#it fuckin hurts when people somehow manage to ignore you right to your face

[observethewalrus]

.

#i reeeeeeeally shouldn’t be bothered by this #but y’know #it fuckin hurts when people somehow manage to ignore you right to your face #so dad’s mother died last week while I was away #I was never close to her and she had gotten so sick that it wasn’t a surprise #she knew she wasn’t getting better and was telling dad every day how she was ready to die in fact she wanted to die #dad already made it clear that they weren’t having a funeral and that he didn’t want me to come home early #so I wasn’t really bothered by it and dad’s frankly too fuckin happy about it #when she first got sick a month ago he called me sobbing about how much of a burden she was #and how ‘she’s so selfish for not dying’ #I know we weren’t close but I couldn’t believe he actually said that #and frankly she was trying to die in the only way she could #what did he want her to do? cut her wrists open? how the fuck do you say shit like that? #believe me he’s thrilled she’s gone #especially once he realized how much money she had left which is all his now #so anyway #he and I work in the same building and everyone knows we’re related #hell my boss approved my bereavement leave #so how trashy is it that everyone signed a sympathy card for him #and couldn’t even be bothered to put my name on it #like #I’m fucking sitting right here #she was still my grandmother #you’re gonna do that shit right in front of me #if they only knew how he felt about her #and the horrible things he’s said #and naturally since I can’t keep myself from spiraling at the stupidest shit #I really am completely invisible #personal

[solarwriting]

guns and gifts

carl gallagher x fem!reader

request: Hey! I hope I can send you a request for Karl Gallagher of Shameless. Maybe Karl and y / n were a couple before jail, and after leaving jail he came to her to ask her for forgiveness. y / n doesn't forgive him and he starts giving her gifts and apologizing every day. Then everything is at your discretion. Happy ending please💛 from @powerpuffluuvv

genere: fluff + angst

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing, ooc carl

posted on april 18, 2021

puppy love. thirteen year-olds holding hands and sharing stolen kisses. it was a sweet relationship that could’ve grown and matured with the two teens as they did. instead carl found himself a job on the corner and when he got caught y/n was done. fiona tried to get through to the boy, asking him to apologize but he brushed her off.

“can i please just talk to him? maybe he’ll listen to me.” y/n pleaded with the lawyer.

fiona stepped in, “it wouldn’t hurt to try it.”

“five minutes.” the lawyer relented.

y/n thanked him and rushed into the room where he sat. he squinted at her through the glasses fiona gave him. “i’m not fuckin’ sorry. i wish i was smarter about it. i wouldn’t have used chuckie as a mule.”

“you know what. if you don’t tell that judge you’re fucking sorry and that you’ve learned from your mistakes i will never speak to you again.” y/n exited the room quickly letting the ultimatum hang in the air as the door slammed behind her.

during the hearing her eyes were trained on the back of his head, hoping she could somehow will him to do the right thing. she kept her arms crossed as she leaned back. kev and v were sat next to her, waiting anxiously to see what he’d say.

“i’m going to make juvie my bitch.” as soon as he said those words, y/n sighed, getting up from her seat, shouldering her back and slipping out of the courtroom as they hauled carl away. he caught her eye before she left, she froze for a moment before shaking her head and making her exit.

time passed and she still spent time with the rest of the gallaghers, she lived across the street so it would have been hard not too. she helped take care of liam when needed and she got a job at patsy’s with fiona’s help.

the day carl came back had been a surprise for everyone, y/n was helping fiona with making dinner after a shift at patsy’s. the front door had slammed shut and, thinking it was debbie, fiona asked if she got a message about hamburger buns. y/n’s eyes shot up when a much deeper voice responded, “nah, it’s just me.”

excited, fiona rushed towards the boy, wrapping him up in a hug. hugging back, he looked up throwing a wave to y/n who was rooted in place, “hey, y/n.”

snapping herself back into reality she lurched forward wiping her hands and grabbing her things, pulling her bag over her shoulder and gripping her keys tightly she looked back at the boy as fiona fussed over his new appearance. “fuck you, carl.” she spat, slamming the back door shut behind her.

y/n managed to avoid carl at school the next day, he was too busy with “his boy” nick and his new white boy carl personality and selling illegal weapons in the bathrooms to bother her anyways. she rushed to patsy’s as soon as school ended and began her shift.

she spent the afternoon rushing from table to table, taking orders, passing out food, and pouring coffee. she was pouring coffee for a couple sitting near the front door when the bell twinkled, signaling a new customer.

her back turned to the door and her focus pointed and the coffee she was pouring she greeted the customer quickly, “take a seat anywhere and i’ll be right with you darling.” she smiled at the couple before turning around, finding herself face to face with white boy carl himself. “get the fuck out.”

y/n rushed away from him, pouring coffee for a man sat at the counter. carl followed, “please just talk to me, y/n.”

“she doesn’t want to talk to you, man.” the customer spoke up as y/n placed the coffee pot on the burner.

“what the fuck did you just say to me?” carl asked the man.

he stood up, “i told you she doesn’t want to talk. so leave.”

y/n stepped in before a physical altercation broke out, “thank so much, sir, but i can fight my own battles.” she pushed carl towards the door, “out.” she kept pushing him despite his protests, “get the fuck out. go.”

the door slammed behind them, and carl began to speak, “no, you’re going to shut your fucking mouth and listen. i don’t want to listen to you. i don’t want to talk to you. and i don’t even want to see you but that last one might be a little fucking impossible since we’re neighbors and i work with your sister so i’m going to be civil towards you but i will only acknowledge your existence when it is absolutely necessary. clear?”

carl began to protest but y/n cut him off, “are we fucking clear?” carl grumbled an agreement and y/n sighed, “good, now get the fuck out if here. i have to go back to work.”

y/n rushed back into the diner, throwing herself back into work. hoping she looked busy enough to keep the nosy man from before to leave her alone, she poured more coffee, took orders, passed out plates. until her shift ended and she could finally take the l back home.

the next run in with carl happened two days later, she was walking home from school, thankful for the day off from work when carl and nick pulled up on a bike. “y/n! wait!”

sighing, y/n whipped around, “i thought i told you i didn’t want to talk to you.”

“i have something for you.” carl explained as he got closer, y/n ignored him and started walking again, the bike quickly catching up with her. “here.”

y/n scoffed, eyeing the bag, “whatever it is i don’t want it.”

“it’s a book, debbie told me you wanted to read it.”

y/n sped up, “no thanks, already read it.” she didn’t care what book it was, she didn’t want anything from him. she took this moment to cross the street, the passing cars making it difficult for the boys on the bike to follow.

she entered the gallagher house hoping carl would be too busy to come home for a few hours while she watched liam. “i get off at nine, if anyone else comes home you’re welcome to leave but i plan on bringing something back for dinner if you want to stick around for that.”

“of course i’ll stay. me and liam are going to have a great time. isn’t that right liam?” y/n asked the toddler who nodded enthusiastically. fiona thanked her and rushed out the door.

y/n put on a movie, which liam fell asleep watching about thirty minutes in. y/n got up and stretched when the movie ended, adjusting the blanket she threw over liam when he fell asleep. she walked in the kitchen, stiff from sitting for so long. she pulled out a can of pop from the fridge and leaned her back against the fridge, using to stretch her body more.

the door swung open and carl walked in, “good you’re hear, i have something else for you.”

“whatever it is, i don’t want it.” y/n sighed into her drink.

“it’s a necklace, here.” he opened the velvet box to show her an expensive looking necklace.

she turned away from him, “no thanks.” walking back into the living room. “go somewhere else please, i have to watch liam.”

carl sighed before exiting the house with nick, who had been hanging back by the door during the exchange. he nodded to nick and the two rolled out to go do god knows what.

that night fiona came home with food, the entire gallagher clan plus kev and v enjoyed. there were enough people that y/n managed to avoid speaking to carl the entire evening. every time he tried to speak to her she’d find someone to talk to, she talked lip about something she had to do for school, ian told her about trevor, and her and debbie talked about anything.

v even pointed out the strange behavior when carl was left looking slightly dejected to fiona, who just shrugged in response.

“thank you fiona, goodnight everyone.” y/n called as she stepped out the back door. she crossed the street quickly and made it home, which as usual was empty, the rest of her family nowhere to be found.

she sighed, grabbing a beer from the fridge and kicking of her shoes as soon as she made it to her room. she threw herself back on her bed yelping when she collided with something hard. she jumped up only to see the jewelry box and book carl had bought her. she set her beer down and pulled the box open, smiling at the necklace. it was gold, with a small tear shaped pendant that held some sort of crystal or diamond.

she set the box next to her beer, which she grabbed and took sip of as she grabbed the book. it was actually something she’d been wanting, she rolled her eyes before opening it to the first page.

the next fee days followed a similar pattern, carl would stop her at school and work and even his own house to offer her gifts, which she would refuse, which would always end up on her bed at the end of the day. on a particularly rough day, y/n had enough. she was walking home from school, carl (who was alone this time) behind her, like clockwork offering another gift.

“carl, please just leave me alone. i don’t have the energy to deal with you.” y/n said not stopping. carl made a comment and y/n snapped, “god i’m not going to forgive you because you chose to go to juvie. you could have just apologized and gotten parole but that didn’t happen. and i’m not going to be your girlfriend again because i don’t even know who you are any more, this thug personality doesn’t look good on you.” y/n sighed rushing away before he could answer.

she was suddenly thankful for the day off, deciding to spend it all alone at home. it was a friday and her weekend was also free so she spent the next few days home alone. her family was gone of course, they only only seemed to show up once a month just to leave again the same day.

sunday evening y/n laid in the couch watching what was on tv when there was a knock on the door. y/n groaned, getting up to answer it freezing when carl was revealed on the other side. he looked small, he was curled into himself and he looked sad. his braids were out, soft curls in the place. “hey, y/n.” he said softly. y/n wordlessly moved out of the way to let him in.

“i’m done. no more sell drugs, guns, anything. something happened, with nick and i don’t want that to be my life anymore.” his voice cracked and y/n instinctively wrapped him into a hug, squeezing protectively. he cried into her shoulder, holding her tightly, scared to let her go.

“hey,” y/n spoke softly, running her fingers through his hair, “you’re okay. i got you.” once carl calmed down, he pulled away but y/n held onto him, hands on his face.

“i really miss you y/n. and i know i was awful before but all i want to do is be with you. i love you.” he sighed, his hands holding her wrists.

y/n pulled him closer, “i love you, too, idiot.” carl gave her a lopsided smiled before surging forward to connect their lips in a hot kiss. y/n stumbled backwards before backing into the wall behind her. carl bit on her lip softly causing her breath to catch in her throat. she tugged on his hair and he squeezed her hips. she pulled away for breath, pressing her forehead to his, “my room?” breathless carl nodded pressing a quick kiss to her lips before they rushed to her room.

the next morning the front door slammed opened, “y/n! i’m going to kill fiona!” debbie stormed through the house bursting into y/n’s room where she was laying next to a topless carl, wearing only his t-shirt, “oh my god! ew!” debbie shielded her eyes from the sight before her.

“hey, debs.” y/n mumbled, sheepishly.

debbie groaned, “just get dressed, we have school.”

#carl gallagher imagine #carl gallagher #shameless x reader #shameless fanfiction #shameless imagine #shameless #lip gallagher #fiona gallagher #debbie gallagher #ian gallagher #kev ball #veronica ball #veronica fisher #2k words

[kiribakuhappiness]

🖊 pretty please??? lol love you and your fics so much IT PHYSICALLY HURTS BYE-

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

Ahhh, ask and you shall receive! :D Thank you so much for the support, I hope you like this little snippet! I've been working on this one-shot for a bit so I hope it'll be done soon :)

Katsuki has a pretty serious concussion but that's okay because Kirishima is the perfect bedside companion <3

-

[...]

“Hey, man!” Kirishima appeared by his bedside like he’d been summoned from another dimension, and Katsuki jerked back to reality with a pained grimace and a stifled groan as the pounding in his head grew harder to ignore. Kirishima frowned at that, dainty eyebrows scrunching as he fiddled with his iron mask. “You good, bro? Are the lights too bright?”

Actually, yeah. They were fucking blinding. “Makin’ my headache fuckin’ insufferable.”

Kirishima’s concerned expression dissipated into a humorous laugh as he jumped back up to his feet and hustled towards the door, flicking off the light and plunging them into near total darkness save for the little lamp on the bedside table.

“It’s not a headache man, you’ve got a wicked concussion! Doctors want you to stay here the whole night, make sure you don’t fall asleep and everything,” Kirishima prattled on as he closed the door to mitigate the light filtering in from the hallway and even made the effort to close the blinds and shut away from the streetlamps before he finally sat down in the seat next to him again.

“Ain’t concussed,” Katsuki grumbled bitterly, raising a numb arm to press his fingertips hard into his eyelids. The dark helped, at least. “Polly jus’ dehydrated ‘n shit. I save people for a livin’, yaknow? ‘S a tough fuckin’ job.”

Kirishima grinned as he leaned back into his seat, lifting one of his boots to rest on the bed, and he didn’t offer any comment to that as he tossed his ridiculous face muzzle onto the bedside table with a careless clatter and ran his fingers through his falling hair.

“How’re you feeling now?” he asked, and Katsuki’s vision was blurry when he finally dropped his hand in his lap again.

“’M fine,” he grunted, scowling at him. “Could still kick your ass, if I fuckin’ wanted to.”

“Mhm,” Kirishima hummed absently, dirty fingers rustling casually through his vibrant locks as he gazed over at him like he was somehow being highly fucking amusing right now or some shit.

Katsuki would have made good on his threat if he remembered to be angry about it long enough to actually get the words out of his mouth. As it were, they got all caught up in his sore throat, and so he settled for a lackluster glower instead.

“Dude, relax, would ya?” Kirishima chuckled, the tip of his boot bumping into Katsuki’s knee hidden underneath the thin hospital sheet. “You’re making me feel tense just looking at you.”

“’M totally fuckin’ relaxed,” Katsuki snapped again before his mind had the time to really catch up with the words that they were saying to each other. Now that it was being brought to his attention, though, he couldn’t deny the obvious thrumming ache keeping his muscles locked in place.

“You’re so totally not,” Kirishima laughed again, giving him another purposeful nudge that Katsuki half-heartedly tried to swat away. “You look like you have to shit or something.”

“You look like shit,” Katsuki retaliated with tremoring snark and a weak sneer. “Fucker.”

“Hey! Harsh, bro!” Kirishima beamed a row of sharp teeth with another aggressive nudge of his boot. “I said that you look like you have to shit, not that you look like shit!”

“Tch,” Katsuki raised another slow hand to rub tentatively at his temple before he finally released the strain of his muscles and fully relaxed back into the pillows of the hospital bed.

“That’s better,” Kirishima praised with a little goading grin.

Katsuki lifted a middle finger in his general direction and glared up at the shadows on the ceiling. “You don’t have to fuckin’ babysit me. Go back to the dorms.”

A thick silence settled in the air around them after such a stern order, followed by the brushing of fabric shifting in the plastic chair that fought with the low subtle ringing in the depths of his ears.

“I can’t do that, dude,” Kirishima mumbled under his breath, suddenly sounding much more subdued and withdrawn. That damn oaf was probably exhausted, he’d no doubt fall asleep and leave him there to stay awake on his own anyway.

Katsuki kept his gaze laser-focused on a black speckle of something or another in the monotonous patterns swirling above his head. “Yea, ya can. Jus’ take the damn elevator and waltz on outta here.”

Kirishima sighed a heavy sound, and Katsuki managed to rotate his neck enough to look at him. “No, I can’t. And you already know that I can’t, so just–”

“I dunno shit, you should fuckin’–“

“Stop, dude,” Kirishima demanded sternly, and his jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth together. His fingers dug hard into the meat of his shoulder as he rested his chin against his chest and stared down at the sterile tiles with a frustrated pout sticking his bottom lip out. “Just stop. Okay?”

Katsuki’s eyelids were heavy as he blinked over at him. His nostrils flared impatiently, still rearing for a fight, but his head was pounding again, and the warm prickling of pressure crawling up the back of his neck was distracting, and whatever.

If that damn dumb moron wanted to spend his entire night crammed into that tiny shit chair, then that wasn’t Katsuki’s fault. It was Kirishima’s fault for being an idiot. Fucking… loser.

“Hope you fuckin’ cramp up over there,” Katsuki mumbled with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Kirishima huffed an exasperated breath with a roll of his eyes, letting his arm drape along the back of his chair before he bumped Katsuki again with his foot. “Be nice, dude… it’s been a long day for me too.”

Katsuki grunted something unintelligible in response to that, whatever he was initially planning on saying simmering down to mere smoke and mirrors when his groggy brain finally registered the downtrodden undertone seeping into Kirishima’s tired voice. How come he hadn’t noticed that before? He could usually read that dumbass like a children’s book – he wasn’t very good at hiding things.

“Fuck you bein’ so mopey for?” he tried to push out with a firm tone that sounded a bit more slurred than he would have liked it to. “’S pissin’ me off.”

“Everything pisses you off,” Kirishima quipped nonchalantly as he raised up his other boot and crossed his ankles on the bed.

“Well you’re pissin’ me off times a thousand!” Katsuki yelled, muscles tensing in some form of aggressive display, immediately followed by another painful grimace.

“Oh no,” Kirishima muttered under his breath sarcastically, failing to conceal the upward hitch of another amused smirk. His fingers found their way back up into the drooping locks of his hair, and Katsuki would’ve had more to say if his eyes hadn’t been drawn to the calming movement of it.

“Oi,” Katsuki’s knee jerked up reflexively when he realized where his gaze had wandered to and knocked hard into the dirty boots that Kirishima had so flippantly soiled his bed sheets with. “Be nice to me, fucker. ‘M the one with the damn concussion.”

Kirishima blinked in surprise at that, fingers stalling in his hair before his red eyes swiveled over to lock with his. “I thought you weren’t concussed?”

“Tch!”

Shit.

Maybe he was fucking concussed.

-

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#kiribaku #sick fic #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bakushima #bnha #fic ask game #writing #personal #asks

[beautifulletdownfics]

The Nearness of You - A Harry Styles One Shot

A friends to lovers one shot feat. birthdays, pining and stolen purses.

Hello, please enjoy this fever dream fic that came to me a week ago and is now somehow 13.5k and gracing your eyeballs. I’ve never written a one-shot of this nature before and it was quite a refreshing distraction from my usual, long-form fics. Thank you to Anne @oh-honey-styles​ for the encouragement (bullying) and for posting the pic that inspired it all. To everyone else, read on x katey *Because this is quite lengthy, I’d recommend opening in a browser because the Tumblr app can be glitchy*

My masterlist Chat to me here

“When you're in my arms And I feel you so close to me All my wildest dreams came true” The Nearness of You, Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong

++

You love the cold.

London in February isn't everybody's cup of tea, but you feel positively giddy walking down the icy Soho street in your new & Other Stories snow boots. The hard, black leather is already making your toes ache, and they're rubbing against the heel of your left foot, but they'll stretch to size, and you can tell these are going to be Your Signature Boots. The wind whips against your cheeks, red flushing them as you cross the laneway and push open the door to the chic little restaurant you've followed on Instagram for years but never had an excuse to try. Figures Harry chose it for tonight. Sometimes you wondered if the coincidences were a little too … Coincidental.

"Hi," you smile brightly to the maître d', "I'm uh … I'm here for the birthday? For Harry?"

Do I need to say his surname? You think to yourself.

"Can I have your name, please?" The suited man pulls a piece of paper out of the reservations book and waits for you to identify yourself. Your chest is rattling from the cold and the flurry of nerves you're all too familiar with ignoring.

"Y/N," you say your full name, taking in the dark floor of the restaurant, the flickering candles on the tables and lining the bar that takes up the entire left side of the room. The whole place is beautiful, just like you've double-tapped online; all deep reds and burgundies, vintage posters, and mismatched, dark wooden furniture. A jazz record plays just loudly enough to fuse the conversations at all the tables into one comfortable sound. It would make for a sexy place for a date, you decide, stolen touches under the table would feel thrilling and seductive.

The maître d' nods, you're on the list, "Back in the private dining room," he says, "Follow me this way."

You push your evening bag further up your shoulder and walk half the length of the bar, your eyes adjusting to the darkness. You catch the bartender watching you as you go, he's cute, and you give him an awkward little wave before calling out ahead of you.

"Sorry, excuse me," you get the attention of the man leading you through, "Can you point me to where I need to go? I'm going to get a drink to take in first if that's okay?"

"Just there," he points to the doorway at the back, next to the kitchen pass, "The curtain on the right."

Thanking him, you watch as he walks back to his station by the front door. You turn to the bar and rest your hands on the cool wood. They've stuck the pages together of old Little Golden Books for the drink menus, but you'll be ordering what you always get on birthdays, so don't take in the beverage options as you flip through The Tawny Scrawny Lion. You remember it from when you were a kid.

The bartender moves to stand in front of you, a gleam in his eyes and flirtatious smirk on his face, "Pretty good read, that one. You have to order a drink though, this isn't a library."

You laugh, he's laying it on a bit thick but probably just after the tip, "I was more a The Poky Little Puppy sort of girl."

He gives you a grin of approval, flipping a napkin up onto the bar in front of you, "What can I make for you?"

"I'll have two Old Fashioneds, please," you lean forward onto your elbows to give your feet a rest as he pulls up a second napkin and then two crystal, lowball glasses. "They're pretty," you comment without thinking.

"It's all about the glass," he confirms quickly, dropping brown sugar cubes into each one and then shaking bitters on top. Your eyes focus on the way the squares dissolve and fall in on themselves as he speaks again, "I'm Jack."

"Y/N," you give your name for the second time, throwing a brief smile his way, "I've never actually watched someone make these before."

Jack pauses and gives you a teasing look, "Do you want me to stop so you can get something to write this all down?"

You laugh and roll your eyes at him as he goes back to making the drinks. You're stalling. You know when you go through the curtain in the back there'll be a dozen people who're all dressed nicer than you, with more impressive jobs than you, who have funnier, more outrageous stories about the birthday boy than you. You'll need to stand awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments too long before Harry notices you, and then your greeting will be watched by all his cool, London friends.

You know better than to let any of that dull your shine—you really do—but you've had a rough few months, and if you're honest, you'd like your first time seeing Harry since the summer to be a little more low-key than this. So that's why you're wearing the new boots that hurt and might not suit the dress code because they're new and you feel good wearing them with this outfit. It feels a little special to be out celebrating Harry's (belated) birthday in a semi-new ensemble. You managed to fluke getting your hair and makeup just right, and yes, your legs do look pretty fantastic in these tights with the short, roll neck, knit dress, thank you very much.

"Here you go," Jack brings your attention back to him, you can smell the citrus twist in front of you, and the crystal glass deflects the light from the candles, "Can I put this on a tab for you? You're with the birthday?"

"I'll pay," you tell him, already digging for your card and holding it out to him.

"Oi!" You hear a very familiar voice call out from the far end of the bar, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you shiver, "What're you payin' for? What's she—don't take her money!"

You keep your arm out steadily to Jack and raise your eyebrows at him, "Take it," you urge him quickly, feeling him pluck it from your fingers just as you turn towards the voice you know so well.

That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits your nose just as Harry hurries up and deposits himself heavily against the bar, right up in your personal space. His broad frame blocks out the room to you, and he's lit softly in the dim light and looking radiant from within, as per usual. He's got his crazy eyes out—accusing you—and his eyebrows are pinched together slightly, but he looks good. Happy. Rested. Pleased to see you.

Harry's always pleased to see everyone, you tell yourself, Hold it together.

He pulls you into his chest for a hug. Your cheek presses just below his pecs, and you feel the way he's grown more defined since you last saw him. The material of his t-shirt is soft and smells clean. It's a tight squeeze he gives you, one that you resist reading into. Was it healthy for there to be so much comfort in a simple hug? Was your whole body allowed to tingle and fizz from the embrace of a friend? Was it pathetic to have been carrying around in your ribcage the same crush from when you were thirteen?

Affirmative. Without a doubt. Yes.

You haven't seen Harry since mid-September, the last time he was in London. Well, the last time he was in London and had time to see you. You're sure there were probably business trips, Christmas definitely. And going off Instagram, you think he might've flown into Manchester and spent a long weekend with Anne back in October, but if it was any of your business, it would've been your business. You needed to be grateful simply for what you got; intermittent texts about books he'd read or maybe a happy drunk voicemail if he thought of you at the right time. He sent an email at Christmas with a charitable contribution in your name instead of a gift.

"It's so good to see you," Harry says as he pulls away, all crinkled eyes and broad smiles. You don't know your grin has launched his heart into space and that despite having just gone to the bathroom, Harry feels due for a nervous wee. He thinks you look fucking gorgeous tonight. Knowing you've done your hair, and eyeliner, and picked that dress to come out and celebrate his birthday … It sends a jolt of desire straight to his groin—beauty blooms in front of his eyes in you.

Tell her, you idiot. Twenty-seven could be the year.

"Hi," you chirp at him happily and pick up one of the glasses in front of you, "I got you a drink."

Harry watches you fondly and then dramatically looks off to the side, lets out a little huff, "Typical Y/N, buying her own drink … You really think I wouldn't have one here for you?"

Nevertheless, he says a quiet thank you, takes the glass from you and deliberately sniffs it as if he's not sure what's inside or if he'll like it. You smack his arm lightly at the show and pick up your own glass, chinking it to the side of his and watching him over the rim as you both take your first sips. The familiar taste and view fill your tummy with gurgling happiness that sits high in your chest. He's dressed almost exactly how you expected him to be—smart, high-waisted dress pants and a printed t-shirt. You're glad you didn't go too formal, the restaurant is nice, but it's not Hatted or anything, not like the place he took you in LA that time, where you felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realising beforehand, was properly fancy.

"Fuckin' delicious," he rumbles slowly, bringing you back to the cocktail, "A classic."

"Happy birthday," you tell Harry sweetly, thankful for what's likely to be your only quiet moment with him all night, "Sorry I couldn't make it to the LA party."

"Ah," Harry waves you off, "Your job's much too important here."

He means it. Harry's beyond proud of you. He's always telling people you work for the NHS, saving lives and keeping the country going. The party in LA was thrown together by some people at the last minute, and even though most of the friends he left in the backroom when he went to find the bathrooms a few moments ago were able to fly across for it, Harry's not the least bit put out by you not being able to. Would've been a big trip for you to do on your own and he knew there's no way you'd miss his London celebration. And you sent over a gift, which shouldn't have surprised him. His actual birthday was spent in LA, and that morning a parcel arrived from you—two new notebooks and a novel Harry read the back of and instantly knew he would love. It's what he read on the flight home to the UK.

Trust you to want him to have the gift on his birthday—go to all that trouble of packaging it and sending it over—when you were going to see him in London ten days later anyway. Harry could do worse than a friend like you.

"I just need a bit more notice than four da—

—Please," Harry's shaking his head at you, hating watching you apologise for something he really doesn't care about. "I'm glad you're here tonight," he tells you genuinely, fingers reaching out to brush your bangs away from your eyebrow briefly and—did the room just spin around you?—get a glimpse of the bronze sheen over your eyelids, "I haven't seen your new hair in person, looks lovely."

Lovely? he scolds himself, Lovely is a nice jam scone, lovely is a hug from mum …

"Oh," you coo, automatically sending your own fingers up to where Harry's had just been to reposition your newish bangs, "Thanks, still getting used to it, wanted to do it forever but wasn't brave enough to I guess."

"I like your natural hair colour, too," he continues slowly, eyes running over your whole head, "I mean, I loved how it used to be … But I like this a lot."

Shit, Harry's already failing to adhere to the strict series of pep talks he's given himself over the last couple of days. He's babbling, and he's probably just made you think he's not liked how you've had your hair for the previous twelve years. Is he buzzed from the cocktail or from the way your cheeks have gone a little pink since he touched you? His compliment made you squirm, and Harry wants to do it again and again until what he's feeling makes sense.

"Just, you know, feels like a throwback to the old days," he mumbles through another sip of the cocktail you both love, a glint appears in his eyes as he continues, "When you had Barbie overalls and would spend half a day plaiting your whole head in those tiny little rat tails."

Your mouth opens into a horrified O, and you let out a single laugh, "Rat tails? They were cool. And I was eleven when we met, I'd definitely already outgrown the Barbie overalls."

"Whatever you say," Harry smirks at you, signature dimples appearing on his cheeks, "I just remember those little beads from the ends of them ending up all over the bottom of the pool."

You smile at the memory. You remember duck diving with Gemma to collect all the beads so they could be put back into your hair the next day. Nearly drowning from laughing so hard at Harry and the other boys trying to stand on your backs in the water. Summers with Harry were always spent laughing. The local pool and skate park saw all your adventures. When Harry's dad moved in next door to your family after his parent's divorce, you and your brother hung off the fence, peering into the backyard to see if any toys or a trampoline might appear signally new kids next door. They didn't, and it wasn't until the summer when Harry and Gemma arrived for their holidays that you jumped the fence with ice lollies and offered yourself up as a new friend.

"Simpler times," you muse to yourself, looking up and catching the perplexed look Harry was giving you, "Spaced out a bit, sorry."

"I've missed my little weirdo," he grins at you affectionately, angling a little closer and levelling his head down to yours as he bit his lip and frowned, "Are you doing alright though?"

You let out a little sigh and avert your eyes to where Jack, the bartender, is busy making trays of drinks for different tables. Harry observes you carefully, a twinge of guilt forms for causing the sad look that's come over your face, but also for not having asked the question weeks ago. Gemma told him at Christmas, an off-handed comment about you being newly single. When he heard the evil gremlin in him was fucking relieved, just like he always was.

"I'm fine," you try a smile out and pull your lips up higher when you don't think Harry buys it, "Better. Had my crisis haircut and drank myself to tears with my work friends. Just a normal break up, really. M'getting used to them at this point."

A small, white lie.

Each breakup bruises you deeply. Talking about it afterwards fills you with a shame that makes you feel naked, like everyone else can see what's wrong with you but you. As though it's obvious why nobody's picked you yet. You don't ever want to talk about it afterwards, (especially not with Harry) don't want to draw attention to it. Prefer to let the disappointment and loneliness pool in your tummy and sit there heavily, weighing you down, waiting for the One Day someone spectacular might come along and be buoyant enough to float away with you.

You're looking for your forever. You want the cheesy romance, and the love, and marriage, and kids, and the whole stupid thing. You want to be wanted and loved and cherished. That's what you're ready for. You just can't find anyone who's ready for that with you. So, you date, have mediocre boyfriends who rarely make it to the first anniversary, then pick up the pieces and try again.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

"Well," Harry swallows, reaches out for your arm to make sure you look at him, "You look beautiful tonight. And it's his loss, he's clearly a monumental idiot."

You give Harry a noncommittal hum in response. Just as you're about to say something you shouldn't—get into details you bet Harry really isn't that interested in knowing—you catch the movement of someone appearing from the doorway behind Harry and then approaching you both.

"Harry, mate," you don't know the guy who's recognised Harry's back and is calling out for his attention now, "Thought you might've fallen in."

Harry snaps around quickly to the voice, blocking your view. You take another sip of your drink and pull in a deep breath. Not fitting into any of Harry' groups socially has its downfalls. If his sister wasn't around, you tended to have to make friends at anything Harry invites you to. You're not part of his Holmes Chapel crew or his LA friends, and you definitely don't fit into the London group. Over the years there have been faces you've come to find familiar, but you're still the singular, hanger-on friend from Harry's second childhood home.

Peering around Harry's shoulder, you catch the end of a look between the two guys you think alludes to this new friend gauging whether Harry needs rescuing from you. You briefly wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You know that look well.

"Aiden, this is Y/N," Harry raises his arm and angles to pull you around in front of him.

You hold up your drink, awkwardly, "Hi."

Aiden gives you a hesitant smile, "Hello," then he raises his eyebrows at Harry, "Harry, you coming back in, mate?"

Harry bites his lip and chuckles, reading the look on his friend's face, "You're a prick, I don't need saving. Known Y/N since I was twelve, we were just catching up."

You feel yourself go bright red, and you're thankful for the forgiving lighting. This isn't the first time this exact scenario has happened to you. You've been on the receiving end of that uneasy look before—his friends checking if the girl who isn't there with anyone else is supposed to be there at all. Backstage at the O2, a member of Harry's security once hauled you to the tour manager's office to check your VIP credentials were legitimate. You'll take that story with you to the grave.

Aiden deflates slightly and waves a hand your way, "Shit, sorry, thought he'd been cornered by a fan again … I mean, a pretty fan to say the least but …" he coughs into his hand when Harry gives him a glare you don't see, "Great to meet you."

"No worries," you wave it off like it's nothing. The truth is your brain has short-circuited at Harry's palm resting on the small of your back, he's not moved it from when he first brought you forward. Friendly touches weren't strange between you, but this lingering, comforting hand is burning a hole in you tonight. You haven't been out and had anyone touch you since your breakup, and Harry is setting off all you nerve endings. You tilt your weight onto your other foot to pull back from him slightly, but Harry's hand travels with you. "We should go back, I might use the loo first though, is it that way?"

Harry watches you point in the direction of the bathroom, you're flustered and he really wishes he could tell Aiden to buzz off so he could just take another few minutes with you. Brief you on who was in the room you were about to go into. You wouldn't know any of them, and Harry always appreciated that you came to things on your own, particularly when you wouldn't know anyone aside from him once you got there. He should have invited his sister so you'd have a buddy. Or told you to bring a friend. Not a boyfriend, though.

He watches you take the final drag from your drink and put the glass down on top of the bar, "Thanks Jack, t' was dee-lish," you catch the attention of the bartender, throwing him a beaming grin. And Harry watches the way the guy's features light up at being called on by you. Envy rumbles in Harry's gut, he recognises the dumb smile and dopey nod of Barman Jack's head. Has felt it a hundred times himself when he's been on the receiving end of your quirky humour.

