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drawlfoy · 2 years

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pink in the night P.3

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pairing: hufflepuffmuggleborn!reader x draco

summary: when y/n y/l/n starts having weird, recurring dreams about her long time unrequited crush in her 6th year, she begins to wonder where fantasies end and reality begins.

warnings: canon-typical violence, mature language, nsfw content, VERY dark themes of murder, grief, and coercion. i don’t know why i wrote this to be as dark as it was but i didn’t know how else to make it happen lol

a/n: hello my loves! long time no see! im so sorry for not really responding much to any messages/reblogs/replies/anons...work has been absolutely insane and i’ve had a lot on my plate. i’m also currently working on a dramione twilight au available on my ao3 and it updates weekly, so i’ve been placing more focus on that.

nitty gritty: i am pushing this to be one more part, though it probably (?) won’t be as long as these first 3. and i promise a happy ending. all is not as it seems. if you’re a fan of our late evi’s turn, the ending of this particular part should remind you of something...

wc: 10k

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enjoy!

“Ok. So let me get this straight.” Susan was pacing the room, her arms folded over her chest and her brows furrowed.”Draco Malfoy has been your make-believe boyfriend since the beginning of term, except for he’s really not make-believe and he’s actually your boyfriend? But only when you fall asleep.”

“It sounds worse when you put it like that,” defended Y/N, though she was glad that Susan was being a little testy. Arguing made it easier to forget what was actually going on. “The book Trelawney assigned me explains it all. Apparently hairline cracks in crystal balls can seriously mess things up. One of the symptoms can be recurring trips into an alternate dimension. I was thinking about Draco when I used the crystal ball, so it took him with me. It’s described as being closer to the dream realm than it is to what we understand to be reality, but it doesn’t make it any less real. Draco has been having the same dreams, too. I’m almost positive.”

“Isn’t this a good thing?” asked Susan.

Y/N wanted to scream. “No! Because he’s definitely just going along with it as a distraction from whatever else is going on with his life. He doesn’t actually like me. He’s told me that himself.”

“He doesn’t like you, but he’s still shagging you?”

“Because I’m there,” hissed Y/N. “And I’m available, and I probably stroke his ego. And plus, he doesn’t think it’s actually me. He thinks it's a product of his subconsciousness, too. Just like I thought.”

“And I thought my Slytherin situation was complicated,” muttered Susan.

“I genuinely don’t know how I’m ever going to face him,” said Y/N. “When I wasn’t doing, er, things with him, I was spending the rest of our time spilling my guts and giving him a retelling of our real interactions. He would look so smug, too. God, Susan, I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey,” said Susan, firm. “We’re going to get through this. He clearly doesn’t hate you. Maybe this is a good thing, Maybe it’ll push you two together.”

“And maybe I’ll win the lottery and figure out that I’m the long lost child of the Queen, too.”

“Listen.” Susan sounded frustrated now. “This is a good thing. You’ve at least caught his interest. He stares at you in class, you know. I thought that I was imagining it at first, but now I know I wasn’t. This is your shot. When you see him tonight—”

“If I see him!”

“If you see him,” Susan amended, “You have to do something about this. If he really makes you happy. Don’t let this opportunity go.”

Y/N sunk onto her bed, letting her face fall into her hands. “I’m a muggleborn. He would never really see me like that. If I tell him that it’s really me and that what we’ve been experiencing aren’t really dreams, he’d be ruthless.”

“You don’t have any other option. Don’t try and tell me that you’re going to enjoy seeing him at night now that you know that it’s really him. I also feel like there’s a consent issue there too, right?”

“I suppose.” Y/N chewed on her lip. “Maybe…maybe I’ll just say it and see what happens.”

To her relief, the Hospital Wing was entirely empty apart from Madame Pomfrey when she entered later that afternoon, her cheeks flushed and her hands clammy.

“Miss Y/L/N,” said Pomfrey, giving her a lingering look. “I’ve been expecting you. Broken crystal ball, eh?”

“Yes.” Y/N wasn’t quite sure what to do with her arms as she stood in front of the much older woman, opting to clasp her hands firmly behind her back as she stared at the floor.

“Tell me, dear,” began Madame Pomfrey, ”How have you been sleeping?”

She knew that the answer was written clear across her face as she met Madame Pomfrey’s gaze.

“Who do you see?” the witch pried.

“Er—” Y/N thought her nails were sure to draw blood, considering how hard they were pressed into the pillowy flesh of her palm. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

Madame Pomfrey’s eyebrows shot to the sky for the briefest of moments before they were schooled into submission. “Well. That’s certainly a surprise. Aren’t you a Muggleborn, my dear?”

“Yes,” answered Y/N. Surprisingly, none of the traces of judgment or disgust that Y/N came to expect when discussing boys with older women could be found on Pomfrey’s face. “I don’t understand why it happened. Do you…do you know more about it?”

“Come sit in my office. We can have a chat.”

Madame Pomfrey prepared tea as Y/N picked at the crimson cushions of a worn armchair, separated from the hospital walls by a few thick curtains.

“You were thinking of him when you used the ball, yes?”

“Yes,” Y/N answered honestly. “Well—I probably was. I think about him all the time.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded gravely. Y/N was struck by the oddity that was a situation where she was discussing her love life with the school nurse.

“Madame Pomfrey,” she began, “When I first started having the dreams, he would always come to me in his Quidditch robes. Even if it didn’t make any sense. But then all of a sudden he started appearing in his normal school robes. I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

“I’m sure the books don’t mention that,” said Madame Pomfrey. “I think that phenomenon is rather rare. It’s uncommon that this whole dream scenario occurs, too. You’re a medical miracle.”

“But do you know?”

“Though those aren’t quite dreams, there is still an element of mental manipulation that is at play.” She paused to hand Y/N a steaming cup of tea, the delicate china filled with a delicious smelling golden color. “Forgive me for my crudeness. You see, your mind brought you the version of Draco that you thought about the most. Or at least what he was wearing then.”

“Oh.” Y/N felt the heat rush to her cheeks. In more straightforward terms, Madame Pomfrey had just told her that she dreamt of him in his Quidditch robes because she thought he looked hot in them. “Oh, Merlin. I’m sorry you had to spell that out for me.”

The smile that Madame Pomfrey sent her was amused. “That’s quite alright. I imagine that you’re very confused.”

“How do I stop it?” Horror washed over Y/N as something awful occurred to her. “Can I stop it?”

Madame Pomfrey turned around, the floral pattern of her robes swishing as she faced her desk. “Unfortunately,” she said, “The effects on your magical signatures can only be healed with time. But the ‘dreams’ will cease with this.”

She held out two vials.

“Why two?”

Madame Pomfrey gave her a knowing look.

“Oh, Merlin,” said Y/N, sure she was about to be sick. “Can’t you give it to him instead?”

“It would do you two good to work this out between yourselves,” said Madame Pomfrey. “Trust me.”

There was something in the gentle, maternal scrunch in the corner of the woman’s eyes that made Y/N trust her words. Even if she would rather eat dirt than talk to him about this in person.

“Does Trelawney know about the dreams? She only mentioned the magical signature to me.”

“I’m not sure,” admitted Pomfrey. “Like I said, it’s an uncommon occurrence.”

“Alright.” Y/N swallowed. “I’ll—I’ll be going then.”

That night, she tossed and turned in her bed for what felt like hours. Sleep just refused to take her as she rolled over on her mattress, repeatedly shoving her hands under the cooler parts of her pillow in an attempt to sooth her racing heart. Would she see him again?

“I don’t know where we are this time,” said a terrifyingly familiar voice, just when Y/N felt like she was going to drift off.

She shot to attention, clutching her duvet to her chest. Dream Draco sat next to her on her bed, his chin propped up on his palm as he watched her.

Except for he wasn’t Dream Draco. The boy sitting mere inches away from her was Real Draco. He crept closer, his hands pressing into the bed on either side of her as he dipped his head down to kiss her jaw.

Real Draco was kissing her.

“This is my room,” Y/N blurted, hoping that Susan, who was sleeping soundly behind a curtain, would ignore her voice in this dimension.

Draco’s lips detached from her neck as he sat back, his brows slightly furrowed. “What? How? I don’t know what your room looks like.”

“I know,” said Y/N. The pounding of her heart pulsed in her ears. She wanted so, so badly to tell him, but she couldn’t do it. The words simply wouldn’t come out of her mouth. So she squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him properly.

She would let herself have this, just this last time when she knew that it would never happen again. Once he knew she was real, that he had actually been involved with a muggleborn all this time, he would shun her.

When she finally pulled away from him, she studied his face, trying to find any traces of the Real Draco she’d come to know in Potions. His pupils were blown out, making his eyes an onyx black, and the porcelain pallor of his skin had been slightly sullied by a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

He looked perfect.

“Is everything okay?” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen across her face.

“Why are you doing this?” she countered.

“What do you mean?” His eyes narrowed slightly.

“As in, why are you touching me?” she clarified. “I’m a muggleborn. I know you would never want me in real life. I know you don’t like me, either. So why are you doing it now?”

Draco seemed at a loss for words.

“You don’t have to answer.” Y/N found herself hoping that he would agree, move on, and kiss her senseless again.

It was not her lucky day.

“Well…” Draco’s gaze cast upwards, and Y/N reminded herself that this was him, Real Draco, about to give her a real, honest answer. “I don’t know why I do, I suppose. Clearly the whole muggleborn thing hasn’t been too much of a hold up for me, especially since it’s hardly as if anyone knows about this.”

Y/N nodded. She desperately wished that he would correct her, tell her that no, he had developed feelings for her and wanted for her when he saw her every day.

“Wouldn’t you do the same?” he asked, suddenly meeting her eyes with a defensiveness that surprised her. “I know that’s bloody ridiculous of me to ask you, and I know it’s pathetic I keep having this dream, but truly. I’m—well, you know. I don’t have anyone who I can be like this around. Even if it’s all fake.”

Draco Malfoy was lonely. That much was obvious to Y/N. The revelation didn’t come without pain, though. Not only was Draco Malfoy lonely, but he was using her. And he wasn’t using her because he liked her. He was using her because she was there and she was convenient.

“Did you mean it?” he asked. “When you said that you liked me?”

“Of course I meant it,” she said.

“Of course,” he echoed, and for some reason he looked like he was going to be ill. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to tell you this is a dream and that you’re not real. Sometimes I just wish you were.”

Her heart stopped. “R—really?”

“I’ve finally lost it,” he mumbled, running his hands through his hair with a frantic motion. “I can’t believe I’m telling a product of my imagination all of this. Fuck.”

“Well—funny story, actually—”

He was fading, his edges blending into the background as he began to become more transparent. Draco had just given her the best opportunity to confess, and he was waking up. If she hadn’t been so thrown off-kilter, she would’ve screamed in frustration.

“Y/N? Are you alright?”

A steady hand laid on her shoulder, giving it a firm shake. Y/N felt her eyes open—really truly open in reality—and saw Susan staring down at her, still in pajamas.

“Yes,” said Y/N, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Did I wake you up?”

“You were tossing and turning like crazy,” explained Susan. “I’ve been up anyways. I haven’t slept well since…well, you know. Were you having a nightmare?”

“Something like that,” she muttered.

“You saw him again, didn’t you?”

“And I couldn’t tell him,” said Y/N, pulling the blanket up to her chin and hiding her face. “I chickened out. I’ll have to wait until tonight. If I even dream of him again.”

“That’s not true,” said Susan. She reached out, her sunflower colored nails pulling the duvet back. “Man up. Tell him this morning.”

“Merlin, no!” she moaned. “Are you mad?!”

“You should tell him in person today,” said Susan. “Just think about it. If he says he feels the same way, then you’re going to feel so silly for not telling him sooner.”

“But I don’t think he does.”

“You’re going to have to tell him anyway,” Susan pointed out. “Might as well rip off the bandaid. Start healing now so you’ll be ready for the real Prince Charming when he comes.”

Y/N got ready for class that day in a daze, her mind running calculations on every possible way the scenario could go poorly. He could laugh at her and tell every Slytherin that she was a whore and would give it up for anyone. He could tell everyone that she was pathetic and had no self respect. He could spit in her face, set Parkinson on her, slander her name…

He wishes I was real. The thought kept creeping its way into her mind, cropping up when she brushed her teeth, when she fluffed her lashes with her mascara wand, when she slid her feet into her oxfords. He said he wishes I was real.

Thinking about it for too long was making her head hurt until it felt like there was a black hole in her chest, sucking in any unrelated thought and tracing it back to Draco. It was getting exhausting.

It was rare to see Draco Malfoy walking around between classes without his Slytherin entourage. So when she saw him in the hall alone before Potions, she interpreted it as a sign from Merlin himself to go for it.

“Draco—I mean, Malfoy,” she said, stepping in front of him. “Can I speak to you for a second?”

He froze. The hand that wasn’t slipped into his pocket was clenched into a fist, and his jaw appeared tight. “What do you want?”

“Er…” When she looked up to meet his gaze, she was struck by just how much taller he was than her. He was already staring back, his silver eyes unwavering. “Can we go somewhere private?”

“No,” he said blandly. “I’m busy. Can’t this wait until class?”

This bothered her. He’d been shagging her for a week, and he couldn’t even look at her when she approached him in public. In fact, it bothered her so much that she was cured of her temporary tongue tied-ness. She wanted to shock him now; she wanted to witness his epiphany.

“It’s me.” She jutted her chin up further. “It’s me you’ve been dreaming about.”

He was completely still, his expression indecipherable.

“You know how you said that you wish that all of this was real?” she continued, recruiting her hand to emphasize her words, her fingers splaying out. “Well. Surprise.”

“How?” The word was strangled, hoarse. He looked like he was about to be sick.

“Apparently my crystal ball was cracked when I used it in class,” said Y/N. “And I’d been thinking about you when I touched it, so…” Her voice trailed off. The temporary bravado that had kept her going through the beginning of the confession was waning, sapping away the longer he remained silent.

Then he grabbed her wrist and yanked her down the hall.

“Where are we going?” asked Y/N, breathless from the sudden jerk of motion.

Draco didn’t even look back at her as he yanked her behind a tapestry, waved his wand to cast a silencing spell, and loomed over her. There was something brewing in his eyes, something that seemed almost…primal. She’d never seen him look at her like that before, and she wondered briefly if he would kiss her.

He didn’t. In fact, he was keeping a careful distance from her, despite the cramped nature of the space. The blood from his face had long since drained, leaving his skin a panicked gray.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he hissed, his low volume entirely unnecessary considering the silencing charm he’d cast.

Oh. A pang of raw hurt rattled through her chest, though she had a feeling that he would react like this. “I haven’t exactly been bragging about it to the masses,” said Y/N, hardly managing to hide the pain in her voice. “It would’ve made me sound unhinged if I went around telling everyone how I had dream sex with you. Your dirty little secret is safe with me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you think this is a fucking joke?”

“You know it wasn’t a joke to me,” Y/N snapped. “I made it very clear. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m not talking about that,” he spat.

“Then what else?” She had never heard him speak with so much venom in his tone. Part of her wondered how her Dream Draco could ever be the same person as the glowering Draco right in front of her.

“You know what else,” he said stubbornly.

“I told you; I don’t,” said Y/N. What was she missing? “I won’t tell anyone that we had an accidental interdimensional friends with benefits arrangement. What else, pray tell, am I withholding from the general public?”

There was a vein in his neck that was protruding out of his ashen skin. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“I guess,” she said, sullen. It was strange how quickly they’d gotten comfortable bantering with each other. The mystique around Draco had long since faded now that she knew that she was dealing with the Real him every night.

“My mark,” he hissed.

“Oh,” gasped Y/N. “I forgot about that.”

“Oh my fucking god,” groaned Draco, his tapered fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Are you joking? You forgot that? Are you dense?”

“I thought that wasn’t real!” exclaimed Y/N, panic rising. He’d just revealed to her that he was a Death Eater. Like, a real Death Eater with a mark and everything. And Voldemort had mentioned a task…”I thought that was just a nightmare.”

“I can’t believe you.” He huffed, air leaving his lungs with a sharp puff.

“In other news,” said Y/N, who was trying her Very Best not to lose it over the fact that her crush was actually a Bad Guy, “Pomfrey gave me the cure to stop the dreams. She wanted me to give you a vial. Drink it before you fall asleep tonight and you won’t see me again.”

He plucked the vial out of her outstretched hand, swirling the liquid around before downing it in front of her in one go. The speed in which he was willing to give her up just like that made her heart lurch.

“You can’t tell anyone what you saw,” he said once he swallowed. “No one will believe you, anyway.”

“I know,” said Y/N. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise.”

He gave her a look that was full of suspicion.

“I’m a Hufflepuff,” she said slowly. “Remember that conversation we had two nights ago? Loyal to a fault.”

“Loyal to your friends—”

“Loyal to you, too. Even if it’s stupid of me.” And that was the truth. Y/N could deny it all she wanted, but she knew that she would never turn him in.

Draco muttered something unintelligible, but Y/N thought she caught a “no bloody self preservation” through the jumble of words. She hoped to hear more, but the commotion that was slowly growing in the hall told her that their time was running dry.

“I think we need to get to class soon,” she said. “I suppose…this is it, then?”

His hand twitched at his side. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to reach for her, but then his expression hardened and he stepped back. “Yes. Sorry if I got your hopes up.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled thinly.

The day dragged on. Y/N downed her own vial over lunch with Susan sitting next to her in the Great Hall, a hand on her shoulder as she told her that she was doing the right thing.

“I’m proud of you, Y/N,” said Susan, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Look at us. Post Slytherin girls.”

Y/N laughed, but she certainly didn’t feel like she was making the correct choice. Instead, she felt like she wanted to mourn the version of Draco that existed in her head. Her Dream Draco had never been real—no matter how accurate his corporeal form, he was still fundamentally different when taking into consideration the social barriers between them.

He never liked her. He told her that himself, without a hint of remorse in his tone. And he was a Death Eater, too, with a task that he supposedly had to complete. That was something that she should probably think about more, she decided. He was literally playing for the team that advocated for her eradication.

The days began to blur, falling into the comfortable category of “normal school life”. Classes picked up, girls' nights plans were made, and the air began to cool. What didn’t change was her curiosity towards Draco. Slughorn had long since thankfully rearranged seating after Theo and Susan refused to speak to each other for a group activity, so she didn’t have to sit with him anymore. It was a small consolation, but it wasn’t enough to keep her eyes from wandering, landing on him and wondering what he was thinking.

It was frustrating, truly, to know that she had given so much of herself to someone that hadn’t even appreciated her. As she watched him through the tail end of summer and the beginning of fall, she noticed the spark in his eye dissipate, the bags under his eyes grow. There was a distinct greyness to his skin that made her concerned, and then made her angry that she was worried. He didn’t deserve her regard.

To keep her mind off it all, Y/N did something she never once imagined doing prior to 6th year—become a member of the Dueling Club. It was a formal group, entirely unattached to Dumbledore’s Army and school-sanctioned. The best wizards, generally just the 7th years, got to compete in tournaments.

She hadn’t expected to like it so much. Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been one of her worst subjects. But there was something so satisfying about firing off spells in rapid succession, running the mental calculations for her shields, and eventually disarming her opponent. She liked the rawness of it all. The saltiness of her sweat was cleansing. When she was in the dueling circle, her blood and house didn’t matter. And, surprisingly, she was good. Like, really good. It had been a slow start, but if Hogwarts was invited to a tournament any time soon, she would be joining the 7th year Gryffindor boys in competing.

Dueling was a distraction, but it certainly didn’t solve The Draco Problem in its entirety. Sometimes, at night, she’d wonder if she’d manage to wake up next to him like before. But no luck—Trelawney had been religious in checking the integrity of all the crystal balls before she distributed them again. Y/N was not dream shagging anyone, no sir.

It was nearing December when he finally approached her.

“Y/N,” he said after class one day, catching up with her as she walked down the corridor. “Do you have a free period now?”

“Why?” She didn’t—she had Divination, obviously.

“I need a moment with you,” he said, his eyes darting to the group of Slytherins walking in front of them. “Alone.”

Her heat thudded. “Oh. Okay.” Who was she to say no to that? He led her down a side corridor, holding open the tapestry that they’d hid behind the last time they’d spoken directly.

“What is it?” she said, wincing at the sharpness in her voice. He blinked at her.

“I found out what happened with Theo,” he said. Her heart dropped. This wasn’t about them after all.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t cheat on Susan,” he said. “Pansy started that rumor. The girl he was with was his sister.”

“Theo has a sister?”

“An older one. She graduated a while ago.”

“Oh.” Y/N frowned, picking at her cuticles as she refused to meet his eyes. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

She had missed the sound of his voice.

“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Also—don’t go out with that Ravenclaw bloke, okay?”

“What?”

“Boot,” he clarified, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t.”

“Why would I?”

“Because I told you to.”

Y/N blanched. “Draco, that was months ago. Believe it or not, I don’t do things just because you tell me to.”

He was silent for a few moments, but he didn’t make any motion to leave. Instead, his silver eyes scanned her face with an unreadable expression on his own.

“You still haven’t told anyone,” Draco said finally. It wasn’t phrased like a question. He stated it like it was a fact, like he was pointing out something to her of which she was otherwise unaware.

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“I thought you were lying.”

“Well, I meant what I said.” She jutted her chin out, remembering how she had stubbornly, stupidly pledged her loyalty to him.

“All of it?”

She scowled. Was he this dead set on humiliating her? Again? “Have I not told you enough times already? Are you deliberately forgetting everything I tell you, or are you actually that dense?”

“Forget it. Whatever.” There was an air of sincerity in the sulky way in which he was regarding the ground. She let that be the excuse for her next action.

“Hey.” The single syllable falling from her lips had firm kindness to its delivery. Just as she’d hoped, he looked up, his grey eyes locking onto hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I thought you were going to make fun of me. I did mean everything I said. I still do, but I’m not going to fall over myself to involve you in my life when you’re so dismissive of me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine,” she replied. Her voice was flat. “It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for me.”

If anything, it felt like it was her fault. She’d had weeks of uninterrupted time to spend with him, and she still hadn’t been able to get him to have any semblance of feelings for her.

Draco didn’t respond to her statement, but he was staring at her with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortable, like he was trying to read her mind or something.

“What do you want?” he said, finally.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want,” he said, looking mildly impatient, “in exchange for your silence?”

She flushed red, but this time it was in anger, not embarrassment. How dare he think that she could be bought!

“I can buy you anything you want,” Draco said before she had a chance to respond. “Even a—I don’t know. I can buy you a signed copy of Spencer’s autobiography. Or enchanted hair pins that’ll keep your hair from falling in your face when you brew. A thousand of them. Or a villa in Italy. You can have a key to my Gringotts vault. Anything.”

Though his offers to buy her a home or give her access to billions of galleons were attractive, they weren’t what shocked her. She was more surprised by the fact that he’d remembered that her favorite author was Adrina Spencer. And that her hair always fell into her face in Potions.

“Draco, stop,” she said gently. “I don’t need any of that. I don’t want anything.”

“You have to want something.”

Well, fucking obviously, she thought. No shit, Sherlock. I want you.

“What I want can’t really be bought,” was her vague way of saying just that.

His eyes flickered to meet hers again, and her breath caught. He understood.

“Don’t get me wrong. Obviously if you start dating Pansy or something I’m not going to switch up,” she continued, though the thought of him with another witch made her sick. “I meant it when I said I knew that it was always a pipedream to expect anything from you. But I like you enough as a person, independent from what you are to me. I wouldn’t sell you out like that. Just because I want it doesn’t mean it’s a necessary condition.”

Her hand, that had otherwise been resting at her side, brushed up against something. It startled her, making her jump. Then she realized what it was.

Draco’s fingers tentatively brushed against her skin, pausing when they touched her palm. His touch was chillingly cold, just as it usually was when they first touched in her dreams. His skin would eventually warm, though. It always did.

He nudged her fingers away from her palm, loosening the fist that had formed and slipping his fingers into hers.

It wasn’t until she felt his breath fan over her face that she noticed how close he was. It wasn’t until she watched his eyes flutter shut as he bent down that she realized he was about to kiss her.

“No,” she gasped, pushing him away with both hands. “No. Don’t—don’t do that.”

There was that feral look in his eyes again, like he was a cornered animal. “What? Why?”

“That’s despicable,” she said, feeling nearly sick to her stomach. “You can’t.”

“You like me,” he said slowly. He was staring at her like she’d grown a third leg. “You want me.”

“But I don’t want you to whore yourself out to me! Merlin. That’s…that’s disgusting. That’s too far.” To her horror, she could feel tears cropping up in her eyes. Then something else struck her. “Draco…Is everything okay? Why are you doing this all of a sudden?”

“Everything’s fine.” The way his jaw clenched told her that everything was not, in fact, fine.

“You can tell me,” she said softly. “I won’t say anything.”

“The last thing I want to be is more indebted to someone.”

“You’re not indebted to me!” huffed Y/N, tossing her hands in the air. “This is what loyalty looks like. You owe me nothing.”

“But I dragged you into all of this.”

She frowned deeper. “No. I dragged us both into all of this by having a stupid crush and using the wrong crystal ball. But anyway. The point is that bad things happen, and they’re awful, and I wish they didn’t, but I’m here for you.”

“I don’t understand you,” he said, but there was no venom in his tone.

