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writing-intheundercroft · 6 months

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When We're Older || Mine

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9,640

Chapter Rating: Explicit (warning: smut, PIV sex, NSFW, MDNI)

A/N: Thank you as always to my beta, @happyaccidentsonly :) chapter updates may be a little slower with the holidays fast approaching, but still loving this story and Seb <3

November 1892

“What are you doing on Saturday?”

Theo looked up at Sebastian; her hair was in a long plait, and he couldn’t resist the urge to tug on the end. She was used to the gesture, knowing he wanted her attention.

“I was planning on staying in,” Theo shivered. It was November, and the winter chill had arrived early. “We’ve got exams coming up, and my brain is still buzzing from the Halloween masquerade last weekend.” she groaned.

Sebastian smiled at the memory; the masquerade had been a highlight of his fall term, the night spent dancing around the Three Broomsticks with Theo, dressed in matching serpentine masks. He’d tugged her upstairs to the room Sirona rented to long term boarders, hastily casting silencio and a locking charm on the door. They had been the last ones to leave the pub, Sirona commanding them out the door at midnight. When Sebastian had returned for his shift the following morning, she’d made him scrub the room from top to bottom.

Worth it, he thought.

“I was thinking we could have a quick dinner together,” Sebastian lazily threw his arm around her. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a night just the two of us.”

“Are you sure about that?” Theo raised her eyebrows, fighting back a salacious smile.

Sebastian rolled his eyes; bribing Deek to stay out of their business in the Room of Requirement would soon bankrupt him. “I meant a proper date. You and I, sitting down to dinner with one another, in a public establishment.” he shrugged. “Saturday, early evening? We can get back in time to quiz each other on the potions exam.”

Theo kissed the back of his hand. “Saturday it is.” she said happily.

The pair walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom; Sebastian settled into the desk he shared with Ominis, while Theo sat across the room with Natty.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Ominis chirped.

“A bit,” Sebastian mumbled. “Spent most of it studying for the Runes exam. Don’t tell her, please.”

“I won’t, but you know she’ll figure out you failed the last quiz eventually.” Ominis cautioned him.

Sebastian was exhausted. Terribly, unbelievably happy for the first time in what felt like eons, but absolutely exhausted. Between working for Sirona, researching solutions for Theo, and keeping up on his classes, Sebastian was averaging no more than five hours of sleep a night. His regimen, which he’d artfully crafted the year prior to keep him on task, had become a burden. Sebastian was up for the day by five o’clock, and usually collapsing into a deep sleep at midnight. Theo was constantly chastising him for staying up, but he couldn’t help it–his grades were slipping in all his subjects, and he kept falling behind on his assignments for Ancient Runes. Even Amit, one of the most agreeable students at Hogwarts, had moved to his own desk after enduring two months of Sebastian’s constant questions.

The only nights Sebastian ever got a decent sleep were the ones spent sharing a bed with Theo. Deek had become quite the clever businessman, suddenly increasing the requested rate to leave the two of them alone. He was happy to pay the fee, often collapsing face down into the Room of Requirement’s plush bed. The room was now more often being used for them to snuggle and catch up on sleep, the stack of contraceptive potions Professor Sharp had left in the dorm rooms being left untouched.

That fact itself drove Sebastian to the brink of insanity, but pleasure would have to take a back seat to his sleep needs.

“Everyone up, out of your seats!” Professor Hecat called out. As all the students stood, she whisked their desks to the side of the room with her wand. “Today we will be practicing with an exceptionally foul boggart. Mr. Moon uncovered it over the summer, and it will soon be transported to the Department of Mysteries for further study.”

The room devolved into whispers; Sebastian looked over at Theo, eagerly craning her head. Any mention of the department of mysteries nowadays had her complete attention. Professor Weasley and Professor Hecat maintained that she was the top candidate for their recommendation, and she’d already been introduced to the head of the department.

“Professor, is it safe?” Amit asked anxiously.

Professor Hecat gave a sly grin. “Of course it is, Mr. Thakkar. All of you have been well trained in the riddikulus spell, but this will be a test of your adaptivity and swiftness in dealing with the dark arts. Now, if the class can line up, we’ll get started.”

Sebastian wove through the other students to the front of the class. “Professor, might I have a moment?” he asked.

Hecat looked up at him; Sebastian hadn’t realized how much he’d grown over the summer until he towered over his favorite professor. “Yes, Sallow?”

Sebastian scratched the back of his neck. “I wondered if I might sit this one out.” he said sheepishly. “My boggart…well, it’s Anne, usually. And I think it would be quite traumatizing for everyone to see her…uh, incapacitated.” the sentence tumbled out of his mouth.

Hecat gave him a sympathetic look. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sebastian. I understand–you may sit on the sidelines for this activity.”

Sebastian sat on the edge of a desk while the rest of the group lined up. Theo and Ominis were towards the back, chattering with the other students.

“For today’s exercise, one must remember casting the spell is far more complex than one would originally believe–you must maintain composure, otherwise you’ll fall victim to your fears.” Hecat announced. She summoned a rumbling chest out of her office; it flew to the center of the classroom.

Banishing a boggart at their skill level should be fairly easy, Sebastian thought. It would be an easy outstanding grade for anyone in their class. Despite Hecat claiming the boggart was particularly nasty, almost everyone had tamed the boggart in one try, laughter erupting amongst the group. Hecat leaned against the wall, grinning at her students. One might even argue the exercise was fun, a moment of levity for the seventh years as they prepared for their term exams. If Sebastian didn’t already know what his boggart was, he would’ve eagerly joined in.

Amit’s boggart was a werewolf; Everett’s was the giant squid. Poppy and Natty both faced poachers, while Garreth put up with his aunt Matilda screaming at him. Imelda’s greatest fear appeared to be not making a professional quidditch squad, which had the entire class laughing and the boggart quaking to return to its shelter.

Ominis nonchalantly walked into the boggart’s range, wand at the ready. His boggart manifested as a black cloud, emitting the voice of his older brother Marvolo. However, he seemed unphased, swishing his wand to transform it into a giant puffskein. Sebastian laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye; had Hobhouse been in their class, he likely would have wet himself.

Last up, Theo swaggered up to the boggart, cheekily flicking her wand in preparation. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face as she braced herself. Sebastian was curious to see what hers was–for all that they’d discussed, she’d never spoken about her fears before. It often felt like Theo wasn’t afraid of anything; how could she be, when she’d bravely charged against a troll on her first day of school?

The puffskein disappeared, swirling into gray matter. Theo’s arrogant smile faltered when it reached its final form. Sebastian had expected the boggart to take the form of Victor Rookwood or Ranrok, the two menaces who’d terrorized her during fifth year.

Instead, the class silently stared at the boggart, which had taken the form of Professor Fig. Although it didn’t look quite right; he looked quite unnatural. His eyes were glowing red, similar to Theo when she had her power surges. The real Fig always had a bright, jovial expression on his face in life; Boggart Fig looked weary and tired.

“ I’m so disappointed in you,” Boggart Fig scolded. “How could you? ”

Theo’s mouth dropped, her wand slightly faltering. “R-r-riddikulus,” she stuttered.

The boggart swirled into gray matter again, shifting forms. Her boggart changed from Fig to a strange looking woman with dark brown hair, gathered into a neat bun at her neck. She held a hand out to Theo, her smile eerie and unsettling. Sebastian had only seen her in the memories from the triptyque, but now Isidora Morganach was standing before the entire class.

Theo gasped, dropping her wand.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what possessed him. He charged off the desk towards the center of the room, pushing Theo out of the boggart’s way. He knew exactly what his boggart would be–Anne, cold and gray on the floor. There would be no surprises; Solomon had taught him how to banish it without a second thought.

The matter swirled in the thick classroom air, and the form of a girl manifested on the ground. However, it wasn’t Anne. It was Theo, writhing in pain, sparks of red emitting from her body. Unlike Theo’s fictional Professor Fig or Isidora, the boggart didn’t need to imagine what she’d look like twisted on the floor. It fed directly off Sebastian’s memories, perfectly recreating what Theo looked like in front of the Scriptorium door, down to the exact cameo pin she’d been wearing in her ponytail that day.

“ Riddikulus !” Sebastian panted.

The boggart relented. Boggart Theo stood up from the floor, a twisted smile on her face, not too different from Isidora's expression. She looked entirely unaffected from the cruciatus curse; instead, her eyes were glimmering red as she held her wand up to Sebastian’s neck.

Sebastian felt himself being tugged away, falling onto the ground. Professor Hecat was waving her wand, banishing the boggart back to its chest. Heaving, he looked up to see Theo splayed out on the floor across from him, covering her eyes with her hands. Ominis was kneeling at her side, whispering to her.

Sebastian turned to look at the rest of the class. Everyone had somber looks on their faces, pushed back to the perimeter of the classroom. Everett was already whispering into Eric Northcott’s ear, and Natty had her hand pressed against her mouth in shock. Sebastian felt a trickle of worry–Natty was the only person he knew who’d also faced the cruciatus curse, and she likely recognized the spell.

“Alright, class is dismissed.” Hecat called out. “And do know that if I hear any unseemly gossip about our exercise around the castle, perpetrators will be punished.” she snarled. “Sallow, in my office. Mr. Gaunt, please stay with Miss Caulfield for a moment.”

Sebastian scrambled to his feet, knowing that no matter how much Hecat threatened, the rumors would be floating around the castle in minutes. First, that the hero of Hogwarts had been unable to banish a boggart; secondly, that her greatest fear was Professor Fig. Astoria Crickett would have a field day rehashing that rumor, and he mentally prepared himself for the backlash that would follow.

Sebastian trailed behind Professor Hecat to her office; he looked back at Theo, who was sitting dejectedly on a desktop while Ominis held her hand. Sebastian knew it was unreasonable, unfathomable–but he couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy that he wasn’t the one reassuring Theo.

The door shut behind him, and Sebastian settled uncomfortably into the seat across Hecat’s desk.

“I expected better of you, Mr. Sallow.” Hecat tutted, sitting at her desk. “While I admire your heroism, you must allow Miss Caulfield to fail .”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “Professor, she was mortified–”

“And she will learn from her mistakes,” Hecat said sternly. “That is the point of being a student, is it not?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to argue, but he knew he wouldn’t win.

“I see your fears have changed as well, Mr. Sallow.” Hecat cleared her throat. “You believed your boggart would be your sister, but it seems to be Miss Caulfield. And you appear to be fearful of her being in pain.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly, wondering where Professor Hecat was going. “Y-yes.” he stuttered.

Hecat folded her hands on the desk. “Sallow, has Theodora told you she’s been a target of the cruciatus curse?” she asked softly. “As your professor, you can tell me. I know she suffered quite a bit at the hands of the ashwinders during your fifth year.”

Sebastian’s heart fell into his stomach, his organs twisting with guilt. “She hasn’t,” he gulped. “Only I worry about it, with her constantly putting herself in danger.” he hated how easily the lie came out of him.

Hecat eased into her chair. “I understand the two of you are close–love always does seem to grow between good friends. But I must urge you, if you are still planning on my recommendation for the curse breaker program, you need to wisen up.” she warned. “Your blossoming relationship may be interfering with your future career prospects.”

Sebastian felt sick to his stomach. “I really am trying, Professor,” he said weakly.

“Sallow, I fear you’re stretching yourself too thin.” Hecat sighed. “Professor Twiney has informed me that you’ve barely passed the last two Ancient Runes exams, and you know a mastery of the subject is required for the cursebreaker program. You also failed the latest potions practical exam.”

Sebastian shamefully hung his head. “I know, Professor, it’s just been a lot–”

“This is the most important year of your studies, Sebastian. You’ve always been a bright boy, and you’ve persevered through more than most students could ever imagine–you must push through.” Hecat said determinedly. She stood, walking around from the desk to put a hand on his shoulder. While Sebastian knew it was meant to be reassuring, it only made him feel worse.

“I understand, Professor.” Sebastian said, looking up at the woman.

Hecat smiled, eyes wrinkling at the corners, and she patted his shoulder. “You may leave, but send Miss Caulfield in after you.”

Sebastian walked out of her office on unsteady feet; Ominis was sitting on top of the desk with Theo, still holding her hand. Sebastian fought back his frown as he walked up to his two best friends, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hecat wants to see you now,” he muttered.

Theo’s eyes had returned to their natural brown, and she slipped off the desk without another word. Sebastian’s eyes followed her as she walked up the stairs, the door slipping shut behind her.

“Well, that was enough drama for one day,” Ominis huffed. He elegantly hopped off the desk, brushing his hands against his robes. “Should we head to lunch?”

Sebastian followed him wordlessly through the hallways, Ominis chattering about their classmates and their fears. He was trying to fill the silence, Sebastian realized; Ominis never spoke that much. It was the first signal that something was wrong, that Theo had said something to their blind companion that had clearly shook him.

Ominis had his hand against the Great Hall’s doors, pausing when he heard Sebastian clear his throat.

“What is it?” Ominis hesitated.

“What did she say to you?” Sebastian asked, gritting his teeth. “She must have said something.”

“Sebastian, now is hardly the time,” Ominis began, but he was swiftly cut off.

“What did Theo say, Om?” Sebastian asked quietly this time. “I need to know.”

Ominis inhaled sharply, turning to face him. Sebastian knew Ominis couldn’t see him; his wand was down at his side. But after years of living with one another, the boys knew each other and their mannerisms too well.

“She thinks you’re afraid of her.” Ominis said plainly.

Theo had been excused from her classes for the rest of the day; Sebastian had impatiently tapped his foot all through his last class in anticipation of finding her. The second the final bell had rung, Sebastian took off running from his arithmancy classroom, bolting through the hallways to get back to the common room before Theo could slink up to her room. He didn’t care about the prefects yelling at him; he clung onto his book bag as he tore through the hallways down to the dungeons. He nearly tumbled down the spiral stairs to the common room, his eyes raking the room for a familiar head of black hair.

“Have you seen Theo?” He gasped, turning to Grace and Imelda, who were sitting on the couch.

Imelda shook her head. “Haven’t seen her since this morning. She’s not in our room either."

“Imelda told us what happened in Defense Against the Dark Arts—Astoria Crickett and her crew were back stirring up nonsense about her and Professor Fig.” Grace advised. “I would leave her be, Sebastian.”

Like hell , Sebastian thought. He immediately turned, running back up the stairs, two steps at a time. He was sure he looked like a complete idiot, but nothing could stop him from his search. The Room of Requirement was the only place he could think of, and the trek from the dungeons to the top of the Astronomy Tower was an excruciating run. Sebastian felt his stomach churning as he turned the top of the stairs, heaving as he pushed open the door.

“Mister Sallow,” Deek squeaked. “Deek wasn’t expecting you this evening,” he said hesitantly.

“Have you seen Theo?” Sebastian choked out. “I’ve been looking for her.”

Deek shook his head. “Miss Theo hasn’t been here all day, not since she picked up her potions this morning.” he gestured over to her potions station, which for once, wasn’t bubbling.

Sebastian groaned; if she wasn’t in the Room of Requirement, it meant she was likely in Undercroft. At least the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower was a quick walk away. He quickly bid the house elf goodbye, trying his best not to fall down the stairs as he made his way to the other wing of the castle. Dodging all of the other students, on their way to dinner in the Great Hall, Sebastian began jogging through the hall. He passed Professor Ronen’s classroom, going down the mahogany stairs. He stopped to catch his breath on the third floor, looking up at the rich tapestries on the wall. He’d always see Theo sitting on the benches against them, waiting for her private tutoring sessions with Professor Fig.

Professor Fig, whose office was just down the hall.

It all became obvious to him then, thinking back to the nights Theo would disappear from the common room towards the end of fifth year. Things had still been awkward between them, but he always made sure to check on her usual hiding spots. On one particular night, he’d decided to check Professor Fig’s office, finding her curled up on the chair. He’d held her while she cried, wetting his shirt; the moment had rekindled their friendship.

Sebastian changed his course, his brisk pace slowing as he approached the room. The room had been locked for the majority of sixth year while the ministry carried out their inquiry on his death. Ever since they’d returned for seventh year, the classroom had been open, now just a storage space. Mr. Moon had just cast a basic locking charm on the door, easy for any student to bypass. Sebastian slipped through the door, shutting it softly behind him. The classroom was empty, but he could hear a gramophone playing in the distance, up in the office.

“Theo?” Sebastian murmured, pushing the door in wider.

Theo was sitting on a dusty chair, the one in the corner of the room. Her feet were tucked underneath her as she waved her wand, little paper birds flying in the air. The gramophone was playing the same song it always played–one of Professor Fig’s favorites, Sebastian presumed.

“They took all of his belongings when the ministry finished their inquiry,” Theo mused. “Black claimed most of the artifacts belonged to the school, so they’re somewhere around the castle. Most of his personal effects were put away in a Gringotts vault, for when I turned seventeen.”

“He named you his heir?” Sebastian raised his eyebrows.

She nodded. “Professor Weasley told me when she gave me Miriam’s watch for my birthday. Honestly, it made me feel worse–like I’ve let him down.” she uttered.

Sebastian knelt down on the floor in front of her. “Theo, he would’ve been so proud of you.” he whispered. “He would’ve never been disappointed in you.”

“We were talking about what I’d do with the repository,” Theo was fighting back tears. “He said I was being wise, leaving the power in the repository. He promised we’d research over the summer, figure out what to do with Isidora’s magic. We were brainstorming a solution together when Ranrok attacked.”

Sebastian pulled her hand into his. “You did the right thing. You went back for the power to keep the school safe, you said so yourself. Fig would’ve agreed, Theo.”

Her eyes were shut tightly, her fingers laced through his. “That’s not what you were telling me over the summer,” she said cautiously. “Are you afraid of me?”

Sebastian froze. “That’s what you’re so upset about?” he panted. “That I would be afraid of you?”

“I overheard you talking to Ominis while I was in bed, about my eyes.” she claimed. Sebastian felt a flicker of shame; he hadn’t realized she’d been awake to hear them. “That you’re not sure you trust me. And you…you want to fix me, when I’m not sure there’s anything to fix.”

“Theo, that’s not how I meant it.” Sebastian assured her.

“Then why am I your boggart?” Theo asked, sniffling. “Boggarts show your true fears, and yours showed me, my eyes.” she accused him. “You’re lying to me.”

“I might have been scared at first,” Sebastian admitted, “but I know you, Theo. I know you could never hurt me. I only worry about losing you.” He grasped their hands together, squeezing them tight. “Theo, I’ve already lost so much. My parents, Anne…we don’t know what this power will do to you. We don’t even know how it’s possible for you to hold it within.”

“I do know,” Theo echoed softly. “I’ve known for a while. Or at least I think I do.”

“Tell me,” Sebastian pleaded. "Explain it to me, I'm begging you."

Theo pursed her lips together, letting out a low sigh. “I told you I took the power because I thought it wasn’t safe under the school. That was only partly true.” she fumbled with his fingers. “I lied to you. That’s not the only reason.”

“What is it, Theo?” Sebastian asked, fearful of her answer.

She looked up at him, brown eyes wet with tears. “I did it because I love you, Sebastian.” she confessed. “Before I even had romantic feelings for you, I loved you. I think I was yours before I even knew I wanted you.”

“Why would you do it? For me, of all people?” Sebastian strained.

Theo chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. “I’ve been keeping a secret from you all this time, one that would hurt you.” she admitted.

Sebastian was silent, unsure of what to say next.

“I’ve been healing Anne for the past year,” Theo wiped at her eyes. “I meet with her once a month, maybe two. I never know when I’ll see her next; she sends me an owl when the pain starts to flare up again.”

Sebastian felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Anne?” he croaked. “She’s okay?”

Theo nodded, wisps of her black hair sticking to her tear stained cheeks. “She’s doing really well, Seb. And I knew I’d be hurting you, keeping this secret from you, but I couldn’t let her waste away. She’s half of you–you’re half of her. You wouldn’t be the same if she died.”

“Oh Theo,” Sebastian groaned, pulling her down from the chair to hug her. “I don’t know how you’d ever thought I’d be angry at you.”

“You’re not mad?” her voice was muffled against his cloak. “That I’ve been lying to you?”

“Mad?” Sebastian pulled away, his hands flying to her cheeks. “How could I ever be mad at you? You’re…you’ve kept Anne alive .” he breathed, pressing a kiss to her lips. “How does it work? Are you absorbing her pain, like Isidora? Is it affecting her soul, the way Isidora’s magic did?” he asked eagerly, wanting nothing more than to understand.

Theo shook her head. “Professor Fig and I did quite a lot of research into it, actually. There’s so much we know about magic now, more than Isidora ever would’ve known. You really do have to be so specific with your intention, so you don’t take what you’re not meant to.” Theo explained.

“Are you in pain?” Sebastian asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

“No, I’m not.” Theo promised. “There’s a more potent magic that protects me…at least, I think it does.”

“What is it?” Sebastian asked eagerly.

She bit down on her lip. “It sounds ridiculous, but it’s love.” she cooed. “Professor Fig gave me the idea a long time ago. He said love was the most powerful magic, and with the right intent, could protect, cure, even possibly revive. To love deeply, unselfishly, without fear…it can do the most amazing things.” she admitted. “There’s a book, you should read it–”

Sebastian didn’t want to hear more. Instead, he pressed her to the ground, his lips locking against hers. “I love you so much.” Sebastian groaned into her mouth. “You’re the most amazing woman. Merlin, I can’t believe you’re mine.”

She laughed, tears still streaming down her face as she kissed him back. “I love you too, an awful lot.” she sniffed as Sebastian placed kisses on her salty cheeks. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I could never,” Sebastian said fiercely. “I swear it now, I’m going to spend the rest of my life worshiping you.” he declared, peppering kisses against her jaw.

“Don’t get carried away, we still have to go down for dinner.” Theo chuckled and sniffed at the same time.

“I didn’t think it was possible to love you more,” Sebastian nuzzled her neck. “But somehow, I do.”

The couple stayed on the floor for a little while longer, listening to the song play on repeat. Sebastian had questions, of course, but he figured he now had the rest of his life to ask them. And Anne–Anne, of all people–was alive and thriving. The worry he had over his sister was always bubbling within him, pushed to the bottom as he tried to improve himself, but now he could relax.

Theo had been keeping her healthy. His heart felt like it was doing flips as he digested what she’d said–she’d absorbed the power long before they’d started dating, before they’d even kissed. Way before Sebastian had felt the burning jealousy he had whenever another boy spoke to her. They’d only been friends then, and yet she’d loved him.

Mine , he thought. And he was hers. Before they'd even known that they'd wanted each other, they'd belonged to one another.

It was only when Theo’s stomach growled that they got to their feet; dinner would start in five minutes, and if they hurried, they could get to the Great Hall in time. Hopefully Ominis would have saved them seats–if not, Sebastian would be more than happy to run to the kitchens to fetch her food. He’d never complain about carrying her or running through the castle for her ever again.

“Do you think Anne would be open to seeing me?” Sebastian asked eagerly, swinging Theo’s arm back and forth as they walked through Central Hall.

“I’ll ask her the next time I see her.” Theo promised. “She and I…well, it’s an interesting relationship. I can never tell if she hates me, or thinks we’re friends.”

Sebastian snorted. “She’s like that with girls she doesn’t know well. I’m sure with time she’ll love you just as much as I do.” he assured her.

They passed the Ancient Runes classroom; Professor Twiney gave them a curious look as they walked by. Once they were past earshot, Theo cleared her throat.

“I meant to ask,” Theo interjected, “how your Runes exam went.”

Sebastian held back the wince on his face. “It was fine,” he lied.

“Really?” Theo asked, eyebrows raised. “Amit said he had to switch desks, you were asking for too many answers.”

Sebastian cursed the Ravenclaw under his breath. “It wasn’t my best work, but you don’t have to worry.” It felt wrong to lie, but he knew he couldn’t let Theo down, not after everything she’d done for him.

“That’s fine,” Theo shrugged. “I’ll help you study over the weekend. Perhaps we can work on your translations over our dinner.” she suggested.

“I was thinking about that,” Sebastian mused, tightening his grip on her hand. “And as much as I’d love to have you out in public...perhaps we should do something just the two of us. Alone .”

“Bet Deek’s pocketing half your salary these days,” Theo snorted. “Room of Requirement, then?”

Sebastian gave her a devilish grin. “Room of Requirement. It’s about time we put that bed to good use,” he winked.

Theo chuckled, letting out a big sigh as she slumped against him. “It’s good to not have secrets anymore.” she admitted.

Sebastian pushed open the door to the Great Hall; the food had just been summoned, and he could see Ominis at the Slytherin table, two empty seats by his side. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his teetering grades from Theo for much longer, but for now, Sebastian wanted to enjoy the relative peace that had been granted to them.

Theo let go of his hand, jogging over to the table. Sebastian’s steps faltered, a thought stopping him in his tracks as he watched Theo slide into the bench next to Ominis, chattering animatedly. The power of the repository was somehow living inside of her–consequence unknown. While she’d assured him that her love was keeping the power at bay, Sebastian only became further dedicated to understanding and researching a solution for her.

The tricky part now, he thought, was how to preserve the power–preserve it, so that Anne might live.

“Seb,” Theo called out. It broke him out of his thoughts, shaking his head as he looked over at his two best friends. “Are you coming?”

“Coming,” Sebastian echoed, walking towards them.

Anne was healthy, and Theo loved him. Those two facts alone could give Sebastian the power to push through.

September 1898

“Everyone is staring at us,” Sebastian muttered.

“Don’t mind them,” Ominis huffed.

Sebastian grumbled to himself, walking a few paces behind Ominis and Theo. Garreth Weasley’s supper club had been a humble watering hole when he left London three years prior, but it had somehow become the most popular dining establishment in Diagon Alley in his absence. Everyone watched as the trio entered, whispering to one another as they climbed the stairs. Sebastian nodded curtly at Cyrus Lestrange, his former dormmate, who was standing amongst the patrons. Once they were out of sight, Sebastian could hear the music and chattering pick up again.

Theo guided the boys to one of the private dining rooms; Sebastian’s face flushed as she pulled back the curtain, revealing Natty, Poppy, and Imelda.

“Welcome home, Sebastian!” Poppy exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. The petite brunette hadn’t changed much at all; if anything, she looked a little more grizzled after her time away as a magizoologist. Her bob was bluntly cut at her chin, but her cherub-like cheeks betrayed her age.

“Sallow,” Imelda gave him a heavy slap on the back. Now one of the world’s most distinguished chasers, Imelda’s embrace felt more like a beater’s club against his spine. Sebastian had often seen her picture in the paper, wearing her Holyhead Harpies kit. It almost seemed strange to see her wearing a formal dress, bright gold and green to match her team’s colors.