You walk away, and Harry feels Aiden watching him, "She's fit," he comments, trying to get a rise out of Harry, reading the room perfectly.

"Fuck you," Harry grunts at him.

++

Harry sits opposite you at the long table in the private dining room.

You nurse a glass of rosé and eat the food slowly, savouring it. You deliberated over the menu for a long time before settling on what to order, you've seen photos of most of the dishes online, but there were several new ones too. Harry goes off your recommendations but spends a lot of the dinner talking to the people sitting beside him. He knows if he tried talking to you right now, he'd just get lost in you, which is both rude for a birthday party and bound to be too conspicuous.

You insert yourself into a conversation with the girls sitting next to you and pretend you're good at making friends. They spend most of the meal talking about something that was on the telly the night before. You were on shift so missed it, but pretend to be interested or like you might've seen it—anything to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Harry watches you out the corner of his eye the whole time. You've shrugged off your jacket, and he recognises the gold necklace you've got around the collar of your dress, sitting over the black fabric on your chest. He's pretty sure it was a gift from Gemma a few years ago, you wear it all the time. Harry makes a note to get you something that compliments it for your birthday coming up. You're chatting to one of his mate's girlfriends and Lisa who's been on his publicity team for years. Those would've been the two he'd have introduced you to first as well. He can't stop watching the way your lips turn up every time something funny is said, or one of the girls makes eye contact with you. Watching you try with his other friends always makes Harry feel warm and giddy for some reason.

Fuck, he's missed you. And he berates himself for the fact he never seems to remember that until he sees you again. (It's strategic usually, his heart doesn't take your company well when he knows you're going home to someone else) You're so engaging and kind and unintentionally charming, and you always have time for him. Harry knows he's not an easy human to be friends with; he constantly ducks in and out and is never around for the big things, let alone being available to call on a random day to just hang out with. The friendship is always on his terms, and he knows it makes him a selfish prick. You definitely could've done with a call a couple of months back when you had your heart broken. Like always, he missed it, and by the time he was sending you a message about an episode of Midsomer Murders, he felt as though the moment to console you had passed, and Harry didn't want to draw attention to the fact he wasn't around for it.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?" His head snaps back around to the person next to him, thoughts still on you across the table. He agrees with whatever was said and does his best to catch up.

Harry's got to stop thinking about how you're single at the moment. He really does.

++

A few hours later, it's the girl sitting to your left, Lisa, who first mentions the idea of kicking on.

It's after dessert—after everyone sang happy birthday to Harry over a round of espresso martinis—and you're starting to think that if you leave now, you'll be home before midnight, which means the tube won't be too deserted to feel safe. You're also at a comfortable place to wake up without a hangover in the morning. Two cocktails and a glass of wine over dinner, because any more and you're scared you could say something stupid to the wrong (right) person.

Harry's face lights up, and he looks around the room, eager at the idea of going to a bar or two for more drinks. He's not been out in London for the longest time, and he's happily buzzed enough to not be too worried about running into people. Feels like this group of friends have gelled well together. How often does he get to have a night like this in London? Hardly ever.

"Yeah, let me sort out the tab and then we're good to go," Harry says, pushing his seat back from the table and standing up, his hands hunting his pockets for his wallet and phone, "I'll be right back."

When he goes, you decide now's as good a time as any to split. You pull your coat on and say goodbye to the friends you made over the meal. Lisa gives you her business cards as if speaking to you had been part of her job, you slip it straight into your coat pocket and can already picture it at the bottom of the garbage in your kitchen. You revisit the bathrooms, and when you come back out into the main restaurant area, Harry's still leaning against the front desk, chatting to the maître d' from earlier.

He feels your small hand land on his back and jolts upright at the contact, your gentle voice calling his name softly, "Harry, I'm going to head home."

He spins around, and you catch the fall of his face, "What? No … No. You're the one I want to hang out with the most," his bottom lip juts out and his brows furrow. "Y/N."

"Thanks a fuckin' lot, mate," you hear a male voice laugh at your back, they slip behind you and out into the chilly air, and Harry flips them the bird. You were pushed closer into his chest as they jostled past and he steadied you with his arms latched onto your forearms. Still watching outside, you see a cigarette lighter flare-up on the footpath and the end of an orange butt glow spectacularly in the night. When you glance back at Harry, he's not looking happy.

"Don't pout," you tell him lightly, you reach up and press the skin taut between his eyes smooth again, "Can't wrinkle that rockstar face of yours."

His face lights up, and his skin heats where you made contact, "You can't go yet."

"Harry," your features tangle into something like a grimace, "You'll have a better time without me. Everyone seems to be pretty tight—"

—Y/N," he gives you a final, pleading look, "Please come."

You make out like you're stomping your foot in defiance, "Fine."

"Score!" Harry cheers under his breath, shrugging his jacket up over his shoulders and saying a final round of thank yous to the staff. When you're out on the street at Harry's side somebody mentions the name of the next place and points the direction of it, Harry places a hand on your shoulder as you start to walk and leans down to your ear, "I just have one condition for you coming."

You pull back and look at him, "I don't think you get conditions when you've begged me to be here."

"A birthday condition then," he edits, pressing his lips together and smiling at you with his eyes, "You have to promise to do what I say before I ask it."

You narrow your eyes at him, "I suppose you only turn twenty-seven once. You can have a single wish from me."

Harry laughs and slips his fingers under the strap of your evening bag, "Give me this."

You think briefly he means to carry it for you, which is a strange thing for Harry to request. But then he unzips it in front of you and starts rifling around inside it, slipping your phone under his arm so he can move around the lipstick and tissues and emergency Galaxy bar to eventually pull out your small purse.

"Harry! What are you—

—Ah, ah!" He holds it all away from you and reminds you of the promise. "This is mine for the night," he says, slipping your purse into his coat pocket. "Otherwise you'll end up buying too many rounds."

You try to sneak your hand into the pocket after your wallet, "Don't be stupid. It's your birthday, I'll buy every round if I need to."

"Exactly my point," he steps away from you down the street, and you skip to be back at his side. He's stolen your money and your chocolate bar.

"Harry, give it back."

"Nope," he pops the 'p' and hands you back the bag, the Galaxy bar hanging from between his teeth, still in the packet, "You promised. Now hurry up and walk, and I might give you a bite of this. 'm freezing my balls off, we are not in LA anymore."

So that's how you end up in the next bar, your handbag a little lighter, squished into Harry's side with a pleasantly sour cocktail he paid for between your fingers. The booth is so far into the back wall you're not even really sure which direction the front door is anymore. Somehow, you've managed to sit ten people around a booth probably designed for six, but nobody seems to be bothered.

Your whole right side is on fire, though.

You can feel Harry from the top of your shoulder all the way to your ankle. His hip sits neatly next to yours, Harry's left elbow rests just above your right thigh, and your knees press together every time he gets excited when he speaks and unintentionally opens his legs up. If Harry's bothered by it there's no way you'd know, he's hardly looked at you since you all sat down, much less uttered a word of discomfort about the seating arrangements. Makes no sense really, when he seemed so desperate for you to stay out with them.

(Next to you Harry's felt like he was high most of the time, he's flashing in and out of the conversations around him. Because he can smell your perfume—Stella by Stella McCartney, he'd know that fragrance anywhere, you've been wearing it since you were seventeen—and you're warm and snug beside him. He feels completely insane. But he also feels inflated with a heart-crushing joy at having you so close. He's trying his best not to draw attention to it or to you because what he's always liked most about your friendship is that you're just his. God, he needs to do better at seeing you more often, talking more, being more. Each breath as he's touching you is like a crack of electricity through his chest that aches beautifully. Nobody else feels like this. Even when he's dated, what he's felt with them can't hold a candle to his boyhood crush on you.)

You sip your drink and laugh at the embarrassing story that's being told about Harry, oblivious to his torment. Oblivious to how Harry feels your forearm brush his leg and has the overwhelming desire to deposit his palm on your thigh and keep it there, probably forever.

It strikes you that the last time you saw Harry was before the current anecdote about him in Italy happened, and at the table, it's being spoken about as though it was ancient history. You wonder what historic classification your memory of thirteen-year-old Harry would get, that time he attempted to bleach his hair with lemon juice. He ended up with second-degree burns on his forehead from the acid reacting with the sun.

Or the time Gemma stayed in Holmes Chapel for the summer because she had her first boyfriend, and so you spent six weeks learning that maybe you'd been wrong about who your favourite Styles child was. Maybe the boy who, when you were eleven, didn't impress you much, suddenly at thirteen, demanded all your attention. Made that summer become the first where you considered your outfits and whether your mum sending you next door with homemade snacks made you look lame.

"… And of course, Harry can't walk away from a dance floor when he's on the tequila …" everyone around the table laughs. Harry peeks at you to make sure you are too, but he's not very good at it because you notice, a smile flares on your lips.

You're used to long periods of not seeing each other, it's how it's always been. Harry and Gemma spent the summers with their dad and then returned to Holmes Chapel for real life. Sometimes that's what it still felt like, as though each time you saw either of them you were acutely aware there was a foreign Real Life they would go back to without you.

Harry in particular. You were used to not seeing him for months on end, usually the whole school year. Just a few messages over MySpace and birthday cards, and then, when you were out of school, invites to parties Harry couldn't come to anymore—'I'm in Australia, how insane is that? Sorry, I'll miss your 18th …' or 'I can only stay until the 8th, could you maybe graduate a week earlier? ;)'—and emails every other month with a new mobile number for you to overwrite his contact in your phone with. You're not saying you feel hard done by in your friendship, you don't. It's just always very take-what-you-can-get with Harry.

"You've got your thinky eyes on," he's pivoted his whole body towards you, hips twisted in an entirely uncomfortable looking position. Harry's got his resting elbow on the table right next to where your hand holds your drink, and he's looking down at you with careful eyes, "Where are you?"

"The pool a dozen summers ago," you answer easily, pursing your lips together and running a knuckle along your hairline, "Thinking about your ah, burn incident."

Harry's face explodes in a grin, and his eyes roll up to the ceiling and then capture yours again, "For fuck's sake, you're never going to stop bringing that up, are you?"

"You were a horrible blonde," you remark quickly, "If you ever so much as blink in the direction of a packet of bleach you have to call me, okay? I'll have no issue telling you, categorically, you should never dye your hair."

"Categorically," Harry mimics you childishly, "Alright, I get it, you went to uni. No need to use words with fifty syllables to make me feel stupid."

You bring your glass up to your lips, "Come off it, Harry, you're ten times smarter than me."

His forehead raises, "You're the cleverest person I know. Don't make me call Gem to confirm it."

"Don't bring your sister into this, Harry," you deadpan.

He goes to reply but holds back, something unnamable travelling across his eyes as he watches you lick your lips after taking another sip of your drink. Harry's leaning a little closer than he might usually, and despite the fact he's a few drinks in he still smells only of Tom Ford and clean clothes. He's just about to ask you what you're doing the next day when he gets hit in the side of the head with a coaster.

"Hey," he cries out, pulling back from you and frowning around at the group trying to figure out who the culprit is," 'M the fucking birthday boy, watch it."

Lisa is the girl directly across from Harry and yourself, and she's is the one who threw it. She's giving Harry a coy smile and holds up her empty glass to him, a not so subtle request makes the drink in your hand feel like a concrete brick. Something dirty you don't like having. She's got captivating blue eyes and straight blonde hair—exactly Harry's usual type. Your heart sinks as he slides out of the booth next to you, laughing at her flirtatious request and taking a tally of who else wants a new drink.

"Y/N?" Your name is delicate on his lips, and it makes you want to cry. Why is it so easy for you to make things feel like they mean more with him?

You direct your smile his way, "I'm good, thanks."

His head tilts to one side, "You sure?"

"Positive," you nod, feeling your cheeks burn as everyone watches the exchange.

"Okay," Harry taps the table with the corner of his phone, "I'll be right back."

After a few moments, you sneak off to the bathroom, happy to see Harry's beaten you back from the bar when you return. He's sitting in your spot, deep in conversation with the person beside him who you recognise from the radio. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, careful not to touch him this time. Harry's got his hand casually resting on the table, turning your glass forty-five degrees one way and then back the other way as he speaks. You think about reaching over and pulling it out of his hand gently (you're losing your buzz, and Little Miss Bombshell across the table has made you feel silly and juvenile) but it looks to be an almost serious conversation, so you don't. With a smile plastered on your face, you look around the table, resisting the urge to pull out your phone to check if either of your flatmates has text you to meet up with them somewhere.

It's a delicious whiff of your perfume behind him that turns Harry's head. You're back from the bathroom, although nobody was able to confirm that's where you went when he got back from the bar and asked after you. Harry pushes your drink over and gives you a smile, taking note of the fresh layer of lipstick and messy oomph to your hair that perfectly shows off the new style and bangs.

Golden, he thinks, As always,

"Your new hair really does look beautiful," Harry tells you, the bar stilling around you as his face becomes all the world is for you at that moment, "Next time, don't wait for a dickhead to break your heart before doing something to make yourself feel good."

You swallow down the thickness in your throat, "Thanks, Harry."

++

Walking to the next bar, Harry can't stop himself from asking.

"What happened?"

You kick your foot out as you wait at a set of traffic lights, half the group ran to cross, but you, Harry and a couple of others were too slow, "What happened with what?"

Harry watches his breath fan out in front of his face, "With your ex, with …"

"Tim."

"Tim, yeah," he turns to look down at you, hands tucked into his coat pockets, "What happened with Tim?"

"Nothing really," you start strong, then shrug one shoulder as you think about it. It's safe to cross so you wait until you're stepping up over the gutter and onto the opposite footpath before you continue, "Probably a lot of little things but … Always felt like he thought I was asking for a bit too much. I guess in the end he just didn't like me all that much."

The way your voice drops kills Harry, he's not detecting self-deprecation but something far worse. He's detecting acceptance or acknowledgement or like you're confessing some truth that should have been obvious.

"Y/N," he stops walking and halts you as well, lets Adrian and Lisa walk around and out in front of you, "If he didn't like you very much then he's got some kind of chemical imbalance. I mean it, this guy's not worth a second of your heartache."

It's not like Harry's a dickhead about it, not like he thinks you should date people with more money or status or who are more impressive. A person isn't their job or what car they drive, he knows that. Harry's not about judging anyone, but you really do seem to date guys not worthy of you. He hasn't met many of them, but Harry knows this to be true because if they were worthy, you simply wouldn't be single right now. If you dated someone half-decent, there wouldn't be a chance in hell they'd let you go. You're beautiful and thoughtful and intelligent and funny—so funny—which means Harry knows without a doubt that this Tim guy was an absolute fuckwit.

"It's not necessarily about the guy," you start and Harry can hear the thick emotion in your voice, "Is it? It's about the idea. The disappointment is more about not getting the fairytale, not finding my person. Not getting the whole package everyone else seems to have found. I know Tim wasn't right—truth be told I didn't end up liking him very much either—doesn't stop me from being sad that I still haven't found it."

"'It'… That's what you're looking for?" Harry asks, eyes out front where the rest of the group are all stopped waiting at another set of traffic lights.

They're laughing and chatting loudly to other people on nights out, and hanging off street poles to get funny pictures. He doesn't want to catch up to them, not when the two of you are in the middle of this conversation that's making his heart race and his hands sweat. He starts taking smaller steps.

"Yeah," you breathe out, almost sounding ashamed of yourself, "Don't seem to be looking in the right places."

Look over here, Harry thinks.

"But I mean, each breakup I end up getting something out of it," you've flicked your positivity switch, "This time I got these boots and bangs," you kick out your foot and watch Harry take note of your footwear, "Last break up I got four houseplants and a new watch … It's not all bad. What about you?" you turn it back on Harry, "Are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

It's hard to tell with Harry. You either find out from his sister or sometimes, social media. Although that's all usually trash. Generally, when Harry's seeing someone, you'll hear it confirmed from Gemma, and the next time you see Harry, it'll be something you're assumed to know. You haven't seen Gemma since Christmas time though, for your annual festive get together, and she didn't mention anything. Tim had ended things with you a few days before, so that was the main topic of conversation.

"No," Harry confirms what you'd already deduced—and hoped—in your head, "Not for a while now."

"Got your eye on anyone?" You quiz faux cheekily, your smile a little too wide.

Yes, you, he says to himself as he looks at the side of your face.

You hope he's not got some girl in LA he's into. Just like you'd hoped his answer to the previous question. But the hope was silly, something that bloomed in your chest each time you saw him and died again before you were home in your bed, alone.

"I'll let you know," he says aloud.

You think you see something else there in his expression, but you know you can't have. Your mind is swirling, and you're feeling a tingling sensation all over that you know you shouldn't. It'll only leave you disappointed when you part ways tonight and don't see him for another few months. The tiny bits of maybe mores and perhaps are dangerous to things to cling on to now, they'll all turn into Nothings very quickly.

Someone steals his attention away from you when you get to the next street corner. Most of the group are gathered there, and you're not sure whether to believe it when Lisa says they missed the green man to cross the road because they were talking. She sides up to Harry and starts waving her hands around in an animated story about something or other. Harry crosses the street with her, and you give him up for the night.

But he's acutely aware of what's happened. Harry's not stupid—he's emotionally intelligent, and spent enough time with Lisa on nights out before—and he can see that she's deliberately pulled him aside. He likes her, quite a bit, but she doesn't make his insides flip, or his toes curl. She's firmly Just A Friend. Harry hasn't spent countless hours over the years thinking about her, lying to himself about how he's completely fine when she starts dating someone new. He's never thought about an alternative life, one where he stayed at school and went to uni and got a regular job and maybe (definitely) ended up with her.

He's imagined that life with you—more than once. More than a dozen times, if he's honest. For years now, Harry's bitten his tongue and smiled through the pain of not being able to have you. And sure, most of the time it's a dull ache, deep in the recess of his mind, that needs to be called on or conjured to really be felt, but it's always been there. He's always had an (Astronomical) Soft Spot For You. Ever since that summer you broke your arm falling off the back of the ramp at the skate park, and he first saw you cry. At fifteen he didn't know what the hollow but sharp pain through his heart was as he rushed to your side, but now he knows that was the first sign he didn't see you as just a mate. Would never again see you as just a mate.

And now, hearing you use the word 'it'. You say you're out there dating idiots trying to find it and Harry's just unwaveringly sure he that could be him. He wants to be it for you.

You've pulled out your phone and fallen behind, face pulled down as you type away furiously. Harry watches you out of the corner of his eye, half just to watch you and half to make sure you don't get separated entirely from the safety of the group.

"Y/N," he calls out, unable to keep up with Lisa's story and unwilling to try to tune back into it. She stops short, and annoyance flits across her face, but Harry still turns to you, still crosses his arms over his chest and gives you his best scolding look, "It's the oldest trick in the book," he goads you. Lisa sighs behind him, and he ignores it.

Your head slowly comes up and takes in Harry (and Lisa sulking behind him), "What is?"

"Fallin' behind so you can peek at my bum."

You point at the long coat Harry's wearing that goes to his knees, "Can't see half of you under that thing."

"Ah, ha!" He calls out, his pointer finger floating in the air right in front of your face, "So you've tried."

You shove his shoulder and step around him, trying like anything to act neutrally. You're aware Lisa is still watching on, and you're not used to your friendship with Harry being quite so carefully observed. You know your face has gone red and you're really not going to involve yourself in a pissing contest with her. It's not classy and certainly not your vibe.

As you walk away, boots clip up behind you, and Harry heavily drapes his arm right across your shoulders, pulls you into his side, "Was just teasin', love."

"I know," you respond quietly, not upset, not really.

"Though I might've made you sad," Harry continues solemnly, "Know you get embarrassed in front of people."

Your face cracks into a smile, "Opposite of you, hey, you're practically an exhibitionist."

He should flirt because you've led him to a pretty easy window into a dirty joke, but something has Harry hanging onto his regret, "I mean it, shouldn't tease you …Should be old enough to use my words, tell you what I think."

You've got no idea what he's on about, "Harry, the teasing was fine. Where's this bloody bar though?"

Up ahead, everyone's standing on the footpath in a clump. Harry can feel the next words on his lips but has to hold them in when his mates turn and see he's finally caught up. They're waiting a few minutes for a table, someone explains, then they'll be able to go in. Harry thinks how little he feels like another drink at another bar. A few people walk away from the group to share cigarettes. You're standing a little bit away, under the sign for the butcher next-door and kick your foot back against the wall like the slight movement might warm you up.

As he steps up to you, Harry watches you get distracted by the group of people spilling out of the bar you're all about to go into. He doesn't want to take advantage of knowing you're newly single also doesn't want to let this opportunity pass. You're always dating someone, or he is, or there's some other reason not to. There's always a reason to hold back from you and Harry refuses to believe it's the drinks he's had nudging him into this. Neither of you is drunk, he wouldn't even say he's tipsy anymore. Just warm and contemplative and less inhibited than usual.

"C' mere," he calls softly, the tips of his boots landing right in front of yours, your bodies a hands' width apart. He wants you closer.

"Harry—

He opens up his coat to you and when you don't move—your brain is busy short-circuiting—he acts for you and winds his arm around your shoulder to encase you in the warmth, "Get in," Harry says, "You're shivering."

You're shocked by the contact, at him being so close and inviting you in and then just taking you in his jacket. He's wrapped the lapels around both your bodies and forced you against his chest. He hums against you, but you're feeling incredibly awkward with your arms hitched up against your chest and pressed rigidly into his shoulders. You've not been in a hold like this before and certainly not with Harry.

He pulls back and digs around for your wrists, "You've gotta put them around me," he stretches his arms behind his back, taking yours with them and instructing you to really settle against him. "There, that's better," he wraps the jacket back around you, and the two of you stand like that—hearts pressed together, scents converging and your whole frame shaking against his—for what seems like far too long for it mean nothing. Right? Your thoughts ricocheted around inside his jacket and go nowhere, solve nothing in your mind.

Over your shoulder, he sees the rest of the group have gone into the bar. He's not surprised none of them called out, Harry's angled you both away from the door and with his head ducked down against yours they probably (hopefully) missed you both there.

It's Harry's twenty-seventh birthday, and maybe that's made him sullen or introspective. Made him think about the passage of time and how another year has passed him by, yet here he stands in the same place as ever—wanting you. Wishing for more, or waiting for a moment that feels right, or hoping something will happen. With growing older comes a sense of regret and an acceptance that twenty-six has happened and anything he wanted to achieve by that age but didn't he never will. There's only the future. Only the things he can do. And the mix of all that with the cocktails has Harry feeling as though he has to act on this. Every birthday he thinks maybe by the next one the Somethings or the Maybes might have happened, and you won't be standing in front of him as just his friend.

"Always had a thing for you," Harry says, his chin resting against the crown of your head while his arms link around low on your back, holding you against him, "I've always liked you more than I should."

Oh god, you think, your chest freezing in place, I'm hallucinating.

"What?" Now your heart is really racing. Or maybe it's completely stopped, seized up and fallen out of your chest onto the salt-covered footpath.

His voice comes out evenly as he repeats himself, "Feels bigger than a crush, but I guess that's what it is … Since we were kids."

(Oh, how those words have been his best-kept secret for all these years but now, in less than two seconds, he's let go of them more easily than almost anything else he's ever done)

"Y/N?"

Harry thought he'd be scared. Thought this would be a moment of panic. Every time he's imagined this he's thought 'and I'd be absolutely shitting myself because what if she doesn't feel the same way?' but now that he's said it he's almost completely calm. The only reason he's worried is that he can feel how hard your heart is beating—even through the layers of clothing—and surely that quickly can't be good for your health.

You're speechless, and he leans back so he can see your face and, oh your eyes. Why on earth didn't he say it to your face, so he could be looking in your eyes? Watch his words project across your expression and settle into your mind.

You look worried, and Harry's transported back to that time he had you on FaceTime when he was somewhere on tour with One Direction. He was telling you about how management was going to let them fly friends out on tour, bring a little bit of home along and give the boys some needed space from each other. You were nodding along and so excited for him but sure Harry was talking about someone else, that this was just news and he'd called up to tell you how he was inviting the boys he went to school with in Cheshire or people he met through X-Factor. Of course I'm bringing out you and Gem, you idiot, he'd told you when you were surprised to get an invite, Who else did you think I was talking about?

He kind of loves watching the look on your face right now, the cogs turning in your head and wheels spinning, furiously trying to figure out what Harry means.

Why isn't he terrified of what you're about to say?

"Why … but you've… and I've…"

Your hands have moved to his hips so you can see him properly, and Harry's encouraged by the fact you haven't pulled away or pushed him off you. You're watching him with a puzzled look on your face and a burning heat across your cheeks.

He brings his forearms up to rest on your shoulders and smiles at you, "I wasn't brave enough to act on it … Guess I didn't want to fuck it up. Didn't want it to not work out. Couldn't stand you becoming an ex."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Right." You don't seem capable of more than one word at a time.

"You feel bad for yelling at me about the chocolate bar now, don't you?" Harry's narrowed his eyes playfully.

That does it.

Your eyes snap back up to his face from being fixated on staring at his neck, "Chocolate bar … No, what the fuck, Harry."

He laughs. A real laugh that comes from the base of his tummy and squeezes his eyes shut and crinkles his nose. His head falls back, and it's a deep, uninhibited laugh, "Don't stomp your new boots at me," he eventually says, crooking his head down to be almost pressing his forehead against yours. "You've been my favourite girl for years, I've always been a pansy idiot who didn't want to wreck the friendship."

"Oh, and now you don't mind wrecking it?" You bark back sarcastically, unsure why you're angry at him but you are.

"No," Harry says softly, moving through your emotional responses seamlessly, "I don't think it's going to wreck it, do you? Think twenty-seven has finally given me the balls to pursue it. To tell you how I feel. How I've always felt."

Your eyes instantly ball with hot tears you weren't prepared for, "You're an idiot."

"I am," he agrees readily, fingers playing with the ends of your hair.

"Why have you told me this now," your voice is small, unsure.

Harry frowns, now he's starting to panic, "Do you … Do you not feel the same? Or do you not think maybe you could?"

Oh, if only he could have been in your head every time you saw him these last few years. Heard you talk yourself down and away from anything more than platonic, from any thoughts that might elevate you in his eyes. You've spent all this time trying to convince yourself to believe you were nothing more than a friend to him, and now this.

"Harry, are you sure you—

—I'm sure," he insists quickly.

"I just—

—I'm sure."

You're suddenly very embarrassed by the conversation the two of you had earlier about your ex. The conversation where you basically told Harry you're incredibly desperate to settle down and find The One. He's so achingly cool, and you feel like a little tinned tomato, thin-skinned and persistently flustered.

Tinned tomato? Really? You berate yourself, Case in bloody point.

"Y/N"

You scratch roughly at your forehead and grimace at whatever thoughts are going through your mind, "I'm just …"

Harry brings one hand up to fix your bangs, carefully sweeping the hair back across your forehead evenly, letting the pads of his fingers dust over your skin, "I think if you didn't feel the same you'd have said No by now."

His words steal the air from your lungs, "Harry, you've just always …"

"I've always?"

"I never thought …"

The smile comes up over his face gently, "It's me, Y/N, please finish a sentence. I'd really like to kiss you, but you haven't yet said anything to imply you'd be open to that …"

You pull your lips together like a reflex you can't help, you've rarely let yourself fall that deep into imaging things with Harry, but your body reacts to his words in an instant, "Promise you're not kidding …"

"I promise I'm not kidding," Harry said sincerely. "I'd never kid around about this, Y/N."

You believe him, and ten seconds of bravery comes over you, "I was thirteen."

His eyes narrow slightly, trying to figure out what you mean, "Thirteen?"

"My thing for you," you continue quietly, heart racing as adrenaline swamps your legs, "Started the summer I turned thirteen."

Harry hears the slight shaking to your voice and almost misses what you've said. Then it hits him.

"Oh yeah?" He squints at you and pulls up his nose with a smile, a secret little smile that will never belong to anyone but the two of you. The Smile that happened just before Harry leant down and kissed you for the first time, pressed his warm lips against your cold ones and really breathed you in.

He holds it like that for a moment, your lips touching but not moving. Then his hands come up to cup your face, and Harry moves his mouth to one side, just a touch. You open up to him, and he has the brief thought that this is probably the Most Important Kiss Of His Life. His insides curl in on themselves as he gets completely lost in you. Completely lost in how perfect this moment feels and how much finally kissing you feels like a relief.

You can't believe this is happening. You're still tucked into Harry's coat—warm and safe—but now you're joined at the mouth, and Harry's a really really good kisser. He's got his thumbs pressed into your cheeks and his fingers laced through the hair around your ears. When his tongue first licks your bottom lip and then goes searching for yours, you don't think you've felt yourself flicker On so quickly. A soft moan escapes your lips, and Harry's kiss somehow becomes harder, his nose bumping yours where he'd been good at keeping things smooth until then. As quickly as it intensifies, Harry takes a slight step back and drags his mouth away from yours.

"Y/N," he breaths out your name, sealing your lips with one of his thumbs as he pulls back. Harry's taking stock of your face (hopefully) getting used to being this close to you. Noting the way your eyelashes kink out at an odd angle right at the corner of your eye, and the freckle that's so close to the edge of your mouth he's never noticed it before. Harry's can feel your heart has slowed down, and the expression on your face right now is content, but curious. He's also sure he can see fear under it all.

"Well," your voice shakes, because Harry's looking at you like you've only dreamed and now that you're here you're not really sure what happens next. You kissed Harry.

He clears his throat lightly and his hands both fall to hold either side of your neck, "There's no way I'm going back to not being able to do that whenever I want."

Then, he kisses you again. You feel yourself melt against him as Harry's chest presses back against yours. You link your arms around his waist, clutching the back of his shirt between your fingers as Harry leads the kiss with a hand on your neck and the other holding your chin carefully. You've picked up right where the last one let off, hungry and exploring and a little bit desperate (perhaps a lot desperate) to have more of each other.

But then his phone rings in his trousers pocket, right against your hip, and you jump away in surprise.

"Shit," Harry mutters, pulling the stupid machine out, cursing the universe, "Sorry … It's Aiden," he tells you with an eye-roll.

And then you're back to reality. Your drinks have all worn off, your feet ache, your ears are freezing, and you've just made out with one of your oldest, best friends. Shit.

"Oh," you take a hearty step back, hands slipping out from Harry's coat and your body bracing the full brunt of the cold night, "Yeah … That's—

—Aiden," Harry barks the name of his mate down the phone while at the same time hooking his free arm around the back of your neck and pulling you close again. He's not giving up touching you that easily, and he doesn't care, quite frankly, about giving you any room to start internalising or retreating from him, "No, we've gone to get some food … I'll see you during the week sometime. Tell everyone thanks for—Yes, I'm serious … I don't care, saw all you lot last week … I'm hanging up now. Bye."

You listened in on the conversation because it was really all you could do. Aiden was obviously inside the bar, and they were all wondering where Harry got to. We've gone to get some food, Harry told him, so they'd know he was with you. (You supposed he was hardly going to say, 'oh yeah we've been out the front making out') Bits and pieces of the other end of the conversation, you were able to pick up on, but not enough to truly know what was said. By the end of the call, Harry was smiling though, you could hear it in his voice.

His nose found the shell of your ear and Harry leant into you, "Come back to mine, or we can go to yours … Watch a movie, play Scrabble, anything … Just wanna be with you."

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Harry," you murmur, your mind struggling to make sense of what's just happened. You're outside a club in Soho held against Harry's chest with lips that know what he tastes like and a body that's on fire.

"I'm not tired," he shoots back, "Are you?"

"Well, no but—

—Great," Harry turns towards the road, takes a few steps to the curb (you trot along with him under his arm), as he flags down a black cab. "Mine or yours?"

His question is simple, he prompts you to answer by calling your name as he opens the door for you and gestures for you to hurry up and get in.

"Yours," you say.

Harry doesn't speak much in the cab, you figure it's about privacy. You hope it's about privacy. The thirty-minute drive out of the city and to his place feels much longer. Halfway through he reaches over for your hand and gives you a reassuring smile across the back seat. You thought the journey might make you sleepy, the sitting down in a warm car would bring the haze over your eyes and bring the long day to a close in your mind. But you could never feel sleepy with Harry's fingers playing with yours, or when he leans over and kisses your cheek for no reason at all.

At his house, Harry tells you to make yourself at home while he turns on the kettle for a cuppa. You kick your boots off in the hallway, and your feet start throbbing in relief as you follow his retreating form. It's certainly not the lusty, hurried entry you imagined you might have. Which only plants doubts in your mind about what's actually going on between the two of you.

"I'm just going to use the bathroom," you call out ahead of you, turning back to the stairs and taking yourself up to Harry's second storey.

Upstairs you don't take long. You're looking a little worse for wear—who wouldn't at 3am—but you're not really in the mood to try to fix yourself. Even if you did Harry would notice, and that felt like something you wanted to avoid. As you walk back to the landing, you wriggle your toes in your socks and happen to look back down the upstairs hallway. You've been in this house dozens of times before but this time feels different. It feels quiet and intimate somehow. Just as you're about to go down the first step, you see Harry's bedroom door is open on the opposite side of the stairs to the bathroom, and you notice something that makes you stop.

The book you got him for Christmas is sitting on his bedside table.

You're standing over it before you realise that your legs have started moving, looking at a picture of Anne, Gemma and Harry, a bottle of water and the book. You pick it up, the cover a little bent and the spine cracked to where he's read. Harry's using the birthday card you send along with the gift as a bookmark. The top of the familiar design sticking out the top of the pages, you can't even really remember what you wrote inside. Something generic probably. Platonic.

Happy birthday, old man! Have a wonderful day, sorry I can't be there in person. Love, Y/N.