“I need to go. I’m already late for Divination,” she said, feeling like she’d had her fair share of emotional devastation for the eon. “Don’t worry, okay? And…I know you won’t take me up on it or anything, but if you ever want to talk to someone about…whatever your task is, I’m here.”

24 hours later, Katie Bell was in critical condition as she was whisked away to St. Mungo’s. So Y/N heard, at least. She hadn’t seen it happen herself, and for that she was grateful. No one deserved to be Imperio-ed before being cursed by dark magic within an inch of their life, but out of all the undeserving souls, Katie was at the top. She had been nothing but incredibly kind to Y/N and all of her Hufflepuff friends. She would go as far as to say that Katie had no enemies at Hogwarts.

The excitement around the castle dulled in the days leading up to the holidays, dampened by the tragedy. Y/N was scared to walk around at night, even if she wasn’t alone. She suspected Susan felt the same way after she appeared out of breath after she came back from visiting Theo in the dungeons. They had miraculously made up since Y/N told her the news from Draco. Apparently Theo had been in a state all fall, wondering desperately what he had done to make Susan move on but being too prideful to ask. They were inseparable now, which Y/N had mixed feelings about. She was thrilled that her best friend was happy again, but she missed having a single partner in crime.

To make things worse, Justin Finch-Fletchley had developed a strange fascination with her, asking to study with her during free periods and bragging about the wealth of his muggle family. It was getting exhausting trying to find new corridors in the castle whenever she saw him spot her in the hall and begin to make his way towards her. If he started talking, he’d never shut up now, despite his initial sourness. Y/N didn’t mind being kind to him—she tried to be nice to everyone she met—but she drew a hard line at being made late for her next period because he wouldn’t stop telling her about his holiday in Monaco.

It was especially bad once he learned about her participation in the Dueling Club. All of a sudden, he wanted to join and was wildly interested in being a gentleman by walking Y/N back to the Hufflepuff dorms. Coming up with an excuse was tough—they were both walking to the same place, after all—so she resorted to taking off a few minutes early and choosing the most incomprehensible, winding paths to keep him from following. Her fear of what happened to Katie Bell was largely overshadowed by the very real concern that she could be cornered by Justin and forced to hear about how all of his siblings attended Eton.

The Dueling Club had their last meeting the night before the Hogwarts Express arrived to take students back for the holidays. It had been a tough few days. The general malaise that had been present in the student body following the Katie Bell instance was piled on top of the pre-existing midterm exam stress, making the last week actual hell. Y/N had hardly slept, spending most of her time in the library.

She was basically asleep on her feet as she stumbled out of the Dueling Club’s meeting room—a long, wide space by the Gryffindor Tower—and began her trek down to the Hufflepuff dorms. In fact, she was so exhausted that she thought she was hallucinating the Draco Malfoy that appeared in front of her at first.

Then she blinked and found him still there, staring at her with an intensity that made her wonder if he was going to jump her.

“Y/N,” he said. “Are you busy? Can we talk?”

“Is everything okay?”

His silver eyes flicked to the space behind her, and Y/N heard footsteps begin to echo down the hall. Justin had guessed her path to the dorms correctly and was probably moments away. “Yes. Do you mind if we go somewhere else?”

When she agreed, he reached out, grabbing her hand and pulling her down a side corridor. This one didn’t have any torches, and the inky blackness would’ve startled her if it wasn’t for the warmth of his fingers laced through hers. Despite the fact that this wasn’t right—he didn’t like her, he didn’t see her like that, and he didn’t want her—it felt comfortable, reminding her of all the times that she’d anchored her hands into the spaces between his fingers.

They finally stopped once the footsteps in the main corridor faded. Draco cast a silent Lumos.

“What’s wrong?” asked Y/N, because he had definitely been lying when he had said that everything was okay. He looked more frantic than usual, his pristine locks mussed and his frame deathly thin.

“Nothing,” he clipped. His voice sounded raw, and it cracked in between the syllables.

“Don’t lie to me, Draco. I can tell you’re not well. What’s going o—”

“Do you still think about me?” he interrupted. The small white light glowing at the tip of his wand moved as his hand trembled, making his eye bags appear even more pronounced.

“Of course I do,” said Y/N, frowning.

“Do you—do you still want me?”

Her first instinct was to be offended by the vulnerable position he was putting her in—once again—but he didn’t look like he was about to jeer at her, so she gave in. “Of course, Draco. I’m sure I always will, even if that’s a little silly.”

“Okay.” He gulped, then nodded, like he’d finally processed her words in their entirety. “Okay, that’s good.”

“But you never answered my question,” said Y/N. “What’s the matter? I know you didn’t just come find me to chat.”

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. Then he did something curious—he lifted his free hand from his side and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers remain pressed to her jaw.

“What—” She froze, her voice dying as his thumb swiped across her bottom lip, the rest of his hand cupping her neck. The heat of him against her made her sleepy, and her drowsiness reminded her of how it felt to lie next to him after they were spent, listening to the rise and fall of his chest and reveling in the warmth of his bare skin.

The pad of his thumb tugged gently at her bottom lip, opening her mouth just slightly. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

Y/N wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Maybe fireworks, maybe sparks, maybe the sensation of her heart beating out of her chest. But despite the fact that she’d never kissed Real Draco in real life, it felt no different than how he kissed her in their dreams.

He pulled away for just a moment to cast a nonverbal Nox and tuck his wand into his pocket, plunging them into darkness. Not like that caused her any trouble in finding his lips again. At this point, she’d become so familiar with him that there was no need for light anymore, even if it had been a bit since she had touched him.

Y/N’s hands fisted into his black robes, pulling him impossibly closer as he pressed her into the wall, his arms surrounding her and caging her in an embrace that made her entire body thrum.

Draco kissed her with a desperation that she’d never felt in their dreams. It was like he was drinking her in, savoring every part of her that he could touch. When she gasped at the feel of his hands fisting gently in her hair, he took the opportunity presented by her parted lips and kissed her deeper.

His hair was just as soft as it was in her dreams. He smelled the same, too—that crisp black tea and cedar scent that she had come to love.

When their lips finally parted audibly, both gasping for breath, Draco busied himself with adjusting her robes, gently pulling her collar back into place and straightening her cloak with such casual affection that it made her heart skip. Though there was little natural light in the corridor, her eyes had adjusted enough to see his face.

“Oh, God, are you okay?” gasped Y/N. Even without him making eye contact with her, she could see the tears shining in his eyes. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

Draco opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything, he let out a shaky exhale and cast his eyes to the ceiling.

“Draco,” she admonished, putting both hands on each side of his face so he couldn’t move. “Tell me.”

He murmured something so quietly that she thought she had imagined it. “What was that?”

Draco shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Please,” said Y/N. “You can tell me anything, remember? Anything.”

“He’s going to kill me,” Draco whispered. “I’m going home tomorrow, and I think he’s going to kill me. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I had to—I had to have a real memory of you. Before…”

Y/N was sure she was going to be sick. The desperation and franticness in his actions suddenly made so much more sense, especially when considering how generally unwell he’d begun to look. He was going to die, and this was him saying goodbye to her.

“You can’t,” she heard herself say. “You can’t—I won’t let you—”

“I cursed Katie Bell,” said Draco. “That was me.”

She blanched. “No—”

“Yes,” he said, more stern this time despite the tears that were beginning to stream down his cheeks. “And it turned out to be a colossal failure. So you won’t be seeing me again.”

All this time, Draco had been the one behind the act that made her scared of walking at night. It was him who had nearly murdered Katie in cold blood and casted an Unforgivable.

But he didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of it. She’d seen that much in his dream. He trembled and shook in front of his master, flinched when whoever that scary looking woman was appeared at his door. He was no murderer. He was a boy with no other option.

That was the long winded justification Y/N’s mind would settle upon later, when she’d had time to process the events of the evening more. In that moment, she gave into her biggest impulse—she threw her arms around him.

Her hands weakly attempted to brush away the tears collecting on his face as he shook against her, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. She wept, too, pressing her face into his shoulder and trying to commit to memory everything about him—the way he smelled, the way his hair felt, the texture of his skin.

“There has to be another way,” whispered Y/N.

“There isn’t.”

“But—”

“Y/N, I’m tired.” A hand wrapped around her right wrist and squeezed weakly. “I’m sorry, love. I’ve thought of it all. I can’t do anything without putting my mother in jeopardy.”

Then he collapsed in her arms and cried anew, his breath stuttering and hitching as his fingers twisted in her robes. She held him as close as she could, running her fingers soothingly through his hair and swallowing back her own sobs.

What a fucked up world, she realized, that a 16 year old was curled into a ball on the floor of a dark, abandoned corridor, prematurely mourning his own death.

“In another life,” he whispered once he was breathing steadily again, “I would want things to be different. For us. I would have been better to you. I’m so sorry.”

Y/N didn’t know if she could trust herself to form words, so she just nodded instead, clutching his robes.

In retrospect, she had no idea how long they spent clutching each other on the dusty floor of the 4th floor side corridor. She never felt like she had lost consciousness, but dawn came quickly, weak winter light filtering in through a small window ahead.

“I’m so sorry,” he said finally, extracting himself from her hold and standing up. She followed him, keeping her hands tangled in his robes. He bent down once more and pressed their lips together. It was a salty, sad kiss that lingered before he finally pulled away. “I’m so sorry for doing this to you.”

“You could come stay with my family,” suggested Y/N, her voice rising with hysteria. “You and your mother. I would make sure he wouldn’t find you.”

“He would. And that’s assuming I could get my mother out in the first place.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he said hoarsely. “If I don’t come home, I won’t be able to ever come back to Hogwarts.”

She let that sink in. He was right. She knew he was right. There was no way that he was going to be able to come back to school. Voldemort would come find him and figure out a way to punish him and his mother. “There has to be a way. This can’t be it. He surely can’t just kill you.”

“I’ve tried everything,” he said, his voice softer. “I’m sorry. He might not. But it’s very possible he will when he learns about my lack of progress.”

The relief that washed over her was weak and brief in nature. “He might not” was hardly a promising claim to cling to, but it was all she had. There was nothing else she could say, nothing else she could suggest as they walked out of the corridor together, his fingers clutching hers tightly.

“I’m going to see you again,” said Y/N, her voice firmer than she was expecting. “I’m going to. You’re getting through this.”

Draco dropped a kiss on her forehead before letting go of her hand. “I’m so sorry. You, of all people, didn’t deserve this.”

The way he blew past her assurances, not even gracing them with a dissent, deeply disturbed her.

“I have to go now,” he said.

“Okay.” She smiled thinly at him, reaching out to touch his wrist one last time. He let her, not pulling away as he watched her wrap her fingers around his pale skin, squeezing once with affection. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.” And then he was gone, his long robes swishing in the castle draft as he disappeared around a corner.

To say she was devastated was an understatement. Y/N spent the rest of her morning trying to pack her things, but it felt so silly and trite for her to be folding her knickers when her not-boyfriend was about to meet his end. She wondered incessantly what he’d be doing, what he’d be thinking. He was scared, that much she knew. She’d never seen Draco look so terrified as he did in the corridor.

When she rode back on the Hogwarts Express, she had her head on a swivel, craning her neck for as much as a glance of Draco, but he was nowhere to be seen, not even when they unboarded at King’s Cross. She supposed that was a blessing. Her last memory of him—it wouldn’t be her last, she scolded herself, he would survive—was of the Draco she wanted to remember, the one that adored her and touched her softly.

Traditionally, Y/N had loved Christmas. Her grandmother, who lived in London, would come out and visit them and help them cook a marvelous Christmas Eve feast. Y/N would always bake cookies with her friends, exchange presents gleefully, and enjoy the holiday movies that were finally in season. The holiday break was a perfect length of time for her to catch up on everything in her old life without missing magic…too much.

But this time, all Y/N wanted was to go back to Hogwarts and see Draco alive. She did enjoy catching up with Iris and Dasha—Lucille was on holiday in Nice—but whenever she caught herself having too much fun, she was suddenly reminded of Draco. How was his break going? Had he already been…Was he…

She would suck in a deep, rattling breath and cast the thought from her mind. Nothing she could do would protect him from the dangers he was facing at the Manor.

Though she didn’t dare break out her wand to use magic, she ran through her dueling positions, stretched, and went on jogs in her free time. When she would go for runs, she would sprint until her legs and lungs burnt so much that she couldn’t continue. She welcomed the way her breathing shortened and her trachea thickened. It made her feel alive, like she was shedding something.

At night, she dreamt of Draco. He was always just out of reach, wearing the stricken expression he’d had when they’d said goodbye. She tried to scream out to him, to beg him to stay with her, but he’d always fade into the mist, his body eventually disappearing.

By the time that January came, she was very, very fit, the product of neurotic exercising. She felt like a wild animal, except instead of running from natural predators on the savannah, she was running from any thoughts that involved Draco and his well-being.

Her mother gave her an extra tight hug when she dropped her off at King’s Cross, brushing her hair over her shoulder and cupping her cheek in a way only mothers could.

“You write to me,” her mother said, her words firm. “I want to know how you’re doing, my darling girl. I’ll miss you.”

“Goodbye, mum,” Y/N said, tears pricking her eyes. She hadn’t felt the compulsion to cry when leaving her family for school since she’d boarded the train in first year, but all of a sudden she felt like a child all over again. A lump formed in her throat. She would dearly miss her mother and her father and her friends, the only remaining evidence she had that normal, average life could exist. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dove.” Mrs. Y/L/N kissed her cheeks before she waved for the last time and made her way across the parking lot.

Y/N did not see a flash of bright blond hair as she waited on the platform, but she did see Terry Boot sitting alone on a bench, reading the Prophet.

“Terry!” she said. He looked up, beaming when he saw her.

“Y/N!” He scooted over to make enough room for her on the bench. “Come sit. How was your break?”

“It was good,” she said. “Nothing exciting. What about yours?”

Terry launched into a story about how his little brother had had an episode of accidental magic and set their older, graduated sister’s hair on fire. For the first time in over a month, Y/N laughed heartily, feeling the affection for her dear friend warm her guarded heart. As all-consuming as her Draco thoughts had been, nothing could compare to the years of friendship and connection between her and Terry.

“Read anything interesting?” asked Y/N, motioning to the Prophet. She tried to say it casually, but there was an underlying stiffness in her words. If Draco had been killed…there would have been some kind of story. Right?

“Nah,” said Terry. “You want to read it? I always forget that they basically cut you off when you go back home. Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me. If you want to stay informed, why shouldn’t you, I say!”

“Sure!” said Y/N quickly. She narrowly held herself back from ripping open the pages and wildly flipping them to see if the name Malfoy appeared, but that would be a little Uncool and Abnormal. She would have to wait for the train ride.

Susan was apparently sitting with Theo, Terry told her when they eventually boarded. Y/N had just missed her. The Slytherins had managed to get onto the train first to secure the nicest compartments.

“Figures,” Y/N said, trying her best to deliver an unbothered snort. Hannah eventually joined them, and soon enough they were departing from King’s Cross. Y/N waited until the conversation died off before beginning her read.

There was nothing. No mention of the Malfoys. Just plenty of “How to Protect Your Family from Death Eater” articles and tragic stories about the ransacking of local magical businesses.

She finally let herself breathe. Thank Merlin. There weren’t even any Purebloods in the obituaries except for an elder Prewett, who was, in the most delicate way possible, old as dirt anyway. What conversation she had with her friends didn’t imply that there was any new drama with the Sacred 28, at least none that was worth sharing publicly.

He was okay, she thought, her heart beginning to flutter. He was okay, and he had kissed her before she had left.

Even further, he had actually been attracted to her. When Madame Pomfrey had told her that she had seen Draco in his Quidditch uniform at first because that’s how she thought about him the most, she’d totally forgotten that that was a two way street. Draco had not just been thinking of her in her Slytherin party slip, he’d been fantasizing about how she’d look wearing it without tights.

Before the events in the corridor, she wouldn’t let herself consider the possibilities. And directly following them, she had been too heartbroken to even think about his feelings towards her. But now that she was almost certain he was alright…

Was he going to find her again? Was she going to experience everything with him again—but this time, in this plane of existence? She couldn’t see why they couldn’t. It was a bit too much to hope for, she conceded, but following the events before they left, there wasn’t much reason for him to continue ignoring her.

She would be okay with a secret relationship. If anything, it would be mutually advantageous. If they snuck around, she wouldn’t have to worry about the wrath of Pansy or any of the other Slytherin girls who were betting on snagging Draco for their pureblood husband. She would clarify this when he found her again and snogged her senseless, this time without the overarching theme of doom and gloom.

Distantly, Y/N knew that this was all a pipe dream. She didn’t really expect Draco Malfoy to be her boyfriend. But she hoped, hoped, hoped that he would be her something.

She was positively buzzing with energy as they walked into the Great Hall that evening. She still hadn’t seen any of the Slytherins, but Susan had appeared at the Hufflepuff table.

“Hey, Y/N,” said Susan. “How was your break?”

Something in Susan’s composure deeply disturbed Y/N. It reminded her greatly of when she had first told Y/N about Theo—the way she nervously fiddled with her braid and smiled too widely.

“It was good!” said Y/N. A pit was beginning to form in her stomach. “What about yours? Did you see Theo?”

“Er—yes,” said Susan. “We spent time together at his summer villa in Naples. It was lovely.”

“That’s great,” said Y/N, and she meant it. Susan deserved to have a boy that would take her on lavish vacations. And so did Y/N, obviously, but she was working on that.

The Great Hall doors creaked open, and Y/N would have turned to see who had entered if it wasn’t for Susan grabbing her hand.

“And he gave me this bracelet!” she said, shrilly. “Look!”

She shoved it into Y/N’s eyesight. The gorgeous yellow gems caught in the light, glittering under the stars.

“Very pretty,” said Y/N. “Are those diamonds?”

“All of them,” said Susan, and though there was a flicker of pride in her face, Y/N could tell her mind was elsewhere. “He had it specially made for me while we were in Italy. A family jeweler kept on retainer, I think.”

“On retainer” was such a rich person phrase, Y/N thought. She nodded, smiling brilliantly.

There was a flash of blond in the corner of her eye, and she whipped around.

There was Draco, alive and well and sitting down at the Slytherin table. He looked healthier, too, his robes clean and pressed, his hair shiny and his face relaxed.

Oh, he was alive. She let out a quiet sigh.

Draco looked up from his conversation with one of the Greengrass sisters, and their eyes met, just briefly. Y/N couldn’t help but let a little smile of relief creep onto her lips. She could feel embarrassed by how obviously she was staring at him from across the room later—right now, she was riding the euphoria of knowing that he was okay.

A flutter of satin green robes appeared by Draco as Pansy Parkinson came into view, sitting in the seat beside him.

Susan’s nails dug into Y/N’s thigh. “Y/N,” she said, barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you, I swear. I just couldn’t find you on the platform.”

Y/N was about to turn to her friend and ask her cheerily what she was on about. There was nothing to be told. Draco was okay, he was alive, he liked her back—and he was also brushing the hair out of Pansy’s face and kissing her cheek, just a few tables away and right in her sight.

Now she understood.

final a/n: i haven’t had a chance to start on p4 yet, but it might be a bit before i have it ready as that will ACTUALLY be the finale lol. things are kind of picking up in my life (i’m picking up some old hobbies, i have a research deadline, and i’ve got to move/get a visa) so i can’t promise much, but i love this story too much to stay away from it for long!

tags: @writeandtranslate @sycathorn-slush @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell @yiamalfoy @crystalox @dracoismybabey @dreamcxtcherr @decaffeinated-turtle @marrymetheonott @felicityofbakerstreet @daedreamss @sycathorn-slush @writeandtranslate @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural @sycathorn-slush @big-galaxy-chaos @lilyrachelcassidy @ynalouis @sivuda @zzoz942

#draco x reader #draco imagine #draco x you #draco #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco x oc #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x oc

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hstoryhuh-a · 5 months

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❛❛ huh? ❜❜ he doesn't know why he tried to look up near his own hairline, giving up rather quickly and reaching a long arm upwards to feel before his eyes rolled affectionately at the memory that popped up. ❛❛ oh. nora. ex-girlfriend, best friend, and particularly feisty when faced with the last slice of pizza. she pushed me out of the way and i tripped over my own two feet, ended up smacking my head against a cabinet. turns out enough blood gets her to give it up. ❜❜ it wasn't the worst really, only a faint line was left but his ego remained wounded.

@lupaeus : " where did that scar come from ? " | WHAT DO YOU MEAN ?

#lupaeus #( answered ) / * 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭-𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐳 .

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wheresarizona · 2 years

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Do you have an estimated post date for learning to live? I just checked your masterlist and saw the title and I’m so excited to see that shopping trip!

Hi!! It makes me 🥰🥰🥰 that you’ve asked. I need to write about 2-3k more. (Trying to keep it under 10k, wish me luck) It’s a busy week/weekend, BUT I am going to try and hammer out as much as I can. I’m sorry it’s taking so long! 😔😔😔 This chapter wasn’t a part of my outline, so I had to start from scratch and really flesh it out. If things go well, hopefully, next week or the week after? Again, I’m sorry. Thank you so much for your patience and continued love! I’ll try to get it done ASAP and make it my priority.

Please accept this tidbit as my thanks for being so lovely:

You took off the aviators and carefully put them back onto his face. “Look at you, hotter than Maverick,” you said, poking the tip of his nose.

“You think I’m hotter than, what’s his name? Tom Cruise?” He asked slowly, eyebrows in his hairline.

“Oh, babe. Absolutely zero competition. Would fuck you in a heartbeat.” You saw his chest puff out a little, and you giggled. “Let’s get going before your ego becomes too big for your truck to contain.”

He smiled, kissing you softly.

“You said I was hotter than Tom fucking Cruise.” He seemed to be delighted by this, and it made you laugh.

#wheresarizona answers #learning to live series

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kafkasmelomania · 3 years

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May 27, 2021: Hairline Ego Trip by Dez Dare

If you’d like to get involved with stopping the atrocities against Palestine, here’s where you can start (text in bold for readability):

This Carrd is full of information, petitions, and places to donate.

Here are some organizations to which you can donate. This post now includes a list of corporations to boycott.

Here is some information about the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund and a list of other organizations.

This is a list of actions you can take (somewhat UK-specific). This is a reading list of texts with more background information.

UK petitions: This is a petition for the UK government to formally recognize the State of Palestine. This is a petition to introduce sanctions against Israel. This is a petition to condemn Israel for their treatment of Palestine and Palestinians.

Here’s the Wikipedia overview of the current iteration of the crisis.

If you’re curious about the United States’s involvement: this is a report about U.S. foreign aid to Israel. This is the Wikipedia page for Palestine-United States relations and this is the Wikipedia page for Israel-United States relations.

Here are some perspectives from on the ground in Gaza. This is also explains why spreading the Palestinian point of view. is so important.

This is one Jewish person’s explanation of the conflation of Jewish identity with the modern Israeli state. They mention the Nakba, which is important – per Wikipedia, “the Nakba, […] also known as the Palestinian Catastrophe, was the destruction of Palestinian society and homeland in 1948, and the permanent displacement of a majority of the Palestinian people.”

This Vox video gives a brief overview of the conflict from its inception until the present day, although it’s from 2016, so it’s not entirely up to date. This CrashCourse video does the same, and I think it’s actually a little better than the Vox video because within the first minute they shut down everyone who claims that this is a religious conflict. That video is also not entirely up to date, as it is from 2015.

Black lives matter and here are some ways you can get involved in the fight against racism, specifically anti-black racism (text in bold for readability):

This Linktree and this Carrd are full of ways to confront and fight against anti-black racism: places to donate, advice for protesting, educational resources.

This post is specifically about Daunte Wright and how to help his family. This is Daunte Wright’s memorial fund.

The Minnesota Freedom Fund is doing good work, and since so many people have been recognizing that work and donating to them, they ask that you instead donate to Families Supporting Families Against Police Violence, the Racial Justice Network, Communities United Against Police Brutality, the Minneapolis NAACP, the Council on American-Islamic Relations in Minneapolis, and the Black Immigrant Collective. You can also donate to the Bail Project, which operates in multiple states.

Other organizations to which you can donate are the Black Trans Advocacy Coalition, the NAACP, the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, the Okra Project, the Solutions Not Punishment Collaborative, For The Gworls, G.L.I.T.S., the Marsha P. Johnson Institute, the Black Trans Travel Fund, the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, and the Black Trans Femmes in the Arts Collective.

GoFundMe: Justice for Breonna Taylor, In Memory of Jamarion Robinson, Rent Fund For Black LGBT Family, Esperanza Spalding’s BIPOC Artist Sanctuary, Help the Williams Family Get a Set of Wheels, Survival and Gender Affirming Needs for Black Enby

#dez dare #hairline ego trip #garage punk #noise punk #noise rock #punk #punk rock #alt rock #alternative rock #2020s music #2021 #english #english language #england #british music #album of the day #music rec #album rec

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kafka-ish · 3 years

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the drunken words you spoke last night (1) | b.d.

one thing leads to another and before she knows it, y/n's longtime crush becomes a casual fuck.

word count: 2,893

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut -- male x female, pretty vanilla), fem!reader, angst(?), also a lot of this is written in italics cuz of flashbacks

a/n: sorry it's been so long since i've written anything!!