Sebastian approached Natty next; he’d already seen her before at the Ministry of Magic, but it was still a treat to have her around. “I was not surprised when Ominis sent an owl canceling dinner,” she winked, giving him and Theo a haughty grin.

“Sit, sit,” Ominis commanded, letting everyone take their place around the table. “Figured we’d have a quick dinner with the six of us, and then join the rest of the club for the festivities,” he announced. Despite hating society events, Ominis was the most picturesque host. He was seated at the head of the table, smiling broadly at the group assembled.

“Garreth has a string quartet playing most nights,” Theo leaned over to whisper in his ear, her breath tickling his skin. “After the boys smoke their cigars.”

Sebastian bit his lower lip. “I’d much rather spend the night with you,” he murmured.

“Enough of your whispers,” Imelda complained. “Haven’t you two had enough time together?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, chuckling as he looked back at the group. “Never enough time with her, I’m afraid.” He slipped his hand under the table, resting it on Theo’s thigh.

Poppy gave them a beaming smile, leaning her chin into the palm of her hand. “Oh, I’m just so happy to see the two of you next to each other again. And with Ominis too–the trio, back in action.”

“No action from me,” Ominis waved his arms. “I’ve had a lifetime of trouble already with those two, I’d very much like to enjoy my peace and quiet.”

Natty poured more wine into her glass. “I doubt you’ll have a moment of peace with Sebastian home.”

“Quite right, Natty.” Ominis chuckled. “You know, Sebastian did tackle me in front of Prewett and Hobhouse…it was quite a sight.”

The velvet curtain was pushed open; Sebastian frowned as Theo brushed his hand off of her leg. His eyes went to the doorway, seeing a cheerful Garreth Weasley step into the room. His red hair was slicked back, wearing a fine burgundy velvet suit.

“Sebastian Sallow, my good man,” Garreth announced, making a quick stride over to the table to shake his hand. “Welcome home.”

Sebastian stood, shaking the redhead’s hand eagerly. “Weasley, good to see you. You’ve done well, I see.”

Garreth grinned broadly, his hands on his hips. “Hottest spot in town; Aunt Matilda was quite shocked at how badly the wizarding community needed a dinner club.” He turned his head as a parade of little house elves puttered into the room, conjuring their meal. “Took in some retired house elves,” he murmured. “They drive a hard bargain, but nothing beats their cooking skills.”

Sebastian snorted. “Well, glad to see the place is still standing.”

“You’ll be at Prewett’s wedding, won’t you?” Garreth asked. “With Sebastian Sallow back on the market, I’m sure it’ll be a splash.” he winked.

“Gar,” Natty chided. “Theo’s right here.”

Garreth blushed. “Sorry, Theo.”

Theo merely rolled her eyes, waving him off as she grabbed Ominis’s hand. Sebastian knew she was only playing the part, but something in his chest burned at the idea of her dismissing Garreth’s quip about Sebastian’s status. He never wanted to picture a reality where they weren’t together, but he would’ve hoped she would pine after him a little harder.

This is ridiculous, Sebastian reminded himself. He’d only spent the last twenty four hours wrapped up in her bed, yet he was jealous of a fake relationship.

“Well, it’s good to see you regardless–we’ll catch up in the cigar lounge.” Garreth promised, disappearing behind the curtain once the food had been settled.

Sebastian took his seat again, placing his hand back on Theo’s leg, its rightful place.

“Well, with that out of the way, shall we enjoy our meal?” Imelda cut the silence. “I’ve heard the lamb is quite spectacular–stole the recipe right from the Hogwarts kitchens.”

The dinner went on, but everyone felt the slight tension in the room. Sebastian poked at his dinner plate glumly. Even Theo’s hand over his didn’t ease his discomfort, and the rest of the guests knew it. It wasn’t long before Imelda, Natty, and Poppy were excusing themselves to join the other ladies in the parlor.

“Are you two alright?” Ominis asked hesitantly, holding his wand out. “Shall we head to the lounge, Sebastian?”

“Just a moment, Om.” Theo said gently. “Sebastian will find you.”

Ominis disappeared behind the curtain, and Theo backed Sebastian against the table. She held him by the lapels of his dinner jacket, pouting up at him.

“Are you cross with me?” she asked quietly.

Sebastian groaned. “Never, I could never be cross with you.” he muttered. “It’s just Weasley–reminding me how we have to pretend .” Sebastian’s voice was strained.

“Seb, it’s only a little while longer.” Theo reminded him. “Ominis and I are trying to come up with a plan, it’s only been a few days.”

He rolled his eyes, slumping against her. “I know, I know. My fault for not telling you I was coming home, anyways.” he grumbled. “Promise me a dance tonight, will you?”

“I’ll give you as many dances as possible,” Theo promised, pressing her lips to his jaw. “And quite a few more when we’re home, I might add.”

Sebastian felt his face heat up as she backed away, smiling proudly at him. “You enjoy cigars with Ominis, and I’ll find you in the ballroom.” she promised. Sebastian’s eyes lingered on her form as she sashayed away; the dark green taffeta gown she’d chosen for the night reminded him of the inky waters of the Black Lake.

Garreth’s club had been retrofitted into an old townhouse in Diagon Alley, the rooms magically charmed to expand, adding nooks and crannies in the house for private parties. Sebastian found himself wandering through the hallways, nodding at familiar faces as he passed. Arthur Plummly and Leonora Everleigh gave him polite smiles; Lucan Brattleby stopped him for nearly five minutes, the young auror wanting all the details of Sebastian’s adventures abroad. He could’ve sworn he saw Andrew Larson on the next floor up, ducking out from behind a curtain with a very paranoid looking Philippa Bulstrode.

Sebastian passed another room, pausing as he heard a familiar voice.

“Did you hear Sallow is back in town?”

Sebastian pressed himself against the wall, listening from the doorway. Clearly whoever was in the room had decided to forego silencing charms.

“I did–saw him come into the club with Ominis Gaunt and Theodora Caulfield.” Sebastian recognized the voice-it was Cyrus Lestrange, who'd seen them earlier than evening.

“How strange,” the man tutted. The other voice was Peter Parkinson, his former roommate from Hogwarts. “Can you imagine how awkward that must be?”

“I feel for him–left for his job, only to come home and find out his best mate stole his woman.” Lestrange let out a low whistle. “Honestly, I’m shocked the Gaunts are letting him keep up with Theo. She’s a half-blood, after all.”

“Yes, but she has that peculiar magic,” Parkinson pointed out.

“You know the Gaunts,” Lestrange reminded him. “Blood purists, complete fanatics. No matter how powerful Theo is, they’ll kill Ominis if he marries her. Merlin forbid he get her pregnant.”

Parkinson laughed. “That reminds me, Violet wrote this morning–she ran into the two of them buying contraceptive potions at the apothecary.”

Sebastian swore under his breath; damn Violet McDowell and her incessant need to gossip.

“Ominis and Theo?”

“No, Theo with Sallow,” Parkinson took a second to puff on his cigar. “Just like old times, eh?”

“I’m not surprised,” Lestrange chuckled darkly. “Imagine the next slew of Gaunts come out freckled and brunette…not like Ominis will be able to tell the difference anyways. It’ll be like Larson and Philippa all over again.”

Sebastian backed away from the door as they laughed, red in the face with anger. His hands balled up into fists as he stalked down the hallway, back to the staircase. He couldn’t care less what people said about him, but he’d be damned if he let rumors spread about Theo. It felt like their school years all over again; while she seemed immune to any rumors spread about her, Sebastian couldn’t stand hearing her name come from other’s mouths.

“Sebastian!” Garreth roared, waving his hands at him. “You’ve completely missed the lounge.”

Sebastian shook out of his anger, turning to the redhead. “It’s been a while.” he lied. “Forgot where it was.”

“Well, you’re just in time–music just started up, the ballroom is buzzing.” Garreth grinned. “Come on, get your wits about you; there are plenty of single women in there to dance with.” As Garreth pushed him into the large ballroom, Sebastian had to remind himself that he did in fact quite like him, and that punching him without reason would be a bad look indeed.

Garreth directed him to a group of their classmates; he quite eagerly took a glass of champagne from the table, downing it in three large gulps.

“Sebastian!” Amit greeted him. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

“Amit,” Sebastian acknowledged him, craning his head over the crowd to see who was on the dance floor.

“You’ve just missed everyone, taking off for the first dance.” Everett said, sliding his glasses up his nose. “Prewett and his bride, Northcott and Poppy.”

Andrew Larson appeared out of seemingly nowhere, also sipping on his champagne. “Jenkins has asked Natty to dance, poor man has two left feet. Hope she comes out unscathed.” He gave Sebastian a rather pointed look before gazing back out at the dance floor.

“Oh, Ominis and Theo are dancing.” Amit pointed out. “They are rather graceful together, aren’t they–oof!”

Sebastian pretended he didn’t see Everett elbow Amit in the side, and Amit’s apologetic look that followed. He stared out at the dance floor, where Theo was twirling around with Ominis. The two were laughing together as Theo danced with Ominis, the pair swaying elegantly. Again, her taffeta gown shimmered under the candle light, the beading on her scandalously low neckline sparkling from across the room.

“Excuse us,” Everett said, tugging Amit away. Sebastian could hear him scolding the poor man–it seemed like everyone was walking on eggshells around him, expecting him to lash out in anger at any moment.

“They make a handsome couple,” Larson observed, lifting his glass to his lips again.

“They do,” Sebastian echoed through gritted teeth.

Larson sighed loudly. “I guess that’s our lot in life, isn’t it? Watching the girl who got away.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” Sebastian furrowed his eyebrows at him.

Larson looked back out at the dance floor. Not far from Ominis and Theo, Philippa Greengrass, now Bulstrode, was dancing with her husband. The couple looked mismatched; Philippa was tall and willowy, her brutish husband quite stout besides to her. Nonetheless, she danced on his arm with a placid smile, eyes flitting back to Larson every now and then.

“That’s not what it’s like.” Sebastian insisted. While he knew the truth, he couldn’t suppress the bubbling resentment that was rising in his throat.

“That’s what I told myself six years ago,” Larson muttered, gulping down the rest of his champagne and setting the coupe on a table behind them. “Take my advice, Sallow–move on, before it’s too late.”

The song ended as Larson walked away, and Sebastian felt like there was a cinder block pinned to his chest. His heart pattered as Theo walked towards him, clapping for the musicians with Ominis’s hand on the small of her back. Ominis had never been touchy in their youth, complaining about hugs and nudges during their school years. Sebastian had taken note of how comfortable he’d become around Theo in his absence; it had started with Ominis hanging her blouses, and now it was glaringly obvious as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Mine, Sebastian’s heart roared. Not his.

“I’ve had my fill of dancing,” Ominis announced loudly. “I think I’ll retire for the night–Sebastian, would you mind terribly accompanying Theo?”

Inquiring minds were staring at them, so Sebastian swallowed his pride and smiled politely. “Of course,” he nodded his head, quickly shaking Ominis’s hand.

“Behave, you two.” Ominis snickered.

“Can’t make any promises,” Theo patted his cheek, pressing a quick kiss to the opposite one.

Ominis made a show of his exit, which left Theo and Sebastian standing next to each other. The musicians picked back up on their instruments, starting the next song.

“I believe I promised you a dance, Mr. Sallow.” Theo said sweetly. “Do me the honor?”

“It would be mine, entirely.” Sebastian murmured, taking her hand. He led her out onto the dance floor, knowing the entire room’s eyes were on them. With that in mind, he placed his hand quite low on her waist, gripping her through the fabric of her gown. It had been too long since he’d done a proper dance, so he glanced down at Theo quite shyly.

“I fear I’ve forgotten the steps,” he admitted sheepishly.

Theo gave him a sparkling smile. “I’ll guide you, don’t worry.” she reassured him.

The music picked up speed and Sebastian locked his eyes on Theo’s. She had always been beautiful, with shiny hair and a pretty complexion. Despite all the time they’d spent together since his return, Sebastian wasn’t sure they’d ever have enough time for him to properly digest how she’d changed in his absence. Her posture was different, even cockier than she’d been when they were teenagers. Cheekbones slightly sharper, lips a bit poutier (perhaps still swollen from the kisses he’d lavished her with that afternoon).

“What are you staring at?” Theo asked teasingly.

“Just how ravishing you look,” Sebastian hummed, pulling her tighter.

Theo rolled her eyes. “There are people watching, Seb.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian declared. “We’re the talk of the town, if you haven’t heard.”

More people joined the dance floor, crowding around the pair. Sebastian spun Theo around, grabbing her by the waist again to lift her in the air. The dance steps came back to him quite easily, reminding him of their youth. Back then, before the Crimson Lion was an elegant establishment, Sebastian and Theo had spent many evenings dining and dancing with their friends, up until the wee hours of the morning.

“What have you overheard?” Theo asked, clasping her hand on his shoulder as he lifted her.

“Well, for starters, everyone thinks I’m about to combust.” Sebastian chuffed. “They all think I’m about to murder Ominis for stealing you away.”

Theo grinned at him. “Is that not every girl’s dream, to have the two most eligible bachelors chasing her?”

“My nightmare,” Sebastian growled, tugging her body flush against his. “I can’t wait to prove you’re mine, only mine.” He rather scandalously tipped her chin up towards him, his fingers trailing down her neck. “Where’s your necklace?” he observed, noticing the silver chain was gone.

“Left it at home,” Theo licked her berry stained lips. “I took it off while you were in the bath. Left it somewhere for you to find.”

Sebastian blinked at her, picturing Theo slipping the engagement ring off her neck, hiding it in the house. He knew Theo wasn’t a legilimens, but somehow she’d read his mind that morning, knowing he was brainstorming the perfect way to steal the bauble back from her. They’d torn her dressing room apart already the night before–Sebastian was ready to do it again, eager to find the ring and fall to his knees in front of her.

The song ended, and Theo stepped away from him. He fussed at the loss of her as the music stopped and she stepped away, clapping for the musicians.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Theo asked, giving him a cheeky smile.

“Come with me,” Sebastian growled, tugging her hand away from the ballroom. He could feel everyone’s eyes raking over them, watching as he stalked out of the ballroom dragging Theo behind him.

“Sebastian!” Theo chided him. “Everyone’s watching.”

“I don’t care,” He strained. “I want to be alone with you.”

Theo pretended to protest, but her feet willingly followed him out of the room. Her little heeled slippers clacked on the stairs as he tugged her up to one of the private floors.

“Quick, in here.” Theo insisted, pushing him into one of the powder rooms. She pulled her wand from the folds of her skirt, wordlessly locking the door behind them.

“Non-verbal, nice work,” Sebastian started to say, soon cut off by the feeling of her lips on his.

“You’re maddening,” Theo snapped between kisses. “You knew everyone was watching—”

“And I had to prove yet again that you are mine.” Sebastian slid his tongue easily into her mouth, his hands roving up her waist and to the bodice of her dress. “Tell me, do you always wear pretty dresses with this low of a neckline?” he whispered, pressing her back against the sink.

“I was saving this one for an occasion where you wouldn’t rip it,” Theo laughed against his lips. “You’ve destroyed two of my dresses already.”

“Well, I shall endeavor to take good care of this one,” Sebastian said, his fingertips ghosting the top of her breasts. “We’ll keep it on, then.” He rucked off his dinner jacket, letting it fall to the floor. His vest quickly followed.

“Keep it on?” Theo asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Keep. It. On.” Sebastian murmured, his hands trailing underneath her skirt. He smiled as she gasped, his fingers pushing her undergarments aside to slide against her core.

“Sebastian!” Theo smacked his shoulder.

“You’re the one who cast a silencing charm on the door.” Sebastian waggled his eyebrows. “Besides, I can’t exactly remember, but we have shagged in this club quite a few times…” he reminded her.

Theo’s head fell back, pretty little gasps spilling from her lips as she tried to talk sense into him. “We…were…we were younger then.”

“Oh my darling, that doesn’t mean we can’t keep having fun.” Sebastian plunged two fingers into her easily, pumping them in and out of her as he steadied her against the sink.

“You’re infuriating,” Theo muttered, fumbling with the clasp on his trousers. “Don’t mess up my hair,” she warned, her hand sliding in against his arousal.

Sebastian choked back a groan as she gripped his cock, her thumb running over the slit. “We’re quite good at this, for not having done it in so long.” His forehead fell against her shoulder, savoring every second of her hands on him.

“Hmm. Like riding a bike–or perhaps in this case, a broom.” Theo laughed breathily, turning to a gasp as he curled his fingers inside of her.

“Turn around,” Sebastian bit down on his lower lip. “Lean over the sink.”

“I want to look at you,” Theo whined.

“You will,” Sebastian grunted, pulling his hand out from beneath her skirts to turn her around. Theo’s hands planted on the porcelain top, looking back at Sebastian in the mirror. She blushed as he pulled her skirts up with one hand, the other pressing her back to arch perfectly for him.

“I want you to watch,” Sebastian growled, unclasping his suspenders. Once freed from their constraint, he shoved his trousers down to his knees, gripping his length as he stared at Theo in the mirror. Her face was a mixture of interest and amusement, her eyes burning into him. Sebastian stroked himself, pressing his tip against her warm center. He cherished the stuttered moan that came out of her mouth as he prodded her. His own breath faltered as he sunk his length fully into her, watching her curiosity fade into pleasure as he grinded his hips against her body.

“Seems Violet McLaggen has spread the word we’re being intimate again,” Sebastian whispered against her ear, gritting his teeth as she pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts. “So, soon everyone will know.”

“Don’t lie,” Theo moaned, her head tilting back to hit his shoulder. “That gave you some pleasure, didn’t it?” Her mouth dropped open, eyes shutting as she reached his arm around, tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Eyes open,” Sebastian instructed, withdrawing his length from her. When she whined at the loss of him, eyes opening, he speared himself into her once more. Sebastian’s arm trailed down to her waist, tugging her even closer to his body. He did always prefer to have her bare beneath him, but something about taking her in the bathroom, her pretty dress rucked over her waist, made him feral. He rocked his hips into her over and over again, rutting his cock in just the right angle. The sound of skin slapping, their shared moans, and the crinkling of taffeta filled the room.

Thank Merlin for silencing charms, he thought.

“Sebastian,” Theo let out a staggered moan. “Sebastian, you’re going to make me–”

“I said, eyes open.” Sebastian grunted, quickening his pace. He relished the way Theo’s eyes looked glazed over; for three years, he’d spent night over night, dreaming of fucking her into a hazy state. Every morning he woke up stiff and unsatisfied, desperately fucking his fist while wishing it was her. Now, having felt her flutter around him for just the last 24 hours, Sebastian wasn’t sure he could ever be convinced to leave rainy old London ever again.

With one arm wrapped around her waist, the other against the sink edge to steady himself, Sebastian knew his orgasm wasn’t far away. Theo opened her mouth, a soft whine spilling from her lips as she found her climax. She cried out his name as her hands flew against the mirror, palms pressed flat against the foggy surface. Sebastian imagined her walking out of the powder room, pretending nothing untoward had happened, with his seed secretly dripping down her thighs the rest of the night. While he hated keeping up their ruse, the idea of her dancing prettily in the ballroom again after screaming his name was enough to make him snap.

“You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine,” Sebastian groaned, choking out curses against the crook of her neck as he buried his cock into her. He pumped his seed into her quivering cunt, grateful that she’d remembered to take one of the contraceptive potions after that morning’s activities.

Fully satiated, Sebastian gingerly pulled out of her, tugging her skirts down as he tucked himself back into his trousers.

“Are you finished now?” Theo panted, holding onto the sink with trembling hands to steady herself.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “You’d like to go again? I’ll have you wherever you want me, but perhaps you’d feel more comfortable if we found a bed.”

Theo whirled around, laughing breathily as she placed a hand on his chest. “Being jealous, I meant.”

Sebastian reddened, choking back his own laugh. “Er, maybe.”

“Let me guess,” Theo fastened the buttons at the front of his trousers. “You got all riled up hearing the rumors about us.” She clipped one of his suspenders on while he worked on the other, sliding the straps over his now sweaty shirt.

Sebastian gave her a guilty shrug, dipping down to the floor to pick up his discarded vest and jacket. “Perhaps I did. Could you blame me? I had to walk into the ballroom and see the most beautiful woman in the world, dancing on my best friend’s arm.” he demurred, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He slid on the vest, shaking out any wrinkles from his jacket.

“Seb,” Theo sighed, lurching forward to button his vest. “You know I’m yours. I’ve been yours since we were sixteen. I don’t know why you’d be jealous of Ominis, of all people.” Once she’d finished with him, she turned back around to the mirror to appraise her appearance. “You’ve mucked up my hair. Everyone will have known we were shagging.”

Sebastian chewed on his lower lip, leaning against the door. “I overheard Lestrange, comparing us to the Bulstrodes.” he admitted, fingers curling into his dinner jacket. “That might have done me in.”

“Compare how?” Theo asked, patting down a curl.

Sebastian lolled his head to the side. “Said he wouldn’t be surprised if the next era of Gaunts had freckles and brown hair.” he muttered.

Theo turned around, placing a hand on his cheek. “Rest assured, I only ever plan on having your babies. They may have rather large heads and be quite stubborn like their father, but nonetheless, my children will all be Sallows.” she assured him, pinching his cheek.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a big head.” he mumbled.

Theo snorted, turning back to the mirror. She dabbed a piece of tissue against her forehead. “You had one as a child, Anne told me. Said your mum was quite worried about it.”

Sebastian flushed, realizing that not only had Theo been talking about his parents with his sister, but had also likely brought up the topic of having his children with her. His heart ached–he missed Anne, but had not forgotten the cruel words she’d imparted on him during their last conversation. That had been five long years ago, but her words were burned onto his soul.

“Shall we retire for the night?” Sebastian asked. “We’ll have to make a quick getaway.”

Theo turned to him, smiling earnestly. “Let’s go home. Perhaps you can start looking for your bounty.” she winked. “Let me leave first, and you wait a few moments after. I’ll pretend we had a row, and you can meet me back at home.”

Home, Sebastian thought. Home, where they could share a bed, and not hide their relationship. Home, where his mother’s engagement ring was hidden, waiting for him to find it.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you at home.” Sebastian repeated, a goofy smile on his lips.

#sebastian sallow #writing-intheundercroft #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy fan fiction #sebastian sallow smut

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texas-writes · 7 months

Text

Remember Summer Days

Every year you were in college you studied abroad for the second half of the year. As a cultural studies major you had been sent to many interesting places, including Hong Kong, Iran, and Iceland. Your senior year was no different, but a pit settled in your stomach nonetheless when your professor had informed you that you were selected to go to Japan.

The days leading up to your departure felt like a fever dream. A haze of chaos and doubts. A convoluted hope clinging to the back of your mind. When you finally reach your host family's house (the nearby campus had no available dorms) you’re surprised to find that the woman hosting you is American. She politely introduces herself to you as Holly and then leads you to your room, showing you around your temporary home in the process.

You had ended up passing out of the futon in your room, finally being overtaken by the stress and jet lag. Holly wakes you up some time later, I forming you that dinner is ready and her son will be home from work too.

You’re shocked to see the spread of Japanese food before you. So she wasn’t kidding when she had said she knew what she was doing. You and Holly chat back and forth about nothing while you begin fixing your plates to give her son time to return, and sure enough he’s back before you’re done plating your udon.

“Mom! I’m home,” a familiar voice calls, but you can’t quite place it.

“Hi Jojo! We’re in the dining room. We waited on you.”

“Oh is the exchange student finally-“ as he opens the door, drawing your attention, allowing him to see your face for the first time in more than three years, he drops his bag and rushes towards you, his arms outstretched.

You rise and open your arms to him as well, taking him into your arms and squeezing him like you’ll never let go.

“Oh! You kids know each other,” Holly questions, a confused look furrowing her brows.

“Yeah, she was traveling with the old man and I when we were in Egypt.”

“Okay,” she replies cheerfully, returning her attention to her plate.

When you finally pull away from Jotaro you have to fight the urge to kiss him then and there, so you ignore each other. Eating dinner silently, the silence was suffocating. You wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again, but if things went right, you’d have half a year with him. The thought thrilled you.

After dinner you had gone to finish unpacking, falling into bed when you were done. A rumbling in your chest startles you and you look over to see Star Platinum crouching beside your stand, Dark Lady, scratching the top of her head as she rubbed her cheek on his knee. You hadn’t used your stand hardly at all since you had left Egypt. You had almost completely forgotten about her.

After just a few more minutes of Star’s petting you had drifted off to sleep, leaving Star Platinum dozing in the corner with Dark Lady already curled up in his lap, purring in her sleep.

The next week you’re too busy with school to see much of Jotaro, but Star Platinum came to you every night, wrapping his massive body around yours, holding you while you slept, while Dark Lady spent the night curled up beside Jotaro’s head.

Finally that Saturday you and him were both completely free. He had taken you out to lunch and the two of you had ended up laying on the floor in his room, staring up at the ceiling and catching up.

You were hesitant with each other, only sparing the most chaste of touches, fingers drifting together only to repel like magnets. Love for him still pulled at your chest, but you were basically strangers again.

This time you had made the first move, letting yourself into Jotaro’s room in the middle of the night and putting yourself in Dark Lady’s place. He was surprised to find you there the next morning, but it wasn’t an unpleasant one.

It was then that he kissed you for the first time since you had parted all those years ago. It was still familiar, the way his lips pressed against yours, your tongue running along his lower lip before pushing past his teeth to explore his mouth. He moaned softly at the new sensation and pulled away, rolling you to face him before kissing you again, gripping your thigh with his large hand and leading your leg to rest on his hip.

You move to rest on top of him, your legs straddling one of his massive thighs. He had grown since you had seen him last, he was larger than you before, but now he was a giant in every way possible. One of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair and pull you closer to him while the other guides your hips to roll against him.

The sensation sends jolts through your body, making Jotaro want nothing more than to join his body with yours, but he wants to savor it as well. He wants to take it slow, so he starts by pulling your shorts to the side so that there’s nothing dividing you from his leg. He uses the rolling of your hips and the rippling of his muscles to get you to the edge of an orgasm. When he feels your legs trembling on either side of his, he grabs you by the waist, rolling you onto your back and shoving his face between your legs.

His mouth was warm against your dripping cunt, the wet ministrations of his tongue soothing the ache that the friction of riding his leg had spread through your clit. First he focuses his attention on your entrance, his tongue feeling around and making you squirm, small whimpers falling from your lips whenever the tip of his nose bumped against your clit.

He then replaces his tongue with his fingers, gently pushing two inside you and curling them gently. His mouth then goes to your clit, lapping at it with fervor before wrapping his lips around you and sucking, making you bite down on the back of your hand to muffle your cries as your legs widen to give him more space.

