groceries. 

Alright. She had to do something. Standing at the doors of studio with a somewhat amused expression, she took in as her boyfriend was oblivious to the world and her. In any other situation, he’d notice and compliment the orange dress she was wearing. She thought about calling his name, maybe singing or jamming her fingers on the piano, but then a better idea came. A fun one.

Quietly slipping closer, a mischievous grin crawled on her lips. Thank God she was barefoot, or else her sneakers would’ve squeaked against the cement floors. He still hasn’t noticed her, the pinch between his brow so deep and lost in thought. 

Three, two, one... 

“Ah!”, she cried out like a warrior, snapping her arms around him from behind and snatching the damned songbook from his grasp. Before he could react, she smacked a wet kiss on his cheek and added a “Mwah!” for good measure. 

The startled Luke began chuckling, trying to get his book back, her peppering more kisses on his cheek in retaliation. He had to get out of this funk! Breathe a little! Turning his cheek to look at her, he smirked. “Sneaking kisses now, Jules?”

Julie hummed against his skin, eyes sparkling. Whispering in his ear, she said: “Stop breaking your head over these lyrics and relax. We have time.” 

His smile softened, gaze tracking the way she hugged him and then- “I like the dress you’re wearing.”

Ah, yes. There he was. 

2. 

Julie Molina truly made the afterlife less boring and a whole lot more bearable. Which became really apparent whenever she had an avalanche of homework and couldn’t hang out. Luke loved his boys, but damn did he miss his girlfriend a lot now. If the situation were different (you know, had he not been head over heels in love with her), he’d poof up to her room and annoy her until she came to the studio. Alas, he respected his girlfriend and her interest in getting good grades, so he had to deal with it. 

Bleh. “Dealing with it” was like a curse word to him. 

He hasn’t seen her all day though. She left early for school and didn’t pass by the studio when she got back. All he needed was a quick look and talk and maybe a hug and then he wouldn’t be so antsy. 

(What he’d give to wrestle her into cuddling right now. He was honestly blessed he found a girl who saw all of his need for affection and then gladly gave triple the amount.)

Yup. Screw homework. He had to see her. Without telling the boys, he stood up with a huff and poofed out. The offended “hey!” from Alex he ignored. 

Dropping into Julie’s room, a smile instantly bloomed on his face at the sight of her. She was on her bed, textbooks and notes splayed out in front of her while her curls danced with each breath she took. Even when tired, his girlfriend was pretty as hell. 

“Hey,” he grinned.

She didn’t look up and mumbled: “Hey.” A page turned. “What’re you doing here?”

Luke sat down on the edge of her bed, far enough so her pens wouldn’t roll away. “Haven’t seen you today. I missed you.”

This time she did look up, her weary eyes softening and smiling. “I missed you too. I have homework though, so...” The implication was there: please leave so I can finish. His hope for a hug quickly dwindled.

“Yeah,” he muttered, not ready to go back and get slapped by Alex. “Uh...” His eyes fell on her right hand, slightly more outstretched then the other. It just... laid there. Teasing him. Freaking tantalising him when he knew how good it felt whenever those fingers brushed his cheeks or raked his hair. 

It happened before he thought about it. Crawling onto the mattress, he snatched her hand and pressed soft kisses on the knuckles. Julie caught his gaze again, that smile he loved so much melting into an adoring puff - like she couldn’t believe this idiot was her boyfriend.

He didn’t mind being her idiot.  

3.

Sometimes, Julie was just that more adorable. Like now, with her hair spread around her shoulders and that small smile stuck on her lips and her eyes that seemed impossibly soft today. All for him, only for him. 

Sure, it was probably because they were working on one of their personal songs, but the fact remained that his girlfriend still left him rendered speechless months into dating.

“What if we try it in a lower key?”, Julie proposed, nodding at his guitar. 

The song in question was a song about them. It wasn’t so lovey-dovey that it would turn the guys off, but it was still blatant. Only they would write about ‘the sea glass green of his eyes’ and ‘the smile that put Mona Lisa to shame’. 

He did what she asked, her singing the same verse again. It held more depth now, soulful and lively. The rasp in her tone made it playful and egged him on to join, like it was truly banter between lovers put to music. It was them. It was her. It was-

Luke abruptly stopped playing, pushed his guitar aside and grabbed onto her. She hardly had time to chuckle as he pressed his lips onto her forehead and held her as tight as possible. Warmth filled his chest, that strange sensation of being loved and loving back twice as hard, as she clutched his body. He almost got choked up. Here he was, in the sundrenched studio with the girl he adored playing the music they created together and she was singing it in such a quintessentially ‘them’ way. No one but them would ever truly understand the magic they conjured. How it was only explained through grins melting on skin and the giddy skip in his heartbeat. 

“What’s that for?”, she smiled. 

His hand trailed from her back to her cheeks with an elated shrug. How could he explain to her her ‘Julie-ness’ was dialled up to two hundred without sounding insane? Caressing the skin, he murmured instead: “I guess you’re just irresistible today.”   

Her eyes squeezed shut at his words, like she was embarrassed how much delight it brought her, and pressed her face back in his shoulder. 

Letting that giddy skip in his chest kiss her again, he gently pulled away to sent her a wink. “Let’s finish ‘Wicked Love’, yeah?”

4.

“So, Flynn’s been thinking-”

“Mh-hm.”

“-about a new poster for the gig we’re playing. The old one is a little amateur and she made some new concepts. Wanna see?” Julie held her phone at his face, his hand leaving the strings of his guitar to gently push it back. Falling back on the bed, she frowned. 

“Maybe later, I’m figuring out this progression...” His back bend over his guitar again, only giving her a view of the black muscle tee. 

When Luke told her he wanted to hang out that Saturday afternoon, she had hoped it would be a bit more ‘Julie and Luke’ and not ‘Luke and His Guitar’ - alas, the girlfriend was competing with a piece of wood and some metal. While texting Flynn about graphic design was fun, it was time for Luke to start doing what he promised her.

Then again, she was a sucker for music talk. “Why don’t you try switching up the chords? Start with G instead of C.”

He tried it out, a grin crawling on his cheeks. “Yeah... yeah, that works. Thanks, Jules.”

“So?”, she sang. 

“Hm?”

With a sigh, she grabbed onto the strap of his guitar and gave it a tug. Luke’s neck rolled backwards in surprise, catching her playful smile.  

Chastely pecking his forehead, she said: “Your head is in the clouds.”

The teasing look of his matched hers. “You’re kissing my head right now.”

“Mh-hm,” she mumbled, loving the way his hair had that perpetual scent of apple and something inherently Luke. Kissing the locks, she added: “And you’ll be getting a lot more if you actually start hanging out with me.”

His book and instrument slid off his body just like that as he speared her into hug. Luke collapsed onto her body with the cutest grin and she knew she caught him. Their laughs chimed throughout the house for the rest of the day. 

+5.

Luke poofed onto her bed with a grin, his girlfriend automatically snuggling into his side and finding each other’s lips with ease. For a beat, they’re cherished the quiet passion shared between them. They didn’t need to do a lot to feel loved by the other. 

He pressed his nose into her curls. “How was school?”

“Good,” Julie whispered against his neck. “How was the studio?”

“Chill. Reggie scared a spider.”

She giggled, the sound making his grin widen and hide his face so she wouldn’t see how ridiculously giddy she made him. Turning her head so she’d see him anyway, her nose scrunched. “I know you’re smiling.”

“That’s my line, Molina,” he huffed, the teasing glint shimmering in his eyes. 

A signature brow quirked. “You got that on paper?”

He didn’t miss a second. “I love you.” He didn’t need to ponder or linger or rewrite or scrap or workshop the thought. It wasn’t even a thought. It was a truth and he’d repeat that truth over and over again until the universe knew it too and kept it in their books for centuries to come. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. 

The smile that came was worth the truth, how her love for him broke through without a moment of hesitation. Now she’d say the same, over and over and over again, so the universe knew they were talking about each other and would always keep their names together in said books. 

Julie kissed him again, long and sweet and as easy as breathing. Her utters were barely audible, but his heart caught it. “I love you too.”

Locked in their embrace, they shared earphones listening to their favourite music until they fell asleep. (How Luke could fall asleep, but only when in her loving touch, he wouldn’t question. Some oddities of the universe were best unsaid.) 

@blush-and-books @unsaid-emily @bluefirewrites @willexx @ourstarscollided @alexjulies

#its after midnight so excuse if its a jumble #ophelia? using metaphysical similes? why of course its the libra in me #juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fanfiction #otp: i think we make each other better

[tomtenadia]

My Thursday crush

Rowaelin month - Day 4 - Library or librarians

It was a nice spring day in Orynth and Rowan was slowly walking to work. Headphones on and a book in his hands. He had developed the skill of reading and walking to the point of perfection.

His friends made fun of him but he always replied that if it was socially acceptable for people to walk with their faces in their phones and not paying attention, then a book was surely better. And he never bumped into anyone.

He stopped at the coffee shop around the corner from his job and got his usual order, placed the thermos in the backpack and walked the last stretch.

The library was still closed and it was his job to open it. He had volunteered for the morning shifts since he was a morning person and was happy to open up.

Once he was inside he went through the motions of opening up for day and getting the library ready. Rowan switched on the public computers and then did a walkthrough to make sure everything was looking good. He found a few books abandoned in places where they did not belong and groaned. He loved his job, he loved books. 

He had a degree in library studies and once graduated he applied and got a job at Orynth main public library. The place was huge and he had grown up visit the building a lot. He had started using it thanks to his mum who had passed her love for books to him. That love never left him and growing up he realised he wanted a job where he could spend his day with books. But people? People annoyed him. The way they would just abandon books after using them, or the way they sometimes they would not respect the peace of a library. He was not a people person. 

He grunted again and placed the books back where they belonged. Then he growled savagely when he noticed one abandoned on a chair, upside down, spine broken and a dog ear on one page as bookmark. Some people deserved to have their library card cut to pieces.

At 9am on the dot he opened up and welcomed his morning regulars “Good morning mrs MacLeod.”

“Oh, good morning, Rowan darling. Is my book here?”

He smiled at the woman and went to the shelf where they kept the returns that had been booked by someone else and grabbed her book.

“Yes,” he passed it to her “it was returned yesterday and we set it aside for you.”

The woman gave him a huge smile and he finished the loan procedure “I hope you will like it. It’s a nice story.”

“I am sure I will, darling. You always recommend me good books.”

He helped her to the door and went back to work, preparing the loan requests they had got online. A wide smile spread on his face at the name he saw on the list. He was not a fan of people but there was one person whose presence he had started to enjoy deeply. She was another regular and a bookworm like him. She had told him that she had to get some of her books from the library to avoid going broke on payday. He had laughed at the joke because it was the same for him.

She was a teacher and on Thursdays she was off and would always visit the library to return a book and get a new one. They would talk about what they were reading and he discovered they had the same tastes and he had been reading a lot of her recommendations. She was just obsessed with books as he was. Rowan had started to admit to himself that he was crushing on her. She had stolen his heart when one day she came to the desk and complained, outraged, that the book she wanted to borrow had a coffee stain on a page. They had raged for ten minutes together at the animals and his heart skipped a beat. It did help as well that the woman was stunning. Her hair was a deep gorgeous blonde and she had the most incredible blue eyes with an unusual ring of gold. Yes, he was definitely a fool in love and Thursdays were his favourite day of the week. Since she started visiting he had never had another Thursday off.

***

Aelin had a bad morning already. She had gone to the gym and found it closed for some obscure reason. Then an idiot on his phone bumped into her and made her spill her coffee. She had shouted a large list of expletives at the savage and left. It was Thursday and she could not let anything ruin her favourite day of the week. She was on her way to the library to collect the book she had reserved. But if she was to be honest to herself, she was looking forward to see Rowan. The librarian had become one of his favourite people, although they only meet once a week, her time spent with him talking about books was always precious. 

It did help that the man was hot. As in so unbelievably handsome that he was so out of her league. In the months they had interacted she had developed a crush on him and not just for his unique features. He had short silver hair and the deepest pine green eyes and the days he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows she had spotted a wonderful tattoo in the old language. He had an incredible nice build and tanned skin. He was hotness incarnated. A heart attack on two legs.

Knowing her luck with men, he was happily married, although on a closer inspection she had not spotted a wedding ring. Well, probably a super hot fiancee. She definitely stood no chance with him.

But she had liked him as well because he was smart and loved books just as fiercely she did. He was always ready to suggest some new titles and all his recommendations had been spot on. She had enjoyed every single book. A part of her wished she’d have the courage to ask him out and talk about books perhaps in front of a coffee. Aelin was actually curious to discover what else he liked.

Twenty minutes later she finally reached the public library. She loved that building and her parents had nudged her towards becoming a bookworm. They would read to her and once she was able to read alone, they would gladly buy all the books she wanted. Her childhood home also had a proper library and she would spend hours in there travelling with her imagination. 

She stared at the building and finally walked in. She climbed the marble stairs and reached the adult lending library section. On the lower floor they had an area all dedicated to kids.

She opened the glass doors and her eyes went straight to the desk scanning the area for a head of silver hair. Sadness hit her when she did not see him around. It really was going to be the day from hell. She walked to the fiction section and as she turned the corner around a stack of shelves she crashed into someone. What was with her and crashing into people today?

She was about to apologise when she looked up and noticed who she had bumped into. It was Rowan. Gods, even his name was perfect. That day he was wearing a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, jeans and a pair of rimless glasses. She had so many improper thoughts.

“Aelin, sorry I didn’t see you…” his voice thick with his accent from Wendlyn. 

“Hi,” she managed, trying to bring her feelings under control “I thought you were off. I came in and you were not around.” Oh she sounded like a lovestruck teenager.

“I was placing some books back on the shelves.” He indicated the pile in his arms.

Aelin spotted one of the titles “that is a great story. I read it about five times already.” Pointing to a specific title.

Rowan had a look at the book and read the blurb “I’ll set it aside.”

“You look good with glasses.” She blurted out and then blushed. She was flirting like a moron.

He gave her a smile that reached his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. Gods, the things she’d do to him…

“I have the book you reserved, by the way,” and he started walking back to the counter and she followed. 

Aelin gave him her card and he processed the loan for her “you know the drill, right?”

“I am going home and spill coffee all over it.” Had it been someone else she knew he would have been horrified but that had become their inside joke. He knew she would never do anything of the sort.

***

Rowan processed her loan and took that moment to think about a good way to ask her out for coffee although he was afraid he was going to get a crushing rejection. She was probably taken already. A woman like her was definitely not single. Plus, she was definitely out of his league. He was about to ask her but froze and decided to leave it.

“I’ll just go and have a look around.” She told him, and he knew she was trying to put some distance between them. How could he even hope she would fall for him? He was the most boring man on earth. That was what Lyria had said when she dumped him. He sighed heavily and went back to his job but his gaze followed Aelin through the bookshelves. In his head he had different conversations he wanted to try. He usually was quite good and in the past he had picked up his share of women in pubs. But with Aelin it was different. He did not want to pass as a pig. All he wanted to tell her was that he found her attractive and fascinating and take her out for a coffee. Then he had an idea.

He walked to a shelf and picked a book that he knew she’d love. He was planning on recommending it to her another time but that was now his tool for his plan.

He scribbled down a note on a post it and placed it in the book, then walked to her “I was meaning to recommend you this one. Loads of angst but it’s a great story, and the female main character is just as badass as you like it. I already checked it out for you.”

The smile she gave him left him breathless “Thank you, Rowan. That’s why you are my favourite librarian.”

Eventually she had to leave and he wished it was Thursday already.

***

It was later in the afternoon when she got home after all her errands. She took her two books from her messenger bag and flipped through the one Rowan had given her until she spotted something bright green through the pages. She reached the post it note and read it.

I think you are perfect and a very fascinating woman. I will eagerly wait for next Thursday. Hopefully you will let me take you out for a coffee. Rowan.

She squealed in delight and texted Lysandra straight away to tell her about the message Rowan had left her. Rowan, the hottest librarian in the whole of Orynth wanted to go out for coffee with her. She could not believe it was happening, and she had to wait until next Thursday. She was off on Saturday but she had no idea if Rowan worked. She could try, she was so impatient to see him again that waiting was not an option.

***

Rowan got home later that night, got changed and crashed on the sofa and noticed the book abandoned there. It was one of the many Aelin had recommended to him. It was a great story, she definitely had great taste. He grabbed the book and thought about Aelin and the message he had left her. He had been so stupid. It was not high school, they were both adults and leaving messages like a lovestruck teenager was beyond pathetic. He should have talked to her like human beings did. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the sofa. He had probably blown every chance with her. Who would ever go out with a guy who couldn’t even ask a girl out?

The following Thursday

Rowan had opened the library as usual but on that day a sense of unease was making him nervous. He still could not think about the stupid move about putting a message in a book for Aelin. He was positive she was going to ignore him the next time, or stop visiting altogether.

The morning had been busy with new applicants, his usual customers and an avalanche of requests to set books aside. Panic caught him when he saw one from Aelin. Which meant she was coming in and he was not ready. What could he say to her? Sorry I am bad at talking to people so I write secret messages like a teenager? He was embarrassed and he was not ready when he spotted her golden mane of hair appear at the main entrance. He tried to hide but she had spotted him and was now walking towards him with a huge grin. His heart started racing. Was just an impression or she was more gorgeous than usual?

Rowan saw her come to the desk and diligently wait for her turn while he finished serving the three people in front of her.

“Hi stranger,” she said to him once it was her turn.

Rowan felt a savage blush rise on his face “Hi you. I assume you are here for your book.”

Aelin nodded and passed him her library card “and for a coffee date.”

Rowan froze halfway to the computer. He cleared his voice “so you saw my message.”

“And I loved the idea. It reminded me of one of the books I read recently where one of the guard is in love with the princess, they are both bookworms and leave each other messages in books because they need to keep their relationship a secret.”

Rowan smiled “You got me. I took the idea from that book.”

The smile she gave him had the power to almost knock the breath out of his lungs.

“I don’t have school on Saturday. Fancy going out for a coffee?”

Rowan nodded “do you know the coffee shop around the corner from here?”

Aelin nodded in assent “I love that place.”

“I am off this Saturday, so if you want we can go then. It would be lovely to know more about my favourite customer.”

She took a step closer to him, only the counter separating them “favourite customer, eh?”

“Well, the one who gets outraged at people mistreating books. The one who understands my pain.”

Aelin cackled and her hand brushed his when she grabbed the card he was returning to her. 

“I have only one condition.” He added softly.

“Hm?”

“You let me pay. You can scoff as many pastries as you want. It’s my treat.”

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek “it’s a date.”

When she pulled back she noticed his beautiful green eyes set on her. Maybe she had been too forward?

He grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled something down “my number.”

Aelin grabbed the piece of paper happily and winked at him “Now I have to go. I have loads to do.”

Rowan was sad at the idea “Of course. I will see you Saturday, then?”

“Saturday.” Her heart raced and then walked out of the library thinking that she could not wait two more days before seeing him again.

Rowan followed her with his gaze, happy that she had appreciated and understood the message idea. His hand touched the spot on the cheek that she had kissed and he was positive he was grinning like a lunatic.

They had a coffee date. He could not believe his luck.

But most of all he could not wait for Saturday.

He went to the stacks, looked for a specific book and checked it out under his name, then scribbled a message on a post it and placed it in the book and set it aside.

Ready for Aelin.

She was his Thursday crush.

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelinmonth #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #day 4 #fluff #aelin galathynius

[dynyamight]

here’s a concept: deku, a farmer boy goes out to the Wild West and encounters a cowboy kacchan. deku teaches cowboy kacchan to plant corn and take care of chickens. they then become close. after that they marry and are known at the “maize buckaroo duo.”

(this is so random hshshshsh. but the idea just sparked outta nowhere ;33)

i offer you, farmer!deku x cowboy!bkg you give concept. i create fanfic. ;33 i luv this idea & ilysm

—

When Midoriya registers the fast, loud gallops outside, hitting and snapping down on the ground, he ceases his movement, before smiling hard.

The Monday morning has just started, and already there’s excitement in his chest. Those familiar sounds gave him the absolute flutters.

However, that excitement drops. Daisy huffs, back kicking at the milk bucket in an annoyed fit. Midoriya hurriedly picks it up, before all their shared, hard efforts were to go down the hay. Literally.

“Sorry, sorry!” Midoriya urges the cow, quickly smacking his wet hands on the folded towel on his knee. Then, resting a short calm palm on her snout, he whispers reassuringly, “You did amazing, today. Let’s get you back on the field.”

After setting the bucket aside, Midoriya takes the rope around Daisy in one hand, and lifts open the gate with the other. Together, they slowly make their way out of the stables, more or less. Daisy steps on Midoriya’s heels, hurrying him up.

However, stepping outside, Midoriya already knows to turn to his left, instead of his right at the gated grass field. From the sounds he heard inside, he bets on seeing Dynamite, first.

And, sure enough, turning around the corner of the stables, the proudful stallion meets his eyes, neighing a loud greeting over his way. Midoriya halts Daisy and offers a small wave back.

There’s a small jolt from Dynamite, before he starts walking, at a quick pace over towards Midoriya. Finally, that’s when Midoriya sees Bakugou, riding on the back of the horse, the finest, leather saddle equipped.

Midoriya shakes his head, smiling up. “Surprising to see you, so soon. It’s not even sunrise, Kacchan.”

“How fucking rude,” Bakugou clicks his tongue, before stopping Dynamite’s steps with a small pull. He tips his black, cowboy hat down, though barely. “Not even a damn ‘morning’ my way.”

“You’re never one for pleasantries, anyway.” Midoriya teases, pointing at his hat. “You didn’t do a full tip, you know.”

“Tch, you ain’t special.” Bakugou huffs, “Be grateful.”

Taking a few steps forward, Midoriya pats the side of Dynamite’s face. “Good morning, boy! How are you, on this fine early day?” He holds in the laugh, glancing at the scowl Bakugou sends his way.

Dynamite doesn’t give any cues of delight. But, by the way Midoriya feels the stallion lower his head, and press firmly against his hand, it’s not too far-fetched to assume he loves the touch.

On the other hand, Bakugou swats at Midoriya, face twisted in disgust. “Gross! I don’t want that fucking creature’s juices all over him.”

Behind Midoriya, Daisy stomps on the ground. ‘The field, remember?’ Midoriya imagines her quip. And, from the wagging of her tail, she’s losing her patience. Quickly.

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakugou sneers aloud, speaking directly at Daisy, “Say whatever you want. But, I ain’t wanting your spoiled cheese on my damn horse.”

“That’s not what she’s upset about.” Midoriya deadpans. “And, what? Can’t handle milk, out of all things?”

“Milk that came straight out of her tit.”

“Where else would it come from? Trees?”

“Whatever, I just don’t want that shit on my horse, for fuck’s sake.”

Though, they couldn’t argue anymore about it. With a strong force, Daisy begins to pull Midoriya away, forgoing staying another second away from her beloved grass.

Fortunately, for Midoriya’s heart, Bakugou cues Dynamite to follow, trailing right next to them. “Damn, she reminds me of my hag. So fucking dramatic.”

“Your hag?” Midoriya questions, tossing a curious head over. “Is she your dog?” He guesses.

“My mom.” Bakugou corrects, nonchalantly.

Midoriya supposes the open expression of shock wasn’t concealed well, because Bakugou lets out a laugh, turning away with a fist to his mouth. “You’re such a mama’s boy.” He snickers. It leaves Midoriya red in the face.

It’s just he would never call his mother anything, but an absolute blessing. He loves her, dearly.

The moment they step onto the wide, open area of the field, Daisy tosses her head, wanting the rope around her neck off. Hushing her quiet and still, Midoriya loosens off the knot, allowing the loop to widen, and finally, pulling it over her head, free.

As Daisy trots away, passing through the sheep and goats, Midoriya’s surprised to see Bakugou pulling himself off Dynamite. Landing smoothly on his feet, leather boots shiny with clean spurs, Bakugou fixes his hat, showcasing more of his face.

His red meets green. “Nice farm you got building.” He compliments. “An improvement from before.”

Midoriya nudges him, with a dull elbow jab. “Stop, It looks the same.”

“That ain’t true.” Bakugou firmly states. “Two months ago, this place had nothing.”

“Well, it’s still not enough to open a public business.” Midoriya sighs, readjusting the straps of his brown overalls. ”I might have to pull out another loan, in order to afford some harvest equipment for my corn.”

“Tch, that’s why you should join the rodeos.” Bakugou insists, crossing his arms to his chest. “It’s the easiest way to make money, here. Good money.”

Midoriya looks back at Bakugou, unimpressed. “Says the state champion.”

Dynamite snorts, conveniently in tune to Midoriya’s mock. It causes a slight reddening in Bakugou’s face. He quickly turns back to his horse, munching on the grass. “Shut it.”

“Anyways, I’ll find a way. Rodeo, or not.” Midoriya continues, yawning in between his words.

“Geez, where’s your damn etiquette.”

“Left it back home. With all my sins and exes.” Midoriya teases, outright. And, despite the smack over his head hurting, Midoriya can’t help, but laugh. “I’m serious!”

“You’re so annoying.” Bakugou grumbles, digging one of his spurs on the ground. “Bringing up stupid shit.”

Midoriya shrugs, still rubbing the back of head. “I promise you, I was a lady killer, where I’m from.”

“Killing those poor, innocent ladies with your bad breath.”

Immediately, Midoriya raises a hand over his mouth, puffing out an air. Though, all he can smell really, is Daisy.

God, did that mean his breath smells like Daisy? The cow?

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Gullible Deku.” He simply states. “Your breath s’fine.”

