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gurugirl · 3 months

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Can We Start Over | Ch. 5 The Coincidence

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 5. Summary: Things have changed for you and Harry but when you see him at a meeting, you are taken by surprise. It feels like destiny. Maybe this time things will work out for you two.

A/N: This is the final part to this series! Thank you everyone who stuck with the story and gave it a shot! Appreciate all the love!

Word Count: 12.7k

Warning: 18+ only, angst, smut, fluff

Can We Start Over? masterlist

Mr. Allen was on the phone again. He’d called you into his office but the moment you stepped in he got a call and told you to sit and wait. That it would only be a minute.

And it was only a minute. But then he got another call and now it was 23 minutes later while he was still yammering about some person who was just the worst.

You were used to it, though. Mr. Allen was retired so nothing was a rush for him anymore. Which also meant he held other people up. But waiting for your boss was the least of your worries.

His wife and her ever-changing personality was your biggest concern. She was, to put it mildly, a monster. And to make matters worse, she ran the whole household so you were often seeking her out for things. Mrs. Allen also handled her husband’s schedule and if he was running behind guess who got the blame. That’s right. You did. Every time.

And it was the same thing over and over again. You started your day trying to keep Mr. Allen up to task, failed, got reprimanded and degraded by a nasty human, held back tears and then took a long drive with loud music to clear your head with a quick stop for dinner, probably at a drive-through.

Needless to say, you were already planning on quitting. You’d gotten really lucky with Alfred. And even working with Harry hadn’t been as bad as it was working for Mrs. Allen and her husband. But you tried not to think about Harry if you could help it.

By the time Mr. Allen got off the phone he was running late for his physical therapy appointment. You got him moving along quickly and sent him on his way but not before Mrs. Allen started poking around and making comments under her breath.

“What was that?” You turned to look behind yourself at the wicked witch as she stood near the edge of the foyer.

“He’s late again.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“That is correct.”

She rolled her eyes, “What’s the point of having a personal assistant who can’t even keep the boss on schedule?”

You smiled, holding back your true thoughts, “Well, being as my job description doesn’t entail using physical force on the boss, which is what it would take to get Mr. Allen to keep on time for anything, I’m certain you’ll find that once again, this isn’t my responsibility.”

“Lazy,” she spoke under her breath.

You tilted your head and squinted your eyes at her, “That’s the last thing I am. Now, if you don’t mind, my workday is over. Have a good evening.”

You walked past her to go into your room to pack up your laptop and leave. You’d stay at your own place that night. You hated staying at the Allen’s house. Not only was the room they’d given you a tiny spec of a thing with no windows, no closet, and not even a single rug to cover the cold tile floors but being anywhere near Mrs. Allen made your skin crawl.

“I don’t know why we bother with the room for you,” she was standing in the doorway when you turned around.

“You really didn’t bother much with the room in the first place. That’s why I don’t stay here. My house has a better bed with a big window looking into my backyard. I just feel better in my own bed at night.”

You walked past her and held your breath so as not to inhale her disgusting, pungent perfume. You used to like the scent she wore. But now you loathed it. Whenever you smelled it, even on another woman, it made you queasy. You very much did not like Mrs. Allen.

You turned up the volume on your car radio the moment your front tires hit the road. You always looked forward to going home after work. This day wasn’t as bad as you’d had before and tomorrow you’d do it all over again.

And instead of stopping at a drive-through for fast food, you decided you’d stop at the grocery store and pick up ingredients to actually make something fresh.

Typically you didn’t cook. You didn’t have time for it. Picking up groceries would put you home at almost 8 pm. And then you still needed to cook so you wouldn’t be eating until close to 9 and then you could finally relax with a glass of wine and a good book or something trashy on television. Which was why drive-throughs were your go-to dinner plans. It meant you were home by 7:30 and dinner was already cooked. Not the best use of money and certainly not the healthiest way to live but you wouldn’t be doing it much longer.

You had a meeting to attend with Mr. and Mrs. Allen the following week that piqued your interest. It was for a piece of art that they’d been looking for. And someone found it for them. From an art dealer who was not too far away. You didn’t know for sure but you had a feeling. And you wanted to find out if that feeling was right.

Maybe you were a masochist and just wanted to pour salt onto the wound of your split open heart one more time. Or maybe you did have some hope that it was Harry and that maybe you could try and receive his feelings for you once and for all.

But it’d been just over 9 months since you’d seen him and you were sure he’d moved on by now. There would be no reason for him to still be pining over you the way you were over him. And what were the chances that it was him in the first place? You didn’t know but you needed to find out.

Yeah. You regretted what you’d done. Pushing him away like that. But once you’d done it, it felt like it was too late to go back. Maybe it was your pride. Or that little voice in the back of your head that told you men always leave and they always lie. That anyone that might love you would probably just disappoint you in the end.

But now you were in therapy and talking to someone opened your eyes to your self-sabotaging ways. You had been certain that the way you felt couldn’t be helped. That you were a prisoner to your trauma and all the hurt and that it was for the best. You’d been wrong, though. You could help the way you processed feelings and the way you responded when things got hard. You didn’t have to push away the notion that a man could love you or keep running away from your problems.

After picking up ingredients to make a nice little dinner for yourself you arrived at your cute house.

You loved the place. Loved the neighborhood. You found it a few weeks after you told Harry to leave your apartment. It wasn’t that far from your old place but you felt like it was good enough for a new start. At the time, you were ready to take the plunge. To move on. It was just a rental but it felt like your own place.

Though, not long after moving in you started feeling like getting rid of every trace of Harry had been a bad idea. You missed him. However, you didn’t recognize how you were feeling for him until you began therapy. The more you spoke honestly about everything and without any judgment, you began to peel off layers of yourself that you had unconsciously piled on to protect yourself. But that only wound up making things worse.

And one night, almost six months since you’d seen him, you decided to drive past his big, gated home. You still had the fob to his entry but of course, you wouldn’t use it. You only wanted to just drive past. To your surprise, there was a For Sale sign stuck in the grass in front of the gate.

You parked across from the house and tried to see if there was anything that indicated he’d actually moved out but seeing inside was impossible. You could see the top level of the house and that was really it.

The sinking feeling in your chest that you’d probably never see him again started to settle over you slowly. You’d moved away and blocked him from everything and then deleted his contact and now he was no longer living in the only place you knew where he might be. He was gone.

But then when you helped set up the meeting with the art dealer there was the smallest tinge of hope there. You felt like this might be your last chance. You had just been about to quit when Mrs. Allen gave you the number to an assistant of a dealer who had access to a painting they wanted. You never learned the name of the art dealer, only of the assistant who worked for them.

So you’d stick it out until after the meeting and then you’d give up your hope for ever seeing Harry again if it wasn’t him. And you’d also quit your job once and for all.

Of course, it’s not him. Don’t get your hopes up.

You had to remind yourself of that over and over again. The chances were slim that you would actually be seeing Harry.

Either way, you were looking forward to that meeting. Even if it wasn’t Harry, you’d be free of Mr. and Mrs. Allen once and for all after you quit.

But the days dragged on slowly. The only thing that was good about the time that led up to the meeting was the little secret that you were quitting. It was something you were excited about.

The morning of the meeting you woke up well before your alarm went off. You’d been unable to fall back asleep as you remembered the last time you and Harry slept together. The words he spoke to you that night haunted you every day since, “Want to make you feel so good. Want to make you smile, Y/n. Want to make you happy.”

You sighed. You hoped it was him at the meeting. You hoped there was still some way to salvage what you’d done. Hoped there was still something there. If it was him, that is.

Your entire morning routine had turned into a spa event. You turned on your coffee pot and then got into the shower, getting yourself ready for the possibility of anything and everything. You had selected your outfit days prior and put on a full face of makeup. You were going to look your absolute best.

And no matter what the outcome of the meeting was, today was a good day. Because at the end of it, you’d be a free woman. You’d never again step foot in the Allen house. You took all of your belongings from the spec of a bedroom over a few days so no one would notice. You rarely stayed over anyway so it wasn’t like you needed to keep much there in the first place.

You had a taxi take you to the Allen’s on that day. Because your plan was to quit the moment the painting was purchased and you weren’t going to be going back to their house with them after the meeting just to get your car. You’d get a taxi home. It was quite dramatic but you couldn’t wait to quit. Couldn’t wait to tell Mrs. Allen you were done and then walk off. Only a few more hours.

When you arrived at the Allen’s your first stop was the kitchen to make Mr. Allen’s coffee (skim milk and stevia) and Mrs. Allen’s chai green tea with raw honey. This was always the best part of your day. Things were usually quiet, Mrs. Allen wasn’t raging just yet, and the morning light that came into their gorgeous kitchen felt peaceful. While the coffee was perking you brought Mrs. Allen her tea drink where you knew you’d find her and placed it down on its coaster next to her. As usual, she did not acknowledge your existence or even say thank you.

Mr. Allen was always cordial, however.

“Morning Mr. Allen. Here’s your coffee.”

“Thank you, Y/n. Have you seen my wife this morning?”

You smiled and stood next to his desk, “I just gave her some tea. Why?”

“I think she wanted to make sure we had wire information set up to pay for the painting today. She’s very set on making the purchase. Can you double-check we have everything we need?”

“I’m certain we have everything we need but I’ll definitely do a quick check.”

As you suspected, everything was ready to go. When you confirmed as much you went to find Mrs. Allen to tell her.

“Mr. Allen told me you wanted to make sure the wire instructions were ready and I just wanted to let you know that we’ve got everything we need and it’s all ready to go for when it comes time to pay.”

“Good. Now,” she turned to look at you, “this is a meeting we cannot be late for so I’d appreciate it if you could have everything ready for us so there are no delays. I don’t want any excuses.”

You nodded, stifling the small laugh before it could make it out of your mouth, “Of course, Mrs. Allen.”

But as always, Mr. Allen was dawdling. You did remind him of the meeting but he assured you he was going to be on time. He wasn’t. You weren’t surprised.

When it was time to leave he was still in his office in his slippers on his third cup of coffee talking to his brother about sports.

“I told you this is a meeting we cannot be late for. This is unacceptable!” Mrs. Allen was red in the face as she barked at you. Somehow, she always seemed shocked when her husband held things up. You didn’t know how it was possible that she was so surprised.

You blinked your eyes and sighed, “He doesn’t need to be at the meeting with us. I say we just go. He’ll be fine here by himself.”

She nodded and mumbled under her breath about your incompetence, “Tell him we’re leaving without him. I’m going to get the driver to pull the car around.”

You poked your head into the office and waved at Mr. Allen and he pulled the phone from his ear to look at you with his brows raised. As if he didn’t know what was going on.

“We’re going to leave now for the painting. You can stay behind. No need for you to be there. Okay?”

He smiled at you and nodded before getting back to his call. You knew he didn’t care. This painting wasn’t for him. It was for Mrs. Allen. It was something she’d been wanting. She’d just hang it up alongside the rest of her collection of exotic animal paintings and artwork.

The car ride was silent. Which you preferred. You tried not speaking to Mrs. Allen when you could help it. Luckily she wasn’t interested in having a conversation with you.

And 30 minutes later when you arrived, your mind was swirling with thoughts of what could happen and what probably wouldn’t.

Your nerves were all over the place. If you were about to walk into a room with Harry Styles, being nervous was warranted. You hadn’t seen his handsome face in so long and wanted so badly for it to be him.

It was unlikely. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. No reason to get your hopes up.

You and Mrs. Allen got out of the car once the driver had let you both out at the front.

It was a public gallery so everyone could just walk in to admire the art. You noticed there were people inside looking at the sculptures and paintings as you followed behind Mrs. Allen toward the desk at the side of the room where a young woman sat.

“Hi. I’m Delia Allen here for a meeting to view the Ghaui piece.”

The young woman smiled widely, “Yes. Of course! Just follow me. We have it moved into a special viewing room just for you.”

If there was ever a moment in your life where you thought that one small step toward a physical room could forever change your life, it was this. What if he was there? What if he wasn’t?

The gallery wasn’t a large space but there were temporary walls placed around the room to act as dividers and a spot for more art to hang. You wove around the walls and into a hallway where the young woman stepped into a room with Mrs. Allen just behind her. You paused for a moment before stepping inside. This was it. It either was or it wasn’t.

Placing your hand on the frame of the door and taking a deep breath you breached the space to enter the viewing room and found that there was no one else inside. It was the painting that Mrs. Allen had been so keen on buying, hung up with lights aimed at it, a table and chairs.

You didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t this. You imagined someone would be inside the room waiting for you.

“The dealer will be right in. He’s finishing up something with someone else. Five minutes tops.”

The painting was of elephants in an African wildlife scene. It wasn’t your taste but you had to respect Mrs. Allen for her interests. If there was anything about her you could say you liked, it was her love of animals and how much support she’d given African wildlife sanctuaries. She’d also gone on many safaris (without Mr. Allen you learned) and helped fund conservation parks that helped employ people and protect the land and animals. Honestly, when you found out this was her thing you felt like you were looking at a different woman.

She was still a bitch, though.

“I thought this meeting was set up and ready to go, Y/n,” she turned to look at you. As if somehow the dealer running late was your fault.

“It is set and ready. The girl said the dealer would be right in. We just need to wait a couple of minutes.”

You didn’t look at her face as you responded. You were done looking at her face. After this meeting, you’d never have to look at it again.

“Sergi could’ve come if I knew this was going to happen.”

You rolled your eyes, back facing her as you looked over the lines and the paint on the canvas. It was a well-done piece of art.

When the door opened only a moment later you felt your heart stop for a split second, a chill ran down your face, over your shoulders, and through your spine as you slowly turned around when Mrs. Allen spoke, “Finally.”

Your vision grew spotty, like tiny particles floating around and mixing up the scene before you. Fuzzy like a grey screen on a television. You blinked your eyes to clear your sight as you looked at him for the first time in over 9 months. It was him.

And his reaction to you appeared much the same, with him pausing in the doorway, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“Hello? Are you the dealer?” Mrs. Allen was great at ruining a moment.

Harry’s eyes blinked as he shook his head and finally peeled his sight from you to look at the other woman in the room. He cleared his throat, closing the door behind himself, and stepped forward to Mrs. Allen with his hand out, “Yes. I’m the dealer. Harry Styles,” he shook her hand and then shot his eyes back to you, taking in your outfit quickly before moving toward you, his hand outstretched in silence.

You hadn’t moved from your spot next to the painting. You hadn’t closed your mouth or peeped a single word because you couldn’t. And even though you had a feeling that it was him before the meeting ever took place, the surprise and shock you felt was overwhelming.

It was really him. It was Harry. And you couldn’t believe it was him.

You placed your hand in his to shake and the moment was eternity. Your eyes pinned together, palms warm to the touch, searching gazes, and a million little thoughts dancing around your heads. It was real. He was real. You were real. The moment was real.

But of course, as Mrs. Allen tended to do she interrupted the odd reunion and began speaking, “Please go over the details with me. I think I’d like to know a little more and then we can talk price.”

Harry’s adam’s apple bobbed as he released your hand and straightened his posture and he handed a folder to Mrs. Allen and began to go over everything she might want to know.

Your heart was racing and you were unable to listen to anything he said regarding the painting. It all sounded like gibberish to you but you could hear his smooth deep voice as he spoke, and the occasional glance in your direction had your skin sparking in delight.

“Earth to Y/n,” Mrs. Allen waved her hand in front of your face and you slowly drifted from your reverie back to reality and looked at her.

“Jesus, it’s like herding cats with you,” she pointed, “Let’s get this part ready. Open your laptop.”

You reached into your bag and pulled out your laptop, placing it on the table so you could begin the wire payment. You looked from Mrs. Allen to Harry and then back to your screen as the bank sight loaded.

Of course, you had to log in and the internet connection wasn’t as fast as you’d have liked so Mrs. Allen let out an annoyed sigh.

“Always like this with her,” she looked at Harry with her arms crossed, “Slow. Lazy–“

“Are you serious?” Harry sounded perturbed. Aghast.

You looked from him to Mrs. Allen and the look on his face matched the sound of his voice as he looked at her with disdain.

“Of course I am. You don’t know her so you have no idea what–“

“I do actually know her,” he glanced at you softening his gaze. “Don’t speak about her that way or the deal is off.”

You blinked and smiled gently as you opened up the bank wire screen.

“What? You can’t treat me like this. I’m a paying client. I will walk out of here without this painting if you dare–“

“Then leave.” He looked at her with his brows raised in a dare.

She huffed and clutched her purse, “Fine. Just… do the deal, Y/n. I’ll be right back. I need to use the restroom and get some air. When I return I want this to be over with.”

She walked out of the room and slammed the door rudely and Harry stepped in front of the computer as you looked up at him, “Y/n. I can’t believe it’s you. Are you working for her?”

You stood up straight and nodded, “Yeah. It’s a disaster. I’m quitting as soon as this is over. It’s been my plan for a month.”

He smiled, “You’re quitting? Now?”

You nodded again, “Yes. As soon as this deal is complete I’m done.��

“Can I see you? Like, after this? Dinner maybe?”

You sputtered a tiny laugh. It was like music to your ears, “Okay. Why not?”

Harry grinned widely and pointed at the computer, “Let’s get this over with then. Push that payment through and let’s get out of here.”

There it was again, the blurred vision, grey and colored specs floating around you as if you were in the grey screen of a TV. You couldn’t believe it. Perhaps it was only a dream. Perhaps you were about to wake up and it was all going to have been just a wild dream that you’d never recover from.

You called the bank with a smile on your face to begin the wire transfer. Everything was set as you entered the details into the account on your laptop and spoke with the representative.

But of course, there was one thing holding the whole thing up. Mrs. Allen had to be there to verbally give the go-ahead to the man on the phone. You were not authorized.

So when she came back to the room and the payment wasn’t yet completed she was furious, “How can you mess up the simplest things, Y/n?”

“All you need to do is tell the man this wire transfer from your bank to the owner’s is authorized. You’re holding this up. Not her,” Harry spoke.

She pulled the cell phone from you with a sigh and spoke into the receiver as you smiled at Harry.

“There. It’s done.” She handed the phone to you and the transaction was finalized. Emails went out to all the parties involved in the sale with the receipt and you closed your laptop.

“Good. Now, have someone wrap this so I can bring it back without getting scratched.”

Harry nodded, “I’ll have Laira get someone for you and they’ll bring it to your car.”

Mrs. Allen looked at you and snapped her fingers, “You can go wait in the car for me. No need to have you standing around and gawking like an idiot.”

You stuffed your laptop into your bag and looked at Mrs. Allen, “Delia?” You made it a point to call her by her first name, which you knew she hated, “I quit. Working for you has been hell. You’ll go home without me as I’ve already made other arrangements. Tell Mr. Allen it was lovely to work for him. I’ll send him an email explaining why I quit tomorrow. Also, the agency won’t work with you again after I share details and proof of the way you treated me.”

Her mouth dropped open and the look of surprise on her face was quite hilarious as you pushed passed her with Harry following behind you.

You felt exhilarated and your heart was pumping blood through your body and your limbs rapidly as you smiled and made your way to the front of the gallery.

Harry kept in step with you as he waved at the girl at the desk, “Please help Mrs. Allen get the painting wrapped and put into her car. I’m done for the day. Call me if you need anything.”

You felt the warm air hit your cheeks when you stepped outside into the sun with Harry behind you.

“Y/n, I’m still kind of in disbelief that you’re here. I must be dreaming,” he turned toward you with a wide grin.

“I feel the same way. Like I’m just going to wake up and it’s all been a dream.”

“Pinch me,” he put his arm out and pushed his shirt sleeve up to his forearm, displaying the tattoos on his skin.

You laughed and put your thumb and pointer over his skin and gave him a good pinch and he let out a deep breath, “Do it again.”

You couldn’t stop the small chuckle that fell from your lips as you pinched him again and he grabbed the tops of your arms tightly, “Y/n I’ve missed you so much. I’ve wanted to talk to you so many times. I have so much to tell you.”

“Me too, Harry. There’s so much to say.”

He led you to his car and you both got inside. It felt so surreal to be climbing into Harry’s car with him, “Where would like to go eat?” He looked at you from the driver’s seat as he started up his car.

You shook your head, “I don’t know. Don’t care really.”

He nodded, “Yeah I don’t care either. Just as long as I get to go there with you. Okay, we’ll go to this spot I found some months ago. They have great crab cakes.”

When he pulled out to the street you looked at him, “New car then?”

He nodded, “Yeah. The lease came up on the other one and figured something different would be nice. I’ve had this for a few months.”

“And did you move?”

He licked his lips and glanced at you, “Yeah. Not long after you left. A lot has happened since you’ve been gone. I… did a lot of thinking about what I want in life and how I want to live it. The place was too big. Not sustainable for me any longer. Too expensive.”

“Really? That’s surprising.”

He breathed out through his nose as he nodded, “I stopped dealing with stolen items. It was dumb of me to get involved in all that in the first place. I never started off being an art dealer with the idea that I would be wealthy. It began because I genuinely love the art world and discovering new pieces. I lost that somewhere along the way and you leaving like you did remind me of what was important in life. Money is not all there is.”

You were surprised to hear this. It made you wonder what else had changed.

The restaurant was a small, hip-looking spot. You had both arrived before the dinner crowd, it was still a bit early for dinner, but to you, it didn’t matter. You were with Harry again and even though you weren’t quite sure what to expect things were going better than you imagined.

You and Harry were seated at a small round table for two by a big window looking out over the parking lot. It wasn’t fancy but it felt amazing to get face to face with him after all that time.

“Y/n, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look incredible. I know I said it already but I really missed you. I hope you and I can keep in touch after this. If that’s something you wanted. It would mean so much to me to be able to see you again.”

You picked at the corner of the laminated menu that had been placed on the table in front of you and looked up at him, “Harry, I missed you a lot too. I regretted the way I ended things. Moving away and blocking you. I thought it was the right thing to do. I deleted every part of you from my life and by the time I realized it was a mistake I didn’t have your contacts anymore,” you shook your head as you looked into his eyes, “I’m sorry I did it that way. I’m sorry for walking away from you.”

Harry reached across the table and put his hand over yours, “I’m glad you did. Y/n, I don’t know if I would have had the kind of self-reflection and epiphany I did if you’d stayed. But you leaving like that made me rethink everything I thought was important. Made me realize that dealing in the black market and jet-setting all over the world to do something that goes against my very core… I hated it. I hated you leaving but it opened my eyes.”

“So you really don’t do any of that anymore?”

He shook his head, “No. Now I bounce around from gallery to gallery to view pieces and check the legitimacy, the provenance. I work for myself still but now I’m not making as much money. Which is fine!” He laughed, dimples digging into his cheeks, “It’s better this way. I sleep better knowing I’m doing things right now.”

“Where do you live now?”

“Like twenty minutes from here. Bought a regular-sized house with a garage and an ugly entryway,” he grinned, “But I love it. I love it because it makes me feel happy. It’s not so much to maintain. Had to let go of all the staff I had but other than that, I haven’t missed the income as much as I thought I would.”

You were impressed with him. You never imagined he’d stop dealing in illegal items because you knew the money was so good.

The waiter stood at your table and you both told him what you’d like to drink. A sparkling water with lemon for you, and a hot black tea for him.

“So you were working for that woman. She’s awful. How long did you stay with her?”