This time, when your legs begin shaking, he ignores it, pushing you further and further until your trembling thighs are squeezing his head, your hands clawing at his shoulders, desperately trying to get away from the stimulation he was bringing you. He finally pulls away when you let out a choked sob and pull his hair so hard his eyes water. When he looks up at you his hair is a spiky mess and his chin is glistening with your juices.

“C’mere,” you urge, tugging his arm to encourage him to come towards you.

Jotaro obliges and you lock you lips with his, not caring how strongly they taste of your essence. You slide your hand in the waistband of his boxers to rest on his hip, encouraging him to remove them.

He does, and before you can guide him, he’s already on top of you, sliding in and letting his cock get used to the feeling of being inside you again. He revels in every second of it, the way you whisper his name, the way you move against him, the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. It’s too much for him to bear and before he can stop himself he’s pounding into you, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he uses them for leverage. He allows himself to relax, his primal grunts becoming weak moans as he ruts into you.

You whine as he pulls one of your legs against his chest, adjusting his angle slightly so that he’s rubbing against your clit with every thrust. As you reach your second orgasms, he pulls out, cumming across your stomach and falling into place beside you.

“I still love you Jojo,” you whisper, bumping your forehead against his.

“I still love you too,” he replies, pulling a quilt over the both of you. “Now let’s get some rest.”

When Holly comes in to tell Jotaro that dinner’s ready, she finds the two of you to be a tangle of limbs and the quilt, but chooses to ignore it for her own sake.

#smut #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #angst #jotaro x reader #fanfic #stardust crusaders #Starcrossed Crusaders

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itllsetyoufree · 3 years

Note

“Does this help?” + kara being injured

All things considered, Lena’s Saturday has been startlingly unremarkable so far. The sun is shining, she’d had her usual cup of yogurt with sliced bananas for breakfast, she hasn’t gotten a single off-hours weekend call from work, and she’d even had time to read the Cooking section in the National City Tribune. The biggest thing on her calendar for the day is her weekly movie night with Kara, which she’d been quietly looking forward to since Kara had left her apartment after their movie night the week before.

There was a time in Lena’s life where the easy, almost leisurely flow of her day would have been alarmingly, disarmingly suspect. But with no attempts on her life and L-Corp running smoothly for the last year or so, Lena’s life has settled into something more… quiet.

And on any other day, it might have continued that way.

Because noxious gas-breathing, nine-legged alien dragons aren’t typically her problem.

She gets the notification on her phone, of course:

Emergency Alert: Rogue Alien Attacking National City Waterfront— alien is violent and unrestrained, exhales unidentified purple gas. Residents urged to remain indoors and to close all windows.

Lena sighs, rolling her neck to the side and grabbing her phone as she lifts herself off her couch to close her balcony door. Despite having a near-panoramic view of the water, Lena’s apartment is on the other side of town from the docks, but she winds her way around her apartment anyway and closes all of her windows just in case. She’s just shutting the last one when she fires off a text to Kara, telling her to stay inside and to not come over until the alien is taken care of, and don’t even think about going down to the docks to report on it, Kara, I know CatCo doesn’t have gas masks on hand.

She gets a single thumbs up in response, an unusually terse reply from Kara, who never sends one text message when three will do, but Lena doesn’t think much of it and just settles back down on the couch to flip on the news.

She watches live as the alien positively obliterates several of National City’s piers with three of its arms. The video feed shows people diving out of the way as wet, splintered wood flies in every direction. The esplanade is littered with debris as the alien rears up again, swinging its tail against the surface of the bay and spraying rolling waves of water onto the shore.

Lena blows out a heavy breath as she watches the destruction unfold before reaching out for her phone again. She’s just hitting send on an email to Jess, telling her to donate funds to the city to rebuild the docks, when the unmitigated panic on screen abruptly stops.

She sits up straight on the couch as she watches the dragon puff out a billowing cloud of purple smoke. It unfurls along the embankment and the remaining parts of the boardwalk, and slowly engulfs the small crowd of people fleeing the waterfront and the remaining stragglers on the shoreline.

Lena watches, mouth parting in shock, as they all stop running en masse and slow to a halt. The newsfeed goes silent as the crowd stops screaming, even the newscaster losing his breath as everyone stands still, lolling around on their feet as if held up by rubber and not muscle, before they all calmly sink down to the ground and lay down.

The sweeping shot of everyone resting on the ground seems to spur the news anchor back to life, and he resumes narrating wildly, jabbering and speculating like an auctioneer calling the Superbowl.

The dragon stops destroying more of the docks to huff out another cloud of smoke at a helicopter nearby. Lena sucks in a breath as the helicopter wobbles in the air over the people on the ground, but it just floats softly down, landing gentle as a feather on the nearest open patch of grass. Lena pinches her eyebrows together, bewildered, but before she can think too much on it, there’s a red and blue streak zooming into the frame.

Supergirl pulls up behind the dragon, and Lena only has a second to admire the sun glinting off her hair before Supergirl grabs the alien by one of its legs and flings it out toward the sea.

From there it’s a whirlwind. Supergirl and the alien lunge and splash and swing at each other at a dizzying speed, spinning in the air and dragging each other under the water. The camera holds steady on them for several minutes until one final breathtaking moment. Both Supergirl and the alien breach out of the water and whirl to face one another. Supergirl’s eyes glow for a split second before her heat vision activates and scorches across the dragon’s abdomen. It crashes back to the water with a roar, but just before it sinks beneath the surface, it huffs out one final breath of smoke.

It catches Supergirl visibly off-guard as she recovers from the fight, gasping for air just as it engulfs her. The newscaster goes silent once more, watching as Supergirl seems to go loose mid-air. She sways a little, drifting in the wind, a glassy, confused look on her face. Lena’s reaching for her phone, ready to call Alex to see if she can help, when Supergirl shakes her head and starts to fly, slowly and unsteadily, away from the scene.

The newscaster and Lena heave a simultaneous sigh of relief, and Lena lets her phone drop back down to the couch. The news switches back to coverage of the dazed, lethargic people on the shore who seem confused but otherwise unharmed. Lena’s just relaxing back into the cushions, half a mind to open her windows back up to let in the breeze, when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

She turns, watching as Supergirl floats shakily toward her balcony.

When Supergirl lands, it’s with none of the elegance or athleticism Lena’s come to associate with her. There’s no graceful descent, no landing delicately on one pointed foot or shooting down from the sky to stop on a dime just before she hits the ground. Supergirl drifts closer and closer to her building, one foot outstretched as she reaches Lena’s balcony, but her foot catches on the top of the railing, and she topples over it, hands splayed out to catch herself. She spills over the banister and lands on her chest, legs arching up behind her and feet still hooked over the railing. She looks up at Lena through the glass window, eyes half glazed over and unfocused as her cape slides up the slope of her back to pool at the back of her neck.

The sight of her, glassy and dazed and draped over her railing like a wet towel spurs Lena into action. She throws the balcony door open and rushes over, dropping to her knees and reaching out to run her hands down the length of Supergirl’s arms, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head to either side to look for bruises.

“Supergirl! Are you hurt? Can you stand? Come, let’s get you to the DEO.”

“Hi.”

Lena stills, pausing her frantic checking of Supergirl’s pulse to actually take stock of the situation.

Supergirl, seemingly unconcerned by her chin pressing into the concrete or being curled backwards over herself, blinks up at Lena. She looks untroubled, calm, her hair and suit still damp from the water but otherwise right as rain, but the expression on her face is… vacant. Her eyes are glossy, just slightly unfocused, mouth parted as she looks up at Lena. She looks open, unguarded, and completely unaware, and Lena recalibrates.

“Supergirl, do you know where you are?”

“Your balcony.”

“And do you know who I am?”

“Lena.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you untangle your feet so we can get you up?”

“Oh,” Supergirl remarks, like she hadn’t noticed her feet weren’t under her. She tries to twist around to look over her back at her feet, and she shuffles a little, unhooking the toes of her boots and falling fully onto the stone floor.

Lena tsks and instinctually reaches out again, grabbing hold of Supergirl’s shoulders and helping her move until she’s sitting upright, propped against the balcony railing. Supergirl leans back against it, blinking slowly and looking blankly around, and Lena finds herself itching for the phone she left in the living room but unwilling to leave the woman in front of her while she’s so vulnerable.

It isn’t like she hasn’t dealt with an incapacitated Supergirl before. Lena’s saved Supergirl from more than a handful of scrapes in the past couple years, but never like this, never while she was conscious, never while she seemed loopy and almost childlike. It’s easier to maintain her focus, Lena realizes, easier to put the worry aside and work on a fix when Supergirl is in grave danger, in desperate need of help.

This, with her awake and seemingly fine but so disoriented is throwing Lena off guard. Normal citizens shouldn’t see their city’s hero downed and unconscious, but they shouldn’t see her like this either, unfocused and confused, almost as if she’d been drugged. It’s unsettling, deeply uncomfortable in a way Lena can’t put her finger on, and she can’t help but feel both protective and out of her element at the same time.

“Okay,” Lena says, keeping her voice soft and caring. “How about we get you over to the DEO so they can check you out?”

“No, thanks,” comes the quiet reply. “I’ll stay here.”

It’s Lena’s turn to blink confusedly back at Supergirl, but the woman is looking elsewhere. The soft breeze that’s been blowing all day blows an errant leaf off of one of Lena’s plants and into Supergirl’s lap, and Lena watches, latent sense of panic beginning to grow in her stomach, as Supergirl picks up the leaf and twirls it between her fingers.

“I really think we should get you over to the DEO. You seem a little… off,” Lena says, careful to phrase it as gently as she can to not cause any alarm. “What if I just have Director Danvers come here by herself?” Lena asks, half unsure why she’s humoring Supergirl before she realizes that Supergirl has probably never gone anywhere she didn’t want to go— on account of being strong enough to lift a space station.

“No,” Supergirl responds again, simply, not rudely, “she’s not invited.”

Lena narrows her eyes at that, trying to sort out what kind of laughing gas this dragon has breathed out.

“I think I’m in charge of that,” Lena retorts, but she sighs, because Supergirl just looks up at her and smiles dopily.

“Okay,” Lena tries again. “Will you at least stand up and come inside? I can do some research on how to get these side effects to go away.”

Supergirl acquiesces this time, or at least Lena thinks she does until Supergirl turns away from the open door to her living room.

“I’ll stay out here,” she says, words slurring a little as she points to one of Lena’s deck chairs. “Need a little sun.”

She sways on the spot, as if momentarily suspended by the breeze, before stumbling over to Lena’s deck chair and collapsing onto it. She trips on one of the legs and the chair breaks under her weight, but she doesn’t seem to notice, letting her eyes drift shut and tilting her chin up toward the sun. A small smile crosses her face as the sun warms her, and Lena finds herself unable to hold back a small smile of her own.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” Lena says, already planning out her research on alien dragons and a call to Alex in her head. “Then I’m making the call.”

“Uh uh,” Supergirl hums, eyes still closed, and Lena raises both eyebrows. “Is’fine, Lena. Don’t call. Wanted to come here.”

The longer sentences are starting to ease Lena’s mind, but Supergirl’s response rattles around in her brain and she can’t help but ask.

“Supergirl?”

Supergirl just hums back at her again.

“Why’d you come here instead of going to the DEO?”

“Didn’t want to miss movie night,” she says, calmly while she exhales, like Lena had asked her what day it is and she’d said, ‘Saturday.’

Lena freezes. The pit of panic in her stomach drops out and her whole body clenches at the loss. She stands frozen, staring at the figure laying prone, sprawled out on her deck chair. Lena’s heart pounds. She feels the rapid thudding in her chest, hears it reverberate in her ears. She takes it in, the red boots and skirt, the blue suit, the cape, the blonde hair.

Her eyes map the features on Supergirl’s face, and she realizes with some modicum of horror how familiar those features are. The point of her chin, the slope of her cheekbones, the nick of the scar above her eyebrow, the slightly upturned, charming pull of her mouth. It’s all—

“Lena?” those eyebrows scrunch together and it comes out as a whine, and Lena is overcome.

The panic disappears, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of worry, of affection, of bewilderment, confusion, and a little hurt.

“I’m here,” is what she blurts out in response, dropping onto the adjacent chair and wrapping her hand around Supergirl’s— Kara’s?— wrist, gentle, caring. “Hey, hey, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mhmm” Supergirl hums again, twisting her wrist to take hold of Lena’s hand. “Better already. Just need a nap and then we can watch a movie, okay?” Her voice is light and airy, and the smile droops off her face as she begins to fall asleep, but Lena can’t let her go, can’t be left alone with her racing mind. She needs to know, needs to be sure, and with a pounding heart, she presses on.

“Have—” Lena starts. Her voice cracks and she clears her throat and tries again, wiping the hand not enclosed in Supergirl’s tiredly across her brow. “Have you thought about what movie you want to see?”

“Which Star Wars are we up to?” Supergirl mumbles, half-asleep, and Lena feels her whole body clench with the confirmation as she sweeps her eyes up and down the figure in front of her with renewed worry, checking for injuries she knows aren’t there, because it’s Kara, it’s Kara, it’s Kara.

“Episode Six,” she whispers, tightening her hand around Kara’s.

“That one. ‘S a good one.” Kara breathes back.

Kara shifts on the chair a little bit, and small as the movement is, Lena thinks it looks the tiniest more purposeful, the tiniest bit less loose and floppy, and Lena feels her shoulders relax with it. It shifts something in her, the worry beginning to melt into a tender form of annoyance and she decides to push a little more.

“Are you hungry?”

“Mm,” Kara hums, smiling again. Lena narrows her eyes at her.

“Do you want Big Belly Burger for dinner like last time?”

“Mhmm yeah,” Kara murmurs, “and those fries that I like.”

Lena smirks, raising an eyebrow, but Kara is completely unaware. Lena squeezes her hand and stands. “I’ll order the food, and you can nap until it gets here, okay?”

“Mhmm thanks, Lena.”

“You’re welcome, Kara,” she says pointedly, but Kara doesn’t notice. Lena watches her smile in her half-asleep doze, her hand twitching a little until the smile droops off her face and she falls asleep just like that. Lena stands there, gaping at her for a moment, then makes her way inside.

Twenty minutes later, after a text to Alex and enough time spent slowing her racing heart, enough time spent with the news to know that the gas wears off on its own, eventually, she hears a sigh and a creak from outside. Supergirl— Kara, god, it’s Kara— is stretching on the deck chair, which appears to be hanging on for dear life, and Lena lifts herself off the couch, grabbing the bag next to her and making her way back outside.

She sets a glass of water down on the drinks table next to Kara’s head, watching as she shifts in the sun but doesn’t open her eyes.

“How are you feeling, Supergirl?”

“Mhmm, good, sleepy,” Kara yawns.

“They pulled that dragon out of the bay,” Lena says casually, crossing her arms. “You did a great job. No one’s hurt. The effects of the gas seem to subside on their own.”

“Good,” Kara murmurs, tilting her head up into the sun again. “That’s good.”

“The food’s here too,” Lena informs her, unable to hold back a smirk. “I got us a couple shakes as well.”

“Thanks,” Kara sighs happily. You’re the best.”

“But Kara?”

“Mmph?”

“You have to change out of your suit first. Wouldn’t want to get any residual alien goop on my couch.”

It’s exactly as satisfying as she thought it would be. Kara’s loose, floppy posture stiffens as her spine snaps straight, her eyes flying open as the chair finally gives out from under her. Lena watches the wheels turn once Kara hits the ground, sees Kara’s eyes bug out when they make eye contact. Kara’s flick down to look at her suit, then back up to Lena.

Lena twists her wrist, letting the paper bag swing out toward Kara.

“Your fries?”

#when you haven't been able to write a word for months and are struck by this feral fever dream of a thing #and when you misremember the line in the prompt as being 'can i help you?'#and then don't include it anyway #OOPS #btc you're a hero as always <3 #fic tag #anonymous #ask box

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h2obased · 2 years

Text

Amendments (Bucky Barnes one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky x F!Reader (third person, very minimal identifiers)

Summary: It feels like everyone has a thing for Bucky's girl, so he comes up with a rule. It's fairly straightforward, although he keeps on adding exceptions, and of course things get out of hand.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if below 18. Sexual innuendos and situations, extreme flirting, fluff, canon-typical violence.

Female reader, written in the third person with very minimal identifiers.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere. I only post stories here and on AO3.

Word count: 5,575

My two-story masterlist

Amendments

The next person to hit on his girl dies, Bucky decides.

“What did I tell you, Buck? Check out the view.” Sam jabs him with an elbow. It’s always a sharp nudge; flesh or metal arm, it doesn’t matter. Sam gestures to the woman walking over to their table. “You owe me lunch for life, Barnes.” Sam continues to list everything that Bucky now owes him. Meals, favors, first child naming rights.

He doesn’t need to look away from his tattered second-hand copy of Jurassic Park to know “the view” is amazing, but he glances up anyway because his eyes are drawn to her. Since the first day. A goddamn sight to behold.

She weaves around the cafeteria tables, disguising the sleep on her face with a grin.

Bucky’s heart beats a little faster when he recognizes his navy sweatshirt on her. The large sleeve slides down her arm as she hides a yawn. He can’t blame her. At 6:00am on a Saturday, the compound is quiet and everything moves at a glacial pace. There is no rush, no cities under attack, no rogue androids or missing assassins. This weekend at least.

Steve, who organized this morning run, who sent daily texts since Monday, who insisted it’ll be good for the team to spend time outdoors like he and Sam didn’t just spend three nights in a rainforest last weekend, hasn’t even made an appearance yet. He could still be sleeping, for all they knew.

Sam’s voice booms in the nearly empty hall. “There’s my sunshine!” He points to her with an ear-to-ear smile and alternating finger guns.

“Morning Sammy.” She waves, coming around to Bucky’s side of the table.

He could count with one hand the number of people who can get away with calling Wilson that . Sam eats it up.

Bucky pulls out a seat. She puts a bag down and thanks him with a kiss, right by the corner of his lips. Close enough to be intimate, to let all six tired people in the cafeteria know Bucky’s her main squeeze, but not close enough to give Sam an excuse to start dry heaving and complaining about having to see them kiss, like he’s never seen them be affectionate before.

As if it wasn’t Sam Wilson’s great idea for Bucky to ask her out in the first place.

She tucks strands of hair back into his tangled bun, fingers soothing his scalp. Bucky closes his eyes for a second and breathes her in. Soap, peppermint, a hint of musk and wood. Exactly like his bedroom.

Her scent transports him back to that morning.

She pretends to be asleep when he asks her to get changed with him. “It’s cold,” she whispers, lips pouting as if he’s to blame for the early morning draft. She speaks to him with one eye closed, the other eye barely open.

He thinks, what a beauty.

“Put some clothes on then.” Bucky fights the urge to slip a hand under the sheets, where her bare, warm skin calls out to him. “Baby.” He kisses her shoulder instead, which is probably worse because he could never get enough. With every second he spends next to her, Bucky feels less inclined to run laps with Sam and Steve in the woods behind the compound.

“Baby.” Her voice is breathy and light. She lifts a hand in the air, trying to find him, and she nearly pokes his eye when she does. “Hmmm,” she sighs, her fingers brushing his cheek. “Baby.”

Bucky is losing the battle of wills to someone who isn’t even fully awake. He figures Steve won’t be too mad if they show up late. Sam would be there anyway.

“Buck?"

Her hands trail down his arm and Bucky swears if that hand slides any lower he’s kicking these pants off instantly and no one is stepping out of the apartment until Monday.

“Yeah?” His voice cracks; he’s been holding his breath for a while.

“I promise I will get changed but can you buy me 30 minutes please?” The pillow muffles her words and even when he can’t hear her clearly Bucky is prepared to give her anything.

Sam drags Bucky out of his daydream because that’s what Sam Wilson does. “You’re going to give an old man a heart attack with those leggings.”

It’s like Bucky isn’t even sitting between them.

“Old as in you or Barnes?” she replies without missing a beat. “And it’s only because I know you came to play.”

“You like?” Sam flexes his arm for her benefit.

Bucky amends his earlier decision: The next person who isn’t Sam to hit on his girl would have to die or lose a limb, whichever comes first.

He grunts and returns to reading. With the novel before him and her hands kneading his shoulder blades, he tunes out Sam’s shameless flirting.

“I brought you an extra shirt, in case you need it.” She pats her duffel bag. It’s the one that sits in his closet when she sleeps over a few nights a week. She used to have a smaller bag, Bucky notes with satisfaction.

“Thanks sweetheart!” Sam puts his hands behind his neck.

“She means me, jerk.” Bucky shoots his teammate a dirty look. That makes her laugh. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and chest.

Nothing amuses Sam more than getting Bucky all riled up. That is the only reason he showers her with compliments whenever Bucky is within earshot.

“You’re the best thing to come my way today, you know?”

“It should be illegal for you to wear those shorts damn girl!”

And Bucky’s personal favorite (not): “What’s an angel like you doing with a geezer like Barnes anyway?”

Today, Sam praises her leggings as if Bucky hasn’t nipped the soft curve of her thighs with his mouth.

She handles every remark from Sam like a champ. “Don’t flirt with me so much Sammy, it makes me feel things.” She continues to stand behind Bucky, who’s minding his own business as her nails scratch his chest.

From his perspective, what she’s feeling at that moment cannot be made more clear. He holds his breath as she palms his stomach, breasts pressed against the back of his head. It takes an awful lot not to flip her over his shoulder and run to the nearest supply closet.

Impressed by her quick wit, Sam cackles and shrugs off Bucky’s glare.

Bucky rolls his eyes but he can’t get mad. Not really.

Eight months ago, Sam warned him: “If you don’t tell this girl you wanna hold her hand and that she’s all you think about, that when we’re taking heavy fire in the middle of a warzone, you’re more upset about missing her than the threat of a bullet, I’m gonna lay the charm on her so thick she’s gonna forget your name.”

“She doesn’t even know my name so who’s the idiot now?” He hissed back, worried she’d notice them loitering. All Bucky had back then was a first name, place of work - second floor, admin and support services building at the compound - and favorite snack, white chocolate cranberry cookies that she nibbled on while reading a book or chatting with a friend during her afternoon break. Three o’clock Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and 4pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Bucky conveniently scheduled an afternoon jog around the compound at the same time.

It would be easy enough to access her personnel files, but Bucky wouldn’t do that. He told himself he was satisfied with being in her periphery. Although Sam was right, not that he would ever acknowledge that, not anytime soon at least, Bucky longed to gaze into her eyes and feel her heartbeat against his chest. He dreamed of her breath fanning his neck as she laughed at something he said. He’d do anything to be the reason for her smile.

He can’t remember wanting something - anything this much. For a guy who’s been held against his will for decades, that’s saying a lot.

He had no qualms about having a gun pointed at his head but when it came to talking to her, Bucky felt scared and inadequate.

“What do you mean -“ Sam’s eyebrows entered the stratosphere when he discovered where Bucky spent his time when he disappeared for hours. “You’re telling me you like this person so much that you’ve done absolutely nothing about it? Let me tell you something for free buddy, staring doesn’t count.”

Sam took matters into his own hands after hearing one too many dejected sighs from Bucky who spent another afternoon running laps for nearly two hours outside the office of Administrative Services, just to catch a glimpse of her walking to a small blue car at the end of the day.

The former airman surveyed Bucky’s barely furnished room, hands on his hips. “Ok, I got it. Tomorrow morning, you’re going to ask for a desk set up for your arm.” Sam gestured to the space by the window and checked to see if Bucky was paying attention.

He needed a place to store the prosthetic when Shuri wanted to run diagnostics right? Better a workbench than under the bed or the toilet?

“Make the appointment. Ask for her, state your request, wear a nice shirt. Something blue maybe for the, uh, for those things.” Sam rolled his eyes. He made a face to offset the compliment he just gave Bucky. “Don’t just gape at her the entire time with your jaw hanging. For crying out loud, man, smile.”

He threatened to make the call himself if Bucky doesn’t show up first thing next day. “And believe me I will tell them you specifically wanted a compartment for lotion and a box of tissues.”

Bucky found himself in the admin building the next day, wondering why both hands felt clammy and wishing his metal arm wouldn’t make so much noise when he’s in distress. The Vibranium plates shifted and whirred in the background as he sat in the lobby. It’s subtle enough that most people don’t notice it, but he hears it.

A few minutes before the appointment, the door opened and she waved him in. As soon as the conversation started, he forgot why he was so nervous in the first place. She took notes, smiling when he joked about connecting his arm to the WiFi and reciprocating with a funny story about her overdue DIY projects at home.

He absorbed every detail. Her handwriting was worse than Sam’s but she’s thorough. He could tell she was good at her job. She listened to understand what he needed. When he explained the specifications for the desk, she didn’t pretend to know how Vibranium should be stored - she admitted her limited knowledge and asked him to elaborate. She invited him to provide input and for almost 45 minutes, Bucky sat comfortably, his mechanical arm stopped beeping and squealing, and he chuckled at the appropriate moments.

More importantly, he learned that she shared a flat with a close friend from college who she was not dating. Or in love with, as far as he could tell.

She surprised him by asking if he wanted more furniture for his place. Suddenly, she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Just that… I noticed most people in the team requested couches and lamps when they moved in. Sometimes art on the wall or a plant can make the apartments feel more homey. Or a popcorn maker, if you’re into… popcorn.” She paused and bit her lip, worried she might be overstepping.

The armrests squeak in protest. He'd been gripping them as he hung on to her every word.

She smoothed the page over with her palm and finally gave him an open and unassuming smile. “What I wanted to say was - we can help you pick out a few things. We just need to know your preferences. But this is all up to you.”

“We?” Living in the compound meant he didn’t need to watch his back all the time. Steve explained Stark’s stringent hiring process and background checks for all employees but that didn’t make it easier for Bucky to trust people.

Her embarrassment thawed him. “Well - me, mainly. It’s kind of a one woman team.” She tucked a strand of hair behind an ear. “But everyone thinks it’s a superb team.” She gave him a confused smile, as if she wanted to take back what she just said about herself.

“I like science fiction,” he blurted out. He once spent four days hanging by his arms in an underground cell somewhere cold, and his captors gave up trying to get information out of him. As she was about to scribble a note, he put a hand on the table. “But don’t write that down. Please.”

He heard Sam’s voice warning him. Don’t make this weird . Bucky took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Can I - can I come back after thinking about it?” He felt proud of coming up with that. A compelling and totally logical excuse to talk to her again.

Bucky Barnes might actually have what it takes to ask her out to dinner one day.