Midoriya groans, and he tries to smack Bakugou back over the head. Though, Bakugou dodges his hand easily, leaning away.

“Making fun of a farmer on his own bought land, is an insult to his pride.” Midoriya huffs, taking back his hand.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bakugou mocks, a grin forming against his lips. “Make me work? Not a chance.”

With a lightbulb feeling running through his mind, Midoriya absolutely loves the off handed suggestion. “Actually, yes! You can help me feed the chickens!”

Turning his heels quickly, Midoriya smiles at the absolute panic in Bakugou’s voice. “Hah? What the— No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!” Midoriya sings aloud, taking quick steps towards the gate. “C’mon, hurry up, now! Leave Dynamite out on the grass!” He calls out, as he opens the gates, and goes into a full sprint out.

By the time he reaches the stables, goes to his feeding cabinet, shelves crowded with plastic containers and bags of nutrients for his livestock and crops, and grabs onto the chicken feed, Bakugou has begrudgingly made his way inside.

“It smells.” Bakugou complains.

“Suck it up.” Midoriya laughs, before taking a plastic bowl off the shelves and setting it down on the counter. He pours the feed inside. “I bet the rodeos smell just as bad.”

“They don’t.”

“Well, you’re being paid to say that.”

Bakugou walks over to him, standing by his side. He leans on the counter, as Midoriya lifts the feed bag back into the cabinet. “If they did, I wouldn’t do them.” Bakugou states, narrowing his eyes. “Simple as that.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Before Bakugou can insist otherwise, Midoriya pushes the bowl into his hands. He holds back a laugh, when Bakugou almost drops it completely. “Now, let’s head to the coop, shall we?”

Clicking his tongue, Bakugou grimaces. “S’too fucking early for this.”

“Hey, you’re the one who showed up.” Midoriya reminds him, as they walk to the back of the stables, where the clucks of the chickens resound louder. “Which, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the sudden visit? Forgot to buy eggs, from yesterday's pick up?”

“Does it matter?” Bakugou questions, instead.

That takes Midoriya aback. ��I mean, not really. But, we never meet on the weekdays.” He admits softly. He takes a moment away, to crack open at the tall, wooden gate at the end of the hall.

The chickens weren’t too active, thankfully. Several of them are still sitting perched and hidden inside the coop. Otherwise, only a few were already walking around outside the coop, clucking aimlessly.

Midoriya feels Bakugou lean close to him. When he looks, he notices a chicken had passed by Bakugou’s boots, with no pay to mind. However, Bakugou was visibly losing his mind.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.” Midoriya smiles.

Bakugou scowls, glaring right down at him. “They got bacteria. Sick motherfuckers.”

For a cowboy, Bakugou has a keen distaste for getting unnecessarily dirty. It never fails to surprise Midoriya. “Well, just wash your clothes when you get back home.”

“I got other shit to do after, you know.” Bakugou growls.

“Again,” Midoriya sighs, “You’re the one who chose to be here. I’m simply utilizing you.”

As Midoriya leads Bakugou over to the coop, he grumbles under his breath. “Gonna have to pull another loan, if you want me working for your ass.”

Rolling his eyes, he ignores the silly comment, and instead gestures at Bakugou to start throwing the feed at the nearby chickens, surrounding the coop. When he stares back, confused, Midoriya remembers the guy’s not a farmer in the slightest. “Start throwing the feed.”

Bakugou hurriedly starts tossing small amounts. “I knew that. Thought you were gonna say something else.”

It’s hard to imagine what else an open hand in air would mean, but nevertheless Midoriya doesn’t argue. The chickens awake are already bustling over, surrounding the dropped feed in seconds.

Taking a handful from the bowl, Midoriya kneels down, going close to the small crowd of chickens. He notices some of them quickly waddle over to him, instead of feed dropped on the ground. The few that come to him peck at his hand, and it floods warmth to Midoriya’s heart.

“They prefer off the hand, huh.” Bakugou comments above him.

“I would like to think that they like me, but sure.” In seconds, the feed’s all gone, and the chickens wait around him for more.

“You should kneel down, too.” Midoriya offers gently to Bakugou, making sure his voice doesn’t startle the creatures. “Feed them off your hand.”

There’s an obvious hesitation, before Bakugou gets low, kneeling next to Midoriya.

One of the chickens tries to reach into the bowl in hands, in which he pulls it away quickly. “I’m getting fucking attacked already.”

“They’re eager.” Midoriya insists.

Dipping his hand into the bowl, Bakugou raises a handful of his own. He whips his head to Midoriya, glaring. “If my hand bleeds, I demand a lawyer to prosecute you.”

They don’t even hurt that bad. Though, telling Bakugou that would probably have him second guess everything. Hence, Midoriya shakes his head. “You won’t.”

Within a few seconds of only impatient clucking surrounding them, Bakugou finally puts his hand out. In seconds, the chickens start to peck at his hand, picking up all the feed quickly.

Midoriya stares at Bakugou. He’s cursing them out, demanding them to stop pecking so hard, for fuck’s sake. And, despite the apparent discomfort from the first handful, Bakugou goes for another handful, offering his hand once more.

Again, the cussing ensues, but it’s still all Bakugou’s free will. He could have stopped at the first hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he’s still kneeling next to Midoriya, feeding these silly, rambunctious chickens.

When Bakugou definitely had better things to do.

“Why did you show up?” Midoriya asks once more, standing up. The chickens have already departed, as Bakugou had tossed the rest of the feed from the bowl, out in the open. “You only buy my products on Sunday’s.”

“Why do you keep asking.” Bakugou reflects back, opening the wooden gate open for Midoriya.

Midoriya steps in front of him, back inside the stables. Once inside, hearing the wooden gate close, he turns around, facing him. “You know, I’m not letting you off, without hearing what’s on your mind.” He softly smiles.

Bakugou stares back at him. And, for an odd moment, his eyes scan all over his face, jittering, until they cease. “You’re making this a big deal, Deku. Just wanted to check up on the farm.”

Ah, that does make sense. “Oh my— Then, why didn’t you say that earlier!" Midoriya laughs.

Bakugou shrugs. “Again, it’s not a big deal. Now, where’s the damn sink?”

Midoriya leads them back to the entrance of the stables, where the sink was, alongside various cleaning supplies perched on shelves. They wash their hands, in silence.

They don’t say much either, when they head back to the grass field, to pick up Dynamite. Though, Midoriya doesn’t mind the silence. Bakugou has a limit to his social battery, and Midoriya has grown to know when it’s time to give him his quiet and peace.

After Bakugou sits back up on Dynamite, and they walk back to the open road, around the corner of the stables, he slightly pulls the reins, causing the stallion to come to a stop. It causes Midoriya to look up, wondering if the cowboy forgot something, back in the stables.

Instead, there’s a slight flush in his cheeks. He coughs loudly, clearing nothing in his throat. “There’s a rodeo this Friday.”

Midoriya waits for the rest, but instead Bakugou says nothing else. “Oh, uh, okay? Will you be participating?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou simply utters.

Again, nothing else is said. “Well, I wish you the best of luck, then.” Midoriya offers, despite the confusion in his mind.

“Are you—” Bakugou stops, inaudibly grumbling under his breath. “I mean, the rodeo ain’t too far from here.”

“Oh!” Midoriya’s genuinely surprised, “Who would have thought? That’s a shocker.”

“Yeah. You could go, even.”

“I’m not joining rodeos. No matter how many times you demand.” Midoriya laughs.

“No, to watch.” Bakugou corrects, though the moment he slips the words, it suddenly causes his entire face to go red. “Fuck, I mean, you could watch. Other riders, and competitors, or whatever the fuck.”

Midoriya can’t seem to understand where Bakugou’s coming from. This cowboy wants him, a new residential farmer, to watch a rodeo. A rodeo, which he has never seen in his entire life.

Though, if Bakugou’s asking, Midoriya’s heart will always simply agree. “I’ll go watch, then.” He reassures him, “And, I guess I’ll cheer you on, if you’re any good.”

Bakugou’s face calms, though there’s still a stiffness in his shoulders. “Cool.”

Midoriya thinks he wants to say something more, but instead Bakugou brings his thighs closer to Dynamite, squeezing him slightly. Instantly, Dynamite starts trouting off.

Before he can call out, Bakugou looks back at him. “Starts at 7 in the afternoon! Don’t be fucking late!”

And, just with a small kick, Dynamite starts racing off on the road, Bakugou leaving Midoriya only with his thoughts.

There’s not a lot of information about the rodeo, though Midoriya knows he will most definitely ask around for the rest of the details. Essentially, it’s a nearby rodeo, that starts at 7PM. Surely, there are others in town that know where exactly is the event.

Midoriya can’t help, but drift his focus away from the rodeo, and back to Bakugou’s distant figure. Against the morning sunrise, he looks so cool.

But, a farmer like him, attracted to a cowboy like Bakugou, is so embarrassing.

#star responds #thank you for the best idea ckai !! #basically: deku has moved states in order to build his perfect farm #however all he can produce rn is milk. eggs. and oddly enough corn #& at the start. he only had his trustee ol' cow his mother had gifted him #so. when cowboy bakugou drops by the farm one day. with his horse exhausted and needing a pit stop #he stumbled upon a farmer who literally had nothing #however. his kind gentle soul causes bakugou to willingly buy his milk. which he greatly pays for #after that. he stops by every sunday. to buy whatever products midoriya has in stock. or more or less HAS #& bakugou has a definite crush on the farmer. hence. the rodeo invite #midoriya finds him attractive and exciting. but not much else. #if anything he doubts bakugou would even be interested in a lame farmer like him #little does he know ;)) #bakudeku #bkdk #ckatsudon #my beloved #FICLET

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Spencer Reid x Reader

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.”                  

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.”                       

PART ONE HERE

A/N: It came out fast!!! I had lowk already started it, so that’s why this update came so quickly. Please don’t expect them all to come this fast LMAO. I usually write slow as fuck. Anyway, I really hope you guys like this part so I can maybe just maybe turn this into a mini series. Please lmk if you guys like :) 

CONTENT WARNINGS: KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, LANGUAGE, MENTIONS OF SEX (lmk if i missed any please) 

I paced the bullpen as the team spoke to Penelope. The shock of her pregnancy was starting to wear off, and now I could think more clearly. How could she? What was she thinking? 

Recently, I’d found myself thinking about it more, a baby her and a mini-me. A family of my own, with the love of my life. It was exciting and like a lovesick fool it made my stomach fuzzy. But she wasn’t ready and I couldn’t do that to her. So how could she do it to herself? She hadn’t finished school, hadn’t started her career. She could barely take care of herself! I wasn’t mad, absolutely not. Just disappointed at her self-sabotage and the fact she’d made the decision completely without me. I couldn’t think about it for long though, because I was swiftly reminded by my surroundings that right now, there was a chance I’d lose her, our child and any children we wanted to have in the future. That was the priority. 

“Garcia, check her credit card records, we need to see where she last was.” Hotch said. 

“Uhm, okay,” Penelope took a deep breath while clicking away, “Let’s see. Her last purchase was last night, 6:49 at a CVS Pharmacy, oh--” 

“What Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“She was um, picking up her monthly case of birth control.” 

JJ broke the silence, “Spence…” she started towards me. 

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thank god.” 

“Thank god?” Morgan questioned. 

“She’s 23.” I wiped my face, “Whole life ahead of her.” The team understood what I was trying to say. Rossi’s hand fell on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. 

“So why would she tell Brook she was?” Garcia asked. 

“I uh, I..I don’t know.” I spat out. I really had no idea.  

“Think Reid.” Rossi told me. “You guys ever talk about kids or pregnancy?”

“She might be trying to send us a message,” Emily added. 

I thought back to the last time we discussed starting a family. 

--FLASHBACK-- 

We were surrounded by timeless pieces of art and history, and yet the true masterpiece was still her. She was always beautiful to me, a perfect being, truly. But today, something about the way she looked today specifically, made her look like the kind of beauty you see in a painting. Had she been a painting, her creator must have been skilled. Each stroke of his brush creating every divine curve of her face and body to produce a work of magnificent art, one that I so proudly hung on the walls of my heart. 

I remember exactly what she wore, and how it felt to take it all off. The painter had an eye for color. Her denim skirt, the length or lack thereof making me embarrassingly wary, was blue like the Mediterranean Sea, complementing the pigment of the skin of her legs. A white button down made of silk, not worn properly, of course. Too many buttons were left open at the top, as to draw attention to the gold adorned on her chest, but in the spell of temptation she procured to cast upon me, my eyes wandered to admire territories of her body they shouldn’t have. Not in public, at least. The buttons at the bottom were left untouched as well, revealing the soft skin of her stomach. She looked like an angel, but of course, went out of her way to instead be my temptress.

My affinity for her beauty aside, the wide eyes in delight at the museum artifacts and careful attention to my commentary were what made our excursion wonderful. The feeling of her smaller hand in mine, and the giggles and the teasing “You’re way too nerdy to be so stupid hot Dr. Reid.” made it absolutely perfect. 

In exchange for her listening so attentively to my historical facts and stories, I took her for ice cream. She insisted we ate it on the greens of Lincoln Park. Who was I to deny her that? What came next--I expected. She’d devoured it. Made a mess of strawberry ice cream on her white shirt. 

“It was the wind!” She insisted as the first of many drips of ice cream fell down her chin. 

“No it was not!” I argued back while wiping it, “You just never learned how to eat ice cream properly.” I gently removed the cone from her hands and into mine, taking an overzealous bite. “This, lovey, is how you eat ice cream.” 

“Give it back, you...you dickass!” She snorted. We laughed like two lovesick teenagers. 

“Dickass?” I asked, eyes watery from laughter. 

“Yeah dickass, give me back my damn ice cream.” I took another bite, “Stop! You’re eating it all!” She pouted. Pouts were unfortunately my weakness and I handed it back to her. However, in her rush, the pink scoop had fallen directly on her blouse. 

“Way to prove my point,” I started to take off my cardigan, “You want dickass’s sweater?” 

She wanted to be mad but couldn’t contain the wince of a smile. “Please.” 

We carefully removed her shirt from under while simultaneously putting the cardigan in its place. 

“Spence don’t let me flash! There’s kids and judgmental old ladies here!” 

I laughed and shushed her, “I know, I know.” I moved all the fabrics quickly and it was done. Her sticky pink shirt was replaced with my soft sweater. “There.” 

“My hero,” She kissed me, “Truly.”

She leaned back on our picnic blanket on her shoulders as we observed our fellow park goers. “So many kids.”  

I nodded my head in agreement. “Yeah…” 

“We should bring our kids here one day.” she said, instantly breaking my haze from the crowd so I could only see her. 

I smiled again at the thought, “Yeah, and tell them how their mom is the world's clumsiest ice cream eater.”

She looked at me with disdain before shoving her shoulder into mine. “Shut up.” 

“Can you imagine it?” I started, “A little girl who looks just like you? I’d be in so much trouble.” 

She giggled, “Absolutely whipped.” 

I toppled her so we were laying down, facing each other. She kissed me hard, and my hands went to the sides of her face, only pulling back to say “I can’t wait for it, you know. My two little girls.” 

She smiled, “But I’ll always be your favorite right?” she asked sarcastically. 

I laughed, “Oh of course. Always.” 

“I’ll have a big ol’ belly, you know.” I nodded, “You’d still be perfect.” 

“We’d have to go to the mall, buy me a shitload of new clothes. Do ya know how dirty malls are Spence?” I winced at the thought of thousands of strangers bacteria on every surface and she laughed, “Got ya.” I shook my head, “Nope! I uh, I’ll just bring hand sanitizers and uh, to the Maternity section we’ll go.” 

“Non-stop Panda express eating.” I nodded again, “I’ll be non-stop Panda Express buying, then.” She smiled so hard her nose scrunched. 

“I love you Spencer.” 

“I love you too. I am so in love with you.” 

--FLASHBACK ENDS--

“Yeah but it was trivial.” I said. 

“Maybe not,” Hotch argued, “Was anything mentioned specifically?” 

“A name she liked?” Prentiss added, “Maybe a craving she thought she might have? Anything at all?” 

I nodded, “Not a food, but a fast food place. Panda Express.” I doubted that would be helpful. 

“It’s a stretch but, Garcia, check for any dilapidated buildings within 10 miles of a Panda Express.” 

“Yes sir,” She typed away and then said, “No, guys. I’m sorry. All of our Panda Express’s are in pristine malls or new developments.” 

“Mall!” I shouted, “She said we’d have to go to the mall! She knows I hate the mall.” 

Morgan pointed at us, “The tiles in that room look like they could be from some 80’s Bloomingdales.” 

“Garcia-” I said. 

“Already on it.” 

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

The pregnancy ruse was either going to get me killed, or save my life. It was a moment of panic and I just wanted to throw her off. I know it did, but in what direction? 

She was still crying, her demeanor with me was still laced with bitter animosity, but she was calmer now. 

“How long have you known?” Brook asked, the contents of her flask now empty and her words slurred. 

“I found out yesterday.” I lied through my teeth. 

She shrugged her shoulders, “Had you guys talked about it?” 

“Vaguely.” I admitted. 

“What’d Spencer want? Boy or girl?” I debated on whether or not to say, and she caught on. “Don’t fucking lie.” She stated harshly. 

“Girl.” I breathed out. “He wants a girl.” 

“What do you want?” she asked. 

“I don’t care.” I said. That was true. 

“How come?” 

“I just want to start a family with him. Don’t really care about the gender…” That was true as well. 

“Oh.” she nodded her head, “Why’d he want a girl?” It was strange, her  genuine curiosity. It freaked me out, but my alternative was being stabbed. I chose to just answer her questions, regardless of how much I really did not want to.  

“He liked the idea of a little girl who looked like me.” 

She winced, eyes tearing up further. “Right.” I was beginning to realize her feelings were very real. 

“You really like him, don’t you?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it. My head was still looking for an answer as to how she could be driven to do something like this. 

She clasped her hands together, her anger returning.  “Don’t fucking start. You know nothing of what I feel for Spencer.” She came up closer and tugged at my hair, “Fucking nothing.” 

“Okay,” I grimaced at the pain from the force at which she pulled my hair, “I-I’m sorry.” 

She let go, “You should be. You really, really fucking should be.” She sat back down, pensive for a while. I wish I knew what she was thinking about. 

My heart had not stopped it’s fast pace ridden with anxiety since I gained full awareness of my situation, but now, it felt like it was going to burst through my chest. Was she planning on just killing me now? 

My anticipation ceased when she got up and brought back the camera with her again. “Hello BAU. There has been a change in plans. Your beloved,” The words reeked of sarcasm, “Y/N here, will be returned eventually. . She’s gonna be fine. However, it is now in everybody best interest if this video feed was cut out. Sorry.” She said before mouthing, “No I’m not.” She shut the camera off. 

She turned to me, “I hate you. Fucking despise you.” Figures. 

“But I would never hurt Spencer. Or his child. Even if it is being carried by a whore like you.” 

She began to pace once more, “You’re obviously a mistake on his part. You clearly tricked him with sex and...no just sex I think. You're not really smart enough to be capable of anything else. Regardless, he’s probably already thinking about abortions or adoption. There’s no way in hell a man like him could ever want to start a family with a girl like you.” She shook her head, “Absolutely not.” 

I could only nod my head at her delusions. This woman was so far up her ass. 

She pinched my cheeks together with her cold hands, “You tried to trap him. How’d that go for you?” 

I was silent.

“I asked you a fucking question!” She held my face impossibly tighter. 

“Poorly.” I got out, “Poorly.” 

“In 9 months, I’ll help you deliver your baby. And then, you can go.” Brook backed away and let go of her tight grip on my face. “I’m keeping the kid. Raising it.” She smiled, “I’ll be the mother Spencer’s child will deserve. And then-” A giggle creepily reminiscent of a schoolgirl’s left her throat, “He’ll love me!” 

Brooks intention had twisted from wanting to murder and torture me as revenge for “taking” Spencer, to a now twisted maternal desire for his (hypothetical) child. But if Spencer and his team couldn’t find me before the time I was supposed to be showing, I was fucked. Utterly fucked. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Taglist: @britishspidey

(Let me know to be added)

#spencer reid fanfiction #Spencerreid #drspencerreid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencerreid x reader smut #spencer reid x reader sm #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds Reid #reid criminal minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminalminds #Criminal Minds #reid x you #reader x spencer reid

[angelmavmurdock]

Our Little Secret: Part Six - A.R.

Word count: 5976 Summary: After Lenora’s funeral, Arvin learns some news about her. Y/n and Arvin have sex for the first time and ends up being way past her curfew...

-

WARNINGS: SMUT, FINGERING, DIRTY TALK (mild), READER'S FIRST TIME

-

I attended Lenora's funeral as her best friend.

No one knew about Arvin and I and we were keeping it for a different reason now. Not in case Lenora found out but to keep everyone else sane in this crazy time.

I had taken a week off school, helping the Russell's around the house with cooking, cleaning and some company. Emma was absolutely distraught, only coming out of bed when she needed the bathroom or needed to eat - even then it wasn't promised.

Ma was so busy with helping Daddy while I was busy helping the Russell's, we hardly got to see each other. But we both knew after the funeral things would calm down.

Arvin was handling his sister's death strangely. He wasn't sad. He didn't cry. He would go out on car rides, asking to be alone a lot of the time. I didn't know what he was doing and to be honest, I didn't want to know.

At night, once Earskell had went to bed and well after Emma had went to bed, we'd stay up, sitting outside on the patio in the old rocking chairs with some tea and listen to the radio quietly humming in the background. We wouldn't really speak much. We'd just be in each other's presence. We'd kiss. Then I'd go home.

But today was her funeral. I had a standard funeral outfit on: a black dress with tights and patent shoes with a black ribbon in my hair. I had been crying all day so my tears stained my cheeks and my eyes were red and puffy.

Emma was much the same as me while Arvin was trying to be strong for us, only a few tears leaving his eyes during the ceremony. He held me close to him, his hand just above the curve of my waist to not draw attention to us. We stood by together as Emma cried over her casket.

"Oh Lord, there's just some things we can't understand..."

She cried, kneeling to the floor and caressing the wood with her soft hands.

"But you take her into your arms..." She had to stop speaking because of her sobs.

I watched, tears falling from my face and I looked up at Arvin, rubbing my hand over his back softly. He stared numbly at the casket, only the ever-so-often squeeze of my waist indicating he was okay.

"Now I ain't somebody for sayin' prayers or..." Earskell talked, coughing and then clenching his jaw.

Arvin looked over to his Uncle and then removed his arm from around me, leaving me feeling cold without him. He slightly bent over and helped Emma to her feet, holding her by her arm and then wrapping his other arm back around me, this time on my waist.

"Let's go home." I said in almost a whisper.

Emma and everyone else nodded. I pulled away from Arvin and when he looked at me I looked back as if to say it was okay. He nodded slightly and helped his Grandma to the truck. I followed loosely behind the three of them, giving them some space to be with each other in the fresh air.

As I walked behind them through the grave yard I thought about everything.

What did she have to tell me? What happened with the preacher? Why was she so ashamed? Why did she want to end her own life?...

There were too many questions and none of them I could answer. I was supposed to be her best friend and I felt like I had let her down. I had let her down.

***

"I think it'll be real good if you went out for a night, Emma." I sighed, sitting next to her on her bed.

It had been a few days since the funeral and she was still lying in bed, only getting up for the bare minimum. Even for food she wasn't getting up for, which I was cooking each night.

"I don't have the energy, y/n." She croaked.

"I think you need a bath. And a nice new dress. And your hair did and your friends around you. There's a church day out at the beach on Saturday. I think you should go." I said with a smile.

She laughed lightly, "Honey, I hardly have five dollars to put together, how am I supposed to buy a new dress and get my hair done?"

A grin grew on my face, "Luckily I am here to help with that."

***

Saturday rolled around and I showed up early morning with two new dresses for Emma. She had gotten her hair done the day before and she was feeling a lot better. She showered and I met her in her room when she came out. I lay the two dresses on the bed and she looked in confusion.

"Pick your favourite and I'll see you in the living room." I smiled simply then left her room, closing the door behind me.

I waited in the living room with Arvin who was reading the newspaper, a cigarette bouncing between his lips and an ash tray.

"Ma asked for me to be home at 9 tonight." I said with a sigh.

Arvin looked up from the paper, "Really? That early?"

"Yeah. She does not like you." I groaned.

"Damn...I'm guessin' there's not much I can do about that, huh?"

"Not really...don't you have work today?" I asked.

"Only a small shift. Just gettin' back into it after the accident and then obviously..." He gulped.

"I know...well that'll be good." I smiled.

"Yeah."

"I'm ready!" Emma called from her bedroom.

"Come on out!" I beamed, getting up from the couch.

She clicked down the hallway in her red kitten heels. I gasped with delight. She chose the poppy patterned dress that flowed lightly below her knees. It fit her perfectly. A silver cross hung over her clavicle and her hair was pinned up nicely.

"Emma Russell, you look absolutely divine!" I grinned.

She blushed, "Really? I do love this dress, I can't thank you enough y/n."

"It's no problem at all. I'm just glad you're feelin' better and havin' fun. You deserve it."

She took a deep breath and smiled, "Thanks, darlin'."

Arvin got up to drive her to the church and he complimented her with an embrace.

"I'll be back around 11pm. It's late but the girls are all hitchin' rides with the men after their poker."

"Well I'll be gone by 9 so I'll see you tomorrow? I hope you have fun, Emma." I hummed, hugging her tightly.

"Thank you so much. Have fun!" She waved as Arvin opened the door for her.