You laughed and shook your head, “I worked for the Allens for just over seven months. Hated every minute of it. She only got worse as time went on. I thought once she got used to me she’d lighten up be she was truly evil. Would just talk down to me and blame me for everything that went wrong.”

“Why did you stay there for so long?”

“At first I stayed hoping it would get better. You know you kind of get into a groove and can look past bullshit and then everyone starts to get used to one another. But that never happened. I tried to stick it out. But then of course I needed the money too. Well, on some level. The security of having a job is nice and the rent at my new house is a lot more than what I paid at my apartment. Figured I’d wait for the right moment. Then about a month ago I found out that Delia wanted to buy this piece of art she’d been wanting and she was going to go through a dealer and I was just about to quit. I really was but,” you shrugged and smiled as you looked down at the menu, “Though it would be funny if maybe you were the dealer,” you brought your eyes back up to him.

He squinted, his brows pulling in as he looked at you, “You continued working for them when you thought maybe I was going to be the dealer on the sale? So you could see me?”

You nodded and smiled, “I mean. Sort of. I really didn’t think it was going to be you but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to just see. So I stuck it out. My plan was to quit the moment the deal was over. That’s why I was saying that at the gallery. It was like, one last thing, just to see if it was you and then I was done working for them.”

Harry laughed and pulled his lips into his mouth, shaking his head in amazement, “I can’t believe you wanted to see me. I was certain you were done and wanted nothing to do with me. I did go back to your apartment one day, maybe like two months later. But you’d already moved out. And you never responded to any of my texts or calls. Figured that was that. What made you want to see me?”

You tried not to feel bad how you ended things with him but it was hard not to, “I really did like you. It was just hard for me to admit how much. And then Brandy, my best friend, talked me into going to therapy. And honestly? Just talking about how I process things and my emotions with someone else helped me a ton. Helped me see how I self-sabotage. Anything that might make me happy, specifically romance, was a big block for me. I didn’t even realize it consciously. I think I knew I pushed people away when I didn’t need to. And I realized I did that with you.”

Harry nodded as he listened and the waiter placed your drinks down on the table before taking your orders for food.

It felt like you had so much to tell him and you could see Harry felt the same with everything he admitted to you. You loved listening to him and watching him as he spoke or the way he gazed at you as you recounted the last 9 months to him.

While so much did happen in those 9 months, you felt comfortable sitting at that small table talking to Harry about it all. Everything felt so familiar and nice with him. It felt like you were both exactly on the same page and this time around maybe you could really have something special with him. If he wanted the same thing as you.

“So you missed me? What did you miss about me?” Harry smirked at you as he took a scoop of the dessert you were both sharing.

“Hmm… I think I liked it when you were nice to me and vulnerable with me. Our late-night kitchen chats. How you took up for me with that one lady. And even today you did it again with Mrs. Allen. I think there were times when I hated you but mostly I liked you. And those things I missed.”

His smirk didn’t fall from his lips and it looked like he was holding back what he wanted to say.

“What? What’s that look?” You pointed your fork at him.

Harry laughed and looked down at the table before putting his eyes back on yours, “You didn’t miss… like my body or something?”

You laughed and grinned at him, “Oh my god, Harry,” you rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“I mean you have to admit, Y/n, we are very good together. Aren’t we? Like… just fit so well me and you.”

You inhaled and let your eyes trail over his features as you tried to keep the grin off your face.

“You’re insane.” You licked your lips.

“No, I’m not. You know it’s true. Tell me you’ve had better with anyone else and I’ll tell you you’re lying. You missed me but you also missed all those dirty little things I did to you.”

“You’re way too confident and cocky still,” you laughed.

“Am I?” His smile was something that always got you. The grin, the dimples, the crinkles at the edge of his eyes.

“What do you want me to say, Harry? That I missed little Styles down there?” You sputtered a laugh.

“Little? Is that what you’d call it?” He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward closer to you, “You said otherwise when–“

“Anything else for you two?” The waiter broke the tension as Harry shot his eyes up to the man.

“I think we’ll take the check. Thank you.”

You laughed as the server walked away and Harry cocked his head with that smirk still plastered on his face.

The sun was beginning to go down as the check was laid on the table and you insisted on splitting it with Harry. He grumped about you paying anything at all but you weren’t taking no for an answer.

You were surprised you’d been at the restaurant for so long. Hours had gone by but it didn’t feel that long because you two had so much to talk about. So much lost time to make up for.

“So where do you live, Y/n? Should I drop you off at home?”

You bit your lip and shrugged, “Not too far from here. Off Coalfax and the interstate. Do you want to drop me off?”

Harry’s smile softened, “I don’t want to drop you off. No. I want to continue this. I’m not ready for you to disappear again.”

Swallowing you reached your hand toward his and rubbed your fingers over his knuckles, “Then you don’t have to drop me off. Come with me. I’ll invite you in.”

Harry stood up quickly, taking your hand in his as you both walked to the exit and toward his car. You laughed as he pulled you along.

“Coalfax? Just North of here?” He spoke as he started up his car.

“Yeah. Exactly. You’ll take a right on Coalfax. I’ll tell you where to go.”

Harry kept glancing at you and the smile on his face stayed throughout the entire drive. You were sure he was feeling the kind of excitement you had bubbling in your tummy. Still not quite sure of what to expect but nearly certain of what could happen.

Maybe you were jumping in too fast but maybe… just maybe the timing was exactly right. You couldn’t tell but you weren’t going to let yourself overthink it. That wasn’t going to happen with you anymore. You already regretted too much of what had happened with Harry and this time would be different.

Harry parked his car on the street in front of your small house and you both walked up to your door, “You’ve still got the same car,” he noted.

“Yup. Runs well. No payment other than insurance. Cheap maintenance. I love the old thing. Hope I never have to get rid of it.”

Harry followed behind you through your front door and you switched on the light before you felt his hand tugging at yours.

You turned to face him and the reality of everything was clear suddenly. You’d reconnected with Harry. The one man you couldn’t stop thinking about. Couldn’t stop replaying his words to you, couldn’t stop imagining the way he kissed you and took care of you.

“I can’t believe you’re standing here in my living room,” you smiled at him and Harry shook his head.

“I can’t believe I’m here either. I can’t believe I’m looking at you and that you were there today and…” he swallowed as he squeezed your hand, “I don’t want to scare you off, Y/n, but you have no idea how happy I am right now. How this all feels like destiny. Like we were meant to be here right now.”

You laughed through your nose, “I don’t really believe in stuff like that, but it doesn’t kind of feel that way, doesn’t it? Like another chance.”

He nodded, “Another chance. Exactly.”

“Do you want to sit? Or would you like some wine?”

Harry looked around the space of your living room. He hadn’t taken his surroundings in until then as he was too focused on you.

“Maybe a glass of wine. If it’s not too much trouble.”

You grinned, “Of course it’s not. Come. It’s in the kitchen.”

The light flickered on overhead as you flipped the switch and then opened your cabinet to retrieve the bottle of wine and two glasses.

“Y/n, this place is really nice. I like it.” Harry looked around as he spoke.

“I like it too. It’s why I moved here. Felt like home when I walked in to view it for the first time. It’s just a rental but it’s perfect for me.”

You placed the bottle on the counter and handed him a glass of wine.

Harry held his glass up, “Thank you for inviting me in and for humoring me with your kindness.”

You laughed, “Humoring you? Harry, I am fully genuine right now. I wanted to have dinner with you and I wanted you to come into my home. I’m not just being nice. I want you here.”

“I like hearing that.”

You both took a sip of your wine as Harry kept his eyes on you.

It was warm. Searing hot in fact. Harry was gorgeous and he was in your house and he was looking at you with those green eyes that had looked at you so many times before.

“Have you…” He paused as he placed his glass down and cleared his throat, “Have you seen anyone since? Like dated? Are you dating?”

You laughed at the way he fumbled his words. He seemed nervous suddenly, “No. I haven’t.” You placed your own glass down and suddenly felt that flutter of nerves, “And… I’m a little nervous to ask you the same.” You raised your brows at him.

He shook his head, “No.”

You nodded, “Surprised to hear that. But relieved I have to admit.”

“Why are you surprised?”

“Because I thought you’d have your pick. In fact even today when I thought there was a chance I might see you, felt like it was silly because surely you’d moved on and found someone.”

Harry’s brows stitched together, “I had a hard time feeling okay after that day when I left your apartment. Have actually never been so depressed and distraught over anyone before. I couldn’t just move on. Even when I started to feel a little better about it all. I just missed you so much. I know you blocked me on every platform out there. I got the hint when you didn’t text or call back. But I still missed you.”

You smiled, “And you’re not on social media at all. I did look but I kind of felt like if I did find you it wouldn’t have been good for me. I know I could have tried harder to reach out. I think I was a little scared of what I’d find.”

“What did you think you’d find?”

“That you were dating someone. I don’t know.”

The air shifted when Harry brought his hand up to your chin and gently gripped your face, “You’re the only woman I’ve had my mind on all these months. The only one I could ever think about. I don’t want anyone else.”

Your lips parted and you blinked your eyes as you took in his words.

“Do you understand what I mean? I don’t know if you feel the same way about me but just to know that you missed me and want me to be here with you right now means everything to me.”

“I don’t want anyone else either, Harry.”

“Does that mean you want me? I just need to hear it if it’s true, Y/n.”

You gulped and nodded, “Yeah. I do.”

The hand that held your chin released you and moved around to the back of your neck while his other hand landed on your hip and he pressed his lips to yours.

At last. At last.

You closed your eyes and drew your hands up to the back of his neck and moaned as he opened his mouth and you opened yours. Lips winding and smearing and pushing…

It felt like you were looking down at yourself, watching as you kissed Harry in your kitchen. And it was a beautiful sight. The two of you joined, grasping onto the other, hearts thrashing in your chests, bodies alight.

Harry’s grip on your side tightened, his fingers pinching around your clothes. The hand at the back of your neck squeezing and holding you in place as his lips slid against yours

You allowed yourself to be pulled in closer and moved your hand into his curls. You missed his scent. You missed his touch. His warmth. His care.

He parted from the kiss and moved his hand to your jaw, “Can we start over? This time, Y/n, you’re not going to regret it. This is it for us. Understand me?”

His words were almost a threat. Or maybe a promise. Both perhaps.

“Yes, Harry. I’m not going to regret it this time. I promise.”

He nodded, still holding you close, and then softly ghosted his lips over yours, “Because I can’t lose you again. I want this with you.”

You were gonna lose it. Everything was too much and not enough. You wanted him and you wanted to go slow but you wanted to tear his clothes off and feel him all over.

“I want you, Harry,” you breathed out against his lips as you clung to him, “I want this with you.”

You felt the vibration of his moan against your mouth as he dropped his lips to your chin and then along the curve of your jaw. When his lips pressed into the skin on your neck you gasped and hugged him tighter. His mouth drew your flesh in as he sucked a spot and then lowered to the curve of your shoulder and neck, suckling again at the skin where you knew it would be bruised.

“Fuck…” he whispered as he pressed his nose against your jaw, “Where’s your bedroom, Y/n?”

That was easy. The house was small. You led him down the hallway to your bedroom where you turned on your lamp and he began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Take your clothes off.”

You were surprised by his sudden command but you didn’t want to ask questions. The only thing you wanted was him and his hands and his body…

You pulled off your top before unzipping your skirt and kicking it down your legs. Harry’s eyes were dark as he continued taking his clothes off while he watched you undress.

When you were only in your underwear and bra he pointed, “Off. All of it.”

You swallowed and did as he said. Taking your bra off first and then your panties slowly as you used your bed to keep balance.

Harry was left in only his boxer briefs as he stalked toward you like a predator. You’d seen him in action before, you’d seen him a little dominant but this was different. It was like he had something to prove.

“On the bed, Y/n.”

You gave him a curt nod and sat down before scooting back into your bed. He climbed between your legs and moved your thighs apart, “You want this right? You want me? Want us?” He looked at you.

You nodded, “Yes, Harry. I do.”

That seemed like all he needed to know before he finally placed his lips on your chubby thigh, dotting wet kisses down and toward the soft inside near to your crotch and then he switched to the other side, kissing upward gently as he looked at you and then gripped the back of your thighs to push your legs apart, switching his sight from your face to your pussy.

“Y/n I missed everything about you,” he lowered himself, putting his stomach down onto your bed as he held himself over your core, “I know I only had you twice like this but I missed your body. Your smell,” he let go of your left leg as he pressed his fingers onto your mound and slowly dragged them downward, “The way your thighs part and how your skin looks right here,” he pressed a kiss over the spot right next to your labia.

But then he pushed himself up and climbed over you releasing your leg, his hands finding your breasts, “Your perfect tits,” his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue laving over your sensitive bud and kissing over your soft skin toward your other side, lapping at your plush breasts before dragging his mouth upward to your neck, “Your skin, your voice,” hot peppered kisses up to your jaw until his mouth met yours again.

“Your mouth, this mouth,” he licked against your lips and pushed his mouth against the edge of yours and ran his nose against yours, “You. I missed you. Everything. Your heart and your laugh. I can’t do it again. I can’t go through that again.”

You felt his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks as he looked down at you, “Don’t leave me. Not ever again.”

You shook your head and lifted a hand up to his jaw, “Never. I don’t want to, Harry. I won’t.”

He grinned dreamily at you, his eyes wandering over your features slowly before he lowered himself down your body again, pressing his shoulders to the back of your thighs, and hooked his arms underneath to keep you in place.

The moment you felt his mouth on your core you clenched your eyelids closed and sighed. It had meant so much to you to have him loving on you, touching you, needing you. And Harry was the only man who’d ever worked an orgasm out of you with his mouth.

And even then, his tongue dragging through your pussylips and up to your clit, over and over again in a teasing, slow build it had you unwinding and unfolding for him. You wanted to give yourself to him fully. And that felt so good.

It felt good to trust yourself for once. To allow yourself to trust him. You could push past your feelings of inadequacy and thinking that no one would actually want you for you. Because that was a lie. You had been lying to yourself for so long and even though you knew it was your own hangup, it was hard to get past it. Until now. Because now you weren’t going to undermine yourself anymore. You learned it was okay to question motives but that it was also okay to accept kindness and love where it was offered.

You felt as he applied open-mouthed kisses to your clit and finally began to push over it, the pressure and the slide of his tongue right where you needed him had you moaning. Had you getting his face all wet.

Harry’s mouth and tongue worked at you strategically; slow teases of a gentle lap at your bud and then a harsh suck and flick to make you shiver. Every wet drag of his muscle against your clit drew you closer to your end as you gave in to the feeling.

And just like the other times he’d eaten you out you reached down to push your fingers into his hair and arched your back into him as a signal for him to keep doing exactly what he was doing. And he seemed to understand your nonverbal cue as he dug in and continued lapping and sucking exactly like you liked.

He watched your tits wobble and your body jerk and convulse as he kept his mouth suctioned to your pussy with his tongue wagging and slicking over your puffy clit until he felt you pressing his head down further and you coughed out a loud groan when your thighs started to shake.

His moans into your pussy vibrated through to your guts and it felt like you were going to explode.

“Fuck, Harry!” You were grinding yourself into his mouth and nose as you felt your release snap and you lost control of your volume and the sound of your voice and your limbs as he held you down so he could press broad strokes of his tongue over your pussy back and forth.

Harry closed his eyes and let you use his face and mouth to grind your clit on as you orgasmed. His cock was so hard; just tasting you and hearing your gasps and pleas of need had him spinning in the clouds. It made him happy to hear how good he was making you feel.

And that’s what he wanted the most. Was to make you happy. He wanted your smiles and laughter. He wanted you to enjoy his company and to feel happy with him. He wanted your heart and your soul and everything that made you who you were because he’d already decided he’d give you everything he could. His heart was yours already.

Ever since that day you kicked him out of your apartment, he hadn’t stopped thinking about all the things he did wrong. How childish he’d been with you. He hadn’t meant to fuck up so badly but he would make sure that his old ways were in the past. Now he was yours and he would prove to you that you could trust him.

When you gently released his hair and pushed yourself up to look at him he lifted with a grin, “Felt good?” His mouth and chin were glistening with you.

You laughed and nodded as you watched him slide his underwear down his sturdy thighs and toss them onto the floor. His body was even better than before. You weren’t sure why. Maybe he’d been hitting the gym harder. Or maybe it was just that now things were different. And you were seeing him in a different light. Looking at him in a way that you never had before. But you were still focused on his strong build and dark tattoos as well. That glorious cock, bobbing and heavy was all yours. You loved the way he felt inside of you and how perfect it looked hanging between his thighs like it was.

You sat up and got to your knees to adjust yourself and laid a palm on his thigh as you looked at him and licked your lips. He understood your hint as you moved your hand up toward his cock and he looked down at your fingers before placing his hand over yours, “We’ll do that later. Plenty of time to get to all that. I just want to make love to you, Y/n.”

“But you ate me out. I should at least–“

“No. Later,” he got to his knees and pushed you gently back to your bottom, “You don’t understand. I can’t wait one more second to be inside of you. We’ll have plenty of time for that other stuff but I haven’t had sex since in 9 months. If you put your mouth anywhere near my cock it’s gonna make me come too fast. A little out of practice,” he smiled with a small laugh as you laid your back into the mattress and he settled himself between your legs, hips tucking against yours.

You could feel his rigid, girthy cock slide through your labia as he rolled his hips down and up, wetting his shaft, “Want to fuck you now. Okay?”

You moaned and nodded. It was okay by you. You knew there’d be time for blowjobs later so you didn’t mind having him inside your cunt, stuffing you to the brim like you knew he would. There was plenty of time for all that, now that you weren’t going to be running off from him again.

“Want this cock, honey?” He continued rocking his hips. Sliding himself up and down, the tip of his cock collecting your arousal and pushing it up to your clit.

“Yes, Harry. Please.” You bucked upward to catch him at your entrance but he pressed your hip down and grinned at you playfully.

“Love hearing you say please. Such a good girl for me.”

You groaned when he wouldn’t push in right away, still teasing you with the drag of his thick shaft up and down through your labia and against your clit. The sound of it was lewd. Filthy.

“Please fuck me!” You whined.

Harry paused his motions, keeping his eyes on yours as he reared back and took his base in his palm to line himself up to your hole. He kept one hand on the inside of your thigh as he began to press himself inward slowly, the snap of his bulbous head entering you and pushing through your walls was the first act of confirming everything.

Confirming that this was it. That now you were connected and there was no turning back. That all the promises spoken were sealed.

You both kept your eyes pinned on one another as he bottomed out, balls tucked against your ass with a whimper from his mouth and a deep sigh of relief.

He slowly pulled back before inching his way back into the hilt and repeated his languid strokes as your wet pussy blossomed and opened wide for his girth until he was rocking down into you with a force that had your tits bouncing and harsh breaths punching from your lungs.

Harry’s strong abs clenched as his thighs flexed, working into you, exacting strokes deep into your cunt and skin colliding every time you felt the dip of his crown nudging into your tummy.

He sat back to his haunches, knees bent with the back of your thighs draped over the top of his. He watched as he sunk into you and pulled back to his tip, his shaft glistening and coated in you before he thrust back in until you were gasping and reaching for his arms to keep yourself grounded. To remind yourself of who’s cock was fucking you so good.

“Love this pussy, Y/n. You take me so well. So fucking juicy and plush,” he pounded into you, putting everything he had into it, muscles working and pushing him further and further as you bounced upward on the mattress every time he crashed into you.

“Hear that, baby?” Harry used a hand to squeeze at your tit, “Your bed squeaking, your pussy creamy and wet around me, those desperate whimpers from these pretty lips?” He pushed his hand up to your mouth, pressing his thumb to your bottom lip.

You moaned in response and nodded as you stitched your brows together in bliss.

“That’s right. That’s the sound of me fucking you and we’re gonna do it again and again and again. Yeah?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

You nodded, “Fuck! Yes, Harry!” Your words were punched from your lungs as he continued railing ito you, his hips rocking against yours.

Your whole being was lit up. From your racing mind to your tingling skin and toes, the bones that kept you solid, your pumping heart, and your pussy gripping onto Harry’s fat cock as he slid into you, back and forth, bumping through your inside walls into that hard-to-reach little dip that had you breathless.

Every stroke he gave you put you closer and closer to your second orgasm. The delicious emergence and unraveling of your end made you delirious.

When he leaned himself over you he thrust down harshly, pushing your thighs wider apart, the sound gushy and slick as he drove into you. You could feel his cock sliding through your guts and his pelvis grinding against your clit making you quiver.

“Oh my god…” you panted as you reached up for his shoulders where you could feel the taught muscle keeping himself up and aligned as he fucked into you, your back digging into the mattress underneath.

“Yeah? Feels good huh? Told you we fit together perfectly. Pussy deserves to be filled and stuffed every day. Want you to feel so good, baby…”

“It’s so fucking good,” your whimpered words were shaky and breathy.

“I know baby… So good… gonna give it to you every fucking day like this. Make love to you and treat you like a queen. Be so good to you…” his strained words were breathy as he was feeling the heat with you.

His lips pressed into yours and your brain short-circuited as you fell into that hazy, floaty space of ecstasy and need. Need for Harry and his body and his heart. Need for happiness with him. The need to feel happiness with someone you could trust.

When you sucked on his tongue and he rocked into you, keeping his hips smoothe against yours you began to whine and moan as your orgasm approached.

But then Harry stopped. He pulled back from the kiss and looked down at you with that evil grin you’d seen before and you gasped at the loss. You had just been on the cusp of coming.

He quickly pulled out as his own chest was rising and falling rapidly, his cock swayed and you pushed yourself up to see what was happening before he grabbed your sides and rolled you over to your tummy.

“Harry!” You yelped at the sudden maneuver and felt his palm land harshly on your bum. And then again and again. You jumped and crooned out as he issued your ass a handful of spankings to each side and then heard him moan when he kneaded into the meat of your bottom as if he couldn’t get enough of you. You suddenly felt him pushing your legs apart and fitting himself between them as he forced his hard cock back into your wet pussy, his heavy tip pushing past your small opening and you gasped at the suddenness of it all.

You moaned at the relief of finally having him tucked back inside. He slid through you smoothly, his hands holding your ass cheeks apart as he worked himself in over and over. You had your face smushed into the blankets as you sighed.

His hips rocked against your ass and you could feel him swiveling himself in every time his balls pressed into your skin, grounding himself deep through your tummy. The sounds he was making had you grinning. It felt just as good for him. He needed your body for relief. You were happy to let him get whatever he needed from you.

Slow languid strokes of his long cock, splitting you open with every thrust felt so good. It reminded you of how big he really was. How bulky and long his cock was as it disappeared inside of you and nudged its way into your depths.

“Stick your fingers over your clit, Y/n. Go on baby.”

You gurgled a moan and lifted your hips slightly to allow your right hand access to your pussy. And it was more relief. The feel of it all coming together was perfection. His fat cock taking up every inch of your insides, his tip crashing through your guts, the weight of him behind you and fucking you into the mattress, and your fingers on your clit, slipping and pressing…

Harry gave himself a moment to bask in the view of his cock spreading your vagina apart. He dragged a thumb over the spot where he was fucking into you, feeling himself move in and out, watching your pussy wrapped around him, glistening wet until he felt his balls tightening and constricting and your walls clamping down over him.

