#i skipped going to volunteering for nearly a week because of it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daisyvisions · 4 months

Text

Unspoken Words (Pt. 1)

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Pairing: best friend!Sangyeon x afab!reader x enemy!Hyunjae

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Summary: If someone were to tell you that you'd be in a fake relationship with the person you despise the most just to make your best friend jealous, you would've laughed in their face. But here you are... caught up in this exact situation.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Word Count: 4.2K

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Warnings: (18+, minors DNI), fake dating, mutual pining, angst, jealousy, lots of suggestive themes such as: mention of a handjob and orgasm, groping, and fondling with breasts. Mentions of alcohol. Some cursing, lots of kissing and making out, eventual smut in part two. One use of the pet name “baby”. Implied sex and loss of virginity. Lots of time skipping. Let me know if I missed anything! Proofread twice.

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. A/N: And just in the nick of time I’ve managed to write out my Secret Santa exchange gift. This one’s for you baby girl @winterchimez / @midnightfantasiez. You nearly sniffed out that it was me writing for you so I had to deviate and lie to you for a moment so sorry about that huhu anyway! A true blessing that you happen to be my recipient because we both love sangmil. A two-part mini series because I just love to keep you on your toes 😈 Hope you enjoy this gift! Thank you so much for your friendship and all the fun moments shared! Special shoutout to @momhwa-agenda / @aimeecarreros for being my accomplice hehe. Finally a sangmil fic has made its debut on the blog!

‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. Network: @deoboyznet

You never should’ve gone to this stupid spring dance.

The thought in your mind repeating like a broken record as you try to hug yourself from the cold air outside the gymnasium. Tears running down your face as you stare off into the ground trying not to remember the reason why you suddenly ran out of the venue to begin with.

It wasn’t always like this. You were once very content with how things were going on in your life.

With the semester almost ending and all your mid-term grades just enough to pass, you couldn’t wait to celebrate surviving your last year of college with this one magical night. Especially with your best friend Sangyeon by your side.

Right… best friend.

The same best friend that had been ignoring you for the last two months or so (not that you were counting of course). Your mind races as you try to figure out for the nth time what even started this whole issue between you two.

All you could think back to was the beginning of his odd behavior, which started the week after your birthday. At first you thought Sangyeon was just busy with extracurriculars, which was often the case since he was part of numerous clubs and volunteer work.

But then things started to feel off as soon as he would ignore your calls, take too long to reply to texts, hearing from other friends he was just at home when he told you he was “fully booked” to hang out. It was like he was trying to come up with every excuse in the book just to not see your face.

Was he trying to hide something from you perhaps? That idea immediately disappeared as soon as you accidentally overheard his conversation with Haknyeon that one time you were all hanging out at Eric’s apartment.

“What?! You’re not gonna ask her to the spring dance?” You hear Haknyeon’s surprised tone.

“Of course not.” Sangyeon scoffs. “Why would I want to bring her? We’re just friends after all.”

You felt a sudden pang in your heart. Tears threatening to fall down as Sangyeon’s words bore deep holes within your soul. After everything you’ve been through together, this is how he thinks of you?

It shouldn’t have been that deep honestly, but with him ignoring you for the past couple of weeks and remembering the promise you made with each other to go together to the spring dance? It really fucking hurt you. Especially when you and Sangyeon had been by each other’s side since you first met three years ago at your freshman orientation. Instantly hitting it off like two peas in a pod and the rest was history.

Somewhere down the line, you knew you had some sort of feelings for him. Who wouldn’t?

With a smile that can cure any bad feeling you had, how he always took care of you first, the lingering hugs before you had to part ways at the end of the day, the way he would remember even the most insignificant details of a story you were rambling about, and made sure to always message you good night and good morning… He was the dream guy for you.

And even if you had moments wherein you thought he might’ve felt the same way, you didn’t want to sacrifice the strong bond you had with him over a stupid little crush. You just settled with the idea of just staying in the friend zone and not dare to cross any lines with him. Burying any what could’ves and everything else in-between.

Maybe that’s why Sangyeon distancing himself from you hurt more than it should’ve honestly.

So when you were seated at your table during the dance and saw Sangyeon entering the room with his date wrapping her arm around his, you felt massive sting in your chest.

That should’ve been you. It should've been you spending this night with him instead of whoever was currently by his side.

You thought you could go through the night just by avoiding your gaze their table, but the way Sangyeon smiled at his date and at everyone else like nothing was wrong, but his face slightly faltering as he quickly glanced your way, you just had to get out of there before things went downhill.

Your teeth were chattering from the cold air breezing against your exposed skin, nose sniffling and hands wiping whatever tears were leaving marks on your face. Suddenly, a pair of shoes enter your line of vision while your eyes were still glued to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be out here, it’s freezing.” The familiar voice tells you.

As soon as you look up, you find Hyunjae staring down at you. One of his eyebrows slightly raised as he wonders what has gotten you into this depressed state on a special night like this.

“Laugh it up Hyunjae, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? To see me cry?” You look up at him for a moment with your tear-stained face before looking back down at your feet.

Before you could even continue feeling sorry for yourself, Hyunjae sighs and squats down, his face now at the same level as yours. You feel his fingers lift your chin and gently tap the tears away from your cheeks with his handkerchief. Your eyes widen as he leans in closer, making sure not to ruin your makeup in the process.

“W-what are you doing?” you stutter.

“Pretty girls like you shouldn’t be crying.” He nonchalantly replies.

You’re too stunned to speak at his comment. As far as you know, Hyunjae has been nothing but a pain in your ass ever since he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway causing your diorama to break into tiny pieces as it fell to the ground.

Since then, you wrote him off as your sworn enemy. Always finding ways to annoy the hell out of you and get you to react to his antics, making side comments to one another, and his constant teasing that made you want to rip your hair off.

So no, never in your wildest dreams would you hear such a comment coming out of Hyunjae’s mouth.

“Hello?” Hyunjae waves his hand in front of you.

“What?” You shook your head as you were too distracted from hearing the question he had asked you.

“I said, do you wanna get out of here or what?” He sighs as he lends his hand out for you to grab. You hesitate at first. In any normal situation, you would never even let Hyunjae get as close as he did just now, let alone go somewhere with him.

But what the hell… Anywhere is better than here.

“So… who’s the lucky guy that has you bawling your eyes out? It’s obviously not me.” Hyunjae smirks. You had found yourself seated by the bar, eating french fries as you waited for your drinks to arrive.

“It’s uh- It’s a little complicated.” You try to avoid his eyes.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hyunjae pops a fry into his mouth waiting for your answer. Your eyes widen at his suggestion, knowing who he was referring to.

“What? No! I mean- We were never together if that’s what you’re thinking.” You sigh before carefully explaining to him the whole situation you were currently in with Sangyeon. Hyunjae intently looks into your eyes as you tell your side of the story.

“Huh…” Hyunjae takes a sip of his beer.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” You look at him as he drinks, trying to not to dwell too much at the way his neck looks flexed under the dim light.

“You’re really impatient you know that?” He chuckles before taking another sip. “I was about to tell you an idea I just thought of.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it then.” You take a sip of your cocktail this time.

“What if you make him jealous? Like really jealous.” Hyunjae suggests.

“Pass. First of all, I don’t think he likes me that way. And second, who the hell would he even be jealous of? Sangyeon hardly gets jealous by anything.” You squint at him. What a silly idea.

“No c’mon. Trust me, he’ll be jealous alright. Especially when it comes to you.” He eyes you up and down subtly.

“What does that even me-” Before you could even finish your sentence you spot behind Hyunjae a group of students dressed in formal attire entering the bar. And like a moth to a flame, you immediately spot Sangyeon and his date amongst the group.

Hyunjae turns around to see what had been the cause of your panic, his eyes immediately spotting Sangyeon from a distance as well. And as soon as Sangyeon had a puzzled look on his face he knew that Sangyeon had spotted the two of you by the bar, wondering what the hell were you doing with Hyunjae of all people.

You hop off the bar stool, attempting to run away like you did during the dance, but you suddenly feel a hand gently grab you by the arm and pull you back before you could even make a run for it.

“C’mere.” Hyunjae asks.

“Wha-”

“Just follow my lead.” He whispers in your ear.

And before you know it, you feel Hyunjae lips pressed against yours. His hands cupping your face before sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer to him. It takes a moment for your brain to process what’s going on, but your body responds faster by wrapping your arms around Hyunjae’s neck and deepening the kiss.

The way his lips perfectly mold against yours, how soft they feel as his hands squeeze your waist. The little groan he lets out as you slip your tongue inside his mouth, tasting the beer he had drank as your fingers run through his hair.

You nearly moan with how he slowly but expertly moves his mouth against yours. As if he’s taking to memory what your lips feel like in case this moment would never happen again. Both you and Hyunjae nearly forget you’re practically sucking each other’s faces off in public, which was surprising considering the nature of your relationship with one another.

No one could even tell the two of you despised the other as you held each other like lovers.

None of you see it, but the way Sangyeon looks at both of you right now is as if he wants to throw daggers at Hyunjae from across the room. Witnessing the both of you passionately kissing each other makes his stomach churn, a feeling he has never felt before. So many questions run in his head as he continues to watch from afar.

Before he even tries to take a step towards your direction, he sees you both pull away from one another. Hyunjae whispering something in your ear as you look too stunned to speak before taking out his wallet, pulling out cash and settling it on the table before whisking you away out of the bar.

Sangyeon really should’ve brought you to the spring dance like he promised… because not only does he feel like an asshole, but a jealous one at that.

The car ride on the way to your house was incredibly silent, as if what had happened between you and Hyunjae was just your imagination. Except it wasn’t. You could still feel his lips lingering on yours as you try to lean your head against the window and looking at anything passing by.

You’re broken from your trance as you hear Hyunjae’s door closing and his figure making its way to your side of the car. He lends out his hand for you to grab once again, helping you get out of the car and walk you to the front of your apartment.

“So… I’ll see you around?” Hyunjae smiles awkwardly says as he puts both his hands in his pockets.

“Hyunjae, wait-” You grab his elbow as he’s about to turn around.

“Hm?” He raises one eyebrow.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but-” You huff in-between, “let’s go with your plan.” You watch the little mischievous smirk appear on Hyunjae’s lips.

“If you just wanted to make out some more you could’ve just asked.” He teases. You’re about to slap him on the arm but he catches your hand and holds it tight.

“I’m kidding! Just… Let me know when and what time we can talk about it more alright?” He squeezes your hand gently. You don’t know why but a tiny little butterfly flutters in your stomach as you feel Hyunjae’s thumb subconsciously stroke the back of your hand.

“Okay… Thank you by the way for tonight-” you tiptoe a bit to hold Hyunjae’s cheek and leave a light peck on his lips. He’s caught off guard by your action, almost leaning forward some more to continue kissing you but you pull away quick enough before he does.

“Y-yeah, sure. Anytime.” Thank god it’s night time he thinks, otherwise you would've easily spotted the redness flaring in his ears and made fun of him for it.

“Call me okay?” He squeezes your hand once more before letting go and walking back to his car. You watch him drive off before heading up to your apartment, leaning against the front door and letting out one big sigh of relief.

“What the hell did I get myself into?”

“If you really want this to work, we have to set a few ground rules.” Hyunjae he pulls out a pen and paper from his bag, immediately writing down a numbered list for you both to fill out.

“Rule one- if one of us wants to stop this thing at any given moment, the contract will end.” Hyunjae says as he writes it down.

“Hmm.. what about rule two- if any of us catch some sort of feelings for one another, the contract is immediately terminated” You add. Hyunjae scoffs at the idea.

“Catch feelings? Seriously?” He looks up at you with a smirk. “Is there something you’ve been meaning to tell me this whole time?” He continues to tease.

“I’m serious! It’s only gonna get complicated for us to execute this plan if feelings are involved. Haven’t you seen the movies?” You ask him.

“Fine, you have a point.” He writes down your suggestion earlier.

“Okay, rule three- kisses are a must if you want this thing to work.” He looks at you in the eyes. “And other things couples do.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Fine, but nothing beyond second base please?” You scrunch your face at the thought.

“Oh?” Hyunjae looks at you with a few twinkles in his eyes. “So does that mean I get to play with your-”

“NO! Not that. Like y’know, just waist touching and maybe the occasional touch of the ass. But definitely and absolutely no touching my chest whatsoever.” You point your finger at him. “I'm serious.”

“Alright alright!” Hyunjae raises his hands up in defense. “Anything else you wanna add?”

“Let me see the list again.” You grab the paper from his hands, carefully examining the words written before nodding.

“This looks good. Yeah, I’m fine with this.” You hand the paper back to Hyunjae.

“It’s a deal.” He says as you both shake on it before getting up to part ways.

Before you have a chance to take a step towards where your class is, Hyunjae pulls you into his chest and leaves a kiss on your lips, making you squeal in surprise.

“Sit with me during lunch. We start this today, okay?” Hyunjae reminds you. You nod your head before shyly giving him a kiss on his cheek and walking away to head to your first class of the day.

Sangyeon could not keep his eyes off you during study period. It had been this way every time you happen to be in the same room as him. You looked beautiful as ever of course but he could feel his blood pressure shooting up every time he would be near you.

Ever since that night he saw you kissing Hyunjae almost two weeks ago, it was like the two of you were everywhere.

He hated the way Hyunjae would always whisper something in your ear and you would laugh at whatever he said. Or the way his hand would find purchase on your lower back. And not to mention the way he would brush any loose hair behind your ear before kissing you goodbye.

It should’ve been him. He should've been the one doing all these things to you. He should've been the guy leaving you all those loving kisses, holding you by your waist, reminding you of how beautiful you look every single chance he got.

If only he was honest with you that night.

Sangyeon’s internal monologuing was cut short when he sees you getting up from your seat and patting Hyunjae on the shoulder before making your way between the bookshelves in the library.

As you slowly search for the book you need for your English paper, your shoulder bumps into a semi hard surface. “Oh! I’m so so-” you whisper but stop mid sentence as the familiar scent of cologne hits your nose.

“Hey….” Sangyeon whispers.

“Uh- Hi.” You back away from him a bit as an awkward silence falls between you two.

“How are things going? We haven’t talked in a while.” He fiddles with his own fingers, trying to think of the next words to say to you.

“Good I guess? Just trying to make it through the semester and stay motivated.” You respond.

“Sure looks like it-” Sangyeon mumbles. But you clearly hear him and scoff at his rudeness.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” You cross your arms against your chest.

“Seriously… Hyunjae? Why him?” He loudly whispers. “You’re better than that.”

“Yeah?” You step a little closer to Sangyeon, closing the gap between you two.

“Well where the fuck have you been huh? Where were you when I needed you?” You match the level of his tone.

“You don’t understand-”

“Then explain it to me then Sangyeon! I’m listening.”

He tries to speak but nothing comes out, panicking that this might be the last chance he could get to explain why he’s been so distant.

“I-uh” His eyes look everywhere else except you.

“Nothing? Thought so.” You push past him, making sure to harshly nudge your shoulder against his.

Sangyeon tries to follow you, but as soon as he steps out between the bookshelves he sees you head out of the library while Hyunjae scrambles to grab all your things from the table and chases after you. He sighs out of frustration combing his hair as he mentally curses at himself.

Oh he really fucked things up didn’t he?

“And he had the nerve, THE NERVE to tell me I know better. I can’t believe him!” You pace back and forth in your bedroom as you rant to Hyunjae about the events that took place in the library

“I honestly don’t know if I should feel offended or flattered at his little comment about me.” Hyunjae’s eyes follow you as you continue to move around.

“Think about it this way, at least we know the plan is working. Otherwise he wouldn’t have approached you like that.”

“Maybe? Ugh! Why are men so dumb?” You sigh.

“We think with our dicks that’s why. Well… maybe that’s just me.” He smirks, trying to crack a joke to break the tension. His little joke becomes successful when you look back at him and chuckle.

“Forget about him,” Hyunjae adds. “Tonight we drink to celebrate passing yet another exam and watch movies til we fall asleep or you decide to kick me out. Whichever comes first.”

He pours a full glass of wine for each of you as you plop down beside him and get cozy.

“Fine, but I’m picking the movie okay?” You tell him as you open your laptop and search for your favorite comfort movie.

Hours pass, almost three bottles of wine finished, and the movie long forgotten as you decide to chat with each other about anything and everything instead. It’s been nothing but laughs and mocking each other as you reminisce all the times you pissed each other off and funny stories of one another.

“Oh the look on your face was fucking priceless-” You laugh out loud, trying to catch your breath as you recall one embarrassing moment of Hyunjae.

“Well what the hell was I supposed to do then huh? Tell the professor I was getting a handjob under the table during his class?” His voice raises in defense. “Not my fault she couldn’t resist me.”

“You looked so mortified too holy shit-” You laugh.

“I was nearing a fucking orgasm okay? Then he calls me to the front of the class to write down my answer for the stupid formula. That professor practically edged me!” His cheeks starting to turn even more red as you continue to laugh at him.

“Ow it hurts, wait-” You clutch your stomach from the pain of laughing too much.

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how you like it then-” Hyunjae lunges forward, pulling your arms away to tickle you furiously.

You squeal out his name, trying to push him away while he tackles you. As you try to squirm out of his grip, you don’t even realize the position you’ve gotten yourselves into. Your body caged under his as he grabs your wrists and pins them down at each side of your head.

As the laughter starts to die down, Hyunjae looks down at you with heavy eyelids. You look incredibly pretty under him in this moment, he thinks to himself.

You didn’t even do anything in that moment but it was like he felt so drawn to you. Like you were a siren pulling him in. Your breath hitches as he leans down closer to your face, briefly stopping to search for any sign of consent before fully pressing his lips against yours.

This obviously is not the first time you two have kissed. But for some reason, this kiss felt different than all the other ones. You both kiss each other slowly, lips molding like a perfect dance as his hands let go of your wrist and hold you by your waist instead.

And just like the first time you kissed, you find yourself automatically wrapping your arms around him and running your fingers through his hair, pulling his body closer to yours as kisses travel down from your jaw to the most sensitive part of your neck.

You feel your core blooming in heat as his tongue expertly swirls inside your mouth. How it pulsates for him as you feel his hands go under your shirt, stopping right under your breasts.

You suddenly gasp as his hands start fondling your bra covered chest, gently kneading them as he continues to leave small marks on your sensitive skin with his lips.

A choked moan comes out as you feel his manhood throb against your core, reminding you of the thin layers of clothing, your thin pajama shorts and his sweatpants that stand between you two from crossing any lines.

“Hyunjae, wait-” You try to slowly push him off. His head pulls away to look at your face.

“Oh shit. I’m- fuck sorry no chest stuff-” You see the panic look in his eyes. But before he’s able to pull away, you grab him by the wrists and press his hands deeper into your chest.

A deep groan comes out of his mouth as he squeezes your breasts again, feeling your sensitive buds slowly hardening under your bra.

“No it’s not that. I-” You close your eyes for a moment before swallowing the lump in your throat. You feel your cheeks become warm at what you’re about to confess to him.

"I've never done stuff like this before..." you nervously say.

It takes a few seconds for your words to sink in before Hyunjae looks back at you with widened eyes.

“Oh uh- are you sure? We can stop. We don’t even have to do anything more-” He caresses your cheek.

“The thing is…” You pause to slowly swipe your thumb on his lower lip. “I want to-”

You look up at him with the most innocent looking eyes and Hyunjae swears to himself that he’s never seen anyone look at him the way you do. Like he had hung the moon for you. Hyunjae softly smiles at you before leaning to kiss you once again,

"Then sit tight baby… Because I'm about to rock your world."

(Part 2)

315 notes · View notes

weebsinstash · 11 months

Note

consider; multiverse shenanigans with a spider!reader where they make some offhand comment about how their heat/rut is coming up soon and they'll need some volunteers to cover patrols while they're down and half the society is like 'o damn that sucks, yeah i can swing a tuesday' and the other half is like 'your WHAT is coming up???'

and it turns out that a decent chunk of the multiverse has no idea what a/b/o orientations even are and it somehow just got totally lost in translation until that very second that this was a thing. what do you mean omega???? what the fuck do you mean you just thought i was a really boring smelling beta?????????? y'all motherfuckers are SNIFFING PEOPLE?!?!?!?!

now consider a miguel that is not from an a/b/o verse hearing about this and doing a little research to figure out exactly what a heat/rut is and just getting sucked down a rabbit hole and going feral for the idea that you're going to be in a highly suggestible and vulnerable state for nearly a WEEK and he's going to miss it!!! he didn't get invited!!!! what the fuck!!! the man spends a solid 48 hrs immersed in really bad multiversal porn and comes out the other end hungover and weeping that he nearly missed out on this

so he takes it upon himself to do a little rearranging, some scheduling, some scheming, and lo and behold you find yourself stuck in this crappy half-built nest in nueva york with miguel, who has no real idea how he's supposed to actually perform for you while ur like this and is just making it up as he goes- and totally ignoring the cultural and consent issues he's digging up doing this bc its biology right? so its fine? people in ur universe do this all the time, he has no idea why ur complaining just let him help u out jeez-

Some rando Spiderperson intending to be transphobic: --and they want us to accept everyone as whatever they say they wanna be now, as if men can get pregnant!

Reader, without skipping a beat: what the actual fuck are you talking about, my father carried me and my siblings for 6 months

Miguel is just starting to know you and is actively trying to learn more about you and one day you just, I dunno, you two do a mission together and he gives you praise and you just look at him with a big smile 😊 and your ass straight up PURRS for a few moments and he's just like 🥺❤️ gatito... ❤️

The man sees you talking to Jess and Peter B one day and O'Hara is watching from a distance because he's, awkward and not sure how to approach you, and suddenly his super hearing can pick up someone in the room talking idly about you, or even explaining ABO stuff to another person. "Yeah, see em over there, holding Peter Bs kid? Those Omega always have nurturing instincts. It's cause they're wired to spit out tons of babies. They're the breeders. They even have natutal pheromones to calm down their mates and friends and children" and suddenly Miguel's ears are burning "youre tellin me my darling might wants lots of little babies running around? Fantastic."

Mexican/Irish and also Catholic Miguel who wants one of those STUPID HUGE families where people have at least 6 kids and it's like "oh a typical Omega pregnancy usually has at least two or three babies in one go and theyre shorter than normal human pregnancies huh? Interesting :)"

Some members of the Spider Society are like "why is Miguel kind of lowkey being a dick to me all the time now" oh well its very simple you see, Miguel read your file and found out you're an Alpha and you share this weird connection and also natural biological attraction to HIS lil honeybee and He Hates You Now. Fuck off out his house and don't let him see you talking to his baby or else

He gets really close to you one day, I mean like physically, or hey maybe emotionally too, and he's hugging you and he gets a whiff of your scent and it's something he can't even describe, something that has a carnal biological effect on his where he just wants to keep holding you and hearing your voice like a drug, like it's oxytocin on crack, and suddenly in true scientist fashion he's researching you, your universe, its history, its medicine, its culture.

Can't help but imagine a Miguel who goes full yandere and gives no fucks about doing what he wants for darling and splices his DNA with Alpha DNA so he can officially claim you as a mate, scenting, knotting, and everything. Lyla gives you instructions to meet him in a specific place and it turns out he's been experimenting on himself and he's deep in a rut and suddenly your knees are getting pushed into your chest and you're getting passionately knotted and filled up by a grunting growling purring Miguel who's leaving love bites and kisses all over your skin, just, his size alone would make him hard to get away from, you don't even need to add Alpha instincts and being able to track your pheromones on top of that 😳

Miguel "just let me 'help you as a friend'" O'Hara who tracked when your next heat was going to kick in and maybe even drugged you so it comes at a specific time and he makes it where the two of you are together or even trapped or something when it happens and, here he is, "oh just let me help you, isn't it hurting" but like. We all know it's because he wants to. Like could you even imagine he's, you know, using his fingers and he goes to remove his pants or free himself or whatever and you're just like "no I'll get pregnant" and he just kind of has a Microsoft error window in his brain because it's like. Oh you'll get almost DEFINITELY pregnant? Guaranteed? You're trying to tell the man you dont want to and instead at least internally he's like "promise? 👉👈"

#yandere miguel o'hara #yandere stuff #sinprompts #miguel o'hara x reader

563 notes · View notes

hemulenish-hijinks · 1 year

Text

Welcome to the first round of the Best Hemulen Bracket!