It was never supposed to end up like this. Just one quick fuck was all it was supposed to be; which lead to another one, then another one, then another one…

y/n watches as Bill scurries around the room, searching for his shirt. She’s noiseless and he doesn’t know she’s awake yet. He does a good job at being quiet, making sure not to disturb what he thinks is a sleeping y/n. The grey baseball tee he wore to her place last night turned out to be underneath her bed—how it got there was a different story. The silence is broken when Bill opens the door and is met with a large creaking sound.

Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look—

He regrets it immediately when he sees y/n, her back against her bedframe. She’s wide-eyed from watching him with such intent.

“Hu-hey.” Bill swallows the saliva gathering in the back of his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t nuh-know—”

“It’s fine.” y/n says her words with such ease and for a moment Bill’s jealous. He wants to know a life without speech therapy, a life without the nickname Stuttering Bill. And most of all, he wants to know a life without loving someone who won’t love you back.

“So, you’re not staying?” y/n does her best to conceal the insecurity in her voice but it’s hard. She doesn’t want to come off as needy or clingy, but she wants a response she already knows the answer to.

“I duh-didn’t want t-to wake you.” Bill shrugs as he says this. Half of it was true—he really didn’t want to wake y/n but seeing as she was already up his excuse fell flat.

“Right.” It takes everything for y/n to not roll her eyes as she replies through gritted teeth.

“So…” Bill’s left foot is digging into the carpet and his fingers find themselves intertwined together.

“So.” y/n herself is picking at loose strings from her worn-out comforter. Her eyes avert from their previous lock on his figure and she doesn’t know what to do with the lump in the back of her throat. She’s annoyed—no—furious.

It was never supposed to end up like this.

“Hey,” Bill answered the door in low-rise sweats and shirtless. “What’s u—”

He’s cut off and taken aback with a messy kiss. It’s bold, breathtaking, and smelled like vodka—nothing he’d ever expect from y/n. Once the shock had passed, he felt his eyes flutter shut and he became lax under her touch.

“I need you,” y/n mumbled helplessly in between kisses. Her fingers which had previously been confidently intertwined around his neck were now reaching for the ends of her shirt.

“W-Wait—what?” Bill’s still hazy from the blunt he smoked earlier and everything’s going so fast.

“You heard me.” Uh, not really. She pressed another kiss to his already swollen lips and the feeling of his skin on hers feels a hundred times better than what she imagined it to be. “Fuck.” Her hips press up to his, but Bill can’t revel in the delicious spark their jeans create every time her hips meet his.

The Denbrough’s front door is still open.

“y/n,” Bill spoke. He tried to say it firmly, but it came out as more of a breath than an assertion.

“Hmm?” The noises coming from her are downright pornographic, which only made Bill wonder what the rest of the night will be like.

“I have to shut the door,” he whispered. His breath tickled her neck and y/n felt her face grow hotter—if that was even possible. Reluctantly, y/n relieved Bill of her possessive grip so he could shut the door. But, immediately, he noticed he’s cold—freezing, even. But how can Bill be cold in the middle of July—Maine’s hottest month?

y/n’s quick to reassume her previous position—arms swung around his tanned neck, hips bucked up desperately to meet his.

“Wuh-we should take this somewhere more comfortable. Sh-shouldn’t we?” Bill only stuttered when he’s nervous now. It’s cute.

She pressed a quick kiss onto his jawline. If there weren’t remnants of her lipstick on his skin, he’d assume he was dreaming. “Okay,” she hummed into the spot her lips had just previously grazed over. Bill shivers.

He led the two of them up the stairs and into his room. The trip is slow. Bill’s careful to make sure y/n didn’t trip or snag her top on the railing. What a gentleman.

“Bill,” she whined.

That night, Bill decided his favorite sound was her voice calling his name. He’s always loved the sound of y/n’s voice and the way his name rolled off her tongue (“Bill, watch!” “Bill are you coming?”). But this was different. Tonight was different.

“Bill, I need you.” He turned to y/n who wore a pout as she followed Bill closely into his room. It’s pitch black but Bill doesn’t need to turn on a light to know his way around.

The back of y/n’s calves hit his bed with a light thump followed by another whimper.

“Shh,” Bill cooed into her hair…

y/n awoke that morning with her too-tight tank top and faded denim shorts replaced with one of Bill’s graphic tees that drape over her figure like a dress. She finds half of her eyeliner and lipstick-stained on Bill’s grey pillowcase and there’s an empty space next to her where Bill once lay.

“Fuck,” y/n whispered to herself. She can’t remember the events that happened last night, and the pounding in her head doesn’t make it any better. But the way the sheets around her creased and wrinkled, and the way her collarbone peaked out of Bill’s Led Zeppelin tee made her skin crawl and her stomach turn.

“Hey.”

Bill’s scratchy morning voice startled y/n. His perfect tall and slender figure slanted against the doorframe and y/n had to compose herself under his sheets the way she’s done all her life.

“Hi,” she swallowed thickly. Her breathing started to pick up along with her pulse and when did it get so hot in here?

“Do you want breakfast?” Bill made a motion towards the kitchen downstairs. “My parents aren’t home still. I guh-guess they’re still out.” Bill’s parents were always “out”.

y/n only nodded.

“Look, about last night—”

“Whatever happened last night, I can—”

“Did you mean it?” Bill cut her off, not even listening to the word vomit spilling from y/n’s splotchy lips.

“Mean what?” y/n’s ungroomed eyebrows furrowed together inquisitively because what the fuck? What on earth happened last night that could have left Bill Denbrough wondering for answers in the morning?

“Wuh-when you said that stuff about needing me.” From the flushed cheeks and timid words, y/n could tell Bill felt awkward saying to her what he’d just said.

Mortification took the form of y/n y/l/n that morning. The tiny hairs on her neck started to rise and goosebumps shot a trail down her forearms.

Bill crept forward after he didn’t receive a response. His face was only a few inches away from y/n’s. The swoosh of his I-just-woke-up hair framed his hairline like an auburn halo. To make matters worse, the morning sun shone directly on his skin, giving him a god-like glow.

“Did you?” His minty breath hit her face. Colgate.

Instead of watching his swimmingly blue eyes—swimming for answers, an indication, anything—she watched his lips. She admired how rosy they were even in the morning. She admired the curl of his cupid’s bow. She admired how soft they looked and felt as she bit the bullet and shoved herself forward to kiss him.

This kiss is different from last night. It’s daring, yet nervous; sweet, but awkward. It’s not the same as her desperate kisses from when she was wasted. This kiss is slow, thoughtful—

Bill pulled away. His breaths grew heavy, and his eyesight got hazy. The only thing he could think to do was go in for another kiss. So, he did. He’s quick to capture her bottom lip with his and cup her jawline in the palm of his hand.

Bill’s impatient now. His parents were gone, and he had a beautiful girl in his bed. What else was a teenage boy to do? In a flash of flesh, Bill’s shirt was gone.

“Do-do you want this?” He asked before he made the effort to remove any other articles of clothing and possibly embarrass himself further. Of course, Bill would be perfectly fine with getting off in the other room with just his bruised ego and bare chest to keep him company.

But y/n was fast to reply “yes” and press yet another kiss on Bill’s swollen lips. Their flesh pinned against each other’s elicited a feeling inside the two that both y/n and Bill had never felt before.

“You smell good,” Bill murmured against her shoulder. The words slipped out of his mouth like a hockey puck on ice. “I bet you taste even better.”

y/n grew flustered at the sudden statement. It wasn’t like Bill to confess something like that—at least not to her. Before another moan, like the ones from last night, could claw its way out of her throat, y/n caught Bill sliding the elastic of his grey sweats down his long legs.

He’s in his boxers. y/n could only catch glimpses of streaks of greens and yellows but didn’t get a chance to look at them for long as her attention was redirected to taking off her—Bill’s—shirt.

Although he knew it wasn’t gentlemanly, Bill could only stare at y/n’s bra-clad chest. It’s just black, simple, classic. But it hugged y/n’s figure effortlessly and contorted her shape perfectly.

“Bill?” y/n wondered aloud. His silence worried her, but she has nothing to worry about—she’s got Bill hooked like a fish.

Her meek words snapped Bill out of his trance, which allowed him to press another kiss onto her lips before he trailed down to her neck. Each graze of his lips turned her into a moaning mess. Bill wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t, not from when he remembered the events from last night so vividly.

His lips lingered a little longer on a certain spot just above her collarbone that made y/n’s lips part so erotic-like, Bill thought he might cum at the sight.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to release just mere seconds in of making out with his dream girl—even if it pained him.

He released his lips from her skin, leaving a bruise. Bill chuckled to himself. At least, if he can’t have her, he can pretend he does for these few moments until she leaves for home and covers his mark with her trusty concealer.

Their lips clashed again. It was hard and rough—y/n’s more dominant than she let on and before either of them realized, she was on top: legs straddled Bill’s torso, nimble fingers gripped at his skin where a shirt used to be, and her lips viscously stained his red with what was left of her lipstick from last night.

Bill’s the one to moan this time. The sound was throaty and gruff, which sent shocks straight to y/n’s core. She bucked up, causing Bill to moan again and the cycle repeats.

“Fuck, y/n, I need you.” y/n liked this side of Bill: the bolder, dominant side; the speak-your-mind side. But most of all, y/n liked Bill.

She giggled at his words. She loved the way his voice cracked with desperation and the way his fingers began to clutch her skin tighter—like she was his.

The delicate sound of y/n’s voice only made Bill want her more. The tent in his boxers grew impossibly harder—a contradicting feeling of pain and desire at the same time.

“Please.” It wasn’t long until Bill’s groans turned into pleads. The rough palms of his hands coast across her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form and hair to raise. “Please.” The fast movements of y/n’s clothed clit on his plaid-covered dick matched the fast beats of y/n’s pounding heart.

Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb.

“Plu-“

“Tell me what you want,” Bill’s voice easily sliced through y/n’s pathetic whines, “using your words,” he instructed clearly.

“I wah—” Another whine. “I want you.”

At that, the rough pad of Bill’s thumb started to massage the sharp edge of y/n’s jaw. “I need you to be more specific, baby.”

Baby? Bill’s never called her that before. Actually, Bill’s never had a girl as beautiful as y/n on top of his lap before but here he was, the tent in his boxers being barely relieved by the girl by his dreams.

“I—” The sensation of the fabric against skin felt too much to bear but she wanted more. “I want your—your cock in me. Please.” She said this through lazy lips and heavy lids.

“F-f-fuck.” Bill groaned at the vulgarity of her words. Never in his life would he expect y/n to utter something as filthy as that. But never in his life would Bill Denbrough ever expect to be offered the chance to fuck her. “Okay, baby, hold on.” His calloused palm slowly slipped its way down from the slope of her jaw to her neck where fingerprints were left and then down to the clasp of her bra.

The damn thing. As hard as his hand grasped and as hard as his fingers twisted, the clip wouldn’t budge.

“Need some help?” y/n giggled, as she noticed Bill’s pained expression. Effortlessly, she unhooked the cursed contraption. It was as effortless as how the piece of fabric once made her look so perfect. But perfection didn’t change once the garment left her skin. Bill then realized that it wasn’t the strawberry-stained lips or the dramatic smokey eye or the tempting clothing that made y/n perfect. y/n was already perfect on her own; everything else was just a prop.

Bill’s once furrowed brows softened when y/n began to take the lead. His bare back pressed further into the mattress in the same motion y/n’s chest leaned into his.

Her crotch just barely brushed his and Bill couldn’t take the ‘almost there’ feeling anymore. “I hate these,” he bit. His hand swooped down to peel off the lacy string of fabric in one harsh motion.

“This is a little unfair, isn’t it?” y/n posed. Her eyebrow raised a little the way it always did when she asked a question. Her hands were cold when they made a trail down his chest and to his boxers. “Now we’re even,” she giggled when she finally released him from his confinements.

In an instant, Bill’s erection had slapped his stomach and y/n found herself near salivating at the sight. Her thumb just barely brushed the tip, letting out a hiss from Bill.

“Baby—”

“Shh…” Before Bill could get another word out through choked moans and deep breaths, y/n led his cock to her heat. Immediately, she let out a whine at the stretch of Bill which he chuckled at. “Bill..”

“Yes?” Bill couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he was making her feel this way. He was the one whose name she was moaning. He was the one she was fucking.

“Bill…harder…” Her moans were like a record Bill would never get tired of hearing. His right hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear before his fingers gripped her scalp while his left hand moved just below her butt, allowing him to thrust deeper.

Moans turned into whines and whines turned into screams as Bill set the pace faster and harder. Each thrust hit deeper each time, hitting a spot no boy had ever found before. “Bill, I’m—” But y/n’s words were cut off when Bill’s lips captured hers in a kiss. His hand still found itself tangled in her morning hair. His other hand still tightly gripped on her ass which would surely leave a bruise. His hips bucked up once more, leaving y/n in a moaning mess, unable to hold herself above him anymore. With shaky arms, y/n allowed herself to collapse on Bill’s chest. Their breaths mixed and their pants synced.

Tenaciously, Bill pressed a kiss upon y/n’s sweat-slicked forehead. The feeling of his lips was gentle and tickled as they dragged down to her cheekbone.

It was never supposed to end up like this, y/n could only think to herself now as she watched Bill walk out of her room and presumably out the front door. Of course, he’d be back the next night. Ever since their first drunken encounter with each other, casual sex had become second nature to y/n and Bill—like learning how to tie your shoes or riding your bike. But it was at this moment when y/n realized how she wanted more.

Hickies and torn shirts would never be enough to satisfy the aching need for something deeper; the feeling that made her stomach drop every time she caught Bill looking at her; the feeling that made her throat dry up every time she tried to speak to him outside of moans and cries; the feeling that made her heart skip a beat at the thought of him; the feeling of want—and only want—for Bill Denbrough.

#bill denbrough #bill denbrough smut #bill denbrough imagine #bill denbrough angst #bill denbrough fanfic #bill denbrough fic #bill denbrough x reader #bill denbrough x reader smut #it x reader #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it 2017 #it 2019

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devotion · 3 years

Text

say it right → t.h

summary: you show a little contempt towards something tom loves. maybe somehow coaxing you into liking it will change your mind. in other words, he fucks you.

prompts: college (uni), porn without plot (?), small town.

warnings: fluff? + smut 18+ minors dni!! extended warnings below the cut.

notes: this ticks my boxes for the prompts on @rosyparkers’s fic bingo! also, no hate towards anyone studying history (i love it) just !! got stumped a bit with the plot but you'll see ;)

word count: 3.2k+ | masterlist

❀───❀───❀

ex. warnings: mentions of alcohol, dom!tom, bratty behaviour, a bit of ice play, fingering, slight degradation, dirty talk, kitchen (unprotected) sex (be safe!), one orgasm denial, pussy slapping, creampie.

❀───❀───❀

"fucking finally."

tom groans, tossing his backpack to the side after greeting you in the kitchen. settling back into the sofa, he exhales loudly; 'mentally drained' would be putting it lightly and the only reason to explain his pain is because university is stabbing him in the gut lately. however, it's fortunate that it was his last day of term; almost a month of no classes to deal with. and the smell of food wafting in the air is enough for him to forget his worries for a while.

luckily, you took your time walking back from the same uni an hour or two ago, having finished class earlier. tom was at a trip at the time you told him, the slightest bit of upset now that you couldn't get ice-cream on the way back home; only a little custom you both arrange at the last day, and to start the break on a high note.

with a text saying he was almost home, you prepared him some tea─just the way he fancies it. he'd be lying if he said he didn't notice the littlest things, one of them right now being the frequent clink of your ring when you pick your cup of tea. being married and in a six-year long relationship does that. and it subtly makes him smile at the thought of how far you've come. together.

after placing the mug in front of him, you see tom extending an arm around your midriff and before you know it, you're on his lap, his mouth brushing your hairline. then, your lips─meeting them in a sweet kiss. his grip on your bare leg tightens only focussing on how soft he feels against your mouth, how addictively you invade all his senses. like every other time, that same carefree warmth permeates his senses as you're within his hold.

once you hear the timer go off, you pull away, pecking him on the nose. tom releases you, nose ticklish and feeling almost intoxicated after such a short kiss.

"did you have wine?" tom asks you, tongue swiping his lip, savouring the flavour, "can taste it."

you wink in response. "m' mate gave it. left some for you if you want." at that, you head into the kitchen.

"what you making?"

"you know that extra pizza you made a few days ago?" he inclines his head in understanding at your reply as he gets up. "got it out the freezer and popped it in the oven. and can i just tell ya, smells fucking amazing."

he chuckles. the cooking class as an extra-curricular activity works then.

tom tags along behind you, shrugging his blazer off on the way there and hooking it on the coat hanger. he rolls up his polo shirt too and disregards it, the material making him feel stuffy. he feels under-dressed anyway, with you in just a silk robe and no bra─which is normal.

switching the oven off, you spin to see tom only in his slacks and black vest─a perfect fit, for sure. though you don't see a difference if he went shirtless; it's been a while where all of his tank tops, shirts included, have just been showing every crevice and defined structure of his abs and chest.

every time he comes in the room shirtless─now because of weeks of training with his mate, harrison─you've been left in somewhat of a dizzy state. he looks far more than sexy when he arrives home from the gym, in a way you can't particularly describe. you haven't mentioned it in fear of slacking due to the exams you had these past two weeks, knowing full well what would happen if you did. though, you admit it would've helped if you pointed it out, instead of him coming in front of you every now and again like... this. it's like he just wants you to say it.

as if his ego isn't inflated enough.

you roll your eyes at the thought. unbeknownst to you, he catches it, smirking.

it's working, he thinks.

but immediately the buzz of his phone effaces the thought of prompting you further. he'd have to leave flexing his biceps later in the evening.

tom gets distracted by the photos he's taken earlier on in the day, rather than harrison's text. you're taking the pizza out of the oven when tom asks you, making you whip your head around, "wanna see where i went to today?"

tom raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer.

you hum, knowing briefly what he's talking about. he had mentioned it a week ago saying he was to go to a place nearby─somewhere in cirencester─as a treat from the history department and studying your market town.

"c'mere, look," his eyes light up, phone in front of your face as he explains, "this building, right, is the 'cirencester lock-up' where the criminals were kept back in the day."

you sit atop the table as he moves to come stand in front of you, examining the pictures-- for almost a minute. then, compelled to do anything but frown, with both your hands, you tilt his head with your forefinger so he could look at you. mindful of his love for the subject, you question him, "this... is the place you went to on your trip, is it?"

"yeah," his ruffled eyebrow furrows, "why? is it not what you expected?"

"well... thought it would be more... grand is all. looks a bit, dunno... shabby─"

you hear him gasp before you have the chance to continue. "─this is history!" he exclaims, before shaking his head at you; he couldn't believe his ears. "big or small... it means so much to this area. sure, it looks old, but they're literal gems of time's past."

the distress on his face is evident - that you can see. it's beyond him why you feel like this. but then again─the drama gcse he took in secondary school offered him the ability to stress a light situation far too much. up till the point, it looks a bit silly when he's being dramatic. to you, this was one of those times.

meanwhile, when you stare tom down, eyebrow raised, the brief aspect swims in the forefront of his mind─that being, you have a tendency to become a puddle whenever he hopes to cajole you into anything, regardless of what he wants. right now, either due to his boredom or you underrating history, it doesn't matter. tonight he decides that it's just going to be about you and him. with a little fun twist.

"i'll just pretend you didn't say anything for my sanity..." he trails off, a slight teasing tone present in his voice, "for now."

"thank god," you mutter. the light of the sun outside reflects on tom's rolex, the same one you gifted him on your anniversary, almost blinding you as its redirecting near your eyes; it's dusk, and the blinds aren't closed yet─also revealing a really beautiful sunset outside which you haven't had time to admire yet because of him. "can you also not blind me? much appreciated."

advancing towards you, he laughs dryly, head coming in level with your own. his happy demeanour from the moment he came home has changed: he's biting his lip, gaze boring into your own with his jaw tight shut.

but then, what really gets to you, the most poignant sound that makes your heart drop is that... he tuts.

you swallow; knowing tom, you feel like it's not really the end. with that in mind, you're not prepared for what's to come. yet immediately, your thighs squeeze together because of the electrical-like current that passes through your body─all the way to where you want him.

in short, you know you're his. heart, pussy and soul - his. and he certainly acknowledges that. your legs slightly go apart at the thought, ready to give any indication for him to bury his head where it rightfully belongs. it's hard not to - especially with the warmth that's radiating from him, his breath hot as he's a few centimetres away, as if luring you already.

the sudden change in atmosphere brings a chill to your spine. the control within his hands is powerful. and you're his victim.

tom gets the message. yet, he doesn't give in all at once. he wants to enjoy you, savour you, adore you. to simply rush would ruin doing all of those things.

"let's focus on how good you've been for me these past few weeks, yeah?" he starts, retreating back to the freezer. he dives in and then, shuts it, an ice cube at hand.

the confusion on your face doesn't go unnoticed; firstly, only one? second, he doesn't use ice except with gin. and there's none of that in the house. unless...

placing the ice cube on the table next to you to stop it from melting, he continues, "maybe after, i can fuck that attitude out of you."

it takes seconds for you to remark, "just because of history? seriously?" you resist the urge to roll your eyes, turning your head to the side, "for the love of fuck."

he shrugs his shoulders, "yep, that's me. i love to fuck," his arms come on either side of you, "any excuse to fuck you."

"so you're basically admitting that you're being a dramatic bi-"

at once, your bottom lip is captured with tom's, swallowing your words altogether when you deepen the kiss yourself. pulling away a little, his voice is raspy when he speaks, "my girl is always so ready for anything."

he knows you're wet, you suppose. it only burns the fire within you moreso at your implication. just as the belt of your robe is untied, your breasts are being caressed by tom's large and callous hands.

tom moves to kiss the underside of your neck, "my woman," a nip at your sweet spot, "my wife," another kiss at your clavicle, "my everything." the primal desire in his kisses grows with each kiss and the affection in his words is sufficient for you to bring him closer, crying out to him for more.

you plead, "tommy-"

"always ready for my cock," he starts again, making your breath hitch in an instant. you bite back a moan at his brazen choice of wording.

"what was that?" he presses, "you can't take it can you? my pretty girl can't take it."

"'course i fuckin' can't."

tom brings the ice cube from earlier over your clothed pussy, grateful for the cold weather. the extreme difference in temperature makes you hiss in delight, body quivering. already, water drips from tom's hands, and it's hard to tell whether it's your arousal or the melting ice.

after moving your navy blue panties to the side, he swirls it around your bundle of nerves again, hips jerking upwards. not only do you notice the cheeky glint in your husband's eyes, but the absence of the ice cube too as his own thumb replaces it.

"already melted?" tom chuckles, "this─" his middle and forefinger slaps your clit with a slight force that makes you yelp, "─warm for me, yeah?"

he doesn't give you a chance to respond, a finger entering your wetness in a heartbeat. whilst his thumb circles your clit, he adds another digit, starting to move in and out in a slow manner─watching you unravel before him.

"you feel so good for me, princess," he coos, leaving a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

darkness soon prevails the room, though not fully, as the street lamp outside only grants tom the pleasant view of your yearning state. a few minutes go by with your chest heaving─letting out aching breaths of air that sears the walls of your lungs. the only thing that treat tom's ears is the squelching sound your cunt produces. his cock twitches at the noise, feeling it pulsing the more the seconds tick by. he feels restrained in his boxers; it's a shame you're not witnessing how hard he is as your eyes are shut tight.

but it's not too long when he feels you convulse around him, because he starts going on a pace that would be considered merciless at this point. whines turn into loud moans, the pressure building up.

owing to this, your legs are shaking, unable to lay off the climax that's approaching. instantly, when at the same moment you become so close, the coil inside you on the borderline of snapping, your attention is averted towards tom's ridiculous belief. again.

"history is what makes us today, don't you believe that?" he pants.

you knit your eyebrows together, trying to focus on cumming first. yet, you snap your eyes open, to see him licking his lips, "t-tom, please─" you falter, chest heaving.

"no," tom responds bluntly, ceasing his movements then and there. his fingers─wedged deep inside your pussy─tense as you somehow suck them in further at his disapproval. you were so near to what you wanted. he goes on, "say it─"

"─gosh, you're insufferable, tom."

he responds by pressing his thumb harshly on your throbbing clit, making you whimper.

"i said say it," tom repeats, "say it right so you get what you think you deserve."

"say what, tom, huh?" you snap through gritted teeth, "history is great?"

"yes, for crying out loud."

"do i get bonus points if i act like i care?" you prompt, seeking to provoke him further; if irritating him will get him to fuck you, then so be it.

he flares his nose, reluctantly pulling his fingers out your dripping cunt. you gulp as you see him remove his trousers as well as his boxers, his cock springing out bold and unbound. you're enticed at his length, no matter how many times you've seen it─stiff and thick and his tip leaking pre-cum. tom catches you licking your lips and you're now more aware than ever of the hunger that lingers in his gaze.

as he strokes his cock, tom's eyes darken as he scans your figure. your body yearns for more, and it shows; the way your body arches up, the way your hands clutch the edge of the counter so tightly─you look so beautiful under his torture.

"just have to prove it to me, darling," he draws closer, "scream my name," he growls, his tip prodding your entrance to which you shakily gasp at the familiar sensation, "when i stretch your walls, i fucking want people to know that i make you feel good,"

"you gonna do that for me, princess?"

his free hand grips your hip, sliding behind to your ass to bring you closer towards the edge of the surface. after squeezing your bum, he slaps it─evoking a sharp jolt of your hips to move forward. the abrupt action causes the aching tip of his cock to slip inside your warm hole whereupon you both groan at the contact.