The floorboard at the top of the stairs creaks and you turn around to Harry looking surprised to see you standing over his bed. He's got two cups of tea and a family-sized Dairy Milk bar under his arm. Something churns inside you, this was Harry as you'd always known him. Except now you looked at his lips and wondered why the hell you weren't kissing him.

"Oh, yeah, I've been reading that," Harry sees the book in your hands and walks towards you, "It's excellent, unsurprisingly."

A smile starts on your face, "You doubted my selection ability?"

"Never," he returns quickly and then raises his eyebrows at you, "Looking for anything else?"

You feel your cheeks heat and you drop the book back into its place, "No, sorry, I was coming down the stairs and saw … I'm sorry."

Harry passes you a tea, "It was really kind of you to send something over. Was fun having something to unwrap on the day."

"I'm glad," you smile and take a sip of the tea. It's sweet, and you screw up your face, "This is yours."

Harry watches you with a strange expression on his face as the two of you swap mugs. He's worrying his bottom lip, obviously weighing something up in his mind. You see it when he decides what he' going to do about it.

"I've got something I want to show you," he tells you finally, tilting his head back to the door. "Wanna come see?"

"What is it?" You ask automatically, but Harry's already walking out the door, and you have to hurry to catch up.

He leads you into his study, and you hover in the doorway as Harry sets his tea and the chocolate down on the desk. He pulls Bananagrams out of the draw and places it next to the mug.

"We're actually going to play Bananagrams?" You ask.

He looks back at you, "You'd prefer actual Scrabble?"

"I didn't know what you meant by—I guess I …"

Realisation dawns on his face, and he widens his eyes, "Oh, you thought it was a euphemism."

"No!" You snap back quickly, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks (for the record, yes, you thought 'a movie or Scrabble' was a thinly veiled way of Harry suggesting … something else), "No, I just … I just don't think I'll be able to spell words right now."

"I didn't think you were still tipsy" Harry states, shit-stirring.

"I'm not!" You squawk at him. "I'm… I' m—You kissed me!"

He grins, loving the fact he's driven you a little crazy, "Yeah. Want me to do it again?"

Harry's playing with you. He's teasing. And you know it but what you don't know is how he's so confidently jumped to it. Not when you feel like you've been left on the street outside the bar trying to figure out what the hell this means, and what's going to happen tomorrow when he stops looking at you like that. You don't like to think this whole night could've been him playing with you, you don't know Harry to be that cruel. But there's a tripwire in your mind you keep getting snared on.

It's Harry.

"C' mere," he reaches his hand down across the room between you both, "C' mere and kiss me again. You don't seem to be getting it."

"Getting it?" You're cut off by Harry taking two big steps toward you and then planting his lips on yours again.

His palms find your hips, and you hold him in the same spot. It takes a moment for the two of you to find a rhythm, and even then, you're too in your head. You're struggling to remember what little Harry's said about this whole thing. You know he said he had a crush on you and you've gotten the distinct impression he wasn't too fond of your ex. But for all you know Harry's been kissing his mates like this for years but just never gotten around to kissing you. You might've been next on the list. He's a friendly guy. Maybe a crush isn't what it used to be. Or maybe—

He pulls back from your lips with a huffy expression on his face, "Y/N," he says quietly, "I'm a man with an incredibly fragile ego, whatever you're worrying about is really getting in the way of kissing you."

"I'm just—

—Let me show you what I brought you in here for," he interrupts you, takes your hand and tugs you towards the window. Then, he puts a hand on each of your shoulders and directs your attention to the wall.

It's lined with record sale plaques for singles and albums over the years—double Platinums and Gold-Somethings. Harry watches you eyes run over them all, a proud but unsure look in your eye. You're not sure why he's showing them to you, he knows that. He hopes you're not intimidated by them, he's certainly not showing you to try to score any points. There's a sweeter gesture behind it. He points to one leaning against the wall, not hanging. He's got it resting on the bubble wrap it was sent over in.

Stepping up closer behind you, Harry rests his chin on your shoulder, "That one's for you."

"What?"

"I want you to have it, been saving it for you … If I ever got brave enough."

The question falls from your lips before you really think about it, "Why would you want me to have it …"

Harry waits to see if you'll let on you've figured it out, he thought it was pretty obvious really, but you've never been one to elevate yourself or assume, and Harry knows that about you. So, when you don't keep talking, he confirms it for you, "That song is about you."

You just blink, eyes on the framed plaque taking in the name of the song and hearing it in your head.

It's about me? You think you want to hear it, you need to Google the lyrics and make sure you have them right in your head. Harry wrote a song about you. Harry wrote that song about you.

"When … When did you write it?"

"You mean why?" Harry raises his head and steps to stand next to you, he observes your face carefully.

"No, I mean when." You're starring at it like the plaque might answer the question, "When did you write it?"

Harry runs a hand over his head as he thinks, "A few years back, after that time you came out to LA … Didn't record it until this year though …"

Harry watches your face expand in surprise and then crumple back down to confusion. You really don't get it. He's not sure how to make you in one night. He supposes he can't. So he trails his hand up the back of your arm and then around your back, tilting his head down and waiting to see if you'll pull away. When you don't, he kisses the corner of your mouth and then opens his wider to take you lips in his properly.

It's different to the kisses outside the bar, now that you're both out of your outer layers Harry can feel your body against his in ways he's only dreamed, and it's sending everything straight between his legs. Harry's hands explore your back and the curve of your hips, thumbs almost reaching the underside of your breasts but not quite. It's a little awkward when he senses you've felt him hardening between you. Usually, lust clouds that moment, and Harry doesn't mind intimate partners being acutely aware of how they're affecting him. But with you he's a little hesitant, he senses the awkwardness on your side. Friends don't feel those body parts on each other, friends don't… He almost groans when your mouth leaves his without warning.

You think he'll probably change his mind about all this.

"Have you changed your mind?" You ask, not able to stop it.

Confusion colours his features, and his lips smack together, like he's savouring tasting you, "Wha—

"About wanting to be kissing me," you clarify.

"What? No." Harry's eyebrows have shot up, and he's shaking his head, "I barely even started! Didn't I just say I wrote that song about you—why the hell would I—want to do more than just kiss you—You think I'm gonna change my mind?"

You shrug, "Maybe. I don't know."

"Well," he stands up straighter and pins you with his stare, "I'm not. I promise I'm not going to change my mind. And I promise I'll never make you feel like you're asking for too much. Ever."

"Now you're trying to make me cry," you say, hearing him repeat back to you the insecurity leftover from your conversation about your ex. You're half kidding with your words but also not. You believe him. You trust him.

Harry grimaces, sways your bodies together gently, "I really hate seeing you cry, could you not? I had other plans."

You sniff through a laugh as Harry wraps his arms around your middle tighter," What plans are those?"

"Well, I literally thought Scrabble," he tells you through a smile, trying his best to make you laugh, "But I'm open to whatever dirty things you were thinking as well."

"You'll win Scrabble."

So, Harry instructs you to bring your tea and your sore feet back into his bedroom. He gets you a fluffy pair of hiking socks and tells you to take yours off, and your tights, and get comfortable on the bed with him and the block of chocolate. You've polished off a family size together before, the sugar going straight to your heads and always leading to a giggly night of reminiscing and Almosts.

This time though, you only get halfway through the tea and Harry pushes the chocolate off the bed onto the floor in favour of you straddling his hips. It started with a stolen kiss against your temple, and then another on your cheek, and one close to your lips, and then you captured his face in your hands and really kissed him. Within a few moments, Harry was dragging you over to him. His hands settle on the swell of your backside as it sits against his thighs and your lips trace the line of his jaw. This was really happening. You'd really let him peel off your dress and flick off your bra. His shirt was somewhere with the forgotten snacks, and you seemed extremely eager to keep feeling his hardness pressed between your legs.

"I swear to god, I never dreamed this would happen," he murmurs, hissing when your hips pressed into his at a different angle, "Was sure I'd be going to your wedding one day, completely miserable and probably end up drunk and causing a scene. Embarrass you so badly you'd never want to see me again, and you'd just run away with your stupid husband."

You pull back and watch Harry ramble, your bare chest rising and falling against his, "You're a real glass half full kinda guy, aren't you?" you smile at him.

"I just," his eyes drop to your chest, nipples puckered for him, and he scrunches them shut then drops his forehead onto your sternum with a big sigh, "This is fucking unreal, and my brain is just struggling to comprehend—you're breathtaking, and I feel like my chest is gonna explode."

"It's also 4am, so there's always the potential your brain is just plain tired," your index finger is drawing circles on the back of his shoulder as Harry leans against you, you pause and run your hand over the back of his head, "Maybe we should sleep for a little … I'll be here when you wake up," you say in response to Harry squeezing his arms around your waist tightly as if you were going to disappear. Or worse, leave.

His indescribable green eyes find yours in the light from the bedroom lamps, "Will you let me hold you while you sleep?"

"Yeah," you nod, although somehow that question seems more intimate than the lack of clothes between you at the moment. You're distinctly less dressed than Harry, who's still got his trousers on, you're only covered by your underwear.

"We don't have to rush this, right? Got all the time in the world now," still, as he speaks his palms trail up your back and then down again, skimming the sides of your breasts, "Just don't wanna miss anything is all."

"I promise I'm incredibly boring in my sleep, won't miss anything," you tease, "Might be the only time you get any peace."

Harry tightens his forearms around your back and finds the soft skin below your ear with his lips—once, twice, three little kisses—"I feel pretty at peace right now, just having you here. Feels like I'm living a dream."

You don't reply for a moment, but you let your body rest against Harry's in a comfortable hug, your voice is quiet, "You really wrote me a song?"

"I did."

"I've always loved that song."

“Well, it's been yours all along."

"Nobody's ever written a song about me."

"I should hope not."

"Are you going to write another one?"

"Without a doubt."

++

Chat to me here

#OOOO SHIT what have i done #well #1dff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles X reader #harry styles stories #harry styles imagines #harry fic

[madhyanas]

a place at the table

Pairing: Din Djarin x gender-neutral!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 [mild]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Spoilers for s2ep3, Chapter 11! Reader uses they/them pronouns. References to drowning, not explicit. Descriptions of freezing/extreme cold. One reference to Chapter 9 (s2ep1). Din being as self-sacrificing as always. Din’s particular brand of Mandalorian family values. Pining, yearning, affection - just think soft.

A/N: well then. first time posting for din! this has been cooking since ep3 came out, i’m just slow. it’s soft!! and worried!! and din severely procrastinating his own identity crisis!! they’re really fuckin married, guys. lovely stuff. also, if you can’t tell, i adore frog lady. and bo-katan. mwah.

BIG thank you to @justrunamok​, @pettyprocrastination​ and @generaldamneron​ for beta-reading <33

gif credit: @captrex​ - from the post here. thanks!

masterlist

You thought you knew cold.

Days and nights in the Crest have acquainted you with it. A hollow metal hull in the depths of the galaxy, surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of nothing. Keeping the heater on burns fuel that you can’t afford, not with three mouths to feed. Space is cold, as cold as it could get.

And then you nearly drowned.

The briny depths of Trask are frigid, you’ve come to realise. Logically, you know it’s nowhere near the freezing vacuum of space. That’s real cold; true, absolute zero. But the thing about water is that it gets everywhere. The searing, ferocious chill of it had slammed all mental processes to a halt, petrifying your rationality before all else. It drenched your clothes, your hair. Snaked into your nose and seeped into your lungs. Rushed you as a swarm; no other sensation was relevant.

At the time — scrabbling at a grate hanging overhead, right there but always just out of reach — it’s what you imagined carbonite to feel like. Conscious but consumed.

Space is cold from a distance. Water freezes from the inside, cracked and jagged and burning.

So you should be grateful for your saviours. Mandalorians, unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Which is to say, unlike Din.

There’s a lot to think about. So many things have happened in the span of a day that you can barely keep track. And beyond all else, you want to ask how Din’s coping—

“Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld.”

—but there are more important things to deal with at the moment.

“Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mandalore on the throne,” the red-headed woman explains.

Bo-Katan. She speaks regally, like she’s been on that very throne before. More importantly — like she’d earned it. In truth, she scares you. All three of them do, these new Mandalorians who show their faces — they scare you in the way Din did back when he was just a gruff, faceless employer. A tinge of instinct; a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

What she’s saying is important, you know that, and you can’t place the onus on Din to handle it after the day he’s had. But you can’t bring yourself to focus either. You’re barely holding it together as it is, taking mild, balmy comfort in his and the baby’s presence on either side.

The three of you, together. Right now, at this table, that’s the only thing keeping you from splintering right down the middle.

Even with a steaming bowl of broth in your hands, your fingers ache with the chill. It hurts, regaining body heat. Hurts as feeling returns to your toes. Hurts to clench your jaw, to stop it from chattering. Hurts the delicate skin of your face, thousands of icy needles jabbing into the nerves. There’s a pounding between your ears and behind your eyes. You’re tired, and you suspect Din is, too.

You really do want to ask how he’s dealing with…this. The Way has been part of his life — and part of yours, in as much of a lifetime as you’ve known him — for many, many years. An oak tree, offering security and strength to the garden. How must he feel, stoic at your side, to see these three fell theirs so easily?

An identity crisis is the last thing Din needs.

What he needs is a break. You need him to want a break.

A coo at your elbow catches your attention. The baby — safe and warm, thank the Maker — seems fascinated with the water dripping from your hair, patting his hands into the small puddles forming on his high chair and giggling at the splashes. It’s as if he was never swallowed whole in the first place; that’s another thing you’re going to recall decidedly later. Nonetheless, he bounces back fast, your child.

You smile, hearing your teeth click, and pet the sensitive spot between his ears. He blinks at you sweetly.

Someone clears their throat.

You look up, startled, to find three pairs of eyes on you. Expecting. None of them saying… anything.

The other woman, the one with braids on her forehead, slurps her slithering noodles without blinking. Unnerving, to say the least.

“Sorry,” you blurt, more on reflex than anything else. “Did I… miss something?” The uncertainty in your voice doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.

Beneath the table, a broad thighs shifts to press against yours. Comforting. You glance at its owner.

“It’s… Mandalorian business.” Bo-Katan tilts her head. Her gaze flits between you and Din, polite and clear. “I’m sure you understand.”

You blink, bemused. “Oh?”

And then you realise.

She’s asking you to leave.

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up. One of her partners smiles ruefully in your periphery, and you are struck with the distinct feeling of being other. “Of course.”

That’s… well. It’s justified, is what it is. She’s right. You aren’t Mandalorian.

You stand quickly, and the chair grates against the floor unpleasantly. You manage not to cringe, somehow.

There’s a free table on the other side of the cantina, you think you saw it as you entered. Should you take the baby? No, Din’s never liked being away from him, even if you’re there. But they’re armed, all three of them, and you don’t know them, even if they did save your life, saved the baby’s, saved Din’s—

There’s a hand at your elbow.

“They stay.”

Din’s voice is unyielding. He hasn’t moved at all besides his grip on your arm, keeping his visor trained on Bo-Katan, who raises a brow.

No one says anything for a long, tense beat. Until—

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Bo-Katan says bluntly. It’s something you don’t have the nerve to state aloud. Something Din is apparently ignoring, however much you’d never believe it.

He stays silent.

“It’s okay,” your murmur, and the silver helmet you know turns to you fractionally. Barely anything, and you know you’re heard. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still staring Bo-Katan down. “I don’t mind.”

There are three sharp, foreign gazes on you, and your newly-rejuvenated toes curl in your boots. After so many days bundled up in the Crest, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be watched and unwanted. The company inside had never made you feel that way.

“They stay,” he insists, making you jolt. “As is their right.”

Bo-Katan’s half-smile is faintly amused. “And which right is that?” she asks, like she already knows the answer. It seems like they all do, daring Din to state this mysterious ‘right’ that you’re in the dark about.

“It is their right as a member of my clan.”

The gloved fingers on your elbow tighten, leather creaking ever so slightly but just enough to remind you to breathe.

You blink at the silver helm dumbly, forgetting your onlookers for the time being.

He’s— He means that. Din doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean. Every word is measured, deliberate. He chooses his words like he chooses his weapons; they’re specific, well-cared for. Only to be used when necessary. Which suggests that—

Well. Maybe you should sit down.

As you do so, the woman opposite Din releases a slow, steady breath — Maker, you’d almost forgotten she was here — and squares her shoulders.

“Very well,” she says coolly. Her eyes flit to you, appraising, searching, before returning to Din. “As I was saying…”

And then you tune out again, ever so slightly. The information is going in, but you’re not truly registering its significance. Stupid, really, considering Din’s quite literally just fought for your place at the table. But you do.

You stare at the chipped, stained wood as if it holds the answers to questions you don’t know how to phrase. The baby babbles something incoherent, trying to get your attention, so unjustly denied to him, and you offer a finger for him to hold.

Clan. As in, part of. It’s new.

It feels like a small, three-fingered hand, gravelly warmth next to your thigh, and a hand pulling you back to the table.

———

Tracking down the Frog Woman and her husband isn’t too tedious. Trask’s daylight hours are long, for a moon, so even after Din’s aside with Bo-Katan and her people, it’s barely dark as you make your way to the inn.  

“It won’t be long,” Din had assured you. “I go with them, assist with their mission, and come back within a day. Routine transport raid.”

Them. Their. It didn’t bode well that his so-called brethren are this… dissimilar.

“Last time you helped someone out, you got swallowed by a desert dragon.”

“That wasn’t last time.”

“Still counts.”

Childish, perhaps. Petulant. But correct.

The problem was, so was he. There was no choice.

Now, Din leads your party of three briskly down the street.

Since his father had manually adjusted the drift range on the crib beforehand, the child has no issue being carted along express-style, making curious noises at the various fishing apparatus he sees scattered around the port.

You don’t have such luxuries as the little womp rat, so you’re left to frantically try and match your Mandalorian’s pace. The lingering shivers wracking your frame are shoved aside for the wheezing burn beginning to creep up your sides.

“Hey, uh, Mando?” you ask, somewhat out of breath. “You think you could slow down? You’re going a little fast—”

Your shoulder clips a passing Quarren roughly, spinning you round with the force of the collision. The point of impact throbs unpleasantly, painful but superficial. Stunned, you can only blink as the tentacled man snaps something unintelligible in your face. An apology sits ready on your tongue and you open your mouth to speak, before a solid wall appears between you.

A breathing, unyielding wall of leather and beskar, glowering at the Quarren silently as you’re turned away, closer into the gentle bend of his hold. Quietly surrounding, protecting. Something else you’re not used to, from when it was just the three of you in the ship. But this feels… good. It feels like it’s yours.

The other man balks, and leaves with a grumble under his breath.

Din glances around above your head, ever aware, ever cautious. “Stay close,” he murmurs and—

You could probably pinpoint the exact moment your body temperature spikes, as a large, gloved hand comes to rest on your lower back. “Oh. Okay.”

The rest of the walk passes you by.

“I wasn’t trying to rush you,” he says tersely, having slowed his pace considerably. There’s an apology in there somewhere; you can hear it. “But you’re soaked, and you’re cold. You need to get warmed up.”

You smile. It’s really not the time, but— “Are you offering?”

A huff from the modulator, and he shakes his head silently. Less rejection, rather than fond exasperation.

“You must be cold, too.” The realisation dawns on you in an instant. Oh, Maker. He’s been freezing for just as long as you, now. If not more, since he hasn’t eaten anything warm.

The next shake of the helmet is more insistent, purposeful. “No. I wear more layers than you do.”

“You dived into the ocean, Din.” His name is hushed, spoken after a quick look to confirm that no one can hear you.

“So did you.”

“I was pushed, that’s not the same thing.”

Din doesn’t respond, and your smile dims. He seems to hesitate for a moment, before pressing a button on his vambrace, and the baby’s crib floats a little closer.

Oh.

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk. You regret bringing it up.

But his hand doesn’t stray from your back.

——

The building is small, cozy. Barely a couple of stories tall. And, to your delight, it’s warm.

“Thank you for having us,” you tell the Frog Woman gratefully. One of their towels is wrapped around your shoulders; a placeholder until you can find a clean, dry change of clothes. You feel better already. “We’re sorry to impose like this.”

She croaks something vaguely welcoming and you smile, keeping a shrewd, wary eye on the baby — now staring at the egg canister with wondrous intent, reaching his stubby little hands out from his place clutched to your chest. Now there’s something to keep you occupied for the evening.

A hand on your shoulder, warm and light, and you turn around. Din tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll be going,” he says, barely a whisper past the lip of the helmet.

“What? Uh, Mando, hold on!” Halfway out of the chair already, you stare at him incredulously, before turning back to the expecting parents. “Just— Just a second, please. Could you take the baby?”

However disinclined she may be to your carnivorous terror, the Frog Woman takes him into her hands gently. She’s sweet, kind. You hope she understands the depths of your appreciation.

A polite nod from Din to the couple. “I’ll be back for them soon.”

He follows you into the narrow corridor. The door slides shut behind you both.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You stare at him for a moment, tugging the edge of the towel at your shoulders. Your mouth opens and closes, faltering around words that don’t have the courage to form.

“I…” You deflate. “I just— I wanted to ask you that. Before you left.” It’s a foolish question. What’s wrong, like his entire way of life hasn’t been upended in a heartbeat by a careless show of face. Like the Way hasn’t just crumbled at his feet like wet sand, trodden on by three strange pairs of boots, scorched by familiar jetpack fuel.

He doesn’t say anything. No tilt of the helmet, no sinking shoulders. Nothing. Just keeps looking at you, visor tilted down to your face.

There’s a reasonable distance between you. Not professional by any stretch of the imagination, but enough for him to be comfortable in semi-public. The corridor is empty, and you can’t hear any footsteps.

Except Din’s, when he steps forward.

You feel your features soften in time with the pounding of your heart. “Din, love, please—”

He pulls you into his chest, plucking the wind from your lungs in a surprised, candied puff into the worn fabric of his cowl. His arms snake around you, securing you to his sturdy frame, and by reflex, yours mirror the movement on him. The helm’s hard, flat surface presses against the side of your head tightly; an anchor tugging on the seabed.

You feel him inhale, a ragged, rattling thing that has your stomach sinking. You only hear that sound when he’s injured, stumbling back to you with a bounty and a nasty, jagged stab wound or two. Only when he’s injured but oh, isn’t he?

It’s hard to tell how long you remain like that. Wrapped around and in between each other. Feeling each other breathe in and out, like the push and pull of the tides. It’s worth it, for the fading of tension in Din’s shoulders. Not removal. But an ebb for the flow. You’ll take it.

“There is a lot,” he rasps, modulated into your hairline. “You know that. And I can’t focus on what needs to be done if I think about it.” You feel him sigh, draping into your arms even further. “I can’t afford that.”

You try to keep your voice calm, soothing. To avoid the hot press of tears threatening to clog your throat. “Okay. That’s, that’s— Okay.”

You sound like a fool, parroting your own words. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Din agrees. There is something shaky in his voice, and you would give anything to wrench it from his chest and throw it into that Maker-forsaken ocean. Let it drown for all you care.

For now, though, this is enough.

You move to step back, just a palm’s breadth away, and his arms unlock to let you do so immediately. His gloved hands slide down to nestle in the dip of your waist.

You look at Din consideringly, wondering if you could push for later. Later, to discuss the revelations he’s been bombarded with. Later, to talk about what you’re doing to do. Later, to finally get him to rest his weary bones.

Urgent, but. You decide to let him be. For now.

There’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask about anyway.

“So.” You smile wanly, treasuring the jewelled glint of beskar through the thinnest film of tears. “As a member of your clan, huh?”

Din sighs. Bracing, grounding. Returning to the present, where you’re just here to see him off. Where you have a baby waiting inside to keep from snacking on your hosts, and he has a hijacking to initiate. His fingers press tighter into your skin.

He appreciates the subject change.

“You already know my name,” he says quietly. Shrugs. “I’d say you know more about me than anyone else.”

You take a second to mull that over. Enjoy the taste of it in your mouth, the weight of it in your heart. He is such a precious thing to know.

Without thinking, the word leaves your lips in a bright gust of affection. “Same.” The helm tilts. “You know more about me than anyone else, too.”

He nods, a small, barely-there movement. More to himself than to you, you suspect.

“Good.”

Elastically, achingly slow, Din leans his head down. You lift yours up. When your warmed forehead meets beskar, a kiss from which you feel deprived, yet glutted, you’re inclined to agree.

“Stay safe,” you whisper. Your heart fogs and clouds on the metal, right above where his lips would be.

His thumb strokes across your waist. And you know he will.

——

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars fic #reader-insert #gn!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian chapter 11 #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #the heiress #my writing #sw #bit nervous about this one #we'll see how it goes huh

[sopxhiea]

Anguish

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Y/N gets hurt but doesn’t tell Alfie and things take a left turn when Alfie finds out what happened during an impromptu visit.

“I think my problem is that I have really fantastic bad ideas.”

The air inside the room is hot, there are two fans on the floor but they don’t do much. There’s the sound of paper shuffling every now and then when the wind hits the yellow material but the pots on top of the papers hold them down.

The cup of tea is cold, at a reasonable temperature for you to drink at this weather. The sunlight is gentle against the closed window, it somehow manages the make the whole place hotter.  You put your hair up in a bun, no longer able to put up with the hot weather but it’s slowly cooling down inside.

There are bruises along the right side of your face, you don’t look in the mirror when you pass by the small one in your office.

It was silly, really.

You knew what was coming when you were called for a meeting in the enemy’s inn but it had gone better than you’d expected until their men pulled guns on your men and there were too many sounds of gunshots for you to recall the rest properly.

You’d gone out with a fraction of the men you had gone in with.

The right side of your face has a bruise near your eye, a couple purple marks that morph into one big disaster follow the covered bruise. There’s a bigger knife wound on your right leg but it can’t be seen due to your dress. You ignore the little cuts on your feet while putting them on top of the desk to feel a little better.

Then his voice booms through the corridor.

You’d tried to keep Alfie out of this but you of all people know how stubborn he is. He’s come around three times in the past two days and you’d told him you were entirely too busy and tired for him through your assistant, avoiding eye-to-eye confrontation at all costs but you know Joseph, your assistant, can only keep him out for so long.

“Mr. Solomons, you ca-”  Joseph’s voice booms through the corridor and your hear the sound of heavy yet fast footsteps along the corridor that leads to your office.

You can see the image.

Joseph is running behind Alfie but he’s not seen you in a couple days and you know how needy he gets. You’d avoided anything but phone calls and Alfie had been the most touchy partner you had so it was not avoidable.

You get up but before you have the chance to try to cover your face up, the door flies open.

Alfie looks angry at first but then his orbs fill with agony and fear when he sees your state. You can see the frustration in his eyes when his lips stay sealed and instead, he walks towards you in the silent room.

“You can leave.” you whisper to your assistant, knowing that he’s done his best dealing with your lover and he’s done a pretty good job knowing how persistent Alfie can be when it comes to you.

Alfie slowly walks toward your already standing form as your assistant closes the door, the room is filled with nothing but your heavy breaths. His calloused fingers lift your chin up and caress your hair as he looks at you.

Even though he’s not really looking at you.

His eyes are focused more on the bruises and the why, when and all those questions than the worry that seems to be swimming on your face. You gulp as he turns your head with his thumb on your chin to take a better look to the right side of your now bruised and cut face.

It’s not that bad, you think.

He swears under his breath, it’s a mumble of some sort you’ve heard him say before you know he’s going to be mad, it’s a matter of how mad at this point when he looks at your worried eyes.

His index finger traces something on the bruise and you can’t help but make a sound since the marks on your face are pretty new.

“Ouch.” you whisper but you’re silent again when he casts a look on you after the words come out of your mouth. He seems frustrated.

He’s frustrated at you, for getting hurt and not being as careful but he’s also frustrated at himself, for not being able to protect you. This was not the first time you’d gotten hurt since you started seeing him but it was the first time he was seeing you bruised like this.

You know he tends to worry, no matter how much you’ll try and convince him that you’re completely fine. You don’t look fine, you know that but it’s just a couple bruises on your face for all he can see and you’ll be fine before he knows but he won’t believe that, you know.

“It’s nothi-” you start speaking into the silent room as he inspects your face, you know it’s stupid to even speak at the moment but his worried face gets the best of you.

He cuts you off not too long after, not believing the words that come out of your mouth but you knew that he wouldn’t in the first place.

“What the fuck did I tell ya’?” he asks, staring right at you while you gulp. It feels like he’s about to scold you but you sigh and answer anyway.

“To be careful.” you answer like a little kid, your voice doesn’t skip a beat and he nods.

He doesn’t speak for a while and you remember that he had told you something in addition the last time you’d come across him bruised. It wasn’t as visible to the eye but you know for a fact that he remembers, he doesn’t forget things like these.

“To be more careful.” you say but your voice is not as confident as before, it’s a mere whisper but he hears it clearly since his face is inches away from yours.

He nods this time but a little more enthusiastically. He tugs at his beard then, eyes wondering off to now look at you and not your bruised state. He sees you then, he can see that whatever happened was taken care of but it shook you and in the midst of ogling your wounds and scolding you, he’s missed to see what has taken place.

“Are ya’ feelin’ alright, luv?” he asks after a couple minutes pass, you realise he’s seen the look of fear covered with pride and you hate that he can see right through you.

“Yeah, I...” you start speaking but you know he doesn’t mean the physical damage, he means the thing swimming inside your orbs.��“It’s alright, I’ll feel better in a couple day-”

“Why didn’t ya’ tell me?” he asks, words loud and clear as he looks right into you, you ignore the pain on your right leg from the wound and you flinch slightly but he notices, like he always does.

“I didn’t want you to get all worried. You tend to do that, you know?” your words sound more playful now but his eyes are focused on your right leg from when you slightly moved. You pray for him to forget about it, joke about the situation like you are doing but he seems dead serious.

"I tend to get fuckin’ worried, yeah, when my girl is all bruised up.” he speaks against your face and you ignore the temptation to tell him that he’s shown up at your doorstep one too many times with bruises all over his body but you’d not made a scene then. 

It’s in his nature.

You watch the rays of sunlight dance with the lines of his face while his eyes scan your right leg. You don’t stop looking at him even though you know that he’s going to ask you about it and you have no intentions of lying, not at this time.

He then proceeds to speak a little louder, his words are clearer and not rushed like they had been when he first came barging in. You look at his dense stare as he speaks, head nodding at his own words. “This, yeah, is the only injury you got then?” his words are tricky as his finger traces the bruise on your face. 

You gulp.

There’s no point in lying, you know he’ll know about the injury on your leg by midnight when his hands start roaming around your body like they always do but you desperately don’t want to him to get worried, you need to him to think rationally and you know he’ll lose it once he sees how bad the wound is when you start cleaning it.

A sigh leaves your lips and you tilt your head to the side as he tugs at his beard, eyes on you the whole time and you speak. “Maybe.”

Your words are hardly hanging around the air when he takes a small step closer to you so that your bodies are touching. His hand comes in contact with the soft skin of your leg, he slowly travels up while a look of terror takes over your face.

Your breath is shaky when his hand meets the bandage. There’s the shake of your head when he lifts the dress you’re wearing to get a better look at how much the injury is covering and you can see his heart breaking when he sees that most of your upper thigh is covered with a thick layer of bandage and cotton.

“It’s really jus-” you start speaking but he makes you sit down on your desk that you’d been leaning on and puts his hands on both sides of you on top of the desk. You wait for him to speak, face inches away from yours.

“How many stitches?” he asks but he’s calmer than you’d expect. You gulp and decide to give him a vague answer, one that would not make him worry like the truth will. Your voice is soft against his face.

“I don’t remem-”

“How many fuckin’ stitches, luv?”

You break eye contact after his words, his stare is way too dense and he’s got you trapped between his large body and the wooden desk you’re sitting on top of. When your eyes meet his again, you speak.

“Twelve.”

He flinches at your words.

He knows there are certain things he can’t protect you from, no matter how badly he wants to and you see the lines of worry in his orbs while he takes a good look at the bandage covering your thigh. It would be easier, he thinks, if he didn’t love you this much.

He used to be a heartless man, someone who would not flinch when faced with death. He knows that he’s softer now, he still doesn’t flinch at the face of death but he worries about you, about what would happen to his precious girl after he’s long gone.

Your hands meet his as you stop him from interrogating your thigh, you know he’s making up scenarios in his head as to how badly things could’ve gone. It’s a two way street, you worry about him when he gets hurt and vice versa. You know there’s no point in hiding how you feel so you just speak your mind as his stare digs into you.

“I’m alright.” you say, voice confident but desperate to remind him that things are okay and that you’re there with him. He tends to forget.

You know he wakes up late at night with the worse thoughts of you being gone, but he holds onto your body tighter when he sees that you’re right there with him. He’s as needy as they come and you know that his love is domestic and physical, so you remind him with words and your soft touch against his.

“Ya’ say that now, yeah, but I know fuckin’ well, right, that you’ll be out there first thing in the mornin’..” he says while your hands caress his.

It’s your job, he knows you have to go. He just doesn’t want to let you go.

Because he knows how quick these things can be. One gun, one shot and you’re gone. He knows it all too well. He’s seen it happen to one too many guys and knows all it takes is a split second.

He’s gotten much more clingier, you think, since the time he told you he loved you and you returned the gesture. It was maybe his way of confirming the emotions swimming in his heart. He’s made you his girl then and this version of Alfie who happened to be worried each time you returned home late was born.

You weren’t complaining, it was endearing to say the least.

“I promise you that I’ll be extremely careful?” you say but it’s more of a question. You already know he has men watching you at most times but it’s the split second he lets you off the hook that you manage to get hurt.

He sighs and puts both arms on top of the desk you’re sitting on, you feel his breath against your face as he speaks. He’s stern this time.