We both watched as she and Earskell talked, going to the truck. Arvin closed the door slightly, leaning forward to me.

I giggled and cupped his face, bringing his lips to mine. It was soft but meaningful. His hands lightly touched my waist before we both pulled away.

"Have a good day at work and drive safe, alright?" I said.

"Thanks, y/n. I'll see you later. Bye." He flashed me a smile before leaving the house.

And I was left for nearly a whole day by myself.

***

Arvin's POV

The working truck pulled up to the car park outside. I jumped off the end along with everyone else and we said our goodbyes. As I headed to the truck I saw an officer standing by, looking at me.

"Need to have a word with you, Arvin." He announced.

"About what?" I asked, standing a few yards from him.

"It's uh...it's about Lenora." He spoke awkwardly.

I took a deep breath and looked away for a second, "What about her?"

"I came by here instead of home so nothin's put on your grandmother-"

"Put on her? What do you mean?" I asked.

The officer removed his uniform hat which is never a good sign. He seemed awkward. He seemed nervous.

"Y'know old Dudley in the coroners? He's a drunk but...he ain't no liar."

I looked at him with a stern look, masking the fact that my stomach was flipping inside.

"Did you know Lenora was carryin' a baby?" He asked.

I tilted my head slightly, my eyes on his. This seemed real. But it couldn't be.

I continued staring at him, hoping he'd crack.

"That's bullshit. That son of a bitch is lyin'." I clenched my jaw.

"Dudley ain't a liar. He came to me privately so as your family knew...I felt he was right." The officer nodded.

I averted eye contact, feeling myself tear up. No, no, no, no, no.

"I might've put my foot in somethin' but that wasn't my intention."

He fiddled with his dark green fedora, uncomfortable with the conversation and uncomfortable with the fact he had to tell me.

"You know that preacher ain't said no words for her? Not for people that kill themselves." I shook my head and clenched my jaw.

That son of a bitch.

***

I drove home in anger and confusion. When I pulled up, I saw y/n outside on one of the rocking chairs, a mug in her hand and a blanket wrapped around her.

My mood lifted almost automatically. She looked gorgeous in the dim sunlight. I remembered the house was empty and I was happy in that y/n and I could spend time together alone but then again, Lenora wasn't there.

I walked tiredly up the steps and she sat her mug down with a pout of her plump lips.

"Hey, you okay?" She asked me, standing up.

I didn't say anything.

"Arvin?" She prompted.

I looked up at her.

"How was work?" She asked, trying to pry something from me.

"It was fine." I shrugged, walking back to lean against the post.

She bit her lip, "Is somethin' botherin' you?"

She knew me too well.

"A uh...a police officer stopped me before goin' home." I said, retrieving a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it.

"What? Why?" She asked, arms folding as she leaned against the opposite post.

I chuckled. It wasn't to be annoying. It was in anger and confusion and disbelief.

"He told me that Lenora - my innocent, God-loving, 17-year-old sister - was pregnant before she died." I stated.

She blinked at me like a deer in headlights. She didn't speak for a few seconds, her brain working to log the information properly.

"She uh...she was p-pregnant? No." She shook her head.

"Well she was." I took a puff.

"What the hell? How did I not know?" She pressed a hand to her chest.

"Don't get mad at me I'm just repeatin' what he said!"

"I'm not mad! I'm just...she was pregnant?"

I licked my lips and nodded.

She chewed her lip in thought, wrinkles forming between her eyebrows.

"I don't believe it. That's bullshit."

"That's what I said. But, apparently some guy down at the coroner's said that she was. And apparently, he don't lie." I said.

She shook her head, "Who...who was the father? Cause he'll be out there right now runnin' free!" She exclaimed.

"I don't know. I have an idea but I don't know." I licked my back teeth.

I couldn't tell her about the preacher. She clearly didn't know and I wasn't about to tell her. Because if I told her I would have to explain how I knew and stalking some guy doesn't seem like the best thing to say.

"Well that is just...wow." She rubbed her face.

"I know."

We both went silent, our heads filled with thought and worry and confusion. How could neither of us had known?

"Are you gonna tell your Grandma?" She asked.

"No. No, I'm not." I dropped the cigarette butt and stood on it.

"I think it would set her back." She agreed.

"Exactly. She don't need that right now, she's at a good place."

y/n nodded, agreeing with me. I sighed and took my hat off, running a hand through my hair. y/n walked towards me with her arms outstretched. I smiled and welcomed her. Her arms wrapped around me tightly, her chest pressed against mine. I leaned my head on top of hers and stroked her back softly.

"We didn't get to tell Lenora." She whispered.

I gulped, "I know..."

"Well if heaven is real then she'll be lookin' down at us thinkin': I told you so."

We both chuckled at the thought. But it was slightly uncomfortable to think of her that way. Dead. In heaven. I didn't like it.

"Hey," She chirped from underneath me.

I moved my head and looked at her. She reached her hands up and wrapped them around my neck.

"You were such a good big brother." She stated.

An immediate lump in my throat formed at her words. Not if you knew the things I had done or what I was planning to do...

"And you're an amazin' person, Arv. You really are." She smiled.

I just smiled weakly at her.

"And I know you feel like you have to be strong all the time but with me...with me you don't have to." She whispered, trailing her hands down then up my chest.

Reader's POV

He stared down at me with a sudden look of lust and hunger. Before I knew it, I was being pushed back against the post, gasping as the wood hit my back. Arvin kissed me ferociously, his tongue pushing into my mouth without missing a beat. I moaned in surprised but sunk into him, getting the fast-paced rhythm he was implementing.

He moved his kisses to my neck and he began to kiss and suck on my sweet spot.

"Arvin," I moaned breathlessly, tugging his hair slightly.

His hands slid down my dress and grabbed my ass through the fabric as his mouth worked on my skin.

"Feels so good." I hummed.

His lips came back up to mine and our tongues worked with each other's, pushing and swirling in some sort of dance. It was passionate and hot and I felt like I needed more of him.

Suddenly his hands roamed further to my thighs and swiftly lifted me up. I gasped as my legs locked around his torso effortlessly. He smirked up at my surprise and kissed me again. He blindly opened the door and it slammed shut behind us. He walked through while kissing me intensely.

And then I knew I was in his room. I had only been in once or twice for laundry but I knew it was his. He pushed me against the door, ultimately closing it. I moaned again and he moved his lips to my neck again.

"Want you, Arvin." I hummed.

He looked up at me with a glint of lust and hope in his eyes.

"You sure?" He asked.

"I need you." I whispered.

That was enough for him.

He brought me off the wall and to his bed, lying me carefully on his sheets, getting on top of me.

He kept kissing me, his hands beginning to lift my dress up. I sat up and allowed him to slide it off my body. Thankfully I was wearing nicer underwear this time. He threw my dress to the side and looked down at my body in awe.

He stood up from the bed, eyes burning through my skin as he started to undo his buttons on his shirt.

I felt a colour rise to my cheeks. He was seeing me in my underwear. No guy had ever seen me in my underwear before.

"You are fuckin' unreal, darlin'." He complimented, his eyes shining with adoration.

I bit my lip, "You're makin' me nervous standin' like that."

He removed his shirt and then pulled off his dirty white t-shirt from underneath. I had seen his chest before but his bruises were nearly healed and he looked even better than before. Probably since he'd been working all day. He undid his belt and then slid down his trousers, stepping out of them.

My jaw dropped. Arvin. In. His. Underwear.

"Whatcha starin' at?" He smirked.

I gulped then looked back up at him, "Nothin' much."

He shook his head and leaped on top of me. I squealed before he kissed me.

"You're a minx, that's what you are." He chuckled against my lips.

"Well then teach me how to be good." I whispered.

He pulled away, looking down at me with his dilated brown eyes, almost completely black with passion.

"Fuck, I want to."

He began to slide his hand down my body, making rest stops at my waist and my hip before teasing the waistband of my pants. I gasped and looked up at him in lust.

"Have you ever been touched before?" He asked lowly.

He slid his hand carefully into my panties. I arched my back and moaned lightly at his touch.

"N-no." I answered honestly.

His eyebrows furrowed for a split-second.

"You've never been touched before? When you look this pretty?" He quirked an eyebrow.

His fingers slowly circled on my clit, warming me up. I grasped his arm and bit my lip at the new feeling.

"Have you ever touched yourself before?"

My throat went dry.

"No." I answered again.

He smiled, "That's okay...but you've gotta tell me if you don't like what I'm doin', alright?" He asked.

I nodded with a hum.

He pulled my panties off and I felt completely exposed. Only my brasserie covered the last part of my modesty. But I felt safe with Arvin. I trusted him.

His hand returned back to my core where he continued rubbing circles on my clit. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the new-found pleasure.

"Already so wet, darlin'."

I whimpered at his filthy words and felt his finger slide down my core. He slowly pushed a finger into my entrance. I gasped and gripped his arm that rested beside my head, propping himself up.

He started moving it in and out, beginning to pick up a pace.

"How does that feel?" He asked.

"So- good." I hummed, eyes closed in pleasure.

He began to speed his finger up, curling it up to find my spot. I moaned, bucking my hips into his palm as if to say more.

He got the message and slipped a second finger in with ease. I moaned loudly as his fingers worked inside of me. His thumb grazed constantly over my clit and whatever he was doing was making my stomach flutter.

I could hear the sounds of my arousal and it added to the pleasure.

"So good for me, y/n. So good." He praised.

"Arvin!" I whined.

"What, angel?" He asked softly.

"I need you. Please." I practically humped his hand in desperation.

He smirked, "You sure you're ready?" He asked cautiously.

I nodded, "Please."

He removed his hand from me, leaving me a whimpering, pathetic mess. He slid his underwear off and my jaw dropped once again. His member was a lot bigger than I had anticipated. But to be honest, I had never seen one so I had nothing to compare it to. But my god.

He pumped himself in his hand as he got back onto the bed, kneeling between my legs. I sat up and removed my bra myself. I then took my hair out of the band and the ribbon, sitting them aside. I lay back down, attempting to make my hair look as nice as it could splayed out on the bedsheet.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous. Can't wait to feel you." He groaned, getting on top of me.

I bit my lip and held his arm with one hand and gripped his hair with the other.

"You ready?" He asked.

I took a deep breath and nodded. He leaned down and encased my lips in a passionate but loving kiss, our lips moving slowly over each other's and our tongues swirling around perfectly. I got so distracted by the kiss that Arvin could easily slip half-way into me. I gasped at the feeling of him.

"Is that okay?" He checked, brushing some of my hair out of my face.

I nodded and hummed. He gave me a moment to adjust to his size. It was slightly uncomfortable but that soon went away when he pulled back then thrusted slowly into me again.

"Arvin," I moaned.

He lifted my thigh up to his side and pushed further into me. I tugged his hair and bit my lip.

"So fuckin' tight, fuck. Feel so good, darlin'." He panted.

"Please go faster." I whimpered.

He dipped his head into the crook of my neck and held my thigh firmly as he began thrusting into me. His pace sped up quickly and soon enough he was moving effortlessly into me.

"Feels so good!" I moaned, arching my back into his chest.

His lips came to my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. I gasped at the new feeling as his tongue lapped over my skin. His thrusts sped up and he completely bottomed me out, his skin slapping against mine with every push.

"Oh god!" I tugged on his hair.

He groaned, "So gorgeous, so hot - fuck."

I rolled my eyes back at his words.

In a Christian based Southern state, having premarital sex was looked down upon. But it didn't feel wrong. It felt so good.

"So tight around me," He commented lowly.

"Can we flip?" I asked breathlessly.

"'Course."

He smoothly flipped us, so he was on his back. I bit my lip and hovered over him, taking his member in my hand.

"Fuck." We both cursed in unison.

I pumped him in my hand a few times to see what it was like and how he reacted. He gripped my thigh tighter and bit his lip. I smirked, feeling a pang of power course through me.

I swiped his member on my folds, surprised at how wet I actually was. I slowly sank down on him and we both let out long groans as I bottomed him out.

"W-woah." I panted.

He sat up, shifting inside of me. I moaned a little at the movement. His arms wrapped around me and I held his shoulders. I kissed him deeply, running my hands up into his hair and his tongue explored my mouth like it never had before.

I started to move on him, up and down was my instinct. Apparently I was right.

"Fuck, darlin'." He cursed against my lips.

"Oh god." I moaned, gripping his broad shoulders for support.

He gathered my cascading hair and put it behind my back as I moved on top of him. For some reason it made emotions flow in my brain.

Love.

They way he cared for me and was gentle with me obviously set off an emotion I had never really felt before. Not romantically, anyway.

I looked into his dark eyes and stopped bouncing on him. He looked into my eyes and held my waist.  He started to move my hips in a grinding motion. My mouth dropped open slightly at the feeling.

His eyes stayed on mine as I rolled my hips on his, his hands guiding me. It was intimate and passionate and I loved him. I held him as close to me as possible, our chests matching and my hands massaging his scalp.

"Arvin," I moaned.

I could feel a build up of tension in my stomach.

One of his hands slowly came down between us and started to rub my clit again. I threw my head back in pleasure, the feeling intensifying.

"Shit!"

"You close, darlin'?" He asked lowly.

"Close? To- to what?" I asked, fastening my movements.

"Fuck- to your high, baby."

His fingers kept working on my clit and his other hand still guided my hip.

"My high? Oh fuck! That feels so good!" I moaned loudly and highly.

His fingers worked faster.

"If you feel like you need to let go...then do it, baby." He groaned.

I didn't really know what he meant but the feeling in my core and stomach tightened.

"Oh god! Yes! Yes!" I moved my hips faster on him.

"God you feel so good, baby. So good around me." He praised.

I dug my nails into his back, my head going to his forehead.

"Arvin, I love you." I admitted breathlessly.

"You-you love me?" He repeated as if he was surprised.

"Yes! Yes, I love you." I bit my lip.

"y/n...pretty girl," He brushed some of my hair behind my ear.

"I love you, too." He grinned.

I stopped my movements for a second to smile and kiss him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing him as close to me as possible.

He started to thrust up into me, the sound of skin slapping and my surprised moans filling the room.

"Oh! Yes! God, yes!" I squealed.

He worked a lot faster than I did. His member brushed a spot inside of me I didn't even know existed. I could feel myself clenching around him and he groaned at the feeling.

"Let go for me, baby. Come on." He grunted.

"I love you! Arvin, I- yes!"

I felt the knot in my stomach snap and the feeling in my core burn. I moaned and cursed and gripped Arvin's hair in ecstasy. He continued thrusting up into me, my wetness dripping down onto him and his thighs.

"Feels so good baby, good job." He praised.

He kept me in my high like I had entered nirvana. My mind went cloudy, my vision hazy, my hearing muffled. All I could sense was Arvin. And that's all I needed.

"Fuck, baby-"

He quickly flipped me back onto my back and pulled out of me. I was still somehow in my high but I opened my eyes to see what he was doing. He pumped his member a few times before grunting and finished on my upper thigh and lower stomach.

I watched in awe. His muscles tensed and untensed, his head was thrown back and the sounds leaving his mouth were heaven.

After he calmed down he crashed next to me and we both caught our breaths.

"Sorry about that, I should have asked you." He sighed.

"It's okay. I liked it." I giggled.

He shook his head and looked at me, "You are perfect, y/n."

I shook my head back, brushing my hand over his loose curls, "No, you are."

He smiled at my touch, "How was it?"

I laughed lightly, "Good. I didn't even know it was possible to feel like that."

He smirked, "I'm a master, what can I say?"

I rolled my eyes and smacked his chest. He laughed and then shuffled closer to me, lips decorating my shoulder.

"Did you mean what you said?" He asked quietly.

I nodded, "Every word."

His lips connected to mine in a soft, long kiss.

"I love you." I whispered.

"I love you, too."

-

He dropped the needle onto the record and waited for the music to play.

(Play now)

'Cry To Me' by Solomon Burke began to play through the speaker.

Arvin had poured us a glass of very fancy scotch each. He said it was only for special occasions. I had only put my panties and one of his button down shirts on. The warm, humid weather was enough to keep me warm. Arvin wore a white vest shirt and some long pyjama bottoms.

"I love this song." I hummed, sipping the warm alcohol from the crystal glass.

"Dance with me." Arvin stated rather than questioned.

I smiled and sat my glass down. He gave me his hand and twirled me under his arm before bringing me into his chest.

We held hands on one side while his other hand held my waist and my other held his shoulder. We swayed back and forth to the music, enjoying the post-sex bliss.

"Come on, and cry to me." I sang an octave higher.

Arvin smiled, "I love you."

I giggled, "I love you, too."

We stayed like that, dancing and singing to the parts we knew, hands all over each other, stealing a few kisses whenever we could. He'd spin me out and I'd attempt to spin him but he could never get the hang of it.

We were happy. And we were in love.

"I've never seen you like this before, you know? I like happy on you." I smiled up at him.

A one sided smile curved on his face, "No one's been able to bring it out of me before."

I bit the inside of my lip at his words. Part of me was happy and proud that I could make him feel like that but the other part felt horrible that he's felt that way for so long.

"Well get ready to be happy a whole bunch, 'cause I ain't goin' nowhere."

He laughed, twirling me under his arm and back into his chest.

"That's exactly what I want." He smirked, leaning down to kiss me.

Our lips pressed together.

But only briefly.

A truck pulled up outside. And both of us turned to look out the window.

"Wait WHAT?!" I shouted, noticing that it was Emma and Earskell in the car.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

11:57.

"SHIT!" I exclaimed.

It was nearly midnight. I was supposed to be home at nine.

I scrambled to Arvin's bedroom and hurriedly put on my dress and shoes. Arvin put the shirt I was wearing on and changed into his work trousers again. He grabbed his jacket and his keys, shoving his feet into his shoes as we ran to the front door.

"Oh! You two are still here?" Emma jumped at the sight of us rushing past her outside.

"Back soon!" Arvin shouted.

I jumped into the passenger seat and Arvin got in the drivers. He pulled out frantically and drove off.

"Oh my god. I'm dead. I'm dead." I panicked.

"Just calm down, you'll be fine." Arvin tried to soothe me, speeding through the village.

"You'll be dead, too! Oh god what are they gonna do, Arvin?" I gripped my hair.

"We're nearly there, it'll be fine." He grasped my thigh lightly.

I took deep breaths, looking out at the silent town as we zoomed past everything. The dread in my stomach grew as we drove up the road and then entered the grounds, past the gate.

"Go before they get you, alright?" I ordered, jumping out the car.

"Y/N Y/M/N YL/N! Where the HELL have you been?!" Ma shouted from the door, storming outside.

"Ma, I can explain! Let's just go inside!" I exclaimed.

"Boy, get out that car right now!" She shouted at Arvin.

"Ma! Stop! It's not his fault!" I shouted, beginning to get defensive.

Arvin got out of the car and held his hands in his trouser pockets, walking towards Ma and I. I saw Daddy standing by the door, watching everything and my heart ached.

"You are supposed to be takin' care of her! How dare you keep her away this long with no contact! How dare you!" She shouted at Arvin, pointing a finger at hi accusingly.

"Ma! He didn't do anything!" I shouted.

"I am not STUPID y/n! I know that you two have been gettin' together almost every night. I see the car bein' parked behind the gate, I see the way you two look at each other. And I do not have a problem with that! But if the so called MAN known for his sexual acts keeps my 18 year old daughter out until MIDNIGHT, I am not gonna be happy!"

"We lost track of time, ma'am." Arvin stated calmly.

"Oh did ya' now? Doin' what?"

"Ma!" I shouted.

"No! I wanna know what was so important that stopped you from comin' home on time!"

Arvin and I stuttered, not knowing what or how to say anything.

Ma scoffed and clenched her jaw. We could practically see steam coming from her ears.

"You. Inside. Now." She demanded, pointing at me.

I furrowed my brows, "No! I'm not goin' inside with you!"

"y/n, inside right now!"

"No! I'm not leavin' Arvin!" I held his arm in mine.

Her chest heaved with rage, "Arvin, stay the hell away from my daughter."

Ma went to grab my arm but I dodged it.

"No!" I screamed.

"y/n!"

"No! I wanna be with Arvin!"

"He is no good for you!" She shouted as if he wasn't there.

"You do not get to tell me what I can and can't do! I'm an adult and if I am in love with someone-"

"IN LOVE?" Ma shouted.

"Yes! In love! We love each other and you can't stop that!" I held his arm so tightly I was surprised I hadn't cut his circulation off yet.

"You are not to be with each other anymore. You are a bad influence on my daughter and I never want to see you near her again. Do you understand?" She spoke sternly to Arvin.

I looked up at him. He gulped, his eyes becoming teary, "I understand." He uttered.

"Arvin!" I scoffed.

"I'll leave you alone." He murmured, beginning to walk away.

"Arvin! What the hell are you doing?!" I shouted, my arm still attached to him as he - we - walked away.

He opened the car door and clenched his jaw, not looking at me.

"Go with your parents. I've done enough."

"Arvin, don't say that! You- you just said you loved me!" I felt tears begin to fall from my eyes.

His chin quivered, "Just go, y/n. Please."

"What? No. No! I'm not going!"

He ripped his arm away from me and went to get in the car.

"No!"

I slammed the door so he couldn't get in.

"No! You don't get to do that, Arvin! You don't get to say you love me then fuck off when somethin' comes between us!" I shouted, realising these were more sobs than anything.

"Just go inside, y/n." He said to the ground.

I furrowed my brows and shook my head in disbelief.

"y/n-" I interrupted my mother.

"No! Arvin, please! Why are you doing this?"

"We can't be together." Arvin sniffed.

"Yes we can! We can!" I went to cup his face but he moved away.

I didn't know if it was sadness or utter rage but I broke down in tears.

"You said you loved me!" I screamed, pushing him against the car.

He took it. He didn't look at me, though. But he took my babyish tantrum.

"You said you loved me!" I cried, hitting his chest.

"y/n, go inside. Please." He begged quietly.

I saw tears fall from his face.

I stopped and stood back, watching with blurred eyes as he got into the car and drove off quickly.

I choked on a sob and kneeled to the ground in a cry, letting all the emotions I had pent up go. Absolutely everything.

Ma came up to me to comfort me but I pushed her off and stood back up.

"No! You don't get to comfort me after ruining love for me." I cried, pushing past her and running to the house.

I ran up the steps and I paused briefly when I saw Daddy watching with tired and heartbroken eyes. He silently moved to the side to let me storm away. I sobbed uncontrollable sobs as I ran up the stairs and slammed my door shut, sliding down to the floor.

I thought he loved me.

-

{Tags: @notanordinaryprincess96 @imagine-yourself-happy​ }

#arvin russel #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel fluff #arvin russel smut #arvin russel angst #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel mmini series #mini series #tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #arvin russel fic #one shot #arvin russel imagine #imagine #tom holland imagine

[unbridgeabledistances]

a ✨drunk and clingy ian✨ one-shot

okay so we all know that saint patrick’s day is a very arbitrary and somewhat meaningless holiday (at least in the u.s. lol)- but we also know that the gallaghers are incredibly fucking irish, so i am using this as an excuse to write some drunk and clingy gallavich fluff (bc i think we all need it!! or at least i do!!!!)

hope y’all enjoy<3

--

Mickey and Ian came in the door from their final weed security run of a way-too-chilly and grey March afternoon, kicking the slush off of their lace-up boots in a tired but comfortable silence. Mickey had been fantasizing for a good part of the afternoon about his usual afternoon ritual of collapsing onto the couch with a cold beer in his hand, and taking a long lazy nap while shitty game shows played on the TV in the background— but unfortunately, Debbie had other plans. Or so he realized when he turned the corner and his eyes were met with a forest of green and white streamers blanketing the living room, with Debbie determinedly balancing on a kitchen chair to hang them in the doorway.

Mickey did a double-take, shooting a glance at Ian and then back at the festive room again. What the fuck? He quickly racked his brain— there was no way he’d could’ve forgotten Franny’s birthday, that was in the summer—and he was pretty sure that Liam’s birthday was in the winter sometime; so whose the fuck was it? Too many goddamn Gallaghers to keep track of. Finally, Mickey admitted his own defeat.

“Is it someone’s fuckin’ birthday or something?”

Mickey flashed another gaze to Ian in confusion as he said it, hoping that Ian would silently mouth whatever the occasion was to him, or at the very least raise his eyebrows and goad Mickey enough to jog his memory to remember whatever the fuck today was— but Ian just gave an easygoing grin as he took in the room’s decor and let out a laugh.

“Debbie, isn’t this kind of going overboard?”

Debbie looked over her shoulder from where she was now taping a crudely scribbled picture of a shamrock, most likely drawn by Franny, up onto the wall.

“What? If it’s our last Saint Patrick’s Day in the house, the least we can do is go out with a bang,” she answered nonchalantly, and continued fixating on hanging up Franny’s drawing.

Mickey inadvertently let out a scoff and rolled his eyes. Fucking Gallaghers.

“I’m sorry, fucking Saint Patrick’s Day?”

Ian’s lips formed a playful smile and he elbowed Mickey between the ribs. “Yeah, Mick, Saint Patrick’s Day— also known as the unironically most important day of the Gallagher family calendar year. I can’t believe I forgot it was today, with all the work stuff we had going on.”

At first Mickey couldn’t tell if Ian was actually being serious— but in the same second he decided that it didn’t really matter, since Ian’s eyes were bright and shining and there was this weird giddy grin he was sporting from ear to ear, like he was absolutely fucking delighted that it was Saint Patrick’s Day, instead of just a normal goddamn Wednesday. Fucking softie.