He could see your hips moving faster as you ground over your hand to get to your orgasm but then he pulled at your hand, moving your fingers away from your clit and you felt his chest against your back and his lips against the shell of your ear as he mumbled something you couldn’t quite hear.

It caught you off guard. The second denial of your orgasm. You angled your neck to try and turn toward him, “Harry, what?”

You felt him press his cock in hard, hips stilling against your ass, his lips pressed over your ear, “Put your fingers back on your clit but don’t move them til I say.”

In confusion, you slid your hand back to your core and he continued, “Good.”

He reared back and then thrust forward again, “Do you want to come, Y/n? Wanna come on my cock?”

You moaned a yes as you secretly slid a finger across your bud making you shiver.

“Then tell me you’re mine. Say you’re mine, Y/n, and I’ll let you come.”

You had no hesitation in telling him just that, “Harry I’m yours. I’m yours…”

“My girl. That’s right. Rub your pussy, baby. Get yourself off,” his breathy words were warm over your ear and neck as you began to slip your fingers back and forth to get you back to that spot that would have you tipping over the edge.

Then you felt Harry shift behind, his chest no longer pressed into your back as he started pounding into you, “Fucking come, baby. You’re mine now…”

You grinned in elation at his words and the way he sounded totally fucked out himself. Much like the way you were feeling. Like he was out of his mind with lust for you.

Every smack of his hips into your bum had you jolting up and you ground down into your hand, rolling your clit over whatever you could reach when you started to feel that melting, unraveling sensation. The electrical charge that made your pussy quiver and your back arch and your vision go white.

“There it is! Fuck!” Harry’s thrusts were harsh but every stroke felt like a sparking and exhilarating charge going through your body. His tip plunged into your cervix and fingers gripped your bottom harshly as you heard him choke out a loud moan.

“Gonna fill you fill you up baby… fuck… stuff you with my come…”

You could hardly hear your bed creaking and clanking as your ears began to ring and you gushed around Harry, your walls spasming and constricting around him tightly.

He moved into you, gliding in and out until finally his balls squeezed and pumped sperm through his cock directly into your wet hole. He stilled his hips as he whimpered a groan, throwing his neck back with his mouth dropped open, his cock throbbing inside of you, coating your walls with his come.

It seemed to last forever. He moaned and twitched, his body connected and pressed into yours as he drained every bit of himself into you. He pressed inward further, stuffing your pussy with his come, making sure every bit of it seeped through your cunt and soaked your insides.

He hadn’t had sex in 9 months. Jerking himself off didn’t do it like the real thing and when it was with you it was even better. The best. He hadn’t come so hard ever in his life he was certain as his body flushed in heat and his heart thudded wildly in his chest when he crumpled over your back, tucking his arms around you and kissing your neck softly.

You moaned quietly at the feel of him on your back. The post-orgasm glow was never so good before. It felt like you were in a different realm of existence, floating and glowing in bliss.

“You’re mine, Y/n?” He wanted reassurance. Which was understandable after the way you handled things the first time around. But this time was going to be different. You two were starting over again. This time with a better understanding of what the other needed, with a better understanding of yourself and what each of you needed to do to be a good partner. Things were different this time.

Harry pushed himself up and looked down at his sensitive cock still inside of you. He drew himself back and watched as his creamy come leaked from your hole and he pressed himself back inside. You felt him pumping himself in and out shallowly and turned your head to look at him. His eyes were glued to your cunt where he was fucking his come back inside of you. A natural urge he couldn’t deny.

When his eyes found yours and he finally pulled himself out, he helped you roll to your side as he laid next to you, his hand on your cheek and you placed your palm on his chest, “I’m yours, Harry. I was back then too I just didn’t realize it. Couldn’t admit it. But I’m yours.”

You both smiled at one another. His eyes were bright and clear and you could trust him. You knew you could. He made you feel so comfortable about yourself. Made you feel like you could make him happy and that he’d want to stick around for you. That he would make you happy in return.

He took your hand and pressed it harder over his chest, “I’m yours too. I was since the day I first met you. I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful, Y/n. And I’m not letting go of you again.”

You grinned and pushed yourself up to his mouth to kiss him. You felt his palm slide down your side and to your bum, as he squeezed you, causing a laugh to puff out from your lips against his.

“Sorry, I love your ass. Feels so good in my hands. Just wanna bite it and stuff my face against it. Can’t help it.”

You rolled your eyes at him still grinning but when he swatted at your bottom your mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady. When I tell you I love your ass, I fucking mean it.” He gave you another good squeeze to emphasize his words.

So you slid your hand down to his nipple and squeezed at it, “And I love your nipples and these tits,” you laughed.

Harry’s wide grin and dimples were suddenly hidden when he nuzzled his face into your neck and you heard him inhale deeply.

The afterglow with him was something out of a romance novel. It was beautiful and precious. Almost too good to be true.

The sound of a cellphone ringing had both you and Harry lifted out of the sweet moment. He sat up, “It’s me.”

He hopped out of your bed and you watched as he crouched down to his pants where his phone was in his back pocket. His strong back flexing as he pulled it out and then stood up to answer the call.

“Hello?”

You frowned as you watched him disappear into your hallway, still nude. Turning to look at the clock on your side table you noted that it was paste 10 pm. You wondered who was calling at the late hour. Couldn’t have been work. What could be so important that he had to leave your side after he’d just given you the best orgasm of your life?

“I’ll be there! I’m booking a flight as soon as I get off the phone. Yes..”

You could hear him pacing and talking. You picked up most of what he said as you sat silently on your bed waiting for him to return and explain himself.

“I missed you too. I can’t wait to finally meet her. I know. Me too.”

You slid off your bed and pulled a t-shirt from your drawer to put it over your body as he ended the call with an I love you.

Harry walked back into your room with a huge grin, “My sister just had her baby!”

You smiled at him widely as he took three long-legged steps toward you, his cock swaying as he was still completely naked before he wrapped you in a tight hug, “Today is like the best day I’ve ever had. First you,” he kissed your cheek, “Now my sister...”

You laughed when he twirled around with you and then he let go, a sudden look of realization on his face, “Come with me to London. I want everyone to meet you!”

You blinked your eyes and stuttered your words, “Are you serious?”

He grabbed your hands, “Dead serious. Come with me. It’s not like you have to ask off for work. We can go for a couple of weeks. God, it’d be so fun, Y/n. Me and you… My mom’s going to love you.”

Your head was spinning from everything that had happened that day. From the moment Harry walked into that room at the gallery to now having him standing naked in your bedroom asking you to take a trip with him to see his family and his sister’s new baby. But, spinning or not, there was no part of you that would turn down the offer.

“That sounds amazing. I’d love to, Harry.”

He pulled you in for another hug and pressed his face into your neck, “This is going to be so good, Y/n.”

You laughed as he squeezed you tight and then his hands cupped your cheeks, “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll book our flights. Yeah?”

You nodded as your cheeks burned hot when he pressed his mouth to yours again.

It was a funny thing to you. That the first time you had sex with Harry the post-orgasm afterglow was interrupted by a phone call. And this time another phone call had broken the moment too. Except things were not the same as they were then. Now you knew who Harry was. You trusted him and this time everything was going to be different.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this!! xoxo

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player1064 · 3 months

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kate for someone reason thinking jamie is homophobic not sure why or how but she does (sara has me obsessed with the idea that they can’t stand each other now lol) and then him introducing her to gary and she’s like 🤯 ft. micah in the corner like you didn’t know he never shuts up about him???

god Kate and Jamie literally CANNOT STAND EACH OTHER!!! I'm OBSESSED with that dynamic tbh!!!!!!! As always. this one is much longer than intended...

Also, don't need to have read it but this is technically intended to tie in to my fic Happy wife, happy life (but tldr Jamie regularly calls Gary his wife partly to keep their relationship under wraps but mostly bc. he finds it funny to call Gary his wife.)

---

“Obviously we’re done for the season right before pride month kicks off,” one of the CBS producers is saying, eyes darting over something on an iPad. “And since you four have been pretty popular we were thinking of including you in some of those ad campaigns, so if I could just get some dates off of all of you –”

“No,” Jamie says immediately.

All three of his colleagues snap their heads up to him, but only Kate looks at him coolly and says “no?”

Micah, because he’s Micah, chuckles and slaps Jamie in the shoulder, trying to diffuse some of the new tension in the air. “Not like you to turn down extra cash, Carra.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, pretends not to notice the way Kate’s eyes are burning into him. “Check my contract. Wish I could, honest,” he says to the producer, feeling very very glad that he had a clause added to his contract specifically so that he doesn’t have to take part in things like this, “But it just wouldn’t be do-able. You lot ‘ave fun, though, with yer rainbows and yer glitter.”

Kate just looks at him incredulously. “This is one thing you decide to take a stand on, mister ‘I don’t care about politics’?”

Rainbows just don’t really suit Jamie, is the thing. Nor does the extra scrutiny that comes from wearing rainbows.

Doesn’t really matter to him what Kate thinks of him, though, so he just shrugs and continues packing up his stuff for the day.

“Jamie – Jamie, I finally got onto Raya, can you have a look at my profile?”

Jamie looks up at Micah with a frown. “What the fuck is a Raya?”

“It’s a dating app,” Kate says from her end of the desk, in that unimpressed tone of hers that makes Jamie wonder why she’s bothering to insert herself into the conversation at all.

“An exclusive dating app,” Micah corrects, wiggling his phone in front of Jamie.

“Weren’t you already seeing someone?” asks Jamie, but he accepts the phone with a sigh and puts his glasses on. “I don’t – I’ve never used one of these things, what am I meant to be lookin’ at?”

Micah shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he says breezily. “How have you never used a dating app, you’ve not been married that long. And look at yourself, you can’t tell me you weren’t a player before Mrs Carra came along.”

Jamie had got around a bit, in his playing days. Not much, mind, because he’d had to be careful, but he’d done alright. Unfortunately – and this is not something he’ll ever admit to anyone, even under duress – any thoughts of that had gone out the window the moment he’d walked onto the Sky campus after retiring.

“You’re right,” he says with a wink, “look at me. As if I’d need an app to find myself a bird. Why’d you want me to look at this, I’m not exactly your target audience. ‘less there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ us,” he adds, elbowing Micah and waggling his eyebrows.

Kate looks on unimpressed as the two of them double over in laughter. “Not that any of us would have a problem if you were, right Jamie?” she says haughtily.

Jamie catches Micah’s eye and has to fight back another bout of laughter. “Dunno,” he says, “I can think of one or two problems I’d ‘ave if Big Meeks here suddenly tried hittin’ on me.”

Micah bursts out laughing again, his hand clapping to Jamie’s forearm, and Jamie can’t help but join in – it’s infectious, okay?

“God,” Micah says, wiping a tear from his eye, “can you imagine how your missus would react. I’d never be able to work in television again.”

“Nah, she’d prob’ly send you a fruit basket, thank you for taking me off ‘er hands.”

Kate clears her throat and the two of them sober immediately at the sight of her raised eyebrow. “Maybe cool it with the outdated banter,” she says, “or do I need to remind you boys that you’re not in a dressing room anymore?”

She storms off, he heels click-clicking away as Jamie and Micah look at each other and try (and fail) not to start laughing again.

“You didn’t want to bring your wife to the end of season party, then?” Kate asks politely, looking slowly around the room.

“Huh?” Jamie says eloquently, because he’s had a couple of glasses of prosecco and he’s not thinking as quickly as he usually might. “Oh, the missus. Yeah, she’s here but – I dunno, she’s a bit shy, like. You didn’t invite Malik?”

Kate rolls her eyes, the way she always does when Jamie mentions her boyfriend. “Well, he lives in America. So.”

“Carra,” an annoying voice calls from just behind him, “Carra, come over ‘n meet Schmeichel? I’ve not seen ‘im in years, d’you know, I think I’d forgot how tall he was.”

Jamie puts a hand on the small of Gary’s back to keep him from bouncing around too much (the man is such a lightweight, it’s embarrassing), and says “I’ve already met Peter, you dolt. I work with ‘im, remember?”

Gary squints at him for a second. “You drag me all the way down to London, and then y’can’t even be bothered to –” he finally seems to realise that Jamie had been talking to someone, because he quickly shakes his head around a bit and holds a hand out to Kate with a smile. “You’re Kate, right? I love what you do on the show, honest, I’m always sayin’ people need to be meaner to James here.”

Jamie thinks he sees Kate blush a bit, like she hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed her dislike of Jamie, but she takes Gary’s offered hand anyway. “And of course you’re the famous Gary Neville, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she greets. “But aren't you still with Sky? What brings you to our little operation here?”

“Scopin’ out the competition,” he says with a wink, then turns back to Jamie. “Carra – Peter?”

“I said no! I’ll talk to him later, stop badgerin’ me.”

“Did you two travel down from Manchester together?” asks Kate, “You know, Jamie seems so invested in my relationship but none of us have ever met his wife, do you know where she’s got to?”

“Ah, his fuckin’ wife,” Gary mutters, smirking up at Jamie. Jamie winks in reply and slips his hand down a bit to pinch him on the arse.

Micah comes over, his tuxedo strained against his biceps, and he pulls Gary away from Jamie to throw an arm around his shoulder in a half-hug.

(Gary squirms a bit at the unexpected contact, but he still gives Micah a friendly pat on the chest.)

“Big Nev! It’s been ages, man – Jamie told us you were coming, but he’s promised that before and not delivered.”

“Been pretty busy, up in Manchester,” Gary says with a shrug, carefully extracting himself from under Micah’s arm and returning to Jamie’s side. “But I’m obliged to do the plus one thing at least two –” (“Three,” Jamie corrects,) “—fine, three times a year, and I figure there’re worse places to be.”

“Aw, you love it really,” Micah says. “I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like to be a WAG.”

Gary rolls his eyes. “It’s a thankless job, to be fair.” He pokes Jamie in the bicep and adds “I’m going back to talk t' Peter, you miserable old twat. Honest, I’m always talkin' to Scousers fer you.”

“I already know –” Jamie starts to protest, but Gary’s already wandered off. “Ugh. Sorry about ‘im. You can’t take Mancs anywhere, can ya?”

The two Mancs he’s talking to look at him, unimpressed.

“He seemed nice,” Kate says carefully.

“He’s not,” Jamie replies.

“Good summer?” Micah asks, their first show back after the break.

“Brilliant,” Jamie replies with a grin. “It were my turn to choose the destination, so –”

“Ibiza?”

He nods. “Ibiza. The house was done just in time, too.”

“You know, I can’t really imagine Gary in Ibiza.”

“Oh, he hates it. Complained the whole time, but he does that wherever we go.”

He becomes aware that Kate is watching them from across the desk, not trying to hide that she’s listening to their conversation with curiosity. Jamie nods to her, all polite like. “Hows about you, Kate, good summer?”

“It was fine, I –” she shakes her head. “Sorry, you’re saying you go on holiday with Gary Neville?”

Micah scoffs. “Who else would he go with?” he asks, and Jamie points to him in agreement.

“I dunno, his wife?”

Jamie blinks.

He thought he’d got all this out the way, dragging Gary along to the party a couple of months ago. Apparently not.

“Gary is my wife,” he says, then suddenly feels very stupid saying that to someone who’s not already in on the joke, so he corrects to “my husband, I mean. Obviously he’s not – he’s a man. Obviously.”

Kate’s eyes are wide, unblinking. She looks between Jamie and Micah, lips pressed together while her brain seems to be buffering.

“You’re married to a man?” she says eventually. “But you’re not gay, I mean – you’re –”

Jamie, who last time he checked definitely was gay, raises an eyebrow, amused. “I’m what?”

“You’re a footballer,” she attempts, and oh, this is far too easy.

“Bit ‘omophobic, that, sayin’ footballers can’t be gay,” he replies, holding back a smirk.

“Oh shut up, you know what I – you’re a lad! You’re always with the banter, and the…”

Thierry wanders over, freshly brewed cup of tea in hand. “What have you two done this time?” he asks, looking pointedly at Jamie and Micah.

Jamie raises his hands to protest his innocence.

“Thierry,” Kate asks, reaching a hand out towards him, “did you know Jamie’s married to a man?”

Thierry rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fucking Neville,” he replies, and goes to sit down.

#thank you for the prompt I LOVED this and also. I've been waiting for an excuse to write more for that fic so heheeee here we are #carraville #drabbles #also in this universe since i never got into it in the main fic or in this drabble. jamie and gary got together after valencia #except it was more like a weird situationship/fwb thing for years and then they spent lockdown together and when things opened up were like #'hey why dont we get married lol'. and now are very happy together (always insulting each other)#wife gary saga

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foxymoxynoona · 1 year

Note

i have a drabble request for your anniversary 🥺

it’s not related to any of your stories… but since you’re so good at writing about kids, could we please have a drabble where yoongi is a dad calmly letting his tiny kiddos crawl all over him (maybe one running a teeny tiny car up his arm and one draped over his thigh pointing at things on his laptop screen etc) as he quietly works on his computer or something like that 🥹🥹 like never once telling them to get off of him, just letting them be like his irl counterpart whenever the tannies bother him 🥹 then maybe eventually oc feels bad for him and rounds them up so that their daddy can work in peace 🥹

Ok I sort of got carried away and I'm not sure I checked all the boxes but I hope you still enjoy this!

Characters: Dad Yoongi x Y/N, their two kids Length: 4878 World: It can stand alone but it's the same kiddos as this one shot

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

“The cat forgot to lock the door. Mouse came to visit and the door was…”

“Ajar,” Yoongi said, not even looking away from his laptop, balanced precariously on the armrest of the couch.

Kija remained silent. He contemplated. Yoongi didn’t look at him, just waited.

He resumed reading but did not repeat the word the way he used to. Before, if he found something he didn’t know, it was easy to offer the answer. His spongy young mind latched onto every new discovery and wanted to immediately try it his new knowledge. But now, suddenly, he didn’t want the help. He refused it. Didn’t even acknowledge with a tantrum unless you pushed it, he just moved right along after a pause, as if he wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard.

Yoongi continued to half-listen, half-let Kija’s voice fade into the background as a third half of his brain tried to make sense of the session notes –wait that wasn’t the right number of halves. He closed his eyes and let out a slow, quiet breath.

Joo reached over and rolled her toy car across the keyboard. Ah, that’s where the other half of his brain was supposed to be.

“Hey,” he cooed, and gently nudged her hand away. “That’s not a road, aegiya. Not on the keyboard.”

“Appa are you listening to me?” Kija demanded.

“I am.”

A catch-22: Kija wanted to be simultaneously closely listened to and unperceived.

Kija gave him a hard glare, then turned back to the book. First grade was a struggle so far, that was the truth. But Yoongi swallowed the smile because his son still wanted to be heard, and tuned more of his brain to it, and more of his brain to shuffling Joo to the other side of the couch, even though it meant he had to move towards the middle and shift his laptop to balance on his knees. It wasn’t conducive to answering emails. Nor was having two halves of his brain now focused on two children with no more halves left for email reading. Especially an email with label notes on the recent album, notes he needed to ingest and consider and then spit out into two categories: those I will consider, those I reject completely.

He looked at Joo. Her eyes widened, two dark starry orbs. At two, she could already speak in full sentences but often chose not to, keeping most of her odd little thoughts to herself until she’d suddenly surprise you.

Now she pointed at the computer and asked him, “Is it a good one?”

“A good one? Is what a good one?”

“Make the music, Appa.”

“No, not yet, we’re listening to Kijaya read right now,” he reminded her. He touched a finger to his lips to shush her.

Kija grumbled behind them and huffed, “Don’t listen to me.” Yoongi glanced over his shoulder; Kija glanced over his own shoulder to check if Yoongi was watching, then quickly looked away. He resumed reading, his little voice slow and soft, caressing each word with uncertainty, as if waiting for Yoongi to correct him.

Yoongi did not. Mistakes were nothing to be ashamed of. Yoongi was all too familiar with performance anxiety and wouldn’t create it in his son by interrupting his storytelling for something trivial like a mispronounced word. You could be right later, your first contributions to the world should just be about presence.

“Don’t listen so much to me,” Kija complained in the silence. “It’s too quiet. I can’t read when it’s quiet.”

“You’re doing well,” Yoongi said. As soon as he spoke, Kija started reading again, like he could slip his words beneath his father’s and leave them half hidden, half heard. So Yoongi asked Joo quietly, “Do you want to see the audio?”

Joo sounded so serious as she answered, “Yeah.” She got that ‘yeah’ from Yoongi, he knew that. He didn’t babytalk his children much, just certain words, certain pet names, but mostly he spoke to them with respect and trust from the time they were babies, and it provided him endless amusement when they repeated him later. “Just live life,” Kija used to say when he meant I don’t know. “Ah, I see,” Kija used to say, an exact copy of Yoongi. “Ah, I see,” Joo would repeat now too, her expression even more of a mirror. And then sometimes, “You think so?” A little toddler, short ponytails sticking straight out from her head like antennae, asking, “You think so?” as if taunting about how the attempts to get a nap out of her were going to go. She badly needed the nap but God forbid you try to get her down if Kija was home. She could not miss out on a single minute of whatever her favorite older brother was doing.

Yoongi opened an audio file, muted, but let her watch the visualizer on his screen. Her eyes reflected the rising and falling bars, the red, orange, yellow, and green blocks she recreated with wooden blocks. He was certain that’s what she was doing, stacking them next to each other, adding and subtracting blocks. You insisted he was projecting but he knew what he knew.

Kija glanced over and his voice faltered before he returned his attention to his book, little face a scowl. Suddenly he slammed the book shut and threw it to the floor.

“Hm?” Yoongi prompted, gentle. Joo’s gasp was loud.

“Oh no! Book is down!” she cried, and instantly lowered herself to the ground to fetch it. “Kiki you drop him!”

“I don’t want it,” he scoffed. His arms crossed and he turned his back to her, awkwardly facing the back of the couch in a full sulk.

Yoongi held his hand out for the book and said again, “Hm.”

“Hm.” Kija mocked. Angry. Such an angry little boy sometimes lately, and it scared Yoongi. He hadn’t expected Kija to feel that kind of anger until he was at least a rebellious adolescent –and hopefully Yoongi would be able to help him manage that better than he had his own. You were the one who better knew how to handle the emotions and behavior of this age; Yoongi never knew what was normal and what wasn’t, what online articles to believe, or which pediatrician could be trusted. You’d gone through three now, each one shed after some perceived failure on Yoongi’s part. In life, he was open to compromise on most things. But not music. Not his devotion to you. And not the health and needs of his children.

“Do you not like the story anymore?” Yoongi asked gently. “Or are you frustrated?” The boy who at other times could wax poetic about the shenanigans of his friends at school now just grunted and twisted further away on the couch. “We can read a different book if you’re bored with that one,” Yoongi offered as a way out.

“Diff book!” Joo cheered and went right to the stack by the door to get her favorite National Geographic book, one of those big heavy glossy coffee table ones –a gift from Uncle Namjoon, as if he didn’t think Yoongi would instill enough appreciation for nature in his own kids. The book was clunky in her arms as she determinedly hauled it over.