That evening Bucky studied his sparsely furnished apartment at the compound. He didn’t have much that wasn’t irreplaceable. Everything that mattered fit in one backpack. He dragged it around the world and it was ready to fall apart any day now. It’s not that he planned on disappearing again, but this practice kept him alive. Fewer possessions allowed him to move quickly from one place to another for years, hiding from everybody who needed something from him. Governments, terrorists and organized crime, even from Steve and the Avengers.

“Of course. Yes. You have my number.”

Bucky nodded. He didn't trust himself not to yell and whoop from sheer happiness. Now he had her last name and number.

There was a small package waiting for “Sergeant James Barnes” in the lobby a few days later. He recognized her handwriting immediately. The E’s that can easily be mistaken for I’s and the M that - well it doesn’t resemble any letter in the Latin alphabet. Her B is confident though, and he indulges himself in a fantasy that she’s been practicing scrawling “Bucky” in her notebook.

Clutching the box with his arm, he took the stairs two steps at a time, only stopping when he reached the floor he shared with Steve and Sam.

He set the cardboard on the counter as soon as he entered the unit. Bucky carefully pried the tape off using his steady metal hand because his right shook in anticipation. He found four paperback novels inside a paper bag and a note.

“Bucky - there’s a second-hand bookstore around where I live. I don’t know if you’ve read any of these, but they are certified sci-fi classics. According to Goodreads. Feel free to correct me.”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds and reread the message. She wanted to hear from him again.

Her name was scribbled at the end of the note. Bucky thumbed the piece of paper, fighting back a giddy smile. He immediately slipped it between the pages of his journal and placed the books next to his bed. He’s read the titles before, one of them five times, but he couldn’t wait to settle in with the books she chose for him.

He folded the brown paper bag, reciting the store’s name and address under his breath.

After three months of dating, Bucky had been strong-armed by Natasha to introduce her to the rest of the team.

“Why would I do that?” He asked his teammate. He wanted to keep her to himself; it was selfish, not to mention impossible, and Bucky knew this, but she’s now the most important thing in his life. It’s irrational, but the fact that he can’t put her in his bag together with everything precious to him, was a source of anxiety.

From their first conversation, he knew without a doubt the great lengths he’d go to protect her. To care for her. To make her feel loved and worshipped everyday.

Natasha gave him an incredulous look. “So we can keep an eye on her, dummy, when you’re halfway around the world working on a two-day assignment, dummy, especially when two days become a week for who knows why? Dummy.”

He doesn’t regret introducing her to this group of highly-skilled misfits he reluctantly thinks of as family. She fits in so well, sometimes Bucky forgets she hasn’t known them for years. It feels like it somehow. He remembers his life before her, the isolation and solitude that felt like a life sentence but he doesn’t feel the loneliness anymore.

All he knows now is the kindness of her touch, the light in her eyes - brighter it seems, inexplicably, when she sees him - and Bucky finally understands the difference between having a secure place to stash your knife collection and having a place to call home.

It tickles him, the realization that sometimes, home isn't a place but a person.

He doesn’t even regret that Natasha might be worse than Sam when it comes to hitting on his girlfriend.

Natasha and Steve are back from a two-week assignment and no one is clear on the details but when she returns from a trip and asks if people want to go for a beer and pizza, the only answer is “let’s go.”

He’s not surprised that his girlfriend receives the invitation first. “Boyfriend optional,” the text reads.

“Optional.” He scoffs and returns her phone when she passes him in the living room. She’s clearing the kitchen table even if she doesn’t have to. She insists because he took care of dinner, which is a pretty generous way of describing how he ordered food from a Chinese restaurant online.

The following day, the team meets at the bar a little after seven, and Natasha ignores all the men. “I like this, what’s this?” The woman with rich auburn hair stands next to her, brushing a nose to her temple. “You smell great.” There isn’t an inch between the two women and Bucky knows they've captured everyone's attention.

There are still a few places in the outskirts of New York where the group can enjoy the occasional drink without worrying about reporters or tourists or fans. This particular dive bar is a 30-minute drive north from the compound. The locals are used to their visits, but the women make it hard for people not to watch.

His girlfriend doesn’t help matters when she fixes Natasha’s collar, smoothing the leather slowly and singing praises about Natasha’s winged liner. Bucky doesn’t have a clue what a wing line is. He assumes it has nothing to do with the gun Romanoff’s packing but he’s not going to ask.

Natasha slaps her ass cheekily. The Russian ex-spy rests a hand on his girlfriend’s hip and raises a brow at Bucky, daring him to comment on it.

She grabs Natasha by the hips too and initiates some sort of dance, one that has nothing to do with moving in time with the music. It's about making your dance partner laugh.

Bucky is only too familiar with this move because she tries it on him back home with varying levels of success. He wasn’t comfortable with dancing. While the metal arm proved to be useful when it came to busting down doors and firing rocket launchers, the prosthetic wasn’t built for creative expression. It’s heavy. It’s not meant to be thrown in the air and waved around like he didn’t care. He could knock a person out accidentally.

She is unfazed by his reluctance. As soon as the music is on, she's yanking on his belt loops or wrapping her arms around his neck. It doesn't matter whether he’s frying bacon or screwing bolts to her door because she lives on the second floor. (Her neighbors seemed harmless, but Bucky only trusts a handful of people and only one of them lived in that apartment building, and he figures if that person moved in with him, he would breathe a little easier and sleep a lot better.)

“Terrible dancers,” Sam proclaims, and it’s meant to goad Natasha into bending low, swaying her hips, bumping into her with such energy, Bucky’s girlfriend stumbles back with an impressed laugh.

Even Steve is blushing furiously because he’s amused by all of this. He’s trying his best to not laugh, out of loyalty to Bucky. He’s supposed to be the grown up here, even though he’s just as bad as the rest of them when he gets in the mood.

Bucky amends the rule to: The next person to hit on his girl who isn’t Romanoff or Wilson will have to die.

He’s no saint. He can’t guarantee safe passage to anyone who so much as breathes next to her - the only person capable of both enraging him and bringing him back down when he's seeing red - the wrong way.

Natasha dotes on her because she doesn’t ask about field work or extraction plans and the only time she brought up stealing information around the petite redhead was in the context of fishing for details on whether Bucky had introduced other people to their tight-knit semi-functional circle before.

She says Nat wants her opinion on skincare products and whether or not ponytails are a sign of giving up on dating. They shop for yoga pants online and paint each other's nails.

Natasha tires of dancing and hands her a vodka shot. She gives Bucky an apologetic glance.

He winks to let her know she should enjoy herself. Steve hands Bucky a pool stick and he is steered to the corner where a tired pool table waits. A steady stroke and a pretty good aim can only take him so far though. Steve’s a shark. Sam’s surprisingly decent. Bucky lets them have their fun.

Besides, he is distracted by the giggling. He can’t help but raise his head when her laughter rings out. The pool table is off to the side of the bar but he has a clear line of sight to her. His hearing picks out the delighted, carefree cackling. He can tune it out, but why would he want to?

If he can sense her, Bucky knows he’s got everything he needs. Simple as that.

The boys play a few rounds on the table. Bucky is losing, predictably, and Sam is protesting some of the calls, which doesn’t shock anybody. Steve laughs them off because he wins round after round.

Natasha passes them on her way to the toilets. “I might be in love with her, Barnes.”

“I met her before you did!” Sam points out. “Get in line.”

There’s a smirk on Sam’s face that Bucky ignores. It turns into a scowl when Bucky sinks a tricky shot that threatens Sam’s second place ranking.

Even Bucky is surprised by the shot and his immediate reaction is to tell her about it. He sees her collide into a man ordering drinks at the bar.

She apologizes immediately, hands held out. The stranger must be confused, drunk, or has a death wish because he interprets the gesture as an invitation to venture into her personal space.

Bucky’s grip on the cue stick tightens. The man is stocky, tan, and dressed in a suit - definitely not local. Must be passing by after a business trip and planning to blow off some steam.

She nods at the stool next to her to let the guy know she’s got company. She’s being polite but not friendly. He is being purposely dense.

Bucky tells himself to wait. She has it under control and the last thing he wants is to break a stranger’s arm in front of her. Well, he’d like to break that guy’s face that’s for sure but he swore to keep her away from violence as long as he can help it.

“Man, take your turn or lose it,” Sam grumbles. When he realizes what’s got Bucky’s attention, he doesn’t waste a second putting his stick down. He walks away without giving Bucky or Steve a second glance.

“Let him handle it,” Steve advises Bucky. “Focus on not grabbing anyone’s neck this evening.” The tone is friendly but Steve has moved in front of him, undoubtedly to protect the entire bar from Bucky.

His jaw twitches and he is not making any promises. The dark-haired super soldier darts his eyes past his best friend to observe how Sam is handling the situation.

Some twenty feet away, Sam shakes the man’s hand. Diplomacy seems to work for a few seconds, until Bucky sees her shoulders tense again and Sam places a hand on her instead, a futile attempt to calm her down.

“Don’t tell me who I can or can’t call a misogynistic homophobic prick, ok, Sammy?” She glares at the man, defiant chin jutting out. “This asshole thinks I’m asking to be harrassed because I'm drinking off Nat’s glass? Because we're dancing with each other? God.” She paces behind Sam. “God!”

Natasha exits the toilets and in half a second she spots the huddle by the bar. Like Sam, she doesn’t waste time consulting Bucky or Steve. She dives in.

Steve sighs because now he has to protect the bar’s dubious clientele from Black Widow too. “Please.” He begs his best friend to stay where he is. He gives Bucky a desperate look before marching over to the group of people that has now grown to include a couple more men and behind them a few onlookers. It's nothing Natasha can't handle in her sleep, but they don't need the trouble.

Bucky keeps his attention on the little fireball he's crazy proud to call his girl. Now that all three of his friends surround her, she starts to understand how bad things can get for the offensive idiot and his equally dumb friends.

She turns to Bucky, as if to ask for help corralling his teammates but with a sharp breath she realizes there’s a reason he’s been asked to stay back. With a slight tilt of her head and a subtle grin, she reassures him. She’s fine.

Steve’s presence gives the strangers pause, a reason to cool down and back the hell up if they knew what was good for them. Bucky leans against the pool table, arms crossed and taking slow, deep breaths. The seconds pass and he prays that all this fuss would only amount to contempt and angry stares.

He just wants to go home with her.

Bucky likes the idea of coming home to her. It’s too soon, he figures. Things are great. He doesn’t have a reason to rush, apart from a nagging suspicion that he’s head over heels for this woman already.

He’s adjusting the sleeve over his prosthetic arm, the fabric tends to snag sometimes, when he hears it. Things are different now, but there was a time when a metal limb was the stuff of nightmares. Bucky always knew when a mortified gasp or mocking laugh is aimed at his disfigurement.

A disgusted sneer accompanying a man’s last words: “That the boyfriend? What’s wrong with him anyway?”

Bucky’s first thought is to throw the cue stick. It would pass between Sam’s and Steve’s heads and through the man’s eyes.

She is faster with her fist. The man falls back, collapsing onto his buddies, before Bucky could decide if he deserved a wooden stick through the lung instead.

“Whoa!” Sam stops her from throwing another punch. She’s ready to keep going. “Easy!” Natasha steps forward in case anyone thinks about responding in kind.

Over the commotion Bucky hears the softest gasp and it’s enough to spring him into action. She cradles her right wrist to her chest, wincing. Much to Steve’s agitation, Bucky walks over to her side, using his body to shield her from the crowd.

“Buck.” The blonde speaks with a low voice.

“Barnes,” Sam says at the same time.

Bucky blocks everything else when he reaches her. She automatically turns to him with worried eyes.

“I’m sorry!” She lets him inspect her hand. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But he was being a dick. Oh, I should’ve just…” Her voice trails off. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Didn't mean to cause trouble.”

She’s upset because she punched a guy who deserved a lot more than getting the wind knocked out of him.

Bucky’s hands tremble and his chest tightens as he checks for possible injury. “Did you curl your thumb like I showed you?”

She nods and he is momentarily filled with pride and a too familiar desire to kneel between her legs and make her scream his name repeatedly.

“Good.” His voice is thick with conflicting emotions. Lust. Fury. Worry. Impatience. All anchored by the strongest force, love. “You stood up for me,” he whispers. He caresses her wrist with his thumb.

Bucky swallows a lump in his throat. He sniffs. With her, he drops his defenses. He feels vulnerable yet free. He feels complete.

She flashes him a guilty smile. “Probably saved him a trip to the ER with this.” She gestures to her hand. The one he’s still holding on to. The one he never wants to let go of.

“Told you, you’re a lifesaver.” He brushes the hair from her face with his free hand.

She gazes at him like she’s forgotten about the bar, about the fact that Natasha and Sam are ready to burn this place down. Steve is not going to let them hear the end of this. He has nothing against starting fights, it’s his area of expertise in fact, but he has a thing about being allowed to play pool in peace.

“We should get this iced.”

“Is my hand going to be ok?”

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky chuckles and holds back a remark about what her magical hands can do. He accepts a pack of ice from Jerry, who runs the bar with his best friend Tom. It’s one of those things Bucky randomly remembers sometimes during a mission. He’s immobilizing five heavily armed goons. All of a sudden, he can’t stop laughing about Tom and Jerry owning a bar in upstate New York. Steve’s right next to him, throwing people against the wall and wondering if he’s finally cracked and lost it.

She frowns at the men Steve and Sam are escorting out of the bar.

“Let’s pick up a couple of burgers and go home, yeah?” He has a few ideas about how to keep her mind off this incident.

“We’re going home guys!” She declares loudly, and no one can do anything about it.

As they exit using the door that leads to the back alley, she tugs on the hem of his shirt. "Bucky?"

"Hmmm?" He keeps a hand on the small of her back as they walk.

She stops walking abruptly and his super human reflexes save them from bumping into each other. But this is one collision she welcomes. She grabs the collar of his jacket with her left hand. She's going to tell him something important, Bucky feels it in his gut. It's in the way she holds him close, her breathing picks up, and her eyes lock into his.

The alley is silent and in that moment, there are only two people in the world. In the back of his head, Bucky thinks about how he's never thought about marriage until now.

“I’ll get Sam and Natasha to stop annoying you. It’s my fault it’s gone on long enough.” She tiptoes and her lips brush against his cheek as she apologizes for something he never considered her fault. It's nobody's fault really.

“I just thought… they’re messing with you, and if I join in, then it makes me part of the gang. And I want to be in the gang because you’re in the gang.” She blinks at him slowly, seeking his forgiveness.

“Stop saying gang, baby, you’re killing me.” Bucky kisses her forehead and he feels her smiling against his chest.

“But I am in the gang, right?”

“We can ask Steve on Monday.” Bucky leads her to where he parked the bike. Maybe he should borrow Sam’s car instead, in case her hand hurts more than she’s letting on.

“I thought Nat ran the crew.” She gestures for him to get on the heritage model bike.

He puts the full face helmet over her head, careful not to pull on her hair. “Yeah, but I think we already know how she feels about you.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t mount the bike until he reaches for his head gear too.

He offers a hand and she climbs behind him, sliding against his back, arms snapping around Bucky's waist like clockwork. She pats his leg, letting him know she’s ready. They worked out a system months ago. Bucky rubs her arm idly. He’s supposed to pat it in acknowledgement and she’ll remind him about the system when they get back to his place.

"You get hurt riding the bike, you're going to wish you'd died instead. Don't test me on that one, Bucky Barnes." She'd say something along those lines, and she'll do it before a kiss or after making him a cup of coffee.

Bucky smiles and decides, the next person to hit on his girl…well, let them try.

Please let me know what you think. Feedback is always nice and it would be great to hear from you. Thank you for reading :)

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

DENTIST THE BAD BOI

Word count: 7k

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Harry's a med-student and Y/N's an art student, being neighbours with Y/N was already a living hell for Harry but when she fusses over his cat getting her cat pregnant -- he mighty looses it.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff.

MASTERLIST, REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN || PART 2

“Harryyyyy!!!!” Y/N screamed at the top of her lungs staring at the small picture of ultrasound, blinking at it several times to vision herself back into reality because the more she does the more she becomes grumpy and fussy – cursing the beast of a neighbour who got her little innocent cat pregnant.

She pulled the strings of her pyjama shorts to tighten it around her and hastily towed her feet into fuzzy slippers, giving a stink of an eye to her cat “don't act so surprised you little ragamuffin!” She mouthed at her with venom (as if trippers her cat cares), stomping her way out and writes a whole book of judgements in her rattling brain upon hearing the loud music weeping through walls.

She knocks. Huffs when it goes unnoticed and this time pounds at the door, crossing her forearms infront of her chest. Not unaware and very accustomed; of happy chatter whirling around whenever she’s trying to focus how a certain recipe goes by, his mates chanting his name from outside when he’s too occupied in whatever he's sorting out inside for their arrival, clanking of beer bottles knowing they and her have a long time to go, the music dimming in the wee of night as the door closes after every fifteen minutes and it dawns at that time –-- she always get left with one option and that’s to curse him till she sleeps.

It’s every Friday and Saturday’s story.

“Max stop that before Ni asks fo’ a dummy —-,” His neck's craned to where his friends are sitting on one of the cosy spots. His jaw popping, dimples chasmic from the smirk he’s holding and Y/N gulps then arches her brow when his attention drops down at her, “Oh .... hi, could help ya?” His cocky grin irks her – bubbling a fire in her pit and an urge to twinge his ear and drag him to her apartment, to show him what he did.

“Could you help me!?” She laughs ironically, chases her frowning gaze from the ripped patches of his jeans towards where his curls are brushing his earlobes and it kind of makes her gasp which she traps in fortunately because – he’s always wearing a hoodie, beanie or his hair up in a little fountain like bun rushing through the lobby with his thick books and laptop clutched in his arms, “Yes please .. y’could help me by transferring expenses of your cat's babies every month to me —-...um could simply have them in your apartment too if the first deal’s too bad.” She shrugs. Taking a glimpse from his shoulder of his friends bunched over eachother and he toys with his bottom wet lip, brows stringing into confusion and his bicep flexes making her flutter her eyes away as he grips the knob of the door and closes it behind him.

“What d'ya mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose right? ‘cos there’s no way —--” He cuts her groans with a snap and runs a palm down his face, “I seriously don’t know what you’re talkin' ‘bout, Y/N.” His lips tinned into a flat line, his posture now resembling her's and she slaps her forehead with the heel of her palm.

“Then you should keep tabs of your beasty minx of a cat who got my cat pregnant!” She exclaims disbelievingly to which his eyes turns saucer and he throws his sinewy arms in between them, mimics her expressions comically, “Is that my fault? Did I get your cat prego?” She blinks up at him rapidly --- he’s such a nerve puller.

“Yes it is! You didn’t get your cat desexed —-,” She stuffs her pointer against his chest and twist it with a grit, “Now he’ll have babies left and right – like a catwhore he is!!” She aerials her hands in different directions rapidly and he takes a step closer kissing his teeth together to seethe his words.

“He’s not a catwhore!”

“Kay then take the responsibility of what he did.” She mutters tapping her foot onto the carpeted floor and guppies at him like a fish when he bursts into taunting cackles, leaning to catch the door-frame before he mushes her under his weight. ”

“Ye -‐..- you’re —- you aren’t serious are ya?” His rosy eyelids snib tightly forming crinkles to where his temples meet his cheeks and she almost pouts, how much she doesn’t want to she could never cascade her expressions.

“Oh my — .... Bambi eyed wouldn’t I’ave had free him of his ball’s heaviness –-- if I’d ‘ave enough money down me pocket?” He scrunches his nose to take a breather from laughing hard.

“Don’t call me that!” She bites at him.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.” He smirks gingerly – drums his fingers against his folded bicep and presses his back to the wall tipping his chin high.

Her blush eager to creep up her neck embarrasses her further more and she hides the softness in her voice, muttering gruffly, “Shut up.” Then turns to walk back into her apartment and to slam the door at his face -- but -- his whistle for her halts her in tracks.

“Hey – Bambi, we could sign the custody of kitties if that what ye'want.”

Three weeks after. There was another knock on Harry’s door, Niall's head perks up and bangs against the bookshelf –- he was trying to keep the furry cat in his lap, for a good warmer but its more enamoured with the ‘clucks' of his daddy’s boots than the soft flesh of Niall’s thigh as Harry chucks his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans (he was about to go outside and bring some food) and opens the door slightly to see through the trapping chain, “who’s it?”

“Harry ‘s me ....” The voice mousey and worried. Niall recognizes it in a hot-second, frowns and tries to gain snowy’s attention, “What did y'do again? Did ya get the pretty neighbour's cat prego twice, you fat farts.” He chuckles when snowy meows at him innocently and Harry's brows skews together into a scowl.

“Call him fat farts another time —- I dare you —--,” He howls. Throwing angry upset glares towards Niall – their bickering gets interrupted when Y/N slips her hand from the crack of door, pinches Harry’s knuckles and he squeaks, “Ow —- what the fuck!”

“Harry.” Her tone threatening.

Harry puffs out a huge sigh and reveals himself infront of her, he's not in mood to fight with her over their cats, or the parcel Harry forgot to give her which got delivered to him on accident like one of the thousand times (he never found anything freakish until now .. not that he goes through what’s inside, but the labels tell they’re mostly her art supplies), or why he’s been showering for an hour because she now isn’t left with any warm water —- because he just came back from UNI and is dust bones from having two exams in a row.

“Y/N —-,” His face reeks with exhaustion. His curls drowsy, escaping from his knit beanie and his eyes glazed with sea-foam. She kinda feels bad for disturbing him -- but – it’s an emergency and she doesn’t know where to go, except him.

His weary vision falls upon trippers tucked beneath Y/N’s arm, “Is she alright?” He scratches behind her ear and trippers gives out a pained yowl.

“No –-.. that’s why ‘m here. She’s spotting blood everywhere and –-- and I don’t have enough money ...,” She’s embarrassed to say least. Not meeting Harry’s eyes and he gazes her sincerely –- belly doing weirdly funny somersaults. He clears his throat, grogs out gathering all the information in his head from the anatomy of humans and animals he studied till now.

“It’s okay for spotting in pregnancies – but ‐-.. she looks very much in pain s' we shouldn’t risk it. I’ve a friend. She’s practicing vet -- we could take her there.” He offers. Rubbing the back of his neck and Y/N bobs her head vigorously, anything to save her trippers baby.

“Fine –-- yeah, Iemme just wear my shoes ... then we're good to go.” She mumbles. Harry hasn’t seen her demeanour flatter like this ever before, whenever she’s banging and barging through his flat it’s always taut and cold banter.

He has never seen her this defenceless.

He drops his gaze down at her feet and finds that she’s wearing cute pizza slices socksies.

“Is this a clinic, or weed doing zone for animals?” She didn’t try to be mean. It just happened as she takes in the wearbouts of garage, stuffed with drums and musical instruments, spray paint on walls. Harry seems unfazed though, he could be shabbier than her if he wants to –- much fouler that could make her cry.

“Told you. She’s practicing not a vet yet.” She doesn’t question him further. Grateful enough for his help. She might not admit but he isn’t that bad of guy as she once imagined him in her head.

Y/N stifles a snort when a girl with mullet shag, having a stud in her brow and the corner of her lip, attired in all black greets Harry with a hip-check, “Vas’up booger.” She grins and Harry grumbles ruffling her hair with his knuckles.

It leaves Y/N in awe. This’s what group of friends look like -- so fun and annoying, she wanted to have this since when she’s small. Sadly, it’s just her and trippers in her friend group.

“Hi there!” She waves to Y/N trying to battle Harry’s tickles away. Takes trippers from Y/N's arms and coos up at her, “hiyaa baby .. oh, she’s having lil buns inside her.” She laughs and Y/N already likes her so much. As if, she’s the main character of any vintage styled movie.

“Rori here.” She introduces herself as Harry strolls inside her kitchen to rummage through her fridge, “Y/N.” Y/N smiles –-- eyeing Harry who’s whistling and tearing the crate of orange juice open.

When Trippers purrs from a cramp, Rori snuggles her closer to herself – “Her spotting is nothing to worry about –-- maybe she’s ready to give birth. If not I’ll take her to my hospital.”

“So Harry said...” Y/N nods.

“Oohh.” Rori exclaims, wiggling her brows curiously at Harry who’s gulping down juice hungrily, “Booger got normal friends too? Thought, those were all white lies.” He almost chokes at it – downing it cautiously and blinks vividly.

“No. Just neighbours.” Yeah, there’s nothing friendly between them –-- but how it’d be like to befriend Harry. The thought makes Y/N feel snoozy and warm.

“I see.”

“Okay then! ‘m gonna keep Trippers with me for two days –-- figure out what I could do to help her and if she heals I’ll drop her by, how that sounds?”

“Sounds good!” Both, Harry and Y/N chimes together heating their cheeks up. Harry wavers his gaze away, sulking a pouty mouth and turns all stoic again.

He doesn’t want to like, Y/N. Nope. Not at all. In any case.

She’s his bedevilling, bothersome and galling neighbour who just screams at him too much for his likening.

“Would you like something to eat?” She asks him while walking back home and he shakes his head, so she nudges him in ribs, “oh c'mon let it be a thank you, grumpy pants.”

“’M not –-,” He was about to snap at her. Instead, he groped her wrist tightly and tugged her to his side –-- she squeals into his chest as a car passes by them swiftly, honking at them in anger.

Her hair wisps from the friction of Harry’s hoodie as she pushes herself away from him, surprisingly he smells incredibly sweet – that of vanilla and citrus musk, something very cosy and like a morning breeze.

A jolt buzzes through her spine at the fact she was about to get crushed under a vehicle but she grins up at him awkwardly, “Tofu then?” His peepers widen in shock and he slaps his forehead.

“You’re mad, know that.”

Harry and Y/N. Sky and earth . She sprouts buds of irises and peonies when she speaks, her touch that shines away even an intimidating person as if they're mimosa plants, those eyes --- those eyes are itself sepia of grounds on which the tiny creatures celebrates by and Harry's well ... he’s the floss of clouds hidden behind sunshine, his rains would turn her into loam and his uppish thunder would make her loathe him.

Then some gods decided to break the needles and fix it in some other clock that rotates anti-clock wise.

Now, when she’s unable to nourish her flowers he's always there to rain and stroke a tender breeze against her that makes her lush grass snuggle the roots of who she’s.

They were enemies once. Opposite to eachother in many ways but couldn’t live without eachother despite of their distances. Just like sky's a hollow sheet of nothingness without it’s dear earth.

What blossomed their friendship was Y/N's date with this cute boy that is in her ceramic class, (not a date if you’d ask so –-- more like a meetup at this coffee house near her UNI).