And as endearing as that was, Mickey still couldn’t let him off that easily. “There’s no way I’m celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day. It’s a fake holiday for yuppie rich kids to go bar hopping—I’m not getting involved in any of your Gallagher bullshit.”

Ian’s grin just grew, like he knew exactly what Mickey was doing. “Hey, you married into this family. If anything, this is your own fault.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes, then continued to unlace his boots and throw them by the doorway.

“The fuck do you do anyways, aside from getting trashed?”

Ian put a hand on Mickey’s upper back to steady himself as he pulled his own shoes off. “I think getting trashed pretty much sums up the festivities. Today’s practically a holy day of observance for Frank, and I’m assuming Debbie’s also just gonna use today as an excuse to get drunk on a Wednesday.”

“Hell yeah I am!” Debbie called from where she was putting the chair back in the kitchen.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “I knew Gallaghers were white trash, but I had no idea you were this bad.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t have any Ukranian white trash holidays or whatever?”

Mickey held back a bitter laugh. Yeah, they had “holidays,” in the form of days when Terry was celebratorily drunk enough to leave them the fuck alone for 24 hours, rare occasions when his looming shadow was out of the house and a festive lightness bled in in its place. They sort of celebrated Christmas, which was mostly just associated with too many painful memories of Terry ripping open the presents before he or his brothers had the chance, and too many painful stings associated with him having one too many drinks as they sat quietly inside the sagging house and pretended to be a big happy family for one night a year.

But never anything as gaudy and deliberate and ridiculous as observing a C-list, Irish-American holiday just for the hell of it, just for fun—which yes, was probably fueled by Frank’s alcoholism more than anything else, but also made something swell in Mickey’s insides that he didn’t quite know how to place.

And Mickey didn’t know how to let out that entire internal monologue to Ian while Debbie was standing within earshot. “Nah, man. Milkoviches don’t really do… holidays.”

Ian snaked a hand around Mickey’s back, giving his shoulder a squeeze, a grounding touch. He gets it.

“Well, get ready to have your mind blown, Mr. Gallavich, because we’re about to celebrate this hallowed occasion Gallagher style.”

Mickey rolled his eyes again, but let himself lean into Ian’s touch, lean his weight ever-so-slightly against Ian’s chest that was pressed behind him by the doorway. And, okay— as stupid as this was, maybe there was something sort of warm and solid about tradition, about hand-scribbled shamrocks and streamers on the wall, about having days to celebrate just because you wanted to, just because you could…

Just then Franny came hurdling into the room, wearing a baggy green t-shirt and a face-painted shamrock adorning her cheek.

Ian’s face lit up when she stopped in front of them. “Hey Franny! Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!”

Franny held out two bottles of beer to Ian and Mickey from where she had been hiding them behind her back.

“Mommy said I should give these to you when you came home!”

Mickey smirked, carefully taking the bottles from Franny’s outstretched hands. “Thanks, kiddo.”

And if all celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day took was knocking down a few beers on a weekday afternoon—well, Mickey wasn’t going to complain about that.

**

Of course, hours later Mickey realized how severely he’d underestimated Debbie’s enthusiasm— after lounging around the house waiting for the stream of Gallaghers to trickle in from their various daily activities, Debbie had rounded everyone up and they migrated to the Alibi as the sun was setting, where they’d met up with Kev and V and Lip and Tami, who (thank fucking god) looked as vaguely confused and fully apathetic about this whole “Saint Patrick’s Day” situation as Mickey did.

Now it was late, and Mickey was leaning against the bartop of the Alibi sipping a thick, foamy glass of Guinness, which was as close to embracing whatever-the-fuck Irish heritage his husband had as he was possibly going to get.

All of the Gallaghers were here, swirling around the room—Debbie had put on some sort of peppy music as Kev poured everyone drinks, and a couple of other Southside neighbors had heard the bass thrumming and joined the ruckus. The room wasn’t too crowded, but it was pleasantly full of bodies and chatter— Kev had bought bunches of shiny, tacky green mardi gras beads for everyone to wear, and the air in the room was festive and bordering on sloppy in a way that felt very different from how Mickey had envisioned this evening would go.

Mickey was pacing himself, because it was a Wednesday for fuck’s sake— but his husband was an entirely different story. Between the beers at home and the various drinks Debbie had been siphoning into his hands all night, Ian was teetering on the drunkest Mickey had seen him in years—which partially made the tiniest spark of trepidation start to creep into Mickey’s bloodstream, a spark that he immediately extinguished. It was one night, the first in a long time— Ian deserved to have some fun.

And he definitely, definitely was having fun— casually dancing with Debbie and Sandy and whoever else would humor him, grinning with red-hot cheeks and bright eyes— from across the room Mickey could tell how warm his skin would be if he pressed a hand against it, how flushed. Mickey wasn’t really in the mood for dancing, or whatever the fuck stumbling around and chatting and making friends Drunk Ian was up to for the evening, and he was perfectly content to nurse his drink at the bar— which is why it surprised him when Ian pulled himself out of the crowd, slightly stumbling over his own feet, and made the way across the room to where Mickey was leaning at the bar, immediately boxing him in and putting his hands square on Mickey’s waist. Mickey almost imperceptibly let in a sharp breath.

Ian looked down at him, all smiles and shiny eyes— when he spoke the scent of sweet, hot liquor danced on Mickey’s face and all he wanted was to be closer, to breathe it in.

“Are you having fun?” Ian’s right hand traced up Mickey’s side, then back down to its hold on his hipbone.

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “You and your leprechaun family don’t mess around, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled a lazy, tipsy smile, and pecked Mickey’s cheek before Mickey could be embarrassed about it.

“D’you wanna dance with me?”

Ian’s hands slid off of his hips and entangled with Mickey’s hands that had been hanging limply at his sides, walking backwards so their fingers were laced together an arm’s distance apart.

Mickey shrugged noncommittally. “I’ll leave showing the Irish pride to you and the rest of the drunken Gallaghers.”

Ian registered Mickey’s words and opened his mouth to reply, just as Debbie pulled Ian over by the arm.

“Stop sulking with Mickey and do more shots with me!”

Jesus Christ. Ian was going to be wrecked when their alarm went off for work in the morning, and Mickey was starting to debate if he was going to need to have a talking-to with Debbie about the appropriate amount of “Saint Patrick’s Day fun” they were allowed to partake in next year— but for now Ian was happy, and he could stomach one night of hardcore festivities.

Mickey stood at the bar for a while, watching Ian and Debbie get progressively more flushed as they bobbed through the crowd— and then, when Debbie had found some other victim in their mid-twenties to get even more shitfaced with, Ian made his way across the room to Mickey again, plopping onto the barstool beside him and heaving his bodyweight onto Mickey’s left side, burying his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck. Mickey wrapped a tentative arm around Ian’s waist, trying to hold him up from slouching off of the barstool.

“M’tired.” Mickey could feel Ian’s hot breath dancing on his collarbone as he slurred out the words, and felt Ian’s eyelids flutter shut against the side of his neck.

Ian was always giving Mickey measured casual touches, wherever they were—but it was so exceedingly rare that Ian fully let himself go like this, let himself be drunk and happy and just crumple into Mickey, without worrying about holding anyone else up. It felt new, but it felt good— Mickey let the solid weight of his husband’s body leaning against his press him down, rooting him into the Alibi’s sticky floors, feeling the clammy skin of Ian’s forehead that was solidly lodged into the side of Mickey’s neck.

He hated to admit it, but in that moment, something in Mickey was also frozen solid— as much as Mickey had grown in the past few years, something about these situations, about PDA or whatever, still made Mickey feel like he was treading water—like he was fighting to stay afloat while everyone’s eyes were on him, and the strong current was only lifted when he and Ian were in the dark safety of their bedroom. If Mickey was drunk at a bar and sloppily leaning onto Ian, there was no doubt in Mickey’s mind that Ian would hold him, would gingerly touch him and caress him and do more to him than just prop him up— but something in Mickey still hesitated and flashed with warning signs in a crowded room full of people.

But Ian was still breathing hot on Mickey’s neck— so Mickey thought about what Ian would do, if it was Mickey who was tipsy and slumped on his shoulder. He tentatively raised his arm from where it was lying limply by his side, and started to run soothing circles onto Ian’s t-shirt, just above his hipbone where Mickey’s hand was holding Ian up by his waist.

Ian hummed in acknowledgement of the touch— and then he pressed a tender kiss to the crook of Mickey’s neck, where his face was buried. Fuck. Mickey just pulled him in closer, gently tugging Ian’s torso in by his belt loop to hold him steady.

Ian hummed again, then started to press kisses up and down Mickey’s neck. “You smell good.”

Mickey’s heart started to beat a little quicker, his blood running hotter than usual—and Ian couldn’t fucking do this now, while the rest of his family was milling around and dancing and wearing fucking mardi gras beads while flaunting their Gallagher pride.

Ian lifted his forehead off of Mickey’s shoulder, and gently bit at the underside of Mickey’s jaw—and Mickey thought he was going to combust right there, on the spot, in a room full of Gallaghers pressed against the bartop at the Alibi by his very drunk husband.

And in an act of excruciatingly inconvenient timing, Lip sidled up to the bar and sat on the barstool on Mickey’s other side, nursing what Mickey assumed (and hoped) was a diet Coke in a beer glass.

“Hey there, Mick. And, uh, Ian.”

Ian looked up from where he was very engrossed in continuing to nuzzle the opposite side of Mickey’s neck, and glared at Lip from across Mickey’s chest.

“Go away, Lip.” Ian collapsed his head back onto Mickey’s shoulder and closed his eyes again, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s neck like a fucking boa constrictor. Mickey snaked an arm up around Ian’s back, holding him steady on the wobbly barstool.

Lip held back a laugh as he sipped his drink, then took a drag of the cigarette he was holding. “Seems like Ian’s done enough drinking to make our ancestors proud.”

Mickey took a sip of his own beer with his free hand. “Debbie made sure of that.”

Lip raised his eyebrows. “Damn. Guess we’d better keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t also have the Frank gene.”

Mickey grunted in acknowledgement, then took another sip of his beer, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. Ian’s head shifted slightly on his shoulder— and Mickey realized he probably needed to haul Ian home ASAP, before he was even more sleepy and incoherent and unable to lug down the street.

Lip noticed Ian’s movement on Mickey’s shoulder and smirked. “I’ve gotta say, I’ve never seen Ian being this clingy before. Even with other guys—no offense, Mick— he usually stayed pretty contained. And you guys aren’t usually too into the PDA department.”

Mickey shrugged, trying not to jostle the heavy weight of where Ian’s head was hanging. Lip was right—he and Ian never really were all over each other, especially not like this, outside of the context of their room, when they were very much always all over each other.

Lip kept studying them, and the corner of his mouth eventually ticked upward. “It’s good. He’s definitely not this… comfortable with anyone else. Including me, which is definitely saying something.”

It felt weird, to get something like what felt like Lip’s full blessing at a raunchy Gallagher party months after he and Ian had gotten married—but that was also exactly what it felt like was happening.

Lip’s eyes suddenly darted across the room, to where Tami was holding up his coat and gesturing to the door. Lip rose from the barstool, stubbed out his cigarette, and put out a hand to clap Mickey on the shoulder as a goodbye.

“Catch up with you later, Mick.” Lip reached out and jokingly tousled Ian’s hair. “Make sure this one doesn’t hate himself too much tomorrow morning.”

Mickey smirked. Ian was practically asleep and drooling on his shoulder, his breathing turned steady—Mickey reached a hand up to card through his hair, then gently shrugged his shoulder to get Ian’s head to rise from where it was jammed on his neck.

Ian raised his head, his eyes bleary and confused at first, then softening around the edges when he met Mickey’s gaze.

“Alright, let’s get you home, carrottop.”

#did i read this before posting it???? nope #this is so silly but was also living RENT FREE in my brain #also this is temporally separated from the last ep lol bc i do not have it in me to write anything heavy this week #drunk happy husbands only !!!! #🙅🏻‍♂️‼️ #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey #ixm #gallavich fanfiction

[levis-hazelnut]

Summary: when you and your best friend, Hanji, were younger, you had made up stories about your dream guys - what they would look like and how you would meet. What happens when the one you had made up appears to be real?

Warning(s): mentions of abuse (if you squint). Please do tell me if there are anymore.

Taglist: closed

Status: completed!

part 1 > part 2

series masterlist

(a/n: i love mikasa, she’s a queen. But I’m sorry because she’s gonna be a bitch in this lol)

"(Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)! (Y/N)!!!!!!!!" Before that call, I was peacefully eating lunch with my friends and didn't wish for any interruptions from my crazy, loud best friend. I was just sitting there with some of my calm friends that I was in the mood for; quietly speaking about life, no stress, no laughter, no loud talking - just nice conversation. Other times (most of the time), however, I would be in the mood for my best friend, wanting laughter, craziness and loud talking. But this wasn't one of those times... So why the hell was she here sprinting and screeching for me? "(Y/N)!!!!!!!" "For fuck's sake," I murmured. "What do you want, Hanji?" I asked when she pushed off Connie, who was sitting opposite me, and sat in his place. She leaned forward and caught her breath as her gaze was not at me, but behind me. Before I could turn around, she grabbed my head and forced me to face her which made me frown. "What the hell is going on?" "Okay, so... Remember about five years ago when we would talk about our dream guy and meeting them later in life. And remember when we said that you would find your dream guy in university..."

"Hanji--" "Don't talk. Let me finish the story of the past." *FLASHBACK* With the sun beaming down on me and Hanji as we ate our lunch together on the grass, we stupidly and crazily told each other about our dream husbands. The appearance of my dream guy was based on a character from a show I watched. And because we were still young, horny and stupid, we let our imagination create stories of how we would meet our dream guy. Let's forget about Hanji's and skip to mine... So, Hanji had thought of it with that extraordinary brain of hers. She said that, "We would be having lunch with our new friends, and maybe some of our school ones like Connie, Eren, Sasha, Jean and Armin. Anyway, you would be talking to someone as I sit next to you, quietly eating--" "Hanji, that's already not going to be true. How are you going to be quiet?" "Hush, let me carry on. So, I'll be eating, maybe not quietly, and then I look around the canteen and see him... walking with his lunch in his hand. Standing there in his handsomeness, with black hair, grey eyes, a light complexion, emotionless expression. I don't know what his personality is when he's there, but his appearance is pretty similar to how we imagine him to be. I gasp and smack your shoulder many times to get your attention which you click your tongue at. I point towards him and you look where I'm staring, which is when you gasp as well, trying to find the words but I already know what you're going to say. And we get up and stalk him. As we do that, I spot his keys in his bag and cleverly take them, passing them to you. When he sits down, I tell you to give it to him but you're too shy so I push you forward until you're in his sight. He looks at you and you shyly hold them out to him, saying: 'I think these are yours. You dropped them'. And then he thanks you and you live happily ever after." "... That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. But, if that does happen, then I love you and your brain." And since that day, she kept on adding to the story which made me excited to meet my future husband. Of course, however, I knew this story of hers wasn't going to come true, no matter how young, horny and stupid I was. *END OF FLASHBACK* "Yes, Hanji, I remember that. But why are you telling me this?" "You idiotic fool! He's right there behind you!" "I swear, if you're lying--" "I'm not, I'm not!! Just look!" I slowly twisted my head to see the man I've wanted to marry for many years. Was he really there? Is Hanji just playing a prank on me? I took a deep breath and looked to see who she was talking about... And there he was, exactly how I had imagined. Well, maybe not exactly, but extremely similar. "Hanji, you already know what we're doing?" She vigorously nodded as both of us got up and raced towards him, and then slowed down when we got closer so we don't look like weirdos or creeps (which we technically were). He was holding no bag, but luckily, Hanji saw his credit card in his back pocket and somehow got it without him realising.