“You’re doing great at reading,” Yoongi assured Kija. It was true. He was a little behind his peers, but nothing alarming; the fact he could read at all by six seemed insane to Yoongi. He hadn’t been reading at six. Kids these days… everything in the schools was so different. Everything in the world too, frankly. Phones, computers, video games, social media–

Yoongi pushed away the bigger worries and continued, “I had a hard time with it in school too but it worked out in the end, I just had to keep at it.” Even as he said it, Yoongi hated his own words. He still didn’t read much for pleasure, though sometimes he found articles that were worth the effort. Music had always come more easily to him, the notes on a staff making more sense to him than letters on a page. He liked poetry, too. Lyrics. Heavy prose bored him, he had no patience for dense pages.

“I don’t have a hard time with it!” Kija shouted and spun again to keep Yoongi from reaching for him. Just as he reached for his son, Joo dropped the book on her foot and began to wail. The heavy cover opened so the book landed standing upright, and when she reached down for her foot, she bashed her mouth on the corner.

In moments like this, with both kids crying, Yoongi found his steadiness overwhelmed. He felt like a bad dad because inside his calm resolve began to fracture and his cool exterior was a lie. Dads shouldn’t have to lie like that. He didn’t have the right words or energy to wrap two crying children up in a tornado of hugs and kisses that would distract them with warmth the way you did. You’d always recognized his steadiness, his caretaking, even though it was lowkey. He was dependable. But a frustrated six year old and a two year old with a boo-boo didn’t need cautious reliability, they needed… you.

But you weren’t here right now. Hour twenty-six of the fifty-four you’d be away. Not that he was counting or anything.

Yoongi scooped Joo up to comfort first, only to realize she was bleeding. Not hospital level bad, but more than he wanted his daughter to bleed, her little lip red where she’d hit the book. For a moment he had parental panic because steadfastness didn’t teach you how to soothe a bleeding toddler. He grabbed a napkin from the pile he’d accumulated from takeout bags over time and pressed it to her lip and bounced her around and tried to think of a silly song to distract her but his mind was blanking on children’s songs because it rattled him. Even a little bit of blood was an unwelcome reminder of how little he could truly do to protect his children.

“Are we ready for ice cream? I think it’s a good idea,” he decided. Suddenly Kija was more interested. Joo stopped wailing and nodded at him with her big watery eyes still leaking tears. At least today the hurt was something he could fix with a special treat.

While funneling ice cream into his mouth, Kija returned to his more cheerful self. Chocolate smeared across his cheeks, he suddenly poured out a stream of stories from school as Yoongi tried to keep Joo from getting chocolate all down the front of her white dress. It was hopeless. Only a stylish person with no kids (Hoseok) would give a child such an expensive all-white dress. You had sagged against the wall laughing later when the two of you discovered it was dry-clean only after a messy meal, and Yoongi had fallen in love with you all over again, that you could laugh so hard about what others might cry over. Into the regular wash the white dress had gone and so far it was still rotating through, though the chocolate might finally be the stain that took it down.

“And then my friend Tum had to clean the whole house all by himself and it took him four hours,” Kija shared. “His family didn’t even help! It was so mean.”

Belatedly Yoongi realized he wasn’t really listening, and quickly prompted, “How did you hear about this?” despite his initial impulse to point out this was unlikely to be true.

“He wrote about it for Daily.”

“What’s daily?”

Kija suddenly looked very serious. Yoongi could practically feel him shrink away. Suddenly he perked up and started talking about something else completely, “Giganotosaurus was bigger than the t-rex but not as smart.”

“Who would win in a fight?” Yoongi asked, taking a page from Jungkook’s parenting book without meaning to. The question never failed to get kids talking though, he had to hand it to him.

“Um… I don’t know how to answer that because they lived in different places.”

Yoongi didn’t try to contain his laughter. It confused Kija and Joo, though it didn’t slow down their ice cream consumption.

“You are so much like me sometimes,” Yoongi muttered.

“No I’m not.”

“No? I think you are. That’s a good thing, I hope.”

“You don’t want to be like me?”

Yoongi quickly corrected, “No, maybe you don’t want to be like your dad. Sometimes kids don’t want to be like their fathers. You can be your own person too, I don’t mean you have to be exactly like me. Just that we think alike sometimes.”

“So what?”

“Yea, so what,” Yoongi nodded. But his brain cycled back in the conversion and he pressed, “Hey, what’s the Daily thing you mentioned?”

Kija answered easily this time, “Every day after Morning Meeting the teacher tells us something we have to write about in our journal.”

“What do you write about?”

“Um… stuff. I don’t know. Dinosaurs and dogs and… dumplings.”

“Only things that start with ‘D’?”

“Huh? They don’t all start with D.”

“Those things all do. Dinosaurs, dogs, dumplings–”

“No they don’t,” Kija huffed. “Stop saying that!”

“But they do. Each of those words begins with–”

He clamped his hands to his ears and shouted, “Stop! You don’t know that!”

Yoongi let out a deep sigh and began trying to mop Joo up.

“More,” she demanded.

“No.”

“Ice cream for din-din. More please.”

“No– shit, it is almost dinner time,” he mumbled. Normally dinner was his part of the managed schedule so it wasn’t like him to forget it, but with you gone, the whole schedule was harder to maintain. The hours dragged on but then a whole afternoon passed and he hadn’t gotten anything done. It felt like you’d been gone for days; your absence was so achingly loud in a house never silent thanks to the two children. They hadn’t slept well last night with you gone, and neither had Yoongi; tonight would probably be the same, and tummies full of nothing but ice cream wouldn’t help.

“I know all the letters,” Kija muttered. He dragged his fingers through a splash of chocolate ice cream on the white counter. “I know them more than you.”

Yoongi shrugged, “I’m a lot older so it’s normal that I know more about reading and writing. But you know more than me about dinosaurs and Pokemon.”

“Yeah you don’t even know the difference between Dodrio and Diglett.”

“Don’t they both have three heads?”

“Well…” Kija’s eyes narrowed like he suddenly suspected Yoongi was hiding some vast Pokemon knowledge. He was not. That was basically the only thing he knew. “Yes,” Kija admitted.

“So am I a Poke-Champ now?” He knew it was Master but he liked seeing Kija’s eyes light up to correct him. He didn’t usually play that kind of game with Kija, he was direct and honest with his son, but he felt like Kija could use the confidence boost right now.

“Appa carrots please?” Joo demanded, resting her sticky fingers on Yoongi’s arm.

“You want carrots now?”

Joo nodded and smiled. He glanced at the clock and understood this was dinner for real now. Might as well ply them with carrots and yogurt and anything else he could get them to eat after ice cream.

Kija had clammed up again but Joo chatted happily enough for them both as Yoongi chopped up fruits and vegetables, microwaved some rice, and reheated yesterday’s noodles. As the kids picked at the offerings, he realized he’d forgotten to take their lunches out of their backpacks after picking them up from school and hurried to do that before he forgot again and had to deal with a gross surprise in the morning when it was time to repack.

In pulling Kija’s bento out, he noticed a couple papers crumpled at the bottom of the backpack, like they’d been shoved in and then forgotten. Sometimes Kija brought home drawings and he got upset if they got wrinkled like that; many times now you’d carefully smoothed them out, even painstakingly ironed one when Kija sobbed that it was ruined by the creases.

Kija felt things so big. He stayed out of sight so as not to set Kija off again if these were precious crumbled art. Yoongi felt so inadequate as a father when Kija felt things so big; it wasn’t that his own feelings were never big, but that his expression of them was so different than his son’s. Joo seemed to handle things more like him. He felt like he disappointed Kija sometimes when he wasn’t dancing and leaping with him, and like he failed him when he couldn’t comfort during his worst moods. He was trying harder to do both… at least Joo thought his attempts at dancing when Kija beat a level in his video game were funny. Kija had just thought he was mocking him and you had needed to smooth it over.

Yoongi flattened the first paper and surveyed the cartoonish ice cream cone with big sparkly eyes. The second was a drawing of… things. Yoongi had no clue what, all very boxy, lots of lines, but he got the impression they were things –robots or Pokemon or animals he couldn’t recognize.

The third was a writing sheet, a printed template that said “Daily Journal” at the top. Kija had written his name and the date, both shaky and clunky. The prompt was “I am good at ________.”

And in the space left to write, twenty lines meant to contain Kija’s little boy pride in all the things he was good at, his son had written only: i am thee fort fast runer in my klas.

Yoongi studied that response for a moment. Kija was good at lots of things. Up until recently, Kija would have been all too eager to tell you all the things he was good at, true or not! But when given the opportunity to brag or even lie, he’d written so little..

Yoongi carried the paper over and asked, “Kija, what is this?” Kija glanced at the paper and said nothing. “This is what you meant by a Daily, right? Why do you have only one thing listed here? What about all the other things you are good at?” Kija rested his chin on the table and wouldn’t look at Yoongi. Joo thought this was funny and started to giggle until Kija shouted at her, then she turned to tears.

“Do not yell at your sister. No one deserves to get yelled at ever. Only yell if someone is in danger, right?”

Kija suddenly lunged and took the paper from Yoongi. He slid from the stool and began to crumple it again, clearly headed for the trashcan. Yoongi let him do it. He leaned against the counter where the kids ate and waited until Kija came back, dusting his hands like a job well done.

“Why did you throw it away?”

“Because it’s bad.”

“What’s bad about it?”

“It’s not even true,” Kija told him. “Logan, Nolan, Kasi, Do, Win, and Iseul are all faster than me so that means I’m not even number six.”

“So what?”

Kija glared at him like he just didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to be the best to be good at something,” Yoongi corrected, recognizing this as a big teaching moment. “Who cares how good other people are? Don’t get into the habit of comparing yourself to other people. Just look at yourself and all that you accomplish.” Kija leaned his cheek in his hand and stabbed his chopsticks into his rice. “We’re going to make a new list,” Yoongi decided, going for the notepad you kept by the fridge for making shopping lists. He brought it back with a pen and set it on the table.

Kija just stared.

“You can name some things you’re good at.”

“Kiki is good at stories!” Joo offered.

“Yes. And you’re good at helping with your little sister,” Yoongi nodded. He wrote these down. “You’re good at drawing and at helping me pick out the best fruit at the market.”

“Those are dumb things.”

“They aren’t dumb. You are good at being a friend, you know all the things your friends like and don’t like. You are good at throwing a ball with Uncle Taehyung, right? He said you were good at it.” Yoongi could see none of these things were making Kija feel even a little better though. “What’s going on? What are you thinking about all this?”

Apparently it was the right question.

“I’m not good at writing the words so it doesn’t matter,” Kija insisted. “And at math class the numbers don’t stay the same in my head.”

“What do you mean, they don’t stay the same?”

“I can’t remember the numbers and what they do and I don’t remember all the sounds the letters can make either so I’m basically dumb.”

“You aren’t dumb.”

“I am dumb,” Kija insisted.

“You are six years old, it’s not possible for you to be dumb because you aren’t supposed to know anything yet. You’re just supposed to be learning.”

“Everyone else learns faster than me.”

“It’s not a race–”

“Everyone else gets papers on the Daily Wall but not me and I don’t get smiley faces on my Dailies.”

Yoongi paused and really took in the serious things his son was telling him. Joo got quiet too, looking between them. He understood. Boy, did he understand the feeling of failure when your papers came back red. He remembered what it was like when he stopped trying in school because then it didn’t hurt so bad when he failed. He remembered what it was like thinking he was stupid too, when in reality he just hadn’t found his place yet. Once he was free of school and the pressure was gone, he learned more easily, and he always had his music skill and passion to lean on.

“There are lots of ways to be smart and school is only one way,” Yoongi told him. Six was too young to already be worried. He deserved smiley faces on his papers, even if they weren’t quite right, even if it was just a smiley face for trying. “Do you remember how happy you were when you started reading stories to me and Joo at bedtime?”

“Yeah…” Kija admitted. “But I just memorized them.”

“So what? That is a very smart thing to do.”

“It’s not the same as reading.”

“No, it’s not, but that doesn’t make it worse. Memorizing things is a very hard thing to do too. So how about after dinner we read that book again, but I’ll read it slowly to you and you can practice memorizing it. Then you can read it to Eomma when she gets home.”

“But I won’t be reading it.”

“It still counts,” Yoongi assured him. “She’ll be so impressed and you like to do that, don’t you? Tell us stories?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter, it’s ok to do things just because you enjoy them. I enjoy when you read to us, no matter how slow you need to take to sound the words out. I’m not in a rush.”

“Me too!” Joo added. “I am not russ too.”

Kija smiled at her, “Rush, not russ. Shhhh.’” He reached out and brushed a few grains of rice off his sister’s cheek. “She’s cute but she’s not very good at feeding herself yet.”

“Well she’s two. And you’re six. You learn things when you learn them.”

“How old are you?”

“It’s not important.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t remember. When you get to be as old as me, it’s hard to remember what the number is.”

“Oh.” Kija gave him a gentle look. “You don’t count very good, huh? Only music counting?”

Yoongi snorted, “I like math more now that I’m not in school. In school it was hard when the teachers wanted me to do things fast but I needed more time… so if that’s how you feel, you’re just like me that way too.”

“Oh.” Kija watched Joo fondly for a moment and Yoongi figured he was about to learn something new about dinosaurs, that Kija’s mind had already slipped onto more enjoyable thoughts. Instead he said after a moment, “I guess I’m good at being like my appa.”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone always says Joo is more like you but maybe I can be good at being like you too.”

“You want to be?” Yoongi couldn’t help himself asking. It was so damn flattering.

“Yeah but I like being like eomma too.”

“It’s like I said, you can be good at lots of things. Just like you’re good at being just yourself, not like anyone else in the world.” Yoongi nodded and smiled and felt slightly more competent as a father for just one brief moment. It was wild to realize his parents must have had these same thoughts. They’d been such adults to him when he was Kija’s age and yet they’d been even younger than he was now. At what point did you become the competent adult your six-year-old thought you were?

“The first dinosaur ever was named the eoraptor,” Kija told him, interrupting his thoughts. “It means ‘dawn stealer.’”

“Did it wake up early every day?”

Kija rolled his eyes, “No, appa, because it was the dawn of the dinosaurs, get it? It was the size of a dog. I think we should get a dog and name it Eoraptor.”

“Isn’t it too much like Eomma? She might get jealous.”

“Ok we can name a dog something else,” Kija grinned.

“I didn’t say we could get a dog.”

“I’m telling eomma you said we could get a dog.”

Joo sighed loudly, “I want a cat.”

“We have a cat.”

“More cat!” she cheered.

“I’m telling Eomma you said yes and then she’ll never want to leave us again.”

“We’re enough to bring her back,” Yoongi assured them both. “Let’s just show her how well we can do things even when she’s gone so she knows we were all really good at taking care of each other. Who’s going to help me wash the dishes?”

Both kids wanted to, a pleasant surprise. They behaved for a bath and got to watch a few cartoons after you called to say goodnight so Yoongi could have a moment longer with you. He decided not to mention yet Kija’s school frustration –not that you didn’t know, you were such an attentive parent, but that maybe it was worth looking into. Was he too young, would it add pressure, would it make Kija feel like some possible diagnosis defined him? Yoongi had never been diagnosed with anything and he’d made it through and found his way in life. But damn, he’d been miserable for a lot of years. He didn’t know if there was other help available for him at the time, if his parents could have done more than they did… Maybe he could do better both at helping Kija know school didn’t define him and getting him whatever extra help he needed to feel supported…

He wouldn’t put that on you right now, not when this was such a short time for you to try and catch a break from round-the-clock parenting. For now he just showed off that he and the kids were doing well, proud they were both freshly scrubbed in the video call. He made sure to angle the camera so you wouldn’t see the parts of the house he hadn’t managed to tidy yet. It was hard being down his partner, but he was glad you could get the break.

Snuggled down in bed all together, Yoongi read books slowly so Kija could read closely along with him. He’d never felt like he had a great reading voice, he read in fits and starts, so it was better for him to take his time anyway. Kija read the last book, an old favorite he had already memorized, while Yoongi pointed at the words as Kija said them.

Once Kija fell asleep, curled up with the book he’d been struggling with earlier, Yoongi carried him to his own bed. Joo proved more challenging, waking as soon as Yoongi lifted her. He knew he ought to have put them in their own beds to start, but hey, he was lonely with you gone too. So he let Joo stay in his bed after all. And when Kija came tip-toeing back in an hour later, while Yoongi was still checking the final emails on his phone, he welcomed him back and let him stay. He didn’t make it through the emails. Instead he sent you an email with nothing but a heart emoji in it. It was simple, but it would make you smile. You never seemed to mind when his affection was simple.

You had now been gone for thirty-two of the fifty-four hours.

Yoongi had never missed you more.

But at least he had two little pieces of you to sleep sprawled across him, just like you would have if you were here.

#dad yoongi #yoongi drabble #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi ff #yoongi fluff #bts drabble #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fanfic

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bbyannabeth · 2 years

Text

prompt from this list that i saw and couldn’t stop thinking about:

I didn't know you wore glasses and I'm thinking normal and platonic thoughts about you right now I swear

annabeth all but collapsed into the seat across from him. “i got no sleep last night,” she started, barely even bothering to look at percy as she opened her lunch. “and i ended up not even presenting today because the professor was sick. literally stayed up until 4 am for nothing.”

she angrily took a bite of her burrito bowl, stabbing the fork back down into the rice. finally, she looked up at percy, who was staring at her blankly. “what?” she asked.

“you wear glasses?”

a stupid question because obviously she did. they were square-ish frames, black and silver. the bottoms of the lenses rounded out a bit and rested gently on her cheeks. she had no makeup on, but the glasses highlighted her eyes in a similar way to how her mascara normally did, maybe even better. in the sunlight that washed over them as they sat on their usual picnic table, he was rendered speechless by how good she looked.

“oh,” annabeth said, slightly less pointed than before. “yeah. i always wear contacts, but i was too tired this morning.”

percy nodded dumbly, his lunch completely forgotten as he looked at her. annabeth didn’t seem to notice how his brain was short circuiting as she continued to eat and tell him all about how much effort she’d put into this presentation, only for her to still have three more days to work on it now.

percy didn’t realize he had a thing for moody girls in glasses, but he very much does. he’d always, on some level, recognized that annabeth was beautiful but it had never clicked in his head just how beautiful. now, as he tried to act normal and resume eating his sandwich, he was finding it increasingly hard to focus on what she was saying and instead found himself getting distracted by the way the light reflected off her glasses and onto her cheeks.

“you’re being weird,” she said after a few minutes.

“no, i’m not,” percy lied. he had just been studying the way her hair looked tucked behind her ear with the arm of her glasses holding the curls back. which was, admittedly, kind of weird of him.

“what’s up?”

“you just look so different with glasses, i don’t know,” he shrugged.

“you’re still on that?” she asked.

“i don’t know. it’s weird, okay?”

wrong thing to say, he realized immediately. but annabeth nodded once and said, “thanks.”

“not a bad weird,” he corrected himself. annabeth rolled her eyes though. she lifted the glasses off her face and instead set them on her head, pushing her hair away from her face.

“better?” she asked.

no, not better. it was worse, actually. because this was how annabeth normally looked to percy, and he was still tongue-tied over how fucking pretty she was.

“i like the glasses on you,” he said, trying to sound genuine. “they look good. good weird.”

annabeth stared at him for a few seconds before bringing down the frames again and settling them on her face.

“anyways,” she said, trying to steer the conversation towards something else. “did your quiz end up going okay?”

they fell into a relatively normal conversation, but percy couldn’t stop himself from occasionally losing focus. if annabeth noticed, which he was sure she did judging by the handful of odd looks she gave him, she didn’t say anything. they sat there for the next hour until percy had to leave for his next class.

“you should wear the glasses more often,” he said as he stood up from the table. “they suit you.”

annabeth stared at him, the look in her eyes hard to read. “you’re weird, jackson,” she said finally, but there was a hint of pink in her cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

“yeah, but you knew that already,” he smiled.

“that i did,” she nodded. “now go away.”

he left with a small wave, mind focused only on how the rims of her glasses looked brushing against the blush on her cheeks.

when he saw her the next day in their english class, she was wearing her glasses again.

#i needed something to make me feel better and now we have this #enjoy #pjo #percabeth #drabble #gray writes

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ash-writies · 2 years

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Hii!! omg can i ask a nines x reader where she like gets hurt one time because shes always trying to be better than nines like they have this weird competition who can do those most impressive work and she confesses her love to him after a massive argument??

A/n: I’ve always been more of a Nines fan <3 I’ve stolen a lot of my headcanons from @pseudonymmcwriter , they’re amazing and I love their version of Nines! Go over and send them love if you haven’t already!!

Summary: Nines seems to be trying his best to work you up when you get assigned another case. You arrive at the scene to find it barren, that changes when you do a sweep of the house

Warnings: violence

2k Words

You looked up from your paper work in time to see Nines’ LED return to blue, indicating that he finished yet another document. You frowned and retuned to typing, if you had a computer in your head paperwork definitely wouldn’t take so long. Even though you completed it fast for a human, he still always left you in the dust.

Nines glanced at you desk with a frown. He leaned over and tilted your monitor something like 5 degrees to the left. You scoffed and continued with your work, the way he always tried to correct you, even in unnecessary ways, left you fuming.

Once you wrapped up your paperwork another case was immediately dropped onto your desk. You didn’t even bother opening it and went to the break room. Hank was leaning against the counter waiting for the coffee to brew, “fresh pot?”

He turned and smiled at you, “yeah. How’s it going with the new partner?”

“It’s going,” you groaned, sinking into a chair, “he’s just really frustrating, he always acts like he’s better than me.”

“It was frustrating working with Connor at first,” he grumbled, pouring himself a cup, “but for different reasons I guess. I think it’ll get better with time.”

You sighed, “I hope you’re right, he’s driving me insane.” Once Hank was finished pouring himself a cup you stood to make your own.

Just as you reached for the creamer and sugar, Nines rounded the corner, “have you reviewed the new case?”

“You mean the case that was set on my desk less than 30 seconds ago?”

“Three minutes and 43 seconds ago, yes.”

“No, I havent,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well you’ll have to review it on the way.”

You finished making your coffee, “I think we can wait a few minutes before heading out.”

He shot you a look of impatience, “as long as you make it quick.” You scoffed and walked past him to your desk. Even though you didn’t want to listen you reviewed the case as fast as possible and left with him to the scene, leaving a half empty cup of coffee in your wake.

There was no one there when you arrived, not even the victim, “are you sure we’re at the right house?”

Nines’ LED was amber, “of course.”

“You check down here, I’ll go upstairs,” you said not giving him a chance as you ascended the stairs. The house was probably built 70 years prior with owners that didn’t care about it. Some of the floorboards were bowed and rotted, the windows were smudged with smoke and dirt, and the walls that were once white were covered in hues of grey and yellow. You kept on hand on your holster as you reached the top of the stairs, the quietness of this place keeping you on edge. You opened one of the few doors and called, “Detroit Police! Anyone there?”

Behind the first door you opened there was a desk, filing cabinet, and a bookshelf. You hummed and took another step into the room. It was very human, an android wouldn’t have a use for anything in there. The next room you stepped into was a bathroom. It was cozy and full of miscellaneous things like towels, makeup, and toilet paper. As you approached the final room you called down to Nines, “I don’t think anyone’s here.”

You were about to make a joke about how the perfect RK900 made a mistake when you opened the door and an android ran at you. He slammed you against the wall and you barely moved to avoid a punch he threw at you. You didn’t give him room to make another attempt as you swept his foot out from underneath him. He grabbed your arm as he fell to the ground and you screamed as pain shot through your shoulder. You opened your mouth to call for Nines when you felt a hand wrap around your mouth. “Please,” the android muttered. You only raised your eyebrows as your partner rushed up the stairs.