"reckon i could make you cum in five minutes?"

you shake your head, smirking, "two."

he grins, shutting his eyes and sinking in ever so slowly. he breathes out, "fuckin' ell."

your head falls back, moaning in agreement. fucking hell, indeed; he feels so snug, your pussy accustomed to his size easily as he reaches further. like it was made for him.

whilst your fingers claw into his shoulders, tom moves down to kiss you, mouth hot and wet as it explores every inch of your own and tongues moulding each other repeatedly. you take the chance to clamp around his hips, placing your foot below his ass─allowing him to drive into you deeper.

tom recedes, grunting, "oh."

forget seeing stars─you feel like you can picture planets as he rocks into you. it goes to show how long you've gone without fucking. long enough for your orgasm to be building so soon. two minutes it is. or maybe tom understands your body too well, bottoming out as soon as he sees your jaw going slack. the angle that he's pounding in at is beyond perfect.

soon enough, the shockwaves that edges nearer in your stomach compels you to shove your hips, meeting his strong thrusts without thought. tom's name rolls off your tongue over and over again, the volume of your voice amplifying the more he hits that spot deep inside you─up till the point you're screaming. just like he asked you to before. and there you are, cumming, clenching around his dick as you fail to remember your surroundings. and unfortunately, your neighbours, too.

it's rather quick when you hear tom crying out your name into your neck after you. his thrusts become sloppy, given that he's draining as much of his cum inside you─spending of what he has in him. eventually, he comes to a stop, as well as the harsh bite of his teeth below your jaw. you feel turned on again but not adequate enough for your body to want to come again; you're absolutely spent.

"were you teasing me the whole time?" he mumbles into your chest a minute or two later, still inside you, creating circles with the pads of his fingers on your waist.

the answer you give him lies in the glimmer of your eyes when he looks up at you. "of course i love history, babe," you tease, "glad i pissed you off, though."

"this is why we can't have nice things," he whines, "you're always fucking my feelings over."

"awh no," you murmur, "you know i love you and your inner-nerd of history."

a blush appears on his cheeks. "forget it, now the pizza's cold," he pouts, head resting onto your shoulder.

"your fucking fault, babe," you remark, palms smoothing over the sides of his head, "now eat it."

he has different plans. "wouldn't mind eating you out actually. much better," he murmurs, hands coming to sit on the inside of your thighs. he stretches them again, cock slipping out of your cunt. the whimper you let out is because you feel empty.

you crave to feel stuffed again.

"you really know how to change the mood very quickly. innit, tom?" you ask.

he ignores you; once he's in line with your core, his eyes lock with yours, your breath hitching at the prospect of him giving you head. even after fucking you senseless, you feel like you won't be able to take it.

tom's tongue is already prepared to dive into your hole─some of his cum he's dumped inside moments before decorates your thighs and dribbles onto the floor, though more of his seed seems to still be confined inside you.

it looks heavenly. all his.

"may i?"

❀───❀───❀

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader smut #smut #tom holland preference #tom holland one shot #rosyficbingo #lmk what u think btw !!!!

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photiniainsummer · 2 years

Note

For the writing prompts, “if you refuse to make a move, I'll ask her out for you.” Dealer’s choice! (I love your writing!!)

ahhhhh you are such a sweet pea!!! hopefully this will be satisfactory - i've been wanting to do something w yancy n eric as a brotherly sort of duo for a while now~

- - -

Cripes. Yancy rubs down the length of his face, trying to keep it together even as Eric’s attention wanders from their conversation for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Maybe it was a mistake to bring the jumpy little guy to a bar for his first real night Out On The Town™. But Eric had said he wanted to get better at being in public, not worrying so much… Who better to go with than Yancy, and where better than a good ol’ dive bar? Yet here he was, wringing his hands around an imagined handkerchief and apparently unable to focus on his sort-of-chaperone. Yancy just lets whatever he was saying - hell if he remembers where he was going with it now - and just waits in the silence and ambient noise of the bar for Eric to notice.

It takes a lot longer than he thinks it would, but eventually Eric blinks and falters, attention quickly refocusing on the tattooed man across from him. And then he realizes, sees the mildly annoyed look on Yancy’s face, and drops his eyes to the table between them as an embarrassed flush splotches his neck.

“Uh…”

“Y’know, I was lookin’ forward to showin’ youse the ropes, gettin’ you out on the town an’ all. Youse asked so nice, too, how could I say no?” Eric picks at the thickly polished table top.

“S. Sorry, Yancy…”

The younger (technically) ego sighs, but realizes he really can’t blame Eric. Dark keeps them all under a firm, watchful eye, rarely approving trips outside of the boundaries of the version of the Manor he maintains. Although safe, the bubble universe he and the other egos occupy is… pretty boring. Nothing living comes in or out, so there aren’t even bugs for the Host to battle in his garden, no birds for the Jims to decide are secret observation drone robots and chase around the grounds. New stimulation, new people in a new space - of course Yancy’s chopped liver compared to the whole living, breathing world. So he softens, feeling bad for picking on the more nervous ego. He waves a hand dismissively.

“Nah, nah, I get it. Ain’t just new, it’s all new, yeah?” Eric’s gaze flickers back up from the table, and from under his brow, Yancy can see how his anxiety melts a little.

“Y-Yeah…” But he still sounds hesitant as he speaks - but differently so. It’s not Eric’s patented brand of nervousness, but… Like he’s got something else turning around in his head. Like he’s hiding something, but happy to let it go unnoticed. Yancy leans in a bit, eyes narrowing, and Eric immediately falters, looking anywhere but into his almost-doppelganger’s face.

“Yeah? Makes sense, huh? Whatcha been findin’ so interestin’, then, bud?”

“Uh. N. Nothing! Just. Like. Like you said, haha, it’s… everything! Everything’s so… so much and so different-”

Yancy begins looks around the bar as Eric speaks, but as he turns to look behind him, the other man’s hands shoot out and grab him by the shoulders, keeping him in place with surprising strength. And although Yancy’s body stills, his eyebrows shoot up almost into his hairline, staring down the typically anxiety-riddled man across from him. Eric looks just as surprised as he does. Frozen in place for a moment, both look at the other in pure bewilderment before the full weight of his actions hit Eric and he releases Yancy’s wide arms.

“J. Just. You. You don’t… have. Have to turn around. Is all. It’s. It’s.” At a loss for words, Eric’s just peter out until he’s silent once more. And ohhhh buddy was that the wrong move. Yancy gets it just from that, and just the most self-satisfied, teasing grin gets stuck on his face. It’s all smooth charm and slime and worldly awareness, and no matter how Eric refuses to look at it, it doesn’t budge. He can feel it looking at him.

“Jeeze, Eric, ol’ buddy, ol’ pal, o’ friend a mine… If youse had just said someone’d caught yer eye, I wouldn’a given youse such a hard time,” he intones lowly, all knowing and full of implications so strong Eric starts turns an undiscovered shade of scarlet under the weight of them.

“I. It’s not. It.”

“Aww, c’mon, youse ain’t gotta be all coy ‘bout it, youse c’n tell ol’ Yancy anythin’, youse know that, right?” It’s almost nice, comforting and encouraging, and- “Now spit it out, what’re we dealin’ with here.”

Eric would rather die than do this. Literally. He hazards enough of a look up to shake his head resolutely. “Ab. Abso-lutely not. I. She’s too-”

“Oooh, she, a’right, ‘m formin a picture. Jus’ gimme details, E, I ain’t gotta look but youse gotta at least tell me what she’s like!” Yancy playfully takes Eric’s arm, shaking him lightly as if it’ll dislodge more details from the bashful man. Weirdly, it kind of does. Eric’s spine has the structural integrity of a chocolate eclair, and Yancy’s about as bullheaded as they come.

“I. I. F-Fine! Just. Keep… keep your v-voice down, okay? She… she’s not. Not that far away…” And although he still looks nervous, there’s a tiny bit of a smile that curls his mouth at Yancy’s determined teasing, the way the ex-con looks so triumphant and truly excited at this little game.

“A’right, a’right… But youse gotta know, if she turns out real cute, ‘m gonna ask her out for youse, if youse won’t.”

“Yancy!” Eric’s cry is so totally mortified at the mere possibility of such embarrassment that it sends the tattooed man into a wild fit of laughter, destroying any pretense of subtlety and secretiveness about their endeavor.

And even so, it’s the hardest Yancy’s laughed in a while and the most Eric has felt normal in years.

#mad market pliers ramblings #markiplier egos #yancy #eric derekson #markiplier fanfiction #ego fanfiction #fanfiction #lil rambles #i am fucking crazy but i am free #i havent written so much and just posted it EVER hope it is actually good

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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

The Barbershop (Miguel Edition)

Angel’s Edition

Characters: Miguel Galindo x black!reader

Summary: Miguel calls the reader to come trim his beard.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: This is my first time writing for Miguel! I hope y’all enjoy. Angel’s edition is linked above and y’all let me know if you want me to do more Mayans. I wanna spread my wings a bit.

The plane literally just landed when you got the call. There was nothing you wanted more than a hot shower and your bed, but when Miguel Galindo calls, you come. Anything for the king. At least you didn’t have to drive over there. Nestor was there at the airport waiting to take you to Miguel’s.

Thankfully, the ride was a little long, giving you enough time to rest and mentally prepare yourself to be around Miguel. There was an unspoken attraction between the two of you. Lingering gazes, blazing accidental touches, and little flirtatious remarks. None of which could be acted on because 1) he was married and 2) you didn’t date clients; it was bad for business (but you were more than willing to make an exception for Miguel.)

When you got to the house, Nestor took all your bags out the car. You told him it was unnecessary, but he just smiled and said, “Just in case.”

Miguel sat out by the pool, waiting for you. He enjoyed being out there because he loved how your skin glistened under the sun.

“Hola, Senor Galindo.” You greeted him tiredly. You wanted him to feel bad for making you come over right after your trip.

Miguel knew he should feel a bit of guilt, but he couldn’t as he watched you take off your jacket revealing how snug your tank top was and how it accentuated your curves. “Hermosa,” he got up from his seat to greet you properly. He wrapped you in his arms and had to resist the urge to bury his nose in your hair. It was so intoxicating that Miguel found himself buying the same hair products you used to comfort him during the lonely nights.

His arms around you were beginning to be a little too much, so you backed out of them and gently pushed him into his seat. “Couldn’t wait one more day, could you?”

Miguel unashamedly shrugged his shoulders. “One more day and I’ll look like a Duck Dynasty reject.”

“Aw, we couldn’t have that.” You teased, wrapping the apron around him.

The conversation with Miguel was kept light and amusing as you worked on his beard. For a busy cartel boss, he was surprisingly up to date with all the small town gossip. You probably had Dita to thank for that.

“How was Los Angeles? I got scared for a bit and thought you would get caught up in the glitz and glamour and not come back to Santo Padre.” Miguel was right, you were fascinated with LA, but only for a moment. Two days there and you were already homesick. It was crowded, there was too much traffic, and they didn’t even have real Mexican food.

“No, never. I love Santo Padre too much. But Chris Evans came dangerously close to making me change my mind.” The reason for your trip was because your work as a barber was getting more recognition. So much so that THE Christopher Jamal Evans dm’d you to shape up his hairline and beard. It was unbelievable. You cut hair of up and coming artists in surrounding areas, but you never thought you would cut hair for one of Hollywood’s biggest stars.

“Is that so?” Miguel asked clearly bothered, but you didn’t notice because you were too busy rambling about Chris.

Chris smelled so good. Chris was so much bigger in person. You felt like Peggy when Steve stepped out the pod. Chris was the sweetest. Chris had the softest touch. Chris was so funny. Chris’ dog was the cutest. Chris, Chris, Chris. If Miguel heard about Chris anymore, he would lose his mind.

“Oh, and he took me to dinner with Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie! Can anybody say choo-choo?” You were laughing at your own joke until you felt fingers in your core. To keep your balance, you had to grab onto Miguel’s shoulders.

“Emily,” you mumbled the wife’s name of the client who currently had their fingers deep in your pussy.

“That wasn’t the name I was expecting. Sure, it wasn’t supposed to be mines? Or better yet Chris’?” Was that jealousy you heard? Did he even have the right to be jealous? He was a married man with a child.

“We can’t, you’re- Fuck!” His fingers massaging your walls made it difficult for you to form coherent sentences.

Miguel was enjoying this. With a touch he was making you fall apart. “Hmm, what was that?” He continued to finger you while he massaged your inner thigh with his free hand.

“We can’t do this, Miguel. You’re married!” In between whimpers you managed to get that out.

Taking his fingers out of you, he made a dramatic showing of licking his fingers clean. “Sabrosa. (Tasty).” Miguel pulled you onto his, thigh, his face gentle now as he held your chin in his hand. “I’m separated. I gave Emily the divorce papers the day you left.”

His words took a while to settle in, but when they did Miguel almost laughed at you shocked little face. “You better not be playing with me, Miguel Galindo!” You slapped him across the chest.

Miguel took the offending hand and pressed a kiss to it. “I promise. I’m giving her a couple of days to get over the shock and read over the papers. She’ll sign them, trust me.”

His reassurance was all you needed. Squealing, you wrapped your arms around Miguel’s neck and smashed your lips against his. It wasn’t long before Miguel slipped his tongue inside of your mouth, taking control of the kiss.

“Finish your job, mi cielo.” Miguel ordered. You tried to get up, but Miguel slammed you back down on his thigh, insisting you finish the job there. Miguel’s hands roaming all over your body made it hard to focus. You let him know that he wasn’t playing fair and his response was, “You’ll learn that I never play fair.”

Soon enough, you finished cleaning up his beard, but Miguel didn’t let you linger and admire your work. “I think I need some moisturizer for my beard.”

“What?! I just applied some.”

Miguel wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the couch. He laid down on it while he kept you on top of him. “Yeah, but you’re going to ride my face until your pussy juices soak my beard, mami.”

You still had you smock on with all of your tools in it. Miguel untied it but not before grabbing your blade and slicing your skirt and panties apart. “Such a pretty pussy and its all mine.” Miguel ran his fingers along your slit, making you shiver.

Gripping your hips, Miguel settled you over his lips. His tongue softly made love to your folds. You held onto his hair and called out his name. The devil had a silver tongue and knew how to use it. Instinctively, you rolled your hips against his mouth, riding him like he told you.

“There you go, sweetheart. Ride me just like that. Use me to get yourself off and ready for my cock.”

You followed his orders, but not without a little fun. Never being a selfish lover, you decided to dish out some pleasure of your own. Reaching behind you, you unbuckled Miguel’s belt and pants. His dick practically fumbled out his boxers. The way it slapped against his stomach, told you it was a monster. You got your confirmation when you placed your hand around it. How he would fit was beyond you, but y’all would make it work.

As you stroke him Miguel’s moans turned you on so much that you could see your juices dripping down his beard. Turns out your wetness was a good moisturizer after all. However, you didn’t allow yourself to appreciate it for long. Your attention was needed elsewhere.

Miguel was about to complain about his new favorite meal being taken away from him when he felt you lift up from his mouth.

“What? You’re the only one who can get a taste?” You asked mischievously, pressing a soft kiss to his engorged head.

Miguel smacked your ass. “Nobody likes a tease. Suck this dick, mami.” He thrusted his hips upwards and you welcomed his dick with an open warm mouth.

You prided yourself on being a good dick sucker, but with Miguel sucking on your clit and his fingers carving his name out in your pussy, you were beginning to doubt yourself. So many moans were coming out of your mouth that you barely sucked his dick. But when you did manage to get your mouth around it, you decided Miguel was the best thing you tasted. He was more addictive than the drugs he sold. And the smell of him…god he even smelled expensive down there.

You were so caught up in admiring his dick, that you didn’t notice your orgasm sneaking up on you, almost making you choke on his dick. “Imma have to train you how to properly take my cock, cariña. But that’ll have to wait til later.”

Miguel place you on the couch and took off the rest of his clothes. His eyes remained on you as you shed your top and bra. He couldn’t help but be amazed by your beauty. No matter how long he would be with you, he would never get over you.

“Querida, I promise to give you the world.”

“I’ll just settle for your heart.” Miguel’s soft smile warmed you throughout your body and you promised yourself you’ll do whatever you could to keep that smile on his face. “And your dick as well.” You began to stroke him again.

His growl and how quickly he jumped on you surprised you. “That’s why you deserve everything. You’re the sweetest, dirtiest little thing.”

Running your hands up and down Miguel’s chest and trailing kisses up his neck, you nipped at his ear. “Miguel, if you don’t put your dick in me right now, I swe- FUCK!”

Your cartel daddy filled you up to the brink, bringing a pinch of pain with overwhelming pleasure. Nothing could describe how good he was making you feel. All you knew was that Miguel ruined other men for you.

The moans and expletives coming out of your mouth was a boost to Miguel’s ego. Earlier he was scared that your feelings for him disappeared. Enclosing his hand around your throat, Miguel leaned down to just barely hover over your lips. “I bet Christopher Evans couldn’t have you creaming like this. Could he?”

“No, he couldn’t,” you whimpered. Miguel began to thrust into you harder causing your legs to shake uncontrollably.

“Then, I bet not ever hear another word about him or his little friends using you as a cumdump. You’re mine little cumdump and no one else. Entiendes?”

Tears were running down your face from how good Miguel was giving it to you. “Yes, I understand, daddy.”

“Good. Now cum all over this dick, mi reina.” Miguel kissed the edge of your mouth and intertwined his fingers with yours. The soft gesture had you falling over the edge. Miguel soon followed after you.

The two of you spent a few minutes in silence basking in each other’s glory. When Miguel noticed you drifiting off to sleep, he decided to carry you to his room for a more comfortable rest. The next morning when you woke up, you were grateful that Nestor brought your bags in after all.

Tags: @starrynite7114 @ifoundmyhappythought @sadeyesgf @woahitslucyylu @marvelmaree @angrythingstarlight @teakturn @marvelmaree @thickemadame @dearsamcrobae @strawberrywritings

#miguel galindo #miguel #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo x black!reader #miguel x reader #miguel x black!reader #mayans mc #mayans #black!reader #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 3 years

Text

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Gen

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter except for like, the word orgasm

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 8/16 (all chapters)

The sports festival was over before you knew it. You left the school grounds on a high, proud of being even slightly involved in such an impressive event.

You knew that the next few days were going to be frantic, so made a point to stop off at the store to pick up some last minute groceries while you had the chance to do so. They were having a sale on seasonal produce and you ended up buying more than you meant to, struggling under the weight of your numerous bags as you arrived at your house.

You lifted your bags to reach for your keys, only to catch your ankle on something and fall face first onto your own doorstep, vegetables flying everywhere in your wake. Somehow you avoided smashing your face against the concrete and escaped with only minor grazes on your knees and palms. You rolled over onto your back with a hiss of pain, wondering what the hell you’d tripped over.

You got your answer soon enough, though you didn’t like it. Shouta was sitting on the ground beside you, pointedly looking away. You realised in horror that you had almost certainly flashed your underwear on the way down. Heck, you were flashing him then.

“Oops,” you said, quickly rearranging yourself and clapping a hand in your lap for good measure. “Were you...waiting for me?”

It was a stupid question and you knew it. Why else would he be sitting at your door?

He’d got the food containers that you’d given him in his lap and you felt more than a passing pang of joy at the knowledge that he must have eaten everything you had made for him, even if you were still more than a little miffed that he’d gone back to work without rest.

“Come on in,” you said, getting up to gather the vegetables you’d dropped everywhere. Thankfully you hadn’t bought anything particularly fragile. “I’ll make some-

He reached out to take the bags from you and you glanced from his casts to his blank expression and back again. He wanted to help, that much was clear, but there was no way you were going to push all of your groceries into his injured arms. Instead you lifted a single bright red tomato from your bag and set it down on top of the food containers he already had.

He was far from impressed by the gesture, but said little of it as he followed you into your home. You headed to the sink to wash your hands and hissed with pain when the water hit your grazes.

“What is it?”

Shouta peered over your shoulder, standing so close that you could feel his breath against the back of your neck. It was more than a little distracting, all things considered.

“You really are an idiot,” he sighed.

For a second, and only one, you agreed with him.

“Wait. Me?? I’m the idiot?! Why were you sitting at my door in the first place?”

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“And you shouldn’t sit in such a prime tripping position,” you said. “I could have broken my nose!”

You turned towards him, ready to make a comment about how he was exactly like a cat, running between your legs and trying to trip you over onto your ass, but you fell silent at the realisation that you were at kissing level.

“Oh,” you said. “Hello.”

He glanced at your lips, however briefly.

“Sorry,” he said. “I came to talk about...I came to talk about 1-A.”

“Okay,” you said, “um...where would you like to start?”

He stood there, eying you from head to toe as if you were a battle scene and he needed to devise a strategy. You might not have known it, but in many respects you were.

“I didn’t come to talk about 1-A.”

“No.”

Truth be told, you already knew. You had both dreaded and looked forward to this moment; the discussion about the kiss. You were both adults and couldn’t dance around the topic forever, no matter how much you might have wanted to.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I took advantage of you and I shouldn’t have, I-”

“Stop it with that. If I didn’t want to kiss you, I wouldn’t have.”

He was so close...so warm. He was close enough to touch and you couldn’t distract yourself from it. The students weren’t the only ones you hoped your feelings reached. You wanted him to know how much you had feared for him the day of the accident; the feelings deep within you that you didn’t want to leave behind.

You didn’t want him to leave you behind.

“I…”

“Hizashi,” he said.

It was perhaps the last thing you expected him to say and you weren’t sure how to respond.

“Uh...I’m (Name).”

He laughed at that under his breath, so quietly that you wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t standing so extraordinarily close.

“Fried chicken,” he continued, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was having a stroke. “Black nail polish, green candies.”

“Shouta…”

You planted a hand on his forehead to feel his temperature, wondering if you should call an ambulance. Maybe it wasn’t only his orbital cavity that had been damaged.

“Purple socks, studded leather, zombie movies, horror games, candles that smell like desserts, cheap sunglasses, expensive shampoo, eighties rock and dubstep mashups, light beer…” he skimmed your hairline. “(HC) hair.”

“Shouta, what are you…”

He took a step back and crossed his arms as much as one could with two casts.

“Those are the things Mic likes,” he said, as politely as if you were strangers. “Bear them in mind.”

“Uh...okay,” you said, wondering if his birthday was coming up. “I will.”

Shouta nodded and you couldn’t help but wonder. If it was just Hizashi’s birthday, why did he look so sad?

“I’m rooting for you,” he said, giving you a polite bow.

You stared at your front door for a long time after he left, going over everything he had said. You couldn’t understand why he had looked so upset, however briefly.

What had any of it got to do with Hizashi? Why did it matter if you knew the kind of movies he liked?

Why would he-

Realisation hit you like an ice cold bath as you considered recent events: Hizashi’s immediate invitation for beers the day that you met; his insistence that you called him by his first name within a matter of hours of meeting. Hizashi, who seemed incapable of going a single conversation without calling you ‘cute’. Hizashi, who nudged you with his elbow the last time you had recorded Support Mic and told you with a wink that the walls were soundproof.

You moved towards your cupboards and began to pack your groceries away, too many thoughts circling your mind for you to settle on a single one.

This was, to say the least, an interesting development.

~~~~~~

Aizawa Shouta had suffered many misfortunes in his life. He had lost friends, family and students alike, had slept in the cold with nothing but a cigarette for dinner.

He had almost always accepted his misfortunes with grace; it was easier to dodge punches when you saw them coming.

Even so, he left your home slowly, thinking of Shinohara.

Hizashi and Nemuri had him wrong; since high school, they had believed he was oblivious to her advances and discarded her love notes by mistake. As a matter of fact, he had done so deliberately.

What was it you had said the night of the reset? That you had never done such a thing before and didn’t know what came next?

Shouta knew as much about relationships as you did casual flings.

He had read each one of Shinohara’s notes. He had seen the way she behaved like a deer in headlights and concluded that he didn’t understand any of it. She spoke of him in such abstract and illogical terms that he wondered if she knew him at all.

It was easier to believe she didn’t. When she spoke of kind eyes and wisdom, she meant someone else. She offered up a piece of her heart with every letter and he was doing her a favour by not taking them. That person she liked didn’t exist.

Casual lovers didn’t expect anything from him other than an orgasm, which was easy enough to provide with practise. Longer term partners, though, that was something else entirely. He didn’t know the first thing about being someone’s boyfriend, but he did know that Hizashi would make the perfect one. In the long run, you would be better off with him.

It was easier to dodge punches when you saw them coming; easier to avoid disappointments when you didn’t hope for things in the first place.

Even so, he caught himself thinking back to the day of the reset.

You chased after him then and, if he was completely honest, he wanted you to now.

~~~~

While you cooked dinner and Shouta returned home, Hizashi sat at the bar in Ego , sipping at his drink with a depressed expression that completely contrasted the upbeat music playing over the speakers.

He had gone to Ego straight from work, meaning to ask about the mystery woman. He’d gotten distracted, though, watching the video over and over instead of showing it to the staff. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Shouta held the woman’s hand in his.