I never knew how much I loved her until this moment. This mysterious, kind of magical man sat down on a table with two of his other friends. But I could care less about them. Taking a deep breath, I tapped his shoulder and he looked up at me with the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They may have had no shimmer or emotion in them, but they still entranced me. I didn't realise I was staring for too long until he spoke, "Are you just going to stand there and look at me, or actually say something, brat?" Maybe those weren't the first words I expected to hear, but at least it was something. His voice was deep and velvety and void of any emotion and I wanted to hear him speak more. It probably wasn't even that attractive to other people, but this was someone I had made up in my mind and he's right here in front of me, so I'm going to fall in love with every aspect with him. "Oh, sorry... Um, you dropped this," I said quietly and held out his card to him. He lifted an eyebrow at first before taking it from me, his fingers skimming my skin as he did that. "Hey, are you okay? Why do you keep staring into space like that?" "Uh, yeah, I-I'm fine. Just a little tired. Anyway, um... I'm going to go... eat my lunch. Bye." "Thank you, by the way, random person." I laughed lightly. "(Y/N)." "Thank you, (Y/N)." "So--" "Hey, (Y/N)!!" I mentally rolled my eyes when my name was called and my best friend appeared beside me, throwing an arm onto my shoulders. "What do you need, Hanji?" I murmured. "I just wanted to know who your new, little friend is. Looks like you were having fun." "Um, no. I just gave him his card since he dropped it." "Oh, so you're best friends now! Why don't you sit right next to him and have lunch together?" "Hanji," I said in a tone for her to back off. But she carried on anyway, pushing me onto the seat next to the man. "I'm so sorry about her. She's... insane." "I can tell," he said, eyeing both of us up and down. We were both definitely going to be the weirdos he should stay away from. "Well, you can go--" "(Y/N), I think you should stay! You seem like a delightful person!" the girl with pigtails opposite me squealed and I smiled at her. "It's nice to make new friends," a blonde male next to her stated with a polite smile. "Let her stay, Levi." "Oh, it's fine. My friends are probably wondering where I am," I stated, turning to find Hanji, but she wasn't there. "Shit," I mumbled. "What's wrong?" "Oh, nothing. I mean, I literally just came to give him his card and now I'm having lunch with you three. It's kind of weird." "'Him' has a name," he muttered bitterly. "It's Levi." "Sorry, Levi." I want to marry you, Levi. "You can leave now if you want." "Uh, yeah, I should probably go," I said and started to get up. "No, stay! Levi, you can't just push someone away!" the female with green eyes scolded him. "We barely even know her." "So? It's good to meet nice people and become friends." "Tch. You two can do whatever you want, then." "Maybe I can join you guys for lunch another time. Looks like Mr Moody doesn't want company." "Mr Moody?" he repeated and lifted an eyebrow at me. "You just met me and you're giving me that nickname?" "Uhh... I'm going to go now." "Bye, (Y/N)! I'm Isabel, by the way, and this is Farlan." "Bye, Isabel, Farlan. It was nice talking to you." I got up without addressing the raven-haired male and made my way back to my table, huffing as soon as I sat down. "I messed up bad," I complained to myself, causing the bald male beside me to inquire what happened. "It's nothing. Just me being stupid and childish to think that I'll magically be able to become some gloomy guy's girlfriend." "Who is this 'gloomy guy'?" "It's (Y/N)'s crush who's sitting right over there with that grinning girl and some other guy!" "Hanji, just forget about it. He hates me." "I've never seen him before," Connie stated, taking a secret glance at him. "We just saw him today as well." "And he's already your crush?" "Basically--" "Hanji, we promised that we won't tell anyone," I snapped. "It's stupid and I never want to talk about it again." "I mean, it's not really stupid if he's real. It could just be your fault because you were nervous and acted awkward around him. But then again, it could be my fault because I kind of forced you to sit next to him. Maybe I should let you do it your own way. So, for once, (Y/N), I won't get involved. I don't want this chance to go." "I doubt you'll be able to keep that promise." "I will! I don't want you to be annoyed and depressed forever. So you do whatever you want. And you can slap me if I get involved in the tiniest way." "Okay. Thank you, Hanji." "I'm still so confused," the baldie said. "Maybe I'll tell you one day, Connie. Maybe when I make progress." "Okay--" "Oh my god!! I just realised - he's actually real and right there!" I suddenly yelled, causing the canteen to quieten as students looked at me with confusion. "Ugh, I'm such an idiot. I need to stop making a fool out of myself. Did Levi look at me, Hanji?" "No. But he obviously still heard you." "God, I just want to die..." ~/~ Thanks to my roommate, I had to rush my morning routine and miss breakfast since I had to run to the university, which was about a five-minute walk away. Since I was running, however, it took me three minutes. I was definitely going to give Hanji what she deserves for not waking me up. I stumbled into the lecture hall to find that they had already started. I quickly apologised for being late and found a random spot to settle down and catch my breath. I took my laptop out of my bag and gulped on some water as I waited for it to load. And I soon got to work, focusing on the lecture and not taking notice of the people around me. As I was listening to my professor, someone beside me whispered my name and so I rotated my head to look at them. Act cool. Be calm, (Y/N). Just because you're taking the same course and you're going to see him more than you thought, doesn't mean you can freak out. "Do you have a pen I could borrow?" Levi asked in a hushed tone and I sifted through my clothes and bag to find a pen that he can use. After about a minute of looking, I found one at the bottom of my bag and passed it to him with a smile. He thanked me before both of us got on with our work. I could barely concentrate now that I knew who I was sitting next to, but I still tried my best. Towards the end of the lecture, which seemed like hours, my stomach rumbled and I froze and internally cringed. Why did that have to happen? Well, I didn't have breakfast so I guess it's understandable, but still. Shortly, I was able to leave, so everyone filed out and I packed my things away, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I made my way out. As I was leaving the hall, a familiar, husky voice called for me and I stopped. "You know, for someone that doesn't like people, you sure like saying people's names," I joked. "I was just going to give you your pen back and ask if you wanted to grab something to eat since it sounds and looks like you haven't had breakfast." "Shit, was my stomach that loud?" "I couldn't hear Professor Erwin," he said with no amusement, but something told me that he was just joking with me. I playfully rolled my eyes and let a small laugh escape my mouth before taking the pen from his hand and walking out with him following after me. "Hey, so yesterday, I was kind of in a bad mood which is why I acted like that. Though, I am usually cold and unfriendly and--" "What are you trying to say?" "Let's start over. Isabel and Farlan made me feel guilty, so let's get you some breakfast and know each other some more. All I know is that you and your glasses friend are weirdos." "Well, thank you very much for saying that, Mr Moody. We are weirdos, and we're proud." "Hey, Levi!" "Hey, (Y/N)!!" There were two different voices and two different names being called at the same time, yet they were coming from the same direction. Two sighs sounded when I saw Hanji and Levi saw Isabel. "What did I miss? Why are you two walking together?" Isabel asked. "We're going to get some breakfast. Since you, Hanji, never woke me up," I replied, arching an eyebrow and folding my arms over my chest. "I didn't know when your first lecture was, and I thought you would've put an alarm. How late were you?" "You weren't that late, you know. We started about a minute before you came." "So, I look like a mess and didn't make coffee for no damn reason? Ugh, I'm so glad I have no more lectures today." "Well, I need to head to my next lecture, so I guess I'll see you at home," Hanji smiled before fast-walking. "Me, too. Bye!" "Let's go?" I suggested and he nodded in response. Some words were spoken as we took our time in getting to a cafe that was a two-minute walk away. I told him a bit about myself, but he had very little to say as if he was hiding a shady past or something like that. Nevertheless, I didn't pry. "So you're not only a weirdo, but a perv as well?" "Hey! I'm not a pervert," I pouted, trying to fight back a smile. "It was a dare from Hanji... Though, I don't regret doing it," I muttered. "Perv." "Hush. Eren's ass is perfect to squeeze." "I don't want to know that," Levi said with a hint of disgust as he opened the door to the cafe, letting me go in first. We walked towards the queue and continued our conversation. "Well, if you want to start over and get to know me, then you have to know that I'm a weirdo, maybe a perv, and let's just say that you don't want to make me angry." "So you are a perv?" "Okay, fine. Yes, I am a perv," I announced. "And just like how I'm proud of being weird, I'm also proud of being a pervert." "Are you proud of letting your stomach rumble as well?" "Shut it, Ackerman." "Oh, hey, (Y/N)," the male at the register smiled. "Hi, Eren." I grinned back at him, seeing his gaze on the raven beside me. "This is Levi. I guess you could say we're acquaintances." "This is Eren?" Levi inquired and I saw a certain glint in his eyes. That is when I realised that I had told him I squeezed Eren's butt after getting a dare. Oh, why did I have a feeling that he was going to embarrass me? "Yeah. Nice to meet you, Levi. What do you guys want?" "You go first," I told the male and he nodded. "An Earl Grey, please." "Okay. And you, princess?" "Well, loverboy, could I get a coffee and pain au chocolat?" "Of course. Anything else?" "No, thanks," I replied, searching my pockets for my purse. Then my bag, but I couldn't find it. I bit the inside of my lip and turned to Levi. "I don't have my purse on me. Sorry. I'll pay you back." "You're too broke to do that, princess," he murmured and paid for our food. "Shut up. Thank you, Eren. Thank you, Levi." "No problem. I'll bring your drinks and food in a bit." I shot him another smile before strolling to a table with two seats facing each other. I took a seat, hanging my coat on the chair and dropped my bag to the ground, under my feet. "You and that kid in a relationship or something?" he randomly questioned after there was a moment of silence. "Me and Eren? No, no. We just have that kind of friendship where we act like a couple and call each other names. We don't actually like each other or anything. And he has a girlfriend, well, sort of." "What do you mean 'sort of'?" "It's not a stable relationship. There have been a few problems, and I've tried to tell Eren to just forget about her but he can't. I just want him to be happy with someone that truly cares for him and doesn't cause him any distress. He's come to me so many times just to cry over her." "What's her name?" "Mikasa." "What about Mikasa?" Eren spoke with a slight frown, placing down our things in front of us. "Oh, I was just talking about how she has the same surname as Levi and was wondering if he knew her." "Okay. Well, here's your coffee, tea and pain au chocolat. If there's anything else you need, just tell me." "Thank you." "... You're a good liar." "I'll take that as a compliment. Also, I'm surprised you haven't taken the chance to embarrass me yet." "Embarrass you? Why would I ever do that?" he remarked sarcastically, but obviously my dense ass couldn't sense that. "Because you know which boy's butt I squeezed, and you could expose me for being a pervert. Though, he already knows that I am. Everyone I know knows what kind of person I am." "A weirdo and a pervert," he stated after taking a sip of his tea. "I wonder what other traits you have." I snorted. "Are you sure you want to know?" He gave me a small glance, perfectly arching his brow. I felt as if I've known this person for longer than two days. Probably because me and Hanji have spoken about him for many years now. But, even then, I feel like we have a certain bond. And no, I'm not just saying that because he's the love of my life; I truly think we can create a strong friendship... and then, maybe something a little more. Even though he's a made-up person that became true, I sometimes forget who I'm talking to and just internally scream when I realise. But, seriously, how did this happen? I don't think I'll ever be able to believe that he became true (and maybe one day, I won't believe that I'm marrying him hehe). "Oi, you're spacing out again. Is that a habit of yours or are you just always tired? Or do you have someone on your mind?" "There's no one on my mind, I'm just always tired. Boys can piss off and leave me alone... apart from you, Levi. I love you-- Uhh, I mean, obviously I don't love you. We literally just met, I don't love you. It's just, uh, it's fun to hang out with you. You aren't like others... Ugh, I'm an idiot." I facepalmed the table and refused to look back at the male in front of me. "You aren't an idiot, you're a weirdo. Don't forget that. Anyway, I think we should head out because you look like you're going into a meltdown or something." "Sure. I'm just going to quickly finish my coffee." I gulped down the last few sips and left the mug on the table, thanking Levi for paying. He only nodded as I waved at Eren, who stopped us from leaving. "Could you wait like two minutes? My shift's over and I just want to relax at yours." "Yeah, sure. Levi, you can go if you want. I feel like I'm just dragging you around." "I'm the one that brought you here. I don't care about waiting for a brat." "Brat? He's the same age as us." "Yeah, I know. I just call people that, don't get offended, darlin'." "Darling? What's with these nicknames you're so generously handing out?" "Says that one that called me 'Mr Moody' in the first ten minutes we spoke." "Hey, you said yourself that you were in a bad mood." "Thanks for waiting. Should we go?" the teal-eyed boy beamed and I nodded, hooking my arm with his as he stuffed his hands into his pocket before all three of us left the cosy cafe. "So, where did Levi magically come from?" "He joined my uni yesterday, but we got off on the wrong foot and decided to start over. And since we're both doing biochemistry, he saw my miserable entrance, looking like a mess. And, my stupid belly chose to rumble so Levi kindly offered to get me breakfast. Now, we're just getting to know each other." "She's a pervert," Levi curtly said. "Yeah, that basically sums her up. Along with her being weird, tired, broke and an awesome friend." "You're lucky you added that last one before my fist was in your face." "Oh, she's also an adorable threatener. But, do not get on her bad side because she will be a monster towards you." "Yeah, Levi knows most of this already." "And I already regret talking to you," he teased. "Shut up, Ackerman." "Anyway, I'm going this way," Levi announced, pointing to the left as we were about to turn right. "We don't have any lectures tomorrow, so maybe I'll see you on Wednesday?" "Yeah. Bye, Levi." "See you later, darlin'. By the way, Eren, (Y/N) likes your ass." "Jerk," I muttered before looking at Eren, who just grinned at me. "And that's why you're a pervert." Both of us started to walk again but since I was holding onto him, I came to halt when he stopped in his tracks, pulling me to the side. "Tell me: why are you so comfortable around someone you just met?" "I'm not that comfortable. And you know I'm always friendly to new people." "Yeah, but not like this. What's the deal with you and him.?" "Nothing, Eren. Stop worrying. I'll tell you what this is all about one day." "... Fine. But, I have a bad feeling about him." "Levi? Why? He's perfect. I mean, I don't know that, but his friends seem to be really nice. And you can't get friends like that unless you're nice, too." "If you trust him, I'm going to have to trust you to not get into any trouble." "Yes, yes. Now, stop worrying." Eren rested an arm around my shoulders as we carried on going towards mine and Hanji's apartment. We walked there in silence, but my keys broke that serenity when they jingled against the door as I unlocked it and opened it, allowing Eren to walk in. We both took off our shoes as I locked the door behind us. Eren plopped down onto the sofa as I went to the bathroom to see my reflection. God, I looked like something out of a horror movie. How did people stand to look at me, or even talk to me? But I was home now, so I didn't bother fixing my appearance as I went to the living room and dropped onto the comfortable furniture next to Eren. "I would ask you if you want a drink, but we went past that stage of formality ages ago. Help yourself to whatever." "Thanks, but I just want to rest." "What's up? I know there's something you need to tell me," I said, ruffling his brunette hair like he was a little kid. "... I barely got any sleep last night. I was meant to go on a date with Mikasa yesterday after my evening shift. I reserved a table at some restaurant that has great reviews. So, after my shift, I dressed all nice and left to go to the restaurant. I took the bus and it took me half an hour to get there. She then called me as I walking up to the restaurant, saying she can't make it because she's sick. Obviously, being my stupid self, I just said okay and said that we can postpone our date. However, I was starving so I wasn't going to put that reservation to waste. When I got there and told them about the booked table under my name, they told me there were already some people that took the table, telling them that their name was Eren. I was so confused and looked over at a table, where I saw Mikasa and that jerk: Reiner." "And then you stormed off, went home and cried?" I asked, saying it like it was something ordinary. "... Yes..." "What's this, like the fifth time you've seen her with a different boy? I swear, it's not the same boy every time as well. I still don't get why you don't just break up with her. She doesn't deserve you, she doesn't make you happy, which is what you deserve. I say you break up with her sometime this week." "(Y/N), that's too soon." "I don't care. She's causing you into depression, and I don't like seeing you like this. I haven't seen you be happy once after you got into this relationship. And I don’t want to hear any excuses. You know that you aren't happy with her, so I don't get why you don't break up with her. Is she threatening you or something?" "..." "... Eren?" Shit. Eren, you better say something before that silence gives me the wrong idea. That bitch better not be hurting or threatening you, I thought, biting my lip as I waited for him to speak. "Eren, please say--" Once again, I pulled him into an embrace when he requested it and he quietly sobbed, nestling his face into the crook of my neck. This time, I truly felt sorry for him because he wasn't crying over another wrecked date, or another man he caught Mikasa with; it was something I've never heard about. I still haven't, but his silence implied it. I didn't want to say anything as I got lost in my thoughts. What kinds of things has this girl done to Eren - one of my closest friends? As I was in the middle of pondering, a phone's ringtone sounded in the room. It was Eren's and I didn't know if I should pick it up or not. When I saw the name of the caller, my bitchy side took over and I grabbed his phone which was on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I answered it with a sweet 'hello', waiting for a reply as I continued to hug Eren with one arm. He soon lifted off of me and tried wiping away the tears as he looked at me with an expression that destroyed my heart. "Who are you?" "It's (Y/N). You probably can't recognise my voice since I haven't seen you in so long," I said with fake politeness. "Oh, (Y/N)... Where's Eren, by the way?" "He's in the bathroom. I can take a message if you'd like." "No, it's fine. Just tell him to call me when he's free." "Yeah, like I'd do that, whore." "Excuse me? What did you just call me?" "(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?" Eren whispered angrily so I retracted the phone from my ear and covered the speakers. "Teaching her a lesson. How's she going to threaten you, cheat on you, reject every date, and still have the balls to call you? She's stupid to think that I'm going to let that slide. I don't like her, and neither do you, so I'm going to invite her here and you can talk to her." "(Y/N), please don't do this. I know you're doing this for me, but I don't know, I just can't break up with her. Even after everything she's done." "Eren, this is for your own good. You're always depressed and tired because of her. You need to let go and be free. This isn't how you're meant to be enjoying life." "... Fine. Bring that bitch over here." I smirked. "Good." I brought the phone back to my ear. "Sorry about that--" "What are you going on about? Why did you just call me a wh0re?" "If you want to know, come to my apartment. You know where I live. You can see your precious boyfriend as well." "I will. Because no one talks to me like that." She cut the phone and I passed Eren's phone to him. I got up and gave him some tissue to wipe his face that had some snot and tears. "Hey, I'm kind of nervous." "That's normal. Anyone would be nervous if they were about to break up with someone. Though, I feel bad. Did I just force this onto you?" "It's fine. I'm glad I'm finally getting it over with." "Also, was she threatening you?" "Yes..." "I would say you should've told me, but that was obviously something you couldn't say since she would do something. Damn, she's some messed up girl. Sorry. But I just had to say that." "No, I understand. I don't even know what I saw in her in the first place." "Don't beat yourself up about it. Everyone makes mistakes and you're going to learn from this for your next girlfriend. First of all, if she cancels a lot of your dates, break up with her. Second, if she cheats on you once, break up with her. And third, if she barely talks to you, or tries to avoid you, break up with her." "Okay. Thank you, (Y/N). I'd literally run back to her every time if you weren't here." "No worries, love. Just helping you with your problems." "Well, let me help you with yours, baby girl. What's on your mind? You've been acting a little distracted." "Mm... I guess I'm thinking about Levi..." "What's so special about him?" "... All right, I'm going to tell you this. But don't tell Levi, or anyone, because it's a stupid thing me and Hanji made up." "What happened to trusting me all the time? You always told me everything." "Yeah, but since you got with Mikasa, you've been a little occupied. Don't worry, though, you're still my second best friend," I grinned at the statement I had said years ago when I was around ten years old. I then changed the subject and told Eren about what me and Hanji created in our young, horny and stupid minds. "Wow... That's actually crazy. You guys never thought he was going to be real, but damn... Still, I don't think you should trust him too much. To be honest, that guy's suspicious, even supernatural if he was just someone made up." "That's what I was thinking. But, half the time I forget that he was someone I dreamt about. I feel like I've bonded with him before and we're just catching up with each other's lives." "I understand. But, unless he proves to be completely normal, don't get too attached to him." "Okay. And, it's been about twenty minutes since Mikasa hung up. I think she's going to be here soon. Do you know what you're going to say?" "Kind of. I've been thinking of a breakup scenario for a while, but I was never able to make it happen." "Hey, me and Hanji made up a guy and he happened. I think you can make this breakup happen; I believe in you." "Thank you so much, (Y/N). You honestly don't know how grateful I am for you." "Whenever you need me, I'll be here." I heard the buzzer echo through my apartment, meaning someone was asking for an entrance. I shot a glance at Eren before getting up and walking towards my front door, answering the phone and speaking a confident 'hello'. "It's Mikasa." "Oh, it's you," I spat with disgust. I pressed the button for the main door so she could come in and waited a couple of seconds before opening my front door. She barged past me, and I muttered: 'Never met someone so rude'. My bitchy side was locking in again and I locked the door before following her into the living room. Eren was now standing up, appearing as bold and someone who was ready to break up with Mikasa. "Eren, why did she call me a 'whore'?" "Well, is she wrong?" he pointed out.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot #aot fanfiction #aot imagines #snk #snk fanfiction #snk imagines #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #x reader #reader insert #anime #dream guy #modern au #series #i want hanji to be my bff

[wordskyscrapers]

James Potter gets the shock of his life

The hard thing was going to be picking the right memory. Was it normal for your strongest memories to all be bittersweet, or was that just her? Finding out she was a witch? Irrevocably connected to losing Petunia. Her friendship with Severus? Feeling really seen for the first time? Grinning at each other, elated when they were the first two in the class to pull off the Draught of Living Death because of the extra reading they’d done together, huddled in the library?

But then, that same afternoon, when she walked up to join the queue outside Transfiguration, his Slytherin friends had held their noses, mimed vomiting, exaggerated looks of disgust on their face. She tried to just ignore it. James Potter and Sirius Black had retaliated unthinkingly, an en masse Petrificus Totalus so the group of Slytherins were on the ground before Lily could do so much as blink. She’d not thanked them. Not looked at them, at any of them. She’d just set her shoulders, turned on her heel and walked in the other direction. There were other Muggleborns in the class and the Slytherins didn’t react nearly as strongly. She didn’t know what she could have done to earn such stand out hatred, even before You-Know-Who had empowered people to say what they really thought. And Severus had just stood there, saying nothing, refusing to even look at her.

Nothing that involved him, then.

“You got your memory ready?” Mary broke into her reverie. “Yeah, I was just thinking about that,” Lily sighed. “It’s kind of slim pickings. I’ve just not had that much pleasure in my life recently.” “Sorry to hear that, Evans. If only there was something I could do,” came a polite voice from above her. Lily shut her eyes, knowing what she was going to see when she opened them. James Potter had slid onto the bench next to her and was smirking as he spooned potatoes onto his plate. “Don’t be creepy, Potter.” He held a forked potato aloft on the way to his mouth, and looked almost sheepish. “Oh come on, I’m only kidding.” He looked at her so earnestly she couldn’t help softening. “You know what my memory’s gonna be?” he went on, brightly. “What?” Lily indulged him. “Slughorn’s Christmas party last year.” “Oh yeah, that was fun,” Lily smiled back, pleasantly surprised. What was this? A nice friendly reminiscence about a time they’d both enjoyed?” “Specifically,” he went on. Here we go, Lily thought. “That green dress you wore,” James feigned a dreamy expression, staring into the middle distance. “You remember the one. You were pulling at the hem of it all night like you were worried it was too short even though I kept telling you it looked magnificent and-” “Oh my god, I am not listening to this,” Lily threw her spoon down and disembarked the bench as gracefully as she could. “What?” James called after her, loud enough for the whole hall to hear. “I liked it because it matched your eyes!” He was so unabashed, so gloriously unbothered about looking like an idiot that she couldn’t help laughing. Now that he’d stopped bullying Severus, stopped hexing people in the corridors, his advances had transitioned from incredibly aggravating to kind of a running joke for everyone. Lily’s smile slipped when she saw Severus, watching her from the Slytherin table. His black eyes were on her, unfathomable. She lifted her chin and stalked past. Severus Snape didn’t own her, and he’d made his choice.

Having left lunch early, she was the first to arrive to Defence Against the Dark Arts. She sat there, nervous and twitchy as the others trickled in. Mary flopped down next to her. “You can’t leave the table every time James Potter sits next to you,” Mary said. “You’re too thin as it is,” pinching Lily’s waist for emphasis. Lily squirmed. “I don’t leave the table whenever he sits next to me!” “Okay, but you do. And I don’t see why. He really likes you, he makes you laugh-” “He does not make me laugh. He’s laughable. That’s not the same-” Lily cut herself off as the door banged open and a group of Slytherins sloped in. As usual, Severus didn’t look her way as he went to sit on the other side of the classroom. Moments later, the Marauders came in roaring with laughter at a story that Sirius was telling. “… so basically every time Pince says the word quiet, the sonorous charm activates, and-“ “Settle down, settle down,” Professor Vance said as she swept into the classroom behind them. The Marauders laughter died away. Everybody else was already silent. “Okay. There’s only one way to get good at this, and even then, without a real dementor, well. It’s not the same. That’s why you’ve got to be good. Really good. So. One at a time, up the front, so we can all learn. Who wants to go first?” Nobody volunteered. Lily felt Professor Vance’s eyes land on her. This often happened, being Head Girl. But she was fresh out of Gryffindor courage today. “Miss Evans?” Mulciber, one of Severus’s Slytherin friends, gave a small cough designed to poorly disguise the word, “Mudblood!” A few people gasped, and the Slytherins tittered. From the back of the room came a scraping sound and Lily turned to see James Potter pushing his chair back and making to stand up, but being dragged back down by Lupin. “We’ll get them later,” she heard Black hiss. Lily turned back to the front of the class and stood up herself. “I’ll try.” She made her way up to Professor Vance. “You know the theory. Just concentrate on that memory,” Vance said quietly, before moving to the side of the room. Lily nodded and turned to face the class. Her eyes met Mulciber’s close-set, piggish gaze. Mulciber sneered, his eyes narrowed. Lily determinedly kept her face impassive, until finally, he looked away. Lily lifted her chin, then faced the rest of the class. Without intending to, she locked eyes with Potter, just for a second. Free of mirth for once, his face reflected the determination she felt. He gave a small nod, a tiny gesture of encouragement, and she felt bolstered.

Lily closed her eyes, and pictured her parents. Her mother and father. She thought about the first time she had brought them to Diagon Alley. Buying them an ice cream at Florian Fortescue’s, their delight as they watched the conga line of charmed strawberries dance along the counter. Her mother’s awe as she craned her neck to see the highest shelves of Flourish and Blott’s, her father’s face of anticipation as he took a tentative sip of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. The classroom disappeared. The Slytherins disappeared. They couldn’t tarnish what she had. Lily’s voice was clear and confident, “Expecto Patronum!” She knew it had worked when warmth coursed through her. When she opened her eyes again, she saw silver mist erupting from the tip of her wand, taking shape. It was something with four legs. A horse- but no, its head was still blossoming, it had – antlers? It was a stag. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. It stretched its neck back toward her, lowering its antlered head in greeting. Then, it cantered gracefully around the room, before returning to her outstretched wand, and with a blink of its eyes, it was gone. Lily stared at the space where it had disappeared. The classroom was, for a moment, completely quiet. Then the spell broke. The Gryffindors whooped and cheered. Lily looked towards her friends, and started to smile, still in a small amount of shock. But then she saw four faces at the back of the classroom, and they brought her up short. Peter Pettigrew’s mouth had dropped dumbly open. Remus Lupin’s eyebrows had shot north to his hairline. Sirius Black had dissolved into silent laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. James Potter looked completely stricken, his eyes wide with an emotion she couldn’t name.

#harry potter #james and lily #jily fanfiction #jily love #jily textpost #jily angst #jily fanart #lily evans #peter pettigrew #marauders #professor lupin #snape and lily #expecto patronum #ao3feed #ao3 fanfic #marauders fanart #marauders fanfiction

[kuroopaisen]

cause & effect || chapter 5

➵ your work friend, kuroo, has a tiny favour to ask. unfortunately, that favour includes convincing his family that you’re very much in love with him and have been for a while now. let’s just say it’s easier than you’d assumed.

warnings: f!reader, mild depiction of anxiety i guess? 

wc: 3.9k

m.list | ch. 4 ↞ ch. 5 ↠ ch. 6

“You ready?” Kuroo asks, giving you a warm smile.

You take a deep breath.

He’s parked his car in the driveway of his parent’s home. You hadn’t even known he had a car; you’d always thought they were a bit useless when you live somewhere like Tokyo.

But that isn’t the point.

The point is, you’re about to meet his grandmother.

The very woman who’d started the toppling dominos that’d led to you sitting in this very car.

You’re also about to meet his dad and grandfather, but they sound a little less intimidating.

Honestly, you feel like this is all a bit quick. Do you even know him well enough to pull this off yet? But, as Kuroo had pointed out, the earlier you met his immediate family, the fewer names and faces you’d have to familiarise yourself with later in the month.

You’re the one who’d suggested this weekend, anyway. You can’t back out now.

“Hey,” Kuroo murmurs, tilting his head at you. “If you’re not feeling up to it, we can say you came down with a cold.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “Oh, no, it’s fine! I just need a moment. To… to steel myself.”

Kuroo smiles, the concern in his features melting away into relief. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you, Kuroo,” you nod.

God, how long has it been since you’d met someone’s parents? Too long. Embarrassingly long. Long enough for your own parents to be a little disappointed in you. Not that their opinions matter—

You shake your head.

No, no, you shouldn’t be thinking about them right now. You have a job to do.

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’m ready.”

“Great,” Kuroo nods. “Well… let’s go, I guess.”

The two of you slip out of the car, making your way towards the front door.

It opens before you’re even halfway there.

“Ah!” An old lady hobbles towards you, and you know immediately that it’s Kuroo’s grandmother. They have the same eyes – clever, bright, calculating.

“Look who decided to show up,” the woman tuts, placing her hands on her hips in the perfect image of a displeased mother.

Kuroo rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning pink. “You make it sound like I never visit,” he mumbles.

“Well, you certainly don’t visit as much as I’d like,” the old woman scoffs, shaking her head.

“I have a job, Obaa-chan,” Kuroo grins, stepping forward and ruffling her hair.

“Now, now, Tetsu,” she chuckles, swatting his hand away, “you’re still in no position to do that.”

“I’ll be the one looking after you in your old age, you know,” he teases.

“Oh, I’m well-aware,” she responds, totally unphased. “You’re not getting away with anything less.”

The old woman turns to you, a kind, if cheeky, smile on her face. The family resemblance really is striking. The eyes, the smile, the energy… It’s almost comical.

“Hello, dear,” she greets you with sincere warmth in her voice.

“Hello,” you smile as best you can, offering her a bow. Your stomach feels all fuzzy and your chest is tightening –

This shouldn’t be so stressful. It’s not like you’re meeting his family as his actual, real girlfriend. And yet, you’re still worried about making a good impression.

Oh, and putting on a good performance. That’s important too.

“Oh, none of that,” Kuroo’s grandmother chuckles, shaking her head.

As you rise up, she waddles towards you, arms open and ready to embrace you.

You respond at the last moment, only just registering what’s happening.

“It’s delightful to finally meet you,” Kuroo’s grandmother beam, looking you up and down. “Ah, you’re even lovelier than the photos.”

“You too,” you smile, your cheeks blooming for the second time today. “And thank you.”

His grandmother chuckles, throwing her arms around your neck. Your eyes widen and you almost jump, but you reciprocate, nonetheless.

This woman is already more delightful than you can handle.

“I’ve heard many wonderful things about you, my dear.”

You didn’t think your face could get any warmer, and yet here you are. “You have?”

“Indeed!” She laughs. “And I’ve surmised that you are far too good for my grandson.”

“Obaa-chan!” Kuroo gasps.

“Would you begrudge me for telling her the honest truth, my boy?” Kuroo’s grandmother tuts. “I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You should be able to put two and two together.”

“You’re exaggerating,” you laugh.

“Oh, surely not,” she shakes her head, taking a step back. “Now come, come!”

She hobbles back to the front door, beckoning the two of you.

You stall. Why, you don’t know. Nerves, probably? Man, this is so much harder than you thought…

“Hey,” Kuroo murmurs, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back. You start as his breath tickles your ear, whipping your head round to look at him.

He nods towards his front door with an encouraging look in his eyes.

You swallow roughly, trying to ground yourself. There’s more to be nervous about than you’d anticipated.

The two of you walk through the front door – Kuroo has to stoop a little, because of course – and you take a moment to survey the house.

It’s a little cobbled together – walls covered with frames of all different shapes and sizes, a bookcase full to bursting with a rainbow of books, trinkets scattered here and there. It’s a mix of Japanese and Western-style, a concoction of couches and spare floor cushions, a low coffee table, wide rooms with open sliding doors and generous windows.

Slapdash as it is, it’s homely. Comforting, even.

Kuroo’s grandmother potters around the kitchen. From the clatter of mugs and kettle, you guess she’s preparing tea.

You turn to Kuroo for instruction. He takes your hand in his, leading you through the front room and towards the kitchen. You tighten your fingers around his palm, trying to calm the swirl of nerves rattling around your stomach.

He pulls out a chair for you at the kitchen table. You thank him quietly and slip into it as he plops himself next to you.  

He slouches against the back of his chair, his demeanour melting in a way you’ve never seen before.

Well, you think, this is the house he grew up in.

“Here you go, dears,” his grandmother hums, flashing through the corner of your vision and setting a tea-set on the table in front of you. “I hope you’re a fan of green tea.”

“Thank you,” you smile. You’re not going to complain – especially since she’s gone to the trouble of preparing it for you.

She pours out three yunomi, setting one in front of each of you. Once she’s done, she plops herself down on one of the chairs, wiggling forward so she’s on the edge of her seat.

“Now,” she smiles, reaching over and taking one of your hands in hers. “You must simply tell me all about yourself.”

You freeze.

What is there to say? Even now, an adult with a wage job, you can’t quite put a finger on what really defines you as a person. It certainly isn’t your job in marketing.

You clench your free fist in your lap, trying to think of something, anything to say.

Even if this is fake, even if this is just a ruse to calm his grandmother’s nerves for the holiday’s… it’s hard. It’s scary.

You want to make a good impression. You want this to go well. But you just don’t know how to make that happen. What if his grandmother doesn’t even like you? What then?

Kuroo slips a hand over your balled-up fist, rubbing a gentle thumb over the ridges of your knuckles. You loosen your grip just a little, letting him slip his fingers through yours.

The contact is still strange, still foreign. And it’s fake.

You know it’s fake.

But it gives you the tiny spurt of strength you need.

“Ah,” you laugh nervously, “where would you like me to start?”

The old woman smiles, shaking her head. “You’re fine, dear. The two of you met at work, yes?”

“Yes,” you nod. “He makes it more bearable.”

His grandmother laughs. “Well, I suppose his sense of humour is decent enough. He gets it from me, after all.”

You grin. “There is that. But he… he helped me settle in when I first started working there. I really appreciated that.” You blush. It doesn’t sound particularly romantic, but they’re honest feelings. Perhaps the best way to make this believable is to play upon what’s already there.

Kuroo squeezes your hand gently. You squeeze his back.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you Tetsu?” His grandmother chuckles. “You see a lost little duckling and you just have to take them under your wing.”