“Step back!” his tone was void of anything, still it shot through your bones.

The android however, seemed unfazed, “I will if you let me go.” Nines’ eyes flickered towards yours in that moment of weakness. The android’s hand slid to your neck, “Let. Me Go.” You watched as Nines reluctantly pushed his gun onto the floor and lifted his hands into the air. The android hesitated before releasing you, but the moment he did he lunged at Nines, kicking the gun out of his reach. You watched the androids scramble on the floor and the android’s hand disappear beneath Nines’ shirt. You froze realising the android meant to kill Nines. You instinctively lunged at the android, wrapping him in a headlock and pulling him off of Nines. You twisted him so that you were pinning him to the ground. Nines crawled from behind you and subdued the android. Panting, you released him.

“Are you okay?” you asked, hand searching his stomach for scratches or torn plastic.

“I am fine,” Nines said, almost impatiently, “you have an anterior dislocated shoulder and need to seek immediate medical help.”

“I will once we get to the station,” you simply stated. You stood and lowered your good arm, offering to help him up. He took it but clearly didn’t need your help. He fixed his shirt and pulled the android onto his shoulder.

Once you arrived to the station he’d told you to stay in the car. It was too late as you were already up and the door was swinging shut, “why so you can take credit for my score? No thanks.” He knew you were being difficult on purpose he grumbled and alerted someone to retrieve the android.

“You told me you were going to seek medical help,” he began, fuming, “you can’t do that here so get in the car.” A part of you wanted to snap at him, you had just saved his life and he was still bossing you around. The other part of you was still hurting because of your arm.

“I’ll get there myself, just focus on the android,” you grumbled, only partially giving in to his request. When he opened his mouth to argue you quieted him with a glare. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As you can image the trip to the doctor was short and painful. You had to get your arm reset and they gave you some painkillers that should last you a couple days. We won’t even talk about the sling you had to have your arm in. You were exhausted after the day you had, sinking into your bed and groaning. You had every intention of falling asleep when you heard a lound knock on your door. You mumbled curses under your breath all the way to the door. You stood on your toes and looked through the peephole and were met with the image of Nines.

You opened the door, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to ask if you’ll be okay to work tomorrow,” he stated, LED yellow as he stared at your shoulder.

“Yeah, doctor says I can take it off after a few days but to avoid using it for a couple weeks.”

“Good,” he said staring at you, it was silent for a few minutes after that. You were used to his silences but this one was irritating you more than usual.

“Well if that’s all-” you began.

“Why didn’t you shoot that android?” his tone gave nothing about his thoughts away.

“I didn’t want to-” you were about to leave it at that but you couldn’t, “to ruin the case.” When he cast you a disbelieving look you continued, “is it so hard to believe that I didn’t want to mess something up?”

“No, it’s not hard to believe, but with how often you do it, it’s not at the forefront of your mind,” as soon as he finished he looked like he regretted his words.

You felt as if he just slapped you in the face. You scoffed, face heating up and tears pricking you eyes, “wow- sorry you don’t have the perfect partner- ya’know what, I don’t have to take this from someone like you!” You attempted to slam the door in his face.

“An android?” he stopped the door with one of his hands. His face was the unfazed picture it always had been, but his tone was sharp.

“An apathetic prick who only cares about his stupid cases,” you spat.

“Do you expect me to care about anything else during work hours?” he forced the door open more and his tone had evened out.

“Yes, like your partner, your cowokers, or maybe- just maybe, the people we need to bring in and question.”

He frowned and behind him you saw one of your neighbors poking their head out from their doorway. You pulled him inside as he spoke, “well I don’t believe I should change any of that, I do just fine with my work the way I am. You could stand to stop caring as much.”

“Stop caring as much?” you repeated, shocked that he could say something like that, “if I cared less maybe you’d still be on the floor in that house!”

“You shouldn’t have helped.”

“Were you even listening? He was about to rip your heart out and you wanted me to stay out of it?” When he just looked at you and made no indication of saying anything you threw your arm into the air and began to storm into your room.

He called your name, “wait-”

“No! I can’t believe you tried to scold me for caring about you. You know how dense that makes you look?”

He took a step back, “why do you care about me?”

You looked at him, although he was trying to hide it there was something vulnerable about him. Sighing you decided to answer his question, “because I like you. Because even though you spend every hour of work proving to everyone that you’re better than me, I still fell for you.”

You watched his LED flicker red and he made no move to speak. You expected it though. You looked at your feet, suddenly embarrassed. “You believe I’m trying to belittle you during work?” he asked. You nodded, keeping your eyes down. He hesitated and reached forward, fingers brushing your hand, “I apologize, I did not realize my actions could come across that way.”

You pressed your lips together, wondering if he intentionally ignored your confession, “wow, the RK900 just apologized, can you send me the audio of that? I need to immortalize this moment…” Your eyes met Nines’ seeing a sudden seriousness.

He sighed your name, “I was attempting to make work easier for you… So you’d spend less time doing paperwork and being on the crime scene.”

You watched him with wide eyes, was this his way of- there’s only one way to be sure. You took a couple steps toward him and took his hand in yours, “spell it out for me.”

Before he could help it, he shot you an annoyed look, “I am reciprocating your feelings.”

“Which feelings?” you smirked. When he didn’t say anything (again) you began to step forward.

“I. like you too,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“For someone who has every word in their head,” you sighed as you wrapped your arm around his neck, “it sure took you a long time to say that.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned down to nestle his face into the crook of your shoulder. He pulled you closer as you did the same. “You should probably get some rest,” he muttered, not moving.

“Yeah…”

“I shouldn’t have let you get hurt today… I regret it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whispered, slipping your fingers into his hair. You smiled as his body began to relax in yours. No matter how tired you felt, you could stay like this forever.

#nines rk900 #nines dbh #rk900 #dbh nines #detroit become human #nines x reader #Nines x you #nines x y/n #rk900 x reader #rk900 x you #rk900 x y/n #Hank anderson #hank anderson dbh

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matan4il · 2 years

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There were many other things to be bothered by in the episode were geyn died but the thing that bothered me most despite it being so small was the flowers the team sent. I don't know why but that is what has bugged me the most even since I watched it.

Hi Nonnie!

I'm so sorry it took me a moment to reply. As I mentioned in my post about TK and Jewish rep, when I watched the ep where Gwyn died, I wondered who wrote it and whether they had any Jewish background and knowledge. The ep had just enough accurate and inaccurate stuff to leave me unsure. When I got your ask, I decided I had to check up on that before I answered. It took me a while to do so, I hope you understand and am grateful for your patience!

Needless to say, I agree with you. The thing with the flowers could have been brushed off as... the team members don't know anything about Jewish tradition and assume sending flowers is universal. But this was put in there during the same scene in which Paul confidently makes the inaccurate statement that Jewish funerals happen within less than 24 hours from someone passing away. As I pointed out in the post linked above, we bury as soon as possible, usually within 24 hours, but it's not as rigid as Paul makes it sound.

Yet, he's not corrected by any and the whole plot happens as if his assertion is true, so he comes across as the voice of authority on this. By extension, when that whole conversation about the flowers happens and he's a part of it, that makes it seem accurate as well.

IDGI at all. Maybe the point was to show TK's friends caring about him, but I'm utterly baffled by why they couldn't show that by using an actual Jewish tradition. And more than that, I don't understand why they thought it was okay to reinforce the idea that mainstream American/Christian traditions are universal, and can be easily and readily applied to everyone without taking a moment to check what IS the tradition in that person's religion/culture.

Since we’re talking about upsetting things in that ep, I have to add another one to the pile. I assume they used the "must bury within 24 hours!" inaccurate statement to inject urgency into the whole "must catch the flight in time even if Carlos is left behind, so he and TK could have an emotional reunion hug after the emergency landing” thing. It was annoying that they acted like the funeral wouldn’t have been postponed for TK, and even more annoying that they completely pretended like there’s no such thing as the shiva’a, which TK still could have made it to even after the funeral (again, something I mentioned in more detail in that post). But then I got talking to the lovely @tkactually because she contacted me to get some Jewish perspective for a fic she's writing, and in answering her, it hit me that while if we look at it with a focus on TK, it’s sad if he misses his mom’s funeral (and saying the Kaddish for her) and he doesn’t sit shiva’a for her, it’s actually kinda devastating to think about it with a focus on Gwyn. Her parents have probably already passed away, there’s no indication she has siblings, and Jonah’s too young. That means the only one who could sit shiva’a for her is TK. If he doesn’t go to NYC, if he doesn’t sit shiva’a for her, that means no one does. How heart-breaking is that?

Okay, so I had a look at who wrote the ep. It’s someone who’s been a writing assistant for years, with a long record of working on the set of Ryan Murphy productions, but this is his only writer credit. His name is Matt Solik. I tried to find out if he’s Jewish and didn’t get anywhere. Two other people were involved. One’s a staff writer, from what I understand that’s someone who contributes to the creative process, though they don’t write the ep themselves. This was someone named Jamie Kessler, again I got nowhere trying to look up Jamie’s background. The other’s the story editor, who from what I know is the person outlining the story for the ep, what’s supposed to happen in it, but again not someone who writes it. In this case, this was John Owen Lowe. I looked him up and discovered that his dad, Rob Lowe, is actually married to a Jewish woman and has said that both his sons are Jewish through her. Rob also mentioned in one interview once consulting his wife’s rabbi. How Jewish are his sons? A bit, a lot, it’s their mother’s thing and their less connected? IDK, but it’s more than I expected. Which made me wonder, since it turns out John’s background is so very similar to TK... I wrote here why I tended to assume that they decided to turn TK Jewish somewhere between seasons 1 and 2, maybe wanting to tap into TK’s actor being Jewish himself. But now I wonder if maybe they cast a Jewish man in this role because they always meant to make TK Jewish in a manner similar to John’s? Reflecting Rob’s own marriage and joint parenthood with a Jewish woman? After all, they do tend to have these parallels between the LS characters and their actors, and there’s a clear personal streak to John’s middle name being used to name Rob’s character.

But that means there was at least one Jewish person involved on some level with shaping this ep. As @geekgirl101 and I were discussing in that post in the second link, this is why it matters that we have Jews in the writing room who are committed and care deeply about their Jewish identity. Ones who really think about how to give us good Jewish rep instead of... “good” Jewish rep. And this is why we need to have a conversation about what constitutes actual good Jewish rep. It’s not gonna happen without a lot of thought put into it. Because there’s been such a lack of it for so long, that if we don’t sit down, examine what we’ve had so far, what we still don’t have, and what are the implications of what’s put into the script, things are not gonna magically get better.

Thank you so much for this ask, Nonnie! I hope my reply was worth the wait, and I apologize again in either case. Wishing you a great day! xoxox

(If you're looking for my ask replies, here is my ask tag! xoxox)

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dyrewrites · 6 months

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Pale Blood - panic in the pretty lights

Odea bounced. Up and down she bounced, squeaking like an excited mouse. She had kept quiet from the cab to the ticket booth, eyes firmly on the ground until they reached the synth that ran it. There she refused to let Delmas show his ID, shoving her own hand up to the screen and confirming him and Den as her ‘guests’.

Then she rushed into the cab in a flurry of giggles and started to bounce. Little bounces on the balls of her feet, as she hummed a familiar tune. And that tune bothered a sigh from Delmas, but delighted a smirk from Den.

“That big a fan?” Delmas asked her bounces.

The louder squeak was not an answer, but it’s what she gave him.

Den chimed in, fighting another smirk, “Isn’t there something we have to attend to before we meet Mr. Perfect?”

Odea did stop then, to grin up at Delmas, “You told him!”

“I told him,” he repeated, scooting away from the tiny woman’s glee–unfortunately, the cab did not allow him much wiggle room and so this resulted in smashing into the metal siding.

Giggles preceded Den’s remark, “It did take some work.”

“He is so closed off,” Odea told him.

And he nodded before stepping over, to face her, where he rested his chin on the back of his hand, “Like a vault.”

“Did you hear him trying to justify not telling you?” She returned, holding her own chin and nodding dramatically.

“I did,” Den answered, in an equally dramatic fashion.

“I tell ya,” Delmas cut through their gossiping tones, “on the list of things expected today, the two of you bondin’ over my want for privacy wasn’t on it.”

“Privacy,” Odea scoffed, all the playful drama puffing with it as the full extent of what she’d lost of him–and every whispered command–swelled, “Fangs who go digging around in other people’s minds and making them forget do not deserve privacy.”

Den shoved against Delmas’ chest, not moving him an inch, and all but shouted, “You did not!”

“No, I didn’t,” he assured them both before trying to recall what Odea was talking about. But nothing recent included mind games.

The dogs, the thought popped, and the image on Bosch’s screen flickered after, I saved her from the dogs…did I mess with her head then? And his own words played for him–though he hadn’t asked and had no memory of speaking them–‘tell Ron, Del says he's sorry for keeping me.’ But I can’t make anyone forget–correct, he couldn’t, but it was necessary at the time–And that was a week out, at least, why she mad about it now?

They were staring, both of them. He’d been quiet too long and they were staring. So he tried to explain, “I didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t even really remember doing it. I only know I was even there because of Bosch’s fucking cameras.”

Den checked out right about then, as he and Delmas already had the conversation that appeared to be repeating.

He had been to Upper Dolor fewer times than he had fingers and, despite all the hot air everyone blew about it, he didn’t mind much. He didn’t find it all that appealing. But the trip up, soaring straight up in a tight metal box with the whole city stretching out below him...that he enjoyed. And he marveled at the sight, as he had the few times he’d seen it before; picking out all the brightest lights in the rainbow of flashing–and quickly blurring–color that speckled the rough grays and shining blacks of the slums.

A single finger firm on the hardlight–which kept the harsh winds of the ludicrous speed they traveled from turning everyone inside into a spray of blood outside–he thought he had picked out the glaring neon sign that hung near Delmas’ apartment...when Odea groaned so loud he decided to care about the other passengers again.

“You still went poking when you had no right to,” She tapped Delmas’ chest, hard and added, “so I don’t want to hear any of your faeshit about privacy.”

“Fine,” he had no room to throw his arms up, so they made it about halfway, “but you should know that I didn’t poke, I didn’t need to,” and, if he had looked at his more astute boyfriend just then, Delmas would not have said what he was about to say. But he did not, instead he leaned to Odea’s eye level–which shoved her up against the other side of the cab–and said, “you’re just loud.”

Den slapped himself on the forehead–despite a deep desire to slap Delmas–then shielded his ears from what he anticipated would be a shriek.

But no shriek came.

Even as the cab breeched the smog, pouring hotter, brighter sunlight through its tall windows, all Delmas received from Odea was a quiet, smoldering glare–which may have been weakened by her thick glasses, tinted as they had become in the brighter light.

The remainder of their trip–all fifteen minutes of it–came and went with naught but the soft grind of metal on wire and the drone of wind moving faster than it ought around the oblong surface of the cab.

“Number in party,” a smooth, mechanically sweetened voice sang as all of the wind stopped dead and the cab’s door slid open with a satisfying woosh–do not deny me my wooshes, one only gets so many.

Odea hopped out of the skycab’s perfectly still cabin–held tight and sturdy on thick metal beams and hidden cables, the thing would not budge no matter how much one desired kicking it into the suns.

The synth that spoke with so smooth a voice waited just outside the door. Their artificially tanned skin glistened beneath a layer of perfumed dew–spritzed from above every skycab as they landed, to ensure no one fouled the air–but that was not what marked them synthetic. Nor was it the gold and white striped hair, or the matching uniform; an angular cut pantsuit of pristine white and gold, its starched pant-legs tucked into shin-high boots–the heels of which should have been registered as weapons.

No, the scream of their mechanical origins came from their eyes.

Their irises glared, shrinking, turning–and audibly whirring for the one with ears sharp enough to hear them–in glittering gold from the center of shining black eyeballs.

Their too-smooth voice sang again, without a hint of intonation, inflection, or warmth, “Number in party.”

“See, that, that’s what I don’t like about being up here,” Den said to no one as he kept behind Delmas and tried again to put his hands into his pockets.

Delmas slapped him away, smiling, “We’ve got synths below too.”

“Yeah, but ours are more...awake,” Den tried again. Pressing his chest against Delmas’ back–and a little around his side–he pulled the flaps of the big coat he wore out of the way and slipped his hands into the front pockets of Delmas’ jeans.

“Well, some of them maybe,” Delmas said, sighing at the hands wriggling around in his pockets. But, as they wouldn’t be moving anytime soon, he didn’t remove them.

“Three,” Odea said, shuffling from one leg to the other in front of the slim podium, her eyes twitching to every new face that flowed from neighboring skycabs.

“Purpose,” the synth said, not asked–those models did not have the ability to truly inquire, they could only relay and obey.

“Um,” She had something for that, but she was there for more than witch duties, I can’t say I’m here because of blood, shit, how do I phrase it?

“Someone forgot her title,” Den told Delmas’ side, adding louder, “you’re a blood-letter, remember...witch?”

“Two in one, not bad,” Delmas chuckled–more from the very warm hand tickling his thigh, but also the words, those were funny too, in a way.

“Right, right,” Odea closed her eyes, focusing on the why they were there and not the that. More skycabs were landing on either side of theirs–in a great big circle they could only see a fraction of–and visitors were filing out in numbers Odea was the opposite of comfortable with. “Uh, witching duties and...um, blood-le,” shooting a glare behind her she muttered, “damnit, Den,” before turning back to the ever-patient synth, “phlebotomist duties.”

Witch outranked phlebotomist and, though Odea had forgotten in the anxious bubble her breath had become, witches needed no reasons for witching.

“Coven and Designation please,” The synth intoned, and in their ever-so-slight change of tone, Den found himself curious.

“...that one male or female?” He asked Delmas.

“Neither,” He answered too quickly, voice hitching at the end.

Den giggled before asking, “How d’you know?”

Delmas pointed as he wiggled away from another gripping hand, “There’s a marker, on their temple, brands ‘em for customer service. And all customer service synths are andro.”

The last wriggle had pulled Den’s hands away and he pouted before snuggling in the offered coat, “Why do you know that and I don’t?”

“Ever work with synths,” it wasn’t a question–Delmas knew he hadn’t, well, he was pretty sure...and correct.

Den thought about it, came to the realization that he had only seen them in clubs, or cabs, or brothels and decided not to answer.

That earned him a grin and a tighter squeeze.

“Alright,” Odea said, rushing up a bit too close to them as all of the people began to jitter in her veins, “we’re good to go. So let’s go. Right now. Move.”

Though she was shorter than every other visitor crowding the station–barring a few gnomes and a wreck of faeries–Delmas and Den found it all too easy to follow Odea through the hot rush and murmur of the crowd. The bright auburn of her short-cropped hair, bouncing and snaking through all manner of brighter and duller colors, stood out like a beacon.

Neither were too certain how that worked, exactly, nor were they aware of how much focus it took Odea to do it.

Until they reached the gaping arches of the station–now, ‘gaping’ may not seem like the best word for a big door, but bear with me here...because it was a very big door–and Odea heaved her guts into a glittery gold trash bin.

Den froze before the arches, enduring the shove of bodies passing–which jostled him even as Delmas kept him safe in his arms.

He did not enjoy those arches, not in any capacity, but he especially disliked walking through them.

They yawned overhead, towering high above even the ogres that barreled past them. So high that one could only tell they were arches by the way they bent the light, and what light they bent; the yellows of Som’s bright shimmered on the golden metal of the arches–a gold that you may notice coats everything, there were few areas of Upper Dolor that did not glitter.

And those damnable arches brought his attention to the ceiling of the station, or lack thereof, as there were no ceilings. There were layers upon layers of wide bridges connecting the skycabs to the exits and a terrible endless chasm below. Every single bridge bore more bodies than he imagined them capable, and he didn’t care for that either.

Even on the lowest layer of Upper Dolor’s disc-like island structure, the station bore no flooring. Beneath the bridge Den stood on were metal beams, thick and webbed, holding the bridges and the outer walls of the station...but between those beams waited empty air and a haze of black smog far, far below.

And none of it sparkled like the dazzling lights and wonder that the slums did on the trip up. The view from that bridge was one of hollow terror, and the more he stared the further it seemed to stretch and the louder it seemed to whisper, jump.

He gripped Delmas’ coat tighter, whispering, “I hate this place,” but he managed to force his feet to move and they passed beneath the arches.

And Delmas groaned and dug out his sunglasses.

Upper Dolor always made him doubt his immunity to the suns; if not for the bright, then for the heat. But neither of those are what drew the muttered, “Shit,” from his lips.

That came from looking out into all that bright...and not seeing Odea.

#writeblr #snippet #novel #writing #urban fantasy #pale blood #i shared this before and deleted it for reasons #have it again #i will throw tiny moments of closeness into every dialogue tag and you will never stop me

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todoslosdiasdemivida · 1 year

Text

He hadn’t been home the last two nights.

[ “Why won’t you talk to me anymore? We used to talk about everything even after the war. I know how hard this is on you. How hard all of this is on you. I know that you’re struggling. Do you think I can’t see that just because you won’t say it? You’re my husband, my partner. I want to support you. I am trying so fucking hard to support you, but it’s like you’ve completely locked me out! I’m watching you self-destruct from the outside like everyone else and it is killing me to have to watch and to not be able to do anything. En la prosperidad y en la adversidad, en la salud y en la enfermedad, todos los días de mi vida. GABRIEL! I meant those words… Did you?”

“If you think you need to ask me that, then maybe you already have your answer.” ]

Mona had looked at him like he’d hit her instead of just throwing the words out–– like he didn’t know the effect they would have.

She had left the room without another word.

[ She hadn’t turned in time to hide that first tear spilling over. ]

He had stood there, trying to breathe––to think of something else to say, something, anything to make this anger dissipate, to make this right, to find the words to explain to her, to make himself rebuild the bridge that he had burned down.

[ Because it wasn’t Mona. God knows she’s tried harder than anyone should have tried, cared more than anyone should have cared, and set herself up for failure every time knowing how it would end but hoping against hope that this time he would just take her hand and let her try to pull him back from the brink, that he would let her save a man dangling over the abyss… or at least let her get pulled down with him. ]

He hadn’t moved from that spot, hadn’t managed to find the answers he needed, when Carlos had confronted him, and they had an argument.

[ ”If it bothers you so much that mom asks you questions or tries to help you because she CARES, why do you even bother staying? Why don’t you just leave? We would all be happier that way!” ]

The kid wasn’t wrong.

He hadn’t been home the last two nights since the respective arguments, but now, here he stands, on the doorstep, knocking at the door like a stranger come to deliver ill tidings.

[ He had left his key in the house two nights ago when he grabbed his go bag and shut the door behind him. He could always have slipped in by other means were it anywhere else… but not here. Not in his home. It is still that, isn’t it? ]

She answers the door. He takes a breath, braces.

“Where’s Carlos?”

“He’s over at his friend’s house. It’s Jaime’s birthday, and he wasn’t going to go but I told him––"

She knows him too well, even still, and she stops talking, redirects, pivots to address his expression and the heaviness to his manner.