I am your host, @flowerbloom-arts, and over the next few weeks we are going to pick our favorite hemulens from each pair, carefully selected according to commonality.

There are many, many hemulens in the Moomin franchise as a whole, but who is the best?

After careful considering, I sadly must only pick 32 of them to compete against eachother. You may not know some of them, but I will be providing information on each one for each poll!

Polls:

Side 1:

Mr. Hemulen (bug collector) vs Mr. Hemulen (plant collector)

Aunt Hemulen vs Nana's Fiance/Mr. Hemulen's Nephew

Party Dresser vs Riviera Boutique Keep

Charity Volunteer vs La Goona

The Pisciculturist vs the Philatelist

The Botanist vs the Zoologist

The Inspector vs Henry

Officer 1 (Moomin Begins a New Life) vs Officer 2 (Moomin Builds a House)

Side 2

The House Seller vs Sadling

Wimsy vs the Big Hemulen

The Park Keeper vs the Park Wardress

The Small Hemulen vs the Jailer

The Orphanage Principal vs the Hemulen Aunt

The November Hemulen vs the Hemulen Who Loved Silence

Dragon Adopter vs Intruder

Hatton the Prospector vs the Muffle

Here are some reasons why I chose these hemulens in particular, you may skip this part:

1. I didn't pick any 2019 Hemulens because they tended to be rather muddled adaptations of other pre-existing hemulens. You may consider those versions when it comes to voting if you'd like, but be warned, nearly none of them are accurate to the source material.

2. The Hemulens had to have atleast 2 panels of dialog (the Charity Volunteer) or a relevant role to the story's plot (the Dragon Adopter and Intruder). So, apologies to the cowboy Hemulens from Moomin Goes Wild West and the like.

3. These are honestly the 32 I could remember off the top of my head, there were a handful few others but these were the ones I was personally interested in enough to remember.

4. Sadly some resources are unavailable to me like the Fuzzy Felt adaptation, so if there were any hemulens exclusive to that show that you were confused as to why they weren't included, I'm very sorry.

5. Some characters are either in a grey area or difficult to tell if they're meant to be hemulens, so I picked those who are unmistakably hemulens or atleast generally accepted as such.

#poll bracket #tumblr polls #poll #best hemulen bracket #hemulen #the hemulen #mr hemulen #moomin inspector #la goona #moomin park keeper #moomin hemulen #masterpost #moomin #moominvalley #tanoshii muumin ikka #moomin comics

54 notes · View notes

mandana-the-service-pup · 5 months

Text

Our new vet appointment was a huge success!

I love their protocols for fear-free visits and tbh it should be standard care for all pets. They’re going to switch us to 1 hour appointments so we have more time for miscellaneous training and they said they don’t usually do visits for training specifically but they might be able to work something out for us if we wanted to pursue that.

They were more than happy to follow my lead during the appointment and said almost everything can be done in the exam room with me and I can do the restraints for most things. There are two vets at the clinic who do fear-free appointments and their vet techs are also versed in the protocol so no worries there.

Mandana was happy to volunteer for a blood draw. It took a little longer than expected to collect enough blood but she was sooo good and didn’t hesitate to offer her leg again when they wanted to put vet wrap on it to prevent a hematoma

They are going to do a basic blood panel as well as check her thyroid. They are hoping we might be able to wean her off thyroid meds now that we are away from those environmental chemicals that were making her so sick

She is still having some irritation (not nearly as bad as before) around her eyes from allergies. I suspect it’s the dust as we’ve yet to clean out the HVAC system like we need to and she has a pretty bad dust allergy. They switched us from the NeoPolyDex drops to the eye cream so it’s easier to apply

Occasionally she gets a little bump on her leg, neck or head. I always thought they were related to her allergies but the vet said she thinks it’s a Histiocytoma which is benign and should heal on it’s on in a few weeks. The one she currently has might be infected so she gave us some antibiotics to take and we’ll come back for another appointment if it doesn’t heal on it’s own

The vet had no problem refilling all of her Rxs which is great

The only problem we ran into is that the waiting room was busy and although they have segregated benches all it takes is a couple of large freaked-out dogs to ruin it for everyone. They did eventually move us back to an exam room but I wish they were a little more on top of it. I’m not sure if it was because it was a new vet or because she has been having some issues with the big neighbor dogs but she seemed a bit more stressed out than usual. No barking or whining but definitely “stressing up” which was unfortunate (but maybe unavoidable) for her first visit.

All in all I’m extremely happy with how the vet visit went. I think there are a lot of vet clinics out there who try to do good by the dogs but unless you have protocols in place it seems to be the first thing that gets skipped when they are in the weeds. I’m not willing to compromise on her mental health so I’m happy to have found a vet clinic that stands by their fear-free certification.

#belgian malinois #3 years #service dog in training #cooperative care #compassionate care #vetblr #service dogblr #dogblr #positive reinforcement #vet appointment

17 notes · View notes

thepedanticbohemian · 9 months

Text

THE OUDERKIRK HOUSE sample

CHAPTER ONE:

June 23rd

Mason County, Washington

I go down hard, face first, the toe of my hiking boot catching on a gnarled outcropping of cedar root. I land with an oomph amid poplar and oak leaves, evergreen needles, candy wrappers, and cigarette butts. I heave for breathe and inhale the odor of decomposition. I cough to keep from gagging. I know this smell too well but I never get used to it. I know I'm right again. Sadness grips my gut and I grimace.

I ease myself up, taking care not to dislodge the detritus covering the shallow grave. There hasn't been rain in Western Washington for nearly two months. The little mound looks fresh. The decomp odor tells me a week old, maybe two.

Here's just one more thing I wish I didn't know anything about. Experience is a two-edged sword. Sometimes it’s edifying. Right now it sucks a root.

The search and rescue volunteers and deputies gather behind me as I right myself, situate my hoodie, and look around. Their eyes are all focused on me, then upon the grave. I feel their collective gaze and try to get a grip on my anxiety. My skin prickles and I begin to shiver. I clear my throat and pull myself together, arms crossed beneath my breasts.

“Get Deputy Shepherd,” I say, restraining my urge to run away.

We're in a dense forest, slightly north of Shelton, Washington. On any other day, for any other reason, the hike through this wooded terrain would be beautiful. The oak and poplar leaves, cedar, and pine needles crunch under our feet. A warm breeze rustles the tops of the evergreens, their needles whispering as they move together. However, the weather is far too dry for this part of the Olympic peninsula this time of year. Record low rainfall reminds me there’s a burn-ban in effect for most of Washington state. One positive about that. No rain to wash away evidence.

The rest of the forest is a lush pallet of greens despite the lack of rain. Nothing but fern-clotted shade from so many old evergreens and deciduous trees. We're in the thickest part of the forest with no sunny spots to be found.

It can't be more than seventy here. Still, I have soaked through both t-shirt and purple and gold University of Washington hoodie. Like a lathered horse, I feel the wetness in my pits and rivulets trickling down my back. I understand it's all part of my anxiety, but I fidget in embarrassment. I swipe my palm across my soaked upper lip and chin.

No one wants to find a child’s grave, especially not like this. In these cases, my sole responsibility is to do just that. My visions of what the victim went through are unspeakable. Left arm missing below the shoulder, genitals mutilated and the wound…violated. All perimortem. I shudder and close my eyes but the images are all-pervasive.

And somehow, when I get it right, it’s bad and my fault. Just like when I get it wrong. Funny that. Do I like having bad news all the time? Hell no. I wish little Timmy so-and-so would be found alive and skipping around a park somewhere before he takes the candy from that strange man. We all do. It’s never enough for a grieving family, though. I don’t really blame them. What I can do even embarrasses me.

Five-year-old Noah Nixon went missing from the front yard of his parents’ Olympia home just shy of a month ago. Disappearing into thin air, the press trumpet, and not the first child to do so in the region. Rumors of a child killer circulate—fanned by the press—and people are scared. These types of killings have been going on in Western Washington since the nineties. Still no suspects. Law enforcement calls the suspect the Knife and Hatchet Man, because of his M.O. Using the hatchet to sever the left arm of his victims just below the shoulder. He uses the knife to do the rest of it.

Is it just me, or do we have more than our share of serial killers here?

This psychopath knows what he’s doing and is getting better at this shit than we are. Welcome to the age of television true crime. And such perps don’t joke around. They are serious about their work and will not be caught unless they want to be.

When posters and tearful TV pleas from his parents for Noah’s safe return fail, and even cadaver dogs came up empty, Mason County’s Sheriff, Pete Cody, suggested another tactic.

Me.

I’m Ruth Anne O'Neill and I was called into the case to see if I could find the boy. I’m a forensic psychic medium—not a tarot-card-toting, crystal-ball-gazing charlatan—the real deal. It’s not really my job, but it is what I do. I always try to convince myself my gift was bestowed for the betterment of all mankind, or some such high-brow shit. Oh, and I cuss like a sailor. My Dad was Navy, as is my wasband. I come by it naturally. Fuck is my favorite verb, adverb, pronoun, and adjective. As you come to know me better, you might understand why. Police humor is extremely dark and so is mine. Sometimes, in this line of work, fuck is the only word that suits.

Mostly though, my psychic gifts get me labeled as a witch by the elderly, small town Dutch folk where I live on Whidbey Island. That’s the largest island in the continental US, in the middle of Puget Sound. An otherwise neighborly, rural paradise, the folks point, stare, whisper, and generally shun me in the checkout lanes at Safeway. They say my pale green eyes are eerie and my short, sandy blonde hair makes me look like a dyke. I dress the part just to get a rise out of them. A gender non-conforming psychic is easier to swallow than a witchy hippie psychic, right?

Hell, if I’m really honest, this is no gift. It’s a curse I can’t escape even in sleep. I mostly have the respect of the law enforcement personnel I work with but get lampooned by the press and other non-believers.

I have this…thing…in my head, forced on me since I was six years old. All I really want to do is bake cakes and take care of the guests at the Hummingbird’s Nest bed and breakfast. I’m the chef and half-owner there in Oak Harbor, the largest small town on the island only by benefit of its two Navy bases.

The gift or curse argument aside, I’ve found twenty-eight children—three of them alive—with my visions and dreams. Out of two hundred and ten cases perhaps it’s not the greatest track record, but it is something.

No, that’s not right. Noah Nixon makes that twenty-nine totaling two hundred and eleven in the past ten years. At any roads, the press will lambaste the family and law enforcement for involving a flake like me in what is a serious matter; a missing, and now presumed dead, little boy.

More than just presumed, my intrusive inner voice tells me.

With so many days gone by and zero leads, Sheriff Cody knows we’re looking for a corpse. The smell rising from the debris-covered ground will prove he and I are both right.

“Please, please,” I whisper to myself, “just let it be a dead animal. Don’t let it be Noah.”

My gift-curse tells me better, of course, but it’s my mantra every time I find a grave. Don’t let it be little so-and-so. But it always is.

I try to picture a deer killed out of season and quickly buried after its antlers are removed as trophies. I want to think of the blue-eyed, brunette, cherub-faced Noah, running and playing, going to school, tucked in for a night’s sleep. Anything other than tortured and stuffed into the ground like so much garbage.

Of course, with the gift-curse thing, I’m not wrong once I see the final location of the missing person. I saw the grave in my mind before I fell onto it. It’s more than simply tripping on a root. I was in one of my absence seizures again. Goddamned things make me go all wonky and sometimes even blackout. As if seeing the horrors isn’t bad enough.

Deputy Hal Shepherd makes his way through the overgrown ferns and saplings to the grave at my feet. His olive green uniform jumpsuit has large rings of perspiration beneath his armpits. This makes me feel less self-conscious about my own horse sweat. He squats, ink pen in hand, and considers the scene for about five minutes. After that, he silently paces like a caged leopard around the small burial. He stops at the far side of the grave, glaring at me. He gazes icily at the grave, then pulls out his cellphone, hitting speed dial.

“Send in the forensics team.”

The crime scene investigation team is slow to reach our location, two miles in from the end of the fire trail. I chew my inner lip as they cordon off the scene with yellow and black police tape. I found the scene. Hooray for me, my inner voice ruthlessly teases me.

My visions led us here, otherwise, Noah might’ve never been found. The killer probably thinks he’s clever, picking such an isolated spot for his body dumps. Who would think to look in these woods other than some freak psychic like me?

The next hour crawls by with the click-flash-whir of cameras, and CSIs taking measurements. I watch from behind the crime scene tape as they use tweezers to pick up all the candy wrappers and cigarette butts for DNA and fingerprints. A handful of leaves and needles appear to have blood on them. They go into evidence bags, too.

Shepherd keeps himself busy walking the perimeter while speaking to Sheriff Cody on his cell. He lifts the crime scene tape and walks under it leaving the cordoned area. He spares me a hard look before walking father into the forest.

Those involved in evidence collection speak little beyond whispered instructions to the newbie on their team. The rest of us stand outside the perimeter, silent as the grave. No pun intended. Our busy presence has scared off the wildlife, even the birds. I shift from one foot to the other, my right boot feeling a little tight. I think the seam on my sock is rubbing a blister on my big toe. I think of all this to keep my mind off what's going to be dug up any moment.

Finally, one of the CSIs carefully brushes aside debris and dirt to reveal a greenish, naked, and bloated body. Those of us watching collectively gasp. I’d been right about the mutilation.

Then there’s a little girl's voice just behind me.

Ruthie.

More urgently:

Ruthie!

I look around like I’m crazy. I know the voice calling my name isn’t among the gathering. It’s a voice I haven’t heard since I was six years old. I put my hands over my ears to muffle the plaintive calling. Nope, it doesn’t help.

Ruthie!

It’s strident now.

“Stop it!”

I think I only say it in my mind. Then, my voice ricochets off tree trunks and echoes eerily around us. I hear the crackling sound of the white paper suits worn by the CSIs and nothing else as all eyes turn on me.

“Stop what, Ms. O'Neill?”

A tall, painfully lanky volunteer searcher in a red and black checkered flannel shirt looks expectantly at me.

“Huh,” I grunt, looking from his man-bun to his long beard as I stall for time to think up a good lie.

“Are you okay, ma'am?”

Ma'am? I’m not that old you damned hipster! Keep Portland weird I guess.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Was just thinking out loud. It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure,” Man-bun asks.

I wonder hysterically for a moment if he’s coming onto me. I’m not on enough anxiety meds for that.

“I said it was nothing, okay,” I snap and turn awkwardly away.

My right boot squeaks like a fart and I close my eyes on my renewed embarrassment. To say I don’t want to be here now is a vast understatement. I quick march through the overgrown ferns the two miles back to the fire trail and police and CSI vehicles.

The plaintive voice of my late sister keeps resonating in my head.

Ruthie! Ruthie don’t go. You’re not finished yet.

My brain feels like the Vegas Strip. The number twenty-five is flashing there. That’s when I U-turn and drag myself back to find Shepherd.

Twenty-six if you count Noah, my sister’s voice chides.

I look around for her, knowing I’m not going to find her. A wave of torrential sweat hits me again when I get back to the scene. I can smell my stink and want to be anywhere but here. I need a shower, more coffee, well maybe not coffee. I want to be in my kitchen making my famous everything bagels, not helping find dead kids.

I aim myself unsteadily toward Shepherd. He’s all business and seems done with me now that I located Noah. I’m brassy enough, though, I’m rarely ignored.

“You should call Sheriff Cody. You’re going to need more CSI people out of Olympia. There are twenty-five other bodies here.”

#writing #writers #writers on tumblr #writing community #writerscommunity #writer things #writerslife #novel writing #writers and readers #writing tips #author #author sample #novel sample #book sample

4 notes · View notes

amrago · 9 months

Text

I'm back!

This I have to do with this blog in the next few days.

Change name (no really, I can't stand it anymore);

Create a page for Servant of Chaos (Since it's nearly done now I feel comfortable enough to do that);

Create a WIP page for [cyberpunk novel] that has no name yet, but it's in my mind;

Update my Welcome page with my 4 the words code and news and stuff

Fix my dashboard because i can't see what I want to see;

Delete the side blogs I don't use;

Create a start.me page with all the things i like.

Fortunately next week I'm out of work, so I can do this.

I have the vague-ish idea to publish SoC in October on Royal Roads, but I don't think I can actually make this deadline work. January is a much much more probable date, depending on my daily life commitments. I work 45 hours a week, I'm probably going back to university this autumn (still working 45 hours a week lol) and I have all my volunteering stuff.

That being said, despite my IRL challenges this month(s) I have not skipped a day in writing. The truth is that both writing and reading kept me sane, especially reading. I've read like 20 books in two months because of that.

#updates

2 notes · View notes

heavenlydisaster · 2 years

Text

Before Anything Else

“You counsel veterans all the time.”

“That’s different. This is… way outside my expertise.” Sam crossed his arms and followed Steve’s gaze down to the computer monitors.

James Buchanan Barnes sat unnervingly still and rigidly straight backed in the single chair of his holding cell. The two of them had spent the past two years on a man hunt. Sam could barely keep a grip on Steve’s sanity. There were weeks Steve would think he’d stumbled on a lead and take off without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction. Sam always caught up eventually, usually to a mopey Captain America wallowing at once again losing his best friend.

And yesterday, the elusive bastard had just up and turned himself in.

Maybe that wasn’t quite right. He’d turned up to Avengers’ Tower in New York and asked for Steve. Like a kid asking his buddy’s mom if he could come out and play. Tony had locked the tower down and gone full Iron Man. Not that it was necessary. Barnes didn’t put up a fight. He didn’t even bat an eye at the super suit. Nor did he resist being led down into Tony’s holding cells in sub-basement four.

Steve rubbed a hand over his prickly jaw and took a deep breath. “I don’t trust anyone else to do it, Sam.”

“You realize the man’s tried to kill me, oh, three? Four times? Maybe talking about his feelings with me isn’t the greatest plan you’ve ever come up with.”

Steve sighed and put his hands on his hips. “So skip the feelings bit for now. Just… ask him why he’s here.”

Sam leveled a stare at Steve who hadn’t broken his gaze at the monitors. “We know why he’s here.”

Steve shook his head. “He didn’t… he didn’t recognize me. He didn’t know who I was.”

That was it. Steve wasn’t volunteering himself because he was afraid. It was almost laughable. Steve Rogers would jump out of a plane without a parachute. He’d fight aliens and robots and Nazis without so much as a goosebump on his arm. But he was terrified to stand in front of his best friend again and be nobody to him.

“I’m sure Natasha’d love to give it a whirl. She’s better at interrogation.”

Steve cut a dangerous look Sam’s direction. “He’s not being interrogated.”

“Isn’t he?”

Steve sank into a chair in front of the monitors and put his head in his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll do it myself. Just give me a minute to… think.”

Sam had grown up on Captain America stories. He was a legend, of course. And maybe Sam had painted a trash can lid to mimic his iconic shield when he was a boy. Didn’t everyone? Captain America was a giant. But sitting in the chair beside him, he looked small. He was just a person under all that serum. Even if it was easy to forget when he ran faster than the standard automobile and leapt from buildings without a second thought.

Sam patted Steve’s shoulder and took a deep breath. “No. I’ll go. Can’t promise anything good, but I’ll go.”

Steve looked up with warm gratitude. “Anything you can do, Sam.”

The walk to the elevator wasn’t nearly long enough. Sam was still trying to pick his words when the doors opened to the holding cells. Barnes was the sole occupant. The only other breathing being on the entire level. Sam’s footsteps echoed around him from the high, windowless walls.

Long tendrils of brown hair hung in front of Barnes’ face, obscuring him. He didn’t look up. Didn’t move or acknowledge Sam’s presence in the slightest. What little confidence he’d had on the way down waned. If it hadn’t been for Steve, the man would have killed him a dozen times over. Sam gritted his teeth and crossed his arms, irritation and indignation flooding through him. Easing his self-doubt.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

Nothing.

Sam stretched his back and jutted his chin forward. “Why run off if you were just going to come back?”

Not so much as a twitch.

“Stark said you asked for Steve, but he says you didn’t know who he was.”

Barnes lifted his head slowly and met Sam’s eyes with that icy stare of his. An involuntary chill trickled up Sam’s spine. Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot and sniffed in the cold air.

“Your last mission was to kill him. You here to see that through?”His eyes didn’t waver. Didn’t give anything away.

“See, if that’s the case, you’ve made the stupidest decision a world famous assassin could make. Pretty sure Stark’s got enough power in this room to turn you to dust. Won’t be completing any missions after that.”

Still nothing. Sam frowned and moved around the cell if only to get away from that steely gaze. Barnes didn’t let him go. His eyes tracked him now. Like a lion with its prey. Watching. Waiting. It was unnerving. Sam stopped back in front of the cell again.

“Do you even remember who I am?”

There was a small twitch to Barnes’ dark brows. Brief. A blink and you’ll miss it sort of reaction. He didn’t remember. Didn’t know Sam.

“I was in D.C.,” Sam offered. “I was on the bridge and the Triskellion.”

“Wings,” Barnes said to himself.

Sam nodded. “Look at that. He speaks.”

That icy stare was back the next second.

Sam swallowed hard. “Well, you remember me. What else do you remember?”

The man returned to his selective muteness. After an hour of attempting to goad the man into speech, Sam gave up and returned to the observation room.

“Give up?” Steve asked. He was staring at the monitors.

“Taking a break.” Sam grabbed a water out of the fridge and drained half in the next second.

“What do you think?”

Sam walked back through the last hour. The only time he’d gotten so much as a flick of the eyes was when he’d mentioned Steve. Sam drained the rest of his water and slouched in the chair beside Steve.

“Well, he’s definitely here for you.”

Steve nodded. Expression grim. Still, there was hope nestled in those eyes of his.

“If he’s really here to finish his mission, you gonna let him?”

Steve’s eyes moved back to the monitors. “If that’s what it takes.”

“What it takes to what?”

Steve bumped the first knuckle on his left index finger against the screen. “To free him.”

“You know that’s not a good way of thinking. You can’t really believe sacrificing yourself is going to solve anything.”

Steve brought his fist to his mouth. His stare went far and away. “It’s Bucky.”

Sam turned in for the night and started back the following morning. He could tell Steve hadn’t left the observation room. He likely hadn’t left the chair. But neither had Barnes. They were two peas in a pod even if one was trying to kill the other. The similarities unsettled Sam even more.

“Breakfast,” Sam offered, pushing the tray through the little door in the wall and leaving it to sit on the table.

Barnes didn’t move. He must’ve been starving, but he didn’t go for the food like Sam thought he would. He just sat and stared at the floor.

“Do you like being caged up?” Sam asked. A rhetorical question. Of course he didn’t. Nobody did. “Maybe you do. Why wouldn’t you try to convince us to let you out otherwise?” Sam crossed his arms and paced around the cell.

“Right now, there are two ways you’re getting out of that cell. Dead or alive.”

No reaction as per usual. Threats did nothing. What the fuck did HYDRA do to him? He didn’t care if he lived or died.

“Steve’s willing to sacrifice himself if it means you get out from under HYDRA’s boot, you know. Not that it’ll end well for you if you do kill him. Boy’s got demi-gods on his team. They won’t feel too kindly about you killing their friend.”

Barnes blinked and squinted for moment. He turned his head, tilting slightly. Listening.

“Steve’s not thinking that far ahead. He’s thinking about you. Eating himself up about it.”

Sam stopped pacing again. Barnes stared down at the floor. A strange look had settled over his face. Not the intimidating blank stare. Something different.

“You see why we can’t just send him down here to talk to you. Not if you’re out to kill him. He’ll let you. I can’t let that happen.”

Barnes scoffed and leaned back.

Sam braced himself. This was new.

“Something funny?”

Barnes leveled his eyes at Sam again. “Did he tell you that?”

“What?” It was Sam’s turn to be confused.

“He’s gonna let me kill him. He say that?”

Sam pressed his lips together, wondering if he’d just given away something he shouldn’t have.

“Is that so hard to believe? He almost let you kill him in D.C.. If the plane hadn’t crumbled out from beneath you, you would’ve succeeded.”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed. “He told you that?”