He’d held Shouta’s hand before, during training exercises or to find him in crowds, but it had never had the same feel to it that he saw in the video. Shouta had always been reluctant about it, never once taking the lead and Hizashi felt oddly jealous, wondering why he had never received the same level of tenderness as the woman at Ego .

For the briefest of moments, he was tempted to delete the video and erase the mystery woman from their lives. He didn’t like what she represented, no matter how wonderful she might have been.

He downed his drink in one with a grimace, catching the attention of the bartender.

“Can I get you a refill?”

Hizashi sighed, twirling his glass and spinning the ice cubes within.

“Yeah, maybe something harder.”

“Mic, you’re going to scare away the customers at this rate. What’s the matter with you?”

Hizashi set aside his glass with a sigh.

“I’m looking for a woman,” he said.

“Aren’t we all?”

“Not like that. She was here about six months ago. Had drinks with Eraser. I was hoping you’d remember her.”

The bartender laughed as he reached for a bottle of rum.

“Listen,” he said, grabbing a glass and setting it down on the bar with a flourish. “I have a better memory than most, but even I can’t remember that far back.”

“Don’t you have CCTV or something? It’s pretty important that we find her.”

“Oh? She do something illegal?”

“No, I just want to talk to her.”

The bartender poured rum into the glass, flinching at his answer.

“I’ll be honest,” he said. “The boss man handles all of that stuff and I doubt he’d part with that kind of information without a formal subpoena. Do you have any idea how many creepy guys come to us looking for girl’s numbers?”

Hizashi reached for his newly filled drink.

“Not even for me?”

“ Especially not for you. If anything went south it would be even more of a scandal.”

Hizashi hadn’t expected to hit a dead end so early on and didn’t know how to feel about it. He wondered if he should have followed his instincts and deleted the video after all.

He wondered about it on the train ride home, as he combed his hair, as he sat down in his studio. He played the video on silent and scrolled through it as he loaded up each track.

Finally, at minutes past midnight, he leaned into his microphone.

“Now, listeners,” he said, “here’s a song for the lovers.”

There and then he played a song of unrequited love, of strangers on trains and secret words and crossed paths, a song that bled with emotion and longing. A song that you sang along to as it played through your earphones. A song that Shouta nodded his head along to on his balcony, Sushi curled up on his lap.

Hizashi closed his eyes as he listened to the song, the video from Ego loaded and his finger hovering over ‘delete’.

One tap and the mystery woman would be gone forever. One tap and this feeling of dejectedness would leave him. He wouldn’t have to think anymore about what she represented, the realisations she had forced upon him without ever introducing herself.

One tap and he wouldn’t be the Shinohara.

He locked his phone instead and set it aside, the video safe for another day.

He told himself the same thing you told yourself as you stared at your bedroom ceiling, thinking of the way Shouta had backed away.

He told himself the same thing Shouta told himself as he thought of your lips and bewildered expression.

I shouldn’t be selfish. This is the way it should be.

#aizawa shouta #hizashi yamada #present mic #aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #habanero

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seijohsfairy · 3 years

Text

you’ve been in love with kuroo tetsuro for years, silently supporting from the sidelines. it’s where you feel comfortable, felt- comfortable. so now that kuroo finds out you’re his most loyal fan?

.wordc. 9.5k tw manipulation, degradation!, corruption, bullying, dubcon/noncon, coercion, yandere kuroo, fingering, oral, Kuroo is on the world’s biggest ego trip

.author’s note. I finally finished this monster after struggling for so long ( ɵ̥̥ ˑ̫ ɵ̥̥) inspired by fanatic by @/jackrrabbit. if you want to read an amazing bullying smut, it’s seriously perfection

An obsession. If someone asked, you’d never call it that. An appreciation of the sport maybe, or of the hard work and dedication of the players. But an obsession might’ve been more accurate, as you have been a fan for years now. At least you can admit it to yourself. Not a day goes by where you forget to think about volleyball, and more in particular, him. It’s not your fault it makes you so happy… It’s not at all, and yet—

You’re able to watch the young men through the open doors of the gym, the resounding bangs of spikes flattening against the polished floor filling the building. You huff out in the afternoon sun and hide under the sun-bleached, red parasol as best you can, before wiping a bead of sweat from your temple. Soon everyone will be pouring out of the classrooms, which brings a smile to your face. But for now, you spare another look inside the bright hall, following the red jerseys as they move swiftly around the court. The speed at which the balls connect with the floor have always impressed you, but your eyes are instead on the middle of the group, tracing the number one mindlessly.

“Senpai, are you alright?” your junior squeaks out. You flinch in surprise at her question, almost dropping the drink you’re holding in the process. Her short brown hair sticks to her face where a wide-eyed expression marks it, though a small, unsure smile stays in place. You quickly bring out a laugh though, waving off her concern.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry,” you put down the glass can and press your cool fingers to your forehead, smiling, “the heat just makes it hard to actually pay attention. Could you repeat that, please?”

“I’m just so glad you suggested this, s’all!” she beams, putting the last of the lemonade out on the table, each can in between ice packs. They’re already dripping, coming summertime close to unbearable. “My big brother always talks about the fanclub at home and that other teams don’t have a fanclub near as good as ours!” You smile at her while you pour chunks of ice into the white wine, putting it out too. The entire table is decorated with the team colors, flyers to one side, donation jar and cash register on the other, with all the drinks, ice pops and watermelon slices in the middle.

You even made all of the small, red cat charms that hang from the parasol yourself. A bit overkill perhaps, but no effort really feels big enough when you’re as dedicated to a team as you are, even if it’s embarrassing to say. But well… you’d do just about anything to support Nekoma and the man you’ve been crushing on for years now. While you peer up at the windows of the classrooms, mentally keeping track of just how much longer you’d have to wait for the rest of the fanclub to join you, you miss the proud look the younger girl sends your way. Yui, the libero’s younger sister, pulls her hair up in a tiny ponytail. “You must be so proud since you started it all by yourself.”

You look back down at her, flushing. “Of course I am proud of the fanclub, but I’m even more proud of our team. Y’know, I’ve been watching some of them since middle school and they all seem to enjoy it so much. It makes me want to support them in any way I can.” You’ve taken the requests of the team to heart to the best of your ability. Hopefully you can sell a lot, they’d really need new cleaning equipment and some of the shorts and jerseys could definitely be replaced with new ones.

“Of course Nekoma’s angel would say that,” a voice giggles, the black haired girl strolling up behind you. All the others walk close behind, right when the bell indicating the last class rings. The rest of the fanclub waves politely, many of the girls with their own healthy flush. “Make some space, Mrs. Kuroo, everyone will be getting out in a minute or so.” You give the other third-year a little poke in her side, looking down at the menu as you pick at the corner of the laminated sheet. It’s so silly, but the nickname makes you all warm inside. How nice it would be to actually be… well. You shouldn’t think so far ahead, or not ahead at all, since Kuroo Tetsuro has absolutely zero interest in you. The overflowing amount of love you have for him isn’t making up for anything.

“Don’t call me Mrs. Kuroo. It’s embarrassing,” you tell the raven-haired girl, glancing back inside the hall for just a moment to watch as said man gulps down his water, sweat drenching his hairline and dripping down his chin. “Even if I like it, he doesn’t know I exist.” Some of the girls coo at your admission, all of them at least aware that you’ve looked up to the Captain for years. Your friend sends you a knowing look, before cracking her fingers and getting to work on the cash register. She’s been trying to get you to say something for months, and with the last few weeks of high school growing closer and closer, you can’t even blame her.

But what would you even say to the guy you’ve crushed on for so long? After all, you’ve been in his class for three years now and he never once spoke to you directly either. He’d probably be creeped out by your dedication to him. Before you can think of any more, bunches of students start pouring out of the buildings, looking tired out by the day. When they see your stand, many of them light up, already taking out their wallets to get some cool lemonade. You clap your hands and look at the girls surrounding you, before nodding. “Alright, let’s do this! We’re going to sell everything out today. Yui, you get that side?” You turn to the first few customers and put on your best smile, handing them a menu. “Welcome to the Neko Outdoor Café! Would you like a drink?”

///

“Captain!” Yamamoto calls, pout more pronounced with each passing second. “Please let us take a break. Please.” He’s about to get on his knees and beg. “Come on, man. I need this.”

The raven haired man just lifts a brow in his direction, before turning his attention back to the bench so he can tie his shoelaces properly. “Shut up, you’re being noisy.” He doesn’t care to ask what the guy is on about, already more than annoyed at having to practice in this sweltering heat. Every movement feels slower than usual, it’s pissing him off.

“They’re going to sell out and leave, Captain!” the other tries again, tugging at the edge of Kuroo’s jersey like a child. In fact, he looks like he might burst into tears. The Captain ignores him.

“I’m sure they’re keeping some extras for us,” Yaku tries, smacking Lev’s hand away from his water bottle and downing the last of it.

Kenma hums. “You know they wouldn’t leave us with nothing, they’re all so thoughtful.” The setter is already trying to soothe a teary-eyed Yamamoto, while Kuroo straightens out to wipe himself down with a towel. “They probably have a whole pack of ice lollies stored away for after practice. Our cheer squad leader wouldn’t be caught dead forgetting about anyone.” At the mention of your name, the Captain frowns, the sound unfamiliar. “She even remembered to bring some mango for me last time, and I don’t even remember telling her I don’t like watermelon that much.”

“Who now?” Kuroo frowns. He pokes out his tongue to wet his lips, following his team’s gazes to outside the gym, where rows of students are lining up. He can just see the edge of a red table, curiosity peaked.

Kenma’s face blanks when he looks over at his long time friend. “The leader of the fanclub? She’s been to every one of our matches since like… eighth grade or something. How have you never noticed her?” Some of the boys turn to him in confusion too. Kuroo crosses his arms over his chest, before chewing on his answer. It’s not that he ignores anyone on purpose. But your name doesn’t ring a bell, neither does the description.

“Pretty sure she really likes you, too,” Lev suddenly says, getting up from his spot on the floor to bound closer to the door to watch past it. “She always wears clothes with the number 1 and your name on it. She’s very nice, she bought me chocolate milk after our last game.” He stares out the door for a moment longer, before perking up and waving for his older teammates’ attention. “Ooh ooh, she has ice creams for us, she’s calling. Can we please take a break, Captain?”

Everyone turns to the third year. Even Kenma is giving him an unspoken question with his expression. “Fine, whatever,” Kuroo just sighs, giving into their antics. “But after that we’re getting back to spike training and you better all jump higher than I’ve ever seen you jump.”

While waiting in line, he asks to point you out. You’re busy smiling at every single student that comes by, colored shadow falling over you because of the sun shade that is just as red as the rest of the table. Just as red as your flushed face, and as red as the shirt that you’re wearing with his name on it. You look kind, with a childlike joy on your face, innocent in the way you beam out warmth. And after staring at you for a while, you do start to look a bit familiar. Huh. So this is what his biggest fan looks like. He’s not let down, not exactly, though he does wish that you’d focus less on the lemonade and more on him as he waits in line with the rest of the team. But it’s understandable, you’re just trying your best. Even he can see that.

Suddenly, you look up from the cash register, having been shoved in the side with an elbow by your friend and in the split second he catches your eyes, he can see several emotions flash in them. The last one before you look away is definitely wide-eyed mortification though. You look away from him and turn to your friend, whispering something in her ear as your cheeks grow red-hot. You blank at her answer, before biting your lip. It’s strange, but something in the things you do are cute to him. How you nervously toy with the edge of your shirt. How you try to keep your eyes on the ground but glance back every so often anyway. How you put on a smile. You must really, truly like him. And he can’t say he doesn’t like at least that. That innocent expression on your face is to die for. Really.

After a minute or so, you seem to gather your wits and look up to walk from behind the stall. “Guys, you don’t have to wait in line. Come up here,” you wave them over, not looking at him at all. Somehow, this only makes him giddier, wanting to see you flush even harder. Maybe you’d pass out if he talked to you. Maybe you’d cry. Would you even be able to handle it if he got any closer? The smirk that clings to his lips is one of ego-filled happiness, he can’t help himself. Something about you makes him feel like he’d be able to break you with the slightest of pressure, and though he’s never quite wanted to control someone like that, he can’t say it doesn’t feel exhilarating.

Everyone moves out of the one line to skip to the front, as you busy yourself by glancing under the tables to pull out an extra cooler, opening it swiftly. That way your skirt pulls up insanely high, though you try to keep it down with one hand. Oblivious to what you’re doing, surely. His cute, little fan. He’ll have to give you a lesson on proper manners, but not now. All in due time. When everyone starts thanking you, you just rub your neck, straightening back up.

“How much are they?” Kenma asks, “I’ll pay. Is it alright if I get the money to you after practice though?”

“No, no!” you beam, “they’re free for you guys! I could hardly let our own team pay for some stupid ice pops and lemonade.” You don’t hesitate to smile at Kenma. Kuroo holds his tongue from breaking into your conversation for now, instead taking one of the watermelon slices and biting into it. You seem to sink into yourself a bit when he turns back in your direction, almost as if you’re trying to disappear into the background entirely. Would be hard though, with that bright a shirt. “We also have wine if the adults want any,” you continue, shooting Kai and Yaku a guilty glance then and trailing off. “Though that might not be a good idea if you’re still practicing.”

You still have yet to look back at him, creating a void of something in the pit of his stomach. Why don’t you want to look at him as much as he wants to look at you? “Are there any strawberry pops?” Lev asks, probably aimed at you but Kuroo’s already taking a step towards you before you can answer.

This way you’re not able to ignore him any longer. Your eyes are so big and stunned when you glance up at him, tilting your head back just so you can look him in the face. There you are, he thinks. You pull a lip into your mouth, cheeks burning with color. Your chest heaving up and down, heart clearly pounding so hard he swears he can hear it. And Kuroo is living for it, the thrill of making you so affected by his presence undeniable. He wants to be the one to make you so flustered, wants to be the one to taint it too. He does know that’s probably not normal, but it’s so tempting. He smiles down at you, watching when your lips tremble softly. Cute. He softly calls out your name, grinning wider when you seem to mellow for a moment at the sound. “Did you do all this yourself?” he asks, enjoying the starstruck expression on your face.

You have to take a moment to get yourself back on track, clearly. Understandable. “Mhm,” you manage though, looking anywhere but him again when you realize you’re staring. “W-Well, everyone helped plan it, of course. I just made everything they planned out.”

“Yeah?” His smirk has yet to leave his face, but if it could grow any wider, now would be the time. You give a shy nod, looking back up at him for a moment. “The lemonade looks good. The watermelon’s good too.”

You’re practically glowing at his compliment, taking a step back to roll yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. He wants to place his hands on your shoulders to keep you still, but really, you might just faint if he does so he holds himself back. “T-thank you s-so much! I’m glad you like it. I hope you’ll be able to use the funds well, but if you ever need anything else, you can always ask me,” you lift your shoulder and smile at him for just a moment, blush still raging on your face. You blank then, quickly adding, “or any of the other girls! We’re all here to support you, so… p-please keep working hard and doing your best a bit longer!” You’re stuttering like crazy too. He’ll have to work that out of you.

Before he can say anything else, someone calls for your name, so you quickly bow and rush back to your spot behind the stall. The girls giggle and poke at you, some of them hardly subtle in their whispering and cooing. And Kuroo smiles, because he might have just found something new to peak his interest.

///

You couldn’t have known. Not really. You couldn’t have known the full extent of his anger and definitely not how it would turn on you. So why does it feel like you made a horrible mistake? As you are sweeping the last of the hall, you hear the familiar, resounding echo of volleyballs smacking against the smooth surface. It’s a sound that’s long grown near and dear to your heart. Still, you put the brush to the side to make your way to the gym door where it stands swung open. It’s a Friday. The Nekoma team doesn’t play volleyball after school hours on Fridays. You frown as you peek around the cold, metal door into the otherwise vacant hall. As the class representative this term, you’re basically expected to be the last one here.

The man causing the constant butterflies in your stomach is facing away from you, frustration seeming to radiate off him in angry, black swirls as he throws balls against the wall, making continuous tosses to himself. You wait for a moment longer, glancing back into the school building as you debate your options. Though you were unable to watch the end of practice, you saw the beginning. Kuroo was anything but the collected player he normally is, the sight of it making your heart ache. Very hesitantly, you knock your knuckles against the metal. You rather wouldn’t be putting yourself in his proximity by choice, last time enough to make you so flushed and flustered you were stumbling all over your words.

Still though, you just want to help him. Maybe you could make him feel just a bit better. “Kuroo-san?” you try softly when he doesn’t react. He catches the ball at your call, pausing for a second. Then he turns to you. A shadow on his face, tall shape seeming to loom over you even from afar. You dig your nails into your own palms at the sharp glare that’s sent your way, his eyes flicking over your entire body, coming to rest back on your face. He doesn’t say anything, so you try to gather your courage and clear your voice, taking a step into the gym. “I- Sorry, I heard you still practicing. Are you- I mean- I don’t want to assume or anything, b-but- you don’t normally practice on Friday.”

The brief flicker of courage you had soon sinks deep within the pit of your chest as the silence continues. He bounces the ball on the floor once before catching it again, lifting one of his brows. Still with that gleam in his eyes, the one set off by the darkness cast around him. Then he sighs, and in a second his smile is plastered back on. The smile you’ve grown so used to seeing from afar, but it doesn’t feel quite right. It certainly doesn’t reach his eyes. It looks a bit off too, lopsided like he’s trying to convince himself to keep it up. “You— Ah, you’re the… fan club girl,” he nods. He tosses the ball up a few times, seemingly thinking, before he clicks his tongue. His deep voice resonates through the empty hall. “Yeah, sorry if I’m bothering you. I wanted to get some more practice in.”

You wring your hands into the front of your shirt, mindlessly bunching it up in between your fingers. When his eyes are back on you, you have to fight yourself from taking a step back. “No, you’re not bothering me at all, I don’t expect any less from our team Captain.” You swallow. Then, barely louder than the thumping of your heartbeat against your ribs, a thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. “Would you like me to help you practice for a bit?” It’s a little thing, so small, and you’ve done it for Lev and Kenma plenty of times. But your hands shake when you ask.

Kuroo’s eyebrows pull tightly together, his expression looking so off-putting even when you normally think everything about him is beautiful. You think he’s perfect, even drenched entirely in sweat and with grooves dug deep under his eyes, exhausted to the bone, so why? Why does he glare at you this way, and how can you make your heart stop wavering in your chest? You briefly stand there to think about what you just said, trying to figure out exactly what you did wrong to make him feel even more shitty, but come up blank. He must have misread your tone of voice, or maybe you had a dumb expression on your face. Just some stupid mistake you made. That’s the only explanation you have why amazing, gorgeous, perfect star player Kuroo is acting the way he is.

“Do you even know anything about volleyball? You don’t look like you do.” The sharp comment feels like a slap to the face, and you take in a little breath as you attempt to rid the unsettling tension between you two. Maybe soothing him isn’t the way to go, but you know Kuroo makes himself feel better with practice and that is something you can do. For him, you could for hours.

“I— I can… serve alright,” you hesitate, looking from his face to his shoes instead. “I know a l-lot about volleyball and though I- I might not be the best, I’d still help, right?” His sharp eyes are still on you like an accusation, and no, no, no, this is all wrong but you don’t know how to fix it.

“Aah,” Kuroo coos then, chuckling to himself as he passes the ball your way, “you want to help me.” You barely catch it, clutching it close to your chest as he motions you closer with his hand. “O‘course you do.” With sheepish steps you make your way toward him because he asked, staying an arm’s length away for your own poor heart. Last time you were this close to Kuroo, all you could do was give some mindless encouragement, even though you were trying. You just couldn’t help get flustered back then. A cold shiver makes its way up your spine though, and you fight the pressing feeling to run. This is your favorite person in the world you’re looking at, and you’d do anything for him. You would, really. “Because you’re my fan, aren’t you?” he echoes your thoughts, and you bob your head in reply.

Your voice is barely above a whisper now, throat closing up when he leans in as if to inspect you more thoroughly. “Yes, of course, Kuroo-san. I’ve been a fan since I first saw you play a match back in middle school.” You wince at your honesty. Don’t tell him that, your mind screams, but it’s too late. All you can do is bite your lip to keep more from tumbling out.

“Yeah, yeah, so I heard.” He gleams, petting your hair and you try to keep your elation to a minimum, because his eyes are still just as sharp as they were when you first walked in, but butterflies flutter in your stomach. His fingers linger for a moment, the weight of his hand making your heart jump. It’s gone soon enough. “You in my class?” You nod eagerly, but while you do he’s already speaking again. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You’re my biggest fan, huh?” He’s leaning closer again, closer, too close, almost like he’s going to kiss you and you might sink through the floor if he gets any closer.

You try not to let the faint smell of his cologne overwhelm you, his face flushed at the edges of his cheeks because of the exertion. You open your mouth to figure out a response again, but Kuroo is faster. “You come to each match, hoping I’d notice you, right? Begging for my attention like a little kid, wearing my name on your body like that. Don’t you feel embarrassed?”

It takes your brain a while to unfilter the words, playing and replaying them now that you take a step back. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be so obsessed with me? Such a cute, little fangirl, just begging for a look your way?” No. It’s not like that, you are not like that. You’re not obsessed, you just care a lot about him. About the entire team. “Pretending to be into volleyball so you can talk to me, right? Do you talk to Yaku’s sister so you can get to me? Do you talk to Kenma so you can get to me too?” You want him to stop talking, why is he still talking? Why is he acting this way at all?

“N-No, it’s not like that,” you bring out, flushing when his hand wraps around your one shoulder to keep you from backing away from him. He straightens out to his full height, towering above you and as you follow his tall body up to his expression, you hate how he is smiling. A loathing, off-centered smile that gleams on his handsome face. The feeling to run grows so strong in your mind that for a moment you can barely ignore it. There’s something wrong. But of course you remain, you just want to make him feel better. “It’s not like that at all. They are my friends. I love volleyball.”

“You love me, Y/N-chan?” he asks then, dark eyes glazing over.

“I— I’m your biggest fan,” you settle on responding. Wouldn’t it be too much to admit you love him, even if you do? He doesn’t seem to take it, looking down at you with thinly veiled irritation now. The fingers on your shoulder tighten, though you’re too distracted to notice. “I mean- Of course I… love… you, but not in an obsessed way! I just have a lot of respect for how hard you work,” you drawl out, throat closing up when the gleam on Kuroo’s face seems to drop in favor of something softer. Something like admiration. You used to love how he would wear his emotions on his face, but now it’s too much. He’s still not satisfied, you can see it. “And I’d do anything to make you feel better so-”

“Hah. Aren’t you just incredibly sweet,” he sighs, finally letting go of your shoulder. You can feel the weight of it long after it’s gone, warmth trailing down your limbs tentatively. You’re so glad you let out a trembling puff of relief. He takes a deep breath, before he smiles again. Softer, familiar, and your heart slowly comes back to life. This is how it’s meant to go, this is how you always imagined it as Kuroo leans down to brush a strand of hair away from your face back behind your ear, sweet and tender. Hair that you keep longer than you’d want because you know Kuroo likes it that way. You’re sure your stress of earlier was showing on your face, cheeks burning for attention. “You’re so pretty like this, my little fangirl. Mine.”

You don’t miss the drop in his voice, a possessive tone that seems misplaced. As he brushes a knuckle past your cheekbone, tingles pool in your belly. “I’ve had a really tough day today, you have no idea. But I’m glad you’re here now. I think I do know how to fix my shitty mood, actually!” He takes your hands in his then, enveloping them with soft traces of his fingers. He pulls you toward the side of the gym, dragging you behind him. Kuroo Tetsuro is holding your hands. It feels too quick, sprung on you so suddenly it makes your head spin, but they are just so warm around yours like you hoped they’d be. The dark-haired man looks back over his shoulder. “You said you will help me, right?”

“Mhm,” you smile, watching him, how his shoulders move under the red volley jersey and his hair waves softly with each step. And he’s still holding your hand. This must be a dream. You’re on a mindless path until he walks you past the lockers and the damp feeling of the shower air hit your face. That’s when you slow your feet and pull against him a little, blinking out of your daze to glance to the side. Kuroo turns to face you. “Hey, this is the boys’ room.” Your obvious statement makes him chuckle, one hand coming up to cup your cheeks and though it’s insanely overwhelming, you don’t have the heart to pull back. He squishes your cheeks together until your lips turn into a cute, little pout.

“You’ve never been in a boys’ locker room, sweet thing? You’re just that good, huh?” Kuroo stares you down with his pretty, golden eyes while you fail to answer. Isn’t being good supposed to be a positive thing? But he says it like it’s something dirty, like you’re not quite right and you can’t help the sinking feeling that fills you to the brim. He pushes the door to your side into lock, the loud clang making your heart race. When he turns back to you, the darkness in his face is what scares you most.

Cats don’t eat cats, do they—

He doesn’t hesitate to grab you by the shoulder and shoves you up against the lockers, your back connecting with the cold metal sharply. You wince, his hand still around your cheeks. It’s so much bigger than you, you realize, he’s so much bigger than you. That never scared you before, but now you’re painfully aware of the looming shape and the way he’s able to look down at you like this. You swallow and keep his golden gaze. But he releases his hold on your face to hold the back of your neck, long fingers splayed across the soft skin, before leaning down so far into you, you can feel the tremble of his breath on your face. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Your eyes are wide, unbelieving. Of course you do, but… You wait for what feels like a lifetime, his warmth too close to you. You can’t say no, can you? So you nod and drop your shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. If he were to kiss you all those uncomfortable feelings swirling inside would surely vanish. Kuroo hovers his lips over yours, you can feel them so close, but no more than that. And he chuckles, tilting your head to the side with two fingers instead. “No. You don’t deserve it yet. Don’t you think you have to work a bit harder for it? I know you’re good at that.”