“Gabe… What’s… Did something–”

“Jesse’s gone. He left.” The correction is almost instantaneous, realizing he had chosen the exact wrong words the moment he sees the first shift in her expression. [ Idiot. It’s not bad enough without you giving her that scare? ]

“I don’t know where he went. I don’t know why. But his place is cleaned out. Nobody has heard from him. I tried calling. The line’s out of service… I just… I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else or getting blindsided…”

There’s no answer. He hadn’t expected one, really. What is there to say? And even if there is something to be said, how can she say it to him of all people?

He sighs and turns to leave.

“… I should––”

Her hand catches his––calloused and strong and shaking.

“Not tonight, Gabe. Not tonight. Please stay… Please…”

He looks back to her.

[ She doesn’t turn away this time. Not even when she knows he can see the tears welling in her eyes. ]

He stares back for a moment longer.

He swallows hard, nods once.

He steps forward, wraps his arm around her shoulders and guides her inside, locks the door behind them.

Tomorrow, he’ll go back to work. Tomorrow, he’ll continue as though nothing had happened because he has to continue.

Tonight, he won’t leave her. Tonight, he’ll be here for her, like she needs for him to be.

[ Todos los días de mi vida. Of course he had meant it. ]

#|| that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger || { about gabriel / reaper }#|| afraid she'd kill you? / be surprised if she didn't || { about ramona }#|| he set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her || { about gabriel & ramona }#|| family is more than blood || { r; quick-drawn }#// I made a mistake.#// But also #// This is not entirely my fault #// -looks at chronal anomaly and quick drawn-#|| excerpts from the fanfiction i'll ( probably ) never write || { stories }

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theproject11 · 3 months

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Pokemon X Project Eleven

Happy Pokemon Day Everyone! This is a little fanfiction I had whipped up last night to for the artwork that I will be releasing today! I hope you enjoy it! On that day, the empyrean came into one of the new board rooms that Aethereal Queen finished renovating. But the empyrean were a bit busy themselves. Or on the levels of being busy. Selena was too busy working on her new curriculum. Erika was too busy playing the horror game Dead by Daylight. Chelsea was painting a landscape for fun. Blair was taking a nap. Cherie was designing a new wardrobe for the collection. Bae creating spreadsheets. Rebecca was taking a nap. Still, they all came together and waited outside the newly renovated war room. Selena blankly stared at her team in confusion, “did anybody receive a text message about coming here?” “It’s obviously something important…” Bae said. “And I was having a good dream, too,” Rebecca groggily stated. “You’re just sleeping off the alcohol again…” Bae argued. “Nope, it’s Pokémon Day,” Erika said. “Pokémon what?” Bae wondered. “You know, Pokémon!” Erika repeated. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what Pokémon is! Everybody and their mother knows what it is!” Blair pointed out. “It’s a huge gaming franchise that has more money and popularity than any other franchise.” “Even Dat Madden?!” Rebecca challenged. “It’s John Madden football, and yes.” Selena corrected. Bae was a bit peeved by such childish things, “I don’t get it; you mean to tell me that she has pried us from important work--” “Making useless spreadsheets--” “They are not useless spreadsheets. Our Queen wanted these done by today this afternoon.” Bae announced. “And what were the spreadsheets,” even though Selena already knew what they were. “I had to categorize 1025 weird names and separate them into 12 different types. Most of them have two types while others have one.” Bae explained. Again, Selena just stared at her. “What?!” Bae snapped. Selena didn’t even bother waiting and opened the door to see a newly renovated war room… That came straight from a Pokémon video game. The room was colorful but had different emblems of types of Pokémon. Even had emblems of different teams and regions. They also had different maps of regions. They were bag chairs and several flatscreen TVs with the latest video gaming software. They were shocked to see such a renovation. Of course, this didn’t go well with Bae, “what in the world is this?!” “Yeah, how many game rooms does this make? Thirty?” Cheire chimed in while sipping on a cappuccino. “You do need to tell me she has torn down the UI War Room for this?” Bae complained. “Yes!” Lycka’s voice said as she stepped out of the room. “I even built a bathroom in this place. With a nice little kitchen right across from the bathroom.” “That’s disgusting!” Bae said. “And besides, Bae, the UI War Room was moved to accommodate the augmented reality machine that you bought from Mordecai.” Lycka fibbed with a smile. “You cheap little rotter! How much did that cost you, a newborn baby?!” Blair accused. “You will thank me someday!” Bae defended. “Knowing that little pipsqueak, he probably gave you the outdated model and sold it three times over…” Selena bellowed. “Ladies, it’s okay. Everybody gets hustled once in our lives,” Lycka teased. “I don’t care, I got what I wanted…” Bae uttered while twirling her hair. “Now, onto pressing matters,” Lycka said as she got serious. Today, we bear witness that we want to be the very best that no one ever was. Today, we unlocked the power that is inside. Today, we celebrate our Pokémon Day!” She proudly announced. In the crowd went… silent. All because they’re still trying to process a Pokémon inspired room that is possibly going to affect spending and multiple R&D departments. Selena, being their leader, tried to see the softer side of things, “Well, that’s really good, your Majesty, but is this really necessary?” Lycka scowled at her, “Yes, it is Selena! This day means a lot to me. This franchise means a lot to me. Most importantly, this is the first thing that we have bonded together when he came into my life.” Selena already knew the deep connection between her and the franchise and along with herself. It’s just that when she got older, she didn’t really know how it positively affected Lycka. It was since then she became more hands-on with not just the empyrean, but with the development of everyone in the Crux. “Okay…” Selena agreed. “But, what do you want us to do?” Lycka smiled as she nodded, “Good question! Bae, the spreadsheets!” “I didn’t know I was counting imaginary monsters all day… About their codenames for something more important…” Bae complained as she snapped her fingers. Then, a 75-inch screen TV turned on in the room, and it displayed the spreadsheet that Bae was working on. “So, as you all know, I had help putting this little spreadsheet together! And together, the eight of us are going to build our team of badass Pokémon!” Lycka announced while being giddy. The reaction was mixed. “Oi, I’m just going to say this out loud because I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But I have no idea what this game is!” Blair admitted. “No worries, this game is easy to play and easy to learn,” Lycka assured. “Let’s all sit down at our Pokémon war table, and I will go over the simple rules.” As the empyrean take their seats, something is interesting with the chairs and the seats. They were all color-coded with their own Crucis Sentinel emblems. About less than an hour later she gave a crash course about the franchise and the game in general. Fortunately, they have a grasp of the franchise, and most of them were actually intrigued by it. (Author’s note: if you don’t know the game Pokémon by now, just google it and read the rules about the game.) “Okay, any questions so far…” Lycka asked. Chelsea raised her hand, “do all of them actually say their names in a different language, like a Morse code? And if so, is it possible for the trainer to learn this code?” “See, this is why we never let you play video games, squeaky…” Blair criticizes. “It’s just out there for the world to see! Is that wrong?” Chelsea wondered. “Any other questions?” Lycka running out of patience. “Yeah, we got no questions. We were down for whatever!” Blair answered. “I’ve always felt like the empyrean have always been like the leaders of our community. Like we are literally the gym leaders of the Crux. So that’s what we’re going to be, gym leaders!” Lycka announced. “This is have to deal with a lot of training and math?” Cherie wondered. “The best thing about Pokémon is that you can be as meticulous or as lazy as you want to be! But yes, everything has a method.” Lycka answered. “There are actually 18 types to choose from, and there are over a thousand types of Pokémon I know for a fact that can fit your personality. I even preselected some that I might think will fit you like a glove. Selena, the Dragon type. Your majestic, you’re virtually indestructible, you’re also fierce. But you are also a rare beauty in a land of conventional.” Lycka explained as Selena blushed a little. “Erika, you are dark and mysterious. You also embraced the dark as your own and seek comfort in it. You are the dark type.” Erika was sitting through a straw as she lifted up her head and uttered, “I am the dark,” with murderous intent. It almost made Bae run out of the room, but Rebecca stopped her. “A couple of no-brainers. Chelsea is the fire type, and Blair is definitely the electric type.” Lycka making quick work. “Cherie is a steel type.” “Not my first choice, but I’ll take it!” Cheire accepts with a smile. “You’re both an Army brat and a fashionista. I know for a fact the steel type is going to fit you well. Just like Rebecca and the ground type. Underrated but very versatile.” Lycka said as Rebecca nodded. Lycka then glared at Bae, “normal type.” This made Rebecca laugh. “Wait a minute! The normal type is… Normal! Why did you choose normal?!” “Because you’re plainer than white coastal white rice with no salt and pepper! That’s what you are!” Lycka argued. This made Bae cry a bit, “Why can it be anything else? Everybody else has something. What about grass? I’m a gardener!” “All because you grow strains of marijuana in your room doesn’t make you a gardener…” Lycka said. “I KNEW IT!” Rebecca comically instigated. Bae was mortified as she heavily blushed, “I don’t smoke that anymore, your Majesty!” “Whoever said you smoked it? Besides, you should do more drugs. I will probably help you chill the fuck out,” Lycka said. “And besides, these are chosen in advance. Normal is a good type for you because you never handle anything extra. So if you want to choose other than normal, you can do that. But as I went down this list, you are afraid of bugs, you are afraid of ghosts, you can’t fight, you’re afraid of birds, you hate picking up heavy things like rocks…” “Fine, I’ll take the damn normal type!” Bae relented. Rebecca reached over and rubbed the small of Bae’s back, “Bae-love, this is a computer game. We are here to have fun.” “Easy for you to say. At least your type actually does something or has something in value!” Bae complained. “Anyway, I got you all something,” Lycka left the table and ran into one of the storage closets. Then, she pulled out eight boxes that had different names on the front of them. She even distributes them one by one, “Don’t open it yet!” As she was done distributing the boxes, the seven opened them to see custom-made Nintendo Switch with their signature colors, Crucis sentinels emblems on the docking station, and joy cons. “Oh, these are so pretty!” Cherie said. Selena examined the product, “This custom job is amazing.” She praised. “They even got my favorite shade of blue!” Chelsea praised. “I was going to buy one, but now I don’t have to. Thanks a bunch!” Blair obliged. “Awesome, now I have two. Trading will be a problem for me!” Erika said. “I guess you can now officially call me the legendary drunken Pokémon master of my time is finished,” Rebecca said with a laugh. Everyone was very excited and grateful for getting a brand-new custom-made Nintendo Switch. However… “Mine is just white…” Bae criticized. “It’s cream white, Bae. And your dock station is a mixture of cream white and sky-blue!” Rebecca pointed out. “I took the liberty of downloading the two games, Pokémon Scarlet and Violet, that are in your Nintendo Switch game consoles,” Lycka said. “Okay, so… Would we do? Just play games?” Selena wondered. “Yes, we are a club!” Lycka said. “And besides, one of Xerxes’ kids is into this game as well.” She fibbed. “Ooh, is it who I think it is?” Erika cooed. “Yes, and this one will go by the name of Bowser-Kaga,” Lycka identified. This made Rebecca laugh out loud. “You do realize I am going to find out who this person is,” Cherie reminded. “I know you are, but keep a lid on it. This is supposed to be fun,” Lycka said. “But remember, you still have to work and train. So I suggest we do it as a weekly thing.” “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison. “So, let us begin!” Lycka happily shouted. As time went on, the amazing eight would play this game together and come together to play this game. We got the week, and then it became month after month, and then one full year has passed. To say that the Aethereal Queen was impressed by their hard work was indeed an understatement.

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#Magicalgirl #religion #darkfantasy #theprojecteleven #pokemonday

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archichilled · 2 years

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Intimacy

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: This is fluff but it did mention blood, wounds, and scars at one point. Other than that nothing, I think? (Correct me if I’m wrong though)

A/N: I wrote this a while back based on a dream I had so it might be a little janky and I might have been a little rusty in my writing, and since it’s based on a dream it may come off as selfish content but I hope ya’ll like it because I thought it was really cute.

Wanda noticed the groans of pain whenever you tried moving around too much, along with the sharp breaths you take in before having to move your body. The past few months have been hard on all of you, but it was especially tough on you. Tony had assigned you to multiple missions in a short amount of time because you had to make up a debt you owed him.

Although Wanda was getting pissed off with how much work you had to put into, she understood that this was how things worked around here, and if she intervened then it wouldn't really benefit anyone. So it's been excruciating for her to see you leave so early for a lengthy amount of time only to come home with a new set of bruises and scars all over your body.

She was thankful that those back-to-back missions were already over and that you were finally able to rest. When you came back home from your latest mission, you didn't even bother greeting the rest of the team or changing out of your uniform, you immediately made your way to your shared bedroom and collapsed on the bed. You slept through the entire rest of the day, no one from the team wanted to bother you because they knew you deserved that rest after everything you've done lately.

And now here you were, in front of Wanda, basically topless as she looked at your scar-filled back with her head cocked to the side. She would be lying if she said she didn't find those marks attractive, especially with how they curved along with the muscles of your back, shoulders, and arms.

You were trying to take off the rest of your clothing, you wanted to take a shower to freshen up for your day but the still recovering wounds were making it hard for you to move around.

Wanda got up from her position on the bed and made her way to you. The palms of her hands rested on your shoulders, causing you to look at her and you could see the sympathetic smile on her beautiful face. You tried avoiding her gaze, a little shy that you had to ask for help for even the simplest of tasks. "Hey, uh... could you help m—"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it, milaya." She said with a loving smile. You merely nod your head as you allowed her to help strip you from all of your remaining clothing. You were about to step into the shower when Wanda had stopped you, you looked at her with a confused expression but she still had that smile on her face. "I said I'll take care of it. You should relax."

You couldn't really wrap your head around what she meant with that, but seeing her strip down in front of you really wasn't the thing you were expecting. To be fair, it wasn't the first time you had seen each other naked, but it was still surprising to see her bare in front of you, and it still made your breath hitch in your throat.

She helped you step inside the shower, following you inside as she let the water hit both of your bodies. The moment the warm water hit your back, you had instinctively flinched at the sudden pain your open wounds had caused. Wanda eased your pain by slowly washing off the remaining gunk and blood on your body, keeping in mind not to overdo it since a lot of your wounds were still sore.

You let out a satisfied sigh, looking up to the ceiling and letting the water hit your face, it pounded against your skin softly allowing for an almost euphoric feeling.

Wanda traced her finger around the scars that decorated your skin, following each line with dedication as your eyes closed. A feeling of contentment bubbled deep inside of you. This was a whole new level of intimacy between you two. Nothing sexual, just pure love and bliss.

"Would you like me to use the soap and shampoo?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper as to not interfere with your blissful state. You nodded slowly. "I would love that."

Wanda took the soap and washed every inch of your body. You would grimace here and there at the stinging sensation from your wounds, but it was nothing Wanda couldn't console. She made sure to take it gently, slowly moving the loofa around your body to ensure she cleaned everything.

You notice her stop, causing your eyes to flutter open. She was putting down the loofa and reaching for the shampoo when you stopped her. "Yes, milaya?"

"May... May I return the favor?" You shyly asked, but of course, Wanda allowed it. She handed you the loofa and watched you closely as you moved it around her bare body. Her gaze was intense, enough to make you unintentionally hold in a breath. But it was a gaze you would forever want to be on you. Wanda studied you closely as you moved shyly, gaining confidence the longer you went on.

"You're doing so well, detka." Wanda complemented, causing a blush to creep into your cheeks. She noticed the sudden flush on your skin and she let out a giggle, cupping your cheek and pecking you on the lips. "You're being so gentle, my love. Don't worry. I won't shatter."

You couldn't find the right words to say. Her presence was so much to take in, her gaze was focused on you and you alone, this new form of attention had left you utterly speechless. You were frozen in place, which was sign enough for Wanda to slowly take the loofa from your hand as you continued to bask in her presence.

She got the shampoo and put a decent amount on the palm of her hand. "Do you mind bending a little bit forward for me, detka? I don't think I'll be able to fully reach your hair."

You merely nod once again, far too deep into a trance to utter so much as a word. You did as Wanda said, leaning forward a little bit for her to reach your hair and scalp.

Her fingers interlaced with your locks, massaging your scalp ever so slowly. The sensation was nothing you've ever felt before. You felt so loved. So seen. For the first time in a long time, your heart was full and blissful, your mind didn't wander to anyone or anything else.

All that mattered at that moment was the intimacy and attention Wanda was giving you. It was enough to bring you to tears, and unbeknownst to you, your tears had freely fallen from your shut eyes. Before you knew it, you were a sobbing mess in front of the love of your life. However, Wanda being Wanda, she found a way to make that better too.

"It's okay, darling. Let it out. Let it all out." She comforted while continuing to massage your scalp.

You felt like jello the entire time. You were floating in a dream, too lost in the current moment to worry about anything else.

Wanda was so perfect. She was one of the most powerful people in the world, and here she was treating you like a fragile flower. Tending to your needs and desires, taking care of you, and loving you with all of her heart. It was surreal. You couldn't believe your luck.

"I love you, Wanda." You said in between your tears, you leaned your head on her shoulder and peppered kisses along her skin. Wanda let out a sigh, arching her head to the side for you to leave more kisses on her skin. "I love you too, milaya."

Both of you just held each other, too lost in your own little world. Wanda loved the soft kisses you left along her skin, nothing too aggressive or sexual. It was just you showing your gratitude and love for her. It didn't take long for your kisses to reach her lips, and she welcomed the affection, admitting to herself that she was looking forward to it.

"Love you." You repeated against her lips and she couldn't help but smile. "I hope we're like this all the time, Wands. You make me feel so loved."

"Oh, milaya. What I wouldn't do to have this moment on loop forever. You make me feel so loved too." She responded and rested her head against your chest.

You held each other for a little bit more before Wanda had rinsed off the shampoo and soap from your hair and body, doing the same for herself. She stepped out of the shower first, grabbing a towel and bathrobe for herself and for you as well. She helped you out and you both patted yourselves dry with the towels, wrapping your bodies in the bathrobes.

She pulled you to the chair in front of your table, where all your personal items were and she let you sit down. You smiled, face scrunched up in laughter. "Wanda, what are you doing?"

"I want to take care of you. So let me, okay?" Wanda insisted, sitting down on your lap and grabbing the towel in your hand, instinctively you had held on to her hips to support her. She slowly dried your hair, giggling every time she saw your face making a goofy expression.

She finished off drying your hair by kissing the crown of your head, dropping the towel to the ground and she was reaching over to your desk to take something. You glanced over to her hand and nodded to one of the drawers. "My hair gel is in the top drawer. Can you get it for me?"

"Hair gel? No! Let your curls come out, I prefer seeing them than you hiding them." She scolded, gently slapping your hand away. "No, I hate my curls!" You whined like a child but she wasn't going to tolerate your playful outburst and she immediately shushed you with a kiss. "Come on, milaya. Do it for me. Your curls are adorable."

"Fine, I'll let you do what you want, darling." You gave in, to which Wanda responded with a thankful kiss on your lips. Instead of reaching for your hair gel, she reached for your hair moisturizer behind it. She scooped a fair amount of it on her hand, spreading it to the other before applying it to your head. Slowly but surely, she massaged the material delicately into your scalp and down your locks, the sensation causing you to let out a relaxed sigh.

Wanda was far too focused on tending to your hair for her to notice the adoring gaze you had, eyes focused on all of her beautiful features. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her emerald eyes fixated on the task she was doing, and her nose was scrunched up in her focus. To fill the silence, although you enjoyed how serious she looked, you decided to open up conversation topics. "How would you feel if I took up Russian classes?"

Wanda stopped what she was doing to look at you, a smile crept to her lips as she rested her chin on her hand, cocking her head to the side. "Russian classes eh? That would be interesting. Mind sharing any you've learned so far, milaya?"

"Well, I've been practicing with Natasha and she taught me a little something. I've been trying to say it for the last couple of weeks." Your words piqued Wanda's interest, causing her to raise a brow. She leaned her elbows on your chest, her face was awfully close to yours as she had a playful smirk on her lips. "Alright. I'm all ears."

You took in a deep breath, wracking your brain of all the previous lessons you had with Natasha, a sudden feeling of anxiety bubbling up inside of you. With Wanda's eyes fixated on you, you sheepishly recite you and Natasha's practiced words. "Ty moy ray, moye nebo, ty moye solntse. YA lyublyu tebya vsem serdtsem. (You are my paradise, my heaven, you are my sun. I love you with all my heart.)"

After saying those words, you studied Wanda's features looking for any sort of reaction. You saw a smile spread across her lips, a blush crawling up her cheeks, and she hid her face behind her hands. You laughed at her adorable reaction and playfully smacked her arm. "What!? Did I say it right? Was there something wrong?"

She snaked her arms around your neck and shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. "Ty ocharovatel'naya, milaya. (You are adorable, darling.)"

"Natasha didn't teach me that one so you're going to have to translate for me, love." Wanda couldn't help but let out a laugh at your honesty, earning you another kiss on the lips. "I said you're adorable. And I love you with all of my heart too. Thank you. What you said was beautiful."

You were about to speak again, but she cut you off by placing a finger on your lips. "As for your Russian lessons, however, I'd love for it to be a bonding experience for us. Maybe even add Tasha to the mix."

"Can't wait." You said excitedly as Wanda moved to grab some of your makeup. She took out your eyeliner, leaned forward, and started applying it to your eyes.

Your hand had roamed her back, fingers slowly tracing invisible shapes along her robe as she patiently applied a light amount of makeup on your face. "I didn't know my girlfriend was such an amazing make-up artist."

"You want me to make you look like a clown, milaya?" She threatened and you immediately squirmed underneath her. "Wanda, no!" You whined and she had a feign evil look on her face. "I'm gonna draw clown lips on you!"

You struggled as she pinned your arms above your head. "Wanda!"

With your hands above your head and Wanda effectively disabling you from moving, you had prepared for the worst, but to your surprise, the worst never came. Surprisingly, Wanda was just staring at you.

She giggled, tapping your nose causing you to flinch and all she did was keep those beautiful emerald eyes on yours. "I would never do that to your beautiful face, milaya. You're far too pretty for me to do that."

"I'm not that pretty, Wanda..." you said shyly, looking down to the ground to avoid her intense gaze. Wanda didn't take that and she immediately returned your gaze to her own, brows furrowed in disbelief. She let go of your hands, moving her own to cup your cheeks, stroking your skin gently with her thumbs. "Darling, no! You're so, so beautiful. You continue to take my breath away every time you kiss me. Everything becomes brighter whenever you enter a room and I can't help but smile whenever I see you. Milaya, you're a ray of sunshine. Everyone's eyes fall on you whenever they hear your beautiful laugh."

Your cheeks flush with a crimson red, heart pounding in your ears and tears pricking at your eyes. "You... you really see me like that?"

"I don't need to use my powers to see how beautiful a person you are, Y/N. Both inside and out." Wanda reminded, pointing her finger to your chest, where your heart is. "You have a heart of gold and it's that kindness and sincerity that I love most about you, milaya."

"You know, if you told me back then that I'd be so astronomically lucky that the most beautiful and most powerful person in the world would be head-over-heels in love with me, I would have thought you were crazy." You joked and Wanda face-palmed herself. "Your occasional jokes add to your charm as well, Y/N."

A laugh broke out between both of you as you held her cheeks too, mimicking her actions. "Jokes aside, my love. I'm very lucky to have you. There's nothing in the world I wouldn't do to have you by my side forever and ever."

"I am extremely lucky to have you as well." Wanda said and leaned forward to rest her body on yours, burying herself in the crook of your neck. "I'll always be right here for you, right by your side always."