Turns out he isn’t that cute. His blunt hands wandered up Y/N’s thigh without her consent and before she could know that, he was groping at it –-- making her gasp and hit her knee against the table. She struggles to writhe out of the chair but he stitches his nails in her skin, “I’m not liking it – you better stop.” She hisses, palms sweaty and slipping trying to remove his grip from around her.

“Don’t act all stupid .. you were hitting at me for hours, you want it but wouldn’t admit.” He groans, rolling his eyes and she feels like crying –-- teeth clanking letting out a shuddering breath.

“I’ll scream.” She warns him.

“You’re not that innocent, you act like.” He smirks, sliding his hand down her insides and before he could reach further Y/N sneaked a fork from the table and stabbed it in his knuckles.

“Fuck.” He shrieks, “Bitch.” He almost screams but stops when everyone stares at him as Y/N’s chair fell against the floor and she stumbles inside the bathroom.

Locking it behind her. Her chest burns with tears. Her vision spins and her fingers shakes as she dials one number she could reach for anytime, it rings then goes to voicemail so her bitten lip wobbles and eyes turn glossy.

She again dials it. There’re noises behind, that of someone instructing and Harry was in his lecture hall when she called .. his heart drops because all he could hear is quivering breath ... it shudders to tight painful gasps and he’s collecting his stuff leaving his seat immediately the doctor who's teaching them Apiceoctomy stares Harry while speaking.

Once he’s out in hallway, “Hey? Y/n are y’there? You okay? What happened?” She bolt her eyes close pressing her head to cold tiled wall and yawps outta fear when someone pounds at the door. Harry runs towards the exist, “Y/N where are you!? ‘m coming .. whatever it’s just --.. just ...” He gripes at his curls pushing them back – his heart beating loud, “ – just stay where you’re ‘n don’t panic .. yeah? It’s okay.” He mutters. Voice soft and assuring.

Her breathing patterns back to calmness – something about him so consoling, so warm and she nods. After some minutes she’s telling him the address and gladly it’s not that far away from Harry.

When he reaches. There are several people waiting at the bathrooms door and he’s knocking on it lightly, pressing his ear to it and grabs the knob (in case he’d have to break it).

When there’s no-response from inside he gets it something’s peculiar, “Bambi. ‘s me Harry.” It clicks and unlocks and he’s tumbling inside while the others groans and disperses knowing it’s invain waiting.

He’s dishevelled. His curls in moppy condition and his eyes full of concern and worry –-- she feels awful for doing this to him.

“Were you crying? Did somethin' happen?” He frowns. Ducking a bit to meet her gaze level and she clears the clump in her throat, “Can we just leave .. please?” He couldn’t believe it’s her voice – the bubbliness and chirpiness of it died to frightened meekness.

Harry takes her hand and walks them outside, Y/N sucks in squeak when the same guy rushes to confront them and when Harry sees his injured hand -- everything pieces together and fury spikes through his veins.

His brows pinches together into a frown, his lips lifting into a scowl and his eyes darkens pitch coal like.

He grips her dainty fingers and moves her behind him protectively and his chest buffs out as he takes a step forward towering the guy – “What d'ya want?” He kisses his teeth together to grit vehemence and that guy lift his trembling hand infront of Harry.

“Look what this bitch —-,” Ah –-- he really pushed Harry’s bad button didn’t he?

Harry grabs him from collar and Y/N squeals rubbing his wrist to pull him back, no-use.

“Badmouth her or anyone —-" Harry sneers and if he'd be a cartoon character – fume would have been coming out of his ears and nose.

“Else what!?” Harry’s more of a practical person -- so he did what he's been learning for years now and breaks his nose with such force it almost knocks him out.

Y/N's still in shock. Walking behind him on jelly toes and a shiver spirals in her bone marrow when her sweat dries from the wind that’s blowing and hitting them in faces.

They wait at bus shelter, sitting side by side –-- thighs brushing now and then flustering Y/N, Moreso when he apologizes everytime.

There’s silence. Harry’s irritated groan breaks it –- he clenches and unclenches his knuckles .. the thin skin a bit bruised.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry –-- .. ‘s my fault.” She rambles. Taking his hand to inspect it, “I shouldn’t have called you at ---..” He frowns confused and pokes her in knee conveying her to stop worrying. Because if anyone needs to be taken care of is her and wish he could just hug her and tell her that it’s not her fault – not even a tad.

“Y/n...” He gains her attention and his gaze flickers from her snotty nose towards her soaky cheeks, “Shut up.” She chuckles at that putting his palm gently back on his thigh.

“Would you like to have, noodles? I know this incredible chinese place ...” He shakes his head. His smile small and kooky, nose scrunched up as he sniffs the air – predicting a rain coming soon.

“D'we have to eat after every tragedy that happens t’you?”

“Yup, tragedies makes me hungry.” It’s her coping mechanism if she'll be honest and that’s what she’s been doing for ages.

“Who are you, Y/N?

She jumps up. Wiggling her fingers for him to take and beams sweetly, “Bambi next door?”

“From when did ya become s' rich?” He giggles. He finds her fucking adorable as she drags him along herself excitedly – she halts infront of the expensive restaurant –- where people dressed in all kind of luxuries and bright pearls are dinning in and she arches her brow sceptically, “Did you really think –- I’ll be able to take us here?” He shoves his hands in his jeans pocket, elevates his shoulders and smiles bashfully.

“Maybe one day, who knows?” They walk towards the chinese take out and Y/N trots backwards –-- facing him all while and rolls her eyes, “’M an artist whose half of paintings goes to trash.” Harry’s eyeballs springs out of his sockets hearing her statement and he really wants to knock some senses into this silly girl.

“Oh my --.. jeez .. those paintings are ‘s good y'divvy. They're hanging onto my walls, been enjoying them fo' free —- what the actual fuck .. really your hands are magical.” He feels annoyed and sad that she felt a need to dump them, because those were some beautiful art pieces.

(“Hmm. It has some hidden meaning beneath it, H. I’m tellin' ya.” Ni would always say. Standing infront of it for hours and hours staring at it.

“Looks like a pussy to me.” Max would quip sipping his bevy and Harry would smack him in head, “Guys how ‘bout we just see it like a fuckin' painting.” He'd grumble focusing back on his books.)

“Really?” She asks shyly and he bobs his head, “Guess you could just keep them then ...” She grins up at him taking the boxes from the cashier.

“Where are we going?”

“You’d see yourself.” She sing-songs galloping over the muddy potholes and Harry looks funny doing it with his spider long legs. Their footsteps echoes in the empty warehouse and Harry didn’t expect her to be the person – that loves finding weird places and spend time there.

“Careful there.” He murmurs. Pressing a hand to her waist when she wobbles on her feet climbing the metal stairs and Harry thinks if she was this clumsy all along or it’s from what happened at the coffee house.

“Holy shit!” He cups a hand around his mouth as the traffic bustles down on the street, “You afraid of heights?” She glances back at him from where she’s standing on the cemented edge.

“Matters. If we're about to act silly and jump, then yes.”

Warmth worms up at his chest and his adam apple bobs, he barks out a laugh when she giggles demanding him to come closer to her, “Come here then you dentist the bad boi.” He tugs the fabric of his jeans from his crotch and hikes his one knee up sitting beside her, other leg swinging in air.

He listens to her hums and happy sounds as she slurps the long noodle inside her mouth, “What you’re afraid of then Harry?” Her question catches him off-guard. Nobody has ever asked what his fears are and he might be famous for an intimidating personality just because he speaks less and owns a roaring bullet –-- he’s still very nice to talk to, but he'd rather spend his time with snowy than waste his time on orgy parties.

“Snowy’s funky farts -- they're ‘orrible!! have to leave the flat fo’ a minute.” He grins when Y/N’s head lulls back and she laughs gleefully, rolling into his side to support herself, “Oh no!” She whines when her chopsticks falls and drops onto the road poorly.

“We can share mine.” He hands her his chopsticks and she thanks him timidly, “What d'you fear?” They pass it back and forth –- his lips wrapping around them as he takes a chunky bite.

Harry tries to down the food that got stuck in his throat when she said nonchalantly, “Dying alone I guess?” He chews the veggies, grimaces and shakes his head -- puts his hand over her knee squeezing it kind-heartedly.

“You’ll not.” She feels like every tulip of light around her’s sparkling – the buzz of having his company tingling her in good way, “Promise?” She asks and Harry lifts his pinky in between them encouraging her to bring her's.

She wasn’t serious about the promise thing it was more onto sarcastic side than to sincerity.

“Promise.” His dimples caters deep and his eyes crinkles when different golden lights dances against her skin making her look prettier than she’s.

He’s gonna fulfill his promise.

Y/N could be sentimental given on occasions and how bad the situation’s – but she bottles it up for good amount until later, it all crushes her completely and she’s unable to stand back.

Now, when there’s eerie quietness in the bus and the world infront of her fades behind in weird shapes and forms in her head because of the speed of vehicle – her mind thought it’d be best time to remorse over what happened to her and her eyes well up at that.

Harry plucks his headphones down upon hearing her soft sniffles and turns her towards him with her shoulder, “Y/N hey ....” His voice tender and dewy as he slides his palm under her jaw and cups her cheek to wipe out her tears with the mild stroke of his thumb.

His gentleness rakes out an agonising sob from inside her and she feels like her organs are clashing together.

“Shh. Bambi you’re okay now, ‘s alright you’re here with me -- shh, ‘m so sorry love —- but it’s over now, yeah? We're going home and I’ll make you chamomile tea, could ‘ve both snowy and trippers cuddle with you while I’ll get you all warm and nice inside this new fluffy blanket I just bought! – how does that sound?” He pets her hair. Brings her closer to his chest and she keeps her nose tucked against his clavicles to stop from crying and make a show.

When she nods, suckling a wet breath he swipes a loose errand of her hair behind, “Sounds good yeah?” She just hums snuggling into him.

Her arms slowly loops around his love-handles and he stows her head under his chin -- rubs her back in circles to soothe the stiff muscles, covers her ears with the headphones he was wearing before – plays acoustic version of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac and simpers when she hiccups his name, but doesn’t respond when he answers – his ears turns pink from fond and his belly overglows with butterflies as she babbles his name till she drops into peaceful sleep.

Y/N found herself in his bed with snowy and trippers ontop of her and Harry snoring on the couch – his gangly limbs not fitting at all.

She really wanted to call him and sleep on his bed, but she drowses back to slumber.

“Grumpy jerk and an actual ray of sunshine. Sorry, couldn’t process it – too much.” Rori teased Harry the last time they gathered and Y/N was there too! though the true statement was claimed after her departure.

Harry’s friends couldn’t believe that he stepped out of his comfort zone and made a new cute friend, now after one year of their friendship it doesn’t feel like they’re neighbours anymore –-- it's just one big home with an alleyway in between.

“What're y'doin', moppet?” Harry chuckles picking up the half eaten packet of crisps, chewy sour candies, wrappers of oreos and the romcom CDs they were playing before.

Y/N's sprawled on her tummy. Feetsie in air and her chin secured in her palm as she looks like she’s seriously about to take an admission in med school –-- she’s concentrating real hard on the thick book under her, eyes fixated on the diagrams of teeth – it makes Harry laugh like a maniac.

“Aish. Your books, gives me an ache.” She massages her forehead, shakes her head as if she tasted something icky and pushes his book away. Harry laughs harder at her antics wrappers flying away from his grasp and he flops onto couch –-- thighs spreading wide and back sinking into the cushions.

“Where?” His lips rumbles as he tries to hold back another fits of laughter when she gets his dirty joke and pouts, lips fluttering into a smile until she bursts into giggles joining him.

“Nope. My cookie doesn’t throb like it used to sneaking on reproduction chapters in biology.” Harry roars out a cackle at that and Y/N grins fiddling with the frizz of her socks, “Heyyyy it’s not funny –- very much sad.”

He suckles a breath in, their grins achy and big, “Stuff your cookie with some jam ‘n you'll be alright.”

“You’re gross!” She fake gags. Hunches over to exaggerate the severity and scares the shit out of Harry when she gasps loudly slapping his knee, “Harry! Harry! Oh my gosh.....ahhhh!” She gallops like a bunny towards the window and gazes up at the sky with glinting eyes, “Harry look! It’s snowing.” He trots behind her with a roll of eyes knowing what’s about to come next.

When she turns around with sparkly grin, hands clasped atop her chest and tippy-toes to beg him, Harry shuts his lids, “No Muffy.” Y/N loves eating chocolate muffins –-- eating them whenever she could possibly ... and that’s how the pet name Harry decided to call her was muffy.

“Please, it would be so fun .. we could have hot chocolate afterwards.” She mumbles tugging at the hem of his chunky yarn sweater.

“Nothing’s fun about snow angles, Muffyyyy!!” He whines. Squinting down at her with one eye and finds her all slumpy, head falling downwards.

“Okie then. ‘m going to sleep.” She mutters in a meek voice pushing past him –-- but he wraps his hand around her wrist and pulls her back to himself, chuckling with wide eyes, “You’re very dramatic and annoyin’ y’know that?”

Instead, she grins bobbing her head shamelessly, pats his chest and dashes to wear his warm jacket, “Biscuits on you -- hot chocolate on me.” She tells him slipping into her shoes with the support of doorframe.

He comes closer to her and her heart thuds into her tiny ribs as he zips his jacket she’s wearing up till her neck and warns her while pulling out her hair, “If I get sick – ‘m gettin'y sick too.”

Harry’s waiting outside the candy shop Y/N just barged in moments ago. He refused to step inside – knowing she’ll use him as a taste tester and at the end of the day his tongue would have a mountain sugar atop his taste buds.

The spring breeze flowery and warm. He shakes his head, smiles softly watching her switch aisles and guffaws loudly catching attention of an old couple siting on the bench behind -- at her eagerness when she started chomping onto the long chewy candy right after getting it from the cashier.

“That’s g'na rot your teeth even before your forties.” He tells her taking the small bag from her and walks beside her, “Your kids are gonna hate you ...” She tells him –- stretching out the candy with her teeth.

“You sure, y'were allowed colas and candies in childhood?” He teases her prodding her side so she throws it at his chest making him laugh and he bends down to pick it up and dump it in bin.

“You’ve got a cute bum.” She whistles and Harry’s cheeks bashes with blush – turns around and wiggles herself, “How's mine?” She hums glancing back at him with cheeky grin.

“Ten by two, I guess?” He bites down a smirk when she spins to face him a bit gobsmacked, “Not even five?” She grumps chin doubling as she tries to see her bum herself.

“Six then?” He giggles enjoying how she’s getting riled up out of nowhere and she stomps away from him so he jogs to catch her, “Bambi. Was kiddin'.”

“You owe me two muffins with the amount of insults you’ve caused my poor bum.” He knuckles at her hair and she slaps him away like a feisty kitten, “I take it back –-- you’re really ten by two.”

“Oi!!!” Now, she’s running behind him. His curls blowing away and his coat ruffling with the zephyr, his head falling back with the belly-ache laughter that bounces against the bricked walls of shops.

It’s Friday night. Y/N is doing her laundry. Plucking out Harry’s socks from Trippers furry ear, her kitties sleeping in bassinet. Harry and Y/N have named them Tum, Tug and Truggers –-- she sits back on her heels upon hearing her door closing and hikes the small basket on her hip trudging outside —-- she didn’t had any clothes that could make her feel warm during these days – even her socks were all soggy -- so was Harry’s, now all she’s gonna do is make a blanket fort and hide in it for hours.

She knuckles at her eyes, blinking the tiredness away to see properly who’s standing in the middle of room, “Harry?” He's wearing a graduation gown and tips his hat with a sheepish smile then waves his degree infront of her, “Guess who's a proper dentist now!?” She’s frozen to her spot –- jaw slacked and eyes blown away in surprise.

“Your bad boi!” The basket falls from her hip onto the floor scaring Trippers and she whispers an, “Oh my goodness.” Before, stumbling towards him and crashes in his arms giving him a tight loving hug. He slinks his forearms around her and squishes his face into the crook of her neck, lips tickling her skin and if it was possible for him to freeze the time and cherish it for some more he'd.

“I’m so proud of you.” She mumbles into him with a grin. He feels so worthy and every hardship he faced now feels like nothing, this's how life supposed be throughout –- but best things always bores fruit for the right time.

“How about we celebrate? Just you and me.” Just you and me. It feels nice to just her and him. Makes her heart swoon. Makes her feel like skies outside are wet and pink, “Umm .. can we celebrate here? It’s okay .... “ She shifts on her feet and he furrows his brows in confusion, lips ticked up as if he’s scrutinizing her.

“You and not goin' nutters for an outing .. seems odd —-,” Then his eyes falls over the surrounding, a heating pad beside his feet – aloe fused socks hanging to get dry, a tray of chocolate muffins, kettle on the coffee table so he puts one and one together himself.

“Oh muffy —-... pizza and cuddles then?” If he wouldn’t be aware of how first few days of her period are hell for her then who would? He’s always making her pot meals and curry rice – feeds her and gets all strict when she refuses to eat anything. She looses her appetite and transforms into something ‘if zombie had a baby with vampire -- it sure looked like you’ he'd always scold her.

Even bribe her with candies. Once they were awfully painful and Y/N really didn’t want to be all dramatic not when their friends were having a good time, she doesn’t like to be a party pooper.

But, when a stinging cramp cut through her pelvis and thighs she was hunching forward with a jolt -- all teary eyes and wobbly lips. Harry left everything and rushed towards her, sitting on his knees on the floor and cupped her throat to make her look at him when she refused to, “Y/N ‘m serious -- you rather tell me what’s happening with ye’ or ‘m throwin' you at my shoulder and takin’ you hospital —... cause fuck look at you been like this since morning ....” He was rambling and Y/N felt like drilling a hole into floor and hide herself there forever.

She was mortified and embarrassed, a terrible combination.

She wasn’t able to tell him infront of all of their friends even though it’s something very normal, so everyone stared and nodded when they left they for Harry’s room.

“Bambi are you okay? I’m not even kidding something’s not —-..” She wipes her nose and tugs at his wrist trying to shush him, when he doesn’t pushes a fingers against his lips.

“Don’t worry. ‘m good --- just —-... umm I’m on my periods.” She rubs her one feet on another and his mouth fall into an ‘o' when realization hit him and his brows clinches together sternly.

He sighs running his fingers through his hair, something he does when frustrated and whumpy.

“Should’ve told me. We could have done this later ... do you want anything? I’ve got pain —--,” His words swells on his tongue when her head bumps against his chest and her hands locks around his neck, hugging him with all her gentle will because nobody has ever cared for her –-- him being so tentative to her makes her want to sob into his chest.

He warms her in all the right places.

“How’re you feeling on scale of one to ten?” He speaks while chewing onto the stuffed crust of pizza. They’re cosied up on the sofa while Mama Mia plays on the telly and she’s cuddled up into him, he's holding her heat pad with the grip of his forearm and she lifts her head mousey-ly from his bicep and whispers – “Eightish...? Now, you’re Dr.Styles.” He giggles at her and pushes her head back against him with his finger.

“What does my being dentist has a connection to your periods?” He dips the pads of his fingers into her pudgy love handles and squeezes them -- she giggles thinking about the joke she’s about to crack.

“You pull teeth, it’s blood and I pull out tampon so it’s —...” Harry chuckles gruntly at her and tickles her more, “Oh no. I know where it’s goin'....”

“You asked for it!” She pouts at him and he squishes her lips together as if she’s a duck toy.

Then they flump back into their cuddling position and Harry rubs her tummy in tender soothing circles, it helps her relax and his breath syncs with her and she really tries not to pay attention to her bratty screaming hormones heating her skin up – her thighs experiencing a quiver and she squeaks down a huffy whimper.

“You okay?” Harry asks. When she squirms against him and she gulps -- they don’t hide stuff from eachother so she tells him honestly, “You’re really turning me on.” Harry’s heart hiccups at that and his palms still over her thighs.

“Is that so?”

He pets her hair and tries to make her stand, “Just go to washroom and jizz one out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“Promise me you wouldn’t make fun....” He frowns and nods bringing his pinky to make the deal.

She clutches her sweater down to her knees, cheeks rosy and mutters out in one breath – “I’ve specific days for that....” Harry really tires to. He locks up his laughs in his lungs and it aches his chest, his cheeks balloons up but at last he rolls onto floor and guffaws into his elbow.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun!!!” She whines kicking his side lightly and he grabs her ankle, “This means all those times you’d be all locked up –- oh my god, you were playing with yourself.” She folds her arms. Her nostrils flares with irritation and she doesn’t even spare him a glance.

“Pet, waiting so long .. it’s a torture to yourself.” He tells her genuinely sitting up with crossed legs and she mumbles knuckling at her eyes, “just some reasons ... horny is bad.” Now, Harry feels kind of terrible pushy person and he really wants to help her out but he’s walking on egg shells here. So, he stops asking anything.

“Rori's girlfriend is a sex therapist —-“ She becomes all fidgety at that and Harry takes in her nervousness, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to.” He exclaims waving his hands and she gulps giving him a small nod.

“Night time fo' some grumpy muffy!” He coos, brings the blanket to her chin and his pupils dilate adorningly when she asks him, “Could I snuggle you?”

“Ofcourse.” He pecks her temple and tells her to budge over before sandwiching her between him and the sofa.

That whole night all his mind could think was why horny is bad for her?

Y/N was feeling overly warm and heated, a tad achy between her thighs. She vigorously tries to focus on something else but her chest is heaving at this point, even opens the windows and let the cool air hit her but no use –- so she does what have to be done in order to get rid of the throb.

She cosies herself on the bed, switches onto hentai and throws her legs in air to shimmy her sheer white panty down.

“Oh ...” Whimpers teeny-ly when her fingers brushing up her soaking pussyfolds provides her a bit relief – her soft hands wanders beneath her flimsy shirt and touches her skin in the most arousing way possible –-- tweaks her nipples and jerks up, oozing more wetness.

“Ah! Fuck.” She moans easing in two fingers at once and cramps down at them watching the hentai porn –- but it’s not enough, she’s been pushing her fingers in and out for ten minutes now—she’s unable to get to climax.

So she groans sits up and switches to domineering audios, listens to it while fingering herself hard and she has no idea from where her mind gathered these images from -- but -- soon she’s thinking about Harry’s husky rasp, his sea-foam beautiful eyes and those rosy knuckles ring clad hands —-- imagining him holding her down into mattress and pounding into her at a brutal pace, making her sit on his cock and not letting her move –-- his fingers down her petty throat —-- him spanking her ass if she let’s out any voice out and he'd roar at her beg as she'd be lurking at her tenth orgasm –---- every plausible dirty stuff with him.

She was so engulfed into making herself feel good, lost in her own headspace and imaginations that she didn’t hear footsteps approaching and it’s like she manifested him as he stands at the door-frame with blown away pupils –-- guppy mouth and she’s squealing feeling dizzy upon sitting up this quick.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck —-... sorry sorry ... “ He covers his eyes and turns to walk away but bumps his head with a thud into doorframe.

She gasps, knees up and almost shouts, “No!” making him halt mid-track and she’s on the verge of tears, red face and shaky fingers.

“Please ....”

“Stay.”

Harry’s eyes turns soft at that and he walks towards bed, licks his lips wet and brushes the loose tress of her hair away.

“You want me to stay, muffy?” He asks to make sure – she isn’t in haze and all fog minded.

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

750 notes · View notes

kiridarling · 3 years

Text

𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #CLUB 777 #izuku smut #bnha smut #mha smut #midoriya smut

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piggyjeans · 2 years

Text

There, There, spidey.

Tony Stark x platonic! Penny Parker. Deadpool x platonic! Penny Parker. Ned Leeds x platonic! Penny Parker.

Inspired by: @justme--emily <3!!!! (My fav omg)

Warnings: underage drinking, getting drunk, VOMITING!!!!! Brief mention of starvation (not vulgar) , brief mention of losing virginity (doesn’t happen Isn’t vulgar) ,,, I think that’s it? Lmk if I’m incorrect.

A/n: YOOO ITS BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I POSTED A FIC HORRAYYYY IM BACK!! And!!! It’s penny parker!!! HORRAY! My fav! Hopefully u guys like this! If u wanna leave feedback, negative or positive, it would be so so so greatly appreciated! Ok love u. Also fun fact: if u remember when I was on a hiatus a few months ago cause I was grounded… some of this story was taken from my real experience of why I was grounded :) lmfao Ok go ahead and read. Love <3

“I won’t be able to patrol tomorrow,” Penny says, taking one of the final bites of her sandwich. Her tone is quite monotone for her usual self. And Deadpool, who’s sitting about three feet to the right of her on the roof of his apartment complex, can tell something is off.

He looks up at her with a mouth full of bread, ham, and cheese. Waiting for her to elaborate. So penny continues. “I’m busy.”

His masks eyes narrow. Penny has become used to reading his emotion through his mask, granted, it’s not that difficult. “You’re busy?” He starts, “You should be a comedian. You’re penny parker, high school student, and major loser.” He jokes with penny. With his lack of filter, it’s easy to come off harsher than he means to. And that aspect doesn’t always go well with penny’s sensitivity.

Penny doesn’t need a special mask with changing eyes to indicate how she’s feeling. Wade could tell she was upset by her body language. Her whole body seemed taken aback and she scoffs, “Hey, don’t be mean to me.” She says in her small, agitated voice that wade recognizes much better.

Wade fights the urge to smile at her reaction, Especially since his mask is pulled up to his nose, revealing his lips so he could shovel his lunch into his mouth. “We always patrol together on Friday nights, the crime rates are the highest on Fridays. What gives?” He verbally pokes at penny, expecting an explanation.

Penny just shrugs and looks down at the last bite of her sandwich. “I forgot I made plans with my friend.” She avoids eye contact with wade, knowing he’s the kind of person who won’t stop until he understands what’s going on, and knowing his lack of filter will more or less force her to tell him the truth.

“Okay. We still on for next Friday?” Wade opts for asking simply. He and penny had only known each other for a couple of months, and they’re most familiar which each other’s superhero alter egos. They’ve never hung out outside of patrolling together on occasion and they’d never seen each other out of uniform aside from when they’d randomly ran into each other in the supermarket one Saturday, both with grocery’s in hand. Immediately recognizing each other, eyes widening and both turning the opposite way.

“Mhm.” She hums with her mouth full of her last bite, shaking the crumbs off her palms. After she answers, wade pulls his mask down before face-palming over his masked forehead. “Oh, damn. I forgot I have a dinner date with Captain America.” He says in a serious tone.

Penny stares at him blankly.

“Kidding! He won’t return my calls.” Wade's eyes lighten at his own joke and he flicks his wrist towards penny humorously.