“Didn’t have to. I sat by his bedside while he recovered.” At least it was finally what some could call a conversation.

Barnes turned his eyes to the far wall and set his jaw. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say he was… pouting.

“You have a different side of the story?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Barnes turned his eyes back to Sam and took a deep breath. He stood and Sam took an involuntary step back. Barnes smirked and stepped over to the table where his breakfast sat cooling. He picked up a strip of bacon and ate it in two bites. He paused and stared at the table as he swallowed. Like he was waiting to see if the food would settle. After a second or two, he moved on to the eggs.

They hadn’t given him utensils. Too worried he might fashion them into weapons. He was HYDRA trained after all. What couldn’t he do with a couple of sharp bits of metal or plastic. Barnes ate with his hands unperturbed. It was a little disgusting to watch, but Sam waited. They were actually having a conversation. He didn’t want to break whatever rapport they had built.

It was fruitless. Barnes finished eating and went mute again. Sam continued to try to bring the conversation back around for more than an hour before giving up for the morning and retreating.

Natasha was in the observation room when Sam got there. The monitors had been turned off. It took quite a bit of pressure from both of them before Steve finally followed them out of the room and up to the living area of the tower.

“I didn’t figure you’d be the one to give a serial killer your home address,” Tony quipped as they settled in for a late lunch.

“I didn’t have to,” Steve replied. “Someone doesn’t understand the meaning of discretion.”

Tony sneered and plopped down at the head of the table. “You’re certainly enjoying the spoils of the pompous.”

“You have my best friend in your basement.”

Tony looked over at Natasha. “The one that tried to kill you? Yeah. Sorry. Should’ve just let you punch your way out of this one, too.”

“Boys,” Natasha warned. “Why don’t you both just let Sam do his thing. He’s been making progress.” She turned those dark eyes on him. “Haven’t you?”

Sam shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Boy’s cagey. He’s only said a handful of things to me. I can’t really get much of a read on him.”

Natasha smiled. “Of course you can’t. He’s HYDRA trained. You’re probably answering all his questions all on your own. He doesn’t have to say a word.”

Sam frowned down at his grilled cheese. If anyone would know, it’d be the Black Widow. She was a master in interrogation. He’d seen up close and personal just how good she’d been at getting the intel she wanted. And Barnes was from the same organization. They ran in similar circles. Were trained by them.

Sam decided to take a page from Natasha’s book when he went down to the cells that night. The two stood in silence for an hour and a half before Sam retreated for the night. This went on for two more days. Sam was on the verge of breaking. Finding a different tactic. Of course the silent treatment wasn’t working on the world’s leading expert on the subject.

He was thinking of a way to rebreak the ice when the silence was broken. Sam jerked in surprise.

“I knew him.” Barnes said head ducked and hair dangling over his face.

Sam’s eyes darted up to the nearest camera before he could stop himself. “You knew Steve?”

“I knew him before I knew me. I was still nothing. Just a big, blank space where a person should be. I think I have some of it now. I can’t be sure. Not yet. But before I was anything else, I was his.”

Sam stilled. “His?”

Barnes turned his eyes up to the camera Sam had just looked at. “Yours.”

Sam looked between Barnes and the camera. He began to back toward the elevator when it opened. Sam turned to look up at Steve, but his eyes had found their focus across the room. He crossed to the cell. Barnes was on his feet.

“I should’ve jumped,” Steve whispered.

If the room hadn’t been so large and empty, Sam wouldn’t have heard.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

“How can you say that? How can you think-?”

Barnes’ eyes cut over to Sam. Steve turned and met Sam’s eyes for the first time in days.

“I can take over, Sam. Go rest.”

Sam nodded and stepped into the elevator. He should’ve gone up to the main tower. He didn’t. He found himself in the observation room. His and Steve’s positions reversed. There was nowhere to hide in the holding cells. Cameras spanned the entire floor. There were no blind spots.

“I read about what happened after,” Barnes said. He was much more talkative with Steve. No long stretches where he wouldn’t speak. “What the hell were you thinking?” “I was thinking I followed you into war, it was only fair I followed you out of it.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Barnes’ mouth. If the quality weren’t so high, Sam might’ve thought it was a glitch of the cameras.

“Sap.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

Steve laid his hand on the key panel and tapped in a quick code. The doors to the cell slid back. Barnes frowned.

“You sure you wanna do that?” Barnes asked. “I might kill you.”

Steve smiled. “Like you haven’t had a million chances.” He stepped into the cell toward Barnes.

“Not here.” Barnes set a hand on Steve’s chest. His eyes found each camera in a second.

“Here. Anywhere. Anywhere,” Steve whispered. He was pressing in. Crowding Barnes and Barnes wasn’t resisting. Wasn’t shoving him away and demanding space. He was inviting him in.

“How ‘bout a dance?” Barnes suggested, tilting his head up just slightly to meet Steve’s eyes.

Their hands were around each other in the next moment. They swayed in the small space of the cell. Steve’s head dropped onto Barnes’ shoulder. He was humming. They both were. The same song. Sam couldn’t place it.

“How much of it do you remember?” Steve asked as their swaying slowed.

“Hard to say.” They stopped swaying. Just stood, holding each other. “I’ve been writing it down. What I remember. I can’t always tell dream from memory. I was hoping you could help me with that.”

“Yeah,” Steve’s hand cupped the back of Barnes’ neck. Fingers threaded through the long hair. “It’s been a long, long time after all.”

Barnes smiled and bent his head to Steve’s. He murmured something too quiet for even the Stark tech microphones to pick up. Steve grinned and lifted his head. “You know, the ol’ Steve Rogers’ motto,” Barnes laughed.

Steve was clearly trying to scowl, but his smile wouldn’t go away long enough.

“If it ain’t illegal, it ain’t worth doin’.” Barnes finished.

Steve laughed. “I think I can make an exception.”

They started out of the cell together. Barnes’ face dropped for a moment as they crossed the doorway. He stuttered and jerked to a stop. He squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand to his head. Steve set a hand gently on his shoulder, the other on his waist.

“We’re going to find your journal, aren’t we?” Steve urged.

Bucky’s eyes focused again on Steve’s face. After another two seconds, his expression relaxed again and allowed Steve to lead him to the elevator.

The room was filled with silence as the monitors relayed the empty room back to Sam. He sat dumbfounded at his discovery, not sure what to do with it.

“Well, that explains a few things.” Natasha remarked behind him.

Sam jumped in his seat and whirled around. “How long have you been there?”

Natasha lifted a shoulder in non-answer. She pulled out her phone to fire out a quick text as she sauntered toward the monitors. Her finger flew over the keys swiftly, switching out the cameras. It took her half a second to find Steve and Barnes again.

“No wonder he rejected all those girls I threw at him,” she mumbled.

Steve’s hand was on Bucky’s right elbow. Not in a restraining way. He wasn’t holding Barnes back or trying to keep him from leaving. It was the way someone might hold on to a lover in a crowd. A way to keep from being separated. From losing the other.

“Well, that wasn’t in the comic books,” Sam muttered.

Natasha smirked at him. “’Course not. That’s not the All-American ideal they wanted. I’m sure if you went back and read some of those histories you’d see it.” Natasha pulled up the cameras outside the tower. “I should’ve seen it sooner.”

Sam watched them jog down into the subway and leaned back in his chair, sure they’d lost them. Natasha didn’t blinked. The footage inside the metro station played back. Not busy this time of day. Barnes leaned in to Steve’s shoulder. His mouth was moving, but there were no microphones there. Sam didn’t know what was being said. Steve grinned and rolled his eyes.

He looked strange. Or just different. Steve’s shoulders weren’t so tight. He leaned back toward Barnes casually. It took a while for Sam to realize that this is what Steve Rogers looked like when he relaxed. Whatever else he thought he knew about Steve seemed wrong. He was friendly and had his easy going days, but he had never actually relaxed. Not even when it was just him and Sam lounging on a couch in the tower.

“N train to Brooklyn,” Natasha said. “Keep an eye on the stations. Let us know which one they get out on.”

Sam looked up. “What? You’re going after them?”

Natasha looked annoyed. “He’s still the Winter Soldier.”

Sam looked back at the monitors. “Look, maybe that’s-”

“Relax, Sam. We’re just keeping an eye out. HYDRA is still out there. Be a shame if they cut this little reunion short by trying to get their prized asset back.”

Sam watched the stations until he saw the two get off the train. He dialed Natasha’s number. He didn’t want to tell them. Steve deserved some privacy. He deserved some peace. But Natasha was right.

“Prospect Park.”

“Perfect timing. We’re pulling in now.”

Sam tapped through the security cameras. Stark had backdoor access to every CCTV camera in the city. Likely the world. He was able to follow the two from the station and into the park.

As they got deeper into the park, Steve’s hand slid down from Barnes’ elbow to his hand. Barnes stilled for a moment, meeting Steve’s eyes.

Steve’s mouth moved and Sam wished he’d learned how to read lips. Barnes shook his head and looked around. The park was mostly empty. It was almost dark. The lights were just starting to come on.

Barnes set his left hand on Steve’s chest and pushed him back. Sam’s hand twitched toward his phone again. Barnes pushed until Steve’s back hit a tree and they stood there, noses almost touching. Staring at each other. They hadn’t done much, but their chests were heaving like they’d just run a marathon.

Steve leaned forward until his cheek was pressed against Barnes’ cheek. His lips at Barnes’ ear. Whatever was said made Barnes react. He gripped Steve’s shirt in both hands and shoved him back again. Steve had a lazy sort of smile on his face. Cocky. He looked down his nose at Barnes almost challenging him.

Seventy years of anguish rippled and melted away from them both as Barnes crushed his mouth to Steve’s. Sam felt heat in his cheeks and looked away. His phone vibrated against the metal of the counter. He answered without looking if only for something to do.

“Where are they?”

Sam covered his eyes with his free hand. “Just give them a minute.”

“I told you, we aren’t planning on separating them. We just want to keep an eye out. You know Rogers isn’t going to keep his guard up.”

“Mm.” Sam glanced back at the monitor. “Yeah, but….”

The line was quiet a beat. “They aren’t fucking in the park, are they?”

The heat in Sam’s face grew hotter. “No.”

“Oh, hang on. Clint found them.”

Sam dropped his head onto the table.

“I didn’t think Steve could do that.” She said, mostly to herself.

Clint Barton’s muffled voice made its way through her comms to Sam. “Jealous?”

“No. Maybe a little. He was holding out on me.”

“Privacy means nothing to you, does it?” Sam demanded.

Natasha barked out a short laugh. “I’m a spy.”

“Uh oh.”

“What are you doing here?” Steve demanded.

“Wow! Steve? Fancy running into you here!” Clint tried.

“You took a world famous assassin out of his cage.” Natasha said. “We’re here to make sure he gets back in it.”

“He’s not going in any cage.”

“It was hyperbole.”

“It isn’t happening.”

“Didn’t I shoot you?” Barnes’ voice crackled.

Sam turned back to the monitors. They were standing a few feet apart. Steve between Clint and Natasha and Barnes. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

“Twice.”

Barnes pulled a frown. “Must’ve liked you.”

“As target practice?”

Barnes shook his head. “I could’ve killed you the first time.” He glanced over at Steve who was giving him a hard look. “I didn’t!”

“Sorry, Buck. Say you’re sorry.”

He set his jaw. “She tried to kill me, too.”

“Yeah, but you drew blood.

Barnes winced. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sorry.”

Natasha shrugged. “Clint tried to kill me, too. I’m still friends with him.”

“I was brainwashed!”

“HYDRA?”

Clint furrowed his brow. “Loki.”

Barnes looked at Steve. “What’s Loki?”

“A god. Or so he claims.”

Barnes’ face went slack. “Aw, man. I really am turning into you!”

“What?”

“Now you’re the one having all the fun without me.”

Steve smiled. Sam didn’t think that smile was real. He’d only seen it in the old Howling Commandos footage. It was he only time Steve had smiled like that. He only smiled like that with Sergeant Barnes.

Natasha noticed it the same time Sam did. “It wasn’t the lip ring, was it?”

“Hm?”

“Lillian? You said you weren’t ready for the lip piercing, but that wasn’t it.”

Steve stared at her blank faced.

“C’mon, Steve,” Barnes pinched the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt between his fingers and tugged lightly. His eyes darted back and forth between Steve and Natasha. “It isn’t far.”

Steve nodded and followed Barnes further into the park. Clint and Natasha walked behind them. All that easiness and relaxation from earlier was gone. They were both on high alert.

Barnes stopped at a tree and looked around again. His eyes landed on Clint and Natasha for a moment before flying back to Steve’s. There were no words spoken between them, but they communicated just the same. The way only two people that knew each other unerringly could. Steve turned and blocked Bucky from view while turning his right index finger in the air, ordering them to turn around.

Barnes shoved his arm into a knot in the tree and withdrew a small, black backpack. He tucked his arms through the straps and tapped Steve on the shoulder.

“Where to?” Clint asked.

“What? So you can follow us?”

“Just come back to the tower.” Natasha said. “It’s safest for you both. HYDRA’ll have a hell of a time trying to get to Barnes there.”

Steve looked back at Barnes. Another moment of silent communication passed before Steve dropped his head and nodded. “Fine. But he isn’t going back in that cell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

It was another hour before the four of them returned to the tower. Natasha had turned off her comms as soon as they reached the car so Sam had gone back up to the living quarters. As talkative as he had been when it was just him and Steve, Barnes had become mute once again when surrounded by strangers.

“Two years, man,” Sam said once he’d gotten Steve alone again.

Steve tensed. “I know.”

“I knew there was something. I thought it was guilt.”

Steve nodded. “Of course it was guilt. I abandoned him. Let him get captured by the enemy again. Of course I feel guilty.”

“You don’t think the fact you’re in love with the man played a role in the past two years?”

Steve swallowed hard and refused to meet Sam’s eyes. “If it’s too much….”

“What?”

“I get it. It’s legal now, but people are still what they always were.”

Sam shook his head and set a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “No, man. I’m not talking like that. I’m just saying. Maybe if I’d known the real why’s of it all, I could’ve helped better. Been a better friend.”

Steve cracked a smile, but Sam knew better now. This smile was a peace offering. Only Barnes was lucky enough to get the genuine article. Steve patted Sam’s back lightly. “You’ve always been a good friend. Not many people I can say that about.”

Barnes snuck into the room and fixed himself on Steve’s left. They weren’t touching, but the action still felt intimate. Maybe it was just because he’d seen them tongue wrestling in the park.

“Sorry,” Barnes said. “About…. I wasn’t trying to kill you. Just getting you out of the way.”

Sam pulled three beers out of the fridge and handed them out. “Felt like you were.”

Barnes reached over with his left hand and popped the tops off each of their bottles. “I would’ve. If I had to.” He took a sip of his beer. “I held back too much on the bridge.”

“That was you holding back?”

Barnes ducked his head. “Steve said, ‘Bucky,’ and I couldn’t shake the feeling I was on the wrong side after. They didn’t like that.”

Steve loped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and squeezed. “We’ll get ‘em.”

“You know where the bases are?” Sam asked.

Barnes looked over at Steve. “A few.”

“That’s all we need.”

Barnes shook his head. “I’ve been working through them on my own.”

“And now you’ll have backup.”

“It’s risky.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, that seals it. No HYDRA hunt for me. I hate taking risks.”

Barnes needled him in the ribs with his left elbow. “I think the fact that you’re stubborn and love risking your skin are the two things I never forgot.”

Steve put his lips to Barnes’ ear. “Then there are some things I need to remind you of.”

Sam felt like an unwitting audience. Steve and Barnes had all but forgotten his presence. They had gone from not touching to being glued to one anothers hips. Sam cleared his throat and they both pulled back.

“Sorry,” Steve said, sheepishly. “Believe it or not, we never engaged in public displays of affection seventy years ago.”

“The solace of a cold grave really makes you reconsider the weight you give to other peoples’ opinions.” Barnes said, that challenging stare back in his icy eyes.

“I bet the pair of you would’ve loved Stonewall.”

Steve smiled easily. So Barnes wasn’t the outlet for Steve’s genuine smiles. He was the source.

“I’m just glad we got back when we did.”

Sam tipped his beer to them and turned to take his leave. He could hear them behind him.

“We still have a lot of work to do.”

“Not tonight, Buck,” Steve said, softly. “We can take it easy. Just for tonight.”

The way he said it made it clear. This was an old conversation. Probably a conversation they had been having even before the war. Their whole lives. With any luck, they’d be having it for another seventy years.

#fanfic #stucky #stevebucky #captain america #the winter soldier #oneshot

9 notes · View notes

onsunnyside · 2 years

Text

φ⌎ 𝟏. 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | dark alpha!fratboy!Steve Rogers x omega sorority!reader (dark A/B/O college AU)

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | DARK themes/elements, A/B/O dynamics, 6’6” Steve, mean!Steve, manipulation, (little bit of) soft!DARK, misogyny (within A/B/O designations), assault, sexual tension, scenting, SMUT - minors DNI, non-con to dub-con, coercion, fingering (f), dirty talk, daddy kink, size difference, degradation, dumbification, choking, spitting, p*ssy slapping, squirting, grinding (dry humping, bulge riding), spanking, (a hint of) dacryphilia (but not really, he does lick tears though), humiliation, major power imbalance, possessive behaviour

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | It’s hell week at Howard College and Arcadia Phi has traded their pledges for the fresh faces of Kappa Phi, and you’re one of them. Based off this ask.

𝗪/𝗖 | 9.88K

𝗔/𝗡 | here we go ! and because this is me, the frat is full of familiar characters. I made up the frat/sorority names, steve gives me bully vibes (a bully to other people) but it’s just him acting all high and mighty bc he’s an alpha. pls don’t ask me about frat/sorority chapters, i’m making things up/changing things in this fic. all mistakes are my own. this is a dark fic, the warnings have been given—if you don’t like it, don’t read.

˗ˏˋ𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧'𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

A loud banging on the door makes you jump before you blindly scramble for your clothes. Squinting is useless in the darkness, but you make out the vague shadow looming from under the door as an unmistakable musk follows. It’s woody and smokey, and has been burnt into your brain the moment you walked into the frat house.

“What’s taking so long, legacy! Those floorboards aren’t going to scrub themselves.” A deep voice booms, followed by another round of knocks as the doorknob rattles. “You better come out before we come in.”

“Let her hide, Bucky.” Someone else laughs, “We’ll see how long until Steve breaks the door down.”

You swing open the door, “I wasn’t hiding.” You correct in irritation, holding your clothes to your chest.

“Awfully suspicious amount of time in there then. You know, some girls just got changed out in the open.” Another man quips, his cardigan hanging over his shoulders, “Why couldn’t you do the same, sweetheart? Are you shy?”

“Bryce, shut up.” The blond on your right speaks up, no longer a silent observer.

You meet those clear blue eyes that have been drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Almost subconsciously, you take a step backwards to put some distance between the two of you.

Steve is leaning on the wall, his thick arms crossed over his defined chest, the seams of his t-shirt nearly burst as he flexes. “Why did you take so long?”

You uncomfortably shift as dozens of leers fall on you, searing straight through the skimpy maid costume. “The lightbulb went out and I couldn’t see.” You tug on the back of the dress, hoping to save at least an ounce of your dignity.

The alpha stares at you a minute longer, analyzing your features before snapping his fingers. “One of you get on the counter and change the light.”

A girl your age surges forward, a bright and suave smile on her face as she passes the frat brothers. You keep your head up and slip out of the dark bathroom.

A warmth ghosts your arm, a slow Brooklyn drawl following suit, “Better get with the others, legacy.”

After tucking away your clothes, you sink back into the small crowd of girls, each of you is clad in your costumes. Varying in colour combinations, but all in the same style, right down to the little lace apron around your waists.

The volunteer from earlier returns, a skip in her step as she takes position front and centre, she’s one of the few girls completely comfortable in these circumstances.

Steve walks forward, exchanging a few words with a brunet alpha. You scan over his body, begrudgingly admiring the way his shirt clings to his biceps, well-built chest and tapering to his thin waist. Finally, you reach his long legs and thick thighs outlined by his dark jeans, but before your eyes can go rogue, you feel a nudge.

Wanda is smiling cheekily. “The pictures didn’t do him justice, right?”

You briefly recall the various photos plastered on the school’s website and social media—Steve Rogers, one of the most prominent figures at Howard College. Most known for being the captain of the football team and the vice president of his fraternity, which itself was exclusively for male alphas, leading to a rowdy bunch of men with egos the size of the moon.

You turn to Wanda and lie, “I don’t remember them.”

The beta looks unconvinced, as expected. Ever since you met her last year, she’s been able to read you like an open book, those inquisitive green eyes peeking through your brain to read the thoughts you haven’t organized yourself. Although, you’ve grown used to her poking and prodding, in an endearing way.

Glancing around at the other pledges, they’re all wearing the same hazy expression, utterly taken by the gods of campus a few feet away.

“You seem a little affected despite not remembering…” She trails off, wiggling her nose.

Your eyes widen and your arms wrap around you. “Really!”

“No, but now I know you were lying.” She replies smugly, flipping her long auburn hair over her shoulder. “As if I could pick you out amongst these ones.”

You deflate, thankful your body hadn’t proven that stereotype right—that omegas are sensual fiends and just easy toys—yet another conception that has haunted you for your whole life.

A loud clap echoes through the room, and everyone’s attention snaps to Steve. He’s taller and bigger than his frat brothers, naturally domineering every other person in the room as he slowly paces. “Welcome to Arcadia Phi, ladies, it’s a good thing you’re all easy on the eyes.” He pauses in front of one girl, frowning, “Almost all of you.”

The eruption of laughter makes you cower backwards, your chest aching for the poor girl. Steve was living up to his reputation as clear as day—the vain, cruelly praised star who couldn’t do any wrong, but on the off chance he did, no one would care. His high and mighty designation and status blind any accountability. You’ve only heard a handful of rumours where people disagreed with him, and only a few actually spoke up about it, but you don’t know what happened after the fact.

Who knows what these ruthless alphas are capable of?

The sons of other alphas who have had the world on a silver platter since their presentation. Taking over society with a snap of their fingers as everyone falls to their knees—in submission or fear.

You hated it, but it’s also all you’ve ever known. A little bit of hope sparks in your chest, a faint perhaps things will change. In your past year at this college, you’ve been blessed to avoid the inevitable consequences that come with being a young, unclaimed omega. The disrespect and objectification, and the horror stories of assault and things even worse.

It hurts even more because of your current predicament, dressed in the most scandalous outfit for the pleasure of these men.

It was unfair to be blessed to not face challenges that no one should ever come across. And, that perhaps burns brighter every time you daydream about a life without any struggles or hardships, where your thoughts and words matter, where your voice can be heard and not disregarded solely based on what you are.

Everyone else was given a chance to be something when they presented, for omegas, it was the opposite. The opportunities slip from your grasp before you can even consider them. Truly doomed by your predestined fate. A mere passenger to the life already written for you.

Howard College has stated multiple times that they’re all for omega rights, but their efforts and representation within the board and council are severely lacking. Their words are silenced by their actions, only confirming their true beliefs.

You weren’t surprised.

It was an awful reflection of society itself. The divide gets thicker every day, between alphas, betas and omegas. Alphas and betas were more common than omegas—but that didn’t halt any ill-treatment, it never did and you dread it never will. Growing up, you’ve heard stories about omega trafficking, and that in some places, breeding programs are still legalized and it’s mandatory for omegas to be claimed within five years of presenting.

At least you weren’t in any of those pieces of hell on earth.

Unfortunately, worldwide, omega rights are nothing but an afterthought. Something to consider after everything else has been handled and stabilized, only when there is care and consideration to spare.

Being at the bottom of the barrel, nothing you say or do could help—so you bite your tongue, tugging at your skirt. God, the more you thought about it, the angrier you got. The audacity and self-entitlement radiating from the men across the room were suffocating. But a voice in your head warns you to steer clear of the fratboys who are notorious for coining the term; omega slut walk.

The vice president stops in front of your side of the group, looming over a beta. When he flashes a charming smile, she sighs dreamily, “A few of you are quite pleasing to look at.”

Some of the girls giggle, flirtatiously fluttering their lashes.