He walks toward you until you’re fully pinned to the cold locker in between his legs, as he connects his lips with your neck. His lips are so hot, like steaming coals on you, and you can’t help but grab onto his bicep for support. It flexes under your touch. He kisses down your throat and jaw, lips dragging trails of kisses and tongue carving paths down to your collarbones and to the edge of your shirt.

And you’re so overwhelmed that the person you’ve loved for so long is actually touching you, that you don’t notice how tight his grip is wrapped around your neck, fingertips pressing ovals into the expanse. “You just wanted this the whole time, huh,” he coos, voice sickly sweet. But when he looks up at you from under those lashes, the gold in his eyes has the sharpness of a blade, daring you to reply. You shudder when his hand drops down to drag your shirt up. “Bet you’ve had so many guys hoping that one of them would feel and taste like me.” He unceremoniously shoves it up from your body, over your shoulders. You look to the side where it drops to the floor, your school uniform a crumpled mess.

“Kuroo-san,” you bring out, self consciously wrapping your arms around yourself to cover up. You don’t like this. You don’t like him telling you that you’ve had people just to prepare for him, don’t like him eating up the sight of you like you’re a piece of meat and you definitely don’t like how he presses his thigh in between your legs to pin you up to the locker. “W-what are you doing?”

He huffs in amusement, tangling his fingers into the hair at the top of your neck to tug back your gaze towards his. “You can drop the politeness, silly girl,” he says again, letting go to brush softer circles into your skull. His lips brush over yours as you stand there, trembling, unsure what to do. How can you say no to him if he’s here, so close, with you for the first time in ever? He taps his fingers on your hands to make you release your hold on yourself, which you do with a bit more coaching. Maybe you just think this is going way too fast because it is him. The boy that offers his friends water before drinking himself, the one with the loud laugh that rings through the halls and makes your heart thump. The guy you’ve been head over heels with. That one.

This is okay, you say to yourself, calm down. His other hand traces along the bottom of your bra as soon as you drop your arms to the side, slipping a finger under just enough to lift it from your skin and you shiver. “You gonna take this off for me?” he asks, rubbing his thigh in between yours more. You can’t answer because you’re dropping your head back against the locker, overwhelmed and unsure still, with the lack of oxygen getting to you all you can do is let out a little whimper. You don’t know a lot about this, you’re sure he does. The hand around your neck drops so he can flip your skirt up, chuckling at your cute panties. You look down in embarrassment and attempt to shove the plaid fabric back down over your thighs but then he lets out a growl, holding it in place. “You wear my name on your body like my personal whore. Don’t play too shy to follow through.”

His long fingers trace over the edges of the panties, where you take deep breaths to calm down. You can’t help but push your waist down on his muscular leg for some friction, looking to the side when he chuckles. “You really are a little slut.” This time you shake your head though, pouting at him.

“I’m not, Kuroo.”

“Liar,” he breathes, pressing his nose to the crook of your neck. “You act like a well-mannered princess but we both know you want to be put in your place.” Not waiting up for a response, he lifts you by your thighs up higher, so he can bury his face into your covered chest, dragging his tongue over the one cup. You can feel the wetness of his tongue seep through the lacy fabric onto your skin. It’s warm and uncomfortable, his breath cooling your skin down instantly. “If you’re not going to take it off, I will,” he gleams, looking up to check your expression again. Ever so slowly he starts pushing the fabric up, not bothering to unhook the piece of clothing. Instead he toys with brushing over your pointed nipples, kissing up your sternum. His eyes flick to yours continuously, like he’s making a show of undressing you. He licks his lips, leaning towards you again.

“Kuroo,” you manage to mumble, resting your one hand on his shoulder to push him away from you. You stumble when you land back on your feet, looking down at the floor. Burning heat covers your entire face, from your cheeks up to your ears. It’s physically painful to be so near him, and the tight grip on your thighs isn’t helping. Your heart is pitter pattering so hard it might break through your ribcage. Despite how much you dreamed about falling in love with him, it wasn’t like this. “I don’t think this is a good idea. I have to lock up the halls and go home.” Your friend’s voice rings through your head then, something about bad guys and the way they prey on kind girls like you, creating cold goosebumps along your arms again. Kuroo Tetsuro can’t be one of those guys, you’ve looked up to him for so long. If he is, what would you even do? “I want to—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupts, glaring up at your disapproval, “don’t ruin this for me.” Without hesitation he locks his mouth onto your exposed skin, rubbing his knee against your covered center, hard. It sends a spike of heat down your body. You breathe out at the rough laving of his tongue, only soothing after he sucked and bit the tender skin. His one hand reaches up to pull down your panties from under your skirt as soon as you’re closing your eyes, and though you open your mouth to stop him he shuts you up by pinching your thigh sharply between his long fingers. “I told you to stop lying to me. Whatever comes out of that pretty mouth next best be the truth.” He trails his digits up and down a few times, the slightest soothing to your anxiety.

“I… I just don’t—” you swallow, looking away from his eyes to focus on the shine of the lights. They make your eyes burn, but at least you don’t have to undergo his vicious glare this way. It really feels like he despises you for even breathing in his direction, though then why would he be kneeled in front of you. The conflict makes you nauseous, more insecure than you’ve ever been around him and your throat closes up a bit. When his stroking stills, you push through the words anyway. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He laughs. A warm, bubbly sound against your thigh. “No one’s ever stuffed you with their fingers before?” He looks gleeful, nuzzling your hip in a too-intimate gesture. You’re his fan, but he barely knows anything about you. You slowly shake your head, cheeks warming. His hands start moving again as he shuffles closer between your thighs so his mouth is level with your chest. As he eyes you up and down, he giggles to himself. “Did my slutty fan get herself off on the thought of me? D’you beg for me when coming around your useless, little fingers?” You bite your lip, eyes flicking down at him when he calls your name. “I’m waiting for an answer~”

“I don’t—,” you bite out, flustered and feeling small. He must hear the edge in your voice. With a quick flick of his wrist, he brings his down on your thigh, pinching you hard for good measure. You yelp and grab hold of his head to steady yourself, before quickly pulling your hand away again. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Wanna try again?” he mumbles though, trailing two fingers up and down the crotch of your panties. It feels warm, and really good, but you’re still cold to the touch. Is this really okay? You doubt it. When he starts licking at the edge of your panties you shudder, letting your weight fall into the sturdy locker for support. “Hm, d’you get off to me?”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth. You might have touched yourself down there once or twice, but in your imagination that was always long after he’d gotten to know you. In your imagination he was gentle, caring. Nothing like the impatient trailing of his fingers, like he can’t wait to play a game you never agreed to. At his golden gaze, you let the truth spill. “Sometimes,” you breathe, immediately hiding your face in your own shoulder from embarrassment.

“That’s what I thought, dumb girl.” He pushes your panties unceremoniously to the side to collect the slick there, grinning. You didn’t even notice you were getting wet while trying not to anger him. He doesn’t waste time taking advantage of this fact though. He spreads your bottom lips open with his fingers, looking up at you easily. His deep voice feels loud in the pressing silence of the abandoned gym, and you can’t help but wonder how much trouble you’d get in if anyone found you here. “Listen, brat,” he calls, pushing his lips to the top of your thigh to bite the plush skin. You jerk away from him with a cry, but he doesn’t let up.

“I’m gonna push my fingers inside that filthy cunny of yours, stretch out your little hole so you can actually fit something in there. ‘Cause I know you’re a good girl, so you’re probably gonna go braindead if I fuck you like this.” He chuckles at your hitched breathing. You can’t even begin to understand. The person you love more than life itself wants to fuck you? Well, his fingers are still playing down there, slowly pushing into you and they are thick, much thicker than yours. You can’t believe it. Kuroo Tetsuro wants to fuck you, in the boys locker room of the school gym while you should be long on your way out by now. No, you can’t. But you don’t find the words to speak up under his gaze, not wanting to disappoint him. If he notices your mental struggle, he doesn’t show it. “Then you’re gonna help me out like you promised by sucking my cock, right?”

You freeze up. You did say you’d help him, you said that didn’t you… But you didn’t know it would be like this, if you did you would’ve said ‘no’. You curse yourself for saying anything at all, trying to calm your heart as best as you can. You’re feeling so overwhelmed. By his touch, his presence, the situation, the stress put on your poor, frazzled brain. When two of his digits are halfway inside you, you let out a whimper. That’s at least three of your own, you already feel spread so thin. Your fingers find purchase in his soft, raven hair, needing anything to cling to. “Say, ‘Yes, Tetsuro’,” he coos, pressing a row of kisses over the front of your panties, chuckling at the little bow. But the sweet tone is taken away as soon as it comes. “Say it.”

“Y-Yes… Tetsuro.” He hums happily, shoving his fingers inside you in one swift move until his palm is against your center. Your legs almost give out at the feeling. “Ah- ah! S’too much, Kuroo.”

The raven haired man grins at that, curling his digits inside you and pulling them out just as quickly. Like striking a match. You reach up your hand to bite into it, hoping to contain your sounds. Your slick sounds ring through the empty locker room as Kuroo slides them back in and out at a punishing pace. “My dumb, pretty baby really is clueless, huh,” he sighs, long fingers sliding under your knee to place it instead on his shoulder. It only debases you even more, struggling to stay upright as he brings his face in between your legs. When you whimper in embarrassment, calling his name, he scoffs. “You should let me play this how I want to, since you clearly don’t know anything.”

The curl of his long fingers brushing up against the soft, spongy part of your walls makes your brain numb. His words hurt. You don’t want them to, you wish they didn’t. “My dumb slut,” he hisses, before the harsh lines of his mouth are buried between your thighs. His tongue sweeps out to deliver a long swipe from his pumping fingers to the top of your slit, before swirling around the nub making you tremble. Your belly tenses, coil in the pit of your stomach growing irritatingly tight as he grinds his face against your pussy, obscenely slurping at the wetness. Your fingers twitch in his fluffy hair, attempting to comb through it best you can as your eyes flutter closed.

“Kuroo, ‘m close. Really close.” You can barely raise your voice enough to make it be heard over his motions, though he looks up at the call of his name. “I want to cum,” you say, “please.” He doesn’t still his fingers, but the twitch in his brows seems to indicate disaster, and you quickly bite your lip to think. “C-Can I?”

“D’you think this is about you, Y/N-chan?” He grins at your blown out expression, relishing in the wide eyes and bobbing lip. He uses his thumb to continue putting pressure on your clit, as he tuts his lips. “I’ll decide if or when you cum, because you’re mine. And when I decide to stuff this cunt you best consider yourself lucky, baby, that my cock is breaking open your perfect, little body.”

“Y-yes, but—” you bring out, ignoring the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You can’t hold it if his fingers only speed up their devouring of your body, mouth wrapping around you to suck hard.

“Don’t cum yet,” he mumbles, going so hard it’s making your vision sway. His tongue and mouth go harder, despite his order. And with mindless pleas you come around his fingers, shutting your eyes tight at the white splotches. Legs flexing and fingers tightening in his hair. You let your head drop as he works you through the feeling, until you’re pushing him off from overstimulation. Your cheeks feel akin to a forest fire when you open your eyes to his huff, tracing the lines of the hardwood floor under your feet. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you can feel some of the slick drip down your thighs and you instantly burn brighter.

But you don’t get to think about it, because Kuroo is straightening up before you, back to his overwhelming posture above you. He stares at you for a moment, before he leans in. Out of instinct, you lean back, away from his face when he wipes it. The glint in his eyes is a scorch mark on your sanity, his face so close to yours. “Can’t you listen to what I say, or are you just that cockhungry and stupid?” Your head is shaking side to side before you can stop it, hoping that you’ll be released soon. But you said you’d help him and if you don’t, Kuroo might hate you. You don’t think you could handle that. Rejection would’ve been better, after all. “Get on your knees and make it up to me.”

You choke back a sob at the order, looking up at him with big eyes again. You don’t want to, you don’t want to sit on the cold floor of the locker room where teenage boys drag their sweaty bodies— Kuroo seems to soften slightly at your expression, lowering his palm to your crown to pat your head, gently brushing over your temple. “You’re my biggest fan, aren’t you?” The low rumble of his voice right next to your face, his warm body so close and the curl of his pretty lips, everything makes you so docile. Dreamlike. “You’re really helping me so much,” he coos, and before you know it his mouth is on yours. His mouth… is on yours. And he tastes like you, and he’s kissing you. You freeze, not stopping him as he grabs your hands and loops them around his neck, his own picking you up to melt into an embrace.

Like two lovers in a painting, he claims your mouth with his tongue and curls your feeble body into him. So strong, with hard lines of his body that make your heart swell under your ribs. His hand on your thigh, the other on your neck, he kisses you and you think the stars might be exploding around you. He pulls back for a moment enough to breathe, before peppering another few kisses on your agape lips until you could turn black and blue from the bruising weight of your adoration. Kuroo brushes your hair away as you look at him, chest heaving against his each swell of your lungs. He starts peeling his lanky body away from you. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought that you were my biggest fan, but if you don’t—”

“No, I am!” you squeak, grabbing onto his jersey to keep his warmth close.

The noirette gives a faint smile, shaking his head. You don’t stop to question him acting so different from before, since your greedy brain clings to every word. “It’s okay,” he mumbles, “I’m used to being taken advantage of by girls.” His eyes shift to the side, lips dropping into a downturn. “They tell me how much they care about me so that I’ll have them, then leave me. I know my teammates are always the favorites anyway. So I understand that you don’t want to do anything more, it’s okay.”

“No Tetsuro, I want to, I swear!” you blurt out, grabbing his large hand despite the jitters in your system. He gives you a slight raise of his eyebrow. “I want to— s-suck you off.”

He chuckles, gaining back some of the brightness to his eyes. “You can’t even say it without stuttering.” The hand on your neck slides to your shoulder, slowly pushing you toward the ground. You hesitate for another moment, before dropping to your knees when the pressure becomes too heavy. When you’re eye level with his shorts, you swallow, bringing up your hands. The fabric is pulled taunt, showing off your effect on him. Ever so slowly, you pull the elastic of the red shorts down, taking his boxers with them in the process. You push them down until his hard cock is freed, curving up towards his belly and twitching with anticipation. Kuroo just bites his lip when you look up at him. “Give it your best shot, baby.”

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, tip glistening with precum. You slowly start moving your hand down his length, but you’re clearly not going fast enough because his hand is back in your hair, yanking you closer to his dick this time. He presses the tip to your lips, and you whimper out as you open your mouth. He’s quick to grab hold of himself to push inside, too quick and stretching you painfully. He’s big and wide and you immediately know you’ll ache once this is done. But as he starts working himself deeper, your eyes fluttering at the feeling and focusing on not choking, he makes pretty grunts that you tell yourself make this worth it. He reaches the back of your throat with plenty to spare, and you bring your hand up to hold yourself on his thigh. It stings.

But he doesn’t stop, even when you whimper around him and push at his leg. “Take it all the way,” he grunts, cocking his head back. The noises you make only make him more vocal, but you’re fighting through the feeling of panic in your chest. Each time he pulls back more saliva messes up your face, keeping Kuroo’s attention on the pretty way you take him. “You think you deserve my attention? My dumb, useless little bitch wants my approval?” He grunts when he hits the back of your throat again. “Because if you can’t even take my cock in your mouth without drooling all over yourself, I don’t think you do deserve it.” He slows his hips when you make a throaty sound, fingers tangled tight in your hair as he pushes in until your nose is pressed to his skin, before letting you back. You gasp for air when you’re finally let up, holding a sob that threatens to crawl out of your throat.

“Kuroo, I can’t,” you bring out, wiping your fingers under your eyes to get rid of any tears, but he doesn’t let go. Your voice is already raspy, grating against your tender throat.

“Yes you can, you’re doing well.” He pushes his cock back to your lips and though you’re more prepared for it this time you’re still shocked by how big he feels. Spit seeps out along the edges of your mouth, tongue being pushed down and your lungs struggling. He moves your head up and down his cock over and over, barely leaving you enough time to take a couple deep breaths. He slowly starts fucking your face when the tears spill over your cheeks and clump your lashes, hissing when you gag on him. “That’s how you suck a cock, idiot. Can’t do anything right without my help, can you?” His words just make you cry more. He bruises your throat until you can’t take any more, pulling out of his grip despite the pain and falling back onto your butt.

“Kuroo,” you cry out, losing control over your own tears. Your voice sounds double, like it’s been split in two. “I don’t like this.” A little squeak falls from your lips, airways painful and ragged. “I want—,” this time you can’t hold back the sob, “I want you to be nice to me.” You sound so pitiful, even to your own ears. You’re crying. But the man you’ve looked up to for so long is calling you all these names, making you feel so dumb. Are you really that dumb for liking him, supporting him, being his fan? “I don’t wanna do any more.” Tears are flowing, wet and warm down your cheeks and neck. Stop, stop crying. You reach a hand up to smear them away, but in their place new ones still come. “Please, I wanna go home.”

“Shh, shhhh,” he hushes, petting the top of your head like you’re a well-behaving pup, and you hate how you lean into it. The idea of yourself makes you sick to your stomach. Why are you even letting him walk all over you like this? Is this really the amount of self respect you have? Kuroo peers down at you between his legs. “You’re doing so well for me. You’re the best fan I could ask for. I’m sure you can take a bit more.”

“No,” you squeak when he reaches for your face again, “it hurts and I don’t like it.”

Kuroo stills. Regards you with a long, drawn-out breath, before humming in what you pray is understanding. “Alright,” he helps you up from the floor, steadying you in his arms and moving you both to one of the benches instead. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my number one fan, would I?” He sits down on the bench first, pulling you to sit on his thighs facing him. You wipe the mess of tears and saliva away as best you can, watching as Kuroo slides you closer to him without a care in the world. And you want to be mad, you want to push off him and do anything other than sit here and take it, but you can’t. You can’t, because you’re weak. You can’t, because you’re an idiot fangirl, and he’s been everything you’ve wanted since you were thirteen.

“Push your legs together,” he orders, squishing your thighs and reaching down to slip his cock in between them. He fucks your legs with the last of his restraint, pace from fast to punishing, kneading the doughy expanse between his fingers and pressing his forehead to your shoulder. You can feel the warmth of his breath, the shudder down his spine and the tensing of his legs below you, but you don’t process it. Everything feels far away. And then he calls out your name, and cums on your thighs, spilling white all over your panties and skin. He kisses your neck, and your lips after that. And you just stare at the tiles of the boys room showers before he slides you off of him.

Your legs tremble. He quickly uses a towel to clean himself up before tucking himself back in, and smiles down at you. “Thank you so much, baby, that was perfect.” He leans down to press a kiss to your temple as he hands you the towel. “Clean up?” The fluffy towel with the red cat embroidered on it is stained with the cum you clean off yourself, as tears roll down your face. You loved him so much, but now you just hate him. Embarrassed, hurt, useless. Kuroo’s bright face as he talks is another slap in yours. “Lighten up, I’ll lock up the gym for you, okay?” He smiles when you lift your eyes to his figure in the doorway, your crumpled skirt bunched in your hand. “And don’t even worry about it, I’ll walk you home. It’s the least I could do for my fan.”

It is the least he could do.

You nod and put up your most convincing smile.

///

thank you so so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed. did this have to be so long? probably not. did i make it that long anyway? yes. mean kuroo will live rent free in my brain for the coming six months.

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

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Cedric x Reader- Dont Leaf Me Alone

hey! may i request something with cedric? a slytherin reader, where he keeps asking them on a date and they're always saying no, and one day he asks them again and they yell at him and he starts crying. so then the readers like oh shit and realizes they like him A LOT and is holding cedric and saying sorry so many times? thank you and i've loved your previous cedric fics!

March~

You sat comfortably in the clock tower’s courtyard, the stone cool on your palm as you supported yourself. You were lounging, watching as people moved around, buzzing with life and smiling with friends. Your neutral expression soured as you saw a group of people in similar green robes, laughing and taking glances your way.

You could practically hear them making fun of you as they whispered to each other. The Slytherins you’d once called friends created an ice cold den of snakes as they gathered together and mocked you from a distance. Your boyfriend- your ex- you reminded yourself had his arm wrapped around your friend- that bitch- and smiled as he brushed his lips against her cheek.

It might have no disgusted you so much if they hadn’t been seeing each other while you’d been head over heels for the bastard. A sweet smile from your friend and you’d so blindly trusted the both of them. You knew better now.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the burn as you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care. It doesn’t matter. It’s been a month. I’m over it. You chanted to yourself as you pulled yourself to your feet. Your people-watching had been completely ruined by their presence as the ice coursed through your veins.

You were still in your sour mood as you tried to drown out the voices behind your back, looking to get anywhere else. It was then that a hufflepuff with a slim build, bright eyes and breeze swept hair approached you, a bundle of barely budding flowers and weeds in his hand.

“Y/N!” He grinned, long legs carrying him to you before you could turn around and escape in the other direction.

“Cedric,” You acknowledged with a tight smile. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Cedric, he was sweet. Or he seemed to be. You weren’t sure if it was all a facade, something used to keep his popularity afloat and the girls swooning. You refused to be one of them.

“Um-” Cedric stumbled over his words for a moment, your less than lackluster greeting tripping him up. He did his best to recover though as he took in your stiff form, your eyes glaring at his rugged bouquet. He hadn’t had much luck turning his quills into anything pretty so he had run out and picked whatever looked nice. He extended his arm. “If you were a flower, I’d pick you,”

Cedric was hoping for well anything really. What he got instead was an unimpressed appraisal of his poor pick up line, your eyebrows shooting to your hairline as if to say really? that was the best you could do? He grinned at you like he wasn’t sweating bullets right now and waited for you to take the flowers, say something, laugh for gods sake if nothing else!

“Flowers die when they’re picked Diggory, trying to say you want me dead?” You shot back and Cedric’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“N-No! I was trying to-” Cedric defended but you were already moving past him and when he got his bearings back you were gone.

What the hell just happened?

Cedric dropped his head into his hands, groaning as Ernie snickered into his hand.

“She really said that?” The underclassman continued to laugh softly, his own pride soaring as Cedric got knocked down a peg. “I can’t say I feel bad for you Ced- Y/N’s as bitchy as they get,”

Cedric’s head shot up as he sent Ernie a withering glare. “Say that about her again MacMillan and I’ll make sure you never say a god damn thing again,”

Ernie paled and Zacharias cut in. “He’s a prick maybe, Cedric, but he isnt wrong. Have you ever seen her smile? Or do anything with her face that wasn’t a scowl. I’ve only ever seen her happy with that douche she called a boyfriend and even he dumped her for being too icy- or so I’ve heard,”

Yes, he had. You’d lingered on the quidditch pitch even after your fellow Slytherins had filtered out and the Hufflepuffs got ready to practice for the rest of the morning. A single flower had been blooming, going unnoticed by Filch. It was rosy and bright- a sore thumb- on the otherwise monochromatic green of the field.

A relaxed, gorgeous, smile had slipped onto your features and Cedric had been lucky enough to catch it as he was the first to walk out. That smile had been haunting him for weeks now, playing in his dreams. He wouldn’t mind being the one to make you smile like that.

“You don’t know her, leave her alone,” Cedric grumbled to the two boys who were making his miserable day even worse. If he heard Ernie mutter “neither do you, you tosser” and Zach follow with “why even try? she doesn’t like anyone” he pretended not to notice.

You lay on your bed, staring at the canopy above you, eyes tracing the pattern and losing yourself in the monotony of it. You could pick apart the shapes that had been made into the fabric and create different ones. You snorted as you saw the face of a goat in the shadows of the fabric, as well as a cloud looking swirl and then in the wrinkles of the canopy there was something resembling a flower.

To anyone else these would be entirely different things- only your eyes saw the silly shapes in the negative space of the velvety canopy. You always knew what was on your mind- or the absence of anything on your mind- when you gazed up.

Flower. Cedric. Your conscience whispered at you and you squeezed your eyes shut tight like it would vanish that thought of him.

His flirting had been...endearing terrible. You barely knew him! Why was he talking to you? He probably just wanted to mess around, have another notch on his belt. Cedric isn’t your ex. He could be nice. The kinder, trusting part of you mentioned but you squashed her out. She got hurt too easily.

Sighing you grabbed your pillow and covered your face, groaning into the fabric. You were tired of people.

April~

Cedric had to try again apparently. You frowned when you saw him leaning against the wall, a daisy in his grasp as his eyes found you the second you walked past the doors.

“Not a daisy goes by that I don’t think about you,” He tried.

And failed.

You hardly even spared him a glance, blowing air out your nose in a scoff.

“Have you tried amnesia? I think it would help both of us,” Was all you had to say.

Cedric felt as droopy as the daisy that he tossed to the floor.

May~

There was one person who didn’t know how to leave you alone. The first time it had been cute like how giving your mom a macaroni necklace in elementary was cute.