“I don’t need that, yeah, I jus’ need my girl to be fuckin’ safe.” he says, head shaking at his own words because he knows you’re just as stubborn as he is and you’ll go back to finish the job, just better armed this time.

“I will be safe...” you speak and his eyes catch yours. You continue speaking with a smile on your lips. “..Just need more guns.” you shrug your shoulders and he chuckles at you. Something half his size talking about guns he can barely get his hands on.

“Luv..” he speaks but you don’t know what he’s planning on saying so you just give him a brief nod. He doesn’t speak any further.

“I’ll go with more guns and more men this time and I will pick the location so there’s less chance of this..” your fingers point at the blue and purple lines on your face. “...happening.”

“You ain’t gonna’ to listen, eh?” he asks but it’s more of a statement than anything. He knows you’ll get what you want.

“I think my problem is that I have really fantastic bad ideas.” your voice is soft through the room and he chuckles at you before pressing a kiss on your temple. 

No matter how worried he gets, he knows you’ll listen to him. 

You see the lines of worry in his eyes but it’s more faded now. He knows you’ll be alright. You watch as he patches you up, putting a couple band aids on your face where the deep bruises are. There’s no need to put them but he does it anyway, his heart clenches each time you wince so you hold your tongue.

He doesn’t show it but he’s terrified. He’s terrified of the possibility of losing you and now that you sit there in front of him with a bruised face and a pretty big wound, he figures it’s more of a possibility now.

You stop him when he tries to have a better look at your upper thigh, the wound covers most of it anyway. Your hands meet the surface of his calloused ones, there’s a question in his eyes as he looks at you. You gulp and then speak, he doesn’t miss the way you try to look directly at his eyes and not the room like you usually do.

“I’m sorry.” your words hit his ears and he blinks a couple times, standing still. He knows you know what you’ve done and that you knew the consequences. He doesn’t take you for a stupid person.

He lets go of your thigh and his hand finds his beard this time, tugging at it like he usually does. He knows you mean it, he doesn’t have to look at your face to know that you’re about to cry. But you hold it in.

“I know, dove.” he says, voice gruff as he plants a kiss onto your temple and you let go of your breath. You feel less guilty now.

He then cleans your wounds again and covers them with bandages, his touch remains soft against your skin as you wince every now and then. With each noice if disapproval that comes out of your mouth, Alfie stops and looks at you, you nod and he continues. 

He treats you like a fragile glass as he takes you home to give you a good day of resting. Your head remains at his shoulder the whole time, hands intertwined because you know you need the touch to know that he’s there, he needs it too.

The remaining part of the day is spent with you messing with Alfie as he makes sure you’re not even more hurt than you already are. He puts you to bed, as gentle as a person could possibly be and then gets in between the sheets. You soon find his body next to yours as your breath becomes steadier with time. He listens as you’re lulled into a good nights sleep.

He promises to protect you, always. 

----

Tagging: @clairecrive​  @parkbearum​ @sourirez​ @bicevans​ @mollybegger-blog

a/n:  i’ve been gone for a while now and here’s the new blurb? dunno what to call this :) Anyway, the requests are currently open and let me know what you thought of this? Also if you want to be tagged, let a gal know ♡

#alfie #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons #alfie solomons peaky blinders #alfie solomons fluff #alfie solomons scenario #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons series #alfie solomons ssmut #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons angst #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons x shelby!reader #alfie solomons tom hardy #peaky #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders alfie #peaky blinders scenario #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders aesthetic #tom hardy #tom hardy smut

[santigarcia]

Electric Plug 🔌

Human Touch Part Seven

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six

word count: 4.5k

rating: M for smut, dirty talk, slight mentions of violence and cheating (pls don’t read unless ur 18+!)

summary: You go see Nathan after his accident, and an old flame rekindles. 

a/n: thank you all so much for reading this series! let me know what yall think! thank you to @punkpascal​ and @sergeantkane​​ as always!!

You call the hospital, pleading with them to give you information if he’s ok. But all you hear is a loud click. This is the only time that Nathan’s fame bothers you. It makes you sick to think that people want to know if he’s ok for their gossip mags. You feel guilt, and that gnawing raw feeling deep in your gut that only he gave you.

For the next few weeks, you keep tabs on him. Your wedding is in less than a month, and you’ve spent more time stalking the internet for info on your ex than you have with your own wedding. But all the work is being done for you. Jack seems to be more involved in it than you.

All you can think about is Nathan. You suppose that’s a bad thing, right before your wedding. But you want to know he’s alright. He could have died thinking you hate him. And while you did for some time, you don’t anymore. If you’re being totally honest you kind of hated him even when you were together. He drove you insane sometimes, but you miss that.

As soon as you get the word Nathan has been sent home, you call your cousin up.

“Aren’t you getting married in a week?”

Yes, yes you are. But you need to see him. You tell her that you need to get a way for just a day or two, that the stress of the wedding is too much. She agrees to let you come up, and you plan to fly back to the states together.

It’s been so long since you got lost and showed up soaking wet at Nathan’s door. This time, you dress for the occasion. Your best little black dress. Sleek heels. You do your hair, makeup, and wear the perfume that used to drive him wild. You’re not entirely sure why you do this, but deep down you know. You just won’t admit it. You want him to admit he fucked up. You want him to want you back.

So, when you knock on his door, you yourself feel a little thrill. But the nerves hit. You haven’t spoken to him in at least two years, and neither of you got closure from the situation. You’re about to reopen a wound that’s barely healed.

Or maybe not – he’s not answering the door.

You start to bang on it, you know he’s home. The lights are on.

“Nathan! Open up!”

When the door finally opens, you’re greeted with Nathan, his face one of surprise, but it quickly turns to a scowl.

”I know I am the last person you want to see right now but-“

“What? What do you want?” he cuts you off. You think of all the things you want to tell him. To ask him. You want to apologize; you want him to apologize. You want to know if he’s ok. But that’s not what comes out.

“Ok I know things ended badly, but I'm getting married next week and-“ you grab him and kiss him deeply. Your tongue delves into his mouth, and he quickly deepens the kiss himself. “I need you.” You tell him, you’re breathless.

“You’re gonna regret this, baby,” he grabs your ass and pulls you to him, and somehow manages to close the door behind you both.

“Make me regret it,” you moan into him. Damn, you’ve missed this. This is the raw passion you’ve been missing. His strong arms hold you tight and he backs you into a wall. His hands are on your dress, already quick to hike it up over your hips.

With the quirk of a brow, he looks at you when he sees you’re without underwear. Ok, maybe this is what you wanted.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you, baby.” He sucks on your neck as he wraps your legs around his waist. His teeth almost hurt, but it’s a good pain, you wouldn’t trade it for anything. “You shouldn’t even be near here. Near me.”

“Please, I’m begging you,” you whine. You didn’t mean to sound this desperate but now that his hands and mouth are on you it just comes out. You claw at his shirt, wanting him to take it off. You need his skin on yours. He pulls back to tug it off, and in the process, he rips your dress open. This frees your bare chest, and he grabs your tits with a fiery aggression. He squeezes them and bites on your shoulder.

His chest is heaving, and the truth spills out.

“I missed you so fuckin’ much, you know that? No one takes my cock quite as well as you do.”

You hate that he’s right, and it only makes you wetter for him.

“No one gives it like you do,” you tell him, moaning trying to get him to push himself inside. You’re desperate, aching.

“Damn right.” He lightly smacks your clit, and you cry out. “I’m the only one who fucks this pussy right.”

“Please!” you buck your hips trying to urge him on. “I need you!”

He finally gives you what you want and thrusts into you hard. He fills you so well, and you choke out a gasp. He’s so proud of himself, he can’t let this moment slip by.

“Oh, you always take me so well kitten,” he grunts shifting his position and hitting you deeper. “This is my pussy, isn’t it? You love it when I fuck this tight pussy? Say it.”

“Nathan!” you dig your nails into his back, and he buries his face into your neck.

“Say it.”

“I love it when you fuck this tight pussy!” you scream as he rubs his thumb over your clit. He’s giving it hard, but you need it. You need all of him. And he fuckin’ knows it.

“Yeah, I can tell how much you love it,” he growls. “You love having my big cock inside you, don’t you? I bet your little fuck toy fiancé can’t fill you nearly as well as I do, does he?”

“No,” you gasp, “only you. I belong to you.”

“Good girl, fuck!” his head falls on your shoulder, he rubs your clit harder to match his heavy thrusts. “I want you to come for me and show me just how good you can be. Okay kitten?”

You whine and claw at him, “I’m so close, please! Let me come!”

“Do it. Come all over my fucking cock.”

With the sound of his voice and the press of his thumb, you find your release. It’s white hot and intense, and your lower back cramps from the intensity of your squeezing around him. You gasp for air and grunt while he still pushes into you. He’s chasing his high and you want him to hit it.

“FUCK! Fuck, can I come inside you?” his voice is full of need, he’s not above begging to fill you up.

“Do it,” you say back to him. “I want all of you.” And that’s the truth.

“Fuck, fuck. That’s it. Oohhh. Oh shit, you take my cum so well,” he chuckles and kisses your cheek. Your bodies still but your chests heave together.

“He doesn't - not like this.” In fact, he’s never given you such pleasure. It’s only ever about him.

“Poor baby, you’ve been neglected, haven’t you?” He smirks kissing you again. “Your thin dick fiancé can’t take care of you properly, hmm?”

“Nathan you wouldn't believe, he- he just doesn't- You know exactly what to do to get me soaked,” you sigh and flutter around him when he pulls out.

“I know you. More than just sexually.”

You nod, he truly does.

“Fuck we made a mess,” he grins and sets you down on the floor. Your knees tremble and your dress is torn around your waist. Nathan’s slick is sliding down your thighs. “Come on,” he hands you his shirt off the floor, and he pulls your torn-to-shreds dress off your body.

You follow him down the familiar maze of his home into your bedroom. You sit down on the bed and he disappears into the bathroom. He returns with a rag to clean you up, and when he’s finished, he lays down beside you. He curls up close to you and kisses your neck before he gets settled.

It’s quiet for a while. You just hold each other in silence. It’s nice. A still moment with him is what you’ve been missing.

He breaks the silence with a sigh, then comes the question you’ve been waiting for.

”Do… do you love him?”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you feel your chest tighten. Nathan’s calm, but you know he’s dying for an answer.

“I- I don't know anymore. I started dating him after we broke up because well, he wasn't you. And now that's- that's the problem. He's safe.  But he’s boring. And he only cares about himself.”

It’s as if you’re just now realizing what you’ve known all along.

“Don’t marry him.” It’s not a plea, it’s not a demand. It’s a casual statement. But when he buries his face in your neck that tells you how he really feels. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but… fuck, I’ve missed you.”

“Really? I- I mean I know we just angry fucked – But I thought you would never wanna see me again. Especially after what I did to you. We both did stupid things.”

“Baby I missed you the whole time. Didn’t you know? I was angry and scared because I was in love with you and it just seemed better to let you go then to end up hurting you.” He sighs pulling you in closer, his lips press softly into your skin. “But then cuz I was an asshole I hurt you and pushed you out.”

“I know, I think I always knew.”

“And he’s cheating on you anyways.”

“What?”

“Oh shit, that’s right. You never saw the texts. I told you everything.”

You sit up and look down at him laying in the bed. He’s so gorgeous, it’s as if you’ve forgotten. You’re still that girl with a crush on him.

“I ignored the texts cuz I was mad at you over the AI. He’s really cheating on me?”

“I know,” he smiles sadly. “I’m onto new tech now though. Smart Home Devices. But yeah, shit baby, I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you. I stalked him online,” he clears his throat. “You know-“

“Cuz you were jealous,” you giggle and lean down to kiss the grey spot on his head.

“Ok, yeah fuck it I was. I wanted to see who I lost you to. But then it was pretty obvious he was cheating, and I tried to let you know, but you never answered.”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way. For not answering.”

“I’m sorry I did all that behind your back.”

“It’s just- if I had been here,” you start to sniffle. You look down at the scar on his chest, and it makes your heart pound. “What if something had happened, and I never got to tell you…” you wipe your tears on your sleeve. “Are you okay?” You reach out and touch the scar on his chest. His skin chills from your touch, but he’s still, he lets you touch him.

“I’m not okay without you. But yeah, I’m fine. Couple scars.”

“And what did you mean earlier? When you said you were in love with me? Was? Does this mean you aren't in love with me anymore? What am I even doing here? I don't know what to do anymore. Everyone has been making decisions for me. No one cares about what I want.”

“Hey, easy kitten.” That familiar nickname. “No, I… I’m still in love with you.” He sits up to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. “I want you to choose. if you want to stay… I want to be better for you. But I want you to make the choice yourself.”

“Nathan, I- the fact that you want me to choose is making me want to stay.”

“Then stay,” he strokes your cheek with his thumb. “But only if it’s what you think is best for you.”

“You're what's best for me, no one has cared for me like you do. And no one gets under my skin like you do either,” you lean up to kiss his lips. “Listen to me right now Nathan. If I do this, if I call off that wedding, you have to promise me right now some changes will be made around here. For both of us.”

“I promise. I swear. Name it and it’s done.”

“I'm not telling you to stop drinking, but go easy ok? You scare me sometimes when you overdo it.”

“Done. Truth be told, if I have you, I won’t really need to drink. Being with you… it quiets my mind. What else?”

“I wanna be the only one. If you need to, I don't know, fuck one of the AI’s for some science thing that's fine, just tell me about it and don’t lie to me. But if it's for you to blow off steam? Come get me. Ok?”

“You’re the only pussy I want, I promise. And I’m done with them. Could never get them wet and warm like you,” he winks and pulls you into his arms. “You’re all I need.”

“And last thing….I need you to help me think of a way to tell my family and my fiancé this whole thing is off,” you wince at the thought. Either way you’re breaking it off with Jack because he’s cheating but bringing Nathan back after having just slept with him means you cheated too. “Because I technically cheated on him with you,” you say aloud.

“Nah, kitten. You decided it was over with him the moment you came out here. Fuck having cold feet, you were done.”

“You’re right,” you sigh, you couldn’t admit it to yourself, but he sees right through you. He always has.

“I know,” he grins.

“Ugh you ass,” you shove his chest.

“Ow, my scar!” he flops back dramatically on the bed. You play along and kiss all over his face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“I’m not. What if you had gotten hurt? I’d never forgive myself. I was already a damn mess after you left.”

You can’t curl into him any closer, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. His warmth is so comforting. The smell of his soap on his skin. The expensive beard oil. You’ve missed rubbing that into his beard. Everything about being close to him reminds you that this is right, this is what you want. He is who you want.

“What about the wedding? It’s next week,” you sigh. The thought fills you with dread having to cancel everything.

“What if you went through with it? And then I come in and crash the wedding,” he chuckles. “Always wanted to crash a wedding.”

“Wait, that’s not a bad idea,” you giggle.

“We can do anything you want, baby. Hell, I’ll crash your wedding and be your groom if you want.”

“Did you- did you just say what I thought you said?” you sit up to look at him, you want to read the expression on his face. His eyes are serious, but there’s a slight smile on his lips, he nibbles on his lip.

“If you wanted. I know we’ve never talked about that, but… I’d like to. I wouldn’t mind getting hitched,” he shrugs, but you know he means it.

“I thought you didn’t believe in marriage,” you feel tears welling up in your eyes. This changes everything.

“People assume that,” he chuckles sitting up, his hands rub your thighs. “I’m not opposed. And if it would make you happy, then why the hell not?”

“I want that more than anything!” you lean forward to kiss him, and he leans back pulling you with him. His thumb strokes your back while you kiss his cheeks and lips.

“Then let’s get married. I wanna make you Mrs. Bateman,” he hums kissing you and he squeezes your hip.

“You’re gonna hate Jack,” you laugh realizing they’ll have to meet at some point.

“He’ll hate me when he realizes I’m stealing his fiancé.”

“I can’t believe I was going to marry him. I felt like I had to. I was mad at you, and I thought that would be my way to get back at you by saying yes, even though I felt pressured. I don't know what made me come back here to you, but I'll spend the rest of my life glad I did.”

“You came back because I’m irresistible,” he gives you a playful look. “I’m glad you came. I’m so glad you’re back. I want you to make your own decisions, so… I really hope you don’t feel like you have to marry me.”

“No, I want to. I want to marry you. I want you in my life. You respect me enough to make my own decisions. And you know where my g-spot is.”

He snorts out a laugh, “Ahhh, yes, my primary function as your future husband. Honestly wouldn’t mind if you just used me like a glorified sex toy. That’d probably be hot.”

You smile and kiss him again. You can’t seem to stop, and you don’t want to. He wraps his arms around you and your legs tangle between the sheets. He pushes into you slowly, your bodies mold together and it’s everything you could want.

“I can’t wait to crash your wedding,” he muses. You laugh imaging the chaos.

“You can’t wait to make a scene, can you?”

“Kitten, I am the scene.”

“What am I getting myself into?” you laugh.

You fall asleep in his arms that night and leaving his warmth the next morning is one of the hardest things you do.

“It’s just a few more days kitten,” he reassures you. And you know that but having him and then leaving is worse than you could have imagined.

Now you have to go back and pretend you’re excited to marry Jack. The excitement part is easy, you are excited about getting married, just not to Jack. You almost feel guilty, living this lie. But then you remember Jack has been cheating on you this entire time.

You went back and read the texts Nathan sent you on your flight home. Some of them broke your heart. Some of them were genuinely funny and he was trying to make you laugh. Anger burned in you when you found the texts about Jack. It was plain as day and you felt stupid, you’d missed it. You know all these women and it makes so much sense. There’d be nights when he was gone and had no excuse to be out of the house.

You don’t blame Nathan for fucking one of his AI’s. He was stressed and overwhelmed with love for you he panicked. Sure, it was a dick move, and he wasn’t thinking straight. But he knew it was wrong and apologized for it. Over and over. He’d tell you later that after you left, he couldn’t get off like he could when he was with you. The AI fucking was over, and after one almost killed him, he gave it up.

But Jack is flat out cheating on you and has been lying about it for years. He had the nerve to propose to you while he had women on the side. You feel so stupid.

You’re out of it during the rehearsal dinner. You pay attention to nothing during the actual rehearsal. Nathan is going to be there tomorrow and break it all up. You feel those butterflies thinking about him coming to save you.

He’s nervous. He’s barely talked to you, but you know why. This is a big change for him, but one he’s ready to embrace. He’s not one to back down from a challenge.

You wake up the day of your wedding with a text from Nathan. All it says is “good morning.”

If there was any doubt he wouldn’t show up, this blew them all away. He’ll be there.

You just don’t know when.

It changes everything. When you put on your dress, all your bridesmaids and family comment on how you’re glowing and radiant. You got this dress with Nathan in mind, you can’t wait for him to see you in it.

There’s a tremble in your step as you’re escorted down the aisle. No one knows the secret you’re hiding.

It’s at this moment you start to get anxious. You don’t know when he’ll interrupt. What if he backs out and you have to leave Jack in the middle of the ceremony?

Jack takes your hands; your heartbeat is rapid and sweat is on your palms. This isn’t the man you want, and it’s taking all of your willpower to not turn and look for Nathan.

The minister opens his mouth to speak when you hear a loud “STOP.”

Everyone else turns with shock to see Nathan at the end of the aisle, but you- you’re beaming, and tears fall down your cheeks.

His expression is soft, his eyes look like they’re about to spill over with tears. You’ve never seen him look so handsome. His beard is trimmed, he’s in tight grey slacks and a crisp white dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up on his forearms, and you want to eat him alive he looks so good.

You waste no time running down the aisle to him. His arms open ready to catch you in a hug when you leap for him. He chuckles when your bodies touch- the air knocked out of him.

“Hey gorgeous,” he kisses your cheek. “You ready?” he asks stroking your cheek softly.

You nod and he takes your hand.

“Don’t look back.”

You take his hand; he squeezes it tight and you walk out front where a sleek black car is waiting for you. It takes you into town to the justice of the peace. The two of you thought this was simpler – and more appropriate than crashing a wedding and taking it over for your own. And as much as Nathan likes to make a scene, a smaller ceremony is more his speed.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you as you walk inside. He can’t take his eyes off you.

“Just don’t rip this one in half,” you snort out a laugh taking his arm.

“Baby, I’ll buy you a new one,” he pretends to pout.

When you reach the office, you gasp to see a handful of your immediate family standing there waiting for you.

“How did you-“ you gape looking around at them all.

“Called your family ahead of time,” Nathan shrugs. “Consider it one of my many wedding gifts to you baby.”

You marry him there in that little office. His warm hands cup your cheeks when he pulls you in for a kiss. He cries. It’s exactly the kind of wedding you pictured with him. No mess. No fuss.

But you take full advantage of the reception. Everyone else is there and is happy to welcome you. You’re glad for it because you finally get some good quality pictures of you and Nathan together.

He indulges you in all the little wedding reception traditions. He feeds you a bite of cake, and maybe kisses you a little too dirty for that crowd, but you can’t be bothered to care.

The best surprise of the night is when he pulls you on the dancefloor. His arms wrapped tight around you as you sway together.

“Where do you want to go on our honeymoon?” he asks you. “Anywhere you want to go. Name it.”

“Anywhere there’s a bed,” you giggle. You lay your head on his shoulder and breathe deeply. This is where you’re meant to be.

Your dance ends when the DJ starts to play a funky disco song. And it’s all Nathan can do not to start dancing right away. You burst out laughing and let him go. He dances all around you while tears of laughter stream down your face. A little crowd has gathered around watching him and he doesn’t even see them, only you.

He takes a bow when that song ends, and you can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed that hard.

The moment turns when a very drunk Jack walks in.

“Oh no,” you grab Nathan’s arm. He pushes you behind him when Jack makes his way towards the two of you. His speech is slurred, and his hair is a mess.

“So, this is who you left me for?” he looks Nathan up and down. Nathan’s jaw is ticked in anger, but he doesn’t want to waste his time on him.

“You were cheating on me, anyway, why do you care?” you shake your head. You’re still so angry at him.

“So? Didn’t you say he was too?” he jabbed a finger onto Nathan’s chest. He brushed him off and breathed out his nose like an angry bull ready to charge.

“It was a mistake dude, and I regret it every fuckin’ day.”

“Did she tell you? She called me Nathan in bed? How I had to live with the reminder of you?”

“Oh, so cheating makes it better?” Nathan’s blood pressure was beginning to rise.

“Well, I needed to get pussy from somewhere, since she wasn’t putting out-“ Jack could barely finish his sentence before Nathan’s fist collided with his nose – breaking it.

Jack leaned back holding his bloody nose as Nathan grabbed him by his shirt collar.

“Don’t you ever insult my wife like that again.”

Jack wanted to swing back and attempted. But Nathan caught his fist, and punched Jack in the stomach. Shame more than anything else sent Jack on his way.

Nathan turned to you to apologize for making a scene, but you’ve never been so attracted to him as you have in this moment. Your new husband just defended your honor.

“Take me home,” you wrap your arms around him.

“You wanna join the-mile-high club? Or can we go fuck in your childhood bedroom since your house isn’t far from here? Do you have any posters of me on your wall?”

You shake your head with a laugh and playfully smack his arm. You pull away from him and greet a family member, and Nathan chases after you.

“That’s not an answer. Babe! Do you have one?”

“Would it make a difference if I said yes?” you grin turning back to him. You loop your hands around his neck, and he puts his hands on your hips.

“Fuck. Fuck, it would make a huge fuckin’ difference. Can we spend the honeymoon in your room?”

“So, you can look at a poster of yourself while you have sex with your new wife?” your smile gets bigger and bigger.

“Fuck. What picture is it?”

“Nathan!”

“Just kidding,” he smiles kissing your lips. “I booked us a nice hotel for our first night.”

“No posters in there,” you giggle.

“I’ll buy one,” he kisses you deeper. “Do you really have one of me in your room-“

He’ll find out soon enough, but you’re not going to tell him that you don’t just have one – but two.

 xx

  tagging: @pascal-isaac​​, @wasicskosgirl​​, @velvetmel0n​​, @huliabitch​​, @shadow-assassin-blix​​, @writefightandflightclub​​, @aellynera​​, @softboywriting​​, @veuliee2​​, @spider-starry​​, @mylifeliterally​​, @millllenniawrites​​, @ntlmundy​​, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire​​, @mandoplease​​, @anetteaneta​​, @feelmyroarrrr​​, @artsymaddie​​, @shakespeareanwannabe​​, @poedameronsbeard​​, @deanfanatic67​​​, @magicsuperheroes​​​, @phoenixhalliwell​​​, @that-one-weird-one​​​, @mariesackler, @yourbucky084​​​, @woakiees​

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x you #human touch series #part seven #GKLJSKHGJLS AHH #sorry it's been so long since an update ive been working on somethinggg

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Boys Who Speak With Silver Luck

Joe Liebgott x Reader

Ok, so THIS is more what I was intending to write for you, @itswormtrain​​! Hope you can learn to forgive me!!

This one is a soul sister/unofficial sequel to ‘You’ve Been Sad (Because I’ve Been Lonely)’ bc I’m bad at doing one shots 

Warnings: SMUT, domesticity, fluff, healthy dynamics, poetry being an aphrodisiac, feels(?)

All poetry mentioned is from the anthology No Thanks by ee cummings, and the title is from the song (inspired by 44 by ee cummings) comes from The Boys Are Too Refined by The Hush Sound

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I still don’t see how you can read those things.”

 You smirk to yourself, nudging his thigh with your foot as he sits at the foot of the bed. 

In retaliation,  Joe lightly traces the tip of his finger up the arch of your right foot and chuckles when you flinch at the tickle of it, the chuckle becoming a laugh when you lower your book and frown at his mirth.

“And here I thought you were actually wanting to do something nice for me,” you tease, letting him pull your foot back into his lap and watching him smirk as he returns to massaging the sore muscles there. “Should’ve known you were gonna betray me eventually….”

 He scoffs at your theatrics, mumbling a soft apology when you hiss in discomfort as his thumb works on a particularly tight knot just above your heel.

 “Why do you wear those things if they hurt your feet so badly?”

 You furrow your brows at him, resting the book on your stomach as you let a smile play on your lips.

 “They’re called heels, and I wear them because they make my legs look amazing.”

 Joe tilts his head to the side as his face takes on a contemplative expression.

  “‘This is true…” he says with a nod. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous in ‘em.”

 You offer a hmph in smug agreement, picking your book back up and continuing where you left off.

 Tonight had been the night of Chuck’s family’s yearly holiday party, the one night where both you and Joe dressed to the nines and got to rub elbows with people Joe and Chuck lovingly referred to as ‘rich snobs with inherent mommy fetishes’. 

Joe never failed to leave you starstruck when he wore his nicest uniform, and even though you didn’t wear yours, Joe always managed to convince you to pin your Purple Heart and as many unit citations you could fit to the breast of whatever dress you picked out. 

 “Fuckin’ love watching those ignorant fuck’s faces when they realize what a badass my wife is,” he had growled in your ear as you had gotten ready that night. “Gets me harder than a goddamn rock, you got no idea…”

 The two of you had danced and drank and laughed over some of the most amazing food you’d ever tasted. It had been perfect.

More and more things were becoming perfect as time went on and the dark horrific shadows of war began to shrink away under the bright California sunshine. 

It was heartbreakingly nice to see Joe happy, truly happy. He deserved it- you all deserved it.

 A groan of frustration is the only warning you get before Joe crawls up your body and plops himself atop you, the suddenness of the action making you release a grunting giggle. Undeterred by the obvious fact that you’re trying to read, he kisses at your chest through your shirt.

 “Pay” kiss “attention” kiss “to meeee” kiss

 You take one hand from the book to scratch lightly at his scalp, smiling at the sound of him humming in annoyance.

 “What’s in that dumb book that’s got you glued to it, huh? What can big words give you that my big—OW.”

 You cut him off by clunking the book gently against the back of his head, giving him a soft smile when he looks up at you with a frown.

 “You’re so needy,” you chastise hollowly. “Never thought you’d get jealous over something as silly as poetry—”

 Joe rolls his eyes. “Poems are for kids and nerds, don’t get what it is about-” he sits up a bit more so he can see the cover of your book. “Whatever an ee cummings is that’s got you so gaga over it…”

 You raise an eyebrow at him. “Believe it or not, Joseph, I think you’d actually like this guy’s poems—”

 Joe snorts before bringing his head back down to rest on your chest. “Yeah, okay—”

 “Hey,” you challenge, scooting up on your pillows so you can sit up, the movement bringing his head to your ribcage. “I’m serious! If you were to like any sort of poetry, you’d need it to be as sexual and swear-y as you are…. Here, listen-”

 Before he can protest, you flip to the one you had in mind: 44.

 “the boys i mean are not refined 

they go with girls who buck and bite 

they do not give a fuck for luck 

they hump them thirteen times a night

 one hangs a hat upon her tit 

one carves a cross on her behind 

they do not give a shit for wit 

the boys i mean are not refined…”

 “Gimme that!”

 Suddenly, the book is ripped from your hand- and before you can protest you are shocked to see Joe turn the book so he can bury his nose in it. Careful not to be smug about it, you bite back a smile as you watch him mouth the words as he reads. 

 The fact that you’re able to hold in a laugh when his eyebrows shoot up in surprise should make you eligible for another Purple Heart.

 When Joe’s eyes flick up to meet yours, he’s looking at you as if you’ve just done some suspicious slide of hand- intrigued but still somewhat cautious.

 “Well?” you ask. “What did you think?”

 Joe flicks his gaze down to the book again, like he thinks it may have changed somehow when he wasn’t looking.

 “Are they….all like this?”

 You do smile now. “Well, I’m not sure- I haven’t read them all yet.”

An idea pops into your mind as he flips through the pages of the book.

 “If you give it back, I can see if I can find another—”

 Joe suddenly smirks, and when he lifts his face so you can see him, he’s looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Read this one.”

 Now you’re the hesitant one, taking the book back from him as if it could suddenly turn into a snake.

The poem he’s picked  is one you haven’t read yet, but if it’s one that Joe picked out you can only imagine what the subject matter is.

 “Okay then,” you say slowly, clearing your throat as you cast him a brief look of suspicion before beginning.

 “may i feel said he

 (i'll squeal said she 

just once said he) 

it's fun said she”

 (may i touch said he

 how much said she

 a lot said he) 

why not said she….”

 As you read, Joe’s hands come up to hold your sides as he kisses slowly across your chest, your stomach. Every so often, his thumbs smooth upward to rub across your shirt-covered  nipples, and you can feel him smile as he kisses at you.

 Your shirt has bunched up, revealing your hips and the sensitive skin between them. Your cheeks feel hot, and your mouth suddenly becomes dry as his lips drag between your hip bones promisingly.

His hair tickles your skin when he begins mouthing lower, to the waistband of your underpants.

 “Y/N?”

 “Yeah?” you sigh, tongue wetting your bottom lips as you begin to breathe heavier.

 “Keep reading.”

 Oh. You hadn’t realized that you’d stopped.

Clearing your throat, you blink a few times before finding the place you left off.

 “Uh, (let's go said he 

not too far said she 

what's too far said he 

where you are said she)

 may i stay said he 

(which way said she 

like...like this said he 

I-if you kiss said she- shit, Joe….”

 Joe’s warm hands have worked your underwear down your hips and around the swell of your bottom, and the heat of his breath across the thinner skin that he’s exposed has you losing focus again.

Because he’s nothing if not a consummate tease, he doesn’t do anything more than kiss only a sliver of the newly revealed skin.

 “Y/N…” he reminds you, nipping lightly at you when you groan in frustration. “I think there’s still some to go—”

 Your heart is thrumming in your chest, and it takes you a few seconds to find where you left off this time.

 “M-may i move said he

 is it love said she) 

if you're…..uh, if you’re willing said he 

(but….. you're killing said she….”

 The words have started to dance across the page, a whine coming from somewhere deep in your chest at the first touch of his fingers to the slick lips of your sex.

You’ve officially lost your place, now. You just pick the stanza your eye catches first and hope for the best.

 “(tiptop said he 

don't stop said she

 oh no said he) 

go slow said she- fuuuuuck…..

 I-(cccome?said he….goddamn it Joe, please!”

 You throw the book off to the side, sweat beading on your brow from how deliberately cruel Joe is being as he continues massaging at you. When Joe sees that you’ve started to shake, he lunges up the bed to wrap a hand around the back of your neck and kisses you messily- your teeth clacking together briefly as he buries his fingers inside of you and immediately finds the place that never fails to ruin you.

 Clinging to the front of his shirt, you squeeze your thighs together as a delicious tremor rolls up your body from where you’ve trapped his hand. You’re so worked up you almost want to cry, the heat in your lower belly almost bowing your back.

 “Does that feel good, Baby?” he mumbles against your lips. “Who is it that’s making you feel this good, huh?”

 You make an incoherent noise, quickly wrapping am arm around his shoulders to try and bring his mouth back to yours, mewling in frustration when he refuses to do so.

 “Ungh! Joe, I’m begging you!”

 “Say it again,” he says darkly, and if you had the strength to open your eyes you’d see just the power-drunk way he is looking down at you. “Do it—”

 “Joe! Joe Joe Joe Joe Joe….”

 You chant his name like a prayer, your voice dying in your throat as he starts using his palm to stimulate your neglected clit.

 With a silent scream, you come apart, head lolling back as he continues to coax you through your orgasm, dimly aware of the praise being kissed across your chin as he refuses to relent the punishing paste he’s established.

 Your face is throbbing with the strength of your thudding heart when he finally starts to slow down, your body still bowing and writhing as he begins to coo down at you sweetly, capturing your lips with his as your shaking starts to subside and your sweat begins to cool.

 “Good girl,” he sighs into your mouth. “You’re such a good girl for me….”