Steve stops short, “I didn’t say I want to hear any of you.” He raises his hand as silence takes over, “That’s better. Just look pretty and do what we say, all right? Then, you’ll all be in our sister sorority.” He pauses, a short test for any rulebreakers, but there aren’t any and he nods in approval.

“Now, ladies, this house hasn’t been deep cleaned in a while.” He stands with his feet spread shoulder-width apart, “So, be thorough, be quiet unless you’re spoken to, and I’ll put in a good word with Maria. Got it?” Everyone silently nods. “You can speak.”

“Yes, Steve.” You all say at once.

The blond cockily grins at his friends. “Good girls, now, line up for your supplies.” He gestures to the kitchen.

The group of you move towards the doorway in a neat line, lips sealed tight as the fratboys talk amongst themselves. Some outrightly compliment the fit of the costumes, their muffled lewd comments make your cheeks heat up.

“Where’s Ari?” One of the betas asks, she’s at the end of the line with her arms crossed over her chest. “He’s the president, why isn’t he here?”

The tall blond quirks a brow, “Last time I checked, his whereabouts isn’t something you need to know.”

“You can’t give orders—I heard Maria made the deal with Ari, not you.”

Steve clears his throat, an unnerving gaze locked on her face. It drags on long enough that the line has completely stalled until someone pushes ahead. Now, you and Wanda stand by the kitchen doorway. You glance back again, and Steve hasn’t moved, neither has the girl—and it’s a flicker, barely noticeable from where you stand, but she slightly recoils. And, like that, Steve pounces.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get your pledge redacted.” His voice booms as he tilts his head, “Was it worth opening your mouth, beta?”

“I—”

“Curtis, open the door.” The brunet with a buzzcut clicks open the lock, welcoming the afternoon sun as a fresh breeze blows through, but it’s futile against the tension. “Go on, walk out. Leave because you’d rather speak than join Kappa Phi.”

The girl looks at everyone else, wordlessly begging for a saviour, a courageous person to stand up against the vice president but no one does. You’re all either too afraid or too infatuated to even dare and hopelessly, she leaves. Gathering her belongings and slowly walking out of the frat house.

“Maybe we should call this the stupid beta walk.” The man from earlier, Bryce scoffs.

It’s quite comedic watching the other alphas collectively sigh, as if they’re only aware of the doucheness when Bryce opens his mouth. It wouldn’t surprise you if that’s why they kept him around, to make them look better because even within their designations, alphas need to be the absolute best.

With an ego so vast it made room for a new one, blooming from right in the centre.

One of the other brothers pulls Steve aside, he’s the one who was banging on the bathroom door. Bucky is almost as tall as Steve but his hair is longer and darker. Their build is similar, packed with muscles straining against their clothes but Bucky’s skin is slightly more tanned.

Everyone takes turns gathering supplies; some grab a bottle of cleaner and a rag, others take a small bucket and a sponge. You’re one of the last ones and take a sponge and bucket, dipping your finger in the warm water as you retreat to the small group of girls. All of the different scents overwhelm your nose, ranging from antiseptic to bitter to intensely sweet, the betas surrounding you shake with anticipation.

Alphas give each of you tasks all around the house. Some are sent back to the kitchen, the living room or one of the bathrooms. You’re all dismissed with alphas to keep an eye on you, supervisors to bark out demands.

You’re following a few girls to the living room, then settling into a corner, dipping the sponge in the bucket before scrubbing the discolouration on the floorboards. It’s probably a spill from one of their legendary parties.

As you halfheartedly listen to the alphas talk to each other and the occasional vile comment, you remind yourself why you’re doing this.

Wanda’s gleaming face appears in your head, her eyes lighting up at the thought of belonging to the sorority, Kappa Phi, one of the best for betas and omegas—although there have only ever been a few omegas accepted. And unfortunately, you weren’t one of them last year and that’s how you met Wanda, bonding over being rejected from the sorority.

Wanda called Kappa Phi perfect, although not as known as Arcadia Phi. There wasn’t a fraternity like it, with the most celebrity alums and best leaders with successful lives. Sometimes you wonder how those self-serving souls were gifted with great lives, then you realize that’s how society treats alphas—feeding into their hunger, fueling their greed and egos.

Just like that, Wanda’s face transforms into your mother’s disappointed frown, the same one she wore when you told her the news last year.

“Legacy.” A voice singsongs, “Cap would like to speak to you.”

“I can speak for myself.” Steve pushes off the wall. Anxiety scatters your thoughts, because you didn’t know he was there.

Steve can make his presence known if he wants, which has become very clear since you entered Arcadia Phi. And when he doesn’t, he can seamlessly blend in. You bitterly think about him having a choice. To be seen, to be heard, to be feared—all while you are the unseen, ignored and disregarded, and one who is fearful of people like him.

The most terrifying monsters trick you into believing they aren’t monsters at all. Playing on your trust, only to clamp their fangs in your neck when you least expect it, and yank you into their depths.

There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Steve was one of those monsters, and you were positive he knew he was too.

“Are you sure? All you’ve done is stare at her like a piece of meat.” A dark-haired man speaks up, his sweater sleeves rolled up while the ring and bracelet glimmer against his pale skin.

“Actually, you two stand up.” Steve’s lips are pressed in a firm line. The girl next to you stands, her blond hair in a low ponytail and her green eyes narrowed. “You go upstairs to the first door on the left, and you,” Steve cocks his head, his gaze unabashedly dragging over your body and lingering on your breasts, “You’ll clean my room.”

The girl walks away with confidence, ignoring the alphas who praise the fit of her costume. With a straightened posture, you follow after her, facing forward with the wet sponge in your hand. Steve stands by the bottom of the stairs, emanating a force that both lures and repels you.

“What’s your name?” His hand falls to your waist like it’s been there a million times before, the warmth sinking through your clothes.

You tell him your name as you stop at the last door on the right. It’s strikingly different from the rest, as if it were painted with a fresh coat of white, it stood out among the busted, stained or cracked doors. Your reflection shines in the doorknob, distorted with visible unease over your features.

His arm brushes yours as he unlocks the door, the key slipping out before he dangles it in front of your face.

“I like my privacy. My brothers tend to just do whatever they want.”

The door slowly swings open, as silent as a breath of air. The walls are a dark blue, almost a rich navy and contrasting against the blinding white bedspread, the sheets wrinkled and half off of the mattress. There’s a desk in the corner cluttered with a shiny laptop, pens and textbooks, as messy as yours back at your dorm. The nightstands are mostly clean, apart from a small stack of books and a lamp on each.

There is an arrangement of paddles on the wall. Some are a plain light wood tone and one, in particular, is a design of red, white and blue, all of them display the same thing; Greek letters, the fraternity crest, along with ‘Big Bro Steve’ above the other name.

The wide window is open, a soft wind flows through, lightly rustling the curtains and the various posters taped on the walls—ranging from school promotions, and fraternity and football related. Nothing beyond that, not even a movie or a band which leads you to believe Steve was as one-dimensional as a sheet of paper—his life revolved around school, his fraternity and football.

Bland, but you had no protests because then he’d be easy to forget. Except, those nerves come rushing back again when you spot something on his four-poster bed. On the metal frame by the fluffy pillows are two pairs of handcuffs, unlocked and glaring at you straight in the face.

“Oops, forgot I left those there.”

The way he speaks makes you think he’s lying. Behind you, Steve dips down and takes a deep breath inches away from your head and growls lowly in his chest. Your toes curl in your shoes as your mind tells you to run far away and never come back, but Wanda’s hopefulness and your mother’s dismay root you into the floor of the house.

You needed a spot in Kappa Phi. Even if that meant risking being scented by an ill-famed alpha.

“Have you ever been handcuffed? I can imagine you have a hard time keeping your hands to yourself, you like being touched, and touching someone else.” He rasps, “But I have a feeling that you’re better at following rules than others. Putting on this little dress without any complaints, just a polite request to change in the bathroom.”

You clench your jaw when he tugs at the bow of the apron, “Can I just clean?”

You gasp and the water splashes and gets on your dress—it was a costume, made of cheap flimsy material that wouldn’t survive a gust of wind, and it definitely wouldn’t survive a strong alpha like Steve. He has the tie wrapped in his fist, the fabric digs into your front and pulls you into his chest, keeping you firmly against him.

“Did you leave your manners downstairs?” He doesn’t shout, his words are quiet and low and that only makes them more unsettling.

“N-No.” You despise the rapid beating of your heart, your natural instincts kicking in and nearly forcing you under his submission. “I’m sorry, can I please clean?” Your ass brushes over the firm bulge in his pants.

“Pretty, sweet and smart? Makes me wonder how an omega like you is still unmated.” He releases you and he reaches for your scent gland, but you quickly shuffle into his bedroom. Steve just chuckles, “Eager to please too—sounds to me that you’re picture-perfect material.”

“What should I clean first?” You avoid his gaze, finding great interest in the gentle ripples of the water in the bucket. You can’t let him that close again, and you shouldn’t have let him that close in the first place. If he touches your spot, you’d be another notch on his belt and another omega on the slut walk list—because yes, there was a list and it’s plastered in the living room.

It didn’t help that he smells so good, earthy and borderline spell-inducing. He makes you sick to your stomach and then that nausea erupts into flames of rage because he’s an asshole standing on a pedestal with his name etched in gold.

Steve made you feel so many things when you didn’t even know him. When he was just Howard College’s star player, and that hasn’t changed since you’re feet away from him. Those overwhelming and inconsistent feelings have appeared again. You don’t want him to make you feel anything. Except maybe forgotten, because then he’d leave you alone.

“How about you just get on your knees, omega?”

He doesn’t move, taking up more than half of the entryway as he gestures to the moderate mess of his bedroom. You shiver and obey, turning around and spotting a hamper with clothes hanging over the edge, some on the floor. You drop to your knees, gathering each item as his smell encapsulates your mind. You’re briefly reminded of your boring and plain bedroom, and how much better it would look with a nest.

On the walls of your brain are images of a warm and comforting bundle, varying in pillows and blankets, but most notably, there’s a heaping of fabrics that look awful like Steve’s clothes in your hands.

You start to feel sick again, and if only you could scrub your brain instead of the floorboards.

“Ain’t that a pretty view.” Steve crosses his arms, admiring the view of your upper thighs, “Don’t get any ideas, legacy.”

“What?” You toss the clothes into the basket and cover it. Standing once again, you straighten the bottles of cologne and other belongings on his dresser. It’s a little dusty, so you take the sponge from the bucket and wipe it down.

“You might want to snatch something of mine. Wouldn’t be the first time an omega tried to steal from me. I’ve been told I have an irresistible scent, I mean, it’s nothing like yours but could be a runner up.”

You try to focus on your tasks. Going from his nightstands to his closet, hanging up a few clothes that have fallen and organizing the shoes on the rack. You’re kneeling in the closet when one of his fraternity brothers pops up, you ignore them as best you can, sorting the different sneakers, boots and dress shoes.

A loud laugh startles you, making you drop a pair of sneakers.

“Oh, she’s jumpy?” You vaguely remember that voice, you’ve heard him in a few of your lectures.

“She’s cute, right? Like a little bunny.”

Your head snaps back as you glare at Steve. Every moment you spend in his presence makes you want to do something, to be more than a mere bystander, but to an extent because you didn’t want to make him too angry. You still wanted to—needed to join Kappa Phi.

It turns out your heated glare was barely anything, and all you get is a coy wink from the tall blond.

“Honey, are you okay down there?” The older alpha, Andy asks, faint dimples under his thick beard, “You don’t look like the kind to spend a lot of time on your knees.”

You abruptly stand, narrowed gaze set on the two burly men by the door. They have you caged in with a mocking gleam on their faces, daring you to say whatever your little fiery heart desires. Say it, tell them what assholes they are, how they deserve nothing they have—how their self-righteousness is just them making up for their lack of knot.

Fucking say it.

You can feel the frustration buzzing in your chest, but your throat and lips refuse to cooperate, forcing the rest of you to just bubble in silent fury. Opening your mouth would be digging your own grave, but the cold and wet dirt is better than Steve’s and any other alpha’s poisoned presence.

If only you were immune to whatever toxicity was streaming through their veins and draped in their words.

Silently defeated by yourself and their taunting expressions, you turn away and dust your dress, belittling yourself for retreating so quickly.

“Good choice, legacy.” Andy quips, “what else are you willing to do for a spot in Kappa?”

“If I tell you, will it happen?” You busy yourself with Steve’s desk. Organizing the pens and pencils into the mason jar, before moving onto the sheets of paper.

“Depends what it is.”

“I’m willing to redo that law essay you flunked on.” You face them again, and Andy has a surprised, but pleased smile on his face. Steve is the opposite, his eyebrows are furrowed while his lips are pressed in a firm line.

“Yeah? Do you want to tutor me too?”

Steve steps forward, inserting himself between you and the other alpha like a brick wall. “You can’t do a thorough job if you’re distracted. Do you want him to leave?”

You hold the papers to your chest, “Pardon?”

“Tell him, show me that you’re Kappa Phi material.” He smirks. “Tell him to leave us alone, omega.”

The sheets crinkle in your hands as you tense. Speaking back to alphas was only a fantasy, sure you’ve dreamt of kicking their teeth in, but you have never crossed that line.

Omega—he was reminding you of your designation, as if you could forget it. But you knew he only wanted to rub it in, to summon that dread and watch it bleed onto your features because omegas could never tell an alpha what to do and have the same impact of an alpha demanding an omega.

Your words would be nothing but white noise, as forgetful as an advertisement on the radio and no one would listen because no one had to. Not like omegas who bowed down at the first syllable of an alpha using their alpha voice or being subject to a great deal of pain.

You couldn’t tell an alpha what to do, not without looking like a fool, even if it was one as casual and collected as Andy.

“C’mon, I know there’s a little spice in all that sweetness. You’ve wanted to open your mouth since you walked in here, and now I’m permitting you to.” Steve comes closer until he stands a few inches from you, his stature towers over you like a mountain.

“G-Go away.”

Andy chuckles from the door, “What was that?”

Steve grabs your chin, “That’s not what I told you to say, darling.”

You can’t tell if the aching you feel is your pride or your loneliness thriving in the attention—you haven’t been the object of one's attention, alpha or beta, in a very long time.

“Leave us alone, Andy.” You’re frozen in the pools of blue surrounded by thick lashes. As if it weren’t enough for his body to be your wet dream, his face was a work of art. Chiselled cheekbones, strong jaw and a prominent nose. Clear skin sprinkled with freckles and beauty marks, and pink plump lips that stretched into a prince-like smile.

You hated to find him so attractive, but the world has never been on your side anyway.

The brunet pushes off the doorframe, “I guess I’ll check on the other girl in the bathroom. Be gentle with this one, Steve, she seems more delicate than your last toy.”

And, just like that, you’re flung back into reality. Steve is also a player, known for his various relations that never last more than a few weeks. He’s probably been with more than most think. Some are too ashamed for everyone to know that Steve Rogers had them, then dumped them like trash on the side of the road.

Typical Arcadia alphas, plucking people left and right then ditching them when they get bored or when a new spark catches their attention.

You don’t want to be that for Steve. You refuse to be the new object of his affection—because that’s how he’d treat you, something to show off until he doesn’t want you anymore.

Not to mention you just hated everything he stood for.

The easy life, the self-entitlement, privilege and downright mean attitude, selfishness and arrogance rolled into one.

You just need to keep a distance, keep reminding yourself why you’re here and that he’s just a bad man. A terrible man who shouldn’t even be touching you right now. You take a step back and distract yourself with his desk. Filing through the textbooks and setting them on the small shelf.

“I’ve seen you around campus. Do you have a dorm here?”

“I do.” You answer short. You’ve seen him riding his bike and revving the engine. Zooming down the campus streets with a leather or denim jacket. The supposed legend in the making, but right now, he was just the shadow looming over your shoulder, chilling to the bone.

Steve pulls out his desk chair and sits down, relaxing on the cushions and spreading his thighs. His foot knocks yours. “I haven’t had a dorm room, just tried for Arcadia and got in so I’ve lived here for about two years now.”

You just nod, gathering the small bunches of sticky notes and scattered paper clips.

“Those go in the drawer.” He runs a hand through his hair, a twinkle in his eyes.

You open the drawer and are welcomed with strips of condoms and tubes of lube. Your cheeks go hot as you drop the items in and slam it shut. “Those should be in your nightstand.”

“Oh, I have them there too. These are just backups.” Steve’s gaze rakes over you as his tongue pokes out to lick his lips. “You tried to get into Kappa last year.”

You’re doing this for Wanda and your mother, and you need to try even harder than you did last year. Maybe after this, your mother will finally return your calls, you can only hope that one day, she’ll recognize the wrongness in her actions. Pushing you away only because you didn’t get into her old sorority. Whether Kappa Phi didn’t accept you because of your designation or other reasons, it’s not fair of her to treat you this way.

“Unlike Arcadia, Kappa is quite easy to get into. They’ll accept anyone like every other frat or sorority on campus.” Steve rolls his eyes, “So, it makes me curious as to why you were denied, legacy.”

“Can you not call me that?” And you quickly add, “Please?”

“That’s what you are. Your mother was in Kappa Phi, and now you’re going to be in it too—maybe, I can still redact your pledge but I wouldn’t want to make momma-legacy upset. Does she know you’re trying again?”

“She would if she answered my calls.”

Steve is quiet for a few seconds before he nods slowly. You grab the sponge and try to move away, but he grabs your wrist, pulling you to stand between his legs. “What’d you do to not get in? Sleep with another girl's partner? Hook up with a professor for some extra credit?”

You scowl. “None of that.”

“My brothers and I have a theory that every omega is a whore until proven innocent.”

You stiffen as his other hand fiddles with the lace hem of your dress, slipping between the first layer to the second and finally to your skin. His fingers trail higher, and you clamp your thighs together, glazing at the open door as his grip on your wrist tightens. You want him to let go and stop, so you say the one thing that has been in your head, “You’re an asshole.”

The second those words leave your mouth, a fresh wave of relief combs over you, but then it freezes like water. The realization is icy cold, stilling in your veins and halting your breath.

“What was that?” He moves fast and stands, crowding you against the desk. The water drips down your elbow as you raise your arms and try to keep him at bay, but it’s useless. He presses against you, the water seeping into his shirt.

“An asshole—am I mean? Like your mother who’s ignoring you because you didn’t get into a sorority?” Steve asks, “I can be much worse than that, and I think you know that.”

He grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, he’s close enough that you can see every shade of blue and tint of green in his eyes. His lips are so pink and pillowy soft, you can’t help but lean into his touch like a magnetic force. “You’re looking at me like I’m going to hurt you.”

It’s instinctual and completely out of your control. The warmth he radiates, the raw power and just alpha compelling you. You realize you’ve been fighting him since you met him, and as vigorously as you resisted, he could turn you to mush with a flutter of his eyes.

He hums softly, drinking down your smell like a man starved. When his gaze meets yours again, the iris is a thin ring around the pupil. “And, I just might.” His white teeth gleam maliciously behind a simper.

You snap out of whatever fleeting spell he had you under and inch backwards, willing yourself to stay silent. He steps forward, his thigh slipping between yours and pinning you against the desk.

“I won’t hurt a pretty omega like you unless you give me a reason to.” His Brooklyn twang rings in your ears, drilling the threat into your brain. “So, don’t give me one.”

You nod wordlessly, gripping the sponge so tightly that all the water was gone, and probably on Steve’s shirt and your dress. You can’t move to check because he keeps you in place, provoking you to make a wrong move.

And, unknowingly, you did and Steve sighs in disappointment, you find yourself searching your mind for the cause of it—before a round of cheers grab your attention. Your face slips from Steve’s hold before he grips you again, this time with your chin between his knuckles, lightly pinching you. “Speak, sweetheart.”

“Y-Yes, Steve.”

“Good girl.” His touch trails across your jaw, then down your neck. “This is cute.” He notes, touching the silver chain around your neck, all the way to the small circle with the stamped letter. He tuts when you don’t speak. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Thank you, Steve.” You gulp, practically sitting on his desk with his thigh snug between yours. The bottom of your dress is dangerously close to exposing your panties.

“Who’s H?”

“My friend.”

He flips the metal charm, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the engraving. “Your friend.”

“My best friend.” You squirm as his other hand lands on your hip, gently squeezing, “We grew up together but he goes to Harvard.”

“Childhood friends… Isn’t that adorable?” Steve beams, “You’re sentimental, then?” He twirls the necklace around his finger as the chain digs into your neck.

With every swirl of his digit, he brings you another inch closer as his breath fans over your cheeks. “I-I guess.”

He’s quiet for a few moments, his watchful gaze locked on your face, observing every minuscule twitch. “Would you wear my name?”

“What?”

“Would you wear my name right here,” he lightly pulls at the chain, “or would you rather wear my mark,” it almost happens in slow motion. With your arms uselessly sandwiched between your bodies, his touch trails to your scent gland, applying pressure, “right here. Where everyone can see.”

His smell increases tenfold, forming a cloud around you and soaking into your brain. The smoky and woody scent is calming and awakening at the same time. This is exactly what you didn’t want to happen, but your defences are fluttering to the ground with every millisecond as he scents you—without your consent. It triggers some of your basic instincts, the innate desire to be claimed by another, to be submissive and at their beck and call.

With the chain in his grasp and a gentle touch of his fingers, he cracks the walls you’ve built to keep yourself safe and secure, to keep yourself separate from your designation and your predestined fate.

You attempt to collect yourself and through uneven breaths, you push him away. Steve doesn’t budge, he only grabs your thigh and hikes it on his waist, forcing you on the desk as your dress flips up. His dark gaze lands on your cotton panties and he growls appreciatively, nostrils flaring.

Your heart beats against your chest, loud enough to rattle your brain. “Please, don’t.” You whisper. “I can’t—I don’t...”

“You don’t?” He rubs your spot in slow circles, “If you don’t want me, then why are you getting wet?” He emphasizes his words by snapping the band of your panties against your skin, drawing closer to your warm centre.

“Because you’re—” You whine, resolve melting away with every delicate motion of his fingers, you slump under his touch.

Weak, you feel so weak yet desired. It’s a cruel curse of euphoria and you hate yourself for it, although it’s completely out of your control.

“You want me, sweetheart. I can see it on your face, I can smell you soaking your panties. I bet if I listen hard enough, I can hear your whiney thoughts begging for me.” Steve’s voice is smooth and deep, “But, all I can hear is your heart racing because you’re excited. Have you ever been touched like this?” His hand brushes over your panties and cups your mound.

“It’s not that.”

Steve’s hold tightens on your necklace as his long and thick fingers start rubbing over the cotton fabric, your wetness unmistakably seeping through. “Then what, omega?”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer, not while all of your pent-up frustration comes rushing in. The look in his eyes is hard to pinpoint whether he’s remorseless, fully intrigued or downright enjoying toying with you.

Your lips quiver as tears pool in your eyes. You hate him, and you hate how good he’s making you feel with just a few fingers. You whimper as he tugs your panties to the side, sliding between your slick folds.

“Is it fear?” His tone is light and taunting, “Because that’s even better than excitement and, it looks especially lovely on you, legacy.”

As he releases your necklace, and his warmth on your scent gland leaves too. You’re flooded with ease and without his support, you sag into the shelf on the desk, the textbooks fall and the mason jar of pens tips over, clattering to the ground as the glass rolls away.

Steve tears the front of your dress, the cheap seams giving away under his strength. Your nipples meet the cool air, pebbled and immediately pinched by the alpha standing between your legs. He growls, massaging your tits as his other hand returns to your nub.

“You haven’t been touched in a while. I can tell.” His tone is so wickedly gentle, it’s a sharp contrast to his character. “Look at you, going dumb for me already, getting my desk wet.” He rasps, “C’mon, push me away.”

Your hands land on his forearms as your last line of defence falls.

His eyes lock on yours, his pink lips part in low breaths. “Do it. Tell me you don’t want me.”

Your fingertips press into his skin when he pulls away from your cunt, his big hands land on your inner thighs. A strained whine escapes your throat, a silent plea for more.