"Forever and ever?"

"Forever and ever."

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gurugirl · 3 months

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can we start over | part 5 sneak peek

As requested!! - Sorry not proofread fully! 1k words

...

Mr. Allen was on the phone again. He’d called you into his office but the moment you stepped in he got a call and told you to sit and wait. That it would only be a minute.

And it was only a minute. But then he got another call and now it was 23 minutes later while he was still yammering about some person who was just the worst.

You were used to it, though. Mr. Allen was retired so nothing was a rush for him anymore. Which also meant he held other people up. But waiting for your boss was the least of your worries.

“What was that?” You turned to look behind yourself at the wicked witch as she stood near the edge of the foyer.

“He’s late again.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“That is correct.”

She rolled her eyes, “What’s the point of having a personal assistant who can’t even keep the boss on schedule?”

“Lazy,” she spoke under her breath.

You tilted your head and squinted your eyes at her, “That’s the last thing I am. Now, if you don’t mind, my workday is over. Have a good evening.”

“I don’t know why we bother with the room for you,” she was standing in the doorway when you turned around.

And instead of stopping at a drive-through for fast food, you decided you’d stop at the grocery store and pick up ingredients to actually make something fresh.

tags: @theastrologie @sassamanda77 @princessaxoxo @eiffelmezarry @justfattiethings @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @icumforbaldrry @harrrrystylesslut @straightontilmornin @elidoho @bananabk9756

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miekasa · 3 years

Text

six thirty

+ pairing: armin arlert x (fem) reader

+ genres and warnings: college au, enemies to lovers… kinda… in a very nerdy academic rivalry kind of way, me being a comedian you’re welcome, fluff, smut/nsfw content

+ word count: 5.6k… pls say sike

+ notes: shout out to ryn for listening to me during our very many rambling sessions and also for extorting me into posting this. consider it a late birthday present for my favorite menace </2

+ side notes: no i am not a part of armin nation and i never want to be, nor do i wish speak of this again.

Armin Arlert is the perfect student. Prompt and well prepared during lecture; smart and insightful during office hours; the apple of any teacher’s eye. Unfortunately for him, so are you.

If you asked Armin, you were a little too clever for your own good, and liked to make it very well known that you believe you’re the smartest person in any room you walk into. That may be true, but it doesn’t mean that he has to sit there and worship your superiority complex.

If someone asked you, you’d say that Armin was a know it all, and a manipulative little piece of shit. Again, not a completely false statement, but perhaps a slightly biased character analysis.

Neither of you are wrong. It’s why you’re both the bane of each other’s existence.

There’s a noticeable grimace on your face, chin in your palm, elbows resting atop your desk, as you turn your head to where, sure enough, Armin is seated where he always is: first row, right side, directly in front of the podium, like perfect little teacher’s pet he wants to be. He doesn’t have any books to unpack like everybody else because a shiny, blue iPad is propped up on his desk in place of all of that. He’s robably looking through his pre-written list of showboaty questions to ask during lecture. Like he’s a cut above everyone else.

Maybe some of the other morons in this course, but not you, that’s for damn sure. You bet that if you broke his thousand dollar tablet he wouldn’t think he’s such hot shit anymore. Maybe that would knock him down a couple of pegs.

“Look at him sitting there with his stupid blue eyes, and his stupid Bieber haircut, and his stupid, shiny blonde hair, and his stupid fucking glasses. I bet they’re not even real and he just wears them to—”

“Did you just call his hair shiny?”

You snap your head to your left, “What—no, of course not. I said shoddy, he’s probably a bottle blonde. Maybe all the chemicals from the hair dye seeps into his head and warps his sense of reality.”

“I’m pretty sure you said shiny.”

“Shut up, Annie.”

She raises an eyebrow at you, “You got something against blondes? Because your track record would beg to differ.”

“Once. We kissed once, and it was truth or dare, and we were both sloshed.”

“You still chose me,” she reminds you, pulling her notebook out of her backpack.

You huff, ignoring her words and turning your head back to Armin, this time finding him twirling his stupid fucking expensive Apple Pencil between his fingers like it’s nothing. You can feel your eye begin to twitch.

Perhaps he can, too—or maybe he can just feel your eyes boring holes into him—because he turns in your direction and ceases his pen twirling the moment you make eye-contact. More students filter in, walking past your line of vision, but each time they move, you and Armin meet gazes again; neither one of you daring to look away, a palpable tension between you.

His eyes might be icy blue, but you can see the rose pink tint underneath his skin, even from the distance; a familiar blush that spreads across his nose and cheeks. You exhale with a silent laugh, breaking your eye contact before he grows completely red, just in time for Dr. Zöe to start the lecture.

Everybody thinks that Armin’s so brilliant, so smart, so untouchable. You know that his only genius is that he’s fooling everyone into thinking that he’s the kind, humble, little nerd boy who wouldn’t harm a fly, when that’s far from the truth.

Armin is mean. He’s competitive and possessive and snarky and sly. He’s the definition of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but you’re pretty sure the only person in the world who might believe that is Eren. Though, you’ve heard some of the insults Armin throws Eren’s way, and they’re not exactly soft. Granted, that’s a factor in any friendship, and most of his jabs are coated with a layer of intellect the brunette likely doesn’t understand, but that doesn’t make Armin any less sarcastic. It just means Eren’s too dumb to know what’s going on.

Poor kid. Maybe it’s for the best.

That’s all to say that Armin is nothing but a big talker—not even; a smooth-talker, is more like it. He comes across as perfect, all good and sweet and soft, because that’s what he lets people see. Nobody else looks through to the sharp tongue and ragged edges, because they’re too busy cooing over innocent blue-eyed baby in front of them.

But you know that Armin, the one he doesn’t want other people to see: the one that’s so good, he’s bad; so sweet that he’s sick; so nice that it’s cruel. And you know just how much pressure to apply to make his façade crack.

And you intend on doing so.

“I don’t know which formula to use—hey, are you two eye fucking again? Cut it out, I’m trying not to fail over here,” Eren exclaims, poking Armin’s shoulder with his pen.

The jab averts the blonde’s attention back to his friend, eyes wide as he blinks himself back to reality. He curses under his breath when he feels a familiar warmth creeping across his cheeks. Few things piss Armin off like the way he gets red in the face after thinking about you, or even just looking at you, for too long. Whether it’s red out of pure annoyance, or another feeling he tries to push down, it’s irritating, and above all, embarrassing.

He spares one more glance over his shoulder, to where you and Annie are sat a few tables away in the library. You’ve looked away by now, focusing back on your notes, but Armin swears he can still see that irritating smirk on your face from this angle.

He rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. He should be able to keep it together around you by now, but he can’t, and it bothers him. You bother him.

“We weren’t eye fucking,” he refutes, turning his back to you completely, “She’s such a little know it all sometimes, s’annoying.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. He knows that you and Armin don’t get along, but he doesn’t understand why. Armin knows almost all your friends, and you definitely know all of his—Eren would even go as far as to say that you and him are pretty close friends—so it’s not a matter of not spending time together. You’re also the two smartest people Eren knows. In theory you should have more than enough to talk about together, but every time you’re in the same room, you hardly acknowledge each other outside of surface level commentary, or glances that border on staring.

Thankfully, the bickering remains in the classroom for the most part. Eren’s seen you and Armin go at, and he’ll be the first to admit that it’s beyond intimidating. Though, a little part of him finds it oddly entertaining, and he can’t help but to be impressed. All the more reason for you two to start playing on the same team.

Eren thinks the two of you should get to the root of the issue already. Which, if you asked him, has very little to do with your rivaled academic genius, and a lot to do with your lack of it concerning your feelings for each other.

“She’s not that bad,” Eren vouches for you, “I think you two might get along if you ever spoke outside of trying to one-up each other in class.”

“I’m not trying to one-up anybody,” Armin rolls his eyes, a nasty habit he’s picked up as of late, “And if you stopped and used your brain for a moment, then maybe you could solve the problem.”

“I did use my brain!” Eren’s lips fall into an offended pout, “But none of this makes any sense to me! I fucking hate math, you know that.”

Armin sighs, feeling sympathetic for Eren as he slumps into himself defeatedly. He knows that Eren isn’t dumb, but math in any capacity is certainly not his strong suit. He also knows that he shouldn’t give Eren all the answers, but sometimes he needs a little push to get him there. A little bit of added guidance and motivation to keep him going. It’s either that, or he has to trick Eren into doing the work himself, but clearly that method wasn’t working out today.

“You already solved for the activation energy, now you’re supposed to use the Arrhenius equation in the expanded form.”

Eren’s lips fall into a small o-shape, as his eyes scramble across his paper again. “But—how do you—”

“There’s two measurements given for temperature.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Okay, right, but then—”

“You have to convert it to Kelvin first or it won’t work. It’s given to you in Celsius.”

Eren furrows his eyebrows together, and then it finally clicks for him. He mutters to himself as he puts his pencil to paper to begin to work through the problem, “How do I convert—”

“Add 273.15 to it. Make sure you put the bigger one first in the equation, or else you’ll get a negative error.”

“You didn’t even do it,” Eren huffs, angrily punching numbers into his calculator, “How do you know it’s right?”

“Because I took this class already,” Armin reminds him, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, “Isn’t that why I’m tutoring you?”

Eren coughs over his embarrassed blush, “Oh, yeah, right.”

It’s quiet between them as Eren makes a final attempt at solving the equation, carefully and proudly circling his answer when he’s finished. He looks to Armin with bright eyes, and is content when the blonde gives him a reassuring nod, confirming that his answer is correct.

“Well that was a bitch to work through,” Eren sighs, stretching his arms behind his head with a slight yawn, “Chemistry is nothing but glorified math. It’s barely a science.”

Armin shrugs, but he doesn’t disagree. He isn’t the biggest fan of chemistry, unlike somebody else he knows. “Why’d you take chem if you knew it would have so much math?”

It’s Eren’s turn to shrug, slumping back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, “I gotta take all the pre-med requirements… just in case.”

“You wanna go to med school? Since when?”

Eren averts his eyes from his friend, a telltale sign of his bashfulness coming over him. It doesn’t happen often, but Armin knows it’s sincere when it does.

“Dunno. I’m not sure of it, just wanna keep my options open, you know?” Eren replies casually, “Doctors help make a difference and all that, and surgery looks kind of cool. Besides, if my bastard father could do it, how hard could it really be?”

A gentle smile grows on Armin’s lips, “You can do it. If you really want to, I know you can.”

Eren’s head snaps up, eyes wide and filled with affirmation and adoration. He relaxes his expression quickly after, but the pink hues are still present, “Thanks, Min.”

From his position he catches eye of another head of familiar blonde hair over Armin’s shoulder, and beside it, your own hair. There’s a flash of a moment when your eyes meet Eren’s, and you offer him a small wave before turning back to Annie to resume doing your homework. Eren barely gets the chance to wave back, but a dopey smile sits on his features at your kind gesture. It fades when he looks back to Armin, once again pondering the animosity between you two.

You and Armin aren’t all that different, you just need to get to know each other better. Actually, Eren thinks that you might make a good couple if you both stopped overthinking it.

“So, what’s the deal with you and (_____)?” Eren asks, bending his right knee to wrap his arm around his leg and rest his chin on top of it, “You act like she kicked your cat.”

“What?” Armin questions, flustered, “What—no, she wouldn’t touch Soup.”

Eren quirks an eyebrow at that. “I still can’t believe you named your cat Soup.”

“It’s technically a nickname.”

“A nickname for what?”

“…For Miso Soup.”

Eren blinks. “Okay, if she didn’t mess with Soup, then what’s the issue? You scared of her or something?”

“Why would I be scared of her?” Armin asks, tone incredulous; then softer, more subdued, like a kid who doesn’t want to admit they’re wrong, “’M not scared of her.”

“You stare at her like you are—well, you look kind of angry, but also scared. Like, when you see those balloon things outside of car washes. You hate them, but you can’t look away from them—”

“I am not scared of those!”

“You are, and it’s okay,” Eren waves away his friend’s denial, “Oh, I get it—is this one of those things where she makes you nervous, so you respond with anger and sarcasm instead of thinking through your feelings?”

“You’ve been going to therapy for one month, relax.”

“Maybe you two should go to friend therapy and work this out,” Eren bites back, “It probably doesn’t help that she’s always with Annie. They both look like they would murder someone with no remorse. I admit, it is kind of scary… but it’s kind of hot, too.”

Armin spares him an unamused glare. Eren crosses his arms in defense, “What? I’m not wrong. It’s sexy in a scary kind of way, maybe that’s why you’re always eye fucking. I don’t blame you, she’s hot. I would let her and Annie axe-murder me without regret.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and do problem six, I don’t have all day.”

Eren huffs, but flips the page to the next problem, grumbling under his breath as he attempts the, “It’s not as sexy when you’re mean, you know.”

Armin hits him silent.

Tuesdays are Armin’s favorite days because he only has one class. Sure, it’s three hours long, but it’s much more bearable than his usual eight-hour day.

It’s also the one class he shares with you. Which is why he’s always mentally exhausted by the end of it, but physically, he feels like he could punch a wall; all his pent up anger and frustration is channeled into his body and he’s desperate for an outlet for it. It’s a feeling he hates to love.

Annie seems to have cut class today seeing as she’s not next to you; and it’s almost as if it’s emboldened you to mess with him even more than usual.

He bites his tongue as Dr. Zöe enthusiastically uses your latest point as a segue into the final topic of the evening. He made that same point ten minutes ago. You just worded it differently—admittedly, more concisely, but somehow with a little more nuance, than when he had hesitantly proposed it—and, yeah, maybe you made it sound more convincing, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t come up with it first. If his stupid, fancy stylus didn’t cost upwards of $200 he might have snapped it in half.

You’re definitely the better conversationalist, that much he can admit. Words have never been his forte and he hates the way you can talk circles around him, and that there’s so little he can say to make you stop.

He wishes you would just shut up. In fact, he’d like to shut you up himself.

Thankfully, class ends sooner rather than later. Armin finds himself briefly talking with Dr. Zöe afterwards, most other students having taken the opportunity to leave early for the night. To nobody’s surprise, you’re not one of them, having stuck around to talk to the professor, too.

“The two of you should consider lab research this summer,” Dr. Zöe suggests ardently, walking between the two of you as you exit the lecture hall, “I could really use two students like you!”

Armin chuckles at his boisterous professor. He’s known about the research opportunities at their lab for quite some time now, and he knows that you have, too. “I don’t know that lab work is really my strong suit.”

The three of you come to stop at the hallway intersection, the professor now standing across from you and him. You give them a polite smile, “And I’m not sure that collaboration is mine.”

Armin spares a glance just in time to see you flash one of your own in his direction. Dr. Zöe’s eyes flicker between the two students rapidly, a slight squint to their eyelids.

They aren’t quite sure why their two brightest students seem to despise each other. They wish you two would just get along already, so that they don’t have to spend the summer training half-witted chemical engineering majors how to use basic lab equipment; and instead, conduct some actual research.

“Well, I hope the both of you reconsider,” they smile, “I’ll see you during office hours, I presume?”

You two nod in sync, sending the doctor off with happy smile, just long enough until you see that they’ve turned the corner further down the hall

“Had fun stealing my point earlier?” Armin questions, looking your way as you still wave mindlessly, eye-twitching at your polite façade.

“I would call it improvement,” you tell him, not bothering to turn in his direction; still and smiling waving like the professor can see or hear you, “You should stick to showing, rather than saying. You never were good with your words.”

Armin kisses his teeth together. He’ll give you what you want, if that’s how you want it.

In a fit of irritation, he grabs your moving hand by the wrist, and pulls you down the opposite hallway, not caring for your dramatic wailing behind him.

“Hey, Einstein, the exit is the other way, do you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Ever heard of observational learning? Maybe if you shut up for a second, you would figure it out,” he snaps, pulling you further.

There’s a door on the left that Armin knows is unlocked, and he’s quick to open it and pull you inside. Before you have the chance to glance around, he has you pushed up against the wall, jaw forced up and forward.

He could scoff at the small hitch in your breath at his actions, clearly a little too satisfied with being manhandled; but instead, he takes the opportunity to press your lips together. Armin quite likes the feeling of your lips on his; warm and soft and far too welcoming; a rare moment of silence.

“Someone could hear us.”

Or not so silent.

“Then be quiet,” he snarls.

Armin feels your fingers weave themselves into his hair, scraping along his undercut in sync with his lips trailing down your jaw. A groan falls from his when he feels you tug at the ends of the strands, just hard enough to force his face back to eye level with yours.

“You’re the one with the big mouth.”

“You’re so smart, huh. Always got something to say,” Armin lets out a low chuckle, deft fingers running down your sides to squeeze at your waist, “You can be really fuckin’ annoying, you know that.”

You mirror half of his ministrations, letting your right hand trail down his chest barely brushing over the very visible bulge in his jeans, before hooking your index finger under the belt loop, effectively pulling him closer to you.

The smile on your face is dirty, but you’re not laughing like he was, “Do something about it then.”

His blue eyes grow cloudy as he takes a good look at you; slowly rakes over your features, from that stupid, snarky look in your eyes, to your kiss-bruised lips, down to your chest, and back up again. Armin finds himself copying your smirk for all the wrong reasons. But it’s your own fault; you always did like to push him one step over the edge.

“Fine.”

Despite your twisted grin there’s a look in your eyes that’s eager; willing; ready for the taking. That same look you have when you talk over him in class; when you pretend to ignore him around your mutual friends; when you want him to fuck you stupid.

Armin uses his right hand to cup your jaw again, closing the distance between your mouths with a less than gentle kiss. He feels your groans reverberating through his body, waves of heat accompanying them and going straight to his erection. Your arch your back into the kiss, but he forces you backwards, left hand flat against your tummy.

Following suit, he pushes himself against your body, pressing his knee between your legs; the thin fabric of your stockings doing little to prevent your thighs from rubbing against him.

He swipes his tongue over the seam of your lips, earning a frenzied whine when glides his tongue across yours, and teasingly licks at the roof of your mouth. Your tongue is lithe against his, but somehow just as deceptive and sly as always, and Armin would be a fool to deny that he loved it.

There’s a spark flickering in his stomach when you push your center harshly against his; and it’s only ignited further when he feels you bite his bottom lip. A guttural growl escapes him, his right hand moving to your throat with practiced ease, pushing the back of your head into the wall.

He pauses for a moment, drinks in your wide eyes and desperate visage, “You are the single most frustrating person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

And he couldn’t get enough of it if he tried. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You must see through his words, into the grainy expression of adoration in his eyes, because he can see it filtering into yours, pupils dilating with both want and care.

“Aw, baby, I love you, too,” you pout, leaning forward as best to can to peck him on the lips, “Now, shut me up and fuck me. It’s exhausting being this pretty and smart-mouthed, you know.”

Armin dips his head into your neck, squeezes against the column of your throat with warning until he hears a gasp escape from your lips. He presses gentle kisses into your skin, in stark contrast to the increasing pressure from his fingers, waiting for one last request, and then, finally—“Please.”

He smiles, loosens his grip for a moment, just long enough to hear your pretty panting, before slotting his lips against yours again. Your moans are lewd and sloppy and breathless between kisses, and it makes his dick twitch in his pants. You really are so fucking loud. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He uses his free hand to push your skirt up, and subsequently dip past the weak barrier of your tights and underwear. The slightest flicker of his fingers against your center has you choking out a moan, and Armin is forced to press his right thumb harder against your neck.

“Quiet,” he reminds you, “You asked nicely, so I’ll give you what you want. No need to be loud about it.”

He watches you nod with short and restricted movements, a sadistic kind of power washing over him at your eager compliance. He uses his middle finger to rub slow, careful circles around your clit; the feeling of your wet cunt against his fingers, coupled with your wanton moaning only spurs on the throbbing in his pants.

“Armin,” you whine, impatiently; but he expected that of you, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes flash to yours briefly, pressing his lips to yours again to swallow your shuddered moans. He dips his tongue into your mouth at the same time he does his middle finger into your cunt. An obscene moan echoing through the classroom, as Armin feels your body arching into his again; feels your fingers frantically flying to his hair, searching for purchase to anchor yourself on.

He pulls away in time to add another digit and watch you groan underneath him. He pushes both his fingers in to the knuckle, carefully curling them upwards to elicit the prettiest sound out of you. He has to admit, it’s probably his favorite thing to hear come out of your mouth.

He keeps a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy with perfect friction, teetering between letting you moan his name and choking you silent. Your hands are frantic in his hair, grasping and pulling and so, so, desperate, Armin can’t help but to finger fuck you harder.

“You want one more?” he questions, but his voice is taunting, words ghosted over your lips just out of reach for you to kiss.

He can feel your leg trembling against his, see you pupils shaking along with your shaking head. Armin stops to smile; he thought you might do that. He could probably make you cry right now if he wanted to. Maybe later.

“Want you to fuck me,” your words short and ragged, eyebrows raised when he uses his thumb to press lightly against your clit, “Armin, please.”

The blonde shakes his head, “You’re dumber than you look if you think I’m gonna fuck you in a classroom, baby, so if you want to cum now, you better tell me.”

You have the audacity to pout of all things, “You’re mean.”

Armin lets out a breathless laugh. “You like it,” he leans forward to peck you sweetly, “So, what’ll it be?”

“Fine, but I want head later, too,” you tell him, words becoming less firm when Armin teases his ring finger against your slit, “Please.”

Armin hums in compliance, leaning forward to kiss you again, this time with more tact, and he chases your whines when he finally pushes a third finger inside of you.

“Look at you,” he croons breaking your kiss and forcing your head back again, “You take it so well.”

“Ah—fuck, there, Armin—there,” you cry, wet heat squeezing around his fingers in intermittent spasms.

Armin watches your chest heave with desperate breaths, air stuttering to pass from your lips to your lungs with his hand around your neck. He can feel your walls constricting around his fingers, feel your body shaking underneath him when he increases his pace. He curls his fingers again, just right, just until he hears you sing a strained call of his name. And when he feels your nails scraping down the nape of his neck, and the slight weight of your body convulsing, Armin knows you’re done for.

He’s nice enough to fuck you through your orgasm, shallow thrusts of his fingers bringing you to and down from your high as he watches you pant for him. He presses small kisses against your throat, up, up, up, until he’s kissing you, and carefully pulling his fingers out.

He removes his hand from your neck, and slides it down your waist to offer you support. He’s not prepared for your sudden pull on his neck, forcing him into a kiss that conveys your content; he’s quick to raise his left hand, palm meeting the wall to hold himself up against your sporadic actions, chuckling lightly into your kiss. You were always so reckless and happy after an orgasm.

You kiss him like you have him wrapped your finger despite being the one pleading moments ago. You do, so he supposes it’s not unwarranted; and he welcomes your flirtatious kisses despite the annoying blush they always bring forth.

And sure enough, he can feel his face on fire when you pull away. Armin scoffs internally at himself; he really should be able to keep it together around you by now. But when you kiss him like that, you kind of make it hard to think straight.

“You’re so good when you’re not… pretending to be good,” you hum, a blissful, hazy look on your features as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Armin shakes his head with a chortle of disbelief; leans forward to kiss you again, “’M not pretending. I am good.”

“Yeah, you’re such a good little saint that arguing with your girlfriend turns you on,” you taunt him, “It’s okay, Armin, you can admit it.”