Maybe it was cute because it was genuine. Shaking your head you removed that thought faster than you could blink. Cedric Diggory didn’t seem genuine. His smile was too honest and you feared the lies that could lie behind those pearly whites. His eyes were too pretty and you knew if you looked too long you would become lost, maybe to the point of no return. His voice was too comforting and you knew you’d believe everything he said if you were more naive.

You didn’t hate the boy by any means but you weren’t looking to make another mistake and you had had enough dating drama to last you a life time. You had sworn off dating teenagers who were just looking for fun and nothing else- it didn’t matter who got hurt in the process.

You weren’t wishing to be a part of Diggory’s process.

You thought the closer you got to the forbidden forest you got the further everyone else would be but Cedric still managed to find you as the sun started it’s descent in the sky. You had shed your robe, treating it as a blanket while you lounged in the evening warmth.

Summer was near, you could feel it. You could see it in the way the students tapped their feet during class, eyes darting to the windows as they dreamed to be out in the clear weather.

And now you could smell it. A floral fragrance enhanced by the heat drifted your way and when you tore your eyes from the ripples in the black lake where you had gathered pebbles to see how far you could toss them from your place in the grass. Maybe you should start calling Cedric pebble, with how far you keep tossing him away.

“Y/N-” Cedric smiled as he began his greeting, lips quirked up and expression completely open.

“Wait,” You interrupted with a heavy sigh. “Before you say anything can I ask why? Why do you keep doing this, bothering me? What has got you so incredibly fascinated with someone you don’t even know? We don’t speak, we don’t share classes, we don’t do anything and that’s how I like it. I don’t care about your fragile male ego, I don’t care that everyone here likes you. I. Dont. Care. So please, spare me for the first time in months and stop hitting on me,”

The words escaped before you could catch them and as you came back to yourself you moved your eyes from the spot just behind Cedric’s shoulder where you had been focused on to his face. You were expecting a smirk, something deflecting that you had torn him to shreds and that his pride was wounded.

It seemed in all reality, it wasn’t his pride that was wounded, but his feelings. Something surprising and sharped dug around in your gut as you watched Cedric stare at you with blank eyes, misted over- almost as if what you said had hurt him, the air punched from his lungs and his eyes watering. But that couldn’t be, he was just like your ex (probably), he didn’t care for you (did he?).

You only then noticed that he had a bunch of sunflowers in his shaking hands, tied together with a ribbon, a little card tied to them. It was a smart bouquet, pleasing to the eye.

“Um- I-” Cedric stumbled, sniffling as he blinked hard, a droplet falling past his eyelashes and splashing against his high cheekbones. He hastily swiped it away as his face colored in embarrassment. “Sorry then, for being a- for being a bother,” His response was canned, disconnected. It knocked your own air from your lungs but you couldn’t help but sink lower into the discomfort.

The sunflowers fell to the grass and Cedric nodded once, twice, taking a glance at you as you schooled your expression into something critical and cold. It was his turn to walk away, his heart thumping dully in his chest.

Cedric was long gone from sight when you gathered up the flowers, brushing the petals with your fingertips before you read the note tied against the stems.

“You make all my days sunny” Was scrawled messily but earnestly- like someone had tried to make all the letters neat and even but ended up failing- on the thick card stock and you tried swallowing the lump in your throat that began to form.

You’d made someone hurt like you had been hurt but you were starting to realize that it just made everything worse.

June~

School was coming to a close. You didn’t get any more visits from the Hufflepuff.

September~

You saw Cedric as he boarded the train. He’d taken one glance at you and then decided it was for the better.

October~

The leaves had turned brown weeks ago and you wondered if Cedric missed picking flowers. Maybe he was glad to have no reminder of you. You hoped so.

November~

You were wrong, wrong, wrong.

You didn’t hate people, you didn’t hate trusting, you didn’t hate Cedric. You hated that you had chosen to trust and you had been hurt by it. You hated that you had fallen for their lies and their fake smiles. You hated that you had given all you had and then you were left cold. You hated that you had hurt Cedric because you hadn’t known how to give kindness without fearing that it would be used against you.

Every time you passed by you saw his shoulders go tense, like you were a snake that was bearing its fangs right before striking. Guilt had been steadily pooling in your stomach for months and now it was starting to get suffocating.

Guilt and loneliness. You had come to look forward to the expected visits from Cedric the year previous, always with a different flower in hand and a new pickup line falling past his lips even when he’d seemed nervous. Now that he no longer came to see you, you missed it. You were the one to chase him off. You reminded yourself.

You were walking around aimlessly, sweater pulled tight around you as you took in how the flowers had long since wilted as the cold wind shocked them to the ground. Cedric wilted from dealing with your chilly attitude.

Shut up. You glared into the distance like you were glaring at your conscience.

Cedric was walking around too but he hadn’t expected to see you, arms wrapped tightly around yourself and muttering to yourself, eyes set forward in a dangerous glare. His heart constricted in the fear that you were glaring at him.

It didn’t seem like you knew he was less than three yards away from you. This ended when he stepped on a particularly crunchy pile of leaves and you startled like a deer in the headlights, looking even more startled when you realized who it was.

“Sorry, I’m leaving,” He said quickly but was stopped by an ice cold hand in his. How long had you been out here?

“No!” You demanded. “I mean... please wait?” Your grip loosened as you faltered. You had made a move, now Cedric got to decide if he answered or not.

Cedric wasn’t sure how to feel as you stopped him. You sounded softer than usual, the edge to your voice that you usually held with him now gone.

“Why?” He croaked, voice more gruff than he’d wanted it to be as his nerves caught up to him. “I’m sorry for whatever I did or if I made you uncomfortable but I won’t do it again. I got your message loud and clear, Y/N,”

“You didn’t do anything,” You explained and Cedric couldn’t help the confusion.

“So you hate me for absolutely no reason?” Cedric laughed breathlessly, in disbelief. You were a rose, but he hadn’t been prepared for the thorns. “Good to know, thank you so-”

“I don’t hate you!” You interrupted. “I-I messed up,”

You nervously twiddled your fingers, forcing yourself to continue looking Cedric in the eye. Maybe he would see something that kept him around long enough for you to apologize.

“That day in the courtyard, you caught me at a bad time-”

“And the other times after that?”

“I know you don’t owe me anything but please hear me out Cedric... I’m not asking for forgiveness but I do want to apologize and I want you to understand,”

Cedric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose but your hope paid off. He could see the remorse swimming around and darkening your gaze. He wasn’t sure if the autumn air was bringing tears to your eyes or if it was your seemingly sudden guilt over how you’d treated him.

“That day, I watched while my ex and my old friends gathered in the courtyard and laughed at me, mocked me, just because they could. I’m a joke to them and have been ever since I found out he was cheating on me with my friend. To them I am the most pitiful person in school, worse than any gryffindor they might have a grudge against. They made me feel pitiful and then you were there being nice and I started to question your motives because I never question theirs and they used that to play me,”

Cedric’s wary gaze melted away to something closer to understanding and you breathed steadily. You were long since over your boyfriend and you had been healing but it still wasn’t easy to shake that mistrust you had programmed into yourself after all was said and done.

“You thought I was just another bad guy,” Cedric continued for you and you nodded. “Hence the whole ‘fragile male ego’ thing?” He guessed and you winced.

“I don’t know you, I don’t have a reason to trust you. But that being said, I was never given a reason to distrust you. I pegged you as something you weren’t.”

“And what am I?” Cedric asked as you grew stronger in your words, your bottom lip ceasing it’s quivering.

“Kind, above all. I don’t know who else would have kept trying after my blatant disregard for you... I was hurting so I took it out on you and I’ve had all these months to beat myself up for it. I guess what I’m saying is-” You shuffled around in your pocket, pulling out a wad of unique and multicolored leaves that you had found on the damp ground, the cold not having dried them out yet. “-I don’t want you to leaf me alone,”

You were waiting for Cedric to do anything, say anything. The silence ticked back as he stared at the leaves in your hands. His nose twitched and he took a surprised intake of a breath.

Then as he exhaled, his chest shook as he began to snicker. Two short bursts of unbelieving giggles before he was bursting into a more sturdy laughter. You felt small.

“I-I know it’s dumb, just know I’m sorry, yeah?” You muttered, trying to manage a smile before you turned to leave.

“Wait! Wait...” Cedric laughed softly but let it die out. “I’m sorry it’s just that was- that was sort of cute. I get why you did what you did, that doesn’t mean it hurts any less but I get it,”

“Y-you do?”

Cedric nodded, hand squeezing your shoulder. “Maybe we can start over?”

“God you’re such a hufflepuff,” You sniffled in shock. He wanted to start over? Of course he does, he isn’t your ex, he isn’t anybody but Cedric. Kind Cedric.

“God you’re such a slytherin,” Cedric poked back but his hand didn’t move from your shoulder and you appreciated it when he drew you into a hug. You squeezed him back tightly and he relaxed in your arms. He was happy to be hugging you because it felt right but also because you couldn’t see the way his eyes sparkled with unshed emotion.

The prettiest roses had the most thorns but he didn’t mind the cuts so long as you were there to bandage them back up.

#cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory #fluff #cedric x reader #cedric x slytherin!reader

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ptersparkers · 4 years

Note

hi! i love your writing! can you maybe do something with either kie or sarah where the reader like gets a cut on their head or whatever? thank you!!!

yall love this type of fluff but i support it (also thank you 🥺)

***

“Kie, um, can you come help me?” you asked tentatively as you walked through the door of her house.

“Y/N? Is that you?” she asked from a distance. Her house was usually unlocked since her house was situated in a fairly safe neighborhood and you were no stranger to roaming in unannounced.

“Yeah,” you said, muttering. “I, um—”

“What happened to your face?”

Kiara looked at you standing just outside the door and could see a cut on your forehead leading down your temple, just below the hairline. She could see a thick red substance start to trickle out and wasted no time ushering you inside.

“Holy hell, what happened?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you began, “but I was already on my way over when I tripped over a log and fell. I guess my head hit a jagged piece of metal.” Kiara winced.

“Oh shit,” she said, looking for a wash cloth. “Uh, let’s get you to my bathroom.”

The two of you walked upstairs hastily and Kiara was grateful her parents were out of the house. She sat you on the toilet seat and you tilted your head upwards to avoid spilling any blood on your clothes. Kiara rinsed a white wash cloth with cold water and began to clean the wound, trying not to apply too much pressure to the cut.

“Ow,” you said.

“Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled. You noticed that the tip of her tongue poked out as she was concentrating on you and it took everything in you not to say anything. “Okay, I don’t think you have to go to the hospital or anything. Let me find some band aids.”

“Goodness,” you said as you stood up to look at yourself in the mirror. The cut really wasn’t that bad but that didn’t stop it from stinging.

“Here,” Kiara said as you sat back down. She stood in front of you and peeled two large band aids, placing them over your cut. “Now you’re all better.” You laughed and looked in the mirror again.

“I look like an idiot.”

“That’s because you are an idiot.” You both looked at each other and laughed. “Wanna stay in today? We can watch movies, if you want. My dad brought home a lot of fruit and some soup from The Wreck so we can have a chill day and hope your cut heals.”

“That sounds perfect,” you said. Kiara bent down and pressed a kiss to your cheek before leading you outside.

“Just don’t get any blood on my bed.”

***

pls feed my ego

***

taglist:

@princessdolan @ashyramblings-ficrecs @fanficscuziranout @caswinchester2000 @jellyfishbeansontoast @karleeluv @briannarto @pogue-h @hyluas @angelic-ashleyaileen @mfmaddyperez @sspidermanss @outerbankslove.

#kiara carrera x reader #kiara carrera #kiara carrera imagines #kiara carrera blurbs #kiara carrera imagine #kiara carerra fluff #madison bailey #madison bailey x reader #obx x reader #obx #outer banks x reader #outer banks #my writing #blurbs #ask #anonymous

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bouwrites · 4 years

Text

Maribat March 2020 Prompt: Soulmate

Week 4, Day 2. This story has been previously posted in response to @theatreandcomicfreak‘s prompt here. I’ve done some minor editing to it, but if you’ve read that already, there’s no significant difference. I’m simply reposting the story in a better format to fit within the guidelines of this Maribat event, so that I can more easily link each story together as a group.

Maribat March 2020 Calendar.

Day 1: Sweetheart’s Dance, Day 3: Coffee Shop.

Ao3.

2133 words. Story under read-more.

Marinette has always been a princess. She likes the nickname. Likes being treated like one. Likes the meaning behind it. She’s not so unusual in that way. After all, how many young girls dream of being princesses? Even she can admit that the number of Disney movies alone Marinette has watched over and over again is a little ridiculous. And since her soulmark appeared, Marinette understandably never quite left behind the princess phase. After all, proudly curving on the back of her neck, almost hidden by her hairline, in clear script, is the word “Princess”. The thing her soulmate will call her. She’s not demanding or spoiled or anything like that, or she tries not to be, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy feeling like a princess now and then.

She’s comfortable with her soulmark. It’s not the most uncommon thing, and her having a preference for more established nicknames means she knows from a young age that she’s bound to run into some confusion somewhere down the line. The whole, “are they or are they not?” thing that happens when people use nicknames for friends that just happens to align with their soulmark. She knows it’s coming, so she’s comfortable. Prepared.

She gets a little too comfortable, truth be told, but she learns to hold her tongue. Some people can be like Chat Noir, making up nicknames for everyone, their originality driving them through the cloud of the most common terms of endearment on soulmarks. Marinette is creative enough, and she used to do the same thing, but she learns better now. That leaves her in the other pool of people, who try not to use nicknames much at all, to avoid confusion.

Once you say something, there’s no taking it back. One affectionate “Chaton” and her crime-fighting partner thinks she’s the love of his life. But he never calls her “princess”. He never uses her mark-name. It doesn’t even occur to him to. Marinette takes this as proof that he’s not her soulmate after all, but whenever she tells him this, he just thinks up another nickname to call her.

It’s not frightening or even annoying so much as it is simply awkward. With an everyday friend, that may not be such a problem, but with her partner? They aren’t on the same wavelength, all because of a stupid mark-name. That’s dangerous.

Marinette learns to hold her tongue. Sure, a mistake in everyday life may not have such potentially severe consequences, but even so she’d rather avoid insistent men on her case in her civilian life if possible. Chat Noir is no problem, because Marinette trusts and likes him, but he does teach her a lesson on how some people may react to the wrong name. Nicknames, for her, end up reserved for only her closest friends, if that. The change isn’t as hard as she thinks.

Princess. Marinette can’t help the violent flinch that overcomes her at the name, but Chat Noir doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps going on showboating for her. Princess? Really? Is this a joke?

There’s no other explanation. It has to be some grand cosmic joke. The punchline to the greatest show on Earth. Because Marinette knows Chat Noir isn’t her soulmate. She knows he likes to make up nicknames, but never once has he called her “Princess”.

Marinette uncomfortably touches the mark on the back of her neck, disguising it as simply rubbing it awkwardly. The bold lines spelling out that word. Princess. What… Chat Noir calls her?

Marinette doesn’t have time to think about this. She has an akuma to take down, and with it targeting her as a civilian, she has to be at the top of her game. Chat Noir can wait, soulmate or not. At least for now.

It makes sense, to some extent. If Chat Noir has only not called her princess because his soulmate isn’t Ladybug but Marinette. But then what about him? She called him Chaton while and because he is Chat Noir. Marinette would never even think of calling someone that who isn’t moonlighting as a cat. But then, does that prove that they are soulmates? Or does it prove that they aren’t? Surely someone other than her will call him Chaton. It’s not exactly a hard place to reach, once they learn of his alter ego.

Yeah. Marinette thinks. It’s just a coincidence. Calling some damsel “princess” is just like him, anyway. It should be more surprising that he hasn’t until now. Marinette holds her hair up with one hand and a mirror with the other, examining the mark. Right?

“Tikki?” Marinette reaches one hand up into the air, idly grasping at nothing as her mind consumes her.

“What is it, Marinette?”

Marinette worries her lip, unsure if she can or should ask the question on the tip of her tongue. It takes a few stumbling attempts, but she ends up closing her eyes and asking what’s on her mind. “Why would I have a soulmate that I don’t love?”

Tikki is quiet for long enough that Marinette is tempted to sit up and look, but she refrains. She’s not sure she wants to see the expression on Tikki’s face.

“I just-” Marinette tries to explain. “Chat called me it. Princess. And I called him Chaton. That means we’re soulmates, right? But… I do- I don’t… I’m not sure I love him like that. He’s my best friend, of course, but… I just don’t see him as a… soulmate. Am I broken?”

“Oh, Marinette! No, no you’re not broken at all! Don’t you ever think that about yourself.”

“Bu-”

“No! I said, don’t! There’s nothing wrong with you. You don’t even know for sure that he is your soulmate, and even if he is, there’s nothing wrong with having a platonic soulmate! You don’t have to be in love to be soulmates!”

Marinette mulls over Tikki’s words. They echo in her head and roll in her mouth. “But… he loves me.”

“You’re both still so young, Marinette. Give it time! I’m sure things will become clear sooner or later.”

Now, Marinette does sit up. Tikki is smiling earnestly at her, the optimism and confidence in her eyes too infectious for Marinette to resist her own smile. “You really think so?”

“I know so!” Tikki says firmly. “Everything will be okay.”

The school trip is unexpected, in the sense that Marinette all but forgets about it. She knows she has a part in planning it, of course, and she does her part with aplomb, but all of that was set in stone so long ago that with everything else going on, from Hawk Moth to Chat being her maybe-soulmate, it totally slips her mind.

Not to mention how she almost doesn’t go at all. She has a city to protect now, after all. She can’t just go on vacation.

Master Fu solves that problem for her, though, and Marinette finds herself oddly relieved that Kaalki has such a convenient power. Time away from Hawk Moth, even if she is still on call, is just what the doctor ordered. Maybe, without all this outside pressure, she can sit down and figure everything out once and for all.

Plus, it should be fun. A visit to the Daily Planet with Alya in tow alone will make this trip to Metropolis more than worth it. That’s not even starting on all the other events, tours, and activities they have planned. It’s very exciting, and Marinette almost wishes she isn’t so distracted just so she can properly enjoy her classmate’s raving about everything they’re going to do in America.

She’s sure she’s missed some very entertaining discussions. Maybe Alya can catch me up?

“Woah, careful there, princess.”

Marinette freezes at the unexpected touch on her shoulders. She’s a hair away from taking this guy to the ground, but then the situation catches up with her and she barely stops herself.

Pole in the middle of the sidewalk? Threat. Cute guy who has just saved her from slamming face-first into that pole? Probably less so. Also, Princess?!

Marinette examines the guy warily. Black hair, unkempt like he’s just been through a wind tunnel, bright eyes furrowed with concern, muscular arms leading to hands that have still not removed themselves from her shoulders. She shrugs him off, never tearing her eyes from his. She knows how suspicious she must look, and the way he wilts under her stare makes her think she should probably tone it back a bit, but still.

She knows that mistakes happen. She knows Chat might be her soulmate. She knows the likelihood of it being some random passerby in America isn’t exactly in her favor. But he has to be sure. “Princess?” She echoes, more testily than she means.

The guy clears his throat awkwardly. “Ah, I- I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from, I just- I saw you weren’t looking at the pole and I-”

“You what?” Marinette pushes him just for fun, because he’s so flustered, but she can’t help but smile. The bite leaves her voice, replaced with sarcasm. She hopes he can hear that it’s friendly. “Thought you’d save the princess? Eh, superman?” The boy flushes brilliantly, scratching at his neck as he looks to the ground. “I can take care of myself. A little pole isn’t going to hurt me.” She teases. “Thanks, though. You did save me this time.”

The boy chuckles awkwardly. “Ahaha, you’re welcome! Hey, uh, my name’s Jon! I… I’m not sure how to say this, I, uh…”

Now, Marinette knows mistakes happen, but she can also read a situation. The way his cheeks stay color as he bumbles through his introduction, the way he holds his neck a bit too reverent to be sheepish, the way his eyes go wide when she calls him “Superman”.

Jon takes a deep breath, apparently composing himself. “Sorry, I… that was super awkward. Um… You called me superman. That’s, uh…” He ducks down a bit, turning so that she can see the script on the back of his neck. “My mark-name. Also, weird, but, whatever. So, I was wondering if maybe princess was yours?”

Marinette chuckles and pulls her hair aside, turning so he can see her own mark. In the same exact place. Most soul-pairs have their marks in the same place, so that makes this seem more likely. Even still, Marinette has had false alarms before. This seems more legit than any so far, but…

But the way he lights up at the sight of the mark. That stops Marinette’s breath in her lungs. “It is!” Jon cheers. “I can’t believe it! It’s really you!”

Marinette calms her heart and tries to rid her face of the damn soft look she knows she has. “Maybe.” She says. “I’ve had a close call before. This looks legit, though, so… no promises, but maybe we can… I don’t know. Get coffee or something?”

“Yes! Yeah, sure! I’m- I am so down for that!” Jon grins from ear to ear. “Get to know each other, and then decide if we want to trust the mark-names or not?”

“Exactly.” Marinette says. “If you’re okay with that?”

“A hundred percent! I totally understand being cautious. Uh, here! Let me give you my number. You can let me know when you’re free? Unless… you are now?”

Marinette ducks her head to hide from the intensity of his gaze. It’s so… adoring. Not like Chat, not in the depths of love way, or the confident way he claims her as his. It’s in an optimistic way. In a hopeful, nervous way. It makes her chest flutter, and she can’t help but hope, too. “I’m actually in the city on a class trip. We’re having free time right now, so I’ve got, uh,” she checks her phone, “a couple hours.”

“Great! I know a good place to get coffee just around the corner. And, if you want, I could show you around a bit? I know the city pretty well.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Jon guides her to the coffee shop, awkwardly drifting close but carefully keeping his hands off of her. It’s cute, watching him want to grab her hand or throw his arm over her shoulder, but Marinette appreciates that he doesn’t.

She can’t be sure from one conversation and a couple of mark-names, but Jon seems just as likely as Chat to be her soulmate. Is he? Is Chat? Marinette ducks away from his eyes again, brushing her hair behind her ear as that single glimpse makes her stomach somersault. It’s impossible to tell from this meeting alone, but if the feeling in her chest is telling her anything, it’s saying to give this a chance. Maybe that’s all she really needs.

#MaribatMarch2020 #Maribat #Maribat March #Event #Marijon #ML x DC #ML Fanfiction #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #theatreandcomicfreak im not really sure its appropriate to @ you on this #but its either that or linking to you #and linking feels like #sneaky somehow

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oliverstarked · 4 years

Text

where I belong

[PG-13, 3.4k words]

"Buck's not sure of the exact moment that he knew Eddie was it for him, but it’s been that way for so long now it’s become a part of who he is. He used to be good at pretending his feelings didn’t exist, but he’s so tired these days."

A little bit of introspection, a lot of idiots in love.

[read on ao3]

The ocean is so beautiful at dawn.

Under the soft pink-orange sky the water looks bruise-purple, whitecaps leaving foamy trails on the sand. The sun is only just peeking over the horizon, edging towards another gorgeous LA day. But before that begins, before the hustle and bustle and wailing sirens, Buck sits on the beach on the cold sand and feels caught in a moment so peaceful, so nice, just the squalling of gulls and the gentle crash of the waves for company.

He pushes stale air out of his lungs and breathes the fresh in deeply. The chill feels good, raises goosebumps on his skin and reminds him that he’s alive. A reminder he’s needed a lot lately. He’s been struggling, even though his leg has healed, even though the tsunami is months behind him, even though his relationship with his 118 family is better than ever and he has no reason to be struggling. Nightmares come and go, cold sweats, little niggling thoughts that burrow their way into his brain throughout the day.

He tries not to talk about it. There are so many people who have it worse than him and he doesn’t want to become some kind of social… leech around his friends, constantly draining them of energy by going on about his issues. You’re exhausting , Eddie said to him once. Buck knows it’s true, knows he takes inches and runs them into miles. His heart may be in the right place, sure, but he doesn’t know when to shut up, when to slow down. If there’s one thing his lawsuit mistake has taught him, it’s that his actions, his selfishness, has consequences on those around him.

So what if he has bad dreams occasionally? He’s not a kid, he can look after himself. It��s more important right now that he’s there for his friends: asking Bobby how Michael’s doing, bridging the relationship between Chim and his brother, being there for Maddie always, listening to Hen talk about how Nia is settling in, being whatever Eddie needs to stop him doing stupid things again. It doesn’t leave a lot of room for his own problems.

It doesn’t matter. That’s just what Buck does for the people he loves.

The warmth of the sun creeps onto his face as it rises higher, prickling his skin. Buck squints into it, seeing nothing but gold, then sighs and gets to his feet. He brushes sand off the seat of his pants before slowly turning and making his way back up the beach.

At least he gets to go to work.

Eddie’s getting changed when Buck walks into the locker room, and Buck manfully pretends he can’t see the miles of bare skin on display. Hen is sitting on the bench, laughing at something Eddie must have said, and it’s easy to grin at the two of them and say, “Well, good morning.”

“Hey,” Eddie smiles, shrugging into a t-shirt, thank god.

“Buck, I have to show you this.” Hen holds her phone out, a video paused on the screen. Buck takes it, taps play. It’s Nia, holding onto Denny’s hands and bouncing up and down in time with her blonde curls, screeching in delight as a catchy pop song plays in the background.