“Or, tell me you want me, baby. Cry for me—let me know how bad you want my touch, my fingers in your pretty pussy, my knot in your fuckhole.” Steve massages your flesh, inching closer to your core but never directly touching there, “I want to hear you say it, omega.”

His words are another blow to your pride. You surrender to his undeniable authority, giving in to him because Steve was right, you haven’t been touched in a long time, and everyone was a victim to his command—that didn’t exclude you.

Do you want him?

Do you even have a choice?

“Let me hear you, sweet girl. Give me what I want, don’t you want to make me proud?”

Maybe you did and that’s why he was asking.

You consider it, which might have been your first mistake. After all the rumours you’ve heard, most of them have been proven to be true, you shouldn’t trust him or want to make him proud. Why should his commendation matter when he’s nothing but another alpha with a sense of superiority?

Because he isn’t just another alpha—he’s Steve Rogers.

And he wants you.

You should have stayed far away from him and Arcadia Phi, regardless of your best friend’s and mother’s wishes. But you didn’t, and now look at you, sprawled on his desk with his bedroom door open, scantily clad in a torn maid costume with your most sensitive spot exposed. Your scent gland is still buzzing with his touch, craving more.

Despite your hateful feelings, you want more, you want him. There’s no denying that at this moment.

That’s when the first tear falls down your cheek, leaving a shiny trail in its wake.

“Please touch me, Steve. I-I want you.” You hiccup, reaching for his hands to bring one to your face, the other to your pussy. Your knees hook around his waist, “Want you so bad, alpha.”

His blue eyes twinkle, the corner of his lips quirk up, “That’s my omega.”

You would have never expected your day to end up like this. Willingly giving in to his advances, but maybe that was why you even considered it.

Steve knows the truth. You believed you had a choice when he was going to get what he wanted one way or another. He thrives off your sweet little heart having faith in yourself, it’s adorable. And, he can’t wait to corrupt you.

“Please, Steve.” Your legs fall open, neck craning to watch his skilled fingers trace your hole, barely dipping it before rubbing your clit again. You’re aching for him and anything he can give you.

Your slick drips out and Steve’s mouth waters, he’s seconds away from dropping to his knees and devouring you whole. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this? I saw you at orientation—you seemed so lost but eager.” He cups your face, leaning down until his nose brushes yours and finally, one of his fingers pushes in, pressing to his knuckle before drawing out. “You didn’t even fucking look at me.”

You whine, scrambling for his broad shoulders and falling deeper into that blissful headspace.

“As if I wasn’t even there.” He slides in with two fingers, sissoring you open. He pumps in deep, curling his digits to reach your special spot as his thumb lands on your clit, “Now look at you, baby, dripping on my desk, your cunt sucking me in. Bet you’re hungry for a knot, huh?” There’s a softness in his eyes and his touch on your cheek. His warmth sinks to your bones, burning an imprint in the shape of him.

Steve speeds up and adds more power. His bicep flexes with every thrust, working you open as your juices drip down his hand, marking him with your scent. He looms over you, huge and intimidating, making you a compliant mess. His groan rumbles his chest as he pulls out to slap your pussy, the wet noises make your cheeks heat up. “Nearly forced Kappa Phi to take you in but my ex was the president at the time.”

He captures your lips in his, slipping his tongue in your mouth as his palm falls to the side of your neck. Your jaw falls slack as he rubs your gland and penetrates three thick fingers into your tight hole at the same time. Steve growls, biting on your bottom lip before kissing you sloppily. He tastes like mint and he’s demanding and rough, while you’re needy and docile, a perfect match.

You turn away as he picks up pace, spreading his long fingers along your inner walls. Moans flow out of your body and into the open air, shameless and absolute music to Steve’s ears. He stretches you open as the shelf digs into your back, his expert touch bringing you to the edge fast. Heat builds in your belly and even in the thin dress, you feel the sweat on your skin. He spanks your clit, feeding off your mewls along with the lewd sopping noises coming from your core. Your cream has formed a mess under your ass as it’s forced out of your poor hole, dripping down to your rosebud.

“That’s it, you going to come for me, sweet girl? This cunt was made for taking cock, for taking mine—you want my knot, omega? Since you’re this wet from my hand, I bet you’re a stupid mess when you’re in heat. You hear that?” He slaps your cunt in quick succession, “You’re dripping for me, you want me to stretch you open, fuck you until you can’t even think.” He grunts, teeth clenched as your thighs threaten to shut, he prys them apart and swats your clit harder, still pounding you with his fingers. “You’d take my cock if I just asked, huh? You’d let me fill your little cunt, breed you like a dumb slut. I bet you fucking love this.”

You cover your face as you squeal, the back of your head thumping against the wall as you convulse. Your slick pours out, soaking his skin and dripping down his wrist. His pumps don’t stutter or even slow down, he keeps up the intensity and you’ve officially lost your mind. You fist his t-shirt in your other hand, either trying to escape or pull him closer, you don’t even know.

“So fucking tight, you don’t even want me to stop, huh?” He yanks you close by the back of your neck, he spits into your open mouth. “That’s why you squirted all over me, fucking cock hungry whore.” He kisses you although you barely respond, too fucked out and dazed. When he pulls away, he messily traces through your folds, smearing your juices around as he releases your lips with a pop.

The blue in his eyes is hardly visible, but that could just be your watery vision. He brings his hand to your face, spreading his digits as your cream webs between them. “You want a taste, baby?”

You let him slip two fingers into your mouth, pressing to the knuckles and forcing you to clean him. He groans as you gag slightly, tears welling in your eyes as he fucks your mouth just like your cunt. When he deems you’ve had enough, he sucks his ring finger, eyes fluttering shut at your taste. He’s filthy with it, putting on a show, letting you know just how he’d treat your precious pussy with his tongue.

“Tastes even better than I thought.” Steve sighs, and runs his fingers along the bottom half of your face, your wetness mixed with both of your saliva dries on your skin. “Now, if you did that last year during pledge week, you would’ve gotten into Kappa without a doubt.”

You’ve barely managed to catch your breath, still riding on that wave that’s made you question your entire college career. “I-I don’t need your help.”

Steve laughs, easily picking you up and sitting in the chair. Even in his lap, he’s bigger than you. “You just need me. And with that, you’re going to get my help anyway.” He grips your hips as your tingling cunt meets his jeans.

“Wait—” You gasp, “It’s too much, I can’t—”

“You can,” He kisses down your cheek to your jaw, he sucks at the spot right by your scent gland. “And, you will. Make me even prouder, omega. Rub yourself on me, make a mess on my pants. Claim me just like I’ll claim you.” Then, his teeth drag over your spot, immediately making you pliant in his hold and to his voice. “Be a good girl for daddy.”

You tie your arms around his shoulders, wasting no time in grinding against the giant bulge. The denim is rough against your sensitive petals, but it feels so good, it feels better than your pillow at your dorm and with every swirl of your hips, Steve groans freely against your neck.

He tears the back of your skimpy dress and the fabric falls down your body. It hangs from your waist and the skirt flutters with every rock of your hips. Your cunt is tortured by his jeans, your clit rubbed raw and begging for a break, but you can’t give yourself one. Not until Steve wants you to because, despite your best efforts, you’ve fallen victim to his cruel charm and your darkest fantasies.

Steve sucks on your spot, teasing you with nips between his dirty words. You can’t even hear him anymore, your body hums with passion and want. An instinctual desire to obey his every command and be his good girl, you want to claim him—own him like he owns you.

Perhaps the stereotypes about omegas were always right, and you’ve been in denial. Or, Steve is just intoxicating with a magnetic force that draws you in. He’s awoken a longing inside you, one that you didn’t even know existed.

“They said you were one of the smartest omegas on campus, but it doesn’t seem like that now.” Steve grabs your throat with one hand, guiding you over his clothed cock with the other. “I turned you into my little omega, my dumb slut. I can feel your pussy throbbing for me, oh, my pussy—because this tight fuckhole was made for me.” He tightens his hold and licks from your jaw to your cheek. “Aw, are you crying for me? Giving daddy those pretty tears, it’s like you never want me to let you go.”

You struggle against him, hiccuping another pathetic moan as he thrusts upwards, meeting your grinds.

Steve knows you aren’t incapable, not like the rest of the dull and drab students of Howard College. You had a fight in you, albeit timid and frail, it was there and he can only imagine what other fire hides within your soul. He read the hatred and spite on your face like an open book, you weren’t as secretive as you thought and he assumed you’d be trouble. But no, you stayed quiet and obedient until he lured you out.

You had potential, you had shown that with your early resistance and how you treated Andy—fucking Andy, this morning he asked if you could clean his room, but Steve had already made his intentions clear. You were his for the day, and the next, until he was done with you. Which wasn’t anywhere in the near future.

Watching you now, teary eyes rolled in the back of your head and listening to your mewls echo through the room, he hopes Andy and the rest of his frat brothers were listening. Then, they’d know that Steve wasn’t letting you go, they could try, they could beg and fight, and he’d just tease you in front of their noses. Playing with people was fun, and with you in his corner, he’d never lose.

“Fuck, keep going.” Steve hisses, the veins in his neck tense as his head falls back. His fingertips dig into your ass, groping the flesh, “That’s it, you’re doing so good, baby.”

“Daddy, ah please, daddy.”

“What do you need, omega?” Steve pants, flipping up the stubborn skirt to watch your puffy cunt grind against his bulge. The denim is dark under you and he has the perfect view of your spread folds and swollen clit rubbing along his jeans, your sweet slick seeping through his jeans to his skin, he can feel you.

“F-Fuck me, please—I want it, want it.” You repeat, nails dragging down his shirt, your poor hole weeping for him.

He smirks, “My little girl wants my cock? Want me to stretch your tight pussy, fuck you until you don’t have any tears left, pump you full of my cum and fucking breed you?” He spanks you, making you jerk and squeak, “You want to be my omega?”

You nod shakily and reach down, weakly attempting to unbutton his pants but he swats you away. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he takes control and moves you roughly over his dick. You let out a high-pitched squeal, knees pressing into the cushion of the seat as you try to right yourself, but it’s feeble against his strength.

“You want my cock so bad that you’ll just pull it out without my permission?” Steve’s stomach tightens as the tears trail down your cheeks, slipping into the corners of your parted mouth. “Thought you’d know better now.”

You grab onto his wrists, piercing his skin with your nails, “I-It’s too much!” Your cry.

“It’s not enough.” He grabs your throat, not tight enough to restrict airflow but firm enough to let you know he can, and it only makes you greedier. You try to meet his grinds but you’re just bouncing on his lap.

“D-Daddy, I can’t.”

“You can.” He insists, getting closer to the edge. He imagines your tight hole clenched around his cock as he stuffs his knot into you. “You can, and you will.”

You weep, “...can’t.”

Steve has always loved a little challenge and he knows you’re an omega who hoped for more, who craved for more—and it was ultimately intriguing. To tame the feisty attitude bubbling inside of you, the same flicker he sees when he speaks again. “You can’t come.”

Your eyes shoot open, a torn and angry expression on your face, “But—”

“Shush now, baby.” He groans, cheeks flushed red as his whole body tenses, and he never stops moving you over him. “I said make a mess, I didn’t say you could come. Tell me you want to be mine.”

“Daddy, please—” You whimper, the tightness in your belly becoming too much.

Steve swats your ass harshly, “fucking say it.”

Your cunt throbs between your thighs, the denim has rubbed you raw, “I-I want to be yours, daddy.”

Steve groans gutturally, his back arches as his eyes flutter shut. Throaty praises ring in your ears, his hold is so tight that they’ll be bruises tomorrow. His muscles flex, his abs, biceps and thick thighs under you, and you can feel his cock swell up under your core. His knot is going to waste and you whine.

Steve's hair falls against his forehead as he looks at you, blue eyes full of bliss and perhaps even devotion—he’s beautiful and evil.

You sniffle quietly, feeling his warm cum seeping through the denim. “You’re so mean…”

Steve’s chest heaves, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “Thought we already established that, baby?”

The open air is exactly what you need as you limp down the path with your clothes in your arms, some girls can’t help but stare at you. In envy or pity, they watch your uneven steps. They’re all still wearing their costumes, the evening breeze isn’t kind to their exposed skin. You stand out like a sore thumb, clad in Steve’s t-shirt and his sweatpants. Your poor folds gaining a bit of much-needed relief.

Some of the other pledges are talking—you know it’s about you despite how quiet they try to be.

They know, everyone in the house knew what happened in Steve’s bedroom. And some of the other girls were either jealous or sorrowful. You were unsure about your own feelings too, since you’re still teetering on the edge of that omega headspace because Steve couldn’t stop touching your gland.

In particular, the Arcadia alphas were as shameless as ever. They clapped and cheered when you wobbled down the stairs with Steve on your tail.

“Legacy deserves a gold star for that performance.”

“I’m going to knock your teeth in if you don’t shut up, Bryce.” Steve spits as he pulls you to the kitchen, grabbing a cold water bottle from the fridge.

Bucky whistles lowly, “And thus, the innate need to be an asshole after getting with an omega. Don’t you all wish there were more omega pledges, fellas?”

Steve ignores him in favour of gathering snacks from the cabinets and shelves. And, for the rest of the day, you sit on his lap in his clothes, watching the other pledges sweat and scrub at the whole house.

He relaxes on the couch, one of his hands never leaving your body as he speaks to his brothers, petting and tending to you like a doll, “Perhaps little legacy is Kappa Phi material, huh, baby?”

You don’t look back once, forcing yourself to stare ahead as Wanda asks how you’re feeling, among other things. You’ll tell her when you’re at your dorm and far away from Arcadia Phi.

Steve watches from the front door of the frat house, his arms crossed as the breeze brushes his bare skin, the band of his sweatpants hanging dangerously low. Behind him, his frat brothers are discussing names of the pledges, yours pops up more than a few times and is followed by a lewd comment.

“Our sister sorority, too. You’re freakier than I thought, punk.” Bucky steps beside him, a little apron in his hands.

“I wonder if I should tell our parents about his risqué behaviour.” Another voice says as an arm swings around Steve’s shoulder, “What do you think, little brother? Will mom and dad return you?”

Steve shrugs off Ransom, glaring at him. “I’m older than you, dipshit, and that’s not how adoption works.”

“Blah, blah, blah. All I’m hearing is the sound of an overdue glorified housepet.” He teases while the blond just scoffs.

They’ve been this way since they met, their relationship was strong from the beginning but that didn’t lessen any of the bickering or fights that every other sibling has. The only difference was their resilience yet they had odd similarities in terms of behaviour and attitude. Both being headstrong and fearless alphas. It was a wonder how they had lasted this long while constantly sharing a circle of friends.

“Although, I must acknowledge your exquisite taste because that sweet girl,” Ransom points down the street, “is on every alpha and beta—probably some wild omegas too—radar.”

“Surprised she hasn’t been claimed yet.” Curtis speaks up, “actually, I’m shocked a lot of omegas here haven’t been mated.”

“Some of us have standards and most of those omegas have been strung through every bed on campus.” Ransom replies, grinning at his brother, “I admire our parallel preferences, Stevie, think I can take a go at legacy?”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, it seems that testosterone is still sky-high. I’ll ask you when you’ve had time to wind down, try out the hot tub, huh?” The brunet leaves with a wink and a slap on Steve’s shoulder, waltzing into the house and joining the discussion with the rest of the brothers.

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Mr. fuck-em-and-leave-em, but she doesn’t even like us,” Bucky laughs, “Much less you.”

“Not yet.” He licks his lips as your group disappears around a corner. The empty air still carries a thread of your scent, or maybe that’s just your soaked panties crumbled in his pocket.

He was already one of the gods of Howard College and he's going to be yours too.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: well here it is ! the first part of captain's legacy and the first dark fic I've ever posted. mean!Steve just does something to me, and I have a feeling he'll be like that for a while. this is a dark fic, so we'll see how much fluff is in the future. the ending was supposed to be longer but I think it fits better in the next part and like my other series, this has no update schedule.

As always, I hope you all enjoyed this and I’d love to hear your thoughts/feedback !! <3 — ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

I don’t do taglists anymore. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 & 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲: @𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

4K notes · View notes

marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Maribat Halloween: Decorating

Marinette Dupain Cheng groans, dropping herself across her friend’s lap, hiding her face in her hands.

“What’s up Pixie Pop?” Jason asks, his attention immediately on her. She just groans, trying not to think of the ways she had failed today. “Pix?” Jason prompts. She huffs and sits up, pouting.

“I met a boy today.” She says, and Jason grins.

“Didya say something embarrassing?” He teases, and she huffs.

“Kind of.” She says vaguely, not willing to go into it.

“Ya know you’re gonna tell me eventually. Might as well just tell me now.” Jason points out, and Marinette sighs, rubbing her hand over her face.

“So he was super cute and instead of doing something normal like tell him he’s cute or ask him out or anything else, I volunteered to be his secretary for the month while his is on vacation.” She rambles out, groaning. Jason snorts, laughing loudly until he stops abruptly. Marinette glances at him, frowning at his sudden change. “What-”

“Your meeting today, it was at Wayne Enterprises, wasn’t it.” He says, his frustration clear.

“Yeah?” She draws out, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Goddamnit Replacement.” Jason swears, shaking his head.

“What?” Marinette raises an eyebrow, completely lost. Jason sighs.

“Let me tell you a little about Tim Drake.”

---

Tim Drake was confused, as he walked into Wayne Enterprises on October 1st. And he didn't like to be confused. But all things considered, he felt that his confusion was valid. After all, when he left the building at eleven o'clock last night (long after everyone else, even his secretary, had left), the building looked like a normal office building. Now, though, there were spiderwebs and tiny pumpkins everywhere. Tiny plastic spiders and cloth ghosts hung from the ceilings. It was cute, but he had no idea how it could've happened. Or when. Deciding to check the security tapes, he walks swiftly over to the elevator, blinking in surprise at the change in music. Instead of the usual (boring) elevator music, an instrumental version of "This is Halloween" was playing softly. Honestly, it was impressive. Whoever had managed to do it had done so without Tim seeing them as he left, and without tripping any of the alarms. He'd just have to hope that whoever did it wasn't willing to use their powers for evil.

As the elevator stops at his floor, he mentally makes a note to ask Marinette, his temporary secretary, if she'd seen anyone strange when she left the night before. She’d only been his secretary for two weeks, and was only scheduled to do the job for one more. She had come in for a meeting with Lucius Fox, something to do with a fabric Lucius had developed, Tim was unsure on the details. But when she came in, she’d seen the absolute mess that the top floor had become since Tim’s secretary had left on vacation. She’d nearly insisted on helping out, and Tim honestly loved having her around. Marinette was funny, and cute and smart and- He frowns, shaking his head to clear it. Sure, he had a crush on her. But nothing could come of it. He’d seen Jason picking her up a couple times, and as much as he disliked his brother at times, he wouldn’t try to date the girl his brother was dating. Sighing, he watches as the numbers finally approach his floor.

The second he walks onto his floor, he's bombarded with even more decorations. More of the same from downstairs, but there were also skeletons (dressed in tiny costumes), plastic bags, and Marinette- for some reason- had a witch's hat on. Tim's eyebrow raises.

"Feeling festive?" He asks, confused. It's not that Marinette was always serious. In fact, he'd seen her leap over a counter for a cup of coffee. But he'd never seen her in a hat. Especially not a witch hat.

"Is it too much? We don't really do Halloween in France, not like this anyway." She says nervously, touching the hat.

"Well, er, it's definitely more than I'm used to." He says, before the pieces click together. "Wait a minute, did you decorate the entire building?" Tim asks, completely shocked. Though, he probably shouldn't be. The woman was a force of nature. Marinette blushes.

"Yeah, I just thought- sorry, Jason mentioned something about it the other day.” She says and Tim sighs. Of course his asshole brother had something to do with this. Tim drops into the seat in front of Marinette’s desk and smiles at her gently.

“What exactly did he say?” Tim asks, and Tim’s surprised to see that Marinette’s face can get even more red. She mumbles something, and Tim frowns. “Couldn’t hear you, Mari.” He says. She sighs, pushing a stray piece of hair out of her face.

“He said that you love Halloween.” She says again, and Tim blinks in surprise.

“Wait, what?”

“You, he said that you like Halloween. And I wasn’t exactly sure how much would be too much and I’ve never been great at subtlety and so I decided that it wouldn’t be the end of the world to do the whole tower instead of just this floor but then I had to call Jason to help me change the music in the elevator because I didn’t have the clearance for that and-” She rambles, and Tim frowns, reaching forward to grab her hands to try and get her to slow down, to help her calm down. She takes in a deep breath and grins at him, making his heart skip a beat.

“Sorry, I just, you were rambling.” Tim says, quickly releasing her hands.

“I really like you.” She blurts out, her eyes widening. Tim’s eyebrows shoot upwards.

“I-you-Jason?” He says and she frowns.

“What about Jason?” She asks.

“You, you and Jason. I can’t- you’re dating Jason, aren’t you?” He asks, and she laughs, which confuses him even more. Was she laughing at him? Or at the suggestion?

“Jason is one of my best friends. And, like my friends Adrien and Nino, he’s also practically my brother.” She explains, her amused smile shifting into something else. Something softer.

“So you aren’t dating my brother?” Tim asks, and Marinette shakes her head, giggling softly.

“If I was dating Jason, I definitely wouldn’t have decorated the entirety of Wayne Enterprises to try and ask you out.” She says. Tim grins as her words register.

“You want to ask me out?” He clarifies, and she nods.

“Coffee after work? I’ll buy.” She offers, and he smiles.

“As long as I can buy next time.” He says with a grin. Who knew a couple of decorations could lead to something so great.

Permanent tag list (open): @stainedglassm @kittenmywaythrulife @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @maribat-october-rarepairs

#maribat #MaribatHalloween21 #timari #timinette #maribat oneshot #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat tim drake #maribat jason todd #platonic jasonette

290 notes · View notes

lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Insatiable. ( Jungkook x OC)

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC! Age difference!!! [ bet you’ve never seen all of this in one fic before? ]

[ Some notes : Born Vampires stop aging when they turn twenty five. Turned vampires stop aging when they’re turned. ]

Summary :

21 year old Hwang Sera is sick of being the only human in an entire clan of vampires. As an immortal human from one of the oldest bloodlines, she is a catch. The Vampire she marries would essentially be indestructible.

Which makes her an easy target for greedy vampires everywhere.

Determined to keep his precious daughter safe, her father hires an old friend , Jeon Jungkook as her full time bodyguard.

Jungkook is 35 years old ( well technically 576 years old ) , father to an adorable five year old kid and he has zero tolerance for Sera and her teenage shenanigans. But , he needs the money and he knows his son would be safe in the Hwang clan’s massive mansion.

And suddenly, after years of despising vampires, all Sera can think about is getting into the gorgeous vampire’s bed and maybe into his heart.

Chapter 1

“He’s so hot.” My sister sighed for the seventeenth time and I glared at her.

“He’s mine. Back the fuck off.” I bared my non existent fangs at her and she retaliated by showing off her own inch long fangs, eyes flashing ruby red in the confines of our huge sprawling bedroom.

The man in question, my sparkling new bodyguard wasn’t here now. He was downstairs at the party, being introduced to the others as the latest addition to our clan.

My mouth watered when I remembered his gorgeous, handsome face. And that body , God.

Sculpted by some higher being who wanted to show off, for sure.

I had never given much thought to losing my virginity. It certainly wasn’t by design that I hadn’t had sex yet but looking at Jeon Jungkook in a fitted black suit, midnight black hair falling into his lovely red eyes and those delicious muscles.....

I kind of believed in fate now.

This was why I’d always been repulsed by the vampires who courted me.

Because Jeon Jungkook had been out there, waiting for me.

And now fate had brought him here and he was going to be mine.

I stumbled over a stray bra, nearly face planting onto the floor .

God, i hated how messy Somi was but I was also eternally grateful that she had skipped out on the party tonight, volunteering to help me with the kids.

I ran a daycare in one of the larger cottages in the estate, keeping the little fanged devils in check while the parents went about their daily lives. On nights like this, when my father hosted guests from every clan in the country for one of his lavish parties, there was always a whole bunch of bite-happy toddlers in need of supervision.

Enter me.

I loved babies. I’d always loved them. They were adorable. And after three years of school , I was finally, officially qualified in caring for them.