He groans, out of shallow annoyance this time, and it makes you giggle. “Why are you acting like you’re not complicit in this?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you refute with an exaggerated roll of your eyes, “You get turned on by hearing me talk about biochemistry. I like it when you tell me to shut up about it. We are not the same.”

“Yeah, because you look hot doing it,” he tells you, “Speaking of which, Eren called you hot today, so I kind of need you to slip a neurotoxin in his Gatorade.”

“Aw, Eren thinks I’m hot? Tell him I think he’s hot, too,” you bat your eyelashes at him, but Armin only offers you an unimpressed glare in return.

“I think he might be onto us, actually,” Armin notes, affectionately bumping his nose against yours.

“If he’s onto us, then it’s because you’re the one giving it away, not me.”

“Oh, because you could never do anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” you flash him an overconfident smile before reaching up to kiss to the tip of his nose, “See you’re so smart, baby.”

Armin shakes his head again in disbelief. You’re a handful, he can see that much.

“Come on,” he prompts, “We should go, I still have to finish my lab write up, and I know you haven’t started your paper.”

Armin tries to motion you forward, but is stopped when he feels your hand combing through his hair, and sees the genuine spark of concern in your eyes. “The one for your elective? I thought you said you were going to finish it on Monday.”

“I was,” Armin admits, “But then I didn’t.”

“You want me to help you with it?” you offer kindly, pushing his bangs back and letting your hands fall down the sides of his face, palms resting against his ears.

He nods gently, turning his head to press a kiss into your left palm, before wrapping his hand around your wrist, “I can help you outline your paper.”

You nod in return, and Armin spares one more kiss, before pulling your hand away to lace your fingers together.

Thankfully, nobody’s around to catch you exiting the classroom, or see you holding hands as you make your way out of the building and towards the bus stop. This was Armin’s favorite part of any Tuesday; the one time he could hold your hand on campus without the fear of getting caught by your friends.

He reasons that you guys should probably tell them soon, though, especially if Eren might have an idea of what’s going on. You were bound to get caught sooner rather than later. That, or Eren and Sasha would start meddling.

“If you think Eren knows, then Mikasa definitely knows,” you note, swinging your intertwined hands as you walk through the parking lot as a shortcut.

“Maybe if you actually remembered to hide Soup’s toys, there would be less evidence for her to piece together.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you didn’t forget when your midterms are, I wouldn’t have to emergency cat sit the hour before Mikasa comes around, and there wouldn’t be any toys to hide in the first place.”

“I’m bad with dates, you know that!” Armin pouts, “I don’t say anything when you forget about ten page papers until four hours before they’re due.”

“You’re saying something right now, actually.”

“That’s not what I—you know, you’re so—”

Armin’s quiet when he feels your lips pressed against his cheekily, “Annoying. I know. You like it. You’re not very good at staying mad for very long.”

Armin’s tempted to roll his eyes yet again—he really needs to quit it, or at the very least, get your own temper under control before it’s irreversible and completely rubbed off on him—but takes the opportunity to kiss your forehead, instead.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your eyes twinkle under his affections. “And that you love me?”

He nods, “And that I love you.”

“And that you’re gonna fuck me before you make me write my paper when we get home, right?”

Armin chuckles and presses another kiss to your forehead, “We’ll see about that one.”

Hange huffs as they make their way through the parking. They always forget their keys in their office, and always, inconveniently park half-way across the campus. In their defense, this parking lot is free, and the one closest to the Medical Sciences building is not. So, really, capitalism is the one to blame for their frequent late night car lot strolls.

They hear two familiar voices bickering just as they’re about to step into their car, and are more than surprised to see their two favorite students walking together. Walking together and holding hands. Wait—you and Armin are walking together and holding hands?

Hange blinks for a moment, drowning out the sounds of the conversation after they see you two kiss. Their jaw practically falls to the asphalt and they might not blink for a full two minutes as they process what they just saw.

Their trance is broken when it finally, finally clicks together, and Hange has to try their hardest to contain their squeals before sitting in the driver’s seat, an overly forceful slam to the car door following. They waste no time fumbling with the pockets of their lab coat to fish out their phone, and make a call to their favorite math professor.

“Levi, I told you Arlert and (_____) had to know each other outside of class! I think they might be dating! You know what this means, right? I can have them both in the same lab without worrying they might start a chemical fire, and I won’t have to hire two brick heads this summer!”

Levi has never hung up a call more quickly in his life.

#aot x reader #snk x reader #armin x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #armin smut #armin fluff #eren x reader

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Myth or Movie

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/N and Spencer's children have worked up a plan to get them to meet... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative/unprotected sex, someone is misgendered (nothing too bad, it’s very brief, and it’s sincerely apologized for by the person who misgenders) Word Count: 4.2k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is my 2nd entry for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) Enemies To Lover’s Writing Challenge! This one was one of the prompts she provided: You and (Character)'s kids don't get along, so you have to have a talk. Turns out you... really really get along... and I couldn’t wait to tackle it! I believe my exact words were: “I’m gonna Parent Trap these bitches”... So do with that what you will lol

———

"I'm so sorry I'm late!"

Two heads turn to stare at me as I burst through the doors. I'm out of breath from running through the building, something the staff really didn't seem to appreciate, though their shouts and annoyed glances were the last thing on my mind.

As I try to catch my breath, the two heads stand, and suddenly I feel a lot smaller.

One of them I recognize— Principal Anteros. I'd met with her before over some of Sky's academic achievements, all positive things, which is why today's circumstances make being in this office rather uncomfortable.

It's also why I seem to shrink with embarrassment at my tardiness— and appearance. Waitressing has its benefits, but today's whirlwind of phone calls and a mention at meeting another parent are not any of them.

Speaking of, the other person in the room is one I've never seen before. He's taller than both Anteros and I, extremely well dressed, and probably the most intimidatingly beautiful human being I'd ever met. I can barely meet his eyes, and so I try not to think about what he's doing here—to think about having to talk to him.

I shrink even further.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Principal Anteros greets. Thankfully she doesn't sound too upset given the circumstances. "Please, have a seat."

I do, brushing off my uniform as if that will somehow help my appearance. The soft leather of the chairs, however comfortable they might be, fail to bring me any comfort at all.

"As I'm sure you've guessed already, this is Doctor Reid, Vivian's father."

Great, he's a fucking doctor? This already bodes well for me...

Regardless of my reservations, I turn to him and give a faint smile. He waves in turn, and for the time being I'm extremely glad he doesn't insist on shaking my hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he says, surely nothing but a formality.

"You, too," I say quickly, then turn back to Principal Anteros. "Your phone call sounded urgent... Is everything alright?"

As soon as I say it, I feel kind of dumb. Because of course everything isn't alright. My child's principal called a meeting with another parent, and that can never mean anything good, not to mention the fucking intimidation and awkwardness in the room right now. I almost apologize, trying to explain that that wasn't exactly what I meant to get across, but then I would have just been talking for way too long, embarrassing myself further.

Once again, I'm thankful for Anteros's ability to move the conversation along. "I'm not sure, but it doesn't seem so. I only bring this to attention because Sky and Vivian are both stellar students. They've never had any disciplinary issues or difficulties with other students..."

"No one's hurt, right?" Mr. Reid asks. I know he's just concerned for his child, but for some reason it feels like an attack on me, like he assumes my kid had something to do with it.

"No, no one's hurt. Thankfully there weren't any physical altercations. But it seems your girls are quite... loud."

The doctor looks like he wants to say something, but I'm quick to jump in before he can. "Sorry... Sky is non-binary. They use they/them pronouns."

I half expect one or either of them to make a big deal or just roll their eyes at me, as most people seem to do when I correct them on the matter, but Anteros gives a sincere apology and Reid probably couldn't have cared any less.

I still can't tell if I like him or not...

But that doesn't matter right now.

"What do you mean by loud?" I continue.

Anteros sighs. "Well, while there hasn't been any physical violence, your kids seem to have very heated arguments, usually during lunch or in the hallway in passing... We thought maybe we could resolve it here since, like I said, they're both excellent students, but then it started escalating to classroom arguments... It's a lot of screaming..."

I have never known Sky to raise their voice at anyone, not even in a situation where I probably would have. Lord knows I'm thankful they don't have my impatience and tendency to get pissed off easily...

So what happened that was so bad, it made them snap?

"You... You're sure you mean Vivian is acting out like this?" Reid asks slowly, and I can't stop myself from laughing out loud.

"Come on, she's a professional. This has been going on for weeks, in her school, I'm sure she would know if it was your kid having a screaming match with someone else..."

This time Doctor Reid actually looks over at me, an eyebrow raised, and though I very much believe what I've just told him, the way he's looking at me right now drops my heart straight down to my stomach, like he's the principal and I'm the student acting out—No, it's worse than that... I feel like he's a disappointed parent, but not with Vivian, with me.

I avoid his intimidating stare and look down at the ground. "Sorry... I'm just... This isn't like Sky, either, I don't know what to do..."

"Well, usually when we have these sort of disputes, we like to have the students talk it out amongst themselves with a moderator present. But we've tried that, and it seems that they still haven't made any progress. Now, I know your children are good at heart, and it seems like you both are excellent parents— You know your children better than anyone here ever could. So, I'm proposing the two of you take a meeting some time and try to figure out how to settle this."

Seriously? If it hasn't been made clear already, this man is a doctor of some kind, planets away from my league in any capacity, and I can just picture the two of us in a screaming match close to what I imagine our children's looked like...

Maybe we can just e-mail.

"Okay," he agrees evenly, and I'm surprised he seems this calm considering I've just practically yelled at him... "I have free time this afternoon if you want to talk it over."

"I have to get back to work, but I get done at five," I sigh, wanting to get this over with. "Are you free then?"

"Mhm."

"Good," Anteros chirps, standing and leaving Doctor Reid and I to follow suit. "Perhaps over the weekend we can get this settled."

I sure as hell hope so.

———

"Ms. Y/L/N, wait!"

I have no idea what he could possibly want from me now that we've set a time and place to talk tonight, but I'm just praying desperately that he doesn't want to take this time alone in the parking lot to get back at me for accosting him in Anteros's office...

Thankfully, his face when he approaches seems rather kind.

"You can call me Y/N..."

"Right," he says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and nodding. "I'm Spencer."

"Spencer... So, um... Did you need something?"

"O—Oh, I just... I know you have to get back to work so I'll make this short, but I wanted to see if you wanted to do, uh... dinner tonight?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I just figured since we probably didn't expect for our weekend to go this way... We should make it worth it?"

"Are you really trying to turn this into a date?"

"W— No, not really, I just... You know, I thought it might be nice to... make this less like a chore, you know? A—And don't feel like you have to say yes, it was just a thought, I'm sorry if I made this weirder..."

The fact that I still can't figure this man out bothers me, but right now he's blushing, and he looks like he's trying to save himself from embarrassment, and it's so fucking adorable that I don't really care that I was just annoyed.

So I tell him, "Sure. Why not?"

"Really?"

"Yeah... Besides, Lord knows I haven't gone out for dinner in a long time."

The doctor is relieved, a smile creeping up on his lips that suddenly tugs at my insides and makes me wish for a second that it really is a date he's offering... "Okay, good. Do you want to meet at Waterstone, seven o'clock?"

The excitement starts to drain from me as he says it, followed by an incoming wave of embarrassment. "Oh, man, that... That place is kind of expensive, I don't—"

"Oh, it's okay, I'll pay for everything. I'll even wait outside for you so we can go in together if you'd like..."

Why he's being so nice to me I have no idea, but it's making my annoyance melt and my heart start to beat faster, and I really don't know how to feel about that. In fact I'm pretty sure it's weird as fuck given the circumstances.

But all I have to do is make it through this weekend, hopefully all will be back to normal, and I won't ever have to think about it ever again.

"Alright... It's a date."

———

Out of all the scenarios I'd pictured for the end of the night, this definitely had not been one of them.

I finished my shift at the diner, imagining on my drive home the look on his face when I inevitably showed up with something on my face or stained on my dress; Instead I showed up to Waterstone and was greeted with wandering eyes and showered with bashful compliments.

I expected to get into some type of argument about how each of our kids were better than the other or something, but we ended up talking through their traits with compassion, interest, and pride, all while agreeing that we just have to sit with them this weekend and explain that there are easier, better ways to sort out disagreements than screaming at each other in public.

I expected not to have much fun at all, but by the time we gathered the check and headed out the door, Spencer and I were laughing, just a little tipsy on Cabernet, our hands gently brushing and sparks shooting up my arm at the feeling.

I expected to go our separate ways and walk to my car and drive home, but instead he ended up telling me he was taking the Subway home, and I offered to give him a ride to the opposite side of town where I lived (Waterstone was right in the middle).

I expected to walk through the door, stumble straight up to bed, and sleep until Sky inevitably woke me up with them saying I've slept in too late and needed to get ready for work, but instead I ended up following Spencer up to his door to say goodnight.

And now we're at a fork in the road, and I can take one of two paths.

I can say goodnight, watch him walk in, and then go home and forget about this whole thing.

Or I can keep letting him stare at me until I find myself leaning in to kiss him. Whether or not he'll actually reciprocate is another story, but the little bit of wine tingling in the surface of my body and the dark, intense look in his eye gives me more courage than I've had since I met him.

Before I can make a move, Spencer talks, his voice small and inviting. "Do you want to come inside?" The beating of my heart quickens immensely as he takes another step forward and brings his fingers out to graze my chin. "Vivian's with her mom tonight."

Yes. Vivian's mom, who divorced Spencer pretty soon in the marriage after she just decided his job was too much to handle. He'd quit and took a teaching job, but even still, she declined his pleading to stay married and eventually admitted that she just wasn't in love with him anymore. At least she had the decency to let him have joint custody once his schedule cleared up, and it seemed like they were decent co-parents. Maybe even friends.

I think about Sky, how much they wish their dad had stayed, and how much I wish he had too. I was devastated when he left without anything more than a note. For years it took a huge toll on us, and I barely had the headspace to even think about dating anyone since then.

But here I am now, standing with this man who has also lost a spouse, who's somewhat of a single parent, and who seems kind and genuine enough that I don't think I'd have to worry about bringing him into the life of my child.

Though, I don't even know it'll go that far. I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and so to slow down I look at what's right in front of me. Right now.

Spencer looks at me like he wants to devour me. My whole body is tingling from head to toe. I want to kiss him, and I'm pretty damn sure he wants to kiss me back. He just invited me inside, which means that if I accept, we'll most likely end up sleeping with each other.

Again... Definitely not one of the scenarios I'd had in mind when I left the school today. But it's a damn good one, and he's so hot I want to cry.

My flirty switch turns on so fast, it nearly gives me whiplash. "And what are you gonna do if I say yes?"

"Depends... How badly do you want to walk tomorrow?"

My first instinct is to jokingly tell him to put me in a wheelchair, but I settle for kissing him instead, hoping that gives the same sentiment.

The way he melts into my body tells me I've succeeded. My arms fly up to his neck and pull him closer, and he holds me tightly to him, waiting for my lips to part so he can expertly slip his tongue past them.

I whine out and take a step towards the door. Spencer comes with me and fumbles with the keys in his pocket before reluctantly pulling away to get us inside.

Once we take our jackets and shoes off, he clings to me like static, drawn to me like a magnet, and I let him near without a second thought. Our lips find each other perfectly, like they've always meant to fit together. And as pieces of clothing come off on our way through the house and up to his bedroom, our limbs fit together just as well. Nothing is out of place.

Hell, I don't even remember how inferior to him I felt earlier in the day. Our jobs and lifestyles might seem like polar opposites, but for right now, the two of us are on very equal footing, coming together like it's always been meant to be.

I nearly fall apart when his fingers gather wetness from my cunt, just enough to tease me before pulling away and bringing them to his lips. I watch with a whine waiting on the back of my tongue as he slips his fingers past his mouth and sighs.

"More," is all he manages, and I want so badly to tease him—tell him how I know he can be more eloquent than that—but words are all lost on me too, when he drops to his knees and spreads me apart with ease. I have no choice but to reach behind and grip the foot-end of the bed as he works his tongue expertly against me.

Each of my sighs and whines are met with more avidity from him, taking the form of sharp flicks of the tongue over my clit, and once he adds his fingers to the mix, pumping them expertly inside me, I'm a fucking goner.

I come with a silent shout, clenching my thighs around his face and gripping the foot of the bed so tightly it feels like my hands might go numb.

Once my body loosens, Spencer gets up and kisses me, nearly knocking me over. I'm breathless and dizzy as the tang of my arousal coats my tastebuds. His hands are gentle despite the hunger in his lips, and the medley of sensations of all of these things has me weak in the knees.

"Getting harder to stand already, sweetheart?" he laughs, catching me as I fall into him. His hands clutch at my thighs and he carries me to the edge of the bed, crawling over top of me and kissing down my neck. "That's okay... I'll take good care of you."

I still can't manage to speak as he gently pushes in, the slow burn of him splitting me in two rendering me utterly incapable of even thought. I gladly welcome the pressure, especially once he's inside me all the way and lowering his body to mine. Our chests press firmly together as he pulls back and starts a steady pace with his hips. He traps me with his arms, bringing them to either side of my face. And when his fingers brush the hair from my eyes, he stares into them with intensity as he fucks me.

It's slow and hard. It's heart-pounding. It's earth-shattering. It's everything that makes sex worth having. In that moment we're two equals, so wrapped up in the mere feeling of each other that everything else is just background noise. He breathes me in and I do the same, and with each cant forward of his hips, he brings me deeper into this world we've both ultimately created together.

I want more than anything to wrap my legs around him and keep him close to me, but he's fucking me so good that I don't have the willpower. Instead, they lay spread out, lazy and open as his hips move between them. I'm warm all over, tingling everywhere our skin connects. When he kisses me, swallowing my pathetic attempts at whimpering his name, I'm positive that this is what Heaven must feel like.

Whether it's hours or only minutes later, eventually my body tenses, unable to hold back any further, and two particularly deep thrusts from Spencer send me barreling over the edge.

"There it is, sweetheart..." he praises, caressing my face with long, gentle fingers and leaving little kisses wherever they trail. His voice only seems to help me along, each warm syllable soothing the muscles that pulled taut at his mercy. "That's a good girl..."

I feel tired, calmed, and relaxed, when he pulls out only to jerk off over my lower stomach. Through tired eyes, I watch as he lets go and covers me with his release. Hearing him grunt out my name as he does it nearly wakes me up again, and it even finally brings some words out of me.

"God, you're so fucking hot..."

Well... Not exactly elegant, but the feeling gets across.

Spencer laughs and rolls over so that he isn't nearly crushing me anymore. He kisses down my neck, my arm, and he ever-so-slightly swipes the tip of his tongue over the mess he made before kissing my thigh and getting up to leave— presumably to get me something to clean up with.

Sure enough, he returns shortly with a wet washcloth and tenderly cleans me up. I manage to sit, leaning back on my elbows once he's done and smile at him. He's practically kneeling in front of me again, smiling back as his lips press featherlight kisses to the inside of my leg.

"How're you feeling?" he drawls, letting me pull him up to lay down with me.

"Really good. I haven't done that in so long..."

"Me either... I um... I hadn't really thought much about seeing other people once Lena and I got divorced... I guess I just wanted to put all my focus into being the best father I could, you know?"

"Mhm," I answer, turning to face him and interlocking our fingers. "I know exactly what you mean."

We lay like that for a few moments in comfortable silence, hands and limbs tangled while we breathe the same air and revel in the afterglow we've just created.

Suddenly Spencer laughs, and I squeeze his hand. "What is it?"

"I was just thinking... We probably wouldn't have met if not for Anteros calling us in, right?"

"Yeah..." I piece it together. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

"I just think it's funny, because in Greek mythology, Anteros was an Erote, known as an avenger of unrequited love, and he punished those who scoffed at romantic advances made by others... You and I never even thought about dating after our separations, and yet... Here we are now, because of Anteros."

Hearing him educate me on Greek mythology only serves to remind me how different we are. Still, the little story brings a comforting smile to my lips. "Well... Remind me to send her a basket of muffins or something to thank her."

"And tell her what? That you're grateful she got you laid?"

"Yeah. And what about it?"

The two of us dissolve into laughter that eventually fizzles and leaves us silent again. Our fingers are still tangled, and somehow we've snuggled in even closer.

"In any case, I'm glad I got to meet you, Doctor Reid."

"And I, you, Ms. Y/L/N..."

———

In the past two weeks since that first meeting, I hadn't received any more phone calls from Principal Anteros, which bode as a good sign.

Spencer and I decided to see each other as secretly as we could, which meant only giving vague details to our kids as to what we were doing in our spare time— It seemed weird to spring it on them if they didn't get along, so we figured it was best to wait until the situation was handled.

I tried to talk to Sky about their progress with Vivian, but they only insisted that everything was fine and they wouldn't have to worry anymore. And after relaying this information to Spencer, he informed me that Viv had said the same thing to him.

It wasn't until we both realized that they'd said the same things verbatim each time we asked, that something odd was going on.

And that's how we end up right here, Sky and I sitting on a park bench bathed in the golden October sun while I patiently wait for Spencer to 'coincidentally' show up with Vivian.

Thankfully I don't have to wait too long, because almost five minutes after we sit, I hear the familiar sound of my name falling from his lips, and it's hard to contain the cocky, playful smile that appears upon my own.

"Spencer, hey!" I call back, standing up and going to give him a hug. He pulls me in and he's nice and warm. He smells like burnt wood for some reason, and I want to breathe him in forever. Instead, I settle for a sweet kiss on the lips, both because I simply want to and also because it should baffle the fuck out of our kids.

Sure enough we pull away and look to them, and they look panicked. They have no idea what to do, what to say...

"Oh! Sorry... Viv, this is Y/N, Sky's mom."

The pure amusement in Spencer's voice makes me feel even warmer than being in his embrace. I look to his daughter and give her a wave. "Hi."

"H—Hi..."

It almost seems cruel to laugh at their predicament, but as I turn to Sky and introduce them to Spencer, they have clear annoyance written all over their face.

"Okay, Mom, I think we get it... How did you guys figure it out?"

"What, that you two pretended to hate each other so your principal would have to call us both in to meet?"

The pre-teens look at each other and sigh, truly defeated once and for all. "Yeah," they mutter simultaneously.

"Well, it surely didn't make any sense when you got in trouble for yelling at each other in the first place," Spencer points out. "And then when we asked you how things were working out, you both said the same exact thing..."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out, but we appreciate the effort," I add, reaching out to ruffle Sky's hair. They jerk away playfully, and I can't help but notice their smile as they peek over at Vivian.

"Our plan worked, though, so I call it a win," Vivian says with a shrug.

"As long as you two don't plan on causing any more disruptions at school..." Spencer looks between the both of them, and then at me, his eyes softening as he takes my hand and squeezes it. "Then yes. I'd call it a win, too."

I lean into him and laugh. "Turns out it wasn't Greek mythology that brought us together. It was The Parent Trap."

He raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't get what I mean, and before I can ask or explain, Vivian does it for me. "He's never seen it."

Spencer looks between the three of us like a lost and confused puppy, and we all laugh.

"Well, then, maybe we'll have to have a movie night sometime soon," I offer, reaching out for Sky.

Hand in hand, the four of us continue down the pathway, walking away from the setting sun while dried leaves rustle under our feet.

———

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