 You don’t reply- can’t reply.  Joe’s reduced you into a boneless mess of a woman.

 When you do eventually open your eyes, Joe is smiling down at you with an obvious affection that threatens to get your heart racing once more. Not taking his eyes from yours, he gently slides his fingers from your still-fluttering sex and makes a show of licking them clean. 

 With a mischievous wink, he uses his other hand to smooth your hair from your forehead before carefully rolling so he’s laying beside you, his shoulder pressed against your as he chuckles.

 “Huh, whaddaya know,” he says after he releases one of his fingers from between his lips with a lewd pop. “Guess poetry isn't that bad.”

 Using all of your energy, you turn your head to give him the weakest glare you think you’ve ever given.

 “When….when I can breathe witho’ havin’ to think about it so hard, I’m gon’ make you cum til you pass out.”

 Joe gives you a smiling kiss.

“And I’ll let you….once we finish round two.”

 Well, looks like I’ll be going back to the bookstore sooner than I thought.

~ ~ ~ Taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @teenmagazines​ @liebgotttme​

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #joe liebgott x reader #joe liebgott imagines

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 6)

Summary: It seemed like everyone in that godforsaken town was out to test your relationship

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment, harmful relationship with parents, creepy threatening behaviour

Author's Note: Temptation. I feel like I’ve put these two through so much but I just. cannot. stop. Eventually I may need medical intervention.

---

You just stood there for a little while. Eyes closed, head resting against his chest, savouring the contentment and safety you felt in his arms. These moments of peace were few and far between for the two of you, so when they came along you held on to them for as long as you could.

Your serenity faded after a few minutes, as you found yourself struggling to prevent his mother’s words bleeding into the front of your mind.

You wanted to look after him, you wanted to heal and care for him the best you could, but you knew there was nothing you could do to make up for his past. You couldn’t fix it.

But at least now, you were able to realise that everything he’d ever achieved, he’d done completely by himself. 

All his life he’d had no help, no support and no real reason to outgrow the life that people like your mother expected him to lead. At the very least, you were determined to change that.

After a while, he piped up. ‘You hungry? I thought we could order food, there’s a really good-’

You cut him off by throwing your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his, apparently shocking him a little, because it took him a few seconds to respond. He eventually tightened his hold around you and tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss while you moved your hands to cradle his face. Eventually, he pulled away.

‘-pizza place nearby.’

You laughed at his stupid grin, nodded and reached over to the drawer with the takeout menus.

The two of you ate in front of the TV, then curled up together on the sofa for the evening. You were still holding onto this moment of peace, savouring every second, knowing how fleeting it could be.  

---

As predicted, you only managed about an hour of relaxation before Bucky’s phone started buzzing. He picked it up and moved over to the kitchen when he saw that it was his mother calling.

You tried not to eavesdrop, but it wasn’t a big flat.

He didn’t say much, he was mainly listening to her, but as the conversation progressed you could tell he was getting more and more agitated. The only thing you could really gauge was that, at one point, she asked him for money. He told her he was pretty broke at the moment, so he didn’t have any to spare, but you had no idea if that was the truth.

It was heart-breaking to see the toxic side of their relationship in practice, especially after seeing all the love that his mother was capable of.  

Finally, he said a short goodbye and trudged back to the couch. You waited for a second to see if he’d share willingly, but he just huffed, heaved his boots up onto the table and necked the rest of his beer. You were going to have to do this the hard way.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah, fine.’ He gave you a short, tight smile and reached for the remote. You caught his arm.

‘Buck.’

‘It’s nothing, just...’ He gave an aggravated sigh and rubbed his eyes. ‘She’s not pressing charges.’

‘That’s not nothing. That’s a pretty valid reason to be upset.’

You were still very much testing the waters as far as talking Bucky down was concerned. You were sure that he’d calm down himself given enough time, but if you were going to move in here properly you’d prefer not to have walls full of holes.

He took a deep breath. ‘It’s not like I expected anything else, this is what always happens.’

‘Doesn’t mean it sucks any less.’ You shifted closer and interlaced your fingers with his, rubbing his forearm with your other hand, feeling some of the tension in his muscles settle under your touch. You were pretty pleased with that result, even if it was only small. ‘Y’know, for a guy who was so eager to find someone to talk to, you’re really not easy to get information out of.’

He let a reluctant smile spread across his face. ‘Good job you’re a ruthless interrogator then.’

---

The next few days were almost perfect. You were able to spend quality time together and unwind a little, just about managing to ignore the sixty-four missed calls from your parents and the texts begging for money from his. Bucky went out to work whenever repair jobs came up, but you quite enjoyed having free-reign of the flat while he was gone, making subtle changes that he barely noticed when he got back.

The decoration wasn’t bad per se, it just didn’t really… exist. It was your typical bare bones bachelor pad, you were convinced he hadn’t made any real changes since moving in- apart from a pile of magazines and a couple of suspicious stains on the carpet.

When your parents finally gave up, and when enough time had passed since the visit from Bucky’s mother, it felt for the first time like maybe everything could turn out alright. All the problems you’d faced seemed to be receding further and further, it seemed like they couldn’t penetrate the walls of this cosy little life you’d built.

So it was all the more disappointing when that turned out not to be the case.

---

You woke up to the sound of Bucky’s alarm. Stretching a little, you felt his body pressed up against the back of yours and his arms wrapped you. He reached over you to shut the sound off, groaned dramatically and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

‘Another morning I'll have trouble climbing out of bed.’

His words were muffled against your skin. You rolled onto your back and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead, smiling at the deep marks left on his cheek by the creases in the sheets. The two of you must’ve slept like logs, barely moving all night.

‘Stay then.’

‘I’ve got places to go.’ He placed a few soft kisses below your ear. ‘There’s a big job today, could be a few hundred bucks.’

You frowned and abruptly grabbed his head, lifting it away from you. ‘Hundreds? Christ, get out then.’

‘Wow, didn’t have you down as a gold digger.’ You laughed and tried to push him out of bed, relenting when he clawed his way back to you.

‘You could use some restraint, Barnes.’

‘I never said I was a saint.’

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Bucky finally got up and ready for work. You had a day of solid lounging around planned. Maybe you’d take a walk into town later, but only during the hours you knew your parents would be working. No way would you risk bumping into them.

---

He’d been gone for a few hours when the doorbell went. You couldn’t figure out who it was from the window, so you tiptoed downstairs and cautiously inched the door open. It was the blonde from the bar, the one who got Bucky thrown in jail.

‘What the hell do you want?’ The severity in your voice shocked you a little.

He gave a smug chuckle. ‘Calm down, suburbs. I wanna talk to Bucky.’

‘About what?’

He narrowed his eyes at you and stepped forward, stretching his arms out and bracing himself against the door frame. You instinctively moved back, tightening your grip on the open door, ready to slam it shut at a moment's notice.

‘I’d rather just speak to him, sweetheart.’

‘Look, he’s not here, but even if he was I’m sure he’d just tell you to fuck off.’

A sinister, calculating look spread over his face. ‘You’re here all on your own?’

The shift in his tone made your entire body tense up. You immediately defaulted into fight or flight mode, pushing the door closed as quickly as you could. Somehow he moved faster, shoving his foot into the gap and letting out an irritated grunt when the door slammed into it. You felt him pushing against the other side of the wood.

‘C’mon.’ You saw his fingers emerge through the gap and curl round the edge of the door. ‘I just wanna talk.’

Summoning strength from god-knows-where, you stomped down on his foot with all your weight. When it jerked out of the gap, you shoved your shoulder hard against the door, hearing the cracking of his fingers followed by loud yelp. He pulled his hand away and you swiftly turned the lock.

He was still shouting and banging on the door as you scrambled upstairs, your shaky knees finally causing you to collapse as you burst back into the flat. You crawled over to the window and peeked out, seeing him limping away down the street, cradling his injured hand against his chest. You breathed out for what felt like the first time in ten minutes, remnants of your adrenaline rush making your head spin.

Despite your overwhelming panic, you couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with yourself, cause damn that was pretty fucking badass.

You considered calling Bucky, but figured that as long as you didn’t answer the door again, you should be alright until he finishes. It’d be much easier to explain what’d happened after you’d had some time to think about it and to calm down a bit.

You made some tea and collapsed onto the couch, all the while making an effort to maintain deep, controlled breaths. Thankfully, it wasn’t too long before you managed to compose yourself.

When Bucky got back, you sat him down and reeled it all off, reassuring him throughout that you were fine. He seemed to take it surprisingly well, staying silent and still while you were explaining. You thought maybe he’d finally turned a corner with his anger.

That was, until you got to the end of your story.

‘He didn’t come back, right?’ You shook your head. He nodded to himself and clenched his hands together tight, dropping his head and taking a deep, shaky breath. ‘Fuckin asshole, man.’

You could see him ramping up to something, so you tried your best to diffuse. ‘It’s fine, I’m fine. I handled it.’

‘Nah.’ Bucky stood up suddenly and grabbed his jacket, storming towards the door. ‘He could’a hurt you.’

‘He didn’t.’ You followed him, managing to grab his arm before he made it out of the flat.

‘That’s not the point.’

You knew there was no fucking way were you going to stand back and let him do this again. His judgement was being clouded by anger, that much was obvious, so he needed a sharp reality check to ground him again.

‘Do you really think this is worth going back to jail for?’ He stopped tugging against you, turning his head slightly so you were in the corner of his vision. ‘Cause I guarantee I won’t be here when you get out.’

He was still for a second. You let go and took a couple steps back, waiting to see what he would do.

If he left, this was over.

He threw his jacket to the ground in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, turning back towards you with a regretful grimace. You breathed a pretty big sigh of relief.

‘You’re right.’ He held his arms out in defeat. ‘Y’know, I try to be rational, but it all gets blown to pieces when I look at you.’

What a strange mix of accusation and romance.

‘If you don’t chill the fuck out soon you’ll only be looking at me through bulletproof glass.’

He rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. ‘God, I wish everyone would just leave us alone.’

You didn’t respond for a second, considering whether or not to tell him what you were thinking. It was something you’d been debating for a while, something you were going to bring up with him when it got closer to the end of summer.

Fuck it, now was as good a time as any.

‘We need to get out of this town. There’s nothing here for us Buck.’

He squinted at you in slight confusion. ‘You wanna move?’

‘Look I know it’s not been long, and I know there's a danger in wanting too much too soon, but I really think we could be happy somewhere else. Your parents, my parents, your weird creepy friends. We need to get away.’

He looked away, considering your proposal. You just shifted on the spot awkwardly for what felt like hours. Eventually he smiled, then grinned, and soon enough he was beaming at you.

‘Alright. Let’s get outta here.’

‘Yeah?’ Your head was spinning with possibility and optimism. ‘Where should we go?’

‘Wherever you want darlin.’

---

Part 7

---

@shawnie--jo @brilliantbellesoares @livingoffsavvyillusions @noiralei @bebeyeni @kingkassam @newyorkgoddess @sir-lili @im-squished @dancer3205 @thefallenbibliophilequote @supernaturalwintersoldier

---

#bucky fanfiction #bucky imagine #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #biker!bucky x you #biker!bucky x y/n #biker!bucky x reader #biker!bucky #marvel fic #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

[starculler]

Whumptober 2021: Day 1

Word Count: 2489

Read on AO3

“Jason.”

Dick turned his head, trying to get a proper look at his brother without adding momentum to his slow, circular spin. His arms had gone alarmingly numb a while ago, pinned above his head, bound at the wrists by the same thick cord he hung from, and bearing the bulk of his weight unless he stretched out onto the tips of his toes. He considered doing so for a moment if for nothing else than to plant Jason firmly in his line of sight, but figured his peace of mind wasn’t quite worth stretching the painful length of bruising up and down his torso.

He’d managed well enough for the … hours? Days? Time had started to blend together after a spectacularly precise his to the side of his head, the blood long-dried and flaking against his cheek and jaw where it had dripped down from his hairline. His lack of broken bones — not for lack of trying if the pain in his sides was anything to go by — were at least a point in his favor. A little luck on his side, though he wouldn’t hold his breath hoping it stayed that way. It was a matter of if not when, as Jason’s own swollen, mottled-purple bruised wrist had proved.

“Jason,” he rasped again, wincing at the dull ache in his throat. “Jason, please,” he said, hating the frustrated edge leaking into his voice, “this isn’t the time for—”

“For what, Dick-face?” Jason snapped, voice echoing and too-loud in the still silence of whatever damp basement they’d been stashed in. “For more of your fucking martyr-hero stick? Maybe another round of trying to bullshit those fuckers into letting us go ‘cause that went so well last time? Maybe —”

Dick frowned as he finally circled back around to facing Jason, still bound at his ankles and wrists and cuffed to the leg of what might have been an old, rusted water heater or an antique stove after he’d slipped his restraints once already. He’d been caught only because he’d tried to help Dick. Jason’s next attempt had been a sore point since.

“Just,” Jason snarled, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. “Just keep your useless trap shut unless there’s an actual idea rolling around in that empty fuckin’ head of yours.”

Thick, acrid anger burned through Dick’s chest and bubbled, useless, in his throat. His head throbbed, the steady drumbeat in his skull he’d felt since the hit that might as well have dissolved his concept of time in this godforsaken place growing to a much less negligible roar. He breathed through the pain and anger and the sudden nausea roiling in his stomach, the same slow, measured breaths Bruce had taught him as a kid. It would only do so much, but better that, he figured, than either letting his mouth run away from him or throwing up. Again.

“Jason,” he tried again once he’d sorted through the worst of what he felt, and wondered if he’d wind up with the name tattooed to his tongue from how much he’d repeated it. Had he ever used Jason’s name so often before now?

“Got anything new to say?” Dick pressed his lips into a thin, grim line and remained silent. Jason sneered. “Then shut the fuck up already.”

Dick sighed. He tried to shift, numb, prickling fingers wrapping clumsily around the cord keeping him suspended, and pulled to ease some of the pull on his shoulders only to slip. He hissed through clenched teeth, scrambling to stretch onto his toes and ignoring the ache along his sides and the burn in his back. There were more than bruises there, he knew — he’d screamed himself hoarse as they’d worked him over — but had refused to give it much thought beyond a brief acknowledgment of the pain. He stayed on his toes just long enough to breathe through what he’d done before easing off, slow and careful as he let his arms take the brunt of his weight again.

Jason’s head ducked, glaring once more at the cold, cement floor the second Dick’s gaze focused back on him. Some distant, probably slightly hysterical part of him wanted to laugh at that glimpse of concern he’d caught in his brother’s eyes. The anger for him rather than directed at him. It was nice, in a way, to know Jason cared — to be shown, however unwillingly. They had never really been close: Dick too distant to a brother he hadn’t wanted before Jason’s death, and too distracted after he’d come back to life and mellowed out enough to really come back to the family. It was nice, but unhelpful.

More than anything, Dick needed the ruthlessness the Red Hood was known for. He needed the man able, if not willing, to do what was needed for the sake of a plan. Not that Dick’s plan was much of one. He understood Jason’s anger in that regard. If anyone had told Dick to willingly leave one of his family in danger, he would have sucker-punched them in the face or worse. But he was the more injured of the two, strung up and beat and barely coherent most of the time because he’d spent his time running his mouth to keep their captors’ focus on him rather than on his brother.

Close or not, Dick had decided years ago that he’d do what he could to keep his family safe. If that meant taking a beating to spare someone else, then so be it. Even if it really fucking sucked.

“Jason,” he tried again, and rushed to talk when Jason’s head snapped up, glaring and ready to shout over him if need be. “No, shut up,” Dick hissed, gratified when Jason grimaced, fuming but silent. “I’m not telling you to abandon me here.” He was, they both knew he was, but there was no need to say it out loud. Their captors were playing with them right now, hoping to make Jason talk by hurting Dick. The chances of Dick dying after Jason was gone, though, were high. Still… “You’re not abandoning me. You’re getting help. We need help. Even if you somehow managed to get me down with a broken wrist, I don’t think I could walk out of here on my own and, again, you have a broken wrist. There’s just no way you’re getting me out of here alone.

“No,” he snapped when Jason moved to argue. “We’re good, can’t do what we do if we weren’t, but we’re only human.” Dick sucked in a single shaky breath and forced a grin that further split his lower lip. “I know you’ll come back for me, you and B and anyone else you can get your hands on. But first, you need to get out of here, find out where we are, and make the call. Got it?”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jason growled, but there was no real heat to it. His shoulder had slumped, face twisted into a frown, and resignation visible in every line of his body. Dick was right and he knew it. “You’re not dyin’ here Dick-face,” he said, sharp and unhappy.

“I’m not,” Dick agreed despite the knots his stomach tied itself into.

Jason nodded, slow, and got to work getting free. The light across the room was too dim for Dick to see clearly — little more than the outline of Jason’s body and a few details catching the light visible, but he was enough of an escape artist himself to guess what Jason was doing. It would have been easier, faster, if they’d been caught as Red Hood and Nightwing instead of Jason Todd and Dick Grayson, but not impossible. All of them tended to carry at least some basic supplies on their person: lock picks, multi-purpose tools, a knife or two.

Dick held his breath while Jason worked, praying they hadn’t wasted too much time arguing and hesitating, and let it out all in a rush when he heard the distinct click of a cuff unlocking. He watched Jason stand, gingerly checking his fractured wrist and hissing when his fingers brushed it. Dick flashed him a smile, smaller this time but no less full of the same false confidence he’d injected into his earlier grin. And just as see-through. Jason frowned, nodded once, and stalked to the room’s only exit. After a brief moment spent listening for people on the other side and another to pick the lock, Jason strode through, silent as a shadow despite his bulk, and left Dick alone in the silence and near darkness.

Without another person there to occupy him, despite how neither had spoken much beyond brief check-ins and arguing about escape plans, time grew fuzzy. It seemed to slip through metaphorical fingers, no way to tell how long it had been since Jason had slipped out. The only relief was the lack of sound — no shouting, running, storming the basement, or anything else that might have indicated that Jason had been caught.

It was a relief.

It was a relief, until it wasn’t.

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

Jason couldn’t breathe.

The stale air cycling through his helmet tasted sour, made worse by the mingling damp, mold and the thick, coppery stench of blood. A fine tremor started in his hand, his white-knuckled grip on his pistol tightening until it threatened to either crack the grip or snap his fingers. He breathed in the deep, meditative breaths they all tended to use, but it did little to lessen the tightness in his chest and even less to banish the red haze creeping in at the edges of his vision.

A hand settled on his back under his jacket and pressed into the sweat-damp sweater he’d been wearing since they’d been caught, small but steadying. Firm and warm. A comfort and a warning bundled together in that special way only Cass managed. Calm, it seemed to say, but he could feel the way it shook, just slight enough that if he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been trying to focus on anything else but what lay in front of him. He swallowed, wanting to gag on the taste in his mouth. Wanting to storm out of this stupid cellar and press the muzzle of his gun to the temple of the nearest idiot and pull the trigger.

He wanted to crawl out of his skin. Crawl back in his grave. Be anyone or anywhere else because then, at least, this wouldn’t be his fault. He wanted to go back in time and strangle his brother for his idiotic ideas and too-good-self-sacrificial bullshit and find a way to switch places. Let Jason be the one on the floor because at least he’d already died. He’d lived the torture, the hopelessness, the last trembling breath before the explosion and the brief, concussive burn, so hot he’d felt cold. That, too, had been his fault.

It was funny, just a little, in an odd, hysteric kind of way.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t cry. Didn’t move until Cassandra took him by the wrist and pulled him back up the stairs and out of the basement. His broken wrist throbbed, braced and in a sling because he’d refused anything more time consuming in lieu of going back personally with the others. It had taken him over an hour to find his way out of the maze of a hotel their captors had holed up in — some old place half fallen over with more rotted wood than intact some few miles outside of town — and another one and a half to find another living person with a cellphone.

Cass and Stephanie had found him some time after he called, his jacket, helmet, and guns in hand despite how they told him they were supposed to take him back to the cave so Alfred could check him over. Bruce, Tim, the demon brat, and Duke had gone after Dick. The girls hadn’t needed much convincing at all to take him there too once they’d at least stabilized his wrist and gotten him half-dressed in his Red Hood gear.

Stephanie and Duke were on the main floor, tense but trying to look casual where they leaned against moth-eaten, damaged furniture. Cass pulled him in their direction and past, out the door and into the cool, night air. Jason breathed it in with numb relief. He nearly jumped when another smaller hand touched his back, a brief pat before pulling away, and he looked to find Stephanie on his right and Duke on her other side.

“B commed,” she said, subdued and strained. “They made it to the hospital and N’s been taken in for surgery.” Her breath hitched, voice cracking toward the end. “They’re not sure if he’ll …”

“He will,” Jason rasped. “If there’s one thing I know,” he said, voice noticeably thick even through his helmet’s modulation, “it’s that luck fucking loves him. ‘S not about to run out any time soon.”

That pulled a startled laugh out of all three of them, and Jason’s lips pulled into an unwilling grin despite himself. He forced himself to breathe in sweet, fresh air and let some of the tension in his body drain out on the exhale. Dick would be fine, he told himself. The day Dick Grayson died without a single gray hair on his head was the day hell froze over, even if Jason had to drag him back to life kicking and screaming to make that true.

“I think we should make him a cake, for when he gets back,” Stephanie said, voice pitched up in a mostly poor attempt to cheer herself and them up. Duke nodded, about to say something when Cass interrupted with a cheerful chirp of:

“Two cakes.”

“Four,” Duke doubled to the girls’ obvious delight.

Jason groaned, tipping his head back dramatically and drawled, “None of you hellions are touching A’s goddamn kitchen. I’m not sitting through gross, obscure recipes for a week just ‘cause you decided to try playing baker.”

“I can bake!” Stephanie groused, and Jason laughed.

“You can go to a bakery,” Jason shot back. Stephanie huffed and Duke clapped her on the back while Cass muffled a small laugh of her own behind her hand.

Jason breathed in and finally holstered his gun as they reached the three bikes the trio had ridden in on. Dick would be okay, he told himself again, and for now he could do this. Play nice. Be a big brother. He owed that much, at least.

“I’ll bake,” Jason said giving the three a look before they hopped on their bikes, “and you can help.” He rolled his eyes behind his helmet as one cheer and two laughs rang out, then pulled himself carefully onto the back of Cass’ bike as she revved the engine, waiting for him to grab onto her so they could get back home.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #bound #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #fic #injury #blood #my fanfic

[river-bottom-nightmare]

OXYCONTIN OXYCODONE (HCI CONTROLLED RELEASE TABLETS)

—tim grabbed the bottle from the stash of medicines in his apartment, shakily pressing down on the lid to open the locking mechanism. 

OT00367K 300514-0H WARNING: OxyContin is an opioid agonist and a Schedule II controlled substance with an abuse liability similar to morphine.

—because thank god alfred somehow managed to keep the batcave infirmary stocked with many different drugs and painkillers. tim remembered the money making people blink, the professional suppliers delivering to an unknown location, leslie turning a blind eye, going so far as to help them sometimes. it gave tim access to whatever he needed to take for his own apartment.

Oxcodone can be abused in a manner similar to other opioid agonists, legal or illicit. This should be considered when prescribing or dispensing OxyContin in situations where the physician or pharmacist is concerned about an increased risk of misuse, abuse, or diversion.

—leslie had glanced at him strange, so tim took her into the medbay and pulled up his sweatpants. the swollen, bruised colour of his ankle was striking against his pale skin. to her credit, leslie didn’t even wince, just used firm hands and warm fingers to examine the wound. tim had asked her not to tell anyone, and the injury was minimal enough for her to purse her lips and nod. she demanded a checkup in a week. with some negotiating, tim moved it up to a week and a half. “be careful with those,” leslie said, gesturing towards the painkillers. “of course,” tim responded easily.

OxyContin Tablets are a controlled-release oral formulation of oxycodone hydrochloride indicated for the management of moderate to severe pain when a continuous, around the clock analgesic is needed for an extended period of time.

—tim leaned against the wall of his bathroom, finally gripping the hem of his sweatshirt and pulling it off. a myriad of colours greeted him, everything from mottled yellow to angry violet to the dark red of the blood flecked around the wound on his side. it was stupid, so stupid. damian had come out of that encounter fine, just a couple bruises to the forearms. tim, on the other hand, had to suffer a slice to the side with a knife, all because he’d hurt his ankle and ribs a day ago and hadn’t been able to flip out of the way in time. the pain had been unnoticeable yesterday, but today, it went past his entire body being on fire and instead felt like he’d been dipped in ice. tim was ready to claw his skin off his torso and fix his ribs himself, but he settled for tipping a couple pills into his palm.

OxyContin Tablets are NOT intended for use as a prn analgesic

—tim allowed himself a couple seconds, taking a few deep breaths, the way dick had taught him to push through the pain. then, pushing off the wall, tim stumbled into his bedroom. forgoing dinner, he shrugged his sweatshirt back on and collapsed onto the bed, letting out a hiss of pain when he landed on a bruise. he shuffled over to his favourite side, staying on top of the covers, moving his injured ankle into a somewhat comfortable position, and waited for the pills to kick in as he drifted off to sleep.

OxyContin 80 mg and 160 mg Tablets ARE FOR USE IN OPIOID-TOLERANT PATIENTS ONLY. These tablet strengths may cause fatal respiratory depression when administered to patients not previously exposed to opioids. 

—when tim woke up the next day, it was hard to breathe. hypoventilation was nothing new with stronger painkillers, though, so tim groggily stood up and made his way into the bathroom. the bruises had darkened, and the wound was gaping. turned out tim’s initial assessment was wrong: he needed stitches after all. on the bright side, the pain wasn’t as bad today as it was yesterday. tim popped a couple more pills and took out his medkit.

OxyContin Tablets ARE TO BE SWALLOWED WHOLE AND ARE NOT TO BE BROKEN, CHEWED, OR CRUSHED. TAKING BROKEN, CHEWED, OR CRUSHED OxyConton Tablets LEADS TO RAPID RELEASE AND ABSORPTION OF A POTENTIALLY FATAL DOSE OF OXYCODONE.

—bruce needed his help with a black mask case, and he’d called jason in as well, because no one knew the villain like the former crime lord. but jason was also working a human trafficking case with dick, and while things were getting better, dick was still one of the people that routinely defied bruce’s authority, quieter than jason but much more intense. but damian had asked him personally to come (well, he’d said he wanted to show him how to groom alfred the cat, which was practically the same thing), and cass was visiting from hong kong. so, for probably a couple rare hours, everyone was going to be in the manor, and if alfred and cass had anything to say about it, peacefully. tim gathered the information he’d layed out, and made his way towards the manor.

Possible Side Effects of OxyContin include: Drowsiness and/or weakness,

—tim stopped in one of the sitting rooms in the manor, dropping onto the couch after feeling the ground sway underneath him. he probably needed to eat something. knowing what his family would say if anyone found him in this state, he used trembling hands to take his computer out of his backpack, and pull up some mindless case under the pretense of work. he forced his eyes open, letting the blue screen cut through his vision. he had a good night’s rest, so the last thing he needed was to sleep right now. besides, look at dick! the man could stay awake for days on end, or keep going for weeks on minimal sleep, never get slow or sloppy in the field with exhaustion, and kept a warm and welcoming smile on his face the entire time. the least tim could do was put his injury to the side and stay awake for the first few hours of the night, before everything delved into screaming matches and arguments.

dizziness that may be accompanied by a headache,

—tim could feel everybody staring at him. they were analyzing him, taking stock of his weaknesses, he just knew it. and he couldn’t blame them. he could barely keep his head propped up, sitting in front of the screen. he flinched every time a particularly sudden or loud sound cut through the air, making his brain scream and his face wince in pain. tim’s fingers were rubbing his temples, but the effect was laughable against the pounding in his ears, the pounding of his head. “tim,” bruce’s voice caught his attention, deep but not quite gentle. “why don’t you get some water, hm?” tim nodded, then went to stand up stumbling slightly and grabbing the chair for balance. bruce moved to steady him, but tim held a hand out to stop him. he was fine. the floor was moving, the walls were spinning, but he was fine. “just a little tired,” he waved off to bruce. “don’t worry. i’ll grab an energy drink or something later.”

nausea,

—jason’s brow was furrowed as tim forced another bite to his mouth. across the table, dick’s head tilted in question and he asked “i thought alfredo was your favourite?” tim’s smile didn’t feel all that forced when he brought it up, and he forced another bite past his lips. “i’m just not that hungry. i had a snack in the afternoon.” his stomach was rolling, clenching, sizing up and- “if you would like something light, master timothy, i’m sure we have some crackers and soup. you can eat the alfredo another time.” alfred really was too kind. tim’s hands were clenched around the fork, and it took everything he hand not to curl up on his stomach, to heave as he opened his mouth to say “no thanks alfie. i’m good.” 

and vomiting, 

—tim couldn’t take it anymore. he pushed his chair back and left the table, far more rudely than he’d ever been before, barring an argument at the dinner table, and raced upward, willing his uncooperative feet and busted ankle to cooperate no matter the dizziness. he could hear the confused cries of his family behind him, but ignored them. tim threw open the door to the bathroom, having the mind to close and lock it, before falling over the toilet, heaving up the little pasta he’d managed to force down. and when that was done, there came the fire. the pain in his stomach as he tried to throw up what wasn’t even in his stomach anymore and oh was that blood? that wasn’t a good sign.

among other side effects. For a complete list of all possible side affects, ask your doctor or pharmacist.

—there was pounding on the door, and tim heard dick’s voice calling out his name. “fuckin’ pick the lock!” jason’s voice was angry. of course it was angry, the one time his family hadn’t come to blows and tim had ruined it. couldn’t he have held it together for just a few more hours? suddenly, there was a loud crack. cass had kicked the door in. she leaped into the bathroom, immediately over to him, with dick hot at her heels. jason was leaning against the doorway, keeping damian or bruce from coming in.

Previous medical conditions, such as lung problems, head injury, liver or kindey problems, adrenal gland problems, convulsions or seizures, alcoholism, hallucinations or other severe mental problems, and past or present substance abuse or addiction may heighten the negative effects of the oxycodone. 

—voices filtered into tim’s mind, but everything sounded like he was underwater. muffled, quiet. the quiet was nice. if only his headache could get with the program. there were hands on his shoulders, cupping his face. they were warm, and felt strong. he was safe. there was a part of him screaming, though. get up, open your eyes, stop being weak! stop being pathetic! the others could do so much more than you, so just stop acting like a victim and be useful for once! the voice was demanding, and tim tried to do just that, the dizziness had come back with a vengeance and the room was spinning. or maybe his vision was whiting out, because everything flared a bright, brilliant white before tim was plunged into darkness.

Pharmacist: dispense the attached Medication Guide to any patient taking OxyContin Tablets.

OT00367K 300514-0H

i don’t actually know how OxyContin works so all of this may be horribly wrong. this is just what the warning label said on a bottle i found in the medicine cabinet.

tag list:  @comicsandhoney @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @astroherogirl @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg

#trigger warning #scribbles from the swamp #tim drake #red robin #robin #batfam #dc #tim drake headcanon #tim drake fic #tim drake ficlet #red robin headcanon #red robin fic #red robin ficlet #robin headcanon #robin fic #robin ficlet #batfam headcanon #batfam fic #batfam ficlet #dc headcanon #dc ficlet #dc fic

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

U N P L A N N E D, part eleven

It was hard to settle into a new space, just like always. The cups were in a cabinet that wasn’t right above the sink, the silverware wasn’t across from the fridge. It didn’t make sense, but he moved around the kitchen with ease and he could definitely, absolutely tell something was up.

He pressed a button on the blender, looked up at you when the shrill noise broke through the living room. It was almost a test, it seemed. Could you ignore his gaze burning into your face, or would you break and make eye contact, ask him what he wanted?

When the blender shut off, you clicked away from the email and closed your computer, sliding it away from you on the counter before reaching for a glass of water beside you.

“Is something up?” He asked, a hand on his hip as if it’d taken everything in him to wait this long to ask. 

“What?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I was checking my work emails. I have a big meeting tomorrow with some other people from marketing and a pitch to the sales team.”

“I mean with us.”

“Oh.”

It’d been four days. Four times you went to sleep in your own room--one that wasn’t really yours but had a lot of your things in it. Four awkward exchanges when you’d inevitably go upstairs before him, brush your teeth and wash your face, let the door click shut and pretend that you didn’t feel out of place. 

Four nights of staring at the ceiling and wondering what he’d said to her on the phone.

“Do I have to ask it again?”

“No,” you shot him a look, mildly irritated by the tone in his voice, as if you owed him an answer. “I’m just--I don’t know--getting used to living in your house.”

He paused for a second, spoke in a sigh. “You seemed so excited the other day,” the tension broke when a tinge of melancholy came through his words. He left the blender on the counter and took a few steps closer to you. “Do you think it wasn’t a good idea?”

You swallowed, unsure. It was nice to have him around, someone else responsible for what was now the size of a grapefruit. His presence was more reassuring than Lexi’s I don’t know why you’re sweating through every t-shirt you own stare. So maybe he wasn’t the problem, maybe it was the guilt. 

“I just don’t want you to think you have to do all of this.”

“I don’t,” he shook his head. “I swear.”

“You don’t ever think it’s all weird?”

He let out a laugh, pursed his lips and then sat in a stool beside you at the island, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, s’pretty fucking weird, but--I dunno, seems right, too.”

His words broke through some of the fear that had lodged itself in your chest, tangled between your ribs. He reached a hand over to yours, took it in his, and pulled it towards his mouth. “You know, Nike,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of it. “If you want, you can sleep in my bed.”

“I’m your roommate,” you shot back at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of your mouth--you ignored the nickname altogether. “Don’t you think that’s crossing a line?”

Not that it hadn’t been done already. Any type of line between you and Harry felt too blurry and too thin--a mysterious separation that both of you continued to creep up to, pull away from, and then do it all over again.