Oh and by the way did i tell you that Jungkook had a son? Jeon Joowon was possibly the cutest five year old I’d ever seen and yes I was a little biased but that was okay. I was going to be the kids step mom , after all.

Listen, don’t look at me like that, I just really want to be with Jungkook okay?

I tripped over the same bra when turning back around and I swore.

Focus, Sera. You can day dream about hot vampire daddy later.

“ Why do you have to throw your shit all over the place like this? “ I whined, grabbing the offensive piece of fabric and tossing it at her. She caught is so fast I went a little cross eyed. My sister never missed an opportunity to show off her super-saiyan, vampire powers. That made her a crowd favorite with the toddlers and younglings .

“I still don’t think your choice of a career is smart. These fanged little beasts are impossible to control... ” She commented mildly, watching me stuff two whole cartons of baby wipes into the huge backpack I had propped against the bed. I’d forgotten to restock the day care with wet wipes and it was sheer luck that I had a pair of them lying around my room.

The very idea of entering a room full of babies and toddlers without baby wipes, made me shudder.

“Listen, they’re absolute angels when you listen to what they’re saying. Just because babies can’t talk doesn’t mean they don’t have preferences. All you really need to do is find out what each kid likes and help them feel comfortable -”

“Please stop.” She rolled her eyes and I glared at her.

“I’m a little thirsty. Can i have a sip..” She said softly and I frowned.

“You haven’t drunk from me the entire day. Are you okay?” I held my wrist out.

She shrugged , grabbing my wrist and casually sinking her fangs into the vein . Pain bloomed, familiar and somehow comforting , replaced almost at once by the gentle numbing of her venom. She drank a little and pulled back soon after, linking the puncture wounds for good measure. I watched the skin knit itself together , whole and unmarred in no time.

Perks of being immortal.

The knock on the door made me jump.

“Ms Hwang?” Jungkook’s soft, husky voice came floating through the door and I grinned, cheeks aching with how wide my smile was.

“You look like a maniac. Stop smiling.” My sister looked a little alarmed and I struggled to rearrange my features. Sticking my tongue out at her, I grabbed my sweatshirt, slipping it overhead quickly. I glanced at the mirror, grimacing a bit.

Being with toddlers meant no make up or hair left free.... and so I had a messy top bun, and just lip gloss to look presentable. While the entire party teemed with gorgeous vampires in low cut gowns and blood red lips.

Ugh.

I grabbed the backpack and waved to Somi.

“Come as soon as you can alright?” I begged her and she waved me off.

I rushed to the door, throwing it open and smiling wide.

“Hi oppa.” I said cheerfully.

“I’m not your oppa.” Jungkook said automatically, barely glancing at me and instead reaching for the backpack. He directed me to the stairwell on the side, the one that led straight down to the ground floor and out into the gardens. He went in first and I followed him, climbing down carefully.

I sighed, taking in the mouth watering width of his shoulders, encased in a perfectly fitted jacket. He looked so handsome I wanted to cry. And although he’d been here for a whole week month now, I hadn’t managed to get into his good graces.

“What do I call you, then?” I made to hold his hand when we reached the end of the staircase but he shook my arm off at once.

Did I tell you that he really can’t stand me for some reason?

“As I’ve mentioned a dozen times already, Mr. Jeon would suffice.” He said shortly. He held the door leading out into the gardens open and I walked through.

“That makes you seem so old.” I grimaced, shaking my head and he gave me an amused look.

“I am 576 years old.” He deadpanned. The daycare cottage was just a five minute walk from the mansion and the pathway through the garden was absolutely beautiful, well lit and covered in the brightest flowers.

I waved off his excuse about his age.

“you don’t look a day over twenty five to me.” I said with a shrug. He shook his head, clearly too tired to carry the conversation on. We walked in silence and I felt incredibly content, just with him near.

And he was going to be by my side for the rest of our lives, I thought softly. I would make sure of it. I’d never felt this way about anyone. Jungkook was a good man , evident in literally everything he did. He was kind, an amazing father and such a gentleman that he made me melt.

Jungkook had been turned at the age of 35. And so he sailed through eternity with the gorgeous good looks of a mature , well kept man. His hair was thick, just a slight bit of grey peppering the edges and his features were sharp and well defined.

“Is Joowon in the daycare already?” I asked with a smile and he nodded curtly.

“He has Mr. Pepper with him. He refused to leave him behind. please just make sure he still has him with him when he leaves. He can’t fall asleep without the bunny “ He said softly and I felt my heart bloom ten sizes.

“Of course, I will -”

“Jungkook !!!” The shrill voice broke the stillness of the night like a hammer through a mirror.

I turned around with a frown only to be greeted by the sight of a very pretty, very tall vampire in a blood red bodycon dress and a neckline that plunged all the way to her belly button. She had ruby red lips, and well made eyes. Eyes that now flashed red , dilating as they ran up and down his body.

I felt myself clenching my fists.

“I’m getting late....we need to go, I grabbed his arm trying to tug him along but he didn’t budge. i glanced at his face and felt my heart shatter at the small smile playing around his lips.

“Helena..... Surprise seeing you here....” He drawled, voice so much deeper than usual and I bit my lips. They knew each other?

The vampire had reached us now and she gave me a disdainful smile.

“Who’s this?” She asked with a laugh, “ Are you babysitting now, Jeon?”

I bristled. To my utter chagrin, Jungkook laughed to.

“She’s the kid I’m watching. The Immortal human of the Hwang clan.” He intoned dully.

The lady’s brows went up in surprise.

“:The rumors are true, ....The Hwang clan’s hidden jewel.....with skin like the rarest pearl and eyes that steal souls. Fiercely guarded ...a beauty like no other.... I thought they were exaggerating, but I see they were not. . You’re exquisite.” She commented , seemingly genuine in the compliment as her eyes roved over my features.

“ Um.. thanks?” I shrugged, not particularly flattered by the extravagant description.

The poets in my clan tended to be a bit overdramatic at times.

. She laughed.

“Are you unavailable for the night, then Jeon?” She turned her flashing eyes on him .

My jaw nearly dropped.

Did this bitch really just proposition-

“Afraid so.... Raincheck?” Jungkook smiled wide and he looked so beautiful that I had to bit my lips to stop from moaning.

Helena waved softly, eyes shifting back to me.

“Be safe, little human. When the sun goes down, the ghouls come out to play.” She grinned wide, letting her fangs grow long, past her lower lip, eyes red and bloody.

I stared right back. She laughed and waved before floating away into the night.

Jungkook chuckled.

“You’re not intimidated by us, then.” He said mildly as we began walking again.

“I spent the entirety of my childhood playing with vampires. Do you really think they didn’t spend every waking hour trying to scare me to death?”

He gave me soft smile, and then went back to staring straight ahead.

I relaxed when the familiar cottage came into view, the sound of laughing kids reaching me.

I held my hand out for the backpack and Jungkook gave it to me.

“I’ll just check out the backyard and see if al the gates are secure and then I’ll be right outside the door, alright? Call out if you need me...” He said sharply

“Will you come even if I call you oppa?” I bit my lips, grinning and he flicked my nose.

“Behave.” He said shortly. I sighed.

“I’m not a kid, you know.” I said softly and he gave me a look.

“You are to me. Now get inside.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s a monster behind the tree and I’m Hawkeye because I have the bow and arrow and Jieun is the princess.” Joowon said brightly, showing off the toy bow and arrow in his hand and I grinned, taking in his exquisite features. He looked strikingly like his father , except for the two adorable dimples that showed up everytime he smiled.

“That’s amazing... do you like fighting monsters?” I asked with a grin holding my arms out for him and he hugged me happily.

“Yes, I like fighting monsters and I like Mr. Pepper.” He waved the stuffed bunny in my face.

“Make sure you keep him safe, alright? “ I stroked the soft skin of the

“So what color does your daddy like?” I asked with a grin. I felt a sharp kick on my shin and I turned to my sister.

“Don’t use the fucking kid for your sinful aims, you dingbat!” She hissed and I glared at her.

“I did no such thing...I was just making conversation....” I hissed back.

“Dad likes black.” Joowon answered dutifully and I ruffled his hair. Jieun appeared then, having waited for her prince and gotten bored. She tugged on Joowon’s arm and I let him go, watching the two of them run off.

“Its only been a month, Sera.... I think you should tone down the infatuation. You know dad would never approve.” My sister said gently and I frowned.

“No he won’t, Dad loves me , he wants me to be happy.” I said shortly.

“Yes, but not with Jungkook. He’s a rogue vampire. He doesn’t have a clan. He has a kid ...”

“An angel of a kid...”

“he has a kid whose mother he had to kill because she was a bloodthirsty witch.”

i stared at my sister feeling anger build inside me.

“What does any of that have to do with how I feel about him?” I demanded , moving to stop one of the littles from tripping over a stray rubik’s cube.

“ You’re special. You’re being courted by some of the richest, most powerful vampires in the country and you want to go after the rogue , broke vampire who’s only here because he needs the money and the safety of our clan?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.” I said firmly.

Somi sighed.

“I’m just saying. Don’t be so blatantly open about your feelings. You’ll be putting a target on Jungkook’s back.”

I exhaled sharply.

“If anyone tries to hurt him, they die.” I said softly.

Somi chuckled.

“I know.... but still, he’s not looking for trouble. Don’t bring it to his doorstep.”

I didn’t reply, moving quickly to the other side of the room.

the words left a bitter taste on my tongue.

Mostly because my sister was right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i stared at the tall strapping vampire, trying to comprehend what I was hearing.

“What do you mean he isn’t here for the night?” I demanded.

“He’s a little tired. He told me had a little too much to drink and he wants to sleep it off. I’ll be here instead ... Just for tonight.” He tried to smile reassuringly and I was momentarily distracted by very deep dimples but I could feel myself fuming.

“and he didn’t think of saying that to me himself? He had to run off while i was closing up the cottage?” I glared.

The Vampire chuckled.

“He told me you might protest.”

“Of course i protest, I feel safer with him...” I said sharply.

The Vampire gave me a deep sigh.

“I’ve been doing this for three centuries, Miss Hwang. You’re definitely safe with me.” He bowed his head.

“What’s your name?” I demanded.

“Kim Namjoon.”

“Fine , Kim Namjoon ssi.... Let’s go. “

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Giving Namjoon the slip was a lot easier than I thought. I waited for him to greet my great uncle, and slipped between two waiters carrying blood cocktails and weaved into the crowd easily.

Jungkook’s bedroom was next to mine and it took me less than a minute to race up the stairs and to his room.

i banged on the door , determined to see for myself just how drunk he’d gotten.

The door opened and i took a deep breath.

“How dare you leave me-”

I froze when I realized that he was shirtless, fresh out of the shower. Water dripped down his torso , like little starbursts of liquid light and my mouth went dry. I swallowed, staring at the tightly packed abs, the dip of his v line as it disappeared into a fluffy white towel.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He growled angrily.

My eyes flew to meet his and then my gaze caught something red on his bed and I peered over his shoulder.

Pain lanced through my heart so sharp that I felt like I’d taken a fucking brick to my chest.

The sight of Helena, naked except for a red bra, stretched out on his bed got burned into my brain and I choked.

“You-” I began but he grabbed my arm, so hard that I knew I would bruise. He yanked me away from the threshold of his room, dragging me to the middle of the hallway as he slammed the door to his room shut.

“Where the fuck is Namjoon?”

“You ditched me to get laid? “ I hissed in disbelief.

“I can’t fucking believe you’re doing this-”

“Is she your girlfriend-”

“Sera-” he shook me again but I refused to back down. I had to know.

“Are you in love with her?!!!” I demanded, my heart breaking .

Jungkook growled.

“It’s none of your damned business!!” He snapped angrily .

“It is !!” I said shrilly.

“Why on earth-”

“Because I’m in love with you!!” I shouted and he froze.

He let go of me like he’d been burned and stepped back, staring at me wide eyed,.

“What did you just say?” He demanded.

“I want you. I want you to court me-”

“Sera stop.” He said sharply

“I’m not joking...I like you and-”

“Shut up.” He growled, his voice shaking.

I swallowed.

“If you say something as asinine as that to me , ever again... I will make you regret it. ” He warned softly.

I felt my heart jerk in panic.

“Jungkook-”

“It’s Mr. Jeon to you!!!” He growled.

I bit my lips, staring at my feet.

“I’m going to pretend this never happened. You’re going to go to your room and wait for Namjoon. If anything like this ever happens again, I’m telling your father.”

I laughed bitterly.

“I’m not fucking twelve years old you son of a bitch. Stop talking to me like I’m your toy or something !” I snarled.

“If you were my toy I would fucking spank you till you cry and lock you in a damn room!” He hissed.

I flinched.

He took a deep shaky breath.

“This never happened.” He said sharply. “ I’m not one of your boytoys. I have no interest in fledgling humans who know nothing about life. That's not the kind of woman I’m looking for. You’re not the kind of woman I’m looking for because you aren’t even a woman yet.”

“ Jungkook !!!” Namjoon’s voice rang through the hallway and I stepped back.

“Have a good night with your whore, Mr. Jeon.” I snapped, before turning on my heel and leaving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Hot DILF! Vampire Jungkook is hot. This brings back fond memories of me panting after my husband as a nineteen year old brat . I was a devilish teenager smitten with a twenty seven year old man. Anyways I hope you guys enjoyed :D

#jungkook #jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fics #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook vampire #jungkook vampire au #jungkook reaction #bts vampire au #bts smut #bts au

662 notes · View notes

shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (ii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, stealing cultural landmarks, frustrated bucky

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: made a header 4 this fic but i couldn’t take it seriously enough <3

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! it’s always fun to hear from y’all.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

It’s roughly a week before he sees you next.

Right on time too, according to the briefings he had received. Once a week you’d come up with your next batshit crazy idea and someone would be sent to make sure you didn’t execute it.

It was more of a babysitting gig than anything. Most people would do one, maybe two assignments before asking to not be sent again.

He was not most people. He volunteers to go again. His afternoon is relatively free and he’s bored.

Also, and more importantly, he needs to get out of the house before Sam finds out what he did.

“You’ll find her near the Statue of Liberty.”

“How do we know?”

“Oh, she tells us.”

“...she tells us where to find her?”

“Most times, yes. She says it’s time efficient.”

Absurd. He thinks you’re absurd.

Bucky finds you in line to board the ferry. You’re dressed to the nines like an obnoxious tourist, even though you were a local, topped with binoculars and a bucket hat.

On an unrelated note, he thinks that maybe the mission today is to kill you for daring to wear sandals with socks like a suburban dad. A shudder runs through his body when he sees it.

He’s wearing all black and a baseball cap. Somehow he’s standing out more than you are.

He boards the ferry behind you, keeping a close eye on all your movements. You take your place near the railing, a seat near the front of the boat.

His phone rings. He answers it, expecting Sam to screech at him for painting Redwing neon pink again. He should have known it was coming after he shoved Bucky off the quinjet before he had time to strap his parachute on properly.

“I thought I told you to bring a cape.”

He quickly looks up at you but you’re not facing him. You have your phone held up to your ear, however.

“How did you get this number?” he asks icily.

“I knew you’d show up again.” Your head tilts to look at the statue in the distance. “Also, thanks for the door money, but I’m not sure I appreciate how you think the least creepy way to give someone money is to drop it off anonymously at their doorstep.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He swiftly gets up, stalking over to where you’re sitting. He was advised not to do anything aggressive. Advised was a flexible word.

“Because I wasn’t going to answer it.” You look up at his figure looming over you. “Oh, hey.”

The phone is still pressed to the side of your face even though he’s right beside you. He cuts the call, shoving it back into his pocket.

“Allow me to introduce my pl-”

“What are you doing here?” He cuts to the chase.

You send him a glare. “I was going to say it before you told me to. And sit down before everyone thinks you’re going to kill me.”

“Why are you going there?” He doesn’t have time for this, he thinks. He has important things to do. Like watching the reruns of Masterchef Junior.

He sits in the seat beside you.

“Look at us.” You grin at him. “Me with the evilest outfit I could think of, you with your... Addams Family cosplay. We’re like, two peas in a po-”

“Start explaining,” he interjects.

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to shrink the Statue of Liberty and use it as a keychain.”

“What?” It’s probably the most benign plan he’s ever heard in his life.

“I’m kidding.” Oh, good. “I’m not using it as a keychain, I’m taking it to class.” Nevermind.

“What?” He finds himself repeating his previous question.

“I’m shrinking all the statues I can find. I want to use it in my classroom to teach the kids.”

“You’re... a teacher?” He blinks.

“You got a problem with that?” You look offended, to say the least.

“No.” It’s not what he would peg your occupation as. He didn’t think you had one at all. “How are you planning on shrinking it?”

You rummage through the ugliest fanny pack he has ever had the misfortune of seeing. You pull out a small ring box, complete with a bow tied neatly on top.

“I was saving this for our third anniversary, but-” you offer him a nervous laugh.

His stony expression doesn’t change, not even a blink.

“Fine, Jesus, you’re no fun,” you huff, dropping the emotional act when he doesn’t look amused.

You flip open the lid. Inside there are a few small disks. It looks familiar, he realises.

“Your friend Ant-Boy didn’t file a patent, so I just took his whole shtick.” He wants to defend Scott’s honour; it’s Ant-Man not boy. He doesn’t. He’s too transfixed on what you have in your hand.

“Pym particles.”

“The diet version.” You pick up one of them carefully. “A ripoff, but effective. Just gotta attach it to the thing I want to shrink and give it a few minutes.”

“You’re going to steal the Statue of Liberty,” he says, frankly a little taken aback that you were serious.

“Would you relax? I’ll put it back.”

“That’s not the point,” he damn near exclaims. “You can’t take away the Statue of Liberty just because you feel like it.”

“I literally can.” You point to the chips in your hand. “That’s the point of this, keep up.”

He feels exasperated. He didn’t sign up for this when he became an Avenger.

“Give me the box.” He makes a grab for it but you yank it away from his reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I don’t have time for this.” His reruns would begin in an hour.

“That’s my problem, because...” you trail off.

He rolls his eyes, makes a grab at the box again. His tactic is different this time. He stealthily pins one of your arms down so that you’re basically incapacitated.

“Hey! Stop that.” You fumble against his reach, shoving him with your elbow.

“Just give me the thing and we can all go home for the day,” he huffs, unfazed by your squirming.

“No! Over my dead bod-”

He doesn’t immediately notice what goes wrong in the scuffle.

Until you look at the ground near your feet. A disk lay there, undisturbed.

“Is that-” All of a sudden, either he’s getting taller or the ceiling of the boat is getting lower.

“Oops,” you say, not remorseful in the slightest.

“Are we going to-”

“I’d give it five minutes max.”

Great. He was stuck on a boat that was beginning to shrink. The other passengers were either oblivious or ignorant to seats that were starting to become too small for them, but Bucky’s heightened senses and extreme reflexes made it hard to skip.

He nudges the piece of tech with his foot. Maybe he can kick it off the boat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you warn solemnly. He wants to disagree but doesn’t know enough about the device to dispute you.

“Fix this,” he hisses, panic slightly rising. His fingers find their way to his phone to send out an emergency text requesting backup and mass evacuation.

“I think it’s a rather lovely day for a swim, don’t you?” You stare dreamily at the waves that were inching closer up the boat.

Or you were inching closer to the water. Technicalities were frivolous.

“There are other people on this boat.”

“River’s big enough for all of us, I reckon.”

“Fix it.”

“Or what?” There’s a wicked gleam in your eye. “We both know I have the upper hand here.”

“Or I call the entirety of the Avengers here and haul your ass to prison.”

“Will they bring snacks?”

You’re insufferable. You know it. But you also are the fastest way to get out of this situation and right now, he didn’t want to be responsible for a shipwreck simulation.

“Fine. Tell me what you want.”

“I like soy chips.”

“Soy chi-” He nearly throws his hands up in frustration. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I want one historical artifact so I can impress the kids. They think I’m the cool teacher and I want to keep that reputation alive.”

“What makes you think I can arrange for that?”

“You’ve been alive since goddamn dinosaurs roamed this earth, I’m sure you have some connections.” You pause to assess his face. “You know, you don’t look a day over 29. Dermatologists must hate yo-”

“I’ll get you an artifact, now fix the fuckin’ boat.”

“You promise?” You grin brightly.

He stares at you. You are unyielding.

The boat’s uncomfortably small and people are beginning to take notice. Worried murmurs fill the air behind him.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You shrug simply.

You kneel over, picking up the chip from the ground. You do nothing else for two minutes, instead turning away from him to look at the Statue of Liberty that was coming closer.

It takes him a while to realise that half his body isn’t hanging off his chair anymore. The ceiling is moving further and further away from the top of his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wants to strangle you.

Why did he listen to you when all of this would have been over the minute he kicked it off the ship.

“You can drop it off at my lair on Monday and pick it up on Friday.” You gather your belongings, leaving him steaming behind you. “Nice talkin’ to ya, Sergeant.”

You step over him, flashing him a quick smile before walking off the boat with the rest of the tourists as if nothing had just taken place. When he looks down, the stupid ring box is on his lap.

He sits there, unmoving, eyes fixed on the container.

The ferry conductor asks if he’s going to get off the boat.

He simply shakes his head.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

1K notes · View notes

needleandhammer · 3 years

Text

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

#curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #smut #fanfic #siris5ksoftdarkchallenge

408 notes · View notes

thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002 Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

@maat-the-prescriptive @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @itsminniekat @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01 @buddyemily @the-albino-lioness @stardream14 @gdhdkfnn @nomadicgypsyy @preciousskye @fluffysuicideunicornsworld @o-kaelin @manacharlotte @awkward-youtube-trash @lolalee24 @bonky-beerns @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @strawbrinkofdeath @teenloves @tams0527 @browneyespinkhair @starstruckllamapuppy @daisychains012 @y0ulooked @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life @jula-pauline @melodykitty @just-that-bi-girl @crazybutconfidentaf @lowellshade @alphakees @bellero @weallneednamjesus @starryhanji @boiled-onionrings @husherstan @fockingwhore @melaningoddessthings @prettypastelpetals @haleypearce @godwhyamiawkward @y-napotat @daisychainyoonmin @little-miss-rebel3 @free-wheelin-bi-sexual @redmoon261 @darkacademic2 @wiseflamingoqueen @into-the-end @namikhai-i @nastiablr @thelittleplantlover @mirktuan @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny @vintagegothlover @easygoingtheatre @itsrandombooklover @miiaivi @emmybaybee @befourgolden @jjk-is-my-shit @eternalteaaars @spacebadgerx @princesslunalight @acequinn14 @samm48 @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa @fo-love @marishimomura-blog @therealglenncoco @cinnamonbun332 @killtherandomness @sanshinexxxsan @fee-btheweeb @press-lay @cathleenpotgieter16 @jazzydoesstuff @moonlxghtbay @forestrain2000 @hyunjinhugs @blood-of-fandoms @lovellylies @ukiyolixx @simpforhpcharacters @chrisdylan17 @parkerjisung @pedernille @theodonyous @wineandionysus @malfoystilinskii05 @morbid-x @coryisagee @jessewa26 @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365 @raeanneinwonderland @indecisive-empanada @gluttonypalace @loriane2503 @btsiguess-kpop @khaoticbunny @lucidlycactus @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @kpopgirlbtssvt @fangirl-tc27 @fr0z3n-1 @notmesimpingfortechno @shotarosleftpinky @kunoi-chan @idk-whats-wrong-with-me @yikeroonie @goldenstarofthunderclan @poetry-and-tea @ama-do-writing-stuff @wishbonewolf @emeraldxhope @t0xick1tty @kusuinko @speakyourselfloveyourself @sophia902103 @lo-manburg @classsykittykat @dmgama @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee @btsiguess-kpop @akaashi-baby @gun-jong-simp @geschichtenfee @yerapotato-wp @browneyedgirl365 @thysagclub @sparklycloudnight @helloatomicshadow @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal @lucy-bunny17 @aaliyahh0 @katluckybear @boyleanti @straybids @franchesca-791 @cosmicstorm19 @averyisbackinthetrashcan @aomi-nabi @xlanawriter @allensimpsforcorpse @sunnyrae-cessh @ladykxxx08 @meowiemari @renupf @booklover76 @sra-verissimo

177 notes · View notes

the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

The Perks of Cold Weather

Hello! This is just a whole lot of fluff because I need some positive vibes this week. Feel free to send some requests my way if you’d like! They can be as specific or as vague as you want and I’ll do my best. None of my ideas are currently working for me.