Penny presses her lips together in a small, unamused smile. Before pulling her mask down to fully cover her face. “I need to head over to the tower. I have my internship.” She says, standing up on the ledge of the building and brushing the crumbs off her legs.

“Right. See you around, spidey.” Wade says, penny nods and swings off towards the tower.

While swinging away penny thinks she did a good job at keeping her plans a secret and keeping suspicion low. But if she had stuck around a second longer she would’ve heard wade mutter something along the lines of, “she’s hiding something, the teenage angst is stirring up!” Before shuffling into his lower class, extremely lower class apartment.

Upon arrival on stark tower premises, penny swings into the easily openable window in the exclusive avenger's gym. Tony put a small fingerprint accessible lock on the window so penny could get into the tower easily whenever she needed to.

She swings into the gym and sticks to the wall to lock the window back up. Then she walks over to the women’s locker room to unlock her locker and get the change of clothes she always has accessible. She doesn’t know when the lockers get restocked, or how anyone would even know there needs to be a change of clothes restocked for her, but whenever she’s had to snatch the change of clothes, they’re always there for her, and another change is readily available the next time she checks. Every time without fail.

The change is just a pair of jeans that fit her perfectly, and a plain navy blue long sleeve tee. Her unspoken theory is that pepper is the one who restocks her locker because the clothes are always something penny would probably have at home anyway. And it doesn’t hurt her theory that the clothes always smell like pepper and Tony’s laundry detergent.

After she gets out of her suit and into her clothes, she heads to the gym's elevator, which eventually takes her up into Tony’s personal lab. She scans her hand and enters her passcode, and the door unlocks with a beep, that Tony hears and turns around to greet her.

“Penny!” He claps, penny smiles as the door shuts behind her. Tony narrows his eyes slightly, pointing to her, “You went on patrol today after school?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Pennys confused as to how he already knows seconds after stepping into the lab, she blinks away her confusion and smiles sheepishly, hoping this doesn’t ignite a conversation, “yeah. How’d you know?” She asks in a quiet voice as if it’s a secret.

“Spider-man doesn’t wear shoes,” Tony says, pointing to her fresh white socks she’d found in her locker and lack of shoes. She looks down at her feet and quietly sighs in relief. This isn’t the first time she’s not had her shoes on in the tower, when she’d stayed late for dinner with Tony before, they’d kicked their shoes off and went up to his penthouse. She’d spent evenings having impromptu dinner with pepper and Tony often.

She laughs in acknowledgment and sits at her workbench off in a corner. Tony turns to her as she revisits what she was working on last week, briefing her mind for a second before getting ready to start her work again. But feels his eyes on her. She pauses for a second before slowly looking up to see him staring as if waiting for her to catch his eyes.

“Why? You don’t usually patrol on Thursdays.” He asks lightheartedly. Penny knows he’s not being accusatory, but she’s getting tired of everyone asking her about it. She knows she’ll have to deal with this with Aunt May later, and she’s not in the mood to have all these authority figures watching over her 24/7.

“I finished my homework so I figured, why not?” She says, glancing down back at her work, trying to brush off the subject.

“Your schedule is Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. Sometimes Sundays, something going on?” Mr. Stark asks. Penny blinks hard, trying to ignore the agitation. She breathes through her nose for a second, trying not to lose her temper over something so small.

She doesn’t know why she’s so short-tempered today.

Maybe because she knows she’s doing something wrong.

“I’m busy tomorrow.” Penny doesn’t look up from her workbench this time. She starts her work, scribbling equations on a piece of scrap paper, trying to figure out how to fix an error in a prototype of her new work-in-progress web fluid.

Tony’s long since gotten off his stool and walked closer to where penny’s sitting. He’s hovering over where she’s writing and she pauses for a second uncomfortably. “Yeah? What’s up?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning slightly to read penny’s writing, which has slowed since she felt pressured by the smartest man in the world reading her theories.

When he leans closer she stops writing. She glances up over her shoulder and makes eye contact with Tony. “I have plans. With ned.” She says shortly, glaring at him sassily for a second. She shakes her head slightly, clenches her jaw, and turns back to her prototype.

Tony stares for a moment longer, taken aback at penny’s mood. Usually, she’s excited to talk about her life and the things going on that interest her, but she seems short-tempered. Tony’s never realized how much he enjoys listening to her messy rambling and cut-off conversations when something else pops into her mind that she seems more important.

“Have fun,” Tony says and turns around to return to his workbench. He’s not one to press with penny, since he knows he’s not her father, and penny tries to be the same way since she knows she’s not his daughter. But the short sass and teenage girl way has overtaken her at this point. And she doesn’t know where it’s coming from, as that’s never been the way she’s opted to behave.

Her eyes linger on his frame walking away for a second. In between a breath, she makes a decision, “Sorry, Mr. stark. I’ve been trying to patrol more because I know I'm gonna miss patrol on Friday, so I'm just tired from working a lot. I'm going to the movies with ned.” She says staring at the floor. She’s never been a huge fan of lying, and she feels her stomach burning immediately as she realizes the hole she’s dug herself into.

Tony sits on his stool and turns to look at her. He nods in understanding. “Don’t worry about it, pen. No patrolling tonight. I want you to be well-rested.” He says, and she meets his eyes for a moment before nodding and turning back to her workbench. Tony turns towards his own work and she closes her eyes angrily. She knows he’s trying to be nice and he’s not trying to annoy her, but she feels so ticked off that he's trying so hard to act like her parent. He’s not her parent.

Penny works quietly for the rest of the evening. Answering in a minimalistic but not rude way. Only speaking when spoken to, and near the time she usually leaves, she pretends to be dozing off so she can be excused early.

She fakes a yawn, “I’m gonna head home, Mr. Stark. I’d like to catch Aunt May before she has to start her second shift.” She says, standing up and cleaning her bench up briefly.

“Alright, kid. I’ll call happy to give you a ride home.” He says, standing up from his own workbench and stretching. Penny looks over at him and immediately shakes her head, “I wanna catch her before she leaves. Her shifts in thirty minutes, so I’m gonna swing over there now.” She says, matter-of-factly. Penny doesn’t even know if her aunt is working tonight. She just wants to leave the lap as soon as possible.

Tony wants to argue with the girl, but he can tell that’s a slippery slope today. “You sure you’re okay?” He asks narrowing his eyes. Penny nods, “I’ll be safe.” She says.

They walk out of the lab together and into the elevator. Tony tells FRIDAY to bring them to the gym, and after, to pepper and his’ penthouse.

After the elevator arrives at the gym floor, penny steps out. She turns around to say goodbye to the man. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark. Thank you!” She says as the doors start to close.

“Night, kid.” He says, and the elevator starts to bring him to where he needs to go.

Penny heads back to the locker room to put her suit back on. She opens her locker and it’s folded neatly and smells like Tony and peppers laundry detergent.

She also spots another change of clothes.

000

Penny wakes up the next morning well-rested. After shoveling leftovers into her mouth the night before, she immediately went to bed. May wasn’t home from work, and penny didn’t know when she’d be back. So she took it as an opportunity to give herself a break from lying, though, she would have to tell one small lie.

She packed her change of clothes for the party in her backpack. She also shoved a several-year-old tube of mascara out from her drawer. The last time she used it being her uncle Ben's funeral many years prior.

She quickly scarfed up a banana and some peanut butter and then wrote a small note for May.

‘I think I mentioned to you earlier in the week, but ned and I are seeing a movie tonight, I’ll sleepover at his house and be back Early tomorrow. Do u wanna do something tomorrow? Text me. Love u! - penny ‘

She sticks the note on the kitchen table and slings her backpack over her shoulder, walking out of the apartment and catching the subway to school.

000

When she arrives at school, ned smiles at her giddily. Their first high school party. They’d been friends since 5th grade, this is something they have dreamt of for years together.

“You’re coming over after school, right?” Ned asks quietly when she approaches his locker. She nods even though ned already knows she is because they’ve been texting about their plans the entire week.

Penny can hardly focus all day, and all she can say is she’s glad she and ned don’t have any classes together this semester because if she can’t focus, god knows ned can’t. And her suspicion is confirmed true when the seventh bell rings and she exits her classroom, hearing two girls mutter how restless ned was. She almost stopped to defend her best friend, but once she caught sight of him leaving his classroom rapidly and smiling at her brightly, she understands the girl's behavior.

They exit the school soon after and walk home towards Ned’s House. On the way home, in between conversations, ned starts to lean towards the sandwich shop he and penny usually eat at on days when they hang out after school, but penny stops him, shaking her head.

“It’s easier to get drunk on an empty stomach.” She says as they stand in the middle of the sidewalk outside of the deli.

“Well, yeah. But it’s easier to get alcohol poisoning that way too.” Ned says, gesturing towards the doors. Penny rolls her eyes. Sometimes she forgets her best friend is basically just as smart as her.

“Okay, if you want to eat then be my guest. But God knows I need it, I don’t know how easy it’ll be for me with my fast metabolism.” Penny says matter of factly. Ned sighs and they make their way into the store.

After ned orders and the man starts making his food, (not before asking, “nothing for the girl?”) ned continues to press penny. “You really should eat, pen. Won't you just burn it off anyway?” He asks in a kind voice.

Penny’s not having it. “Dude, I know what I’m doing.” She snaps, resisting the urge to take out all her anger from the past few days out onto ned. But she knows she can’t, he doesn’t deserve that.

Ned gets his food and they walk silently back to his house. Penny’s stomach continues to make noise for the rest of the night.

000

About an hour before they leave for the party, Penny changes into her outfit. She regrets it immediately. It makes her feel much more revealed than she ever has in her spider-suit, which is skin tight and shows every aspect of her body.

Ned changes, and after opening the door to his room again and seeing penny’s outfit, he shields his eyes. “Holy- penny! Are you actually going to wear that?” He says, frozen in place.

Penny frantically looks in between the mirror, then to him. “I-i don’t know! I shouldn’t, right? It’s too much?” She says nervously. This entire thing is out of her comfort zone and it’s making her feel so weird.

“I thought we wanted to go and have a few drinks and dance! I didn’t know you were planning on losing your-“ Ned starts, but penny yells his name to cut him off, shocked at where the sentence was going. She tells him to leave the room and she makes do with what she has.

Her pair of jeans, her t-shirt, the small top she’s wearing, and the short skirt she’s wearing. She plays musical chairs with her clothing pieces and finally decided on her pair of jeans and the scandalous shirt. She checks Ned’s closet as a last resort and adds his zip-up that’s oversized on her. She opts for not zipping it up and tells ned to come back in.

He agrees that it’s better. He sprays cologne on, and penny puts her mascara on, and five minutes before leaving they stand side by side in the bathroom mirror.

“Are you ready?” Ned asks. Penny nods.

“Are you?” Penny asks ned, he hums in response and they leave the house.

000

They walk all the way to the party in the suburbs of queens. People are spilling out of the house. All the lights are on, music is blaring, and people are vomiting on the front lawn.

Ned and penny exchange an anxious glance and step in through the front door. It’s an open house, so no one’s there to greet them, besides MJ after a few minutes of ned and penny awkwardly walking around people.

MJ tells them where to find the keg. “If you wanna be stupid go for it, it’s in the bathtub. I just come to these things to observe people ruining their lives.” She says, ned and penny stare at her for a prolonged second, and then make their way to the bathroom.

After filling up two cups, they both take their first sip. Ned gags and penny spits it back into her cup.

After raiding the pantry and looking around the kitchen for things that could help the rancid flavor, (and adding sugar, which ultimately made it taste worse) penny and Ned opt for simply chugging it despite the awful taste and plugging their nose.

It takes about five minutes before penny starts to feel it. She’s in the middle of a conversation with Ned and MJ. “Wait!” She stops ned from his sentence, “I think it’s working! I need more!” She says as her vision starts to blur ever so slightly.

They get two more cups, and penny chugs hers as ned and MJ watch in horror. Well, ned watches in horror, MJ watches with a knowing amused face. When penny finishes the cup, MJ shakes her head.

“Are you going to finish that?” Penny asks ned through a belch. Ned shakes his head slightly, and penny takes his cup.

Ned and MJ exchange a shocked glance and penny exclaims when she finishes her third cup, running off away from the two.

Penny has her fifteen minutes of fun feeling drunk and out of it. She meets a girl she’s never seen before whos about the same amount of drunk as her, the girl tells her how fun it is to spin while drunk, and penny tries it, she’s absolutely shocked and her mouth drops, hugging the girl for her service.

Then the girl tells her about how it feels to run while drunk. Penny gasps and begs her to run with her, so the two of them exit the house and run down the street. Penny laughs and smiles the entire time they’re running together. They run halfway down the street, before stopping to spin together for a minute, then running back towards the house the party was being held at.

When they reach the house, penny stops in the road to spin again. The girl halts her running as well, before muttering something along the lines of, “I think I’m gonna be sick.” And running off into the house. But penny was too drunk and focused on her spinning to hear the girl.

When penny gets too dizzy, she stops, and nearly falls over. She catches herself and tries to see straight. “Girl?” Penny calls out, looking outside in at the house and all the people inside.

“Giirrllyy?” Penny calls out in a curious tone searching for her new friend, the dizziness doesn’t fade, and only worsens for a second as she attempts to take a step forward but stumbles.

But before she can crash into the pavement, a big man with strong arms catches her. She closes her eyes preparing for the fall but opens them when she’s caught, and she sees red.

She looks up and sees the Deadpool mask.

“Oh my god!” She yells, pushes him away angrily, and stands up straight.

“What, am I not-“ Deadpool starts sounding amused but stops his sentence when he sees penny cross her arms and the familiar angry look on her face. “Spidey?” He asks in a shocked voice.

She stomps childishly. “Can you jus’ leave me alone!? Why is everybody so obsessed with me!?” She yells at him. He watches intently, confused at the entire situation.

“Are you… drunk?” He asks and even though severely under the influence, she can still hear the stupid amused tone in his voice. She’s sick of hearing it all the time.

“No shit, Sherlock,” She slurs, “Why did you follow me here you creep!? Did Mr. S’ark put you up to it?” She angrily questions, and drools a little bit, wiping her mouth aggressively.

“Oh, I just came to break up the party, I love ruining fun! Especially if I wasn’t invited,” he starts in a jokey tone, penny watches with a stone-hard angry look on her small face. “What I didn’t expect, is to see penny parker, the fifteen-year-old vigilante here! So I guess we’re both having a surprising night!” He says in an excitingly condescending tone.

“Everyone needs to leave me alone and let me live my own-“ penny starts, but suddenly swallows bile. “My own-“ she gags, Deadpool’s mask shows him grimace as she suddenly vomits right in front of her. Wade runs back dramatically and screams in disgust.

Penny’s retching stops and she collapses onto the ground, immediately sobbing at the burning in her throat and stomach, and at the anger and overwhelming trouble she’s felt the past few days.

“Please, just go.” She says as tears rapidly run down her cheeks, and she can see Deadpool stand a few feet away from her, hands up to his face.

“Oh no, she’s a sad drunk.” He says sympathetically as he reaches down to pat her on the back, avoiding her vomit.

“There, there, spidey.” He says softly as her back heaves and she shoves her face into her hands. But after only a few seconds of Deadpool shushing her, she gags again and vomits more painful liquid up.

“Jesus, kid. What did you eat?” Deadpool says as penny’s sobbing and vomiting continues. Penny wipes her mouth and her eyes briefly, only before continuing to sob hysterically. “Nothing, dumbass. I was trying to get drunk quicker that’s the whole point. God, you really are so stupid sometimes.” She hiccups through sobs. This is the rawest penny has ever been.

Penny doesn’t think much about what Wade's reaction would be, but if she had, she would’ve assumed he would’ve been offended, or he would’ve walked away from her altogether out of shock and hurt. But he just bursts into laughter. “I knew you had the sass in you! I gotta get you drunk more often.” He says, patting her back and shaking his head.

Penny looks up and Ned and MJ are approaching them. The sight must have been funny, and MJ sure thought so, because she burst into laughter and snapped a picture of penny and Deadpool before ned spoke up. “Penny, are… you okay?” He asks hesitantly as he eyes Deadpool. Penny shakes her head through tears.

“This is a sensitive topic for her,” Deadpool says. Nodding with fake sympathy and rubbing her back. Ned watches his best friend with worry, “penny, do you need me to call May?” He asks, bending down to awkwardly pat penny’s knee.

Before her sobbing can stop and she can answer, wade answers for her, holding up a hand. “No need, good sir. I’m her personal Uber.” He says and picks penny up bridal style.

The change in gravity makes penny gag, but she doesn’t vomit this time. Deadpool asks ned a question and ned rattles off a string of numbers to him. Penny wishes she could understand but the nausea is clouding her vision and her ears. She lets her head hang limply and Deadpool pauses to look at her, he feels her pulse and upon realizing she’s conscious, rolls his eyes.

“We should get going now. Say bye penny! Byeee!” Wade grabs penny’s limp wrist and shakes it to indicate her waving goodbye to her friends, penny doesn’t register anything that’s happening.

Then wade starts walking down the street.

“I thought a perk of being an orphan would be having no one to constantly be monitoring everything you do,” MJ says in a monotone voice after she and ned had been standing for a while watching Deadpool walk away with penny in his arms.

Ned scoffs, “you’d think.” He says, and they turn around to re-enter the party.

000

“You haven’t even learned how to drink yet.” She hears Deadpool say as they enter a building. Penny cant register what building yet, until she hears a familiar voice. “Oh my god, is she okay?” The voice says. Penny suddenly recognizes exactly who it is and jerks her eyes open. It’s pepper.

“She’s pretty much vomited everything out of her system. Perks of being a teenage mutant I guess. Damn that fast metabolism.” Deadpool eyes penny with joke-anger in his eyes. No one else finds him funny, so he continues, “her ego may be bruised after I remind her of this every time I see her. But physically, aside from a killer hangover tomorrow morning, she should be fine.” Deadpool shrugs.

Pepper sighs and anxiously fidgets with her hands. Penny watches with guilt in her stomach knowing she’s caused her anxiety. “Okay, um… would you mind carrying her up to the penthouse? I’m sorry to ask but-“ pepper starts, but is interrupted by Tony. He walks out from behind pepper slowly with his hands in his pockets and penny wonders where he even came from, but upon hearing his voice, she lets her head fall limp once again.

“There’s no need. I’ll take her.” Tony says, he holds his arms out, gesturing for Deadpool to hand her limp body over. Deadpool hisses as if penny had just been seriously injured. “Ooh, you are in for it, spidey.” He says quietly to penny, and she wishes her powers allowed her to time travel, or to turn invisible, or teleport, or anything else that could help her get out of this situation right now.

The worst part is she knows the best way for her to not be in this situation right now, would’ve been telling the truth the entire time.

She keeps her eyes closed as she feels her body being handed over to Tony, whose arms feel much more comfortable and warm, not so strong, but still just as capable. “Bye penny!” Deadpool yells as they enter the elevator with pepper.

“Penny's bedroom is ready for her. I’ll bring a trash can and some water in there.” Pepper says quietly to Tony, penny doesn’t hear Tony answer, so she assumes he nods or something. She hopes he does. She hopes he’s not too mad or too hurt to answer.

The next thing she knows, she’s being softly lowered into bed. After she’s laying and trying her hardest to seem asleep, Tony takes her shoes off slowly and softly, and he covers her with blankets and tucks her in. The doorknob clicks and pepper walks in with a cup of water, and a couple of pills. She sets them on the side table. She knows they’re still standing there but she can’t see what they’re doing. She’s too scared to open her eyes.

“What are we going to do with her?” She Heard- pepper say softly. She sounds upset. She can hear what she assumes to be Tony kiss pepper. “We’ll see when the time comes.” He says, and the two of them walk out.

It’s a few minutes before penny feels like it’s safe to open her eyes, and when she does she sees the guest bedroom that she’d stayed in multiple times. She didn’t know this was ‘her’ room according to pepper. She would stay up longer to dwell on it, but the adventures of the night catch up with her, and she immediately falls asleep.

000

The next morning she wakes up and immediately remembers some of the events from the night before. She knows she’s forgetting parts, and she feels like that’s even worse than remembering.

Her head is killing her, and she remembers the pills on her nightstand that pepper placed there the night before. She chugs the water and gets out of bed.

She looks around the room and out of curiosity, reaches for the knob of the dresser in the corner of the room. Penny figured it wishful thinking until she pulls the drawer open and it’s full of clothes in her size, tops and bottoms, pajamas, undergarments. A lot of socks. And it all smells like pepper and Tony’s laundry detergent.

Penny smiles slightly and feels upset at herself, figuring she hurt them. She knows they care about her, and she knows she broke their trust. And they’re pretty cool, anyway.

It takes her a few minutes before she works up the courage to walk out of her room, but eventually she does.

Not before checking her phone. She has three text notifications.

Call me in the morning. From may

How are u feeling? From Wade Wilson.

And an attachment of her sitting on the ground next to her pile of vomit, sobbing hysterically, and Deadpool smiling and holding a thumbs up with his arm around her shoulder, from MJ.

000

Taglist: @ohworm-writes @spidyyparker @littlemortals @americaarse

Lmk if u wanna be added to my Taglist! Notes, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated <3

…

Have a good day love u

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ladyofthenoodle · 3 years

Text

Summary: Alya didn’t want to come between Ladybug and Chat Noir. But she didn’t want to stop being Rena Rouge either. And if Chat Noir didn’t want to talk to her, then she’d need to find a different way to prove all three of them could be a team.

Her plan unintentionally brings a few secrets to light, which leads to even more secrets coming to light, which leads to... well, Alya is sure it'll all work out eventually.

post-Rocketear, rated T, follows two is company and curiosity cared for the cat

written for @mlcorefour appreciation week

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

day 1: pranks

thanks @eggrestes for the beta read

with a thousand lies and a good disguise

Of all the ways for the rift between Ladybug and Chat Noir to be healed, Alya never expected it to be via Ladybug revealing her massively debilitating crush on Adrien Agreste. And yet, that’s exactly what happened.

It went like this:

“We should have a team bonding night.” Rena Furtive declared on Saturday evening with all the confidence of someone who expected her plan to be immediately questioned.

Ladybug questioned it. “A what now?”

“Team bonding night! You know, like a sleepover?”

Rena noticed Chat Noir’s ears perked up at that. She filed that away for later.

“Rena, we can’t have a sleepover. We don’t have a place to sleep over at, remember? Since we don’t know where each other lives?” Ladybug said, eyeing Chat Noir, whose expression had since fallen back into the neutral professionalism that he’d wielded around Ladybug since they’d fought Rocketear.

She still hadn’t pieced together exactly what had changed during that fight. She’d known that something was wrong with Chat Noir after Sentibubbler, but he’d been so carefully cheerful in Ladybug’s presence afterwards. Outside of Ladybug’s presence was a different story — she’d seen that as Scarabella — but after Rocketear, his attempts at cheer had fizzled into cool indifference.

At first, Alya couldn’t figure out why. She’d thought things would be better after she sent Marinette to talk to him.

She’d gone over and over it in her mind, and in the end, could only think of one thing that had changed that could’ve set him off: the emergence of Rena Furtive.

Hence, team bonding. She’d urged Marinette to come clean to Chat Noir about Rena’s behind-the-scenes involvement, and Marinette, despite her initial reservations, agreed. She’d noticed the difference in Chat Noir too, after all.

Still, Rena wasn’t surprised that team bonding night would take additional convincing. Marinette could be so stubborn sometimes.

But so could Alya.

“That’s why I said like a sleepover. Obviously it won’t be a real sleepover,” Rena admitted. “But we can still do the late-night bonding, you know, truth or dare, prank calls, watching bad mo—”

“I know where Rena lives,” came Chat Noir’s voice, so quietly that if it weren’t for her magically enhanced hearing, Rena probably would’ve kept talking and missed his statement entirely.

“What.” She couldn’t have heard that correctly. There was no way — Ladybug wouldn’t have told him, and Alya had been so careful with her identity — she knew how upset Marinette would be if she slipped up.

(How upset Marinette was already going to be, when she learned Alya had told Nino.)

“How?” Ladybug, for her part, looked genuinely dumbfounded. Not a trace of suspicion that Rena had slipped up or told. Rena wasn’t sure Ladybug’s faith in her made her feel better or worse.

Chat Noir scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh… figured it out?” He didn’t meet Ladybug’s eyes.

He’s lying, Rena thought. Why is he lying?

And why does that movement seem so familiar?

“Are you sure?” Ladybug’s voice was a gentle lie that settled easily into the space left by Chat Noir’s steadfast avoidance of her eyes.

Only Rena, who was looking directly at her, could see the panic etched across her best friend’s face, the way her brows raised so high that the spots on her mask pulled into ovals and the corners of her smile rounded tightly at the edges.

“Sentibubbler!” Chat Noir exclaimed, making Ladybug jump.

“It wasn’t too hard to figure out what everyone in the bubbles had in common, and, well, Hawkmoth was trying to get Rena’s miraculous, wasn’t he?” He finished this speech off with a shaky smile and finger guns, of all things.

Unbelievable that she was the one who’d been found out if Chat Noir was just as bad at lying as Ladybug.

Except he wasn’t, was he?

Rena didn’t know very much about Chat Noir, but she was certain that he was a much, much better actress than Marinette. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe he was really just this nervous to tell Ladybug he’d figured Alya out.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about his explanation. If it was that easy to figure out someone’s identity based on that type of context, she would’ve figured out Marinette long ago.

Maybe she would’ve figured out Chat Noir too, based on the increasingly frequent glimmers of recognition that she kept failing to hold onto in her mind.

Ladybug hummed. “I suppose you’ve figured out who Carapace is too, then?”

“Ummm… yes?” He scratched the back of his neck again, and there it was: the glimmer.

She wanted to chase after it, desperately, to finally capture his story, but she was Rena Furtive right now, not Alya Cesaire, and Rena had a more important job to do. Besides, if she played her cards right, there’d be plenty more opportunities to track down her lead.

“Great!” Rena casually slung her arm around Chat Noir’s stiffly hunched shoulder. “Nino can join us. And since obviously Ladybug knows who I am too, we can just go to my place!”

As Rena talked, Chat Noir carefully disentangled himself from her arm, shifting his body closer to Ladybug, but still keeping a careful distance from both of them. He looked decidedly unsettled.

“What about your family?” Ladybug asked.

“Nora actually has an out of town wrestling competition on Friday and my dad is going to watch. And Friday nights are always crazy at the restaurant, so mom just passes out as soon as she gets home, and she sleeps like the dead.”

“The twins?”

“I’ll ask Lila to watch them. And Chris, if needed.”