He hummed, another kiss to your hand. “Sounds like the start of a porno,” he laughed, threw in a wiggle of his eyebrows for comedic relief. “S’a fine line between roommates and people who share a bed.”

You didn’t correct him, but it was a fine line between everything in your relationship. Were you friends? Acquaintances? Two people hooking up?

You pulled your hand away from him and laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“Am not,” he said, watching with shock on his face as you brought your glass over to the sink. “I just know that I slept really well in there the time you stayed over.”

It almost hurt to hear him say that. Like he’d somehow managed to find your weak spot and chose to pluck at it over and over. You avoided his gaze when you turned around. 

“S’a bigger bed, remember? Plenty of room to sprawl out, sleep as diagonal as you want,” his words bled into each other, a thread of persuasion wrapped around your heart.

You looked up at him with narrowed eyes, holding back a giggle. “You literally do splits in your sleep.”

He stood and rounded the island, only a few feet between you when he cleared his throat, much more serious now. “I know this is all kind of weird, but--I want things to be okay. I want to make it work.”

You nodded, a swell of emotion in your chest that you tried to avoid. A deep breath, another nod. You didn’t really know what he meant, and you didn’t want to ask. If you knew, you could probably find the evidence to disprove it. “Yeah.”

So when he stepped forward and kissed you, you figured it wasn’t a good time to tell him that you’d gotten a reply from your dad. 

Short, simple. Hope all is well, congratulations, take care of yourself. Talk soon. 

You knew he didn’t mean it. He never did.

**

You woke up in the mornings and smiled now, sheets tangled and messy hair. You’d stolen one of the two hundred pillows he had to shove between your legs, it helped with the back pain when you slept on your side. Twenty-two weeks, then twenty-three. 

Every few days you’d bring a few more things into the room, first your phone cord, then a book. By now your toothbrush was in his bathroom and your blow dryer was, too. You didn’t necessarily talk about it, didn’t address the gradual shift in the house. You didn’t ask what it meant or why it happened or how he felt, but you brushed your teeth side by side most nights, fell asleep in his arms and prayed that somehow, the entire Earth wouldn’t crumble beneath you.

Some nights his arm would drape over your side, a hand on the bump when you woke up. The sound of his voice in the morning was something else, dreamy, soothing. And most mornings, you didn’t even know if you could leave him there and head to work. 

“Don’t go,” he groaned, pulling a pillow over his head, pretending to suffocate himself. 

“Knock it off,” you said, tugging it from his face when you sat on the edge of the bed. 

When you bent down and pressed your lips to his, more brazen than before, his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you closer. “That was a big mistake,” he said, his words muffled against your mouth. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I have to have you,” he said, a devilish smirk on his face when you pulled away, butterflies already loose in your tummy. “You know, feel you, kiss you, enjoy the fact that you’re pregnant with my child--s’quite the turn on, you know.”

“I’m going to be late,” you tried to pull away, a giggle escaping your lips when he held onto you tighter. 

He sat up beside you, kissed you again. “Promise I can make it worth your while, baby,” he hummed, letting his mouth nip at the skin of your neck.

You didn’t say anything, just let out a breath of defeat and laughed again when he nudged you down onto your back, craving more contact from his lips or his hands or any part of him, really. 

It was easy, in moments like these, to forget about the things that kept you up at night or the worries that clouded your mind. All you could focus on was the way his skin felt against yours when he pulled your t-shirt from over your head, tugged your shorts down to your ankles. You could slip into the world of pretend: everything’s fine, this makes sense, we’re happy and doing this by choice.

Some days it felt like it was all real. The kissing and the hand holding made it easy to believe that he wanted it, wanted you, and like somehow you’d fallen into this pattern because of fate, not faulty condoms.

The way he laughed when he kissed you now was almost melodical, a lasting echo in your mind when he finally slid into you, the look on his face one of pure pleasure.

A week ago was the first time you had to switch positions. You could still be on top, if you were up for it, but the roundness of your belly heading into week twenty-two had made it nearly impossible for sex to exist the way it once did. 

It happened three times since you moved in. Once the first night you stayed in his bed, the second a few nights later, and the third and most recent time, until now, on the couch downstairs. 

So now, when he rocked in and out of you, you felt the warmth of his skin on your back and the heat of his breath on your neck. 

He reached a hand around your front, fingers trailing down to find your clit, still thrusting forward. You let out a moan when he made contact, the cool metal of his rings a stark contrast to the heat of his fingers rubbing over you in the morning air.

“You like that, baby?”

“Yeah,” you panted, arching your back into him, hoping to give him more access. 

“Be good and cum for me,” he said, his voice low and husky. He’d learned what you liked at this point, never afraid to give you plenty of attention before he finished himself. He worked his fingers in a circle, quicker now, still sliding in and out of you with ease. “Your pussy feels so good, baby,” he whispered. “Love fuckin’ you.”

Knowing what you liked seemed to do wonders for him, too. He fed off your desperation, loved making you squirm and, even more so, he loved when you got impatient. 

“Please, quicker,” you breathed, rubbing yourself against him to get closer to release. 

And when you both finished, breathless and tired and giggly, it didn’t feel weird to jump in the shower before work, not even when he tugged the glass door open and pressed a kiss to your lips. 

“M’gonna go for a jog, have a good day--tacos for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect,” you smiled, twisting the water off after he slipped out of the room. 

Maybe that was bad--maybe it should have felt weird and maybe you should have felt awkward, but instead, you sauntered through the front door after work and lounged on the couch when he tended to dinner on the stove. 

He asked about your day and told you about his, you giggled when you brought plates of food to the table and he pressed a kiss to your forehead after you splashed him with water while he did the dishes. 

You would have thought Lexi saw a ghost when she pushed the door open, she’d sent a text saying she wanted to stop by after a long day on set. 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” she smiled coyly, came towards the kitchen when you waved her over, hands still in the sink. 

“You’re not,” you told her. “Harry just doesn’t know how to actually clean up after himself.”

“Actually,” he said, leaning on the island and looking over to Lexi. “Your friend here is a terrible roommate. She never makes dinner.”

“You like to cook!” You shot back at him, betrayed by his lie. 

“I do,” he said, coming over to kiss your cheek again. “And I also have a conference call with some label people.” He pointed over towards Lexi. “You gonna stay a while? There’s wine in the fridge.”

“He speaks my language,” she wiggled her eyebrows.

You motioned over to it, granting her permission to serve herself while you finished. Harry slid the door to his office shut and Lexi poured a glass, sat at the island. When you shut off the faucet and turned to face her, she eyed you closely. 

“Yes?”

“Things seem like they’re going well.”

You shrugged. “Yeah--I mean, they are.” 

She took a sip of wine, let out a laugh and then set it on the granite. “Have you talked to him about the phone call yet?”

A shake of your head, the same stomach dropping sensation. “No--I haven’t asked.”

There was a lot you hadn’t done. You hadn’t told Lexi about the morning sex or the couch sex or any of the sex, actually. You didn’t tell her you’d moved your toothbrush over and you didn’t ask Harry about the phone call. 

“Are you still freaked out about it? Or--” she trailed off, trying to gauge where you were at, but you didn’t really know, yourself. 

A nod this time, fearful that speaking it outloud would somehow make it grow. If you brought it up, that made it real. If you acknowledged the fact that there was someone else before you, did that strengthen her hold on him?

“I should just ask,” you said aloud, confirming it to yourself as much as her. 

She agreed, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she laughed, raising her wine glass as if to ceremoniously cheers. When you frowned, she lowered it. “Right--no alcohol, sorry. How’s that going?”

“The whole growing a baby? Or not drinking?”

“Both.”

“Eh,” you rested your elbows on the granite. “Fine enough. Doctor’s appointment in a few days.”

“Picked any names yet?”

“Nope,” you said quickly. “Don’t bring it up. He’s been obsessing over it.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Lately he likes Maxine, Maeve was last week.”

“I like the M theme.”

You rolled your eyes. “I haven’t liked a single one yet.”

“Not even Maxine? That’s cute!”

“For a woman in her fifties, maybe.”

“You’re gonna end up with a nameless child.”

“No I won’t!”

“You’re too damn picky. I thought there was one that you liked? Like back in June or July?”

“Jane. That’s okay.”

Her eyes went wide, her lips got all pouty. “Jane!” She said it again, an octave higher and she managed to stretch it to two syllables. “Little Janey!”

It took a few reminders to calm her down. We haven’t chosen anything, yet. We still don’t know. She assured you it was a good fit. Jane Styles, she said. It’s perfect.

When Harry emerged from the office, Lexi had already left and promised to see you over the weekend. You were sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, the 10pm news lit up the screen of the TV.

He came to sit beside you, eyes on his phone. “How was Lexi?”

“Fine,” you said, heartbeat rising when you contemplated bringing it up. “Can I actually, uh, ask you something?”

“Course, what’s up?” He asked, typed out a text but looked up at you after he’d pressed send.

If you didn’t spit it out, you feared you might never say it. 

“That day that we were at Dr. Weston’s--when you took that phone call--was it Camille?”

He faltered a bit at that, almost like he never expected to hear her name come from your mouth. Like up until now, those worlds had been separate--night and day, black and white. He was quiet, eyes on you until they weren’t, he bit at his lip and then cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah--I talked to her.”

“Oh--is there, like, anything going on between the two of you?”

He looked up at you, surprised, bitterness in his voice. “No--I haven’t seen her in months, Y/N. I called her to--I dunno--to tell her, give her a heads up, left a voicemail. She called me back when we were there.”

You let out a breath, hoping to slow the thumping in your chest. Okay, fine, fair. You couldn’t judge him for wanting to give her a heads up. But you knew, just by the look on his face, that he cared. He told her because he loved her, even if it had been months since he’d felt that way.

“Is that--does that bother you?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, skittish from the anger in his voice.

“Didn’t you call anyone to tell them?” he pressed. “You didn’t call that twat you dated?”

“He wasn’t a twat,” you replied, anger building in your core. Glenne never really liked him, which was obviously Harry’s source of information, biased and only half of the story. He was kind of a twat, but you weren’t going to admit it now.

“No! It’s none of his business. He moved on.”

“Well so did Camille. A long time ago, really.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know anything about her. Except, apparently, that she still struck a nerve in him.

“I just wish you told me you called her.”

He was sat at the island now, head in his hands, guilt on his face when you looked up at him. A shrug. “I’m sorry--she was just one of the people on my list. I’ve been trying to get out ahead of the news.”

You nodded, trying to muster up the compassion inside of you. It wasn’t a big deal if he said it wasn’t, right? You didn’t really want to know, but you asked anyway. “Do you still have feelings for her?”

“No,” he said, a shake of his head as if he couldn’t even believe you’d think he might. “No, I just—we said we’d be friends and she was in town when I found out--when you told me we were pregnant. So I blew her off, we were supposed to have lunch. She has a boyfriend, anyway--said she was happy for me.”

“Oh,” you said, less in understanding and more in regards to the fact that he had planned on seeing her. Maybe he wanted to get back together. Maybe he was seeing her to propose a reconciliation. He’d be better suited with a model, someone who had her own contracts to sign and someone who wasn’t referred to in headlines as pregnant friend.

“I don’t have feelings for her anymore.” He said it again, a nod of his head as if to really sell it. “We broke up in 2018—that’s what I meant when I said I also hadn’t—you know—in a while.”

You thought back to it, the time you told him there was no other possibility. He was the only person you’d slept with in months. He echoed something similar, but you thought it was an attempt to make you feel less embarrassed, less stupid. 

“I’m really the only person you’ve had sex with since 2018?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a shrug of his shoulders. “Not mad about it, either, just to be clear.”

You fought the smirk that tried to overtake your face, kept your arms crossed over your chest when he pulled you towards him, kiss you on the forehead and the nose and the cheek and the mouth. 

Not mad about it. Maybe he meant it.

And maybe, if you said it over and over in your head enough times, you’d believe it.

**

The pink sky bled into orange, the tall hedges around Harry’s house provided privacy from the street when you sat beside Lexi and Glenne. Harry manned the grill, a cocky smile on his face when Jeff went on and on about the best burgers ever.

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he reminded, the apron tied around his waist adding an air of sophistication to his grilling. 

But you felt something in your stomach, a shift or a pinch or a pop. Your hands flew to touch it, beneath the UCLA sweatshirt you’d stolen from Lexi. “Something’s happening,” you announced, nervousness in your voice when you looked over to Harry.

“What do you mean?” Jeff asked, frozen, the color drained from his face in a matter of seconds.

“I think she’s kicking,” you said, a smile when both Lexi and Glenne let out noises of excitement. 

“Let me feel!” Glenne said, standing from her patio seat after she put her wine down. She held her hand on top of you for a second, her eyes going wide when you felt it again. “Oh my god!” she screeched. “That is so weird, does it feel weird?!”

“Move over,” Harry was by your side in a millisecond, nearly hip-checking Glenne out of his way. She wobbled on her feet but caught her balance. He pressed a hand onto your tummy, his lips pursed in a thin line when he focused. After a second he looked up at you. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Maybe because you’re too aggressive,” Glenne joked, rubbing her hip as if Harry’d caused serious damage.

“Let me see,” Lexi said, her tone unimpressed when she came over and nudged Harry out of the way. As soon as both of her hands were on your tummy, you felt it again. “Holy shit!” Lexi grinned. “She’s strong as fuck for a fetus.”

“Move!” Harry yelled again, his face twisted. 

“Relax, will you?” You laughed, a hand over his when he made contact with your belly again. “You’ll feel it, I promise.”

“But she’s not doing it for me right now.”

“I guess you have to be patient.” You told him.

A few more seconds, nothing. He pulled his hands away and mumbled to himself, heading back to the grill in defeat. 

“How strong is it?” Jeff asked, still a safe distance away--but the look on his face told you he was curious. 

“You can come feel it,” you laughed, holding out a hand. 

“Yeah, babe, feel it,” Glenne encouraged. 

He laughed a little, came over and offered his hand toward you.

“Over here,” you guided his hand. “I’ve been feeling stuff but I didn’t know if it was her or--”

“Just gas?” Lexi asked with a laugh. 

“Cute,” Jeff teased. But his face shifted when he felt it. “That’s her?” He asked. “That’s the baby inside of you?”

Glenne let out a laugh, made a face at Jeff and then looked at you. “He forgot you were pregnant, apparently.”

Harry sulked at the grill when he flipped another burger. “S’fine, just me over here, the father, not able to feel my own child.”

“Oh chill,” Jeff said, his hand still pressed tight to your belly. “You get to have the baby forever.”

He lightened up at that, tried once more when he delivered the food to the table, still with no luck. So after you all ate, when you promised him three more times that she wasn’t doing it anymore and he wouldn’t miss anything, he went to the driveway to play basketball with Jeff.

And once they were out of earshot, rushing towards the hoop like children at recess, you turned back to your two best friends.

“I finally asked about Camille,” you told them, a breeze blew through the backyard and Lexi topped off her wine.

Glenne perked up at that. “Yeah? What’d he say?” 

You shrugged, pulled your hair into a ponytail to avoid the wind. “Said he called to tell her, she was fine, I guess. She’s dating some guy, he said she’s totally moved on.”

“She kind of moved on before they even broke up,” Glenne admitted. 

“That’s how he made it sound.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about it,” she said. “He was torn up for a while, but it was literally over a year ago now. He’s obviously got better stuff to worry about.”

“Yeah--I know, it’s just--” you trailed off, shrugged again and looked up at her. 

“What?”

“It’s just messy.”

“Messy cause you’re having his baby and at the start of the year you didn’t even really know him, or--” Glenne waited for you to clarify.

“Or messy cause you’ve got it bad?” Lexi chimed in, she stifled a laugh when you looked over at her. 

“Messy because of the whole unplanned pregnancy thing, Alexis.”

She rolled her eyes. “And cause you totally fell for your baby daddy.”

“Alright,” you laughed. “You’re a dick.”

“You’re totally fucking--” Lexi giggled, Glenne nearly choked on her wine.

“Wait, what?” Glenne asked, wide eyes when she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You’ve had sex with him?!”

“Well, uh, look at her,” Lexi let her eyes trail down to your stomach, the roundness of your belly visible beneath the sweatshirt. 

“Shut up!” Glenne said, her face still frozen and expectant. “Are you sleeping with him? Are you sleeping together?”

“Glenne!” You let out a whine, heartbeat gaining speed when she broke eye contact. 

“Oh my--oh my god--I can’t--I mean, I can believe it, obviously, but, holy shit.”

“Can you relax, please?” Lexi looked unimpressed, annoyed, really, when she adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. “We both knew this was going to happen.”

Glenne let out a breath and looked around the backyard, a quick glance at the boys. “I want to be mad, but--I can’t be.”

“Why do you want to be mad?” Lexi asked. “Because you can’t be in control?”

“Because I--no,” she shot Lexi a look. “I’m worried it will--y’know--end badly.”

You were quiet, eyed her for a second, unsure of how to respond. Both she and Jeff had been pushing their opinions for months, and something about the late summer heat and the kicking in your belly gave you a bit more oomph. 

“We’re adults, Glenne. We can make our own decision and clean up our own messes.”

“I know,” she said, a shrug when she broke eye contact. “This is bigger than the two of you just hooking up. Adding the feelings on top of already having a baby together,” she trailed off, nervousness in her voice.

“I’m aware, Glenne! Do you think I’m not aware that my life is a shit show? Do you think it’s easy to sleep at night when I can’t roll over now and every time I try is a reminder of the complete mindfuck that all of this is?!” 

She stared at you, eyes wide with fear when tears welled in your eyes. 

“I get it, I understand that you’re worried and that Jeff is worried. I get it. This is scary for me, too. But that last thing I need from you is to remind me every fucking second how terrible this could all be if anything goes wrong.”

Quiet. A breeze rustled the hedges and the music coming from the outdoor speakers danced over the sunset. 

She looked at you, then at Lexi. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You asked. “That’s all?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m an asshole, I’m a nervous mess. I need to figure out how to not spew it all outwards, I guess.”

“So fucking lay off,” Lexi laughed, immediately breaking the tension. “Let her fuck him! Let her make dinner with him and do all sorts of stupid, cute shit with him. Let her sleep in his bed!”

Glenne giggled at that, a smile broke onto her face when you rolled your eyes. “Can you be quiet?” You tried not to laugh when you looked over your shoulder, made sure he was still far enough away and couldn’t hear them.

Lexi shook her head at you, a smug smile on her face. “You’re totally fucking him. Is it every day now? Wild morning sex?”

“Shut up!” You laughed, a wave of relief washing over you when Glenne reached out to hold your hand.

“That’s not a no,” Glenne accused, her finger pointed towards you.

“Are you sleeping in his bed?” Lexi lowered her voice, but still had her gaze set on you. Hidden behind sunglasses or not, you knew her well enough to know when she expected an answer to a question. 

“No.”

Glenne swirled her wine around in her glass. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“She’s lying,” Lexi said, a shrug of her shoulders, tipped the glass of white wine back and then set in on the table. 

“So what if I’m sleeping in his bed?” You asked, a pointed stare at Lexi when you tried to keep a straight face.

“Nothing,” she said with a smirk. “I just don’t know why you won’t talk to him about it at this point. I mean, just be a couple or something.”

Glenne watched you closely, waiting for an answer when you turned away from Lexi. 

It wasn’t up for discussion, that wasn’t an option. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Clearly,” Lexi retorted. 

“If I bring it up and it goes bad then we’re fucked. If I ask him what the hell is going on between us then one of us has to label it and that will be weird. And if it’s labeled then that means someone can unlabel it.”

“Or it could be good,” Glenne spoke slowly.

“Look, the goal here is raising a baby--not falling in love, right? Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me this whole time?”

“Well, are you in love with him?” Glenne asked, her face still and expressionless, like time had been paused. She wasn’t angry now, wasn’t frustrated or stressed, just curious.

“What? No--I don’t--I just--maybe I like him,” you said, as if the secret was finally out. As if until now, neither of them had any clue that things had maybe escalated a bit. You’d gotten so used to brushing it under the rug that admitting anything felt foreign.

“Someone needs to secure the rights to this movie,” Lexi laughed. “I can see it now. Celebrity impregnates hot girl, strangers to lovers, the end.”

“Thanks for calling me hot,” you nodded in her direction. “Feeling anything but these days.”

“Oh please,” Glenne waved you off, set her wine glass on the table. “You’re beautiful. You’re a fucking babe.”

You stared at her, deadpan. “I suddenly have an orb attached to the front of me and no longer have a girlish figure.”

“Bodies change, boo,” Lexi reminded. “You’re growing a human.” 

“I know, I just--I don’t know, I want to feel sexy.”

She looked at you like you were crazy. “Him being obsessed with you isn’t enough to do that?”

“What? He’s not obsessed with me,” you made a face. 

“Uh, he literally asked you to move in, now you’re sleeping in his bed--don’t even try to deny it,” she laughed. “He’s in love with you, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You looked over to Glenne, hopeful she’d fulfill her duty in your threesome of being the voice of reason. She smiled, picked up her wine and sipped at it, eyeing you over the rim. 

“She knows I’m right,” Lexi said, motioning towards Glenne. “It’s so obvious even Glenne isn’t going to fight me on this! You know, the one who was convinced this was a terrible idea and the woman who pretty much always needs a Xanax.”

Glenne laughed at her teasing, gave Lexi the finger and took another pull from her drink.

“Alright--you’re both clearly missing a lot of the picture. He’s him, I’m me. We accidentally got into this situation. His last girlfriend was a model.”

“Last two girlfriends,” Lexi corrected. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Kendall, remember?” Glenne asked. “Remember when you came to that weird event with me downtown when Jeff forced me to go? That art opening? She was there--you met her.”

“Great, so two models, one of which is a Kardashian,” you raised your hands towards the sky, wondering if lightning would strike you on the spot. Your luck seemed to be heading in that direction, lately. 

“She’s a Jenner, but, go on,” Lexi said. 

“You know what I mean,” you waved her off, a shake of your head when the wind blew again. “I just--I dunno, I don’t want to get my heart broken.”

“Then talk to him,” Glenne said. 

You thought about taking her advice--a far cry from what she said in the beginning of all of this. Ripped down the middle, part of you wanted to do it, ask him how he felt and what he thought, and the other half just wanted to avoid confrontation altogether. If you didn’t talk about it he couldn’t reject you. He didn’t have to admit that he was just being nice, just being a good guy who was stepping up. 

Sure, having sex was nice and maybe he enjoyed not being the only person in his big house. But how could he expect you to believe that he’d trade models and pool parties and drinking for changing diapers, making dinner, and going to sleep by 9pm?

So when Glenne and Jeff and Lexi headed home, you didn’t bring it up. You slipped beneath the sheets and ignored the growing anxiety that this was all too good to be true. How could he handle a baby and going on tour? At what point would he realize that this was all too much and getting to know you was a mistake?

You almost asked him a few days later, when he sat in the same chair in Dr. Weston’s exam room, but you didn’t. When he stood beside you in Target, a hat on his head and a hoodie pulled up to offer privacy, you wondered if this would do it. 

“Which one do you like better?” He looked between the two, his voice quiet to not draw too much attention. You’d driven out of the city, a late night trip to find a stroller and a crib--you’d already gotten a bassinet. We have to see them in person, he’d insisted, tabs pulled up on his laptop when you pointed at the one you preferred that afternoon.

“Still this one,” you reached forward, put your hand on the side of it, pulled it towards you to feel the movement of the wheels. 

“This one looks safer, though,” he said. “You can use it in different ways, too.”

“Fine,” you shrugged, unwilling to put up a fight. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N,” he turned to look at you, concern in his face. “You’ve been weird all day.”

You didn’t tell him about the phone call with your mom--the planning of your baby shower with Lexi and Glenne, a few people from work. Jeff had already made it pretty clear: small, quiet, nothing over the top. Your aunts would come and your mom’s friend from home. Your cousins, too, but everyone had to sign an NDA. 

You didn’t tell him that Glenne knew about the sleeping arrangement, which meant Jeff would probably find out soon, too. 

“M’just stressed. And I don’t think it’s a good idea that we’re here,” you looked around the empty aisles, fearful that someone would see you, see him, finally connect the dots. 

“S’Oxnard. No one expects me to be here.”

You nodded, hoping he was right. “I think this one is fine, too,” you reached forward to touch the one he liked. Six in one seating, safety breaks, dual cup holder, detachable carrier/carseat. “It’s ridiculously overpriced, though.”

“It’s fine--it’s all expensive.”

“I just want you to let me pay for some of it, okay?”

“Maybe,” he brushed it off, forehead creased when he read over reviews on his phone. “Five stars for safety.”

“Harry,” you said, frustration in your voice. He looked up at you, expectant and waiting.

“Yes?”

“Just pick whichever one you like and we can split it.”

“We don’t have to.”

“I know we don’t have to,” you rolled your eyes. “But I’d like to. I’m an adult.”

“Never said you weren’t,” he mumbled a bit, took a few steps away from you to look at another stroller nearby. 

“Well then let me pay for shit for my child.”

“Yours?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Be quiet,” you looked over your shoulder, not wanting anyone to hear you bickering in the baby section.

“How do you expect this to work if you won’t talk to me, Y/N?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Something’s up! Everything’s been up! You’re anxious and tired and you’re hungry all the time but you won’t admit it!”

You felt heat on your cheeks, offered a small smile to the woman who pushed a cart by the end of the aisle. How did you tell him that you were anxious and tired and hungry and scared and somehow you’d managed to catch feelings?

“Do you need any assistance?” A voice from behind you, a red shirt teenager who didn’t seem to recognize him. A sigh when he replied for you.

“No, thank you, we’re all set.”

“We’ll take that stroller,” you pointed. “I’ll meet you by the register.”

So you left him to lug it up to the cashier, nudged him out of the way and handed over your card before he could protest. You slunk into the passenger seat when he tried to shove it in the backseat, struggled a bit before finally getting the door shut.

He was quiet in the car, almost as awkward as the first time he drove you to your apartment, asked to watch you pee on a stick. But this time you shared a fridge and a bed and a driveway and now he knew the way you liked your coffee and about the nightmare you had last week.

You were more than happy to ignore him, pull the sheets over your head and know his arm would be around you by morning, even if the night ended on a bad note. That was the plan.

But when you came through the front door and tried to keep a good distance between you, he spoke.

“Fuck,” he said. “Jeff just sent me this.” He turned his phone around, showed you a picture of him in the same hoodie he wore, his hands in his pockets as he followed you down an aisle in the Oxnard Target. 

You scanned it over once, looked up at him to gauge how bad this was. You told him it was a bad idea.

“Well that kind of fucks us over, doesn’t it?” He sighed, dropped a bag by the counter and let his shoulders slump. He tossed his phone onto the couch, his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Well we don’t have to announce it yet,” you said quietly, watching as he pulled out a stool, his head in his hands on top of the granite. Your voice was quiet, uncertain and unsteady--reassuring him wasn’t something you were used to.

“S’not that,” he said, a shake of his head and a falter in his voice. You were sure this was it, the moment he’d tell you he couldn’t do it, couldn’t be the father he wanted to be or couldn’t carry out the promise like he’d planned.

You didn’t say anything, stood frozen by the kitchen counter as you waited for him to explain. 

“M’not--I guess I just don’t know how to do all of this.”

You nodded, hoping to just hear him talk. You’d listen to anything he had to say, even the bad news. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t want to. His fans would be disappointed, his mom hated you. 

Thousands of words echoed through your mind, strung along as options of things he might say. They vanished in thin air when he looked up at you, his eyes sad and his heart soft.

“Don’t you ever get scared?” He asked now, looking over his shoulder and searching your face as the sun set outside. “Aren’t you freaked out?”

Another nod, you set your purse down and sat beside him, letting out a sigh. “Terrified.”

He looked away from you at that, pressed his fingers up to his eyes as if it would block the emotion from bubbling inside of him. “M’terrified I’ll be a bad father. I’ll fuck it up or be too busy or something will go wrong.”

Something inside of you ached, a sinking feeling down to your toes, an emptiness in your chest when he looked at you again.

“You won’t be,” you shook your head, the words were as much reassurance to you as they were to him.

“How do you know?” He laughed cynically, shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “S’not like we know each other that well.”

You turned towards him, tugged at his arm to give you a better view of his face. “Because you’ve been more excited than anyone about this,” you exhaled, like the words had built up inside of you, desperate to come out. “You were the one who held the faith that we’d be okay when I didn’t know if we would. And you’ve been kind and generous and you’re doing everything right.”

He nodded, but you could tell it was a move to appease you, not a sign that he knew your words to be true. 

You took his hand in yours and held it for a second. Maybe things wouldn’t work out between you, maybe you didn’t need that. 

Maybe you didn’t need to live here or spend time with him or anything of the sort. Maybe seeing the smile on his face when he finally felt her kick, the pride he emitted when he picked out the perfect stroller, maybe that would be enough. 

He squeezed your hand and shrugged. “Don’t want to let you down, I guess.”

“Me?”

“No, the other mother of my child,” he laughed.

“You’re not--you couldn’t.”

“I could--trust me.” He let go of you at that, your fingers fell from his with ease, he turned in the seat and looked towards the silhouette of Los Angeles. “Things will be a lot busier when the album’s finished and released.”

“I thought it already was finished.” You pulled back from him, more space between you. 

Right? Didn’t this whole thing start when the album wrap party got both of you too drunk to read an expiration date?

He looked over at you, shrugged and fought a small smile. “It was, but--y’know--life happens, you meet someone and get her pregnant, s’plenty to say about that.”

He must have seen the way your eyes went wide, color vanished from your face when you repeated his words out loud. He frowned before you even spoke.

“Say about it? Like, write about it?”

“I mean, s’that alright?”

Your lips parted, words tried to crawl from your tummy and out over your tongue. “I don’t--I mean--I guess.”

“S’just one song, I can play it for you.”

“No,” you said quickly, swallowing the curiosity like a hard pill. “It’s okay.”

What would you say? What would you think? You didn’t know how it would feel or how it would sound or what made him do it. The thick summer air trailed in from the cracked window, the quiet neighborhood sounds floated lazily into the living room. 

September was quiet and settling, like the heat would give any second, like your strength might break with it. 

“M’sorry that I didn’t tell you more about her--about Camille.”

You froze at that, again, like her name was a strike of lightning, brazen and bold. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” he said. “She really kind of fucked me up, but--I mean it. I’m over it now.”

A nod, the mugginess was almost too much, when he reached over for your hand again, you met his eyes. 

“I did tell a few people,” you admitted, deciding to match his honesty. “My dad emailed me back.”

His eyebrows raised, his pitch higher than usual. “He did?”

“Yep,” you nodded. “Congratulations, take care,” you lowered your voice to mimic him, unsure of how he actually sounded. 

“How do you feel about that?”

“Weird,” you said, a second of silence as he waited for you to elaborate. “Angry, sort of. I don’t know why he bothered to say we’ll talk soon--especially cause we won’t.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

You let out a quick laugh. “He showed up late to my 5th grade moving up ceremony.”

“So--fifteen years ago?”

“I guess.”

“M’sorry he’s an asshole.”

You looked up at him, suddenly embarrassed to have given away the information. Harry didn’t care, probably. He didn’t need to hear about your sob story or the things you wished were different. 

“It’s fine, I don’t care.” You pulled away from him, grabbed your phone from the counter and headed for the stairs. “Bedtime?”

“It’s alright to care, y’know, Nike.”

You turned on one foot, watched him for a second. “What?”

“You can be upset that your dad sucks. Those things--our relationships with our parents--they kind of shape us into who we are.”

“I’m not upset,” you shook your head. “I’m used to it.”

He sighed, made a face, then came to meet you at the bottom of the stairs. “Okay, love. Bedtime it is, then.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list | join the bookclub

**author’s note: hi everyone!!! chapter 11, woohoo! THANKS to everyone who’s been patient as I’m writing this!!!! as always hit me up if you want to chat about the story! also if you’re having notification issues getting tagged in these updates, message me and i’ll tell ya how to fix it.

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[bard-llama]

Belated Start of Mini Kinktober Week!

So the @witcherkinktober​ provided the great prompts for this week and then I completely and absolutely forgot about it lol. So I don’t have finished fics for yesterday or today, but I will share a snip from each and if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll finish one for tomorrow!

So, my plan was to write 1 rorveth and 1 throne3 fill per day, but uh... that’s not seeming likely. So instead, have snips (more like my entire WiPs shhhh) from 2 throne3 fills + 1 rorveth fill under the cut!

10/3 - Collars | Gags | Hypnosis/Mind Control Warnings for homophobia-induced painful backstory and chronic pain

Unfortunately, no porn here, because I got too caught up in the explanation of how they got here again 😭😭😭 But Reynard got drugged with a truth/babbling potion. That counts as mind control, right? 😅

If there was one thing everyone knew about General Reynard Odo, it was that he kept his thoughts to himself and carefully chose every word he said.

Which is why Gascon knew immediately that something was wrong, because Reynard was surrounded by soldiers and waving his hands in a surprisingly uncoordinated way and, most significantly, openly shittalking people.

“Fuckin’ Reggie,” Reynard slurred, which set off about a billion alarm bells in Gascon’s head, because what the fuck!? First off, Reynard didn’t swear. Certainly not in front of his soldiers. He was meticulous about that kind of thing. Propriety mattered to Reynard and being proper in front of his men even moreso.

Secondly, nicknames and Reynard did not mix. Well, technically, Gascon was always giving Reynard new insultingly affectionate nicknames, but Reynard himself? Gascon had never heard Reynard shorten a name ever. Even the really long ones! Even the ones that everyone else used! Hell, there was one of Meve’s guards who even she called by their nickname. But Reynard? Never. It was always Lieutenant Razzah Ozzell, never Razzell like the rest of them.