Kuroo blushes, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Well… you know…”

His grandmother shakes her head, turning back to you. “He’s always been like this, you see.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard all about Kenma,” you smile. “Oh, and there’s a Tsukishima, right? From volleyball.”

“As I expected,” she chuckles, raising an eyebrow at Kuroo.

“You make it sound like I go around picking up charity cases,” he mumbles, looking away from her. You can’t make up much of his face, but his ears have gone a little pink.

“Are you calling me a charity case, Tetsu?” You tease, tilting your head at him.

His head whips back around, eyes wide. “No—I—why would you draw that conclusion?”

You giggle, giving his hand another squeeze. “Just teasing.”

His grandmother chuckles, a new glint in her eyes. “You might have to reconsider who the charity case here is, my boy.”

“I never said she was a charity case!” He whines, looking between the two of you with an expression of deepening panic. “I would never—”

“I thought I raised you to treat women better,” his grandmother sighs, propping her elbows on the table and dramatically hanging her head in her hands. “To see that I’ve failed so terribly…”

You laugh, the tension in your stomach easing a little.

He definitely gets his sense of humour from her, you realise.

And it’s more than just the sense of humour.

You know this woman’s already picked up on your anxieties. It’s like she’s trying to soothe them, in her own way. Just like he does.

His observant eye is a family trait, it seems.

The conversation flows a little easier after that; Kuroo tries to redeem himself to little effect, his grandmother asks you how you like to spend your spare time, Kuroo tries to stop her from relaying any embarrassing childhood stories…

You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting at the kitchen table, but your tea’s gone cold.

You haven’t even drunk any of it.

“Oh, I should put the kettle back on,” his grandmother hums, as if reading your mind. “I’ve always been bad at playing host.”  

“Not at all!” You say without even thinking.

Kuroo’s grandmother chuckles, offering you a kind smile. Her gaze flicks to Kuroo, the look on her face turning a little wicked. “Honestly, Tetsu, I don’t know how you managed to land yourself such a sweet young woman.”

“It’s almost as if you don’t have faith in me,” Kuroo grumbles, propping his chin on his hand.

“The gall it must take to say such things to your own grandmother,” she tuts. “It’s my duty to love you more than anything else on this planet, you know.”

“Hm,” Kuroo nods slowly. “It’s a shame you’re not doing a very good job at performing said duty, then.”

“Kuroo!” You gasp, staring at him with slack jaw.

A sound that exists somewhere in the venn diagram of a shriek, a warble, and a laugh erupts from Kuroo’s grandmother. “My my, we are getting bold!”

“He’s lying,” you cut in, “he talks about you all the time. Especially about how good you’ve been to him.”

“Oh?” She grins devilishly. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “He’s a real grandma’s boy.”

“Oi!” Kuroo barks, staring at you with what appears to be disbelief. Nothing you’re saying is a lie – and that just makes it all the more incriminating.

“Oh, don’t blame her, Tetsu dear,” his grandmother laughs. “I’m sure she’s just worried about my feelings.”

You blush a little. She’s right – the last thing you want is for this lovely old woman to feel like her grandson did nothing less than adore her.

But, this family dynamic is very new to you. You can’t imagine being this casual with your own family members.  

“I’m sorry, Obaa-chan,” Kuroo grins, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You better not have!” She gasps, placing one aghast hand on her chest. “Goodness me, Tetsu, you’re going to do my heart in if you’re not careful.”

“And we can’t have that,” Tetsu chuckles softly.

A lull sets over the kitchen as the verbal combatants take a moment to compose themselves. You let the silence sit, trying to find comfort in the pause.

You can tell that there’s nothing misunderstood here. Even though you feel like you need to explain, like you need to ensure that she’s aware of how Kuroo really feels…

Well, it seems like that’s not necessary at all.

How beautiful, you think to yourself with a small smile.

A scuffling down the hallway perks your ears.

“Oh, hello!”

You turn towards the source of this new voice.

A kindly old man pokes his head through the hallway. He’s got quite a lot of hair for someone his age.

“Hey grandad,” Kuroo says, holding up a hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were visiting today?” He chuffs, hobbling towards the little gathering.

Kuroo frowns. “Obaa-chan didn’t tell you?”

The woman in question chuckles to herself.

“Really?” Kuroo asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“You’ve got to make your own fun when you’re this age, Tetsu dear,” his grandmother says sagely, bringing her yunomi to her lips as if to declare an end to the interrogation before it’s even begun.

At this point, the tea must be stone cold.

The older man tuts, turning to you with a nod. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come and make my introductions earlier, my dear.”

“You must be Tetsu’s grandfather,” you grin, returning the nod.

“The wrinkles gave it away, didn’t they?” He sighs.

“Not at all,” you shake your head with a smile. “It’s the air of wisdom.”

He laughs, a full-bellied chortle that’s not unlike the one of the man sitting next to you. “Oh, now I know you’re lying. There’s no wisdom to be found in here.”

He emphasises his point with a solid tap of two fingers against his temple.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s untrue,” you smile.

“He married me, dear,” Kuroo’s grandmother chuckles. “Believe me, that is not the mark of a wise man.”

“I beg to differ,” you turn to her with bright eyes. “I think any man would be lucky to have you.”

A genuinely delighted laugh leaves her lips. “Oh, you really are lovely, hm?”

You blush for what feels like the hundredth time today, glancing down at your lap.

Your hand is still twined with Kuroo’s. You’d forgotten about that. He seems to have, too.

How strange.

You raise your head sharply, intent not to think about it too hard.

Kuroo’s grandparents are exchanging a look – so many years of marriage simply must result in some kind of nonverbal literacy, right?

“Go call Ta-chan, would you dear?” Kuroo’s grandmother smiles sweetly up at her husband, fluttering her eyelashes like a young vixen.

He rolls his eyes, but even you can tell it’s out of fondness. “Yes, darling.”

“Ta-chan?” You ask, looking to Kuroo.

“My dad,” he grins.

“Ah,” you giggle. The thought of a man well into his fifties being referred to as ‘Ta-chan’ is enough to help you feel a little more comfortable. Just a little.

Kuroo’s grandmother scuttles off down the hallway. His grandmother gets up and puts the kettle on again after pouring her current cup of tea down the sink.

You take a moment to compose yourself, turning to Kuroo.

He smiles at you, his cheeks warm and his eyes fond.

‘How am I doing?’ you mouth at him.

‘Great,’ he mouths back.

The burden slides a little, your shoulders feeling a little lighter.

You can’t quite tell, but if Kuroo thinks you’re doing okay…

“Ah, hello!”

The new voice makes you jump as a new presence fills the kitchen.

A tall, broad man ambling his way towards you, his cheeks ruddy and his eyes glinting with a cleverness that you’ve already begun to associate with the Kuroo family line.

“Kuroo Takashi,” he beams, holding one hand towards you. “And trust me, you need no introduction.”

You blush as you take his hands, giving it a meagre shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”  

Takashi grins at you as he pulls out a seat of his own, right next to his father.

You realise, now, that the table is full.

Some absent-minded conversation flies around the dining table – something about work, something about the vegetable garden.

Family stuff.

It’s endearing, even if you’re not a part of it. Even if you don’t really know what it feels like.

“Well,” Kuroo’s grandmother hums, folding her hands in her lap as she shot you a knowing look, “I’m just glad he’s finally got a girl to look at him twice.”

The comment brings you back to the moment like a sharp slap. You raise an eyebrow at her in response, hoping it makes you look like you’ve been engaged this whole time.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Kuroo scoffs, rolling his eyes.

His grandmother leans across the table towards you with a playful glint in her eye. “You see, he wasn’t very popular with the girls in high school.” She casts a furtive glance towards her grandson. “I think it’s the hair.”

“Obaa-chan!”

You bite back a laugh at the expression of pure incredulity on Kuroo’s face.

“I kept telling you to brush it,” she tuts. “And yet, you always ignored me.”

“I did brush it!” He whines, patting the top of his head. “It just made it worse!”

“That’s what young boys always say when you try to get them to take care of their hygiene,” his grandmother sighs. “It’s a real shame.”

“Is that a dig at me?” Takashi asks.

“And what if it was?”

“You know, I think you need to be taking more responsibility,” he tuts, shaking his head. “We’re the result of your genes, after all,” he says, gesturing between him and Kuroo.

“Yeah,” Kuroo nods.

His grandmother raises his hands in surrender, shaking her head slowly. “Why are you just blaming me? Shigeru is right here—”

“Don’t pin this on me!” Kuroo’s grandfather scoffs. “I am but a bystander!”

You watch the family bicker with a gentle smile on your face.

Kuroo Tetsurou makes sense to you now.

This is only your first meeting, but there’s a little bit of all of them in him. There’s a relief to knowing that no matter what, Kuroo is loved. Adored. Cherished.

And he’s comfortable here. It’s like he can be himself – and he can certainly run his mouth without fear of retribution.

It’s nice to pretend to be a part of it, even if just for a moment.

✧ ✧ ✧

When Kuroo had asked you to pop by Kenma’s house with him, you hadn’t expected… this.

The house isn’t opulent, per se, but it’s big. It’s enough of a spectacle to be a marker of wealth, even if it didn’t have all the bells and whistles that usually accompanied excessive capital.

But perhaps the most staggering thing about it is its occupant.

You’d been told that Kenma’s a successful YouTuber. With that knowledge in mind, you couldn’t help but have expectations.

And yet this man, this famous YouTuber who Kuroo couldn’t shut up about, is so… normal. Just some guy, standing in his sweatpants and a jumper, his long hair tied up in a messy bun.

The contrast with the house is almost comical.

“Hey, so…” Kuroo grins bashfully, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t laugh.”

The man standing at the door of this ludicrously expensive-looking house glances between the two of you, his apathetic expression darkening to one of incredulity. “What’ve you done?”

Kuroo turns to you, his cheeks a little red. “So…”

He takes a moment to introduce you. He also decides that now, this moment, is the perfect time to explain his harebrained scheme. You can’t keep up as he babbles on about miai and the holidays and meddlesome family members and all sorts.

Kenma stares at him through narrowed eyes. His mouth is drawn into a sour point, as if he’s just bitten an ulcer by accident.

“And this is… my fake girlfriend,” Kuroo laughs nervously, gesturing at you.

Kenma turns to you. He looks a bit like he’s having an out-of-body experience.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you smile brightly. “Kuroo talks about you like he’s a proud father or something.”

Kenma shoots Kuroo a truly vitriolic glare. Kuroo grins back, a shade more bashful than before.

Kenma turns back to you with a touch of sympathy in his eyes. “I’m so sorry about him.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you laugh, waving a hand at him.

Kenma blinks at you, as if appraising… something. Your tone, maybe? Your expression? Who knows?

He just sighs, turning back to Kuroo.

“Explain it to me again,” he drawls. He looks positively exhausted. “But in one sentence this time.”

“So, to stop my grandma from setting me up on dates, she’s agreed to be my girlfriend for a few weeks,” Kuroo says, as if it’s the most nonchalant thing in the world. “Not my real girlfriend, but, like…”

Kenma stares at him for an excruciatingly long moment. “You’re so stupid.”

“Why?” Kuroo pouts.

“You really think this is going to work?”

He turns to you, a subtle look of genuine pity in his eyes. “I’m so sorry he dragged you into this.”

“It’s fine,” you smile, waving a hand at him. “He’s going to buy me boba for a year.”

Kenma shoots Kuroo a disparaging look.

“It seemed like a fair deal,” Kuroo shrugs.

Kenma shakes his head, closing his eyes. “We can discuss this after the collab.”

“Oh, right,” Kuroo grins at you bashfully. “I’ve got to shoot a collab with Kenma, so if you want to take the car and go somewhere, or…”

“I can help,” you say, almost automatically. “If you need a hand, or…”

A beautiful grin blossoms across Kuroo’s face. “Thank you.”

You smile back at him, your heart doing a little skip in your chest.

“Have you ever moderated a chat before?” Kenma asks.

You shake your head. “No, but I’m a fast learner.”

Kenma smiles a little at that, turning around. “Alright, come on.”

Kuroo gestures you forward, a gentle, fond expression on his face. You nod, stepping through the front door and removing your shoes.

This is only a small sliver of Kuroo’s world, only one little look into all the complexities that go into making this one man. But it’s already so beautiful; so bright, so full of adoration.

You’re already grateful for your stay here – even if it’s going to be brief.

Even if it’s all based on a lie.

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: let’s pretend this isn’t late sdflkjfsdlkjf anyway!! 

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x you #cause and effect by rowan

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - Chapter Eight (sfw)

I hope those few of you who follow this blog even remember this story!! It's being posted on here as a WIP, so technically you're all my beta readers :). Sorry it's taking so long to work through, but I'm really busy with other writing work, plus actual work, and some life stuff, but it's not abandoned!

In this chapter, which is a bit of a filler chapter, Hermione gets a pleasant surprise visit at the Kneazel and Quill, and she learns what Draco is doing with himself all day at the Manor, and why he has the hands of a potion master. Meanwhile Draco is quietly freaking out about what Scorpius will think of his kindling relationship with one third of the legendary Golden Trio...

As always, looking forward to hearing your reactions and thoughts!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six (nsfw), Part Seven (nsfw)

___

The bell above the door of the Kneazel and Quill jangled, and Hermione looked up to see a very familiar figure wearing practical, Muggle clothes, and a tired but genuine smile.

“Harry!” she shrieked in delight, rising and scuttling around the desk. “When did you get back? I thought you were on assignment in Sweden til —”

He raised his eyebrows. “Wednesday? It’s Wednesday today, Hermione.”

“So it is,” she laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “Cup of tea? You look wiped out.”

“I’m only staying if you’ve got custard creams…”

She snorted. “I must have known I’d need them — I stopped at the Tesco Express on my way in this morning.”

“Maybe Professor Trelawney was wrong about you and ‘the sight’ after all?” Harry grinned and she shook her head, curls bouncing everywhere for want of a hair-tie.

Seated in the cramped back room of her second hand bookshop, Harry looked at her and cocked his head slightly to the side.

“What?” she asked, dunking a biscuit into her tea.

Quietly, Harry said, “There’s something different about you.”

“No there isn’t,” she retorted, scoffing her custard cream down and reaching for another. “I’m the same washed up old hag I’ve always been. Now, tell me about Gothenburg! I’ve wanted to go back ever since we went there for that conference — must be, ooh, what, twelve years ago now? Gods, how time flies.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re nothing like a ‘washed up old hag’, so don’t you dare talk about yourself like that, and secondly, Gothenburg was amazing.”

She smiled, and let him tell her what he could about his assignment.

“Bet Ginny’s glad to have you back,” she said.

Harry’s face shifted into what Hermione called her favourite ‘Harry being soppy for his wife’ expression, and he flushed. “Yeah, probably. Apparently Lily’s been flying around the garden at Grimmauld and it’s giving Ginny kneazles. Lily’s been pretending to be the next seeker for the Harpies or something…” Raking his hand through his messy hair, he sighed. “Who’d have ever thought I’d be sitting in your bookshop, talking about my daughter learning to fly, eh?”

She smiled, but Harry’s expression cracked a little.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Hermione scowled fondly and reached across to take his hand in hers. “Harry… we’ve been over this a thousand times.”

“I know. I just…” he drew in a long inhale and then said, “So are you going to tell me what’s changed in your life since I’ve been away? You’re practically glowing. Did you meet someone?”

Hermione bit her lip and drew back, cheeks heating damnably.

“You did? Who is it? Do I know them?”

“Yes,” she said carefully. “You do. But if I tell you who it is, I need you to…” she puffed out her cheeks and finished off in a rush, “I need you to promise not to freak out first of all, and then promise you won’t tell a soul. Not even Ginny just yet, ok? It’s really important.”

Harry looked wary and worried at that.

Taking one more breath for courage, she said quietly, “It’s Draco Malfoy.”

For a moment, Harry fell utterly still, his green eyes wide and disbelieving. He looked like he was expecting Fred and George to pop out of the bookshelves with party streamers and tell him he’d been pranked, but when he saw her anxious expression, his shoulders dropped a fraction and he whispered, “You’re bloody serious.”

“Yes.”

“How?” he blurted. “I mean… the man’s a hermit by all accounts. How did you even meet him, let alone… you know…” he grimaced and she bit back a snicker. It looked like he’d swallowed a toad whole.

A tiny smile crept onto her lips and she relaxed just a little. “It was back on the first of September,” she said. “I went with Ginny to wave James and Albus off, and —”

“— of course, Scorpius started this year too.”

“Exactly. Draco was there to see him off. Ginny was amazed that he’d left the Manor, but he’s… Gods, Harry, he loves that boy so much.” She paused, recalling Draco's stricken expression as the train had pulled away from the platform, and of his fears about losing Scorpius because of their relationship.

Harry watched her with a quiet intensity for a moment and then asked, “So… Uh… how’d it happen?”

She laughed. “I invited him for a drink at the Leaky, fully expecting him to refuse. I think he surprised himself when he accepted. We had lunch together and honestly…? It was really nice. He’s changed, Harry.”

“I know.”

That surprised her, and she sat up a bit and frowned.

Chuckling softly, Harry ran a hand around the two-day stubble on his jaw. “You remember the attack on the Manor?”

“Little Scorpius yowled in my arms for hours while you questioned his father, Harry. I couldn’t forget that.”

Harry acquiesced with a sideways nod of his head. “Well, he wasn’t the same Malfoy from school in that interview room, Hermione. I don’t know what I was expecting, but when I could get him to focus on something that wasn’t the whereabouts of his son, he was articulate and helpful… Still arrogant and snappy, but…” Harry shook his head. “He’s definitely different.”

Hermione bit her lip to try and stop herself from crying, which failed, and when Harry looked up, his face fell.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?” He set his mug down and rose from his battered old armchair, crossing in two strides to kneel beside hers.

“I was so afraid you wouldn’t understand,” she whispered, shaking and overwhelmed.

All the tension left Harry and he hugged her.

It was awkward because of the furniture, but Harry had always given the best hugs no matter the situation. “You deserve to be happy, Hermione. And you’ve always known your mind. If Malfoy can keep up with you, and keep you happy, then…” he shrugged without letting go, “I’ll support you. If he hurts you though, I will use every curse I’ve ever learned as an Auror on him.”

“Thanks, Harry. You promise you won’t tell anyone yet?”

He nodded.

And then someone cleared their throat from the doorway into the main shop, and Hermione jumped. Harry sprang back, hand going instinctively for his wand, but he stopped when he saw who was standing there.

“Theo!” Hermione exclaimed, smearing the last of her tears off her cheeks. “What are you doing here? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Too busy sobbing onto dear Potter’s shoulder,” he said without barb. “Everything alright?”

She nodded. “Just getting emotional about something as usual. What’s up?”

“Just came to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but I can see that England’s favourite Auror has returned. How was your trip, Potter?”

“Good,” he said, suddenly every bit the awkward boy he’d been at Hogwarts. “I just finished debriefing and thought I’d stop by for a custard cream and a chat with Hermione before I head home. I’m on leave for a week now.”

“Nice,” Theo smiled. “Any plans?”

Harry shrugged. “A few casual rounds of quidditch with Ron and the others,” he said. “Time with Ginny and Lily. Might pop up to Hogsmeade and see if I can visit James and Albus at the weekend.”

Conversation stalled, and Harry rocked back on his heels before putting his mug down and turning to Hermione.

“Look, I’d better get going,” he said. “But… Come over for dinner this week, alright?”

She nodded. “I’d love that. Tomorrow any good?”

“I’ll check with Ginny, but I can’t see why not. I’ll owl you.” He paused and then grinned. “C’mere,” he said, and pulled her into another enormous hug. With a hand briefly on the back of her head, he murmured, “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing him so hard he wheezed.

“See you, Nott,” Harry said with a polite nod as he left.

Once the bell had fallen silent again, Theo turned to her and crossed his arms loosely over his chest. “Everything alright?” he asked again now that they were alone.

“Yeah,” she said and rolled her eyes. “I told him about Draco and bound him to secrecy. I was so relieved when he took it so well that I just burst into tears.”

Theo laughed at that and finally seemed to relax. “I’m honoured to have known before Potter, then,” he said. “And what, pray, are those?” he added when his eyes landed on the custard creams.

“Muggle biscuits,” she said, picking up the plate and holding it out to him. “They’re delicious.”

Theo looked as if she’d offered him a plate of slugs and held up his hand. “Thanks… I’ll, uh, pass.”

“You’re such a snob, Theodore Nott,” she laughed, bustling off to tidy the mugs and plate away. “What did you want, anyway?”

“Lunch,” he said.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” she countered.

“Mmm. I had a deposition that went on forever. I’m starving.”

“Theo, I do actually have a business to run,” she said. “Isn’t today Dan’s day off? Can’t he go instead?”

“He’s already reserved us a table and is probably halfway through his steak and rioja by now,” Theo groused. “I’ll bring you a doggy bag if we have any leftovers,” he added affectionately.

“Thanks?”

Pausing on the threshold to the back room, Theo fixed her with one of his rare, intense and sincere looks. “I’m glad things worked out with you and Draco. Potter was right; you both deserve to be happy.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling tears prickle at her eyes again. “You won’t tell anyone? He wants to tell Scorpius himself. He doesn’t want it coming from someone else first.”

Theo dragged his thumb across his heart in a cross and nodded. “Drinks on Friday? Draco said he might come.”

“I’ll be there anyway,” she promised, and Theo left with a friendly wink that only he could get away with.

She and Draco continued to see each other, mostly using the seclusion of his London apartment, though they did sometimes go back to hers. There they watched the 1946 Great Expectations. To Hermione’s surprise, however, Draco informed her that it wasn’t his first time seeing a muggle film. That, naturally, led down a whole rabbit hole of questions, ending with the discovery that Draco had built Scorpius a warded playroom inside Malfoy Manor that was shielded from the effects of magic and thus allowed Muggle technology to function perfectly.

“But… you need electricity!” she’d blurted.

Laughing and looking far too smug with himself, Draco said, “Indeed.”

“But… wizarding households don’t have electricity!”

“Granger, you’re glorious when you’re baffled. I must make more efforts to confound that brilliant mind of yours more often.”

“Tell me!” she’d shrilled, pinching him in the ribs as they sat on the sofa together with the end credits rolling away in the background. When he’d just sat back with his mouth quirked into an infuriating smirk, she had straddled him and raked her fingers through the slightly shorter hair just above his hears on either side of his head, scrunching the silver-white waves until he’d groaned and bucked upwards slightly into her. “Tell me, Draco Malfoy, or no more kisses.”

“You drive a hard bargain, my beautiful, brilliant witch,” he purred, slightly breathless as she continued to hold him in her grasp, head tilted back a little, throat exposed. His hands landed reverently on her hips and he closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the contact.

Naturally, Hermione kissed him on the lips and he smiled. “Perpetual shock charm,” he said when she drew back. “I made a generator.”

“That’s… That’s so simple it’s genius. But surely you had to look up —?”

“I’m fairly certain I could get a job as a muggle ‘electrician’ now,” he snickered, chasing after more kisses. “But I choose not to.”

“What do you do with yourself all day?” she asked. “Running Malfoy Manor and the estate can’t take up all your time, surely?”

He went a little tense beneath her at that and then chuckled, embarrassed. “I… I’m on the board of a number of charities,” he said, “And I’m currently conducting research into a number areas in the field of Potions. I did a postal course to get my NEWTs in Potions, and shortly after that, attained my masters.”

“Huh,” she said, sitting back a bit. She reached down and brought his hands up in front of her. Pressing a kiss to each of his scar-flecked knuckles, she murmured, “That explains a lot. You’ve got the hands of a potion-master, Draco.”

“Too many spills and accidents,” he snorted. “And not enough dragon hide gloves.”

“What are you researching?”

“A number of projects,” he said evasively.

“Come on,” she laughed, dropping his hands again and beginning to nuzzle at his jawline and neck. He was utterly weak to that, she’d discovered to her absolute delight, and she was not above using it to her advantage. Beneath her, he shivered and went limp, turning his head with a sigh of pleasure as she raked her teeth over his pulse and then kissed him.

“I’m working on… ah… on a recipe that… oh gods, Granger…”

“Go on,” she crooned.

“A recipe to make the wolfsbane potion commercially viable,” he panted.

At that, she did pause, but only for a moment. Next thing Draco knew, Hermione had flung her arms around his neck and was squeezing the life out of him like a boa constrictor.

“Granger?”

She just shook her head, thinking of what Remus Lupin would say if he knew what Draco was working on now on behalf of his kind. “Why?” she eventually croaked without removing her face from the crook of Draco’s neck.

His hands skated gently up and down her back, the heat simmering back down to something calmer; something fond and affectionate. “Because,” he fairly growled, “Fenrir Greyback tormented my mother when he lived with us at the Manor, and I had no idea that werewolves could be functioning members of society with the right help until I met Remus Lupin. It was just another area where if I’d only known more at the time, it would have made so much difference to my perception of things.”

He sighed and kissed the side of her head.

“I can make a difference now. I’ve got a state of the art potions lab in one of the dungeons at the Manor, and Severus left his entire collection of books and notes to me in his will. He must have known I always wanted to be a potions master, even when I didn’t think I’d live beyond the end of that awful year…”

That was probably the longest continuous speech from Draco she’d heard since they’d started seeing each other, and the emotion in his voice, lingering beneath the surface like a hidden current, moved her deeply.

“You’re a wonderful man, Draco,” she whispered as she kissed his temple. “I wish the world could see you for who you are now…”

“You see me,” he said very quietly. “That’s enough.”