“That’s pretty damn cute,” Buck says. “When do I get to meet this li’l nugget?”

“Soon,” Hen tells him, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “It’s a lot for her, the social worker says we need to introduce new things and people gradually.”

Eddie, tucking his overshirt into his belt now, says, “Well, whenever you guys need a babysitter, hit us up. Chris and Denny can play and Buck and I will dote on that gorgeous girl.”

Hen snorts, looking between them. “Should you be volunteering Buck for that?”

Honestly, it didn’t even occur to Buck that he wouldn’t be there. The automatic assumption on Eddie’s part too makes him feel warmer than he did five minutes ago.

“Hey, you know I’m down,” Buck beams, “you just name the day.”

Hen squeezes his arm as she heads towards the door. “Thanks boys, we will definitely take you up on that.”

When she’s gone, Buck finally moves towards his own locker to start getting changed. Eddie is still there, tapping away on his phone. Buck wonders if he’s texting Ana . If they’ve even reached the ‘exchanging numbers’ phase yet.

“Hey, man, you wanna grab pizza tomorrow night? You, me, Chris and Mario Kart at my place?”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees, hardly glancing up, definitely distracted. “But, uh, Chris won’t be there, he’s got that overnight field trip at the observatory tomorrow.”

Damn, Buck should have remembered that. Christopher had been chattering excitedly about it for a couple weeks now. Eddie had mentioned it several times too, although decidedly less excitedly and more in worried-dad-mode.

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Well, in that case you definitely gotta come over. We can drink beer and watch a movie that doesn’t involve some kind of talking animal.”

“Sounds good.”

He’s still typing. What is he doing, writing a goddamn article? Who could he possibly have that much to say to?

Buck takes a breath, remembers he’s not being a selfish asshole anymore and gets changed quietly. Ana sounds like a nice person, she’d probably be good for Eddie. Buck’s feelings, his stupid feelings that he’s shoved so far down they make him feel a bit queasy more often than not, shouldn’t even factor into it.

“Are you okay?”

Buck startles at Eddie’s question. He’s not on his phone anymore, but looking straight at Buck, a little crease in between his eyebrows.

“Fine… why'd you ask?”

“You look tired.”

“Yeah. I, uh, got up early to go for a run on the beach. Anyway, not even eyebags could ruin this handsome face so you shut your mouth,” Buck blusters with an exaggerated wink and a bit of swagger as he closes his locker.

It works, and Eddie rolls his eyes. “So glad that your ego remains unaffected.”

They argue playfully back and forth as they head up to the kitchen together and by the time they sit down to plates of Bobby’s French toast, Buck has all but forgotten his weird start to the day.

Luckily, work keeps them busy. Any downtime they get is spent either stuffing their faces with food, showering the grime and sweat away, or trying to catch a few minutes of sleep. The entire twenty-four hours passes without major incident, unless you count Chimney tripping on a firehose and falling ass over teakettle on the freshly-waxed station floor. They’re still laughing about it as they get changed to go home the following morning, exhaustion making it hard to stop.

By the time he gets back to his apartment and collapses into bed, Buck’s tired enough that falling asleep is the easiest thing in the world.

He wakes late in the afternoon, hot and sweaty from the sunlight pouring in through the windows. He showers, eats a sandwich, and texts Eddie to ask what time he’s coming over.

Some sort of clarity must have crept in while Buck slept, because his head feels a little clearer. Still, he wonders what it means that a clear head feels like some kind of miracle these days. He thinks it means that he might need to talk to Frank again.

Buck grabs his phone and fiddles around on it until he pulls up his contacts. Frank’s name is sitting there right underneath Eddie’s. Before he can think about it too much, he calls and makes an appointment for his next day off. Part of him feels that old anxiety come back, worries that he’s slipping backwards instead of moving forwards, but another part of him is ultimately relieved. He doesn’t have to worry about burdening Frank, it’s his job to listen. He’s not allowed to be exhausted by Buck and his issues.

By the time Eddie arrives not long after seven, Buck has cleaned his entire apartment, gone grocery shopping to get that beer that Eddie likes, and watched a Nat Geo documentary on bears. It’s been easy, simple, and he’s feeling okay.

Eddie lets himself in with a smile and a tupperware container, and even though they only parted ways that morning, it’s still good to see him. “Hey, sorry I’m late, Ana called just as I was leaving.”

And just like that, Buck’s stomach sours.

“She called you?”

“Yeah, I asked her to update me on Chris. She said he’s good, that they’ve just eaten dinner and he’s with his friends.” Eddie pauses, makes a face. “Guess that means I should stop worrying, right?”

“So you guys just talked about Christopher?” Buck asks because he’s an idiot who likes to torture himself.

Eddie frowns, putting the tupperware on the kitchen counter. “Yeah. What else would we talk about? I emailed the school his overnight care plan this morning and she just wanted to reassure me. Anyway, Abuela made you tamales, shall I put them in the refrigerator or d’you wanna have them with the pizza?”

Buck still doubts that any other parents are getting personal calls from their kid’s teacher, but it makes him feel better knowing that Eddie’s only thought is the well-being of his son.

Maybe this whole Ana thing is something he should talk to Frank about, too.

“I’m going back to therapy,” Buck blurts, his brain to mouth filter nonexistent. “I have nightmares. I stopped talking about it because I thought I was being selfish but it’s fucking me up so. Yeah. I’m going back to therapy.”

Eddie’s eyebrows hit his hairline. Buck silently begs him not to make a big deal out of it, and is relieved when all Eddie says is, “Good. Thank you for telling me. The tamales?”

A mildly hysterical laugh bursts out of Buck. He comes forward and wraps his arms around Eddie, so fucking relieved that after everything, he still gets to have this.

Eddie goes with the moment gracefully, pats him on the back a few times, and when Buck pulls away, Eddie leaves a hand on his shoulder and says, “I’m here for you. I know I haven’t always been great at that before, but I am. You don’t have to do this by yourself unless you want to.”

And Buck knows it’s true, can tell by the fierce determination in Eddie’s eyes, and thinks that maybe this means he’s not so exhausting to deal with after all. That maybe Eddie was exhausted with himself just a little, too.

“We’re good, Eddie,” Buck says honestly. “I’m gonna call the pizza place, you take those tamales and the beer over to the couch.”

They’re one and a half movies, two pizzas and half a dozen tamales in when Buck opens his mouth and “So are you and Ana dating?” comes out of it.

Eddie chokes a little on his beer. “No? I don’t really know.”

It’s not quite the answer Buck was hoping for. “How can you not know, man?”

Shifting uncomfortably, Eddie leans back on the couch until he’s looking up at the ceiling, like he can’t meet Buck’s eye. “She’s nice, and pretty, and good with Chris. I dunno, Buck. It feels like it could go somewhere?”

Buck swallows hard. He knew it. He should definitely have waited to have this conversation until after he’s seen Frank though, because he has no goddamn clue how he’s supposed to be the supportive best friend when every fiber of his being is burning with jealousy. He’s not sure of the exact moment that he knew Eddie was it for him, but it’s been that way for so long now it’s become a part of who he is. He used to be good at pretending his feelings didn’t exist, but he’s so tired these days.

But what he has with Eddie and Christopher right now is the best thing going on in his life — he’s not going to risk losing that.

“I wouldn’t even know how to ask her out,” Eddie continues, laughing a little at himself. “Out of practice would definitely be an understatement, I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Buck mirrors Eddie’s position, staring up at the beams under the loft. “I think you just say ‘would you like to go out with me’, Eddie. It’s not that hard.”

“Easy for you to say,” Eddie snorts. “I bet no girl has ever turned you down.”

“Ha, you should speak to Joe Levinson from high school,” Buck tells him. God, he thought Joe was so cute. He never told anyone, especially not his parents, and Maddie was off at college, but he used to trail around after Joe like a lovesick puppy. “We’re talking the crush of all teenage crushes here, man. I was so gone on Joe and it was senior year and then prom was coming up, and I—”

“Oh no,” Eddie laughs, “you got turned down?”

“I got humiliated,” Buck grins. “I thought I’d go classic, y’know? A love note in the locker, little hearts doodled on it and ‘I really like you, will you be my prom date?’ written in glitter gel pen. Imagine my surprise when the next morning my note is not just in Joe’s locker, but on the front of every single locker, in the halls, the cafeteria, even the damn teacher’s lounge. He made sure the last few weeks of high school were not good ones.”

“Wait…” Eddie tips his head sideways, confusion written on his face. “Joe was a boy?”

Shit. Buck isn’t ashamed of being bisexual at all, but it occurs to him now that he hasn’t actually told anybody besides his sister. “Uh… yeah?”

“Did you just come out to me?”

Buck shrugs. “I kinda forgot you didn’t know?”

Their faces are pretty close at this angle, their heads cushioned by the back of the couch. Eddie doesn’t look hostile or disgusted though. He looks thoughtful.

“That was really brave,” he eventually says, quieter than before. “I can’t even imagine asking a boy out in high school.”

There’s something in the way he says it that gives Buck pause. “Did you want to?” he asks carefully.

“It wasn’t an option.” Eddie doesn’t sound sad, just matter-of-fact. “Besides, I met Shannon in college. And I really loved her, Buck. There were… occasions, while I was in the army, but I never acted on it. I’d made vows, they meant something to me.”

Buck can’t look away from Eddie’s face, pulled in by the wide-eyed openness and the thought that he didn’t know this about Eddie — that they didn’t know this about each other.

“And now?” he asks, not sure why he’s whispering.

“Now I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly. He licks his lips. Buck couldn’t tell you which of them moved first but all of a sudden their lips are touching, pressing. It’s dry, a little chaste, but most definitely a kiss. Buck shifts, brings his hand up towards Eddie’s face, and barely touches his jaw before Eddie is springing backwards, shock written all over him.

“Buck, I’m sorry—”

“No, dude, that was all me, I was totally over the line.”

“We just got — caught up in the moment,” Eddie says, and Buck’s not sure which of them he’s trying to convince.

“Yeah, all that talk about dating and my tragic high school trauma. Woulda been weird if you hadn’t wanted to kiss me,” he smirks, aiming for cool and cocky and probably missing by several miles.

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter that’s more panic than amusement. They’re quiet for a minute. Eddie’s knee is still pressed against Buck’s, warm and solid. Buck doesn’t know what’s happening here but he knows he really liked kissing Eddie, can still feel his lips tingling. He knows he’s not going to lose Eddie over this though, can’t lose him. He’ll do whatever it takes for that not to happen.

“It was a moment,” Buck concludes, for both their sake. “Moment’s over.”

Eddie’s throat visibly bobs when he swallows. “Right. Y’know, I should probably take off. Before—”

He cuts himself off. The tips of his ears go bright red. It takes every ounce of willpower Buck has not to ask him ‘before what?’

He follows Eddie across the apartment to the door, but he really doesn’t want this to be weird when they get to the station in the morning. He lays his hand on Eddie’s forearm and asks, “We’re okay, aren’t we, Eddie?”

To his relief, Eddie smiles and it seems real. “Of course, Buck. Nothing’s changed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he lets himself out, the door closing softly behind him, Buck can’t help thinking what a bad liar Eddie is. Of course something has changed. Everything has changed. That kiss will hang over them for the rest of their days as partners — as friends. You don’t just ‘accidentally’ kiss your best friend and then act like it didn’t happen.

Buck wanders into the kitchen, fists his hand in his hair, scrapes them over his face, repeatedly bangs his forehead into the cupboard door. Stupid stupid stupid .

Restless, he clears away pizza boxes. Drops empty beer bottles into the recycling. Seals the lid on the tupperware and puts the remaining tamales in the refrigerator. Shuts off the TV — how didn’t he notice the movie was still playing?

He’s wiping down the kitchen counters when there’s a knock on the door.

Eddie’s standing there on the other side, looking just as wide-eyed as he was when he left.

“Hey,” Buck says uncertainly, ignoring the swoop in his stomach. “You forget something?”

“Yes,” Eddie says and he takes a step forward, holds Buck’s face in his hands, and crashes their mouths together.

This kiss is nothing like their last.

Eddie is demanding, relentless, tongue tracing the seam of Buck’s lips straight away until Buck opens up for him and everything gets hotter and wetter and so much more amazing. His own hands, which had been floundering in surprise, land on Eddie’s waist and Buck walks him backwards until his back hits the open door and closes it with a bang. He leans into Eddie with all his weight, pushes him against the wood, shoves their hips together and groans the filthiest sound he’s ever made into Eddie’s mouth.

It’s incredible, feels absolutely perfect. Buck moves his hands, slips them under the soft fabric of Eddie’s shirt, finding warm skin and hard muscles and a stomach that trembles when his thumb flicks over a nipple.

With a gasp, Eddie pulls back and smacks his head against the door. Buck removes a hand and places it gently behind Eddie’s head to cushion it, kissing a lush apology to his lips.

“You feel so good,” Eddie mumbles. “Buck.”

Buck kisses down Eddie’s neck, their stubble rasping, his lips fluttering over Eddie’s thundering pulse. He shoves their hips together some more — once, twice, and again because he can’t stop — and he can feel Eddie’s dick through their jeans and he’s so turned on he can hardly breathe.

“We should talk,” he says to Eddie, breathlessly, “but first we should fuck.”

“Best idea you’ve ever had, Buckley.”

A grin spreads across Eddie’s face and Buck copies it, kissing him again because he just can’t help it and grabbing his hand, dragging him away from the door and up the steps to the loft.

Two orgasms, one set of clean sheets and one shower later, Buck feels brave enough to say, “I want this every day forever.”

Eddie’s nearly asleep, head right next to Buck’s on the pillow, one arm slung across Buck’s stomach. He cracks open an eye and presses a tiny kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth.

“Guess we’re on the same page then.”

“I don’t want you to date Ana.”

The other eye pops open, trademark Eddie Diaz exasperation all over his face. “Buck.”

“Just checking!” Buck laughs, drawing patterns on Eddie’s arm. “Y’know, I’m still gonna need therapy.”

“I’d be worried if you didn’t. Unless sex really is a magic cure.”

Buck tries to smile but instead finds himself softly saying, “I might have a nightmare.”

Eddie kisses him again, for longer this time, then shifts closer and nuzzles his nose into Buck’s temple, his hair. “I’m not going anywhere. Go to sleep, Buck.”

They settle in, warm under the blankets, and Buck closes his eyes, falling asleep quick and easy, between one breath and the next.

#stupid tumblr mobile deleted the original post when i tried to add a tag so reposting!!!#buddie #buddiefic #buck x eddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 fox #9-1-1 #911 fic #911 fanfic #*fic #useralie #casually tagging alie in everything as i timidly venture into this fandom

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 5 years

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this is dom harry bro no questions he'd just sit there eating u out for hours but wouldnt let u come

“Please.”

“No.”

“Harry, please.”

“Mm-mm.”

It’s been hours. Literal hours.

Her best guess is two, but it feels more like twenty. She’s hypersensitive, and it’s not helping that he’s refusing to let her cum.

Y/N can only hold out for so long before her body takes on a mind of its own and breaks down without his or her permission, so she tries to focus her thoughts on something—anything— else. Anything but him.

Her mind wanders to how she’d ended up in this position in the first place.

How she had thought he’d come in from the airport and they’d go out for some dinner and maybe save all of the raunchiness for the later half of the evening.

But of course he couldn’t wait. He’d been waiting for three days, and now he was refusing to leave his post between her drenched thighs to make up for it.

Harry had gone to Cancun for a couple of days to shoot something top secret, leaving Y/N behind in Philly, where he was planning to come back to put some more business details in order for his next album.

When he had walked through the door of the hotel room, she almost didn’t recognize him.

He’d gotten very tan during those days in Mexico and she could tell it was natural. His nose was already starting to peel and the edges of his hairline were sun-bleached, along with a wave of honey and auburn highlights running through his usual chestnut brown curls. He was sporting crisp white shorts, a simple black button-up with the first two buttons undone, a black windbreaker, and her own pair of scuffed up white Vans that she had let him borrow.

He tended to take something of Y/N’s with him whenever he went away, even if just for a little bit. An old oversized Jurassic Park t-shirt that smelled like her, a wooden bead bracelet she got when they visited Animal Kingdom, the silver charms from one of her favorite necklaces that dote her initials, which he would loop around his cross chain. A ruby and black diamond ring he had gifted her for her birthday that fit perfectly around his pinky, her favorite pair of cactus-patterned socks— the list is endless. Point being, this time around he decided on the pair of Vans he found at the bottom of her suitcase.

Harry loves that he never had to ask to borrow her stuff; she just let him raid whatever he wanted because it truly touched her that he always wanted to have a piece of her on him.

Those pair of raggedy Vans had ended up kicked into the corner of the room beside his suitcase as he distractedly shrugged off one shoulder of his jacket, the other occupied holding his phone to his ear.

“Yeah, that’s what we planned. Mitch texted and said he was boarding his flight so he should be here by tonight, probably around ten. The latest, twelve, depending on traffic.” Harry had grabbed his phone from its spot between his ear and shoulder, switching sides to slide off the rest of the windbreaker. “Okay, so nine tomorrow morning? The room’s booked and everything? Alright, sick! I’ll text you when I’m on my way. Later.”

Harry had tapped the screen of his phone, releasing a long sigh of relief through his nose as he chucked it onto the free bed along with his jacket, running one of his large hands up his tired face and through his messy locks.

Y/N had spoken up first, voice clear even over the Sugar Rush episode playing on the TV in the background. “How was Cancun?”

Harry’s drained gaze had focused on her and somehow, just looking at her— just seeing his girlfriend laying on the disheveled bed in one of the lavish, creme-colored hotel bathrobes with rainbow fuzzy socks covering her wiggling toes and her bangs pinned back haphazardly with a clip— had inflated a certain warmth inside him that rose up from the heels of his feet to the tips of his fingers, expanding in his chest and squeezing out any stress and exhaustion milling in his veins.

He had pursed his lips into a small, lopsided smile full of tender fondness, his eyes softening and glossing over with the comfort that comes from her familiar scent of chamomile shampoo and apple lip balm. “It went great. Everyone was lovely, the filming got done quick and easy, the food was as amazing as ever, but...”

Harry had trailed over to the front of the bed, falling onto his knees and then hands, crawling across the mattress until he was hovering over her with arms propped on either side of her head and knees straddling her hips. He’d pressed a delicate kiss to the center of her forehead, leaning down to nudge her nose with his. “...I missed you.”

Y/N cocked her head back to lock eyes with her boyfriend, his smile contagious. “Well, I missed my Vans.”

Harry had broken into an amused snort, shaking his head lightly as he speckled pecks all over her face. His tone was dramatic and full of pretend anguish. “My poor heart!”

She was reduced to a giggling mess as she wrapped her arms securely around his neck, his own arms weaving their way between the bed and her lower back to keep her trapped as his mouth brushed across every tickle spot he’d learned like the back of his hand.

Harry had pulled back from his little attack, grinning ear to ear with his dimples on full display. He’d balanced himself on his elbows, fingers reaching up to tuck her unkempt hair out of her face.

They’d laid like that for a moment; Harry snuggled between her legs, irises flickering over the tiny details of her face, taking her in. The way her lips were lightly chapped, her cheeks warmer than usual, her chest heaving and neck flexing with every breath she’d gulp down. The way her eyes were bright, almost as if infused with literal starlight. The way her hands were gripping at his wrists gently and the way she kept glancing down at his mouth, inviting it to meet her’s.

“Y’know what I’ve been thinking about all fucking day?” His voice had been soft— barely above a mumble— but filled with a type of desperate conviction that she rarely saw in him.

“Mm?” Her fingers had tightened around his wrists curiously.

He’d taken in a shaky breath, letting it out slowly in such a way that it rattled his lungs. His tongue had peeked out to swipe across his bottom lip, which had then pursed with his top one in anticipation.

“Been thinking about eating you out for hours.”

Y/N’s heart had tripped a step at his confession, which had come out as a sigh of needy pleading.

“Yeah?”

Harry had nodded his head sluggishly, leaning forward to lightly touch his lips to her Cupid’s Bow. The warmth of his words traced the outline of her mouth suggestively, sending a shiver racing down the knobs of her spine. “All fucking day, baby. Spent every second on that plane thinking about how sweet you’d taste on my tongue and how good it’d feel to have you dripping down my chin.”

One of Y/N’s hands had left its spot, opting for tracing his top lip with its fingers instead. “For hours?”

Harry had nodded almost feverishly, a small whimper stringing at the back of his throat at the sensation of the ridges of her skin passing over his. “Just been craving you a bit extra, lately. Was practically running through the airport to get here.”

She’d release small laugh in the form of a scoff, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. “I thought we’d go out to dinner first or something and save this for later, but if you really need it that bad...”

“Fuck, minx, I need it so fucking bad.”

Harry had left no time for her to think it over twice, pushing back to sit on his heels and tugging the tie of her bathrobe loose. “Jesus Christ...”

Y/N had prepared for the occasion.

In the short time he’d been away, she’d gone shopping at a mall near the hotel. She hadn’t really gone with the intent of purchasing anything, but then she ran into a specific set of lingerie that she just couldn’t pass up.

It was bright red lace, the fabric littered with glitter. It came with a bra (which had a bow over the middle of each cup and one at the center of the piece, which could be undone to remove the article from the front) and a pair of high-waisted cheeky panties with matching garters that fit perfectly mid-thigh.

Y/N could practically see Harry’s mouth watering as he had blinked at her a few times, utterly dumbfounded, mouth slightly parted. A hue as red as her undies had crawled up his neck and spilled across his cheeks, as well as the shells of his ears and the tip of his button nose.

“I was saving it for later.” She’d murmured softly, keeping her vision trained on his face, drinking up every twitch and jolt of his expression and letting it overflow her ego. She had spread her legs, hooking them over the back of each of his knees as she sunk further into the sheets, allowing her plush robe to skim down her upper arms. “But you can tear it off now, if you want.”

And that brings her to where she is now, with her head thrown back against the mound of expensive feather pillows, fingers woven into Harry’s damp curls as she bucks against his face, his forearms draped over her outer thighs to keep her pinned down to the mattress.

“Fucking hell, Har, please just let me cum.”

When he said for hours, she thought he’d meant it hyperbolically.

“Stay still.” His voice is low and raspy, thick with lust and drunk on her taste.

She thought it would’ve been maybe twenty minutes— forty, tops— but those minutes had turned to an hour, and that hour into two. The first hour he’d spent biting into her inner thighs and tonguing her over the lace panties, only removing them after they were embarrassingly drenched (and with his teeth, of course). The last hour had been him nose-deep between her thighs, fingers working into her thoroughly as he lapped at her folds like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

“God, you’re so fucking wet.” Harry pulls back a bit, lips, dimples, and the point of his nose gleaming with her excitement. He messily drags his knuckles up her pulsing clit, trying to clean her up a bit so he can get in further without feeling suffocated.

The milky liquid coats the back of his hand generously, dripping down onto his fingers and smearing across the soaked sheets. He glimpses down at it, instinctively bringing it up to his mouth and licking every drop off his knuckles. His tongue passes over his skin and between his fingers, eyes flickering upwards to lock onto her’s. His irises glitter with a form of self-satisfied snarkiness, glittering with different tones of green, light blue, and crystal amber in the deeper crevices.

Harry pushes his first two digits entirely past his lips, lids fluttering shut as he inhales a quaking sigh through his nose, humming a moan in the back of his throat. His words are muffled over his full mouth, but passable nonetheless. “Shit, you taste so bloody sweet.”

Her whole body caves upwards, thighs clenching and heels digging into the bed. Her voice is broken and whiney. “Wanna cum so bad.”

“I know y’do, darling. I know.” He pulls out with a wet pop, licking over his swollen lips and glistening chin. “But I’m just having too much fun. Just a little longer, I promise.”

Harry’s large hands cup over her quivering outer thighs, yanking her back towards his face. He picks up again with tiny puppy licks across the sensitive bud at the center of her folds, hips absentmindedly grinding into the bed to ease the radiating ache itching the underside of his balls.

Y/N tugs harder at his sun-kissed curls, feeling him hiss against her— the vibrations cause her knees to twitch. “I c-can’t hold off anymore...”

The pads of his digits bruise her skin. “Y’can— know y’can. If you want me to fuck you tonight, you better.”

Harry flattens his tongue out across the thickest part of her crotch, turning his face slowly from side to side as his fingers gently curl inside her, brushing against her tightening walls and resulting in a shattered whimper straining her throat. “That’s a good girl, hm? Love the sounds you make for me— they’re so fucking pretty. Love the way I make you squeal.”

Y/N’s words choke out in sputters, interrupted by abrupt breaths she can’t help but inhale. “Feels—so good— fuck—!”

“Such a darling little thing, aren’t you?” Harry looks up at her from underneath his thick lashes and cockily furrowed brows, the edges of his lips peeking up in a smug simper from between her legs. “Bought yourself something nice for me to fuck you in and thought you could go prancing around in it all night without me knowing until we got back.”

“Wanted it to be a s-surprise.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

Harry backs away from her slightly with a final rough lick, removing his fingers from inside her and sloppily wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He reaches over her left hip, hooking the ruined panties with his index finger and holding them up above her abdomen for her to see. A certain mischievous glossiness washes across his darkened eyes.

“You’re going to put these back on and spend the entire night in them. Want you sitting at dinner in the mess you made, thinking about how hard I’m gonna pound you when we get back.”

#drabble

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