Thirdly, who the fuck was Reggie?

“He was a right prick,” Reynard continued, snorting at his own words. “Didn’t know a damn thing about the military. I mean, he was always getting people’s ranks wrong, and who’s gonna correct him? He’s the fucking king!”

Gascon’s face blanched. Reggie as in King Reginald as in Meve’s late husband?

Yeah, he needed to make sure Reynard stopped speaking immediately. Whatever was wrong with him, clearly the General’s extensive control could not be relied upon at the moment, so Gascon would just have to have enough control for the two of them.

Nodding to himself, he wove his way expertly through tangles of soldiers and slipped his arm around Reynard’s, pulling the General up and pushing him towards the edge of camp. The soldiers groaned in protest, but Gascon ignored them, more concerned with the way Reynard was both still talking and did not seem at all bothered by Gascon’s grasp on his arm.

Only once they were a decent distance from camp did Gascon let go and whirl around to demand what the fuck was going on.

“What the fuck, Reynard?” he hissed. “What is wrong with you!? Why would you openly shit talk the King!?”

Reynard’s pupils were wide as the General snorted, “I didn’t even share the worst shit!”

“And it should probably stay that way,” Gascon spoke over him. “Seriously, what is wrong with you!?”

Tilting his head, Reynard leaned too far to the right and flailed for balance. Gascon was officially unnerved. Where the hell was the close mouthed and tight-lipped General Odo?

“I feel fine,” Reynard shrugged. “I don’t even hurt!”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re probably high as a kite on something. What did you eat? Drink?”

“Mmm, jus’ the ale. They’re – hic – they’re always inviting me, you know. To drink with them.”

“Yeah,” Gascon said uncertainly, brow furrowing, “you always say no.”

Reynard sighed, slumping as though all his energy had abandoned him. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They already have to put up with me all day. ‘M not gonna be so selfish as to ruin everyone’s time.” His lips twitched, “I’m Lyria and Rivia’s profesh – profess – pro-fesh-shen-al wet blanket, remember?”

Gascon winced. He hadn’t realized that jab had stayed with Reynard like this, but even worse was that Reynard seemed to think it was true.

“I was being an asshole,” Gascon protested. “You’re not a wet blanket. You’re – I mean, you’re very stoic and uptight and stuff, but like, that’s not always a bad thing! If you want to drink with your soldiers, you should!”

The laughter that fell from Reynard’s lips was haunting. “No one truly wants me there. It’s better to keep from intruding.”

Something about that made Gascon’s heart hurt, but he swallowed hard, refocusing. “Reynard, there must’ve been something in the ale you drank, ‘cause you may feel fine, but you are definitely not. Honestly, when you sober up, you’re probably gonna hate that you told me any of this.”

Reynard hummed, nodding in small movements. “Hate being sober. Hurts too much.”

Gascon blinked. “Wait, really? But you practically never have more than a single ale!”

“Of courshe,” Reynard wiggled his jaw like that would make his lips form the right shapes. “I have a resp – responc – re – ah, fuck it. Duty. I have a duty to Her Majesty.”

“Yeah, but – wait, why does it hurt?”

Snorting again, Reynard shrugged. “It always does. Though, not right now. Like, I can do this!” He shrugged his shoulders once more, seemingly engrossed in the miraculousness of basic movement.

“Can you… not usually shrug?” Gascon tilted his head, considering that. Had he ever actually seen Reynard shrug?

Reynard shook his head emphatically enough to make himself stumble for balance again. “Pulls on my back.”

Gascon’s brow furrowed. “Your… back? I don’t remember you having any particular back injury?”

Snorting through his nose, Reynard hummed. “Wasn’t an injury in battle. Nothing so honorable by far.”

More confused than ever, Gascon opened his mouth to say something, but Reynard didn’t seem to notice and talked over him instead.

“Fuckin’ Reggie,” Reynard muttered again, digging the toe of his boot into the ground.

“Reginald… hurt you?” Gascon asked cautiously. Usually Reynard was the first to insist that no one speak out against their rulers, past or present.

My vague thoughts were that somehow Reynard ends up dirty talking to Gascon on accident ‘cause he can’t shut up, so Gascon gags him? Aaaaand... idk how the collar comes in, but I like making life difficult for myself, so I wanna try to include all 3 prompts.

(throne3) 10/4 - Overstimulation | Monsters | Temperature Play Warnings for monsterfucking, rough sex, and serious size kink

“Troll want mate!” the massive rock troll declared.

Having been sent out scouting near the base of the mountain, General Reynard Odo found himself regretting having chosen to explore this cave. 

“Reynard,” he said loudly, pressing a hand to his chest, “wants to leave.”

“No leave!” One humongous fist smashed into the ground far too close to Reynard for comfort. “Want find mate!”

“You… want help finding a mate?” Reynard repeated uncertainly. Where the hell was he supposed to find a mate for a troll!?

The troll nodded emphatically with a sound like rocks scrapping together. “Us need mate! ReyRey help find!”

Reynard winced at the atrocious nickname, then frowned. What did the troll mean ‘us’?

As he watched, the rock formations behind the troll materialized into more trolls. A lot more trolls.

“Uh,” he started, “why do you think I can find you a mate?”

“Humie no come here before!” the first troll he’d spoken to said cheerily. “You be special!”

Well. That was encouraging. “Where would I find you a mate?”

“If we knew, we no ask!” Another troll huffed. “Is season! Must mate! But where mate?”

His frown deepened. “So you don’t need a mate as in a life-partner, but more… uh, for one-time use, so to speak?”

The trolls hummed and groaned, looking at each other in confusion. “What humie mean?”

“Uh… I guess that you,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “you need to physically mate with someone. Urgently. Yes?”

“Urgent, urgent, yes!” One troll waved its leg up and down and Reynard’s brow furrowed in confusion. Except then the troll wrapped its hand around the leg and Reynard realized that it wasn’t a leg at all. “Need mate soon!” the troll said, stroking the massive cock that hung between its legs.

“I don’t know where to find you a mate,” Reynard said. “And I have urgent business I must conduct for my queen–”

The first troll he’d talked to cut him off with a low grunt, hands punching into the ground. “Need mate now!”

“ReyRey,” another troll – he really couldn’t tell them apart beyond size, but this one was a little smaller than the others, and troll dicks must have been retractible, because this one didn’t have a huge limb hanging between its legs. But there was the start of something peeking out where the troll’s underbelly met its legs.

Reynard found himself oddly entranced, watching the troll’s cock slowly protrude and grow larger and larger until it was around the length and width of Reynard’s entire forearm. If these things were proportional to the troll’s size, then this was the smallest one.

He swallowed, unsure why his mouth was watering, but he still couldn’t look away and the smaller troll grinned.

“ReyRey want mate?” it offered. 

Choking, Reynard flushed scarlet and shook his head. “I – no! We aren’t – aren’t compatible. You’d break me!”

Why did thinking that send a shiver of interest down his spine. These were trolls! He was absolutely not mating with trolls!

Except when he finally managed to look away from the smaller troll’s cock, his eyes got stuck on the one beside it, their cock slightly bigger than the other troll’s. 

“ReyRey want be broken,” the smaller troll said confidently. “ReyRey get hard like troll!” So saying, the troll reached out and poked Reynard’s pelvis where, to his great shame, his cock was getting hard.

“I–” he fumbled for words. Surely this was not going to happen. It couldn’t happen! What would his men think of him, getting railed by a rock troll!? By several rock trolls!?

It was ridiculous that this question should even be raised! Of course he wasn’t going to let himself get fucked by a bunch of trolls. He couldn’t!

So why did he kind of want to? Why was he thinking about what it would feel like, getting stretched so wide. And deep! These trolls were huge, and that should make him scared, but instead, he was… kind of getting excited.

Gods, what was wrong with him? He was – he was genuinely considering mating with a troll! That was most definitely not normal or in any way appropriate.

But… who would know? He’d only left camp about half an hour ago, so they wouldn’t expect him back for several hours yet. And it wasn’t as if he would ever tell anyone just what he was contemplating doing. So really, who would ever find out? 

And it had been so long since Reynard had last been fucked. He would – he would have to prepare himself thoroughly before even considering taking the trolls, but…

He really actually wanted to do this.

Biting his lip and shifting his weight, Reynard looked around the cavern. “What,” his voice cracked and he coughed, trying again, “what exactly would it mean? To – to be your mate?”

The trolls let out excited hums and rumbles and the smaller troll grinned at him. “ReyRey look good on cock,” it said brightly. “We mate. Means ReyRey takes pearls.”

“Pearls?” his brow furrowed. Was that a euphemism for ejaculate?

“Lil trolls,” the troll nodded, “pearls. ReyRey say yes?”

“I…” Reynard swallowed and for once in his life, let himself do the improper thing. “I’ll need stretching first.”

“Trolls help!” the smaller one said enthusiastically. “ReyRey take off metal shell? No good for mating.”

“Right,” he cleared his throat, and even though part of his mind was screaming in horror, he actually did start to pick at the buckles on his armor. “Uh. We’re gonna need something slick. To – to open me up,” he blushed. 

“We slick ReyRey!” one troll proclaimed loudly and as soon as Reynard’s armor was removed, they grabbed him, manhandling him with an ease that made his heart beat fast. Then, before he really knew what was happening, they bent him in half and something long and wet was prodding at his ass as stone-encrusted fingers held him open.

He yelped in surprise – and then moaned as the troll’s tongue pushed into him with no warning, thrusting deep and wiggling inside him the way nothing ever had before. “Oh, fuck,” he gasped, gripping his own ankles tightly. He hadn’t even realized he could bend down so far, but with the trolls holding him, it was somehow easier than anything to just let himself go and let them have what they wanted of him.

“Me turn!” another troll grumbled and Reynard suddenly found himself empty and moving, until a different tongue thrust deep into him, fucking him rapidly.

He couldn’t help his whine, cock already very interested. And folded in half and angled down like he was, when his cock leaked, it dripped down onto his face in a way that made him feel both embarrassed and horrifically turned on. 

“Oh fuck, please!” he heard himself beg before he’d consciously decided to.

“Good humie,” a troll praised before something larger prodded at his hole next to the tongue rocking into him. “ReyRey take troll like meant for it.”

Reynard shuddered, the praise making his face warm as it flushed red.

Should I tell you where the story is going next? ‘cause it decided to get long, dammit, so who knows when I’ll finish it. So I guess if you don’t wanna know, then spoiler warning Additional warnings for breeding kink, oviposition, extreme oversensitivity, and extremely bad attempts at acting casual

Okay, so this was supposed to be some basic monsterfucking, but instead, romance had to happen lmao. So Reynard gets fucked by troll after troll and he discovers that unlike his assumption, “pearls” was not a euphemism, but literally trolls laying ‘eggs’. Each one gives him about two dozen pearls, so he’s huge and hella sensitive and just kinda losing his mind. But that kinda fucking takes time, which means Meve and Gascon are worrying over where their crush general is. They’re not together yet in this, but I think all three of them kinda recognize that, were the world different, they could have something special together.

Anyway, Meve and Gascon go searching for him and find him in the cave getting fucked by trolls. And they’re about ready to go charging in and cutting off heads of all sorts when Reynard begs for more. So then they’re confused and far too intrigued and they watch Reynard take another twenty pearls and he moans orgasmically and unlike Reynard, Gascon is not known for his self-control. So he darts out and gets his mouth on Reynard’s cock, making Reynard shout. Then Meve comes out and Reynard is freaking the fuck out and the trolls have all kinda frozen (and no, no one is distracted by the way cum drips out of his stretched out hole) and then Meve kneels and pets through Reynard’s sweaty hair and pulls him up to pillow his head in her lap. and Reynard is very confused, but like, weirdly, they seem to not find this as suuuuuper weird as it was and seemed to even like it.

So the trolls all finish with their mate while Meve pets his hair and Gascon explores his rounded belly and his cock. When everything is done, Gascon and Meve work on cleaning Reynard out - which is when they discover that the pearls can’t be ‘laid’ yet. They need to incubate for a couple of days, and obviously they can’t just leave Reynard with the trolls who didn’t realize that that sort of thing should be mentioned beforehand. So they decide they’ll take Reynard back to camp and hide him away for several days, giving the men a chance to take leave in the area. 

Except Reynard’s armor can’t fit him anymore, so Meve covers him in her cape and Gascon carries the armor (he thinks he got the shit end of the deal here) and Reynard attempts to stumble back to camp when he’s filled with like 700 pearls. But he can’t really walk and every movement nudges the pearls inside him and he’s ridiculously sensitive and he would be horrified at being half-carried into camp by his queen while wearing only her cape and stuffed full of fucking troll eggs, but tbh he can’t think much beyond feels so good and oh god, do not come, do not make a noise! Fortunately, Meve and Gascon are more than aware of how much it would bother Reynard, so Gascon creates a distraction while Meve sneaks Reynard into her tent. 

When Reynard realizes he’s in his queen’s bed, he tries to jolt upright - except he really can’t move much and his attempt just sents pleasure sizzling through his veins. So of course Meve, being Meve, decides she wants to see him mindless with pleasure again. So she kisses him and presses against his belly and explores his cock. By the time Gascon arrives, Reynard is already halfway to another orgasm (dry by this point, though he might’ve recovered a bit since the trolls) and Gascon is absolutely delighted to join in. 

So basically, they spend a couple of days making up ridiculous excuses that none of their men believe about why they quite suddenly have leave time on their urgent march to free Lyria and, more importantly, driving Reynard out of his mind. Then, after the pearls have incubated long enough, they bring Reynard back to the cave with the trolls and hold him and soothe him as he ‘lays’ the pearls, shuddering and moaning with every twitch of a muscle.

And then the throne3 talk lmao. They get together properly and give Reynard some much needed aftercare, ‘cause dude took 700 fucking pearls!

(Also, the men definitely go wild with rumors as to what happened and why Meve and Gascon and Reynard remain shut in the queen’s tent. Some of them are even partially right, but I don’t think anyone calls the troll bit lmao)

(rorveth) 10/4 - Overstimulation | Monsters | Temperature Play Warnings: implied desire for a noncon gangbang, but Roche shuts that shit down quick and between Iorveth/Roche, there is enthusiastic consent 

I actually started this one for the Rare Pair Bingo, but I still haven’t finished it 😭 But it works pretty well with the prompts. Also, inspired by this art. 

I cannot find the article/study, so it’s probably bullshit, BUT the ongoing joke that I will use to death is “arousal smells like candied watermelon”

When Vernon Roche was a child, his mother used to tell him tales of the majestic creatures of the ocean. Gain one’s favour, it was said, and they would do anything for you.

Of course, then Roche actually went to sea and it turned out, the only creatures around were fish or monsters, not the fabled legends his mother had spoken of.

Or so he thought. After all, everyone knew that monsters were mindless, driven purely by instinct like any beast. Right?

Roche had always thought sirens were just another category of beast, but now… now he was starting to wonder. Because the creature they’d accidentally caught in their net was anything but a beast.

It looked like one – its skin was green and blue, and luminescent in a way that was wholly unnatural. Its torso was shaped like a man, but large bat-like wings protruded from its back and instead of legs, its bottom half had fins to swim through the ocean. But its face…

The skin may have been a lovely blue-green and its eyes were unlike any human’s Roche had ever seen, but they looked at him with intelligence, hatred and fury exuding from the creature’s snarl like they would from any other man’s.

It was… actually kind of beautiful, except for the part where it might try to slaughter his men and his crew. It squirmed, trying to free itself from the net before they could haul it onto the deck, but its fins and wings were tangled in the rope and there was no way it could break free.

“Heave!” he ordered his crew and with one last back-breaking haul, the creature sprawled onto the deck of the ship, net wrapped around it as effective as any trap. 

There was a moment of relative silence as the crew stared at the creature and the creature snarled back at them. Then Thirteen, the lookout who’d spotted something worth throwing their nets out for, stepped closer and the creature lashed out, long talons on the end of its fingers shining in the sun.

“Whoa,” Thirteen reeled back. “Jeez, was just trying to help. Can it talk, you think?”

“It,” the creature growled, voice reverberating oddly across the deck, “is right here and if you do not free me, I will kill each and every one of you.”

Roche and his crew frowned down at the creature and it glared right back.

“What even are you?” Roche eventually asked when their stare off was getting them nowhere and some of the men had started shifting uncomfortably.

It scoffed, “I’m a siren. Obviously. What kind of sailor doesn’t recognize a siren!?”

The creature squirmed around to face him, its finned pelvis pressing against the wooden planks in a way that was suddenly drawing Roche’s attention. It was almost as if… did he smell something sweet? Like candied fruit, almost, and he took a deeper breath, inhaling the scent. Yeah, it was definitely like candied fruit. And it appeared to be coming from the self-proclaimed siren.

Weren’t sirens the legendary creatures that could ensorcel men and send them to their deaths?

“Stop that,” Roche snapped and the creature blinked up at him in surprise. 

Around them, Roche’s crew was growing restless, clearly smelling the same delicious scent that he was – and wanting more of it.

“Whatever you’re exuding, stop,” Roche ordered. “Seriously, unless you want this to end with a whole lotta humans vying for one siren, you need to stop.”

The siren ground sharp teeth together, lips pulled back in a snarl. “I can’t,” it grunted and Roche blinked.

“Why the hell not?”

The siren shot him a look, but it was quickly distracted by assessing the crew around them. Several of the men had bulges in the fronts of their trousers and Roche could admit, he was feeling oddly horny, but it was nothing he couldn’t control.

The same, apparently, could not be said of his sailors, because one man – Roche totally hadn’t forgotten his name, but if he had, it would be totally understandable, as the man had only been with them for 3 weeks so far – stepped forward, towards the creature, who snarled and growled and bared its teeth and raised its claws, but who was also, Roche noticed, unable to move terribly much, not with the net tangled around its wings and fins and it not having legs.

“Cap’n,” the new guy said, “I’ve – I’ve heard that hauls like this sometimes get shared with the crew. Could we–?”

Roche saw the creature freeze at the question and something sour built in his chest.

“No,” he snapped. “Get back to work!”

“But what about–?” Thirteen asked, now keeping his distance from the siren.

“I’ll take care of it,” Roche decided. If it was doing something to make his crew horny and it couldn’t stop, then Roche needed it to not be out in the open, distracting his crew and making them far too likely to do something unforgivable.

There were a few huffs and laughs. “Enjoy, Boss,” Fenn muttered, returning to swabbing the deck. The others dispersed shortly thereafter, though they were definitely still distracted, glancing over at the creature.

“Can we–” the new guy started, “can we watch?”

Roche blinked. “Watch… what? Just – get back to work,” he shook his head, pulling his knife and beginning to cut through one of their best nets. It was snarled beyond repair, so they would need to weave a new one anyway.

The siren growled at him as he approached, but he felt oddly entirely unafraid. This creature was dangerous, certainly, but the way it was posturing hid the way that it was entirely helpless. As long as Roche was actually helping, he was pretty sure the creature wouldn’t attack him.

“What, you want to stay tangled?” he asked rhetorically, trying to lighten the mood. 

The siren narrowed its eyes, watching him come closer and closer to the knots around the siren’s left wing.

“What do you want?” the siren demanded.

“Well, let’s start with keeping you from distracting the crew from their duties,” he let his voice carry across the deck and more than a few people looked away guiltily. “Uh, I guess you don’t exactly have a lot of options to walk. Can I – uh – carry you? Just into the captain’s cabin where we can talk and whatever it is you’re doing that makes everyone,” he waved his hands in demonstration, trying to say ‘really fucking horny’ without saying it, “if you can’t turn it off, then let’s start with getting you away from the crew, huh?”

The siren frowned at him, head tilted to the side. But when he motioned to pick the creature up, it nodded, though very clearly reluctantly.

Roche lifted the siren with one hand under its lower body fin and one around its back below the wings. As he rose, most of the netting that hand tangled around the siren fell away, but not quite all of it. He’d have to take care of that, but first–

“Back to work!” he ordered and more than half of the crew jumped, looking away quickly and pretending to be busy.

He shook his head, carrying the siren into the captain’s quarters and setting it on the bed. Then he withdrew, very deliberately stepping away, even though that smell was incredible and made him want to–

Well, it didn’t matter what he wanted, because he was not going to let his ship become the kind of place where ‘hauls got passed around’.

“So, uh… do you have a name?” he asked belatedly. It was probably kind of offensive to keep calling it ‘it’ in his head. 

The siren stared at him for a long minute, then its head dipped in a nod. “I am called Iorveth.”

“Vernon Roche,” he introduced himself. “I’m the captain of this ship. Um. No offense, but I’ve sailed these waters for decades and I’ve never caught anything like – well, like you before. How did you end up caught in our net?”

The creature – Iorveth – huffed in irritation. “I was distracted,” it – he – said. “I’m – the reason I can’t make it stop,” Iorveth hesitated, looking at Roche and biting his lower lip.

“What?”

“I’m – um, I don’t think humans deal with this, but I’m – I’m in heat,” the siren’s cheeks flushed green as Roche watched and he found himself oddly fascinated.

“Uh… okay. So… how does that lead to getting caught in a net? Shouldn’t you be – I dunno, enticing lovers to, uh… deal with it?”

“I was… avoiding potential ‘lovers’ when your net tangled with my wings,” Iorveth admitted, still looking at him with eyes that blazed. 

“Oh,” Roche blinked. “Well, that’s unfortunate. Uh… should I just like… let you go find someone to – uh, to mate with or whatever?”

“You would let me leave?” Iorveth asked, surprise clear in his voice and on his face.

“I… yes? Why? What am I supposed to do with a siren?”

Iorveth tilted his head again, frowning at Roche. “Your crew had an idea about that.”

Roche blanched. “That would be entirely inappropriate!”

The corner of Iorveth’s lips ticked up. “I’ve heard tales of other sirens caught by humans. Many would disagree with you.”

“Well, fuck them,” Roche growled, suddenly infuriated. “My ship is not somewhere things like that are acceptable!”

“Hmm,” Iorveth hummed. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course!” It was possible a hint of offense leaked into his tone, but really. “You’re clearly an intelligent creature. Your refusal should be respected, no matter by what species.”

Iorveth’s smile grew. “What makes you think I’ve refused?”

Roche blinked at him, taken entirely off guard. “What?”

“Well, technically, you haven’t made an offer for me to refuse. But are you so sure that’s what I’d say?”

“I… yes?”

Iorveth licked his lips, leaning back on the bed and running his hands down his body until he reached an area just below where his hips would be if he were a human. The scales were darker there and it took Roche a moment to realize that that was because there was an opening there. A wet opening.

Mouth suddenly watering, Roche licked his lips, wondering what Iorveth would taste like. But he didn’t move, even as Iorveth dipped the tips of his own fingers into the slit. Then Iorveth hooked both pointer fingers inside the slit and pulled it open, making Roche gasp as the dark cavern inside was exposed to view.

“Don’t you want me?” Iorveth asked softly, smirk confident and coy. “Don’t you want to fuck me?”

“I…” Roche swallowed hard, staring at that slit. “Why… you’re asking me to mate with you?”

“I’m asking you to fill me and fuck me through my heat,” Iorveth murmured, removing one hand and bringing it to his lips.

When Iorveth’s tongue flicked out to lick his finger, Roche couldn’t help the punched out moan that escaped him.

“Why?”

Iorveth smiled. “Because you let it be my choice.”

“That’s just basic decency!” Roche argued, but he did take a step closer. Then another. “You’re sure you want–?”

“I’ve never had a human before,” Iorveth said, half-lidded gaze locked with his. “Don’t you want to play with the prize you’ve captured?”

Roche gulped. “I – you – is that what you want? To be – to be treated like stolen treasure?”

Iorveth’s eyes lit up. “Yes,” the siren breathed, “steal me. Take me.”

Stepping up to the edge of the bed, Roche looked Iorveth over for any sign that this wasn’t truly what he wanted. 

Iorveth rewarded his scrutiny by dipping his fingers into that slit again, then holding them out. “Have a taste,” Iorveth invited and Roche was lost, leaning forward to wrap his mouth around those fingers, tongue eager to taste everything he could.

He moaned as Iorveth’s flavor spread across his tongue. If he’d thought about it, he might have expected Iorveth to taste briney from the sea. But instead, his tastebuds quivered with delight because Iorveth was slightly salty and slightly sweet and slightly something else altogether on his tongue and he immediately wanted more.

“You’re sure?” he asked one last time, missing Iorveth’s cool fingers as soon as they moved away.

Iorveth smiled, touching his face lightly. “Fuck me, Vernon Roche.”

Roche couldn’t help his moan, but while Iorveth probably expected Roche to pull out his cock and go for it, there was something Roche needed first. 

He licked his lips, crawling up the bed until he was hovering over Iorveth’s lower body. Then he leaned forward and swiped his tongue along that wet opening, enjoying the way Iorveth gasped sharply.

He moaned again, tongue delving into that opening like he was a starving man and Iorveth was a royal buffet. Iorveth’s taste and scent overwhelmed him and Iorveth knocked off his hat, tangling fingers in his hair and pulling him closer.

After a while of that, Iorveth’s muscles started twitching, close to the edge, and Roche thrust his tongue as deep as it could go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Iorveth began to swear, slipping into another language as his hips rocked up into Roche’s face. Roche devoured him, licking and sucking and generally dedicating himself to thoroughly exploring Iorveth’s opening.

“Gods, your cunt is delicious,” Roche groaned, lips moving across the slit in Iorveth’s scales.

“It’s not a cunt,” Iorveth said. “It’s a – it’s – oh fuck,” Iorveth gasped, body arching and twitching as Roche’s face was soaked. 

Roche did not stop the attention he was paying to Iorveth’s not-cunt, continuing to lick and suck and devour Iorveth.

Iorveth clung to his head, hands clutching desperately at his hair as the siren’s hips continued to buck and overstimulated whimpers filled the air.

Still, Roche did not stop and Iorveth cried out in that other language as he came for a second time, far too close to the first to not be painful.

And again, Roche did not stop.

Iorveth’s crying was agonized, but his hands were still tangled in Roche’s hair, holding Roche against him.

“How many more can you give me?” Roche asked, lips moving against Iorveth’s slit.

“Nnnh,” Iorveth arched, “f-fuck me, dammit!”

Roche smirked, lips curling up against Iorveth’s scales. “Is that not what I’m doing?”

Iorveth let out a strangled sound, fingers tightening in Roche’s hair.

“Unnh,” Iorveth gasped desperately. “Your cock! Fuck me with your cock, gods dammit, or I’ll–”

Roche pulled away, still smirking, and the noise Iorveth made was unhinged. 

“Vernon,” Iorveth growled, and Roche just grinned, kneeling up and unbuckling his belt. He stripped his shirt off with minimal ceremony, then reached for the waistband of his trousers, which were mostly being held up by the very hard cock inside them.

Iorveth licked his lips, a quick flash of tongue, and Roche swallowed hard, debating if getting his boots off was worth moving away from Iorveth.

Meeting his gaze squarely, Iorveth sent him a hot look. “Fuck me, Vernon.”

Roche moaned, deciding that nothing mattered except giving Iorveth his cock, even if that meant his trousers tangled around his boots. He gripped the base of his cock, teasing it around Iorveth’s slit until the siren snarled again.

“Vernon!”

Tilting his head, Roche smiled. “I think you can ask nicely, can’t you?”

Iorveth’s glare was impressive, but when your second glared at men as if they should apologize for existing, you became rather impervious to such intimidation tactics.

Plus, Iorveth wasn’t as scary as Ves. Nothing was as scary as Ves.

“Gods just – fuck me!”

Clicking his tongue, Roche ignored his own urgent need. “That wasn’t very nice now was it?”

Obviously this is just an excuse to explore nonhuman genitalia lmao, but my vague plan was that Iorveth begs, Roche finally fucks him, and fucks him through like 3 more orgasms and he’s crying and hoarse from screaming, but he needs Roche to come in him and Roche has been holding off to give him so much pleasure and he wants to make Roche feel good too.

Then they pass out from too much sex lmao

#throne3 #rorveth #meve x reynard x gascon #iorveth x roche #the witcher #thronebreaker #fic planning #witcherkinktober

[statticscribbles]

Sides

Sumarry: Sweet Pea/Reader-  Sweet Pea hates the Northside, they take everything after all.

You’re fifteen when you realize just how serious the new tattoo Sweet Pea has is. He spends the night reassuring you. You insist you don’t need the reassurance he tries to give; only asking if he’s okay, if the way his nose sits means it’s broken. He pushes off your concern, joking about how his good looks are ruined. “Of course that’s what you’re worried about Y/N.” He’s about to say more but you quiet him with a kiss. “Worried about you.” You stare at your bed tracing the pattern on your sheet as he tilts your head back up, kissing you again. Your brush your hand carefully over his shoulder, you hadn’t had much blood to clean up, but the dark purple and bruise’s that are starting to form have you worried about where your hands rest as he deepens this kiss. He pulls back slightly watching as you hover your fingers over the bandage on his neck. “You’re a Serpent now huh?” He nods, his face pinching almost in pain, as the smile drops off. “It’s safest, Y/N you know what would happen otherwise.” He starts and you nod resting your head on his uninjured shoulder. “Of course, we all have to survive somehow.” You try to laugh off the grim statement; he nods smiling back in understanding before you both return to kissing each other. You don’t tell him you’re joining next week, how you’ve already started memorizing the dance. You want to surprise him.

You consider the fact he stares at the ground the entire time he talks to you once you finish surprise enough, you keep your hand around his wrist rubbing circles against his palm. “Sweets, you okay?” He nods swallowing before tugging you towards the door. He silent on the way back to your place, he doesn’t look at you. Only asking if your parents are home, you roll your eyes confirming they’ve gone out and as he walks you to the door he shyly asks if he can come in. “Sweets, what’s going on you seem?” You don’t finish your question before he’s kissing you, pressing his lips against any free skin he can find before returning to your lips to make out for a moment, he pulls away and you’re breathless. “Did you like the dance then?” “Couldn’t have practiced in front of me?” He grumbles into your neck before sucking a hickey into it. You laugh shaking your head as he leads you back to your bedroom.

“Where’re you getting your tattoo then?” He hums tracing the skin on your thigh, as you cuddle on his chest lazily making out. You’re about to respond when you hear a shriek. Sweet Pea sits up tense but your mother snarls, jerking her arms, shoving him off your bed and smacking your face as she gets between you and Sweet Pea. She grips his shoulders all but shoving him into the wall. He stumbles watching you nervously before he’s shoved out the door, your mother screaming about calling the cops. You roll your eyes at her threat, knowing they wouldn’t come all the way to the Southside for anything less than a murder.

He appears at your window an hour later, your mother having gone to bed. She’d tired herself out from yelling at you, threatening to move states. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be fine.” You breathe out a sigh as he repeats this. Running his thumb over your cheek. “Serpent’s protect their own, I’ll make sure you’re okay.” “Remember to ice your shoulder.” He nods. “Kiss for good luck?” He smirks and you laugh. “I thought Serpent’s didn’t need luck.” He shrugs smiling as he kisses you again. “Can’t hurt to have my girl make sure.”

You wake at three am. Your mother screaming at you. She has you pack a bag, drives you to your grandparent’s house on the Northside, and almost throws you out into the driveway. “This’ll teach you to schmooze around with Serpents. If you contact any of them you’ll move with me to California.” She drives off. Your grandparents welcome you with open arms despite it being almost four am. You find out an hour later your mom’s fully moved out of Riverdale, leaving you with your grandparents. You grimace as they sign everything for you to transfer to Riverdale High.

You’re not surprised when they sign you up for track practice, the one sport that trains all year round, mornings and evenings. Keeping you too busy to go anywhere but school or home. Your mother sends you a monthly allowance; enough she thinks she’s buying back your love. You excel at track, you try not to dwell on the idea about how good you are at running away from your problems but it creeps in the back of your mind. You’re stretching watching the footballers moving onto the field.

“Hey Arch. How’s training going?” He rolls his eyes nodding to the four guys running suicides on the field. “Coach is gonna kill ‘em.” You laugh nodding. “More glory for you an Reggie then right?” He nods turning as the coach calls him over. You’re not entirely sure how you managed to become friends with Archie Andrews, while most people considered him fairly stuck up by default of being popular he reminded you just enough of Sweet Pea your ignored the gossip and whispers. Neither of you hang out outside of school. You don’t have friends out of school anyways.

Archie seems almost excited after practice; you’re stretching after you last lap and watch as he walks over to you moving from the gossip mill of the rest of the jocks. “You hear about Southside?” You tilt your head at his question. “No, you know I don’t do anything outside of this.” You gesture to the track stretching out your hamstrings. “Southside High got closed, they’re all transferring here.” You raise an eyebrow. “Really? All of them? The serpents too?” You try to quell your excitement. Archie nods. “Yeah, everyone’s hyped about it, Jughead, you know him yeah?” You nod as Archie smiles. “He’s the guy dating Betty.” He clarifies and you laugh. “Arch, I know him, know most of the Southside, it’s where I grew up.” He furrows his brow nodding. “What?” You watch him as he shakes his head. “Nothing. We’re all meeting at Pop’s you in?”

It doesn’t take much convincing for your grandparents to let you go out after school. One of Archie’s smiles has them more than happy to let you go anywhere. He rolls his eyes. “It’s the footballer status, makes everyone think I’m a goody two shoes ya know.” He laughs as you elbow him, walking towards the neon sign hanging above Pop’s. “You’re not a goody two shoes? Compared to any of the Serpent’s you are.” You laugh and his hand on your shoulder stops you. “You heard the rumors about them right?” “Rumors?” He huffs. “Jesus you really don’t get out do you? Basically everyone is saying they hate Northsider’s don’t be surprised if they call you out.” “I’ll keep that in mind, you wave at Betty who scoots to make room for you. You order a shake and wait, listening to Jughead explain about the Serpents. You know most of them; you’re not surprised that Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea seem to be Jughead’s go-to group. They were always the kindest out of all of them. You’re nervous about school on Monday but try your best to shake it off, nothing had changed about besides where you lived.