___

To be continued! Don’t forget to let me know what you think, and help a relative newbie (at least to contributing anyway) to the fandom out by reblogging!

writing masterlist | Ao3

#hermione x draco #dramione fic #draco malfoy #hermione granger #older dramione #older dramione fic #hermione granger x draco malfoy #let no man steal your thyme

[zmediaoutlet]

I've always felt very strongly that there is a serious lack of touch-starved Sam fic in this fandom.

(read on AO3)

For a hundred and fifty miles of midmorning blacktop outside of Kearney, Missouri, Dean won’t look at Sam. Sam figures he’s got a convenient excuse—traffic, threatening rain—but he doesn’t really need the excuse, does he. Everything they could say they’ve said and now Sam’s just got to sit here, his elbow on the door and his hand braced over his mouth so he won’t say more. Furious for a few miles and just—dragged-out empty, for a few miles after. It cycles. He wants coffee very badly but after the fight they had he doesn’t want to ask for a thing.

He sat there and let Garth wipe up his face. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t have done himself but he didn’t want to go into the bathroom, not with Dean trying to get the black ectoplasmic goo out of his ear, off his skin. Garth gave him a worried smile before he left with Dean and Sam didn’t return it, and Dean didn’t look at him before the motel room door closed, either. It was left to Sam to try to clean up the room. Not the first time. Glass shards swept up as best he could, broken furniture piled on top as a warning to the maid. Dean tips pretty well, whenever this happens, and so Sam tucked a fifty under an unbroken coffee mug and then sat there with his bags packed and his hands over the back of his neck and thinking, god, where did it go this wrong? Why did they let it?

The blinker tick is the only warning before Dean pulls off at an exit. Sam refocuses. Des Moines, coming up through the windshield, and here an exit with the usual suspects: gas, fast food, motel. He didn’t actually drive all that much, in the last year, and it’s a surprise still how often the car needs gas. Another itching burr, reminding him: the responsibilities he should’ve had. What he ignored, and what the costs of ignoring it were.

A Shell station. Sam opens his door first, before the car’s even in park. “How much on the pump?” he says, and Dean’s hand pauses on the gearshift but he actually answers.

“Fifty.” He half-reaches for the inside of his jacket. “You’ve got—?” he starts, and Sam interrupts and says, “I got it,” kind of sharp, and then wishes he hadn’t said it sharp. Last few miles he’s been more scraped-out than mad. Go figure.

Dean glances at him, at least. Still greyish outside, the clouds thicker the more they drive north, and his face looks white. “Get caffeine, too,” he says, and it’s not sharp. It’s not—anything.

Two coffees, granola bars. A Snickers, since Dean likes Snickers. Olive branch or bribe, Sam doesn’t know, and then for thinking it he rolls his eyes. He gets a Payday, instead, and waits for the old guy in front of him to cash out and then gets the fifty, on the pump, and then stands at the lone hightop by the window with old coffee rings and spilled Equal and watches while Dean crouches to get the gas in the car and then leans against the rear bumper, head sinking between his shoulders. Sam can’t tell from here if his eyes are open or closed. He looks tired. Sam sips his coffee, sugary with the fake hazelnut creamer. Well, they’re both tired.

That argument. He barely slept, last night, and when he did he had a dream of the day Dean came back. Different to how it really happened. In the dream he was the one waiting, in the cabin with the light coming through the dirty windows, and he was so happy, heart-sore, his pulse thudding thick in his throat—and that’s true, at least, that’s how it was when he was coming through the door on that day, thinking it couldn’t possibly be true—but in the dream, when Dean came through the door, he came with black streaming from his ears and nose and the corners of his mouth and instead of eyes he had dark holes and he knocked Sam down to the ground and got his hands around Sam’s throat and he leaned down and said—well, when Sam woke up with his heart thudding sick in his mouth, he couldn’t remember what the Dean in the dream had said. He woke up because the bathroom door had closed and there was a light seeping through the cracks but he couldn’t hear what Dean was doing in there. It wasn’t a subtle dream. He lay there awake, nauseated and sorry, because he was too exhausted to be angry, and he doesn’t remember when he fell asleep again but the next thing it was morning, and the alarm on his phone was sounding, and Dean was sitting up on the far side of his bed with his shoulders hunched up high and his back all tension, and he’d said shut it off, jesus, his voice so raw it sounded like he’d been yelling all night. Sam shut it off and went and took a shower, and that was it, pretty much. That was what they had had to say to each other, today.

Dean accepts the coffee with a nod, and the Payday with a strange twitch of his eyebrows. Sam eats a granola bar in a few efficient bites, tosses the wrapper before they leave, and sips slow at the rest of his own coffee as they drive out of the gas station and back up onto the highway and on through Iowa, wondering if Dean thought he’d actually forgotten or if Dean thought it was carelessness or if Dean—

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be wondering. He should be angry, and he is angry. His hands curl in cringing reflex whenever he remembers shaking Benny’s lukewarm monstrous hand and seeing the slight smugness of his look and seeing Dean’s expression, just behind, warning, saying no. Saying that Sam didn’t get a say, here. Like after all these weeks of lying, of turning away from any real conversation Sam tried to have, of him being jagged-sharp and furious and—and not-Sam’s—this was just another something Sam wasn’t allowed to touch.

There’s a lot of Iowa and a lot of quiet. They stop again for a piss and burgers and Dean says, “Get mine with extra cheese,” and Sam, jesus. Sam does. Extra cheese and onions, too, and they eat at the bar with college football on the television and Sam watches Stanford absolutely cream Arizona and he expects Dean to say something cutting, something snide, but he doesn’t get that, either. Dean just shakes his head as the reporter runs up to Arizona’s quarterback who can’t be more than twenty years old and asks breathlessly what they did wrong, and Dean says, “Should be a law against that,” and signals the bartender for the check, and Sam watches the poor kid struggle to maintain his composure for the cameras and thinks, yeah. Yeah, there oughta be a law.

Dean doesn’t turn west for Sioux Falls like Sam expects. Instead there’s more road and more north and more clouded sky, and more quiet, and it’s a dimming twilight when they pull into St. Cloud, Minnesota, after a full day of nothing, and Dean says, finally, “Think it’s gonna rain,” and roughly one minute later it is. A steady sifting-down kind of rain, the kind that’ll keep going for a week if it goes for an hour.

A motel. Dean goes in to get the room. End of the low building and actual real keys and two queens, like it’s been since Dean got back. Sam drops his bag on his bed and folds the key into his hand until it hurts. “I’m not hungry, you?” Dean says, and rolls on without actually waiting for Sam to say anything. “Figure we can look around for a job here in the morning. Still waiting for word on whatever else.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, looking at the bedspread. Mottled green-and-pink, ugly. Whatever else, said all neutral. Like there’s not a river of blame running through it. “Yeah,” he says, again, and then looks up and says, “Give me the keys.”

Dean’s got his gun in his hand, his bag unzipped and his shit already spilling out across the other bed. Dirty shirts, a tie. What he wore yesterday when he tried to kill Sam. He frowns. “What?”

Sam ignores the gun. “I want dinner,” he says. “Give me the keys.”

A tightness around Dean’s eyes but what is he going to say? No? Sam wants to dare him to. Dean looks down at his bag and then digs in his pocket. It's a clean underhand arc, meant to be easy for Sam to catch, and Sam turns and goes without another word, and when he's behind the wheel he looks at the muted pinkish light of the window coming from behind the thick curtains and he—closes his eyes, and turns on the car, and finds a bar.

It wasn't two beds. Not at first. Not that very, very first day, in the cabin, with the light coming in and Dean strangely tan, all blinding grin and quick manic movement and his hands strong—gripping Sam's shoulders, sliding up under his shirt, bright and hot and dizzying. He'd tackled Sam to the floorboards and cut him and splashed Borax over his skin and then when Sam was still gasping and unprepared he leaned down, right down, and gripped into Sam's hair and said breathless fuck, I missed you so much, and kissed Sam bruising, and Sam could hardly keep up. They barely made it to the bunk in the corner, the one that creaked so bad under their weight Sam thought it would collapse, but it held together somehow. It was so fast it sits in Sam's memory in strange little snatches—Dean's lips smearing across his throat, and the way his head hit the wall and Dean laughed delighted and rolled over on top, and for some reason the very moment of sliding his hand down into Dean's barely-opened jeans and feeling the crisp roughness of his pubes before anything else. That particular feeling.

It was only afterwards that it fell apart. Sam should've lied. He's thought about it a lot, these past weeks. Months. Or maybe he should've told Dean everything: every single second of panic, terror, misery. Every failed summoning and every fruitless hour of research in Bobby's remaining books. Every moment where he thought if he's dead, then I—how every second of living felt like failure, like betrayal, how no matter he what he did he was letting his brother down, so what was the point of counting it—but they didn't lay that on each other. They knew what those days felt like. At least he thought they both did. Maybe it was different, for Dean. Sam wouldn't have thought so, but. Maybe it was.

The bar's mid-sized, kind of friendly feeling. A girl in her twenties pulling beer who's mastered the line between welcoming and actually-flirtatious, and Sam's set up with a beer at the far end by the bathrooms in record time, and he looks into it and thinks, fuck, why not, and drains it fast, and says, "Another, thanks," and the girl's very shaped eyebrows knot a little but she sets him up, so. Big tip for her, later. She smiles, eyes dipping to his chest, and there's a little sway as she walks back down to the couple at the other end. Maybe over the line to flirtatious, then.

A girl. Sam looks down at his beer. He's not sure he ever heard Dean's voice with that much venom in it. Not even—back then, with Ruby. Like this was a worse betrayal than that. He chews the inside of his cheek and shakes his head, tries to focus on—hockey, on the television, but Sam doesn't know anything about hockey, and he can't get it out of his head.

A girl. Like that was the worst part. Like Sam's year of emptiness could be summed up with the fact that he fucked someone else, for a little while. Even if it didn't work out. Even if they ended up more as friends, at either end of a falling-down motel with a shared visitation for a dog, and Sam spent most nights in bed alone watching the blue-and-red neon sign blink through the blinds, and he couldn't— No. And where did Dean get off, anyway? Being that furious, that betrayed, when he was the one who—with Benny— He finishes that beer and orders a bourbon, instead, and settles in. Fuck it. He's watching hockey.

The bartender cuts him off, at some point, but she's very nice about it. Sam knows he's too big to threaten and he tries to be nice back but he's not sure it's working, from her face. "Why don't you drink some water," she says, sweet but with her eyebrows high, and he takes the glass in both hands just to make her feel better. "Can I call you a cab?"

"Can't leave the car," he says and it comes out—oh. So. It's been a few hours and he… that burger was a while ago, wasn't it. Still, this part is important. He has to make sure she gets it. "I can't. Car's special."

"Okay," she says, drawing it out. The hockey's over and there's a too-colorful gameshow on the television. Sam puts his head down on the bar, which is better. Old-people music playing on the sound system. Sam grinds his forehead back and forth on the wet wood. Old-people music is what Amelia called it. Sam just thought it was what his life sounded like. "Okay," she says again, muffled, "I'm just gonna—" and then the glass gets removed from his hand, and she says, "All right, you can't sleep here, we close in thirty. Who should I call?"

Good question. Sam folds his hands over the back of his neck and tries to think of a good answer. Some time passes while he tries to figure it out.

He hasn't been drunk in—he doesn't know. A year. When Dean was gone and Sam didn't save him. Now Dean's here and Sam wants to be anywhere else because Dean doesn't—Dean won't—

"All right," he hears again, but it's a different voice this time. Hard hand on his arm, tugging, and he sighs against the bartop and says Dean, or thinks he does. He lets himself be pulled upright but doesn't open his eyes—that's gonna be bad, he knows that for sure—and so he lets his weight sway, sink, and the hands are still hard but they're holding him up, so that's something, anyway. His head drops back—hard bone, muffle of leather—Dean. "Jesus," he hears, in some tone he can't interpret, and he turns his head in and there's a scrape of stubble against his nose, and he sighs and feels boneless, for once, his body just melted away where it won't cause any more trouble.

"Dean," he says, definitely out loud because Dean says, "Yeah, that's me," kind of annoyed but quiet, and then louder, "Is he cashed out?"

Some answer. Sam's drunker than he thought. He can't remember if he tipped well, hopes he did. His head doesn't hurt yet, like his face doesn't hurt even though Dean was trying to kill him, yesterday, and that's funny kinda, that there aren't repercussions, for anything. Here they are no matter what. He smiles and says Dean's name again and gets steadied, pushed upright a little more. He grasps for Dean's jacket so he can't get away and says, "I love this song," because he knows it at least and likes it fine, and because when Dean talks about music he's happy. Sam wants him happy.

"Yeah, Sam, everyone likes Sinatra," Dean says, and Sam finally opens his eyes to find himself swiveled around on the barstool and Dean in front of him, with unhappy tired lines at his eyes and mouth and looking just—Sam reaches for his face and Dean kind of jerks, like he didn't expect it, but grasps Sam's hand and pulls, says, "C'mon, Jolly Green," not annoyed anymore. Sam slides off to stand with his weight half in his boots and half steadied against Dean's shoulder, and Dean's arm goes around his back and this, this is the most Dean's touched him, since that day, that last day.

Difficult walk in the spattering rain. Propped against the car, and Dean going through his pockets, warm familiar touches. The passenger seat, poured in, and he slumps into the corner between the door and the seat-back and Dean's mouth is in the amber light from the parking lot lights, scattered and blurry from the water, and Sam licks his mouth clean of that same water and wants. He isn't allowed to ask. Driving, then, the car's rumble and sway, and Sam spends the whole drive watching strange flashes of Dean's face appear in turning headlights and fluorescent storefronts and gleaming wet red in brakes and thinking that he dreamed this, more or less this, so many nights, that year in Texas. Dean's cheekbones and lips and freckles and ears and the bump where his nose got broken, way back when they were teenagers, here in the car, where Sam could almost touch him. He wishes he could touch him.

He jerks when they get to wherever they're going. "Last stop, everyone off," Dean mutters. His door opens and shuts while Sam's still blinking, his mouth dry. The rain's still falling and Sam listens to it drumming the roof, the glass. Imagines laying out in it. Feeling it on his skin.

He almost falls when his door opens. "Christ, how drunk are you?" His shoulders were caught but they're out in the rain—cold, on his face, and he closes his eyes and tips and feels it. "Sam. C'mon. Sammy, you're too big, I ain't carrying you. You gotta get your feet under you, man." But there's no good reason for that, Sam thinks. He's just going to fall, and then Dean'll see that he can't do even that, and then what's to stop Dean from just leaving him here? A squeeze at his shoulder and Dean's voice is softer. "Jeez, you're getting soaked. C'mere." His hair's pushed back from his forehead. He reaches for Dean's hand but misses, and his wrist gets caught, and he's pulled back—Dean's body, warm behind his—and his weight tips so far that he has to scramble, lurching, and Dean says: "Hey, there he is. Okay, Gumby, now we gotta do one foot in front of the other—" and hey, it turns out that Sam didn't fall down, and he sways swimming and heavy-skulled from the rain to the chilly concrete walkway to the cool slick polyester comforter, under his back, the room warm and that same pinkish light seeping in behind his eyelids, his wrist still caught in Dean's grip, his jacket heavy-wet and water trickling into his ear. He tips his head, trying to get the rain out.

"You're a mess," Dean says. He lets go and Sam's hand drops to the bed, heavy too. "What were you thinking?" Oh, you know, Sam thinks, but doesn't say. He stretches his legs out, his bootheels dragging on the carpet, and there's a sigh, and then Dean's warmth up against his knee, his voice quiet. "Yeah, I know. Just can't do anything right, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam says, and slits his eyes open. Wet, eyelashes and mouth and his hair soaking the blanket. Dean's splintery up above him, confusing, and Sam turns his head toward the window, the heavy pink curtains blocking out the night. Raining harder. "Yeah," Sam says, again, to someone, his voice sore.

A touch to his jaw, soft. He hasn't shaved for a few days. Dean's fingers drag along the bone, prickling through the stubble, and he scrunches his eyes closed, feeling it. A touch on his chin, on the dip under his mouth. Pausing there, warm. Sam's lips part and Dean's finger brushes the bottom one and Sam drags in air. It feels—he can't quantify it. The touch dips down to his neck, to his collar, where his damp shirt's clinging, to press against the bone there in a way that almost hurts but it feels so good, too, that Sam doesn't want it ever to stop.

"Sammy, I'm—" Dean says, or starts to say, because Sam says louder: "You never touch me."

He reaches up and manages to get Dean's hand. He presses it down, harder. The feel of him, a little damp but the heat of his skin, and the closeness. Sam turns his head and looks up through the shattered light, blinking, trying to get Dean's face. "Right? It's been—no one ever does."

Dean's frowning, when Sam can focus. "Hey, we both got hugs from Garth," he says. Sort of light. "Can't believe you're forgetting that. I still gotta shower off the patchouli."

Like Garth counts. Sam grips Dean's wrist and reaches for his jacket, pulls, and Dean resists for a second but then sits by Sam's hip and even that, the warmth there, that feels good. Right. Sam sighs. "There," he says. Dean's thumb drags along his collarbone. "Missed this part."

Dean's face is so pretty in this kind of light. This golden motel light, with the yellow bulbs that aren't environmentally friendly but are cheap, with the night seeping in behind him so he stands out against the dark. His freckles showing and parts of him shadowed. "What part?" Dean says, after a second. Sam almost forgot what he said and blinks, feels heavy. "Sam?"

"Oh," Sam says, and tries to remember. He smiles at Dean, shrugging against the bed. "Just—when you used to—last time I slept beside someone was… I don't even know. A long time. It was so good when you came back. Forgot how good it was."

It is. Dean's frowning at him but he's still just the best thing Sam's ever seen. Dean's hand slides up his throat, fits his jaw. Slides up, cupping his cheek, and Sam tips into it, all the air going out of him. "Jesus, Sam," Dean says, quiet.

Dean doesn't want this, Sam knows. Not since that very first day. Dean had someone else, has someone else, someone better, someone who doesn't fuck up, and Sam—god, he fucked up. So bad. He's selfish, though, he thinks—he gets to be selfish, today at least if on no other day, because Dean tried to kill him and even if Sam maybe deserved it or something like it then surely at least today Sam gets one thing he wants, and Sam says, blurry, "Could you just sleep here, just so I can—so you'll be here, and I'll know," and Dean says miserable-sounding, "Come on, Sasquatch," and leans down, and his lips land soft on Sam's cheek and then Dean turns his head and his lips find Sam's and Sam breathes through it, not sure, letting Dean kiss him, trying to remember what Dean kissing him could mean.

"Sam," Dean murmurs, and Sam grips his shoulders and lifts into it, spinning. Hand on his jaw, another slipping to his waist, digging in at his side. Dean kisses him and Sam's jaw drops and Dean licks inside and Sam thinks, yes—Sam thinks, finally—aching—and Dean shifts, leaning over, his thigh alongside Sam's thigh and his other leg spilling over Sam's lap and Sam touches him, doesn't dare let go.

God, he's drunk. He's dizzy, laying here on the bed with his eyes closed, Dean's weight over his chest. "What are you doing?" he manages, when Dean pulls back from his mouth, and Dean huffs hot against his chin and says, "Shit if I know—you want me to stop?" and Sam says no and grips his jaw and pulls him back in, not doing much to help but open, grasping, wanting anything Dean'll give, anything he has. The world's spinning lazily with its axis right in Sam's hindbrain, it feels like, but Dean's hand is skimming up his stomach under his t-shirt and Sam's fine if the planet just tumbles away, a skipped marble flashing out of sight.

The touch of Dean's skin is—Sam's been high, Sam's been cracked-open. This feels more than that did. Dean pulls at him, urging, and Sam moves on the bed somehow but the wheeling world's centered right on where Dean's hand is braced there, on his ribs just below one pec, and Sam grips his shirt, pulls him down, keeps him. Fingers at his belt, in his jeans, slipping against his skin, soft and the nails dragging and the shocking warmth of them—"Hey," Dean says, picking his head up, "are you not—" and Sam shakes his head, says, "Don't worry, I—I just want—"—and lifts and gets Dean's uncertain mouth against his jaw, gets his hand around where Dean's thick, filling up his palm, heat and pressure through the denim. "Shit," Dean says, lifting up a little, but Sam won't let him, desperate for the feel of him, the weight. The knowing that he's here. The salt-taste of his throat, and the smell here under his ear where he hasn't showered all day and he smells like—the car, the guns. Beer. Sam's whole life, right here.

Dean has to help, with the belt, the zip. He sighs against Sam's hair when he's free and Sam touches—there, crisp-dry hair and the stiff resistance at the root and the smooth thick pole of it, curving up sweet, enough to get his hand around, familiar in every way. Dean's thigh between his legs, his breath in Sam's ear. "Not fair," Dean says, strain in it. Sam licks his lips, squeezes, and Dean huffs. "I'm getting all the fun, here."

"No, you're not," Sam says, and pulls, and Dean surges against his hand, hot. God, he's hot. Sam couldn't ever match it against anyone else. He's uncoordinated but he wants it, he wants to feel it—"Help," he says, selfish, and Dean half-laughs but there's a rearrangement—Dean half-tipped to one side, his fingers brushing Sam's, knocking them out of the way a little, taking over. Sam touches his nuts instead, careful because he remembers, clearly, some other drunk laughing day when he sucked Dean's dick and then sucked in his balls and Dean yelped, shook, too sensitive—and he doesn't think that's changed but Dean just groans for it, now, and Sam tips into him and mouths at Dean's throat, at the peek of shoulder where his t-shirt's pulled away, feels the smooth jerking pump of his arm, trapped between them. The strong present meat of him, the hardness of his bones. Sam bites and Dean jerks under him, says fuck, says louder, "Sammy, for god's sake," and Sam says back, "Let me feel it," because that's what he wants, that's all he wants. He wants Dean pulsing-present, loud, furious, jealous, hurting—as long as he's here—and Dean says low, "That's it, huh? You want to feel it?" and Sam nods and grips at Dean's t-shirt and pulls him in, and Dean's dick presses up firm against Sam's stomach and Dean pulls Sam's shirt up out of the way and grinds in close and—ah, ah, there. That thick twitch, the heat. Sam turns his face and Dean's there, breathing hard, and Sam kisses him and it takes a second but Dean kisses back, softer. His teeth drag against Sam's lip. Sam drags his cheek along Dean's cheek and can't let go. He's not going to let go.

"I've got to," Dean says, at some other point. Sam blinks, muzzy. Dean's pulling and Sam grabs at his hip, keeping him. "Dude. Enough with the octopus routine."

Quiet. Sam tucks his head down and Dean smells like sweat, now, and there's the smell of come. He drags at the edge of his shirt and his stomach's a mess, and Dean sighs. Touches there, too, and Sam squints down into the shadows between them, and Dean's hand looks somehow like a stranger's but he's careful, dabbing at Sam's skin. His dick's tucked away and Sam misses it. Wishes he weren't so drunk that sucking it was a viable option. Wishes he were less drunk, generally, and that's, he thinks, a sign that he's sobering up. Too soon.

"Sure I can't get you off?" Dean says, after a few seconds. Almost polite. Sam closes his eyes, tips away. "Feels kinda messed up."

"It is pretty messed up, Dean," Sam says, tired now, and Dean sits up—away from him—and Sam thinks, well, that's it.

Dean doesn't disappear. There's a space—the rain louder outside, audible now that Sam's not focused on every breath from his brother—the damp mugginess of his wet jacket, and the way his stomach's starting to complain—and then Dean's fingers, at the waist of Sam's jeans, tracing along the low bared part of his belly, soft. Sam drags in air, feels his stomach suck in, and Dean pauses, but then there's his thumb, pushing against the trail of hair, careful.

"You're gonna be so pissed," Dean says, quiet. "In the morning. Shit, in like, three hours."

Sam tips his head. The clock says two. "I'm pissed now," he says, and it's so not true that he doesn't know why Dean doesn't just laugh at him, call him a liar, say, oh sure, princess.

There's a faint shadow of Dean on the far wall, from the lamp by the door. A big blown-up silhouette over the other bed, his head bent and his details impossible to see. Sam wants another drink and won't have one. Probably not for a little while. Unfair, for both of them, when it doesn't fix anything.

"It wasn't supposed to be this screwed up," Dean says. His fingers drag across to Sam's hip and then away. Sam misses them instantly. "I don't know. It just went wrong somehow."

"Yeah, somehow," Sam says. Dean sighs, and then the bed shifts, and before Sam knows it Dean's standing up, turning away, and Sam lifts on one elbow and says, "Wait."

"Gotta clean up," Dean says. He waited, though, is waiting, standing by the bed with his belt still undone and his ears pink and his eyes hard to read.

Sam's head swims, still a little too drunk for this. "It doesn't fix anything," Sam says, trying to follow the thread. Dean's eyes tighten. "Stay."

"Getting real mixed signals here, Sammy," Dean says, but he steps closer, and Sam reaches out and gets Dean's belt-loop and pulls, and Dean looks down, frowning. His mouth's a low curve. "Darlin', you've got to let me know."

A song? Sam shakes his head. He pulls, and Dean sits, by Sam's hip again, and Sam slides his hand up from the belt to Dean's side, to his back. His skin, warm.

Dean touches the hollow of his throat, soft. Thrilling. "What are you doing?" he says. Almost sorry.

"I don't know," Sam says, clinging to the last bit of whiskey, "but let me."

It's still dark, a quiet carved out bit of black rainy morning. There's tomorrow to remember to be mad. Dean lets him.