Summary: Reader and Spencer have some fun in the snow in a small town in Alaska.

Words: 2996

Warnings: none I think

When you first started at the BAU, you were quick to realize the group was more like a family than coworkers. It was clear in the little things they did for each other on case, like the way JJ and Spencer would comfort each other on particularly difficult cases to the slight bickering that would inevitably start up between Derek and Emily about anything that didn’t really matter.

You were quick to find your place in the little family as well. Well, not find it so much as fall into it, but you didn’t mind. You were only 28 years old, meaning you were the youngest member of the BAU. Being the youngest meant a lot of teasing from the “older sibling” personalities of everyone except Rossi and Hotch. Their personalities were much more parent-esque. With how much they’d tease you, you were always quick to jump on the chance to tease them for a change. The perfect opportunity arose when a case came up in Alaska.

Penelope walked through the bullpen, calling you all into the roundtable room right before you left for the day. “Hello my wonderful crime fighters. I wish I had better news, but this case is a real whammy. Three women have been found stabbed to death in a small town in Alaska.”

The collective groans of just about everyone in the room were quiet, but obvious.

“I know, I know. Another freezing cold case. I wish I could send you to LA all the time, but alas bad guys aren’t deterred by freezing temperatures.” She went on to explain the details of the case before Hotch dismissed everyone with his typical “Wheels up in 30.”

The team dispersed to collect their go bags- and winter items for the cold weather they would surely be facing in Alaska- before meeting on the jet. When you got there, everyone else was already boarded, and you couldn’t help but feel the low energy of everyone on the plane.

“Don’t tell me the lot of you are afraid of a little snow?” You can’t stop the smirk from appearing on your face as you sit down across from Spencer and adjacent to Emily, Derek, and JJ.

“Big words from someone who hasn’t been on a case in Alaska yet.” Derek’s reply comes without hesitation. The grin on your face only grows when you realize that everyone really is feeling low because of the impending winter wonderland.

“Don’t tell me you’re excited for the cold weather?” JJ shivers just asking the question.

“Of course I am! I’ve always loved the cold. There’s something so magical about watching snow fall. It feels like Christmas!” The four of them stare at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You are seriously telling me none of you like the snow?” You scan all of their faces in disbelief, eyes landing on Spencer last.

“Don’t look at me. I’m from Nevada, it’s basically the desert. Winter in Las Vegas is comparable to fall in DC. The last time it snowed with any significance was in 2003 and that was only an inch.” Spencer nearly starts rambling about weather patterns across the US, but cuts himself off.

“You all are seriously killing my good mood with your bad vibes. I will change at least one of your minds by the end of this case” You say in a huff while putting your headphones on. You try to catch up on some sleep before you all reconvene to discuss the case.

After the briefing and right before landing, everyone starts bundling up in layers upon layers of sweatshirts, jackets, coats, gloves, scarves, and hats. You pull a sweater on over your long sleeve and zip up your FBI jacket, adding a cute beanie more for aesthetics than warmth. You’ve never been one to get overly cold, so you skip a few layers everyone else put on.

The rest of the team marches off the jet as if they would rather be anywhere else, but you don’t let it deter you. You exit the jet with a smile on your face, taking a deep breath of the cool Alaskan air.

“You really are enjoying yourself?” Spencer asks with a small smile. You meet his eye, the look on his face giving you butterflies, before responding.

“Of course I am. It smells like winter!” The two of you share a laugh as you get in the SUV headed to the police precinct to actually get to work.

The case only lasted two days. You were glad to have solved it so quickly, but you would be lying if you said you weren’t going to miss the snow. After the case files are all packed away and Hotch goes off to coordinate the jet, you head outside to absorb every last ounce of winter possible.

“I thought I might find you out here.” Spencer sits next to you on the bench as you stare at the flakes falling from the sky.

“What can I say, I just really love the cold.” You reply without turning your head. “Maybe it’s weird, but I would pick cold over hot any day.”

“I don’t think it’s weird at all! I think it’s kind of cute actually.” That gets your attention and you turn to see he’s looking at his hands in his lap, fiddling with his thumbs. “I like how happy you are when you look at the snow.”

Of course, that makes you smile again. “Thank you, Spence.” You can feel your cheeks heating up, but you’re quickly distracted by the sound of Derek calling the two of you back into the station.

“Hey lovebirds, Hotch needs us.” You roll your eyes at Derek before standing up, offering your hand to Spencer to help him up. He takes your hand, squeezing it slightly as he rises from the bench. He only drops your hand when he goes to hold the door open for you, leading you back inside. The team gathers in the conference room, Hotch walking in with a grim expression.

“I’ll cut to the chase. We won’t be able to fly home until this evening. The snow from last night on top of the storm that’s about to pass through is too much to clear right now.” Everyone, including you, sighs before nodding in understanding. As much as you would love to stay longer, you know it sucks that everyone can’t go home to their families. “This case is wrapped up, so feel free to just explore the town or relax in the hotel. We should be able to take off at 9:00 pm, so I expect to see all of you on the jet by 8:45.” Those words were music to your ears. As everyone begins to pack up to head out, you turn to Spencer.

“I can’t believe this. It’s like a snow day! I’ve always loved snow days! We would always go outside, have a snowball fight, build a snowman, and try to build an igloo but end up giving up when it collapsed for the third time.” He chuckles at your enthusiasm, but nods along as you both walk out of the precinct toward the hotel just down the street. “Then we’d go in for lunch, make hot chocolate and cookies, and watch all our favorite movies.”

“Is that what you want to do today?” Spencer asks as you both walk into the hotel lobby.

“I mean, in a perfect world, yeah. That is exactly what I would want to do today.” You smile wistfully as you think back to your childhood snow days with your siblings.

“Well then, let’s see how perfect we can make the world, just for today.” Spencer’s smiling as he says it, taking in the confusion and shock on your face.

“You mean… You want to build a snowman? With me?” Your heart is beating so forcefully, you wouldn’t be surprised if it flew right out of your chest.

“Yeah, and all the other things too.” Spencer’s words are soft and unsure, contrasting the confidence of his previous statement.

“But you don’t like the cold weather…” You simply can’t fathom why he would volunteer to do these cold weather activities when just two days ago he was talking about how little snow he experienced when he was younger.

“But you do, and we’re stuck here anyway. So, why not?” Hearing that he would spend his day off playing in the snow simply because you want to does things to you that you chose to ignore for the time being.

“O- okay… yeah, let’s do it! ” The two of you smile at each other for a few seconds before you each bring your things to you respective rooms with a plan to meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes.

When you get to your room you pull out the warmest clothes you brought to Alaska. Although it would suffice for walking down the street, it’s not exactly made for playing in the snow. After getting dressed you meet Spencer in the lobby. He is dressed in warmer clothes than you, but still not snow proof.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea…” Your excitement to start this day with Spencer has dwindled since imaging the cold, wet clothes you’d end up in. “The key to a good snow day is waterproof clothes and we definitely don’t have any. How am I going to make you like snow if you’re freezing and wet at the end of the day?” You would expect the resident genius to agree with you, but instead of a grim expression and a nod in agreement, Spencer’s smile grows.

“Don’t worry about it. Just come with me.” He leads you outside of the hotel with his hand on the small of your back all the way down to the town store. “What needs to be waterproof? We can find snow pants, jackets, gloves, and boots right here.” He looks so pleased with himself as he leads you around the store to collect all the items you’ll need. He even picks out a sled for the two of you.

After checking out, he leads you back outside where you pull the waterproof gear on over your warm layers, tossing the tags into a nearby trash can. Before you can say anything, he is again leading you through the town with his hand on the small of your back. He stops when he reaches the park, turning to you once again.

“Where do you want to build the snowman?” You mirror the grin on his face as you run across the park to a flatter area.

You begin compressing the snow in your hands to form the ball that would eventually become the bottom layer of your snowman. Spencer copies your actions, forming a lopsided ball for the middle. You leave Spencer to work on the head while you search around the nearby trees for sticks to use as arms and rocks to use for the eyes and buttons.

After finding the perfect set of sticks, you return to see Spencer adding a carrot nose right in the middle of the head.

“I didn’t even see you buy carrots!” He laughs at your childlike enthusiasm, moving aside so you can add the sticks to the middle. You also add the rocks you gathered for the eyes and buttons. Spencer surprises you again by pulling out a hat and scarf to add the finish touches.

After forcing him to take a selfie with you and the snowman, you walk across the park to find a good sledding hill. You find the perfect hill, and offer to go down first since it’s going to take some effort to form the path. Spencer watches you scooching your way through the snow, forcing the sled down the hill, laughing hysterically. You haven’t been able to enjoy snow like this for years.

Spencer was hesitant to sled down the hill together, but one pout from you and he climbed on right away. The sled picked up pace is you barreled out of control, flipping and rolling down the hill.

You took the opportunity of a distracted Spencer to form a snow ball, waiting until he was only a few feet away to throw it at him. Of course, as soon as it hits him it’s game on. The two of you are running through the park, hiding behind trees, and dodging each other’s snowballs. Spencer, being uncoordinated, mostly missed you. That is, until the very end of the snowball fight when he hits you right in the face, the surprise causing you to fall to the ground.

“Y/N! Are you okay! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” He’s cut off by your laughter.

“Relax Spence, its fine! It was powdery snow. It’s not like you hit me with a chunk of ice.” You smile at him as he helps you to a standing position. You’re so focused on standing up without slipping on the compressed snow beneath your feet, you don’t realize how close the two of you have become. When you look up to meet his eyes, your noses are nearly touching.

Without much thought for the consequences, you lean a few inches forward, ever so slightly brushing your lips against his.

Spencer is so stunned, it takes him much longer than he’d care to admit to reciprocate your affection. So long in fact, that you’ve pulled away and are frantically trying to think of something to say to save your friendship when he pulls you back in.

The two of you don’t pull away again until the need for air overpowers your need for each other. You stay close though, foreheads pressed together.

“Let me take you on a date. A real one where we go into knowing it’s a date.” Spencer says it all in one breath.

“Oh, Spence. This whole day has been a perfect date, even if we didn’t say it at first. But I would love to go on another with you.”

The two of you are all smiles as you walk back toward the café near your hotel. You’ve been outside so long it’s nearly dark- granted it gets dark around 4:00 this time of year in Alaska. Upon entering the café, Spencer is quick to order two hot chocolates and cookies to go.

“I know it’s not the same as baking them ourselves, but we don’t have access to an oven in the hotel.” He says, squeezing your hand before leading you out of the café.

You would blindly follow Spencer anywhere, but that doesn’t stop you from asking him about it. “Where are we going now? I thought we were going to eat…”

“Back to the hotel. We have one more thing to check off the list for your perfect snow day.” Of course he would remember your list from earlier in the day. “So tell me, what’s your favorite snow day movie?”

“That’s actually a tough question. It changes depending on the mood.” You are genuinely trying to think of the perfect movie to end the perfect day as you walk back into the hotel.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you go up to your room and pick out a movie that fits ‘the mood’, and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes?” You simply nod in response, too lost in thought to contemplate where he could be going.

15 minutes later you have finally picked out a movie to watch when Spencer enters your room, carrying a takeout bag.

“I finally found a movie!” You smile at him as you show him your computer screen. Anastasia is queued on your Disney+.

“Perfect. We can now officially start our date.” He smiles, pulling the food out of the bag, he hands you a cup of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. Your heart warms at the sight of it. You know Spencer has an eidetic memory, but you still get butterflies at the idea of him remembering your favorite cold weather food.

The two of you sit against the headboard, setting the computer between you to play the movie. After you’ve finished eating you shuffle around on the bed, moving the laptop so you could cuddle with Spencer.

“I’ve got another reason for you to like the cold weather.” You state matter-of-factly, eyes still trained on the movie.

“Yeah? What is it?” Spencer’s eyes are trained on your face.

“It’s better for cuddling.” A small grin appears on your face at the sound of Spencer’s airy laugh. He pulls you closer, both of you completely content.

As much as you love the cold and snow, dragging yourself out of Spencer’s arms and into the cold air to get to the jet on time was not an exciting task. In fact, it put you in a slightly sour mood, something Morgan was all too quick to pick up on.

“What’s the matter L/N? The cold weather got you down?” He laughs at your annoyed expression.

“Not a chance, Morgan. I quite enjoyed our little snow day actually.” You smile at Spencer as you pull your blanket from your go bag and sit on the couch.

“You actually played in the snow? It was only 22 degrees today!” You can’t help but shake your head. 22 degrees is cold, but nothing compared to how bad it can get in Alaska.

“We did indeed. I think I managed to turn Spencer on to the cold weather too.” Spencer sits down next to you encouraging you to share your blanket.

“How’d you manage that? I’ve been to on enough cases with Pretty Boy here to know he prefers the warmer ones.”

“It’s actually rather simple.” Spencer replies, shifting his arm around you on the back of the couch. You smile as you close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Colder climates make for better cuddles.”

tag list:

@mac99martin

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x y/n

553 notes · View notes

startanewdream · 3 years

Text

Do you know when there is something you are really happy of how it turned out but you also know that you'll never finish it? So a while ago I tried to write a fic about Harry realizing a little bit sooner that he fancied Ginny and Ginny not dating Dean at the beginning of HBP. All because, really, I wanted to give them more time together and allow Harry to be more of a teenager in love.

Well, I won't finish this, but it's too long to sit unread on my desktop, so I hope you enjoy those little moments of Hinny that could have been, with a strangely romantic Harry.

The moment that Ginny walks away from him, after telling she promised to meet her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Harry feels a strange twinge of annoyance. He watches her go, her long hair dancing behind her in a way that seems to reflect all the sunlight and he thinks he has become so used to her presence over the summer that he hadn’t stopped to think she usually did not hang out with him while at school.

He wishes he’d asked her sooner to sit with him.

It’s only when he is walking along the train with Neville and Luna, and he sees Cho Chang darting hurriedly into her compartment to avoid him, that he realizes this is not the first time he has wished he’d invited someone sooner. A shiver goes through his spine as he realizes the implications.

It’s not as if he feels for Ginny as he felt for Cho, he reasons silently. When he was near Cho, he was always nervous, like if there was a hole in his chest that was threatening to engulf him.

When he thinks of Ginny, he doesn’t feel nervous, he doesn’t feel like he is missing anything. If he thinks of Ginny in those last weeks of the summer, he remembers her being brighter than the summer sun. She is lively and fiery, and Harry had enjoyed her company, had shared her jokes, had made her laugh as much as she had made him laugh. After everything that happened – after Sirius – it had been nice to feel light and Ginny had helped him.

He feels peaceful and complete around her, which Harry tells himself it is perfectly reasonable. She is his friend after all, and if he considers Ron as his brother, then she would be like his sister, like Hermione.

Except now that Harry’s mind is grasping the effects of Ginny Weasley on his life, he realizes he doesn’t really think of her as his sister, no way. He remembers watching her imitating Fleur, her long red hair dancing around her in a way that seemed more entrancing than any veela power Harry ever met; he remembers when they got caught in the summer rain and the way her clothes were glued to her body and he had hastily looked away, feeling so embarrassed at how his stupid teenage body was reacting to that vision.

But now Harry doesn’t think it was just a normal teenage reaction. He thinks about how it would be if he were in the same situation with Hermione and the thought is unappealing just because he doesn’t really see her as anything but his friend.

It’s not the same with Ginny.

He thinks about her smile, about her long red hair, about the curves of her body he’d noticed even though he tried not to and about the freckles on her face that he was once strangely attempted to count.

He feels attracted to her.

That realization comes at the same moment that Ron enters their compartment and Harry feels suddenly guilty; Ron trusts him. He remembers hearing to Fred and George teasing her about her previous boyfriend and how her brothers are so protective of her; Ron would hate him if he knew Harry was –

What? Harry doesn’t know what he is feeling. Somehow this makes him feel less guilty. So he thinks Ginny is pretty. That’s reasonable, anyone with eyes could see she’s beautiful. So he misses her presence; that’s also fair, considering how much time they spent together over the summer.

That doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself when he attends the invitation of Slughorn and his heart skips when he sees that Ginny is already there.

It’s just a silly attraction, he insists, when his fists close after hearing Blaise Zabini commenting on how good-looking she is.

Oh, I'm screwed, he admits when Hermione is explaining how Amortentia works and Harry knows exactly whose perfume he is smelling in the potion.

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

So he has a crush on Ginny Weasley.

That’s okay, Harry tells himself, I can manage it.

Except he is really horrible at pretending he doesn’t care for her. Harry knows this is stupid; it’s not like those feelings developed overnight, he probably was falling for her during the summer, but somehow realizing these feelings exist have made him flustered around her.

He nearly drools during trials when she flies perfectly and outflows all the competition, thinking that her flying is better than any dance he’d ever seen.

He sighs watching her play with her pigmy puff, and he looks around hoping that no one saw it.

Still, he can’t help but keep stealing glances at her in the Common Room, careful only to avoid Hermione’s increasingly knowing looks, and he realizes that maybe he should stop pretending he doesn’t have feelings for Ginny when he sees her talking to a boy from her year.

They could be just friends, for all Harry knows, but that’s when he understands that if he doesn’t do anything, someone will ask her out and eventually she will say yes.

He remembers how she teased a while ago that she was going out with Dean Thomas just to pest Ron and he feels suddenly happy that Dean is not on the Quidditch Team, that he doesn’t spend much time with her. He’d heard Dean and Seamus talking in low voices about her in their dormitory when Ron is not around, and he knows Dean still fancies her.

Sometimes Harry looks at Ginny and wonders what she would say if he asks her out. He remembers Hermione telling them that Ginny used to like him but she gave up on him ages ago. Indeed, now she treats him with so much friendship that Harry wonders if she will just be offended with his invitation. That fear burns inside him, but he cannot help himself from walking back with her from training – even if Ron’s there most of the time – and he doesn’t really think when he volunteers to help her with some spells for extra points in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry soon finds out it was a terrible wonderful idea to spend a few hours with her on Friday night, just the two of them, in a closed classroom. His heart is beating faster as he watches her dodge his spells and he knows it’s not adrenaline from the duel. It’s her, it’s always her.

She is strong, he realizes, when Ginny looks fiercely as she fights him, her eyes blazing with determination and she deflects spell after spell he throws in her direction. She is gorgeous, he notices shamelessly, when her face is red and sweaty from their duel, and she is beaming at him at the end of their duel.

‘You are amazing’, he says and if his eyes are shining he thinks it could be explained by the fact that she really was very good.

But what he can’t explain is how much the energy he was spending on their duel is still running through his vein, filling him with heat and desire for her, desire to do something, anything. He wonders what she would say if he suddenly acted in his urges and just kissed her – he wonders if she would hex him if he pushed her against the wall, and his lips captured hers, his body pressed against hers, feeling her curves, their hands desperate, hearing her moan into his kiss –

‘Thanks’, she says, breaking his imagination. Harry nods, avoiding looking at her. The images are still very clear in his head and he’s glad he’s wearing a cloak. It’s much easier to hide the effects of his imagination this way. ‘I thought you were going easy on me at first’.

It’s the teasing in her voice that makes Harry turns towards her and he almost regrets it. She is still breathing hard, sweat shining on her neck, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to her neckline and then lower seeing her chest going up and down and suddenly the room becomes even hotter.

It takes real effort to look her in the eyes.

‘I would never’, he promises. ‘You’d hex me if I did’.

She giggles and Harry pretends that innocent sound doesn’t fill his chest with longing.

‘Let’s go? I need a bath after this’, she says and Harry considers seriously that she has to know the effect her comment makes on him. His imagination has been working overtime lately.

‘I need too’, he whispers more to himself than her. He doubts she needs a cold shower as much as he does.

‘So’, she begins, as they walk back to the Gryffindor Tower. ‘Excited for tomorrow?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t tell me you forgot the first trip to Hogsmeade. I’ve been waiting for ages for a day-off’.

The thing is Harry hadn’t forgotten Hogsmeade. He couldn’t, not when ideas of taking a stroll with Ginny through the village were constant on his mind; he’d thought about it ever since they announced the date of the trip, but his – that one that always got him into trouble – had faltered him for once.

‘I just lost track of time’, he says, hoping to sound distracted. ‘Got any plans?’

‘None so far’, she replies, her voice sounding as distant as his.

Harry takes a deep breath and urges himself to be brave. If he can face a basilisk, he can do this.

‘You could come with me’, he says, and when she turns to look at him, Harry discovers that looking her directly in the eyes would probably be as mortal as a basilisk eye. ‘Us, I mean, me and Ron and Hermione’. Harry forces himself to smile calmly, even though his heart is beating painfully fast now. ‘You know, if you want our company’.

He glances briefly at her. Ginny is frowning slightly.

‘I don’t want to intrude’, she says finally. Harry is glad she is not rejecting the idea.

‘You wouldn’t’. He smiled as charmingly as he can. ‘Come on, it will be like summer over again, we can tease Ron and Hermione’.

She laughs. ‘I would never miss an opportunity to tease them’, she agrees, and Harry tries not to beam as she accepts joining him – them – for Hogsmeade.

But he beams later that night when he hears Dean grumbling to Seamus that he’d asked Ginny out for Hogsmeade and she answered that she already had other plans.

Plans. They have plans together.

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

The trip to Hogsmeade is an utterly disappointment, with the bad weather and finding Mundungus Fletcher nicking Sirius’s stuff and the curse of Katie Bell. Not even Ginny’s presence is enough to save the day and Harry is left feeling miserable the whole weekend.

The meeting with Dumbledore helps to ease his tension – never mind that they are discussing Voldemort’s past – but it’s in the next morning that Harry feels hopeful again.

First, Hermione tells him of Slughorn’s Christmas party and Harry’s mind, already exceptionally good at creating scenarios involving him and Ginny (he’s been so creative lately that he thinks he could provide ideas for Fred and George’s Patented Daydream Charm), immediately wants this opportunity to ask Ginny out. And second, Hermione invites Ron to go with her, and Ron’s subsequently bliss is enough for Harry to feel that his best friend wouldn’t mind if he asks Ginny out.

Harry tries to say to himself that it’s still early – they’ve just entered November and the party is a month away, but an unforeseen complication arrives the moment that Harry asks Dean to join the team.

He’d thought that Dean would have given up on Ginny already, but from what he collects – and Harry is becoming really good at overhearing conversations -, Dean considered that Ginny denying his invitation was not because she already had a date, just because she was going with her brother. He sees Dean is more invested than ever, and when he gives her a very nice drawing of her face, Harry feels suddenly useless.

Dean can draw. What can Harry do? Sure, he flies well, but it’s not like he could impress Ginny with that when she probably flies better than him. And it’s not like being the Chosen One is a talent – it’s more of a burden, really, and Ginny already knows him enough to see he is not a hero.

He’s feeling really dismayed after the training and for once, when he realizes he and Ginny are alone in the changing room, he doesn’t feel excited.

‘Spit it out’, she says, standing in front of him with her arms crossed, as soon as the door closes after Ron.

‘What?’

‘What’s been bothering you’. She frows at him. ‘You’ve been quiet all training. You didn’t say anything when I called Ron a prat. You didn’t say anything when Ron punched Demelza and he really deserved a call. So tell me, what’s wrong?’

‘Do you ever feel like a failure?’

She blinks, clearly not expecting that question.

‘Hum. Yeah. I once opened a secret chamber, you know’.

‘That was Voldemort, not you’.

‘Well -’, she takes a step back, but she relaxes her arms. ‘But before it was his fault, it was mine. I only let him get to me because I was feeling so insecure’.

‘You were eleven’.

‘When you were eleven you were stopping You-Know-Who’, notes Ginny, rolling her eyes. ‘But what I meant is that I still question myself sometimes. And when I do, I remember that the last time I really doubted myself, I let someone control me’. Her gaze burns into his eyes and Harry thinks she never looked so fierce than now. ‘No fear will ever control me again’.