At Ladybug’s disapproving look, Rena continued. “Look, I know she’s a liar, but she’s good with the kids. And as far as she’ll know, she’s babysitting so that Nino and I can get some alone time in my bedroom.”

Ladybug didn’t look convinced. Even worse, now Chat Noir had shifted himself into position beside her, echoing her disapproval with eerie precision, from the parallel downturn at the corners of his mouth to the way his arms crossed the same way hers did, right over left.

Rena didn’t remember being Lady Wifi, and looking at them right now, she was suddenly very glad she didn’t.

“What’s the worst she can do with that information? Spread rumors about Nino and I playing Super Penguino? Who cares. Besides, Lila doesn’t ask a lot of questions, because she doesn’t want me asking questions and poking into her business.”

“I guess that makes sense…” Ladybug admitted, biting her lip.

For a second, Rena started to relax. If Ladybug agreed to it, Chat Noir would follow. Sure, Chat Noir didn’t seem fond of Lila, understandably given her history of akumatization, but he didn’t have any personal reasons to dislike her that way Marinette did.

Or at least, that’s what Rena thought.

“Are you kidding me?” Chat Noir did not seem to be following at all. “The worst she can do? She almost got Marinette expelled!”

“What?” Alya remembered Marinette being expelled, of course — and Marinette’s admittedly likely, but still unproven, theory that Lila had framed her — but she was a bit shocked that Chat Noir knew about it.

Why would Ladybug tell him something that closely connected to her civilian life?

“How did you know about that?” Ladybug’s voice quivered as she turned to Chat Noir.

Okay, maybe she didn’t tell him… but then…

On cue, Chat Noir’s eyes shifted away as he began talking.

“Adrien Agreste told me.” Lying. “He mentioned that a huge group of people had almost been akumatized, including Marinette. He came to me because he was worried that even though he’d managed to get her back into school, it could happen again.”

“Adrien did what?”

“He, uh, he flagged me during patrol one day?” Chat Noir tapped his fingers together as he talked. “And told me he was concerned.”

Rena narrowed her eyes at him, trying to zero in on that glimmer once again. If I could just focus…

“No, not that part,” Ladybug said, shattering Rena’s attempt at a figurative zoom lens. “What do you mean, he got her back into school?”

And why do you know that if Marinette herself doesn’t?

“Oh, um,” Chat Noir’s eyes darted back and forth, as if he was looking for some way to escape. “I probably shouldn’t say, he told me this in confidence—”

“If Adrien thought Marinette getting akumatized was a big enough concern to tell you, then surely it’s something all the heroes of Paris should be informed of?” Rena interrupted. “Surely it’s something her best friend should know about?”

His shoulders slumped, defeated. Rena should probably feel bad about that, but Alya had always hated being left in the dark.

(She steadfastly ignored the little voice in her head that reminded her that they’d been doing exactly that to Chat Noir for weeks.)

“Adrien made a deal with Lila,” Chat admitted. “He’d play nice with her in exchange for her getting Marinette back into school.”

A sharp gasp, from Ladybug.

Chat swiveled towards her; Rena followed suit.

Chat Noir probably wasn’t expecting the starry-eyed, utterly besotted look on Ladybug’s face, but Rena wasn’t even a bit surprised.

“Adrien did that?” Ladybug’s voice floated across the air like a melody. “For me—Marinette?”

Careful not to move, Rena flicked her eyes back towards Chat Noir. He looked completely pole-axed.

And there it was again, that glimmer. So close this time, Rena could just reach out and…

“Oh no, now you’ve done it. All she’ll talk about for the next 30 minutes is how great Adrien is. She has a massive crush on him, you know.”

…snatch it.

“Alya!” Ladybug shrieked.

“She WHAT?” Chat Noir choked out.

Got him.

“Oh yeah, she’s totally crazy about him,” Rena mused nonchalantly, as if she didn’t know she’d just earned the wrath of her best friend and also possibly given Chat Noir reason to rethink the entire last year of his life. “You wouldn’t believe how many times she’s watched that perfu—”

“Rena, that’s enough,” Ladybug snapped.

Rena didn’t understand the anger at first — indignation, sure, embarrassment, absolutely, but anger?

She didn’t understand, until she processed the rest of the scene in front of her. Ladybug, glaring at Rena with one protective hand laid on Chat Noir’s shoulder.

Chat Noir, who looked like an absolute wreck.

Ladybug must’ve seen Chat Noir’s deeply reddened face and slackened jaw and assumed he was heartbroken hearing about the boy she loved. That Rena was teasing her about his rival in front of him. It would be sweet, her protectiveness, if any of it were true.

If only you knew, Ladybug, Rena wanted to tell her. It’s so much STUPIDER than that.

But she couldn’t tell her, so she’d have to apologize instead. “Sorr—”

“No, please continue,” Chat Noir interrupted. Miraculously, his face had already begun to return to normal, with only a pale pink flush still peeking out from the bottom of his mask.

“I’d just odor to hear more about my lady’s type. So she’s interested in blondes?” He preened, fluffing his hair. Or attempting to fluff it anyway.

I can’t believe that’s Adrien Agreste.

Rena stifled a giggle as his claw caught in a tangle, leading to a flurry of motion as he desperately tried to recover his dignity, only for Ladybug to step in and gently comb out the tangles with his fingertips, freeing his claws from their flocculent prison.

I can’t believe that’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, untangling Adrien Agreste’s hair like she’s done it a thousand times.

She watched as Ladybug interlocked her fingers with Chat Noir’s, giving them a quick, tight squeeze, before letting go. Chat Noir’s eyes lingered on his hands, dazed, as Ladybug’s eyes crinkled in adoration.

On second thought, maybe I can.

“Honestly, kitty, I should just bring a hair brush with me on patrol,” Ladybug teased as she resumed fussing over him, finger-combing his hair into a big blonde pouf. “Have you ever used one?”

And just like that, the two were bantering and laughing like the tension between them had never existed.

(It had.)

Just like that, Rena was the odd one out, the third wheel in the team.

She found she didn’t really mind it, though she was glad she had her own partner to invite to the sleepover. Watching the two of them might get uncomfortable real fast.

But for now, it was sweet. For now, Alya Cesaire was content to watch Marinette Dupain-Cheng scratch under Adrien Agreste’s chin as he leaned into her touch, both of them comfortable in the illusion of a good disguise.

Turns out, there was no bigger prank than secret identities.

She just hoped it was one they’d all be able to laugh at in the end.

#mlcore4 #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #ml spoilers #team is a four letter word #noodles writes

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daisies-and-buttercups · 3 years

Text

“Love and War / Chapter II″ - Luca Changretta x reader

Summary: Waking up to an empty bed and the words that Luca left for you, you soon realise that everything is going to go down today, and you’ll soon have to pick a side.

A/N: I swear that this post took me at least three tries, tumblr kept deleting and/or messing up the formatting so I’m really hoping that this is worth it lol 💕

Words: 2.7k

Chapter I Chapter III

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

The next morning you shifted in bed, stretching your arms in search of your lover’s body, but all you felt was the crumpling sheets, still warm from where his body was not too long ago. You groaned, sitting up and scanning the room, eyebrows scrunched into a tired look. If you had to guess what had happened the night before just by looking at your room you wouldn’t have had any clues. Your clothes were neatly folded by the chair and there was no other evidence that anything had indeed happened. No clothes abandoned on the floor, no man lying next to you.

You walked down the stairs almost second guessing yourself, thinking over the night's events while you prepared a cup of coffee that you so desperately craved. Taking a big sip your eyes landed on the small table by the door, only usually adorned by a small plate for your keys and some letters that you hadn’t gotten around to opening yet, now decorated by a beautiful bouquet. You never had flowers around, the item useless and expensive, not something that you could afford with your paycheque, but just with their presence they lit the room up, their delicate perfume filling your lungs. You smiled and walked up to them, lifting the small card up to read it. A simple phrase full of adoration and love, with a few words in Italian, made you blush at the love you felt, but the final sentence made your heart drop.

If today is kind with my soul, I shall meet you in your dreams tonight, mio amore.

His handwriting was smooth and elegant with each word, but the last sentence was slightly messy, revealing his feelings maybe more than he was used to. His fear. He didn’t think he’d make it back.

So today was the day.

You scurried over to the phone, picking it up and calling the Shelbys, hoping that someone, anyone, would answer, but no one did. There was no point in leaving the house, you wouldn’t know where to find them and you had no way of knowing where Luca was either. There were many places where this showdown could happen, and even if you found it, what were you going to do? You couldn’t just waltz in hoping not to get shot. Still, the mix of emotions in your chest made you dizzy. Why didn’t he say anything? You dreaded the images that flashed before your eyes, first that of Tommy’s lifeless body, still clutching his gun, then that of Luca, tumbling as a bullet hit him square in the chest. Tears fell as you pictured those scenarios, but knew that that was all they were. They weren’t real. But even knowing that, you couldn’t stop pacing around the room, counting the minutes and going over the events of the past few weeks. You didn’t know how to feel about this whole ordeal. You never forgot how Tommy and his family welcomed you when you had been left with nothing, giving you a job, food, inviting you over for drinks and celebrations, but as much as you dreamed of it, you’d never be part of them. You fit in, but not fully. You weren’t part of their circle, but you were part of their “clean” life. Tommy made sure to to leave you out of the dirty deeds, even if you gathered what happened behind closed doors, and by doing so he shut you out of the only part of their life that would make you fully fit in with them. Then Luca arrived, and the calls, on the phone that Thomas brought just for you, since you couldn’t afford one in any other way, started becoming less frequent, with less news. No more talking about the business, no more working by their side, no more gossiping with Ada or Polly on Saturday evenings. You still got your salary, somehow left by your door with nothing else attached to it, not even a note, but that didn’t change the stark difference in your routine. You barely felt like family, or whatever you had ended up being, anymore. You felt even more left out now. So when Luca came around and actually listened to you, and talked to you, and shared his interests while asking about yours, you felt appreciated, loved. You had found somewhere where you fitted. And now here you stood, weary of whose death you’d have to cry at the end of the day.

It took hours for the phone to ring with news, which made you jump into alertness, rushing over to answer. “Where is he?” You stayed quiet for a moment, fully expecting to hear Polly’s or Ada’s voice, not Tommy’s. He was alive, and clearly Polly had told him about your meeting with the Italian. “Where is-” “Where is he?” he raised his voice in unison to the loud sound you heard not far from him, probably his fist banging against the table. So they still were both alive. You let a breath out that you were unaware you had been holding, gripping your clothes tightly, adrenaline running in your veins from the news. He didn’t usually raise his voice, so his anger was evident, yet you weren’t sure if it was directed at you or at Luca. He clearly had gotten away, and the thought of that was enough to lift that weight off your chest. “I don’t know, Thomas.” “You knew last night, though, didn’t you? When he was in your bed? Bet it felt good, eh, fucking the enemy?” You didn’t answer, your face blushing in shame and anger. He had no right to spy into your personal life. You knew that in his books you were on the wrong side of the war they were fighting, but his words were harsh, cutting through you without any of the warmth they once held. “Don’t defend a fucking wop. Tell me.” “I don’t know where he is. But this has to end, Thomas, this war you’re-” “Why don’t you tell that to your friend?” He pronounced the last word with sarcasm and hatred, but what hurt him was the betrayal he felt when you made it clear that you cared about him. “I already did. I told him I support neither of your ways. Just stop, someone’s gonna get hurt.“ “And it would be a shame if you got caught in the crossfire.” he spat out, the silence ringing in your ears as if his threat were a slap. “Goodnight, Thomas.” You replied, slamming the phone down, not even sure if he was still there to hear you but not willing to argue anymore. You didn’t stop walking around the halls, hoping that someone else would tell you more about what actually went down, still in the dark, but no one did.

That night you laid in bed, thinking over everything that had happened, or at least what you knew. The fairytale routine you had fallen in with Luca, the fancy restaurants, chivalrous words and tender kisses were taken away from you so soon after they started, leaving you desperate for what you had started growing so used to. Had it not been for the vendetta, he’d probably be here next to you right now, drawing circles on your shoulders with his fingertips, kissing you softly. But he wasn’t here, and all you knew was that he must’ve been alive somehow, since Tommy had no idea as to where he could’ve been. Standing up you took a few steps towards the small balcony, desperate for some fresh air. There was barely enough space to stand on it so you leaned on the window frame, spotting someone moving away just as you glanced down towards the back street. Had you been in a less emotional state you’d have never chased after them, but right now all you wanted were answers. You turned the corner, losing your balance as you slammed into someone, but their hands held you up, pulling you against them. “You shouldn’t have come out here, principessa. You never know who might linger in the dark.” With your mouth agape you stood still for a moment, realising who was standing in front of you and finally wrapping your arms around him, colliding with his chest once more. He let out a low chuckle, melting into your embrace and holding you, feeling your heartbeat calm him down, a natural remedy that only you could provide. Your tears fell freely, wetting his coat while you shivered against him. “Well, lucky me then.” you joked, breathing in his scent, the notes of sandalwood surrounding you. “What happened?” “Nothing. The police got in the way.” he shrugged lightly, his hands still around your waist, pulling you against him. “Thomas was looking for you. He called me.” he nodded, looking around the street for any signs of someone spying on them, but no one was around at this time, but he didn’t care either way. “I’m leaving for Camden Town. I won’t be back for a few days, so you won’t see me for a bit.” “And what are you going to do in Camden Town?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. He wouldn’t stop, and there was only one man in London that had a strong connection to Tommy, and not always a good one. You had never met Alfie Solomons, but you knew enough about him to know where this was going. “Not important. I came to get a goodbye kiss.” his eyes crinkled as he smiled, lifting your chin with his fingers and finding his mouth, kissing you with an initial softness, growing into a hunger that he couldn’t afford right now. He groaned, breaking the kiss, resting his forehead to yours. “What are you planning, Luca?” “Goodnight, dear.” “It’s not gonna end well.” “Goodnight, dear.” He repeated, kissing your forehead and lingering for a moment more, before urging you to walk back home, waiting until you were out of sight to slip away, walking towards the car that would take him to London.

You spent days waiting for something, but there was nothing. No calls, no letters, no news. You picked a few books off your bookshelf, books you had never had the time to read, and scanned the pages, not managing to focus on more than a few pages. It was that dark feeling in your chest that you couldn’t ignore, and the lack of news only made it worse, feeding your mind with the most horrible scenarios. It felt like a blessing, if only for a short moment, when a call arrived shortly after dinner. You were resting your head on the sofa, singing along to some old songs while you stared at your hands, the concept of time slowly slipping away, when you received the news, making you sit up in disbelief. Polly had been brief, delivering the news and nothing more, leaving you clutching your telephone and staring into thin air for what felt like hours. She hadn’t said anything more, leaving you with the feelings that surrounded you. Sadness, rage, hopelessness… everything was bubbling in your chest, a feeling of guilt coating everything, making you feel like you were somehow at fault here, like you hadn’t prevented this. You paced around for most of the night, only pausing your wondering when the realisation hit you again, big tears slipping past your eyes as you recalled the memories of the times shared, stopping your incessant actions at the faint knock at the door early in the morning. “I saw your light on.” he looked behind you, his lips twitching up for a short moment, only to fall back into a stoic look when he met your gaze, clearly seeing the tears that you tried to wipe away before opening the door, your eyes red with sadness and rage. “Tell me you didn’t.” It was a whisper, one that made his heart break. It wasn’t just your expression, nor the redness under your eyes, but your moving away from the door, as if you feared him. “Alfie Solomons-” he started, willing to offer an explanation for his deeds. “I don’t care about Alfie! I asked you to stop this after the vendetta happened!” you shouted, getting closer just to throw punches at his chest, yet no matter your anger you were nothing but gentle, barely making him flinch. “He didn’t stop either.” “Because he’s stubborn. He’s-” “I am too. He killed my men. Just ‘cause you were closer to Arthur doesn’t mean that the death of my men means nothing.” “I don’t want to be part of this anymore.” you announced, slipping from his grasp and moving away, putting as much distance between the two of you as you could. “You never were a part of this.” “Maybe not, but with how things are going I’m going to end up as collateral damage.” “You know I’d never let anything happen to you. Even if you stood by him, I wouldn’t-” You turned and walked up the stairs, ignoring his words and grabbing your traveling bag from the wardrobe as he made his way up, scoffing but following you into the bedroom nonetherless. You picked your clothes and folded them quickly, placing them in the bag and throwing a couple other belongings in. “What are you doing?” He asked, sitting on your bed and stopping your movements by holding your hips, his touch delicate, in harsh contrast with his look. He always felt so… different around you. Delicate, careful, loving. Little things, like the way he remembered what wine you liked, or some of your little quirks, or the softness of his touches when he was near you. After the night where you both fell into your bed, he’d become more open with showing his affection, but before that he never really shied away from it either. His hand gently cradling the small of your back when guiding you into a restaurant, or the brush of his fingers against your cheek when a stray hair got away from behind your ear. “I’m ending it tomorrow.” He announced, avoiding your gaze. “What?” You turned to face him, not fully understanding his plan of attack. “I called a meeting with Thomas.” “To apologise?” “To make a deal.” He corrected you. “But it might not work. So…” He took one of his rings off, holding your hand and placing it in your palm, closing it around it. “To remember me by. Or not. Maybe it’s better to forget me, after all.” He brought your hand to your lips, as if to seal a deal, smiling. “I won’t have to remember you. You’re not going.” Your hand on his arm was supposed to stop him, or slow him down at least, but he just smiled at you as you would with a child that doesn’t fully understand the state the world is in. “I have to finish what I started.” “Luca, don’t.” you tried to give it back, but he shook his head, moving away from you and down the stairs. “Arthur didn’t deserve it.” “He’s the one that pulled the trigger.” You didn’t speak, not knowing what to add. You knew he was referring to the death of his father, but what Arthur had done was almost out of mercy. Tommy wouldn’t have stopped, so he intervened. There were many mistakes he had made in his life, but dying because of an act of mercy wasn’t what he deserved. “Ti amo, bedda mia.” And with a final look he left, not waiting for an answer, exhaling when the door closed behind him. He saw the way you looked at him, the tears that escaped your eyes, feeling betrayed by his actions, but he did what he had to do. “Luca, we’re not finished talking.” Your words had no effect on the man, just like you knew they wouldn’t, but you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking them. It wasn’t only grief that was holding you back now, but fear. For a moment you saw the man just as he had been painted since the beginning: a gangster, a killer, nothing more but a heartless man. You fell back against the wall, clinging on to the ring he had gifted you, the only thing that felt certain right now. You watched as he stepped out, closing the door behind him ever so gently, to avoid making noise, and wondered what hid behind those eyes. How much could you risk for him?

He could feel you looking at him as he made his way out, knowing just how disappointed you were, but he wouldn’t back down. He knew what was going to go down tomorrow, what he’d say, how he'd move, and he’d do anything to have you by his side.

After all, all is fair in love and war.

#luca changretta x reader #luca changretta x you #luca changretta #luca changretta imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #love and war fic #Liza's attempts at writing

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arrowflier · 3 years

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Hi I don't have tumblr, so not sure how this works. Came across your blog though, and spent three days just reading everything you've written and reblogged. Such a fun three days! I have so many ideas for prompts, but the one I'm most curious about is what happens when Ian has a rough patch of mania maybe a couple years into their marriage and what kind of plans do Mickey and Ian have for either an upswing or a downswing of his bipolar? Thanks so much excited to see what you come up with!

Hi there! It's such a compliment that you went through my rambles, glad you're enjoying.💖 Standard disclaimer: everything I know about bipolar disorder comes from the internet. It's an important part of Ian that I want to be respectful of, so as always please let me know if I miss the mark.

Caring for your partner, Rule 1: Be There

When Mickey woke up, Ian wasn’t in bed.

That wasn’t terribly unusual in and of itself. What was unusual was that it was only 3AM, on a Saturday, and Mickey could already hear his husband moving outside their room. The footsteps outside the door were soft, restrained, like Ian didn’t want to wake him. But the following clatter in the kitchen was alarmingly loud as Ian opened the drawer under the oven to pull out a pan, and Mickey groaned.

He wanted to roll over, pull a pillow over his head, and block out whatever this was so he could go back to sleep. They’d been working long days, and sometimes longer nights as the dispensaries were all pulling overtime with increasing demand. They’d only made it to bed like two hours ago, for fuck’s sake, and Mickey was tired.

But Ian should have been tired too, and it was never a good sign when he wasn’t. So Mickey sat up with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and swung his legs out of bed.

He winced when his bare feet touched the cold wooden floor. They had been here for almost a year already, and they still hadn’t gotten ‘round to buying a fucking rug for the bedroom.

Mickey shivered as he hopped awkwardly toward the closed bedroom door, grabbing his robe from a hook there and tugging it on over his thin shirt and the boxers he was pretty sure started out on Ian’s side of the dresser. Wrapping it closed, he slipped out the door and into the brightly lit hallway, squinting blearily as he followed the sound of pots and pans to the kitchen.

Ian had half their crockery out on the counter already. His red hair gleamed under the sharp light of the long fluorescent bulbs overhead as he stirred batter in a large bowl they had borrowed from Debbie last week and never given back, wooden spoon clanking against the sides erratically.

Erratically. That was a good word for it, Mickey thought. The mindless clink clink clink of wood on metal in no discernible pattern, just like the route Ian took around their table, to the counter, to the fridge, and back to the oven again. Mindless, pacing, random.

Mickey leaned against the wall, and watched.

They had talked about this, since the last time. At least, since the last time Mickey had been worried. When Ian was down, when he didn’t want to get up. When Mickey dragged him out on his first run and they talked afterward in the kitchen, when Mickey made clear that his worry was just one more face of what they had together.

He’d come down the next morning to Ian at the kitchen table, the whole place eerily quiet for a place they still shared with too many fucking people. There had been coffee in the pot, toast on the table, and Ian, picking at his cuticles and not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“We need to talk,” he’d said, and Mickey’s heart had dropped into his stomach.

“Can I wake the fuck up first?” he’d asked, but Ian had just kicked a chair out for him and waited, not meeting his eyes, until Mickey sat down.

They’d sat silently for a long moment, Mickey unwilling to ask what it was about. Finally, Ian had sighed, and reached out for Mickey’s hand across the table.

“It’s about the bipolar,” he’d said, and Mickey had been so relieved he could feel it in his fucking toes, bare and cold against the tile floor.

“Oh. Okay.”

Ian had been startled by his easy acceptance of the topic, he could tell.

“That’s it?” He’d sounded almost confused.

Mickey had shrugged.

“I mean, yeah?” He’d rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes with the hand no holding Ian’s. “You had me worried, man, with the we need to talk thing. But this is just normal shit.”

Ian had just stared at him, then released his hand to lean back against his chair.

“Normal?” He’d asked disbelievingly. “There’s nothing normal about planning for my imminent mental break, Mickey.

Mickey had snorted at the irony of it. “You kidding me?” he’d said. “It’s the most normal fucking thing about us.”

As he watched Ian in the kitchen now, making pancakes at 3AM on a Saturday morning, Mickey thought that was probably still true.

“Hey, Martha Stewart,” he said softly from his position against the wall, still leaning there as Ian spun around with surprise painted over his face. His eyes were off, the light not quite there, but they still warmed when he saw Mickey.

“Hey,” Ian said back, voice high and too chipper. “I’m making pancakes, you want some? I’ve got banana, your favorite, and chocolate chips, and strawberries…”

He went on to list more ingredients, but Mickey wasn’t really listening. He could see it all anyway, spread out over the kitchen like so many half-made decisions, half-baked ideas that kept giving way to something else.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, and he snapped out of it.

“Yeah,” he answered with a smile. “Yeah, I’d love some pancakes. Why don’t you let me stir for a awhile?”

—

They had their pancakes standing up next to the counter, nowhere left to rest their plates on the crowded surfaces of the kitchen. Ian talked about the merits of each ingredient as they ate, and Mickey listened, and nodded along as best he could.

This was okay. It was pancakes in their boxers at 3AM with no sleep in a kitchen that looked like it was hit by a tornado, but Ian was eating, and Ian was smiling, and Ian was there.

And when Ian stopped and tried to set his plate down, distress on his face as he was confronted with the mess he had made, Mickey took the dish from him with easy hands.

“You want to sit down awhile?” he tried, nudging Ian gently out of the disaster-zone. “Bet you’re tired after eating all that.”

He knew Ian wasn’t, but he kept a hand on his back anyway until they were out in the living room, next to the sofa. Mickey let go to sit down himself with a groan, tired muscles aching at being used for too long without rest. He kept his eyes off Ian, just standing there, looking at him in that too-present, too-absent way of his, and leaned back against the cushions, eyes falling closed.

After a moment, the sofa dipped as Ian settled in beside him.

“Mickey?” Ian asked. The cushions bounced as he tapped his heel repeatedly on the floor.

“Yeah?” Mickey responded, squinting his eyes back open.

“Can I touch you?”

Mickey repressed the urge to sit up, to take Ian into his arms. Ian sounded too hesitant, a shift from moments before as he playfully shoved bites of overcooked batter into Mickey’s mouth.

But Ian didn’t like to be held like this.

“Of course you can, you moron,” Mickey said instead, and watched as Ian’s leg stopped moving. The other man drew closer, reaching a hand out to card through Mickey’s hair and drag down the side of his face, a touch too shaky and a touch too firm.

Ian had once said that touching Mickey grounded him, and Mickey hadn’t known if Ian thought that was a good thing or not. In the midst of hypomania, Ian didn’t always take kindly to being grounded.

But tonight—well, this morning—it seemed to be a good thing. Mickey was grateful for that.

Grateful, because it meant that Ian looked like himself as he moved to lay against him, and not like some over-saturated facsimile painted with too much water on the canvas, always shifting, always running. Grateful, because it meant that Ian pulled Mickey’s arms around him and settled into his side like they always did, even if his body never quite stilled at the contact.

Grateful, because it meant they wouldn’t fight tonight. That Mickey wouldn’t have to worry as much about what Ian might say, might do, if he stepped out of line. If he went off the script they had planned on a good day for dealing with bad ones to come.

He wouldn’t have to call Lip for backup. He wouldn’t have to tail Ian as he left the apartment to make sure he stayed safe. He wouldn’t have hide the knives, or their wallets, or anything else.

Not that he would have complained if he did. It was what it was. Ian was who he was. And Mickey would always see him through it. Love him through it.

They lay there, mostly quiet, except for the mindless tune Ian hummed against his neck, and the tap tap tap of his fingers on Mickey’s collarbone.

Eventually, the song cut off.