#Anonymous #wincest #my writing #one-sided sex #is that a tag? idk #tbh anon this is a very tangential fill #but i couldn't think of ways to get touchstarved sam #when dean touches him All The Time #unless there were a very particular time when he wasn't

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 23: Dukeceit

I’m very aware it’s October. But I will get all these prompts done!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 23 - At a certain age you switch bodies with your soulmate for 24 hours. (I may have changed this one slightly, too.)  

Content warnings: kidnapping mention, food/coffee mentions, homophobia mentions (though none is really seen), just so much caffeine.

The first thing Janus noticed when he woke up was that this was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Which, to be fair, was an accurate reaction, seeing as he was in the wrong room.

His initial thought was that he’d been kidnapped, but no, that couldn’t be right. It was just another bedroom, not a basement or a van or whatever kidnappers used. It was a regular, teenage looking bedroom, with clothes littering the floor and the desk, large posters haphazardly stuck at every angle on the wall, and a phone charging on the nightstand next to him. So, definitely not a kidnapping. 

When his mind finally cleared from his post-waking haze, he sighed in resignation. Apparently the universe had decided that today was the day he would switch bodies with his soulmate, on the day he had specifically set aside to study for a huge biology test that would make or break his grade in the class. Hopefully the school took pity on him and let him redo it. If they believed him, that is… he wasn’t exactly the most honest student.

Groaning, he threw the blankets off him and stumbled to the full body mirror on the door, inspecting the reflection. His soulmate was cute, he’d give him that, but it did nothing to disperse the internal confusion at seeing someone else looking back at him in the mirror. It also felt super weird to be attracted to… well, himself, at the moment, technically? He pushed a strand of white hair, dyed lighter than the rest of the black locks, out of his face and leaned forward, trying to decipher if the eye color was brown or murky green, when the door flew open and hit him in the face.

He yelped upon hitting the floor, rubbing his forehead, and glaring up at the intruder.

“Who the hell are you?” He hissed before he could stop himself, meeting the eyes of a very confused guy standing in the doorway. Blinking, he looked back into the mirror, and then back to the newcomer, wondering for a second if he was hallucinating. It took him far too long to remember the concept of twins, mentally facepalming as the other spoke.

“What do you mean, who the hell am I? Really, not one of your best pranks, Remus.”

“I’m not pranking you. I’m not Remus.”

The other merely blinked, staring at him blankly, until a look of realization crossed his face. “Oooohh! You’re his-”

“Yeah,” Janus snarked, getting back to his feet, “I am. Who are you?”

“Uhm, I’m Roman. Your- I mean, his brother. Remus’ brother. What’s your name?”

He brushed nonexistent dirt off his pajama top, an old and ripped oversized t-shirt, and responded, “Janus.”

“Janice? Huh,” Roman wrinkled his brow, casting a look behind him before stepping in and closing the door behind him, “I could have sworn Remus was gay.”

“I’m not a girl, you deflated airbag. I’m named after a Roman god, and I am very much male.”

Roman was at a loss for words, watching Janus approach Remus’ closet and look through it scrutinizingly. “He has good taste.”

“That’s what you call good taste?” The brother asked, peering over his shoulder at the chaos of ripped cloth and mesh and leather. He was frankly shocked there was any left in the closet, seeing as there was what appeared to be enough for a whole other wardrobe on the floor.

“I wouldn’t personally wear it. I’m more classy than that. But,” He picked out a weathered jean vest, adorned with pins and spikes, “Hot.”

Roman tried to hide his eye roll. “You’ll get along with him well. I came up to get you- er, Remus, but now you, I guess. For breakfast.”

Right on time, a woman’s voice carried up through the house, calling for them. Janus shrugged and followed Roman out the door, abandoning his discovery on a chair and pulling up the first hoodie from the floor. He didn’t generally like to wear oversized things, so he was surprised that the almost blanket-like garment was so comfortable. 

“Ah, took you long enough. It’s getting cold.” Janus took in the downstairs area, a small kitchen and dining room in one, leading off into a living room. It was all comfortable, the sunshine raging through the picture window on the wall closest to the table, highlighting the steam rising off the food. 

Janus stood at the bottom of the stairs as Roman took his seat opposite his parents, gesturing to the seat next to him.

“Remus, sweetie, everything okay?”

For a solid second, he forgot that he was supposed to be Remus and just stared blankly at the woman who had spoken. 

“That’s not Remus. It’s his soulmate.” Roman said absently around a bite of food.

Their mother’s expression turned to delight, standing up immediately and engulfing Janus in a hug that he didn’t return, “Oh, welcome, darling! It’s so nice to meet you! Join us for breakfast, and you can go about contacting Remus later. Sound good?”

“I guess.” He didn’t seem to have a choice either way as he was ushered to sit next to Roman, his plate pushed a little closer to him by the mom. The dad was just taking him in, chewing slowly, and everything in Janus was yelling at him to look away. But Janus was never one to shy away from a stare off, so he kept eye contact, hoping that Remus had the same glare that his own face did. He must have, since the man finally looked back down to his plate.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” Jeez, did this woman always have to use pet names? 

“Janus.” He responded simply, pulling in his first bite of food. It was good, he’d admit, but his own house never had these kinds of… family get-togethers, and to say he was uncomfortable was an understatement. 

“Janice? Huh, must be weird being in a boy’s body, yeah?” Her face clearly conveyed that it was supposed to be a joke, or maybe some fucked up icebreaker, but he was more annoyed by his name. 

“I’m actually-” He was cut off by a sharp kick to the shin, coughing slightly to stifle a curse, and turned to Roman expectantly. The glare out of the corner of his eyes was something Janus wasn’t anticipating, same with the almost imperceivable shake of his head. The message was clear. Forcing a small smile on his face, he turned back to the parents, who were still wholly focused on him. “Yeah, it’s weird for sure.” 

Usually, lies slipped off his tongue with no hesitation. He had to learn to survive, growing up as he had. But this one felt wrong, and so utterly bizarre, that it seemed to burn the roof of his mouth. If that’s what it took though, and he was very sure that Roman’s cutting him off had been to prevent outing Remus, he could take that.

The rest of the meal was filled with small talk between him and the parents, in which he learned that he wasn’t all too far from his own house, where Remus would be waking up. Even so, he didn’t recognize the neighborhood he was in. It was definitely nicer than from where he lived, though, and he doubted that Remus would know where he was either. Poor guy. 

As soon as it seemed socially accepted to leave the table, he did so, loading his dishes into the washer and dashing upstairs. It was only nine in the morning and he was exhausted, dropping onto the bed and noticing the little glow in the dark dinosaurs on the ceiling for the first time. Rather, the remains of glow in the dark dinosaurs. Remus must have taken scissors to them, separating the heads and attaching them to different bodies. He was specifically entranced by a T-Rex with a Pterodactyl head when Remus’ mother’s words flooded back into his mind, and he remembered that he should probably try to get into contact with Remus. One look at the phone on the nightstand, though, and he was getting up with a groan and padding down the hallway. 

It wasn’t hard to distinguish Roman’s room from the other doors; it was the only one with his headshot taped to the front with a star under it, his name written in bold letters across it like a Hollywood star. Janus rolled his eyes and knocked on it, walking in at Roman’s call.

“Can I use your phone?”

“Why?” Roman gave him a hard side eye from where he was splayed across his bed, a script in his hands that he was most likely trying to memorize. 

“I want to call Remus. And unless you know the password to his phone, I can’t get on it.”

“Ah. In full honesty, I don’t even want to know what the cretin has for a password.” With no further convincing, he handed Janus his unlocked phone and went back to scanning the papers, quietly muttering lines to himself while giving Janus the occasion glance. 

He typed in his own number and held the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It’s odd hearing my own voice through the phone,” were Janus’ first words to his soulmate. The voice on the other line, his voice, gasped. 

“Oh shit! Ooooh shit! I would have called, but I couldn’t remember my own number!”

“That’s Remus for you.”

“Stop eavesdropping,” Janus snarled, taking a step away.

“If it’s loud enough to hear, is it really eavesdropping?”

Janus lowered the volume of the phone in response, flipping Roman off. “Hi, Remus, I presume.”

“I see you’ve met Roman. Pain in the ass, huh?”

“You could say that.”

“Okay, first things first. You’re hella hot.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Second, where am I?”

Janus chuckled, which sounded odd coming from vocal chords he wasn’t used to. “About twenty minutes away from your house. Did you want to meet somewhere to switch back?”

“Fuck yes. I want my teeth back.”

“Your-” Janus ran his tongue along his teeth, noticing for the first time that they felt different than what he was used to. The general shape, the curve, it was all new, and odd, and suddenly it was all he could think about. “Why the hell did you have to say that?”

Remus snickered, “Whoopsies.”

“How about Edison’s Bakery, on Westland? It’s pretty much in the middle.”

Roman gave him a thumbs up, mouthing ‘good choice’, at the same time as Remus almost squealed in glee. Apparently, he liked the place. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. In half an hour?”

“Yessss.”

“Before you hang up, what’s your phone password?” He physically recoiled at the response, earning a snort from Roman. “I’m not typing that.”

“That’s the only way you’re getting into my phone.”

“Hold on, how did you get into mine?” Remus only chuckled, and the line went dead. Janus sighed and tossed Roman his phone back, hitting him squarely in the chest. “Not much of a conversationalist, is he?”

“Remus abides to the laws of social constructs about as well as he abides to the laws of nature. That is to say, not at all.” 

“What should I wear? When I go to meet him?”

Roman looked taken aback. It made him scowl in embarrassment, rolling his eyes at the other’s face. 

“I don’t know what Remus likes to wear, dumbass. Don’t get a big head.”

“Uh, the ripped grey jeans with the patch on the thigh and Green Day shirt are his favorite. He usually wears something meshy underneath, but-”

“I’m not wearing mesh.”

“Figured.”

Like all of Remus’ clothing, Janus learned very quickly, the Green Day shirt was also full of holes. Whether his closet had been raided by moths, or it was just his aesthetic, he didn’t know. He could see why mesh would go well under it, but there was no way he would stoop to that level, so he threw on the jean vest he’d first seen and went back to Roman’s room to get approved. 

Deciding against seeing the parents again (Janus didn’t understand his instinctual hatred for them, but it was strong), he scaled the drainpipe outside Remus’ window and used his soulmate’s phone for directions to the cafe (despite the disgust he felt at typing in the password), since he still didn’t know the exact directions from this strange neighbourhood.  After deciphering the bus map, he hopped on the next one to arrive, grateful that he’d found enough spare change in Remus’ horribly unorganized wallet for bus fare. 

Surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous by the time he got to the cafe. He’d have thought his nerves would have eaten at him already, telling him to just turn around and live as Remus for the rest of his life, but they were surprisingly calm. There was just something about meeting a soulmate that didn’t mess with him. They were soulmates; they were kind of supposed to be perfect for each other. That’s the whole point. 

It didn’t take long for him to spot himself in the almost empty bakery, propped up against the large window in a way he would never stand, tracing the patterns on the ceiling with his eyes. Janus sidled up to him- himself? The concept was enough to make his head spin- and, ignoring the slightly Inception-esque nausea of looking at his own body, smirked.

“You’re getting fingerprints all over the glass.”

Remus spun to him, grinning widely, and without further adieu, grabbed his hand. Janus’ vision tunneled before going completely black. A sound like an intense air rush overwhelmed him despite the fact that there was no wind, his ears popped almost painfully, and his mouth went completely dry, but when he opened his eyes again, he was staring back at Remus. Actually Remus. In his own body and everything.

“Oh, my teeth, how I missed you,” The taller crooned, making a show of running his tongue across the outside of his teeth.

“You’re odd.” Never before had Janus been so happy to hear his voice.

“That I am,” Remus said with too wide a grin, tilting his head to the counter. “I waited for you.”

“Glad you had the decency.”

“C’mon, Jay,” He tightened his grip on Janus’ hand, who was surprisingly okay with the nickname (despite having punched people for using it before), “I love their energy drinks.”

“Their what?” Janus had been going here since he was a little kid, and he knew for a fact they didn’t have energy drinks. The overtired barista heard him though, shooting him a look of pure disdain.

“That’s what he calls it. We like to call it the Abomination unto God. I don’t know how his heart doesn’t give out from it. One pump of every flavor, five shots of espresso, top it off with black coffee.”

“Is that legal?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Technically, I just ask for how many espresso shots they can fit in a cup. She was the one to limit it to five.”

“He asked a trainee on their first day working. They filled the whole cup with espresso.”

“I was vibrating.” Remus said dreamily, as if the memory was particularly fond. Despite Janus’ protests, Remus ordered his monstrosity of a drink, pouring at least three sugar packets into the cup to his rising horror, and sat down happily. It was almost enough to make him not want his coffee anymore, watching his soulmate take a long glug of the sludge in his cup.

“So, Janus,” He said when he finally put the half empty cup back onto the table, “How did you find my family?”

Somehow, Janus could sense the underlying question, taking a sip before responding. “They’re fine. Your parents rub me the wrong way, so to speak, and Roman’s a bit of a prick, but they’re fine.” He watched as Remus tossed his cup back again, fiddling with the sleeve on his cup, “I didn’t out you, by the way.”

That was enough to dampen the mood, Remus suddenly looking sullen as he stared at his hands. He blinked rapidly, taking a shaky breath before responding with a quiet thank you.

“They think I’m a girl. So that sucks.”

“They’re homophobic as shit.”

“I figured that out. Is Roman-”

“Gay as they come.”

Janus swirled his drink in his cup, watching the coffee stain the edges. “What will happen if they find out?”

“I don’t want to think about that. Getting disowned, at best.”

They both went silent, almost in solidarity. What could you say to that?

“Do you live alone?” Remus asked out of the blue, drinking more and having the audacity to chew the sugar from the bottom of the cup. 

“My mom’s out of town for work right now.”

“Dad?”

“Never knew him.”

“Shit.”

“That about sums it up.” The two of them chuckled. 

“So…” Remus started, finishing his concoction and throwing the cup into the garbage can by the sugar station, startling the barista. “We’re soulmates.”

“What led you to that conclusion?” He deadpanned, watching Remus as he took a slow sip of his coffee. 

“Hardy har har.”

“Yes, we’re soulmates,” Janus agreed, “Must we make it complicated?”

“Eh,” The other said with a shrug, “Ride with the tide, see where it goes?”

“Works for me.” As Janus finished off the last of his coffee, he could see Remus’ hands had started to shake violently on the table, and could feel his leg bouncing up a storm underneath it.

“C’mon, get up,” Janus laughed, pulling Remus to his (somewhat unsteady) feet, “Let’s go to the park and get your energy out. Hopefully I can get you home before you crash.”

“Aww, you do care.” Remus cooed, laying his head on Janus’ shoulder as they left the shop.

“I believe that’s the point, dumbass. Now, I’ll race you to the park. Three, two, one, go!”

Remus took off at a full caffeine-induced sprint to the park just down the street as Janus continued his leisurely pace, laughing the further Remus got without realizing he wasn’t following. What had he gotten himself into?

Nothing he didn’t want, that was for sure.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #dukeceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfiction #ts soulmate au #soulmate september #even though its october #soulmateseptember #sanders sides soulmate au

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 46

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

Mornings, contrary to popular belief, could actually be quite enjoyable, especially if experienced around noon. 

There were few things better than the comforts and warmth of one's bed, and a loved one's body pressed close, resting peacefully within reach. Even the sunlight didn't bother Loki much. He'd grown used to the dim rays of the winter sun doing their best against the low-hanging clouds. It would snow again, as it did the past couple of days.

The apartment had windows overlooking a wild patch of a garden tucked in between the buildings, forgotten or ignored by the residents. It wasn't much, but a few gnarled trees managed to take roots and grow unattended, to the delight of all kinds of birds from the neighborhood. Once the snow melted, it would be easier to judge if there was any potential to work on that place, but for now, both of you just watched over it, occasionally feeding whatever animals fancied some corn on that day.

The few snowmen Peter had worked on showed both his progress and the unquestionable lack of skills. Loki wasn't sure if it was possible for a snowman to lean to the side any further without falling, but he was certain the boy would ease his doubts next time he paid a visit.

Thankfully, chances of that happening anytime soon were low enough for Loki to feel safe, at least until classes end. A small mercy, but one that he'd take gladly. 

Loki turned to the side and buried his face in your neck. The soft fabric of the covers slipped off your sleeping form, daring him with a display of skin marked by his ministrations from last night. Or maybe the night before that. It was hard to discern between the days lately. They blurred together because of the amount of work to focus on. The apartment was in a good condition overall, but in dire need of redesigning. The tiresome work was made easier once Loki realized how easily his magic could bend the walls and the space contained within them.

Still, he deserved to rest, and he intended to continue doing so when he heard the last thing he wanted. 

Knocking. 

It couldn't be Peter, who'd either walk in or stick himself to the window after half a minute of not answering. Loki looked over his shoulder. The window behind him was still boy-free. 

That meant whoever decided to make the gravest mistake of their lives could be a neighbor. Neighbors were supposed to be friendly, or at least neutral toward new residents, as you'd explained a few days ago. It wouldn't be anything strange if one of them decided to pay a little visit to say hi. None did so far, but if any dared, Loki would make sure it was their last. 

Unfortunately, there was another possibility that came solely from the fact of an opening business, advertising it on the aforementioned door and allowing the, also aforementioned, boy to spread the business cards all over the city. 

It could be a client. 

It wouldn't be such a bad thing overall, but it was at the very bottom of the things Loki wanted to deal with instead of sleeping. If it was up to him, he'd just cancel the sound with a quick spell and ignore it further, but he couldn't forget your joy when your first client visited a few days ago. The sense of purpose it gave you and the way it made you smile were still vivid in Loki's memory. Even if the first client was a first-grader missing a tooth.

Still, you made him a promise and even put him into the schedule, promising to resolve his problem...today, actually.

Loki sighed and braced himself mentally for the walk downstairs. If the kid showed up to check how it went, he'd be in for a surprise. Loki pushed himself off the mattress, pulling the covers over your shoulder to keep you warm. 

He didn't bother himself with looking for a coherent set of clothing among the things scattered on the floor and furniture. Lately, he'd spent most of his free time in a wonderfully green robe you gave him as a gift anyway, and he didn't feel like breaking his new routine. Walking down the stairs, Loki did his best to keep his eyes open enough to see the steps. A child or not, someone would be getting a lecture about the importance of beauty sleep…

Loki opened the door, reminding himself that however strange it might sound, murder was not always the answer to every problem.

Loki frowned. He closed the door. He opened it again.

"Haven't I murdered you already?" he asked.

Agent Coulson put on a smile he must've practiced in front of a mirror a hundred times. "It would seem so."

The old lady living next door looked them over and decided she didn't need to leave her apartment as much as she had thought. The locks clicked one by one when she turned on her heels and closed them firmly.

Loki debated following in her steps when Coulson said something that made even Loki freeze.

"I paid you a visit because the Avengers and SHIELD need your help."

Loki blinked before erupting into laughter - waves and waves of it that he just couldn't stop. His body shook with the bizarre words of a long dead human he had almost forgotten about already. For a moment, he considered what the neighbors must be thinking if they'd been eavesdropping, but it was of secondary importance. What really mattered was that his mood changed so quickly Loki hadn't even noticed.

"I'm glad you're taking my visit well," Coulson smiled tightly, waiting patiently for Loki to calm down.

"Oh, don't worry. Killing you the second time will do wonders to my mood for the whole week," a dagger slipped into Loki's hand.

"Who are we killing today?"

Both men froze hearing you. You walked down the stairs with a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. Good manners dedicated you cover your yawning mouth, but your hands bunched in the thick fabric of the blanket reminded you of what was truly important in one's life, especially before noon. Or coffee.

"I thought we agreed on a no killing rule in the mornings? It complicates the whole day."

"To be fair, I've killed this man before."

"And now he's come for a refund?" You turned to Coulson. "I'm sorry, agent. We aren't open yet. Can you come back in the afternoon?"

"Don't worry about it," the agent said. "I've come for a completely different matter. As I've already begun explaining to your…"

"Love of my life," you helped him.

"...I came here asking for your help. Both of you. I would be delighted if we could talk about this like civilized people."

"What a wonderful idea, my dear corpse. Come in."

"Could you please put down your gun first?"

"I don't have a-"

"Please. I just want to talk."

Coulson's polite smile was as unnerving as you remembered it from the few rather brief encounters you'd had in the past.

"Fine," you growled, pushing the blanket to the side and dropping a gun onto the coffee table.

Loki had his eyes on the agent when he walked further into the room. Loki and you were still not sure whether it should be an office or just a living room, so for now it stayed somewhere in between. Coulson didn't mention the state of disarray, but he didn't sit on the couch.

"So what's all the fuss about?" you asked.

"An object was stolen from a SHIELD safe house two nights ago. Despite our greatest efforts, we have been unable to find it. We are well aware of the set of skills the two of you possess," Coulson gave Loki a sharp look, "and are keen on paying you generously for your help."

"No," Loki shrugged. "We listened, now you can go bother someone else."

The agent sighed. He didn't seem particularly surprised, though. 

"How generously?" you asked carefully. You shushed Loki before he started complaining. "You must realize we're living quite comfortably already and there's not much that we need."

"Name your price then." Coulson's smile didn't waver, and it was clear he was open to negotiations. The case must be dire, then. And if whatever had been stolen came from the depths of SHIELD's super secret base, it must not only be worth a fortune, but also highly dangerous and possibly not quite from this world. 

Loki's elbow kept on jabbing your ribs in desperate hope of getting your attention, but you were too deep in your schemes already.

"We don’t have much interest in money," you leaned back on the couch, fixing the blanket absentmindedly, "but since both of us already have ties with your organization, why not go into that direction? We'd love to have the kind of… support you can offer."

The smile on your face was sweet enough to make Loki's teeth rot, but he kept quiet. He had no idea what was on your mind, but he was keen on finding out. He looked at the agent.

"I'm afraid SHIELD is not the right kind of agency to clean up after you mess something up," Coulson said.

"I'm pretty sure you guys are perfect when it comes to disappearing people and wiping away their messes as if they never were. Last time I saw you work, you were quite efficient."

There was definitely a history between the two of you. Loki kept his smile to himself as he watched the agent's shoulders shift. Whatever the story was, it clearly involved a part the agent was not the happiest about.

"Could you reconsider?" he asked at last.

"We named our price."

"This artifact is of the utmost importance. Surely you understand what the stakes are?"

"This is a private business, darling," you gestured around. "If you wanted the heroes, especially those working pro bono, I'm afraid you climbed the wrong tower. But since you came to us, and I'm sure that’s not because you miss our lovely faces, you must've already considered that option, didn't you?"

Coulson sighed. "You've got yourself a deal."

The grin on your face was nothing short of wolfish. "How lovely. Now, what did you lose?"

The box Coulson took out of the pocket of his suit was neither big nor pretty. If anything, the thin wood looked worn, and the edges were rounded from time and touch. Still, it was enough to make Loki tense next to you, and not touch it when the agent set it on the table.

"It used to hold a pin, and the pin used to have a gem of unknown origin. Now there's neither, and we want them back."

You exchanged looks with Loki.

"We'll contact you when we find anything out," you promised.

You wondered how desperate Coulson must've been if he didn't even argue before leaving the not-office. In the silence that fell upon the room, your attention turned to the box. No ornaments and not even a lock. If such an important pin had been put inside of it, why was the box not secured more?

"What do you think?" you laid back into Loki's side.

"Are we actually doing this? I'm not the right person to talk about trust issues, but I'm pretty sure I've already killed that guy."

"Did you sense anything off about him?"

"Not really. But when it comes to this little box…" Loki's hand hovered above it, but he didn't touch the wood. "I probably shouldn't be surprised to find mice residue, but I'm quite puzzled about that disgusting tang of necromancy."

"Do you think the pin had been used for some dark rituals?" you wiggled your eyebrows. 

"I'm afraid we'll only find that out if we can figure out where the pin went."

"What are we waiting for then?”

A few hours passed without any further interference, but as all good things, that time had to pass at last. The rather casual afternoon at your apartment had been interrupted by a certain boy who had secured himself a spare set of keys beforehand, and now used them to enter.

Peter froze midstep.

"Close the door. It takes way too long to reignite all these candles," you said from the living room turned office turned ritual site.

The thick black candles were laid out around a circle drawn with chalk, and strange symbols painted with what Peter could only hope was actually paint. Very, very red paint. The same type of paint covering Loki's bare skin in twisting, overflowing sigils. With his eyes closed, and head upturned, he chanted quietly in a language of wind and shadows.

"Cookie?" you offered from the couch, where you laid sprawled. 

The bag was almost empty, but the cookies turned out to be great anyway. Peter sat at the very edge of the couch, observing the god and his ritual.

"Is that...normal?"

"Yeah, chill. We got a job from a dead man walking who told us to find a stolen alien artifact, so we're doing our very best," you yawned. "Meaning, he is working and I'm supporting him wholeheartedly."

"I'd have better support from the chicken I told you I needed," Loki murmured between breaths.

"Where the fuck was I supposed to find you a living chicken in the middle of New York?"

Peter took another cookie. "Does that mean you won't be able to find that thing?"

You waved your hand dismissively as Loki focused back on chanting. "It'll be fine, he's already done that once with perfect results and no chickens violated."

"What were you looking for?"

"The remote."

Peter nodded. Chewing on the last cookie, he fished his homework out of his backpack and laid it out on the table, next to a gun. He had a spider-patrol planned for the evening, but had to finish schoolwork first. With Ned sure to ramble about his newest set tomorrow, Peter had no chance of finishing it before the classes started in the morning.

#please hate me #loki x reader #loki x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki marvel #loki mcu #loki laufeyson imagine #loki series #marvel loki #loki fanfic