Oh, God, he feels so smitten by her.

‘Thanks’, he says instead of pulling her closer to him, which is everything his body screams for him to do. She smiles.

‘No problem, Captain. And you are not a failure. How could you be when you have me in the team?’

He laughs easily.

As they walk the grounds, Harry asks her in the most meaningless voice he can manage: ‘I saw Dean giving you a present early. You and him –‘

She sighs and Harry tries to understand if it’s a happy or sad sigh.

‘Yeah, he is – and that’s his words, not mine – courting me’.

She doesn’t sound pleased and Harry’s heart nearly bursts then, satisfied.

‘It was a nice drawing’, he says nonchalantly. She just nods. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Really? We wouldn’t work out together’.

‘How do you know?’, asks Harry, but he is not really thinking about Dean.

‘Well, for starters, he uses the term courting’, she says, making Harry chuckle without meaning to. ‘It’s just – well, I had one relationship so I’m not an expert but – he is the kind of guy who runs to open doors and I am the kind of girl who likes to open doors for herself. We just wouldn’t click’.

‘Oh!’, Harry bits his lips but the question is his mind slips through his mouth anyway. ‘And what kind of guy am I?’

She stops to look at him. They are a few steps away from the Entrance Hall and Harry almost lost his track when he sees her illuminated by the light of the castle. It feels like a vision from the heavens.

‘The kind who would let a girl open the door if she were closer’, she says warmly, but before Harry can answer, she turns away from him, entering the castle.

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

The minute the door closes on the changing room, Harry lets out a dismayed sigh. His plan was supposed to help Ron get his confidence again, to let himself back into that bliss that had accompanied him in the days after Hermione asked him out for Slughorn’s party. Now, he doesn’t even know if Ron and Hermione will remain friends.

When he leaves the changing room, there is a crowd, many of whom are congratulating him. He just nods without really listening and when someone pulls him away from the crowd, he reacts until he realizes it’s Ginny.

‘Come on’, she says and instead of taking the shortcut that every other Gryffindor is using, they use the normal stairs to go up. ‘What happened?’, Ginny asks, when the sound of the crowd vanishes behind them.

He tells the story in a low voice, not wanting to look at her as he recalls his plan, wondering now how he didn’t think Hermione would assume the worst –

‘It was a good plan’, Ginny mumbleswhen he finishes the story. They are in the seventh-floor corridor now, and she stops by a window, crossing her arms as she lays her back against the wall. The wind makes her hair flow like flames around her; this distracts Harry for a few seconds until he sighs.

‘It backfired completely’.

‘Well, yes, but only after the game’. She bits her lips, thoroughly. ‘But for your plan of helping Ron, it worked. He is a good keeper when he can keep his head in the right place’.

‘Yeah’. He sighs again, taking a step closer to her and looking at the window, trying to ignore how her scent of flowers threatens to overwhelm him. ‘Except now he is mad at Hermione and she is feeling hurt and –‘

‘They are bickering, Harry’, she notes. ‘That’s what they do’.

‘Yeah, but –‘, he remembers that day in the greenhouses. ‘- but for once they were closer to be over that phase, you know? They were going together to Slughorn’s party’.

‘They still will’, Ginny says calmly. ‘It’s just another fight for them. You could call it foreplay even’.

‘Ew, thanks for the image’, he complains, but there is a smile on his face that reveals his amusement. It’s easy to let her quiet words wash over him, drawing away the apprehension.

That’s Ginny’s power over him, he thinks. There is a lightness in her, something that makes him feel as if he had just eaten a chocolate after encountering a dementor, or as if he is as protected as if he just casted the Patronus Charm.

‘You know, I can’t still believe Hermione invited Ron’, she says almost absently.

When Harry thinks about it, he considers that maybe Hermione just lost the patience that Ron would ever ask her out; but right now, he feels envy for her courage, for her stepping over any fear and asking out someone who is one of her closest friends. If Hermione could do it, then he can too.

‘I take you are nervous about it?’, she asks, and Harry turns to her, confused to what she means. ‘About Ron and Hermione, you know, dating’.

Harry shrugs, trying to look nonchalant.

‘As long as I don’t have to see it’, he says. She raises her eyebrows, not believing his indifference. ‘Okay, I worry a bit. If they split up, I don’t know how things would be’.

‘No one knows. But that’s their problem, Harry, not yours’.

‘Our friendship –‘

‘- will survive’, she finishes for him.

‘How do you know?’

‘With the things you’ve faced together, you just can’t stop being friends’. She stares at him for a few seconds, then adds gently: ‘And they won’t ever leave you’.

He blinks, losing himself in the warm brown of her eyes, marvelous at how she always seems to read his mind. He wonders if there is more she can see through him.

If she knows how he feels for her.

‘And if they do split up, at least they will know. Not knowing is the worst sometimes’.

Harry agrees. Sometimes at night when he wonders how it would be Ginny’s reaction to him asking her out, he thinks that the agony of unknowing is worse than any rejection he could face.

‘So it’s good they have a date’, Ginny is saying, seeming to not notice any of Harry’s internal discussion. ‘Slughorn’s party looks nice’, she glances at him rather amusedly. ‘You would know if you had gone into any of his dinners’.

‘I wish I’d gone’, Harry says rather fervidly, thinking he’d enjoy that extra time with Ginny. Then he takes a deep breath. It doesn’t make sense to wish for more time and do nothing about it. ‘Are you going with someone?’

She blinks slowly.

‘Dean’s been giving me some hints he’d like to go with me, but, you know –‘

‘- you are not interested in being courted’, he remembers, with a smile that is calmer than he really feels. His heart is beating so loud in his chest that he wonders if she can hear it. ‘So if you don’t have any plans, would you like to come with me?’

The words are said so naturally that something inside him is almost applauding him, elated that he could really ask her without tumbling the words; he can still remember that Wangoballwime fiasco. But now, as time seems to stop as he waits for her answer, he thinks it’s obvious he would be better asking Ginny out.

Whatever he felt for Cho is in no way comparable to what he feels now.

Ginny is still looking at him, without blinking, and he thinks it’s the first time in a long time he sees her so quiet.

‘Just to be clear –‘, she begins, then she shakes her head. He sees her taking a short breath. ‘We could go together, yes’. There is a smile on her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘I imagine this way Romilda Vane and all those other girls will stop pestering you about’.

He could just nod. He could accept her perfect reasonable explanation for them going together to the party and that way there will be no chance of things being weird between them.

But for her, he is willing to take a chance.

‘They would, but that’s not because I am asking you’, he says, his voice low. 'I really -'

There is a high shriek on the end of the corridor. They turn around together to see the portrait of the Fat Lady opening and Hermione is leaving the Common Room. There is a cloud of birds around her head and as they watch, the birds suddenly fly directly to the Common Room; there is a scream of pain.

Harry and Ginny look at each other.

'I'll see Hermione', she says, just as Harry nods.

'I'll go check Ron', and they split.

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

There are many things Harry could've foreseen, but Ron dating Lavender Brown is not one of them.

Things between Ron and Hermione are rocky, and as he plays the middle man between them, he finds out there is not much room for telling either of them that he has invited Ginny to go with him to Slughorn's party.

He supposes Ron wouldn't be mad at him, but he only supposes because his friend is always occupied with Lavender these days - or rather their mouths are. At least Harry feels any protectiveness of Ron would be rather hypocrite considering how much Harry has unfortunately seen his best friend snogging.

And Hermione looks so heartbroken and furious these days that he doesn't have the heart to tell her about his plans with Ginny.

He couldn't stop beaming if he told her and that's not very tactful.

Sometimes he feels like the worst friend – his best friends aren't talking to each other, Ron has lost himself in a relationship and Hermione is so upset – but the truth is that the idea of going on a date with Ginny fills his heart with glee and makes him want to sing.

And if Ginny mentioned to anyone that they will go together, Harry wouldn't know. He thinks not, because he doesn't hear anyone talking about it – and between Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane, he would've heard; even Ron would return to the surface to say something, he thinks.

It's just one of these things that somehow feels weird to announce after not announcing it immediately, so he considers that people will just notice when they go together.

And it's not like there is anything different between him and Ginny. She treats him as normal as before he'd asked her out, and if their eyes meet randomly through the day – and she smiles at him – it's still normal.

But he waits more anxiously than before to Slughorn's party, imagining candle lights and romantic songs, maybe a slow dance.

He can’t dance for his life, but for Ginny he thinks he could learn ballet.

Romilda Vane keeps hinting that she’d like to go to the party with him and Hermione advices that he should ask someone else so people can stop pestering him.

‘I have’, he says finally, and the smile is already in the corner of his mouth, as much as he wants to pretend it's no big deal. ‘I’m going with Ginny’.

His attempt at apathy is pathetic and even though Hermione has not been herself lately, she is still smart enough to see right past him.

‘Oh. Finally, then’.

Harry pretends to not understand.

‘Why are you keeping it a secret?’

They aren’t, not really, so Harry just shrugs. He has dealt with the effects that being related to him have caused before, and he doesn’t want for it to happen again - not so soon, not before he and Ginny even… What?

He doesn’t know what he is waiting to happen first, but, still, it seems important to wait.

‘You better tell…’, Hermione is suddenly quiet. ‘Well, you don’t want people to know second-hand’.

Harry sighs, but he nods in agreement. Hermione is probably right, as always.

‘For what matters, Harry, I’m happy for you. I hope things go well’. They exchange a short smile, before Hermione is serious again. ‘Now, I really think you need to be careful with love potions...’

Hermione’s advice - both about love potions and telling Ron – stays in Harry’s mind. He doesn’t get the chance to tell Ron that night – Ron’s too much occupied with Lavender to notice Harry – and he promises that he will tell Ron the next day, hoping his friend won’t notice that he is telling just hours before the party.

The next morning, he waits until Ron finishes his breakfast – his humour is always better when his stomach is full – before telling him bluntly just outside the Transfiguration classroom.

‘There’s something I need to tell you. Slughorn’s party tonight. I’m going with Ginny’.

The fact that Ron doesn’t immediately draw his wand encourages Harry.

‘Ginny? As in my sister Ginny?’

Harry nods in silence, careful not to give any provocative answer. Sarcasm has always been his best defence, but he doesn't think Ron would appreciate it right now.

‘As friends?’

‘Hmmm, not exactly, we - we will see’.

‘Oh’.

And then Ron stays silent, but Harry sees him throwing glances at Hermione for the first time in weeks and when Lavender approaches him, he looks less thrilled than before.

‘Don’t mess this up’, is all Ron says quietly to him, just before the class begins, and Harry wonders if Ron is sorry for all the things he has messed up with his own love life.

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

The thing is Harry doesn’t get many moments in his life where he can feel like something has changed; well, at least not many good moments. When he found out he was a wizard is one. The first time he flew on a broomstick. When he and Ron saved Hermione and they became friends.

But he likes to think he’s in one of these moments now, as he watches Ginny coming down the stairs.

He knows she is beautiful and he knows he has been smitten with her for a while now, but still his heart skips a beat as he takes in her figure: the shining red hair, which instead of being in the usual practical ponytail is falling in delicate curls; the way her eyes are glinting, with a soft make-up that he rarely sees her wearing; and the dark green robes she wears, hightlighting her figure and showing her curves much more than the school robes.

'Hi', she says brightly, and Harry appreciates the fact that she doesn't comment on how he is blushing (he must be, his face seems to be on flames) or how he's staring open-mouthed at her. 'You look nice'.

Harry couldn't describe for his life the clothes he is wearing. He could be naked and he wouldn't notice it.

'You look amazing', he insists, and there is so much sincerity in her voice that a light pinkness arises in her face.

But all she says is: 'Shall we go?'

He nods quietly, and then he wonders if he should offer his hand - or his arm? His arm would be the respectable option, but if he took her hand, then -

Ginny decides it for him. As they walk through the portrait, in a gesture that seems more natural than breathing, she takes his hand.

Her hand is soft and warm and as their fingers interlace, it takes all of Harry's effort not to kiss her now and then, even before their date really begins.

'Who do you think Slughorn invited?', she asks, her voice casual.

Harry smiles to himself. Of course Ginny wouldn't let things get strange between them.

They talk normally as they descend the stairs to Slughorn's office, and Harry is feeling silly for all the times he has feared that something could go wrong this night. It's Ginny whom he is with.

So he talks with Slughorn and accepts being presented to anyone because with Ginny by his side, he thinks he can face anything. She makes funny comments – and Harry chokes more than once when she passes ironic comments with the most innocent face he's ever seen – and after a while he notes that even when the people they are talking to were originally interested in Harry, it's Ginny that draws the attention. She is so lively that he can't blame others for noticing it.

They talk and they laugh and they save Hermione from Cormac McLaggen.

''She'll come back in a minute, Cormac', Ginny says with a straight face when McLaggen asks them if they saw Hermione. 'Why don't you try these custard creams while you wait?, and she apparently takes a biscuit from the nearest tray, offering him one. 'Let's get some air, Harry?'

Harry nods with a smile, already awaiting. He and Ginny are already on the other side of the room when there is a sudden pop and they turn to watch a canary appearing in the middle of Slughorn's office, in the place McLaggen was.

They laugh together, but as his eyes meet hers, Harry feels the reason for his amusement changing.

Or maybe not. In any case it is Ginny that makes him happy.

But now instead of feeling joy for a prank, he feels a quiet warmth spreading through his body and when their laugh dies, the silence that fills them is not heavy; it's a silence that questions Harry and it's a silence that there is only one answer he could give.

His eyes drift to her lips for a brief second – they are pink and shiny and they look so soft – and when he looks at her again, there is a blazing look in her face that Harry wants to see forever.

Her hand is still connected with his – he realizes now that they never once broke apart during the party – so it's the easiest thing to pull her through a curtain, to a nice desert balcony and take a step closer to her.

For a moment, they stand together, looking at each other, then Harry presses his lips softly to hers.

The softness lasts two seconds as if neither believes the kiss is really happening. Then Ginny places her free hand on his neck and Harry holds her by the waist and then suddenly they are closer, their bodies together and their lips urgently. Her lips part and he can taste her - really feel the taste of the butterbeer she drank and the other flavor that is spicy and sweet and intoxicating that screams of Ginny. Her hand playing in his hair causes shivers that have nothing to do with the cold air of December.

A part of Harry wonders if maybe there are fireworks in the party, because he can hear them exploding, he can see all the colours even though his eyes are closed. He doesn't know where he is, what day it is,how long they've been kissing each other on that balcony; all he knows is that she is the only real thing in the world and he promises he won't ever stop kissing her –

Unfortunately Harry breaks this promise a second later. There is a distraction back in the room and the loud noise is enough to break them apart. Still, Harry doesn't really move, breathing hard – they hadn't stopped for something as silly as breathing –, his heart pumping fast in his chest, all his senses still concentrated on Ginny, until he recognises the voices.

Snape. Malfoy. Their voices break through his bubble of happiness and blissfulness.

His distress must be evident on his face, because Ginny takes a step back, with a knowing smile, and pulls him back to Slughorn's office.

He watches the discussion and when Snape and Malfoy are leaving, he hesitates, looking back at Ginny.

For one second his eyes drift to her lips – their lipstick is gone and he remembers his promise, wants to taste her again, wants to be lost in the feeling of having her in his arms –, but when their eyes meet, she unclasps their hands.

'Go', she says in a quiet voice. 'I'll come up with something'. When he still doesn't move, she smiles slightly. 'We'll have all winter holiday, Harry'.

It's that promise – and the ideas of being together with her for two weeks – that makes him leave her side for the night.

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

He doesn't meet Ginny again until the next morning, when he arrives to get the Floo for the Burrow.

Ginny smiles brightly at him. His body reacts as always – warmth spreads through every part, a grin comes to his face and his heart beats faster –, but it's a welcome feeling after all the worry he had been with Unbreakable Vows or whatever.

He will worry about it later; now his only concern is being with Ginny and –

His eyes fall on Ron, at her side. His best friend has his eyebrows raised, and he looks to Harry rather questioningly, but he stays strangely quiet. Then Lavender is there, kissing him as if Ron's going to war, rather than being away from her for two weeks, and Ginny rolls her eyes in disgust, but doesn't say anything.

'Happy Holidays, Harry, Ginny', he hears Hermione saying by his side, her eyes suddenly red and she enters the fireplace hurriedly.

Ginny scowls at this and throws an annoyed look at Ron – Harry sees her hand twitching to brag ger wand –, but she presses her lips firmly.

Harry feels like he's missing something.

'Hi', he begins tentatively, and Ginny turns to him with a softer expression.

'Hi. Ready to go?'

'Always. Ah - about the end of the party –'

Her smile falters for a short second.

'No harm done. I got back in time to save Hermione one last time from McLaggen, so everything worked out perfectly'.

Harry sighs.

'That is not how I imagined the night ending'.

'So you were imagining things?', she asks teasingly and Harry feels his cheek burning, but he nods, taking a careful step closer to her.

'I've been imagining them for a while now', he whispers, for once happy with all the kissing noise of Ron and Lavender behind them. There is a sparkle in Ginny's eyes now.

'Perhaps we can turn those imaginations into reality'.

He raises his hand, putting a lost strand of her hair behind her ear, and he thinks her smile is warmer than the fireplace in the room. He wonders if he'd dare kiss her now – there is certainly a challenge in her eyes – but before he can move, McGonagall is calling them for taking the Floo.

'Later then', whispers Ginny, winking at him, and Harry's heart beats faster.

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

The Christmas Holiday is anything but frosty for Harry, even though he has his fair share of stressful moments - werewolves, discussing Unbreakable Vows, unexpected visits from the Minister of Magic.

Still, if Harry had to summarize those two weeks in one word, he would say Ginny.

Not that anyone asks him about. There is some mutual agreement between Ron and Ginny, so no one knows they went out together to Slughorn's party just as Fred and George are left without knowing about Ron's new girlfriend and their activities.

That means no one – except Ron but he is turning a blind eye, albeit a slight judgemental blind eye – really understand why Harry is grinning through the holidays, why he always wakes up smiling, why he offers to help Ginny set the decorations, why he and Ginny tries to cook apple pie closed together in the kitchen (the pie ends up quite tasty if a little bit burnt).

Sometimes Harry thinks people should know – they can't be really keeping a secret from Fred and George, and Mrs. Weasley always seemed to know things –, but most of the time his thoughts are occupied somewhere else.

Or rather in someone else.

Harry is patient on the first day of the holidays. He lets Mrs. Weasley take care of him – complaining that he is still too thin, asking how things are in school – until he drops his things on Ron's bedroom and says something about needing to take some air. Ron is not convinced, but Harry can't really care right now. Thirty seconds after leaving Ron he is already out of the house; ten seconds later, Ginny is in his arms, her body pressed against his as they kiss under an apple tree in the garden.

It's hidden there, with only the moonlight as witness, and Harry loses himself gladly in the feeling of her lips, her hands in his neck, the softness of her skin as he finds an opening in her jumper and touches her back, marvelling at the fact that she trembles upon his touch.

It's a routine they will share for the next few days. Hidden stolen moments in the garden, in the attic (ignoring the sleeping ghoul there), their lips exploring each other, discovering the best angle to kiss, until they are both left gasping for air, their lips swollen from the kisses and with that smile that Harry feels like an outdoor for ‘hey, I’ve been snogging’.

Still, no one asks him anything and for once Harry prefers it that way. They will tell people later, it’s just that for now it’s good to keep a secret that has nothing to do with Dark Arts or Voldemort, and it’s good to avoid any teasing or older brother-talking or – as Ginny says with a shudder – Mrs. Weasley’s delightful approval.

Maybe people think they are just good friends. In fact, every time he can’t be alone with Ginny without arousing suspicion, they are together, talking and discussing anything. It’s not much different from what they did during summer holidays, but Harry now thoroughly appreciates how Ginny is a good company, how he can talk to her about any subject.

Well, almost any subject. She doesn’t ask what he found out following Malfoy and Snape on the night of Slughorn’s party, and Harry doesn’t want to share with her – not because he doesn’t trust her, but because telling her it would somehow involve in that mystery and it would be too close to the fact that he is the Chosen One, and when he is with her, he just wants to forget it and be a normal teenager.

She seems to understand it. That's the thing he most likes about her, more even than the physical things he feels when he is with her; she never presses him for anything.

They kiss under the mistletoe she has left on the porch (and Harry can't help but think it's really an improvement from his first kiss), they kiss in the kitchen when they happen to meet late in the night for a hot chocolate (that he can taste in her lips).

It's the best holiday Harry ever had.

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

The night before they return to Hogwarts, Ron asks Harry nervously:

'What's going on between you and Ginny? Are you going out?'

Harry hesitates for a second.

'I don't know', he answers truthfully, but now that Ron has asked, this uncertainty bothers him. Ron frowns, his disapproval evident, and Harry hurries to add: 'I'm not messing her around. I really like her'.

At this, Ron seems to relax a little.

'Just - just talk to her, ok? I don't want people saying that my sister - well - just decide what's going on with you two'.

Harry nods in silence.

He lays in his bed for a while, hearing Ron’s soft snores in the bed next to his, before he quietly slips out of the bed. He’s careful to avoid any of the steps that always seems to resonate in the house, and before he can lose his courage, he knocks on her door.

After five seconds that seem to last longer, she opens her door.

‘Harry?’, she asks, blinking and confused. Harry doesn’t think she was asleep, but she was obviously preparing to; she’s wearing a robe, her hair wet, and he sees her holding a towel that she was using to dry her hair. When she sees him staring, a faint blush comes to her face. ‘I take a shower when I can’t sleep’, she admits.

That’s not where Harry’s mind was. He must have kissed her a hundred times by now, must have seen her blushing and teasingly and confident and daring, but seeing her fresh from a shower, with her floral scent heavier in the air, the only thing he was considering is how much he wants her, how much he is falling for her.

‘Do you want to go out with me?’, asks Harry. She blinks, surprised, and looks around quickly.

‘Come on’, she says, pushing him inside her bedroom and closing the door.

Harry had never ever seen her room before, so he is distracted for a moment, taking in the small bedroom, her decoration. Then his eyes fall on the bed and he feels suddenly very hot.

He tries to ignore the flush creeping over his neck as he turns back to her, but he can’t really meet her eyes – Ginny always seemed to read him very well…

‘Why are you asking me out, Harry?’

That stops his creative mind that was still fixed on her bed.

‘Well - because I want to go out with you?’

‘I figured that out, you know, considering how much we’ve been snogging’, Ginny points out. ‘But that doesn’t answer my question’.

‘It’s just – Ron said -’, at this, Ginny furrows her brows and Harry considers that maybe Ron is in danger. ‘I just don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of you or –’

‘I believe I was having as much “advantage” as you’, she says with a grin that Harry can’t help but share too. Then he shakes his head.

‘I want to do things right’, he says firmly.

‘You mostly definitive are’, Ginny assures him, winking. ‘I just don’t know if you really want to date me’.

‘Of course I –’

‘I mean, we sort of never told anyone we were going together for Slughorn’s party and I thought you wanted to keep things private’. Harry bits his lips. She takes a step closer to him, grabbing his hand gently. ‘I know you don’t like getting attention and if we’ve dated, people would talk about. I can handle people – that’s why I learnt the Bat-Bogey Hex, but I thought you’d be stressed’.

Harry raises his free hand, touching her face, the wet locks of her copper hair.

‘I don’t like people talking about my life’, he whispers. ‘But for once people would talk about something that’s making me happier than I remember being in a while, so that would be a change. Still – if we could keep just between us – I just don’t want to seem like I’m ashamed of you or that I want to keep you a secret -’

She smiles.

‘Keeping this low was my idea as much as yours’, she remembers. ‘And we don’t need to keep it a secret forever, just, you know, until people find out. Until then –’, she approaches him, raising on her tiptoes to press her lips softly in this neck. The goosebumps erupt all over Harry. ‘– we can have some fun’.

#hinny #wip without progress #just sharing some nice moments #i like the words there #Harry feels really romantic when he is pining #and hinny is my otp #just words lots of words and feelings #for curiosity this would go until the end of the book #lots of snogging happy moments for them #some fights because now there would be time to discuss everything they don't discuss #but still they would be happy together

300 notes · View notes