“Do I need to call the doctor?” Ian asked quietly into the echoing room, and Mickey nodded, rubbing a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

He'd get everything together in the morning. Ian's journals, their schedule, their meal plan. The little notebook where he kept track of Ian's prescriptions, how they worked, how long they lasted.

Something had obviously slipped, either in their methods or in Ian himself. But Mickey was well past dwelling on what they could have done differently, and focused on what to do next.

Things happened. Things changed. They would adapt.

At Mickey's confirmation, Ian just nodded against him, fidgeting until their legs were too entwined to separate.

“Sleep first, if you can,” Mickey told him, settling in for a long rest of the night. “We’ll do it together when you wake up.”

Together. They’d do it together. Again and again and again, as much as they needed to. Because Ian was his husband, and this was their normal.

And their normal was still pretty damn good.

#daily speedwrite #fanfic #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #bipolar disorder #tw: mental health

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marginalmadness · 4 years

Text

Summer Nights: 2/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Mature (later explicit)

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: This chapter involves Jungkook going into heat.

Author’s Note: If I called @johobi patient before, I fucked up the tenses to bad in this chapter, it took her HOURS to fix. But she approved of the chapter which I’m happy about because this is the one I was most worried about. Jungkook Goes into heat in this chapter, and I hope nobody wants to kill me when they finish it. Chapter 3 is only a week away! <3

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Tags: @kookiebunny97 @mintyrae @skswriting

Word Count: 5.6K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

I hope everyone is enjoying BE, and Life Goes On.

Summer Nights: Chapter Two

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the sourc

The next morning is the first day of your new-new normal. You wake to the sound of music coming from the living room. You pull yourself to your feet, shuffling from your bed to find the source of the enchanting sound. To your shock and delight, you find Jungkook hopping around the kitchen happily, ears and hair bouncing as he sings along to the radio and prepares pancakes. His voice is divine. You stand there enraptured, caught under his spell. He drops the spatula in fright when he turns to find you leaning against the wall, watching him silently.

“Please continue,” you urge him. But he shakes his head, blushing and hiding behind his ears. “Your voice is so pretty. Please?” you coax, stepping towards him. Jungkook considers you from behind his ears for a second. Then, tentatively, he picks up the spatula and resumes his song while he washes it clean.

From that day onwards, he wakes you each morning the same way, voice drifting through the bedroom door he leaves slightly ajar. There’s always a stack of warm, fluffy pancakes waiting for you in the kitchen, and beside it a bowl of yogurt-drizzled fruit. As soon as you’re seated, Jungkook extends a freshly brewed cup of breakfast tea to you. You eat together in the early morning light, the radio playing in the background. And while you get ready for work, Jungkook cleaned up the dishes from breakfast.

Domestic heaven.

At the end of your work day, you come home and thank God he’s still there. Sometimes he’s typing away on your laptop. Jungkook signed up as a freelance transcriber as a way to make money while staying with you. It was something to do while you were at work, too, restless soul that he is. Sometimes, though, you come home to find him flopped on his side in a patch of sun, having a nap as a bunny.

You cook dinner together now. Well, when you say together, you mean you take his direction, since Jungkook is a much better cook than you. He uses some of his free time to look up recipes he thinks you’ll like.

It’s ridiculously heartwarming.

After dinner, as is your routine, you split the washing up and curl up together to watch some Netflix. On the days you do all the washing up, Jungkook doesn’t fight you for control of the TV.

You still tease him over the first and only time you watched a horror movie. The first jump-scare forced him into rabbit form and he leapt into your lap in fright. Jungkook spent the entire movie there, shivering. And the rest of the night he spent pressed against your side in a tight, furry ball. Of course, the next day he insisted he wasn’t that scared, he just didn’t want to bother you by transforming back and forth.

He did a similar thing when you were watching a sappy romantic movie, but you don’t tease him about that. The second you noticed him sniffling at the lovers’ separation, he turned into a rabbit and hopped off his chair and over to you. You expected him to come cuddle, but he scrambled onto the back of the sofa and situated himself by your head instead. Every time there was a particularly romantic moment, he would nudge you with his nose and tickle you with his whiskers. And when he was feeling particularly bold, he’d grip your shoulder with his front claws and rub his chin over your cheek and neck. It tickled so much it made you squirm.

After extricating yourself from his clutches, a quick search on the internet told you that rabbits do this to mark their territory. You have trouble looking him in the eye the rest of that day. You know he’s attracted to you; have done since that first night. But he’s been ever so respectful. For some reason, the thought of him marking you as his makes your skin flush and burn.

Shopping for groceries is an experience, too. Jungkook skips around the store, picking multiple things up, asking you if you like them before throwing them in the shopping cart. It doesn’t matter whether you need them or not, just if you like it. That’s good enough for Bun. He’s so happy and energetic, his smile wide and eyes sparkling until you bend over into a freezer to pick up some ice cream. When you turn back, Jungkook is clinging to the cart, his eyes wide and entire body stock-still. All but his foot as it wildly pounds the ground.

“You okay, Bun?” you ask with a tilt of your head. His mouth drops open into a shape as round as his eyes. Mimicking you, Jungkook tilts his head before blinking and shaking it. And then he coughs, practically vibrates, before muttering something about cereal and running off in the opposite direction of the cereal.

Ever since that peculiar day, Jungkook has insisted on going grocery shopping alone. Something about getting out of the house and becoming more independent. But he blushes and averts his eyes as he says it, foot tapping wildly until he kicks over a plant pot. He cleans up the mess without another word, chewing on one of its stricken leaves and purposefully avoiding your eyes for the rest of the day.

Your weekends become different too. Before Bun arrived, you’d spent them relaxing after your work week, alone and in peace. Now you have a tiny, demanding rabbit that follows you around your apartment, tripping you up. And now you also have a fully grown, demanding man. A roommate - for lack of a better word - with which to do things. Now you have Saturday walks in the park and Sunday brunches. Imagine that.

Jungkook is incredibly physical. Forever moving, rarely still, bouncing from foot to foot, wiggling when excited. When you praise him, he claps and dances. The day you get a promotion at work, he hugs you so tightly, lifting you up and spinning you in the air because he’s simply that happy. He binkies about in excitement just as much as he did in bunny form, long hair and floppy ears bouncing wildly as his eyes crinkle in happiness, sending things flying in his excitement. You’ve already replaced one particular lamp three times.

But then Jungkook starts marking his territory in human form, too.

You’re chopping something for dinner on some nondescript day when Jungkook approaches you from behind, hands sliding gently over your hips. You could shake him off easily if you wanted to. But you find yourself not wanting to. His chin rests on your shoulder as though he’s just watching you work, but then the subtle rub starts. Across your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, until an involuntary shudder runs down your spine. It snaps Jungkook back to his senses and he pulls away.

—-

The day everything changed was the day from hell. Work had been awful, just one fuck up after another. None of which were even your fault, but all of which you were expected to fix.

You come home to a tidy apartment, subtle scented candles burning and soft music playing. Jungkook is in the kitchen cooking, and you’re sure the ingredients you can smell are ones he’s shopped for today.

“Welcome home.” He smiles over his shoulder at you. “Dinner is almost done if you want to get washed up.” He turns back to stir the pan on the stove. When you walked through the front door you were on the verge of tears. Now your eyes are misting up for the complete opposite reason.

You drag your sorry ass over to him and practically collapse against his wide, strong back, wrapping your arms around his tiny waist like he often does you.

“Thank you,” you practically sob into his shirt, screwing your eyes closed in an effort to not actually cry. You try to keep the emotion out of your voice but Jungkook knows you well enough to sense you’re upset by something. He immediately switches off the stove burners and turns to wrap his arms tightly around you, holding you without a second thought.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, voice full of concern. Large, strong hands brush the hair back from your face.

“I just had a really shit day, and you just—” You turn, arms flailing, motioning to the clean apartment and dinner on the stove. Jungkook nods in understanding. “—you made it all better.” His eyes go round as he blinks at you in shock, before melting into something warm. He tucks your hair behind your ears and tilts your head as he moves in, as though he were going to kiss you. Your eyes flutter closed as his nose brushes yours, but his lips never touch yours. “What’s this?” you ask in a whisper, blinking your eyes open to find him smiling at you softly.

“A rabbit thing,” he says simply, resting his forehead against yours with a soft grunt of air. It doesn’t quite reach a growl. You know it's a rabbit thing; you researched. But you didn’t expect it in human form.

“Okay.” You don’t push, don’t demand an explanation for a deeper meaning, just accept the affection from him. You lean in and brush your nose against his in return, causing him to gasp and grunt again, hand moving from your face to your waist. It lingers there for a few seconds before Jungkook gently, physically, pushes you away, his large eyes looking bigger than usual. His pupils are blown out, almost entirely black. Breath comes from his parted lips in short pants and huffs.

“You should get cleaned up while I finish dinner,” he says softly, stepping backwards. There’s an arm’s length of space between you now. You nod at him, hands finding his, giving him a squeeze as you back out of the kitchen. You don’t let go until the space between you is too far for your fingertips to touch. His eyes don’t leave you until you’re completely out of sight.

You close the door quietly, leaning your forehead against it and taking slow, deep, grounding breaths, trying to calm the racing of your heart. What was that? Sure, it isn’t the first time he’s done it; he did it on the night he transformed and kissed you. Somehow, though, it felt as intimate as him kissing you again. Is it wrong to feel this way towards Jungkook? He’s your Bun, your charge; you’re his caretaker. Are you taking advantage of him? Is he only acting like this because he’s thankful to you for taking care of him?

You push off and away from the door, feeling heavy. It’s almost like there’s a rope connecting you to Jungkook and forever pulling you towards him. You change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable. If that more comfortable thing happens to be something just a little clingy in certain, flattering places, and it makes you feel pretty, then you tell yourself you need the ego boost after the day you had. It has absolutely nothing to do with wanting to look good for Jungkook. You head to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your hair into something more relaxed before returning to the kitchen. And Jungkook.

“Nope!” Jungkook yells, stopping you before you can even enter the kitchen, two strong hands taking you by the shoulders, turning you around and practically marching you towards the living room. You pout over your shoulder at him, but he’s just grinning and laughing at your pouty face. You slump onto the sofa and he leans over the back of it, hovering over you, his eyes crinkling as he laughs musically. Ever so carefully he takes you by the jaw, rubbing his chin over your head, tilting you to the side so he can whisper in your ear.

“Sit and relax, I’ll bring you dinner.” His voice is light and full of joy.

You sit and pout, grabbing the remote to put some music on. At the exact moment you drop it back to the table, a bowl of food is placed in front of you. You blink up at a grinning Jungkook as he retreats eagerly to the kitchen, presumably for drinks. His enthusiasm is infectious. You pick up the bowl of pasta, twirling your fork in the creamy sauce and noodles, and take a big bite. It’s delicious. Delicious enough to have you moaning with pleasure and sliding back against the couch.

“Kookie, this is amazing!” you groan, licking the sauce from your lips.

Jungkook stares at you, eyes wide, focused on your tongue as it slides along your lips. You hadn’t even realised he’d come back from the kitchen. He places a glass of wine on the table in front of you, ducking his head and hiding behind his ears as he shuffles to his spot on the sofa, bowl in hand. You watch him slyly out of the corner of your eye. His face is so red, so glowing you can almost feel the heat radiating from it. “I made it,” he says, still staring intently at his food. “I found a recipe online I thought you would like.”

“From scratch?” you ask, amazed. He nods, biting his lip and refusing to look at you. You reach across the space between you and thread your fingers into his soft, wavy locks, rubbing the spot just behind one of his floppy ears. “Bun this is amazing, it tastes amazing!” His head lifts up, eyes so big they sparkle in the low light. “You’re amazing,” you whisper in a soft voice. Jungkook ducks his head again, hiding once more behind his long ears and curly hair. He eats his food slowly, more picking at it than anything. You, on the other hand, tuck in enthusiastically, all manners and grace gone, letting him see and hear your enjoyment of the food. You know how much it pleases him when you unabashedly enjoy his cooking. When you ask for seconds, handing him your empty bowl, Jungkook binkies across the room to the kitchen, bouncing on his heels as he piles a second serving of noodles and sauce into your bowl.

He hands it back to you soon after and sits beside you on the sofa, knees curling under himself. Reclining on the back cushions, he observes you as you eat, arms crossed and eyes sparkling. When you’re half way through your second serving and can’t eat a bite more, he whisks away the dishes and returns quickly to your side.

Jungkook flops over and places his head in your lap. “Will you…” He bites his lip, turning to bury his face in your sweater, his cheeks burning crimson again.

“What? What do you want, Kookie?” you ask, carding your fingers through his hair and rubbing a thumb over the gentle fur of his ear. It twitches repeatedly.

“Just this. Will you play with my hair? Stroke my ears?” he asks in a small voice. It’s unusually meek for him in his human form.

“Of course I will, Bun. Anything you want.” You smile, running your fingers through his hair, nails trailing down his scalp. His leg kicks out, narrowly missing the coffee table. You hand him the remote. “Pick something to watch.”

Jungkook shuffles, turning to face the TV. With his head still in your lap, he curls up into a ball, enjoying your ministrations. You continue to pet him, running your fingers through his hair and stroking his ears, twirling locks of hair around your finger before releasing the resulting curl. You lounge there together, the stress of the day bleeding away from you thanks to a stomach full of good food and your hand tangled in the hair of—Jungkook—whatever he was to you right now.

You don’t know exactly when you fall asleep, but you wake to strong arms holding you, carrying you to your room. Jungkook places you delicately on your bed and you fling yourself backwards, curling up to drift off again. But before long you’re being shaken gently awake and sat back up. Soft, cotton pajamas are pushed into your hands.

“You need to get changed,” a soft, deep voice says firmly in your ear. A warm body presses against your back.

You pout, eyes resolutely closed, but begin taking off your sweater. Large hands help you when you get tangled on your arms. It’s even more of a struggle to unhook your bra. You flail for a while before dropping your arms and slumping back against Jungkook with a tired, pathetic whine. If you were properly awake you might have noticed how his breath hissed through his teeth, or how his nose rubbed your temple.

With more force than is probably necessary, Jungkook grips you by the shoulder and props you forward. Then, with just one finger, he pulls your bra band away from your back, taking all care not to touch you at all. By some black magic he manages to unhook it, sliding the straps down and off your arms before discarding it on the floor. Not once does he look over your shoulder. He pulls the camisole of your pajama set over your head, guiding your arms through the straps before you wake enough to take over and pull both arms through.

“Now the shorts,” he grunts, low and gruff. It’s unusual enough that you pout at him over your shoulder.

“Bossy bunny,” you mumble, standing and kicking off the comfy leggings you had on. Somewhere in the back of your head you register a soft ‘”shit’” that you’re too tired to acknowledge. You pull on your shorts and sit back down, immediately flopping to your pillow. You feel your body being turned, tucked beneath the sheet pulled over you. Sleep comes easily to you after that.

—-

You wake up while it’s still dark outside. Jungkook’s chest is hot against your back, his knees curled and tucked behind yours. A muscled arm hangs heavily over your waist, keeping you close to him. You lift it as carefully as possible and slide out of bed, tip-toeing stealthily across the soft carpet and out of the room. You head to the kitchen and grab a glass in the dark, in search of a drink for your parched throat.

You drink your fill and shuffle back to bed, bringing a glass with you just in case. Although you slip into your room as stealthily as you’d left it, Jungkook is awake when you return. He sits with his arms wrapped around his knees, bottom lip snagged beneath his prominent front teeth.

“Kookie?” you ask softly in the darkness, making your way back to your side of the bed. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I just—I reached for you and you were gone,” he says, watching you place your glass of water down and climb back into bed. “I was waiting for you to come back.”

“Silly rabbit,” you coo. Jungkook rolls towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tangling a powerful, muscular leg with yours. You settle back, stroking his head and mulling over his unusual clinginess as sleep comes to claim you.

But then you feel a pressure against your thigh, and you’re suddenly very awake.

Jungkook undulates his hips to a subtle rhythm. “Wha-” you begin, turning to look at him. But he buries his nose beneath your jaw, his breath coming out in soft, heavy huffs in time with his movements. He grinds against your hip with a desperation. You swallow audibly, forcing yourself to ask as your face burns. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”

“Sorry,” he whines. “I can’t help it, I just—” He throws his thigh over your hips, shifting until he’s hovering over you, weight on his knees and forearms. His hips drop to roll against your stomach, a thick bulge straining the thin material of the pajama bottoms you had bought him. Jungkook ruts against your sweat-covered skin as you stare up at him, eyes wide, frozen in shock. Heat floods through you, stirring your insides until you’re panting. He is, too. His mouth hangs open as he huffs in time with his thrusts, lips grazing your jaw until they reach your mouth. He caresses it softly with his own, barely a whisper of a touch. Once. Twice. Just like that first night he turned. The third time, he kisses you. Your eyes flutter closed and you kiss him back. Nothing more than a delicate tilt of your head and a careful brushing of your lips against his. This is wrong, a voice in the back of your head whispers. This man is practically a stranger.

Only he’s not.

He’s shared your bed as a human for the past two weeks, and ten weeks before that as a rabbit.

You’ve spent evenings curled up together, watching shows you both enjoy. You know his moods, as he knows yours. Your hand feels as comfortable tangled in his hair as it does amongst his fur, and you can read his eyes in both forms exactly the same.

He’s your Jungkook. Your Kookie.

Your Bun.

He exhales heavily, his tongue lapping at your lips for more. Warm breath fans your face and you practically tremble with anticipation. Jungkook tears himself away to run his hands down the curves of your body, and as you look up at him, your mouth dries at the sight of his godly form. The ever-present glow of the city creates a subtle neon halo behind him, heightening his otherworldly, divine presence.

“I-I—“ As suddenly as he came onto you, Jungkook scrambles backwards off the bed, falling ungracefully to the floor. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!” he yells, eyes watery and wide with terror. He rushes out of the room so quickly he doesn’t even stand up straight. Just heads straight for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. You follow too late, reaching your bedroom doorway just in time to hear the bathroom lock snap into place.

You drop to your knees outside the bathroom door, knocking on it gently. “Jungkookie, what’s wrong? Please, come out,” you call.

“I can’t,” comes a whine from the other side of the door. It almost sounds like a sob. “I have to stay here. Can I have a blanket please?” The voice is strained and tight; unsure. It’s not like the warm, bright voice you’ve come to know at all.

“Okay,” you agree. “I’ll get that for you. I’ll be right back.” When you return with the requested blanket, you let Kookie know with a small knock on the door. He cracks it open just enough for you to push the bedding through. In doing so, you catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re wide and a little teary, his pupils huge. His face and upper chest is worryingly flushed. Jungkook notices you scrutinising his appearance and slams the door shut before you can comment. You hover on the other side of the door, not wanting to leave him. “I’m not upset with you, Bun. I understand if you want some space. Good night.”

You shuffle your way back to bed, curling up under the duvet for the first time in weeks. Because despite the heat and humidity of summer, it feels far, far too cold.

—-

The fullness of your bladder wakes you, demanding you seek relief immediately. You can tell by the noise outside that it’s late morning, and you hope Jungkook is already awake. You roll out of bed and shuffle over to the bathroom, trying the handle and finding it still locked.

With a reluctant sigh, you knock. “Jungkookie? Bun, I need to pee. Can you let me in please?” A few moments later there’s shuffling behind the door and the soft click of a lock opening. A sunken-eyed Jungkook stands on the other side, eyes averted. The duvet you gave him wraps him like a shroud. It hangs over his head, hiding his ears, his hands clutching it tightly at his chest. He stares pointedly at his feet as he shuffles past you, and if it weren’t for your desperate need to pee you’d stop and talk to him. But that’s a conversation that can wait until you’ve made breakfast.

You finish in the bathroom as fast as possible and make your way to the kitchen, noticing how he sits curled up on the chair in the corner of your living room.

You pull out all the things you need to make pancakes and crank up the volume on an upbeat playlist; mostly songs Jungkook likes listening to in the mornings. “Jungkook, could you help me please?” you ask sweetly. “The strawberries and bananas need slicing.”

He perks up at that, ears twitching before his eyes dart over to you. He loves bananas, almost obsessively loves them. I knew that would work, you smile to yourself. Jungkook fiddles with the waistband of his pajamas and you try to forget the outline of his hardness straining against them. Try to forget how your skin flushed when he rocked it against you. You focus back on the batter, giving it an extra hard stir, making sure there’s no lumps in it. That’s the reason for you beating it so vigorously. No other reason.

You sigh, pinching yourself before switching on the burner on the stove.

Jungkook begins chopping fruit. Yes. You smile to yourself, watching him out of the corner of your eye as you work on two stacks of pancakes. The tension in the air between you two eases, and soon you’re both dancing to a song that Jungkook listens to often; its easy choreography something you developed together. The song changes into something new, something you’ve never heard before, but you sway your hips nevertheless as you ladle batter into the hot frying pan. Jungkook bounces from foot-to-foot, endlessly energetic as he works his way through half a bunch of bananas and the entire bowl of strawberries. He’s piling the chopped fruit up on plates when you push between him and the counter with a small, murmured excuse me. The step he takes back to allow you access isn’t quite big enough. Even then you don’t notice; so used to squeezing around one another in the modestly-sized kitchen as you are.

Jungkook, however, notices.

Your ass slides firmly against him and he grips your hips almost painfully hard, pressing you into the counter.

“Ow! Jungkook, what are you—” Your question becomes a squeal of surprise when he buries his nose behind your ear and grinds his rapidly hardening cock into the cleft of your ass. Only two, flimsy layers of clothing separate you.

“I need you so bad,” he growls as he rubs his nose through your hair, the underside of his chin skimming the column of your neck. You arch back into him, throwing your head back to expose more of your neck to him. You’re usually a lot more reserved with men—a lot—but something about Jungkook makes you want to be wild. Maybe it’s the way you feel so safe with him. His body is a solid presence against your back, his thrusting desperate and needy. Gone is the sweet, delicate Bun you’ve come to care about. He’s been replaced with someone who grips you, growls at you, and yet you still feel safe in his arms.

It’s Jungkook. He’d never hurt you.

You groan, something between a whine and a whimper being ripped from the back of your throat as he rubs himself against you. Then, suddenly - unwelcomely - cold air hits your back.

Jungkook has torn himself from you for a second time.

You turn but he’s not behind you. Spinning in place, you see a fluffy tail vanishing around a cabinet and a pair of light grey pajamas left in its wake. You follow fast enough to watch him hightail it out of the kitchen and across the living room, straight under the chair in the corner. He never sits in it as a human, preferring to sit next to you on the sofa, but it’s his favourite place to hide as a bunny.

You crouch, peeking under the chair, trying to coax him out.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie. Come out and talk to me, please?” you beg to the huddled mass of fur under the chair. He stays where he is, shifting in a way you know means he’s settling in for the long haul. You stand up, running to turn off the stove before dashing to your bedroom and throwing on some clothes. After grabbing your bag, you check under the chair again. Jungkook is still there. “I’ll be right back, okay?” you tell him, before rushing out the door.

You all but run out of your apartment building, dodging people on the street as you head to the florist a block and a half away to get a custom bouquet made. It’s ugly as hell, but it’s not supposed to be for looking at. All of the flowers are suitable for rabbits to eat, and you get triple the ones you know Jungkook is particularly fond of.

You rush back to your apartment on a sliver of energy, taking extra care to preserve your gift, but the whole journey takes you less than twenty minutes. You discard your shoes and bag by the door and head straight for the chair, placing your peace offering on the floor before it.

“I have a gift for you,” you say, pulling a white hibiscus from the bouquet and presenting it to him. “Please come out and talk to me, Bun.” You watch as Jungkook hops forward, unable to resist the pull of his favourite flower. You untie the haphazard collection of flowers and lay them out on the decorative wrapping paper for him. It does the trick and draws him out from under the chair. You hold your hand out to him carefully, letting him come to you on his own terms. Jungkook devours a rosebud and hops forward, bumping your hand with his nose. You sigh, tension you didn’t know was building melting from your shoulders.

Somewhat placated, you head back to the kitchen. The pancakes are now cold but nothing that can’t be reheated. You store his breakfast in the fridge and slip a couple bits of banana onto the paper with the flowers. Jungkook leaps at them, devouring them with relish before following you into the kitchen and circling your chair as you eat your pancakes. He reaches up, nudging your foot to get your attention. And by attention, he wants more bananas.

Once you’re all done with breakfast, you move to the living room. There are several episodes of a TV show you and Jungkook have been watching together that you need to catch up on, and that’s your usual plan for the weekend. Jungkook, however, has other plans. He jumps into your lap, purposefully knocking the remote out of your hand. You tangle your fingers through his fur and feel him shudder under your touch.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?” you ask softly, thumb rubbing soothing circles between his eyes. Beneath your hand, Jungkook transforms. He curls in on himself, doing his best to obscure his nudity, and buries his head in your stomach. You run a hand down his back and find his skin is clammy and feverish. “Oh my god, are you sick? Bun, you’re burning up!” you exclaim, panic injected into your tone.

“I’m going into heat. It’s why I keep—why I keep—” His voice is high-pitched and strained again.

“Why you keep rubbing against me?” you finish for him, raking your nails through his long locks. His ears and tail twitch and Jungkook whines. Nodding, he curls in on himself tighter. “You need a partner,” you say matter-of-factly, but he shakes his head in disagreement.

“No. I don’t need a partner...” he says simply, the implication left hanging. You move his ear carefully, brushing his hair from his face and cupping it with one hand. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone until his tightly-clenched eyes open.

“Then, tell me what you want,” you whisper. His eyes narrow like he’s assessing you. Assessing the full implication of your words and trying to decide how to answer you.

“Normally I’d mate with someone in a nest—” Jungkook starts before he’s racked by shudders. He buries his face in your stomach again and whines.

“My bed,” you offer. “You can build a nest there if you need to.”

He shoots upward at your words, watching your face carefully. “But—” His eyes are wide, mouth agape as he draws the logical conclusion but not daring to hope. “--where will you sleep?” He asks as though he is scared of the answer.

You carefully brush his hair back from his face, thumbing over a floppy ear. “I c-can—“ you stutter, before taking a deep breath. “I’ll figure something out.” You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. Your lips are so close like this, close enough to brush against each other as you speak. It’s not quite a kiss, but your intention is clear. “If you need anything—if you want anything...” You trail off.

Jungkook wastes no time. He sits up and crawls into your lap, his bare, muscular thighs straddling yours as he kisses you deeply. His hands, no longer rough, cup your face delicately as though he can’t believe he’s been gifted something so precious. Even as his naked hips roll against your stomach.

“Iwantyouwantyouwantyou. Need you,” he chants between kisses.

And in an act of madness - or perhaps sanity - you give yourself to him completely.

Next Chapter

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