You’re sitting in the student lounge, half draped over one of the arm chairs when you hear the doors open and see a few of the student’s rush out to watch the Southsider’s, they’re led by Jughead, not a surprise but you easily spot Sweet Pea, his neck tattoo fully healed, he’s glaring, and you note how much taller he seems, how his entire body seems hard and tense, most likely muscles coiled under his jacket. You find yourself standing, moving into the fold of leather effortlessly, you’re not sure if any of them recognize you, you can see Jughead’s brow furrow as he catches sight of you, and you dart around to the stairwell hoping he’ll assume you were trying to cross the hallway. You watch peering from the staircase as Veronica and Cheryl keep tension’s rising.

Fangs pulls you into a hug the minute you walk into the student lounge you watch Archie glare and Jughead tense, you cough slightly, his grip half choking you. Reggie and the other Bulldogs look ravenous, desperate for an excuse to fight. “Fucking hell, it’s been at least two years Y/N.” “Let her go.” Archie doesn’t even look up; you can hear the snarl under Fang’s breath. “Fuckin’ Northsider.” He turns sitting back down after Jughead shoots him a look. You smile again trying to convince yourself of something before you feel Fang’s hand on your shoulder. “Your grandparent’s said your mom took you with her to California. We didn’t know.” His voice is soft; you know Sweet Pea doesn’t know you’re here from his tone. “My grandparent’s said they’d send me with my mom if I went back.” You shrug sinking into the couch leaning on him. “How’s Riverdale then?” You laugh questioning him, he snorts shaking his head. “They poisoned you yet?”

You wake up before your alarm as usually pulling on your running gear and leaving a note on the hall table as you jog to school. A warm up before the coach makes you run laps and do hurdles. You don’t notice Archie or the rest of the team. You don’t notice the Serpent’s a dark blur as you run. You don’t have to close your eyes to forget, the blur from your own motion doing the work for you. You don’t need to think of anything besides putting one foot in front of the other; you couldn’t even if you wanted to. You finish another lap, watching as the coach signals for you to take five. You’re stretching confused when Archie doesn’t move over, you turn looking for him, spotting Sweet Pea and him slightly too close to be friendly. You start to walk over, watching Fangs holding Sweet Pea back. You hang back close enough to hear, but enough to not be noticed for the moment. “Hey calm down. What happened?” Fangs asks, you know he’s spotted you but doesn’t give it away. Archie rolls his eyes, Reggie and Veronica eyeing Sweet Pea with distain. Jughead arches an eyebrow. “He’s a Southsider, hates us anyways. We didn’t do anything.” Archie spits. “You have no idea what the Northsider’s have done, what they’ve taken from us, from me.” He glares face blank except for the rage behind his eyes. You watch Jughead shove him back shaking his head. “Sweet Pea let it go, it’s not his fault.” Sweet Pea turns his glare sinking on his face as he casts an angry look back to Archie. You look down to your phone, a message lighting up the screen.

-Pop’s half six. - You furrow your brow at the odd number, laughing when you realize the snake emoji means Fang’s must’ve gotten your number from someone. You’re only slightly early, sitting at a booth keeping your hood up as you cast glances out the window. You can hear a motorcycle pulling up and you wait for Fang’s to walk through the door, you try to hide the gasp when Sweet Pea walks through instead, looking almost in pain as he steps farther into Pop’s. He’s looking for someone glancing back at his phone frowning; you knit your eyebrows together as yours lights up.

-Change of snakes ;D- You roll your eyes and wait, Sweet Pea looks likes he’s trying his best to bury the nerves he’s feeling as he sits down in front of you. “Hey Fangs told me I was supposed to meet him here, but you’re his replacement?” He sounds nervous, his voice catching at the end of his question, just how you remember it. You tug your hood down; offer a half smile at his shock. “Still a Serpent then?” You nod at his jacket, at the tattoo on his neck, fully healed and exposed. Your fingers hover over it, before you pull back, his hand catching yours. “You can touch it, won’t hurt.” You nod fingers ghosting over it; he swallows glancing towards the door before the waitress sets a shake in front of you with two straws. Sweet Pea’s face pinks slightly and you laugh. “Fangs idea of helping you settle in then?” You speak between laughs. He nods shaking his head. “I didn’t know.” You offer a half smile.

“It’s okay, my grandparents said if I tried to contact any of you again I’d have to move to California with my mom. It was hell just getting my tattoo.” His head jerks up and his eyes narrow. “Your what?” You smirk, pulling your skirt up showing him the serpent tattoo that sits on the upper part of your inner thigh. “Pretty isn’t it.” “When did you-?” He shakes his head glaring. “Forget it.” He stands shoving himself backwards and out of Pop’s leaving you staring after him, scrambling to pay as you rush outside.

“Sweet Pea! Hey. What happened?” “You went an joined the Serpents and didn’t have the decency to let me know? Not even a note to get passed along?” You swallow shaking. “Did you miss the part where-“ “No did you miss the part how the serpent’s stay together, that we’re a family? You left. You abandoned everyone, you-.” He throws his hands up glaring at you. “You left everyone. You didn’t leave any trace behind, your trailer was empty by the end of the day, you abandoned everything! You abandoned the Southside! You left! You left me. You left me Y/N.” You take a step back and how heartbroken he looks about to step forward before you spot Reggie out of he corner of your eye.

“Y/N, this Southsider bothering you?” He asks looking from Sweet Pea to you. “No Reggie it’s fine, really we’re-“ “I’m leaving don’t get your panties in a knot Mantle, I won’t hurt your precious Northside princess.” He mocks growling and pulling out of the parking lot letting his bike roar to life.

“Heard you and Sweet pea got into a fight? I thought you were his girl?” Fangs lounges on the bleachers as you run the track. You don’t answer shaking your head and continuing to run. Fang jumps from the bleachers, effortlessly keeping up with you. “Come on Y/N you can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for him still?” You swallow shaking your head. “Doesn’t matter how I feel, I’m a Northsider now, scum of the earth according to him.” “Come on Y/N he doesn’t think not about you.” You slow to a jog as you finish your next lap. “Of course he does, last night when we were in Pop’s he got so angry I had a Serpent tattoo, said that I abandoned everyone, that I abandoned him. Did he really think I wanted to?” Fangs looks helplessly at you shaking his head. “Y/N he didn’t mean it like that, I’m sure..” You huff, turning towards the locker room. “Sure sounded like that.”

You duck behind the locker room door peeling your track clothes off and changing into your regular clothes. “Oh my god, you’re one of them!” You turn confused to Cheryl who glares. You sigh pulling your jeans up to cover your Serpent tattoo. “Yeah I-“ “You’re just Southside trash like the rest of them. You were lying the entire time you’ve been here. Who knows what you’ve been doing, or dealing behind closed doors.” She scoffs stepping in front of you. She offers you a snide glance and you don’t hesitate to push her against the lockers, nails digging into her shoulders. “Listen Northsider, if we’re playing sides here you’re more of a drug pusher than I am, what with Daddy’s precious side business.” You shove her back before grabbing your bag and walking out of the locker room.

You’re surprised you make it to lunch without getting called into the principal’s office but when you sit down in the student lounge, and the Bulldogs leer from the corners do you understand. Jughead appears shaking his head and beckoning you with his hand. “Since you’re Serpent you’re my responsibility. What you- where are you going?” Jughead shouts after as you turn away. “According to your right hand man, I’m just a Northside princess.” You spit out and vanish through the doors.

Your sitting in Pop’s curled into the back of one of the booths as far away from the door and the windows as you can get, nursing a milkshake and a basket of fries, waiting. It takes only an hour for Sweet Pea to walk through the doors. He sits down scowling. “Heard you threatened Cheryl, aren’t we supposed to be getting along with the Northsider’s?” “I’m not a Southsider anymore though.” You hiss back. He nods; he pays for your shake pulling you along towards the door. “Where are we-“ “Mine.” He states tugging you along to his bike.

It takes minutes to get to the front of his trailer; you’re not surprised at how everything looks the same, from the door to his bed. You stand nervously as he steps past you and pulls on your arm sitting you on the bed, knee bumping yours. “What was that argument the other day really about?” Your hand settles over his knee, his hand over yours. “You should have said something, should have let me know.. All these Northsider’s got to spend years with you.. They take everything. That’s all Northsider’s do to us.” “I know Sweets, technically I’m a Northsider. What happened while I was gone? What did they take?” You pull back as his hand moves from yours gripping against his stomach, trying to keep himself together. Your hand brushes the back of his hair, and his neck.

“Sweet Pea?” He doesn’t say anything, pulling you against his chest, sucking in a breath and sighing. You don’t say anything about the tears you can feel against your head, simply holding him as tight as you can manage. “I’m here, I’m back. It’s okay Sweets I’m still your girl, still yours.” He nods shaking only slightly, the only sign he’s upset as he rubs his face with a spare shirt from his bed. He sighs kissing your forehead before moving back to your lips. You hover your hand nervous about touching him, expecting bruises and blood spatter from his initiation. You smile hopefully, your hand finding its way around his neck as he pulls you closer to him. “Feels familiar yeah?” He laughs you smile back at him. “Not too familiar, we’ve both changed. Two years is quiet a while yeah?” He swallows glancing towards the door. “You should head home, it’s late, the Southside isn’t safe for a Northsider this late.” “Sweet pea.” You choke slightly feeling tears well up.

“You should go Y/N. can’t have Reggie or any of the other Northsider’s worry about their princess.” He shoves you off slightly and you stumble gripping back at his arm as he turns from looking at your face. “Sweets? Please can I stay? Please.” You can see him swallow, hands shaking. “Y/N, please. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

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[vennilavee]

to build a home - ch 3

from dusk till dawn

attack on titan masterlist

check out this story on ao3

Pairing: levi x reader (attack on titan)

Summary: a modern au where you and levi both work for the Survey Corps, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the youth of the Underground District.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, harassment, smut- 18+!!!

Word Count: ~8800

A/N: there is smut, mentions of harassment (in a flashback) and kenny makes an appearance! ENJOY THIS IS 18+

***

“Why do I have to go?” You groan, rubbing your face, “Isn’t it Hange’s turn to go? Or Levi’s? Anyone but me? Can’t we all go together?”

“I don’t think all of us need to go for this one,” Erwin offers, “And it would be a good learning opportunity for the new hires. You can pick one or two of them to accompany you.”

“Lucky me,” You mutter, glancing at Levi. He’s looking at you with a small upturned smirk, clearly gloating at Erwin’s specific insistence that you go.

“These are all the rich people that you have the most experience with,” Erwin explains and you groan again, “They’re your favorite people, remember?”

You glare daggers at him when he grins at you.

“So now I have to babysit the rich guys and the new kids?” You say without any real heat in your voice.

“Careful. You’re starting to sound like Levi,” Erwin says, grin still plastered on his stupidly handsome face.

“God forbid,” You throw your hands up in the air, “We’re showing up in a limo and everything will be on the company card.”

“I expect nothing less,” Erwin confirms.

“Good, you know me so well.”

***

The door to Levi’s office is closed and locked, because you’re trying to convince him to come to the ball with you. Your eyes are dark and coy, lips only a breath away from his, and Levi could scoff. But he’s enjoying your groveling.

“You can hold your own with them,” Levi says, poking your forehead, “You know you can.”

“Of course I can,” You sigh, “Is it so much to ask for you to come with me just because I want you to?”

Your hands are flat on his chest and Levi tugs your wrists into his, rubbing circles. You already see the agreement on his face, in the turn of his lips.

“Not at all,” Levi promises, “I’ll tell Erwin I’ll be coming as your plus one.”

As if he could ever say no to you. As if he could ever say no to a night of being on your arm, both of you dressed to the nines. Even if that meant listening to rich men and women speak to you both in a way that annoys him to no end, in a way that makes your blood burn.

You both usually manage to make nights like this fun. He’s sure you have something up your sleeve. A memory of the first time Erwin had assigned you both to one of these donor’s galas resurfaces, maybe from ten years ago at this point-

Levi had barely paid you any mind, and you were quite annoyed with it all. You didn’t know why Erwin thought this was a good idea, pairing you up with him to tag team this gala.

You would probably have more success on your own anyway. Since you would be focused and your thoughts wouldn’t be filled with ire for the man who was accompanying you.

But just because he doesn’t pay you any mind doesn’t mean that he wasn’t a gentleman. He held doors for you and had even gotten you both a drink as soon as you had entered the ballroom.

There’s no way he could’ve known that you needed something to hold in settings like this to stave off your anxiety.

You had offered him a smile and a ‘thanks’, to which he had waved off. You had wanted to tell him that he looked nice, but refrained from doing so when he seemed to not even want to look at you.

What an ass. That’s okay, you’ll pretend like it doesn’t irk you. That one of your coworkers who you’ve worked with for as long as you’ve been part of the Survey Corps seems to not even want to breathe in the same general vicinity as you.

You had only just gotten his phone number, and you’ve worked with him for almost five years now.

With a scoff, you tell him that you’ll go and mingle with the crowd. You advise him to do the same and he has the gall to roll his eyes at you.

Fine. Two can play at that game.

He dislikes these events, but he knows how much it benefits the organization to get into the pockets of these rich types. Knowing that their money was benefiting something good for the Underground soothed their egos, after all. He gets frustrated when he sees these people talk about themselves like they're something to be worshipped for a simple donation. Maybe simple is the wrong word. But to Levi, spending the time with the kids meant just as much.

Considering that he was one of them.

But as Erwin often says- they need both to function. They need the resources and they need interest.

Levi hates this. Making small talk with people. Specifically, making small talk with people who don’t give a shit about him. Or you. Or anything outside of the walls of their unattainable realities. He decides to keep to himself and watch you plaster a sweet, unassuming smile that nearly makes his skin crawl. Because with that smile, you could convince anyone to do anything.

Him included. Probably.

You place calculating touches over the shoulders or forearm of whoever you’re talking to, bursting out in laughter at the perfect time, and Levi wonders when and how you got so good at this. When and how you got so good at schmoozing.

No wonder Erwin prefers that you come to these galas. You’ve got these fuckin’ losers eating out of the palm of your hand so effortlessly. It’s like clockwork- your dark eyes are wide and shining, smile easy and sweet, hands open and friendly.

These people will have nothing but good things to say about you at the end of the night. You had clearly done your homework- you knew who the big families in attendance were and you had their profiles nearly memorized as talking points.

That begs the question- why the fuck was Levi even there then?

You manage to excuse yourself, promising the people around you that you’d be back soon enough. Levi watches your smile fall as you roll your shoulders back. You’re exhausted, things like this clearly took its toll on you.

Levi has a glass of water ready for you.

“Thanks,” You mutter, unable to pull your muscles together for a smile.

“Think you need more than just a water to deal with these fuckers.”

“Tell me about it,” You sigh and then realize it’s the first full sentence he’s said to you all night, “Gonna go to the bar. You want somethin’?”

He shakes his head and you shrug, heading to the other side of the room. Levi watches you walk away and picks up on the tension building in your shoulders.

Your cheeks are beginning to hurt from all of the forced smiles, forced laughter, and forced conversations. You want to go home, but you have a duty to fulfill. After you order a drink, you find yourself in conversation with two women, asking you about what it was like to work in the Underground.

It’s one of the few genuine questions you’ve received, and yet you’re almost too drained to answer. One of the women leans in closer to you, nose only millimeters away from yours.

“You’re somethin’ else aren’t you? Survey Corps finest and all,” She muses, “Erwin only sends his best to these things.”

“Uh,” You reply, your head suddenly filled with air. You back away a step, but she’s somehow closer to you than before. Her fingers dance over your bare arm and you reflexively yank your arm closer to you but she pays no mind to your reluctance.

“His prettiest, too,” She says and you wish you would melt into the floor. Away from her. Away from this.

“Can’t you tell when you’re making someone uncomfortable?” A voice comes from your right and you can barely hear it over the slamming of your heart against your ribcage. It’s Levi and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Or do you have a stick so far up your ass that you can’t tell what’s right in front of you?” Levi continues easily, ignoring your wide eyes and the woman’s flabbergasted look.

Levi stands next to you, nearly shielding you with his body.

“Do you even know who I am?” She says rudely, arms crossed across her chest. As if she hadn’t just touched you with those same fingers.

“No,” Levi says in his bored tone, “Don’t really care.”

“Levi, let’s go. It’s fine,” You whisper, trying to plead with him.

“You won’t get my money then-”

“We don’t fuckin’ want your shitty money,” Levi says coldly, already turning his back on them and you follow him. He’s walking fast and you have to call out to him to wait up for you at the coat check. Your head is spinning, a sure sign of a headache that will be coming.

“Which coat is yours?” Levi asks once you catch up.

“That one,” You point to the black peacoat that you want nothing more than to bury yourself in. You stay silent as you walk to the entrance, mindlessly scrolling on your phone and texting Erwin that you’ll be heading home.

“Tell me that was the first time,” Levi says, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” Comes your eloquent answer.

He raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Oh. Uh… It happens sometimes,” You shrug, “Doesn’t really get too far. These rich types just like what they can’t have.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m gonna kill Erwin,” He mutters.

“Why? He didn’t do anything.”

“It’s not worth it. Do you think it’s worth it?” Levi asks, more emotion in his voice than you’ve possibly ever heard before.

“Levi,” You murmur, “It’s fine. Just drop it.”

He looks like he wants to protest but he abides by your request. Levi can’t get your hesitance, your fearful eyes, your flinch out of his head. It reminds him too much of his mother, and he can’t get it out of his head.

Levi takes a cab home with you, telling the cab driver to stop at your apartment first then his. The ride is mostly silent, save for the cab driver’s small talk. Your hands are twisting in your lap as you look out of the window.

“Hey,” You murmur, “I’m glad we’re coworkers. Friends, even.”

“Tch,” Levi replies easily, “Don’t get any ideas.”

But you smile at him and Levi doesn’t look away. He has to make sure that the look that reminds him of his mother is gone.

***

Tonight’s gala is at the castle in Wall Sina. Coming here still puts a bad taste in your mouth, but it’s not so hard to manage as it was before. The decorations are more tasteful than they usually are, bronze and blue streamers and banners hanging throughout the large ballroom.

“How are we supposed to blend in here?” You hear Jean mutter under his breath.

“By getting that stick out of your ass and mingling,” Levi replies easily, shooting a sideways glance.

“It’s not so bad,” You muse, “It’s not so bad now . Just be yourself, Jean. These people love talking about themselves. Just charm them. From what I hear, you’re pretty good at that.”

Levi rolls his eyes at Jean’s surprised expression.

“C’mon, Jean. We can go talk to that noble family over there,” You suggest, looking expectantly at him.

“What about Ca-, I mean Levi?” Jean asks.

“Levi has his own list of people Erwin wants him to talk to,” You wink at him and Levi rolls his eyes.

“Meet you back here in an hour or so.”

***

A voice that you haven’t heard in years breaks your reverie, your heart sputtering as you turn around to face him. You try to face him as neutrally as you can, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he bothers you.

“Kenny,” You breathe, surprise morphing into irritation, “Why are you here?”

“What, I can’t check in on my favorite nephew and niece to be?” He smirks in that way that you know gets under Levi’s skin.

“He’s not- we’re not-” You sigh, cutting yourself off, “You shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t want to see you.”

“He’s playing hard to get, huh?” Kenny says, lips twitching and eyes trained on you. You feel exposed, as if he’s burning you from the inside out but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. His cool, grey eyes are unforgiving but you hold his gaze. He seems satisfied with his assessment of you and you pretend like your skin isn’t crawling.

You’ve never liked Kenny. Even if he wasn’t such a dick to Levi, you’re certain you wouldn’t like him.

“I said he doesn’t want to see you,” You repeat firmly. The longer he stands in front of you, the more disgusted you become.

“Aww, he doesn’t want to see his ol’ man?” Kenny pouts, “I’m sure I’ll run into him at some point. Give him my best will you?”

“Wait,” You call out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Why are you here? I haven’t seen you in, what, four years?”

“You miss me, sweetheart?” He grins wolfishly and you visibly recoil, “This whole thing. I’m one of the people they’re honoring.”

“Oh, really? This is for donors, for good, upstanding people of Wall Rose and Wall Sina who give money and resources to help us-”

“I’m hurt that you don’t see me as one of those good, upstanding people.”

“Kenny,” You scoff, “ Good and upstanding isn’t in your fuckin’ vocabulary.”

“Ouch,” Kenny says, “You kiss Levi with that mouth?”

You swear you’re about to lunge at him, hands ready to throttle his neck and wipe the stupid grin off of his face. But then you feel Levi’s presence before you see him and his hand brushes against yours. In an attempt to reassure you. He doesn’t look at you, only concentrating his gaze upon Kenny.

His uncle. Uncle Kenny.

“Oi, Levi. Lookin’ the same as ever,” Kenny drawls and you see red.

“Shut up,” You hiss, “Shut the fuck up -”

Levi quiets you with a look before turning back to Kenny. He’s quiet for a moment, as if he can’t believe that his Uncle Kenny is standing in front of him.

“You’re here because of the weapons business you have,” Levi says, voice perfectly even. Only you can catch the small inclination of fury beneath layers of iciness.

“You somehow wormed your way in with these people. Convinced them that you’re like them,” Levi continues with piercing eyes, “You’re not. You’re a weasel. A shitty little weasel with no place here. You’re nothing like them. At least they can sleep at night, but you? You don’t deserve to.”

Before Kenny can say anything, Levi’s turned his back on him and you walk side to side with him. Tension radiates off of him in waves as he stews in his quiet anger and you let out a soft sigh.

“Levi,” You murmur, “Come with me.”

You touch the inside of his wrist and he follows you to an empty room. Boxes upon boxes sit on the sides of the walls. The room is illuminated by drowning sunlight creeping in through a window. You lock the door behind you and take his hand, drawing circles in the inside of his wrist.

“Levi,” You whisper again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He says nothing in reply, only looking at you with that same piercing gaze. Iciness has chipped away from the corners of his eyes, and instead he just looks lost for a moment. It disappears as soon as it comes, but you’re sure it’s a look he wore often when he was a kid.

“I’ll tell Erwin we have to leave,” You say, “He’ll understand, Levi. It’s not worth it.”

His eyes flash at you but you stand your ground.

“Do you want to stay?” You ask, sensing his hesitancy, “We can leave, Levi. We can go home.”

Levi pulls you in without a word and presses his face into the crook of your neck. His breaths are heavy against your skin, trying to calm himself down with your woodsy scent. You run your fingers through his undercut and over the base of his neck, lightly scratching with your freshly done nails.

You just want him to feel safe and you know he doesn’t. Not when Kenny is around.

It’s a few minutes before Levi speaks again, and his voice is even but tight.

“I need to know why he’s here. And how.”

“Levi,” You say softly, cupping his cheek, “Does it matter?”

“Yes,”  He says sharply, turning his icy gaze to you. Levi winces when he sees you pull your hand back in alarm. He reaches for your hand again, rubbing circles over your thumb.

“He raised me,” Levi says, “I need to know.”

You nod, eyes round with understanding. But you see a crack through his armor and you press your forehead to his, allowing his shaky breaths to fall onto you.

“Why is he here?” He whispers, eyes trained on yours. You hear the silent question- why is he here now? Why wasn’t he here before? Levi pulls you closer to him by your waist, hands firm and searching for comfort.

“I don’t know, Levi,” You murmur, “But I’ll kick his ass outta here, you know that. If he even looks at you the wrong way-”

Levi cuts you off with a kiss, pouring all of his frustrations, his anguish, his love for you and for life into you. Your startled gasp is muffled, fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“I know,” He whispers when he pulls away, “Saw you about to throttle him earlier. Who do you think you are?”

Levi’s offers you a crooked smile and you press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Kenny Ackerman’s niece to be, apparently.”

“Is that what he said?” Levi says mildly. You hum and Levi pulls you closer for another stolen kiss. He breathes compliments into your skin with his lips and with featherlike touches of his fingers. You coax his nerves out of him, whispering honeyed promises with your tongue and your touch to his warmed skin.

“We should go,” Levi mutters, pulling away, taking in your heaving chest and swollen lips, “Before people notice that we’re gone.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip and you nod reluctantly.

“Or we could stay here and make out for the rest of the night,” You protest feebly, already smoothing your dress out and taking his arm as he leads you out of the room.

“We have family business to attend to.”

***

You keep sneaking glances at Levi, unsure of what he’s thinking. You want to hold his hand and rub his back but refrain from doing so. Instead, you reach under the table and touch the palm of his hand to reassure him and before you can pull away, he holds on to your fingers. He’s rigid in his seat, face betraying no trace of emotion. But you know better.

Levi tenses up immediately when Kenny walks across the stage to receive his commendation for being such an esteemed donor. Kenny spots him immediately in the crowd, narrowing his eyes with a smug smirk.

Poor Jean. He probably has no idea what’s going on. A drop of guilt blooms in your chest. He’s supposed to be here to learn. You mentally promise to make it up to him.

Jean looks at you, then Levi, then the stage. He’s no fool- he can tell how tense the air has become. There’s a crease in Levi’s brow that he’s never seen before.

You’re certain you’ll all receive a scolding from Erwin, but at this point, you truly do not care.

***

“I’ll get the car keys from the valet,” Levi promises, “It’ll take a second.”

His thumb brushes your chin and you nod. He didn’t want to wait for valet to bring his car around, he wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he could. Even if that meant going on a wild goose chase for his car within the parking lot.

“Wait,” You reach for him, “What about Jean? The least we can do is take him home.”

Levi groans and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine,” He sighs, “I’ll look for him inside. If I don’t find him in a minute, I’m leaving his ass here.”

You stifle a laugh but nod at him. He leaves you with his blazer when he sees goosebumps on your skin as well as another brush of his thumb against your chin. You admire him from behind, the way his navy colored waistcoat hugs him. As you’re tugging his blazer on and crossing your arms for warmth, you see Jean walking out of the entrance. You’re about to text Levi and tell him that you found Jean, but then you see Kenny following him outside and you swallow.

You thought you could make a getaway without running into Kenny once more. The number of times you’ve seen him tonight is already one too many. Dread fills you, leaving you rooted on the spot as he approaches you with his cool, unassuming smirk.

“You could knock someone dead with that look,” Kenny muses, “I suppose that’s one of the many reasons why my nephew is with you, huh?”

You say nothing as your cheeks flare.

“The silent treatment? That’s not very nice…”

He’s close enough to you that you can see the steel of his eyes. It’s the same steel in Levi’s eyes and you swallow your nerves once more to face him.

“Don’t talk to me about being nice, Kenny,” You scoff, “What do you want from me? What do you want from him?”

“Nothin’,” Kenny shrugs, “Can’t I just say hello to my family? See how everyone’s been?”

“No,” You say bluntly, “Leave us alone, Kenny.”

Jean is nowhere to be seen and you breathe a minuscule sign of relief. You don’t want him to listen to this.

You try to move away from him and get back inside the venue, but he grabs your shoulder. Your head snaps back in surprise and then irritation. Shrugging your shoulder out of his grip, you step closer to him. Close enough that he takes a step back.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ touch me again, Kenny,” You seethe, “You don’t need to worry about Levi beating your ass. I’ll break your wrist on my fuckin’ own.”

To your surprise, he laughs.

“She’d like you, you know. Kuchel,” Kenny laughs, sudden fondness in the lines of his eyes. He pokes your forehead, almost teasing and you ache for Levi. This was the man who raised him. And then left him when he was barely a teenager.

“Leave us alone, Kenny,” You murmur, taking a step back, “If he wants to see you, he will. But leave us alone until then.”

“He’s doing okay?” Kenny asks, and you see a familiar crack in his armor. It reminds you of Levi, when he lets his guard down and allows the perceived luxury of vulnerability.

“Yeah,” You reply, “He’s doing okay.”

“You’ll take care of him,” He says, his voice hard. Steel returns to his eyes, but you’re used to it.

“Always,” You reply without missing a beat. Your heart is out in the open on your sleeve, bleeding and beating for Levi. You wonder if Kenny can sense all of the things you want to say to him.

Kenny pokes your forehead once more, eyes lingering on your face. As if searching for a shred of doubt or reason for disbelief.

As if he has a right to.

***

Levi was about to give up on looking for Jean when he bursts into the entrance as if he’s seen a ghost. His eyes are wide and he sprints to Levi when he finally spots him across the room.

“Spit it out, Jean,” Levi says with a raised eyebrow.

“Some guy- There’s some guy out there,” Jean pants, “Looks kinda like you except smiles more. But in a scary way. Talking to her. Figured you should know before I intervened.”

It’s not fair for Levi to be annoyed that Jean left you, but he closes his eyes in irritation.

“And you left her there with him ?” Levi asks, walking long strides to get to you.

“All due respect, sir, but she can handle herself,” Jean says easily and Levi stops to give him a look.

“You questioning me, Kirstein?”

“Well, no, sir-”

“Shut up, Kirstein.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go find my car, Kirstein. Pull up to the front when you do,” Levi says, tossing him his keys. Jean looks flabbergasted for a moment but sprints off to the parking lot.

Of course Levi knows you can handle yourself with Kenny. He just wishes you didn’t have to.

***

Defiance is written across your features, in the furrow of your eyebrows and the crossing of your arms.

He sees Kenny poke your forehead and he sees you wince. It’s an action that reminds him of when he was young, when Kenny would approve of something he did. He would always receive a poke to the forehead as a thank you, or as a job well done.

Seeing Kenny touch you, no matter how small or fleeting, sends him into a rage that he’s been struggling to contain all evening. Your dark eyes widen when Levi roughly clasps Kenny’s shoulder to pull him back and away from you.

He’s so close to the edge, about to fall off an invisible precipice and you both know it. Levi pulls his arm back behind him as his hand curls into a fist, just like the way Kenny taught him all those years ago, but before he can land a solid punch on Kenny’s sneering face. Something pulls him back.

“Levi,” You whisper, your arms tight around him, “Do you need this, Levi? Is this what you need?”

Smoke slowly lifts from his eyes as he focuses on your quiet breaths against him and your fingers tracing his chest. The sound of his blood flooding to his ears quiets with each breath of yours. Levi un-clenches his fist and instead, pushes Kenny away in the same breath. He looks at Kenny long and hard, his eyes calming from a raging, stormy sea. Your cheek is still pressed against his back, arms locked around his waist.

Levi offers him nothing more than a scoff and turns his back on him. You peel yourself from his back, giving him a small smile and dare to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Let’s go home, Levi,” You murmur.

“Kirstein’s getting the car,” Levi says and you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“Really? I’m surprised,” You muse, “You must trust him.”

“He wishes,” Levi scoffs.

Just as you’re about to comment that you would be surprised if he ends up finding it in this sea of cars, he honks at both of you.

Jean can tell that something has happened, from the tired look on your face and the tension in Levi’s shoulders. He hops out of the driver’s seat when Levi barks at him and you scold Levi for his tone.

“Thank you, Jean,” You murmur, “You’re a good man.”

You kiss his cheek lightly in gratitude and Jean feels his face heat up. He touches the spot you had kissed in wonder.

“Oi, Kirstein! If you don’t get in the car in the next five seconds, I’m leaving your ass here,” Levi threatens with a glare and you stifle a laugh behind your hand in the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet, save for music playing as background noise and your small talk with Jean. Jean notices you looking over to Levi every so often, gazing at him as if you’re looking for something.

“So,” Jean says, to try to lighten the tension, “Do you come to these often? Do you come together? ”

Levi looks like he’s about to say something scathing to Jean but you send him a sizzling glance that keeps him quiet.

“For the last nearly six years… If that’s often, then yes,” You reply, watching in amusement as Jean’s brown eyes widen in shock.

“Six years?!”

“Close your mouth, Jean. You look like a horse,” Levi says plainly and you roll your eyes.

Jean wonders if anyone at all will believe him when he tells them about this evening.

***

As soon as you kick your heels off of your aching feet while leaning against the front door of your apartment, Levi’s arms are around you. Inhaling you in deeply. You relax in his hold, leaning your head against his shoulder as his fingers trace over the delicate veins of your neck.

You can sense his need through the rough calluses of his hands.

Levi tilts your jaw towards his lips, eyeing you for a few moments. Your honeyed eyes are swirling, patient and waiting for him. Your lips are slightly parted and he can’t take it anymore- he can’t take how you still look at him like that. As if he’s pulled the stars from his bleeding heart. His blood has turned to fire, eyes molten and smoky as he pulls you in for a rough, searing kiss. 

You turn in his hold, arms wrapping around his head as fingers slide through his inky hair. Levi gives you half a second to breathe before he’s pressing another kiss to your lips and swallowing any thread of a thought that you have. He doesn’t realize how tightly he’s gripping your hips and your soft sounds hardly register in his mind. He hears you say something, but ignores it, in favor of pushing his lips to your neck. Your sweet spot, the spot that makes your knees go weak. He pulls a small sound from your throat, barely aware of your nails scratching his chest from over his clothes.

Then he hears your voice again.

“Levi,” You say softly, barely above a whisper, “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, muffling your concern with the cool press of his mouth to yours. Your hands are firm against his chest this time, pushing him away lightly. Just a few breaths away. Not too far.

“Levi,” You press, “What do you need Levi?”

He can’t take the sweet sound of his name on your lips. The way it sounds like honey, dripping from your tongue and into the air. His eyes are uncharacteristically wild, tendrils of vivid affection swirling together.

“You,” He finally says raspily, “It’s always you.”

You give him a small smile with glowing cheeks, and he wants to drown in your adoration.

“C’mere, Levi.”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, tucking his face in your neck. You rub his back gently while your other hand runs through his hair the way he likes.

“Today was a long day,” You breathe into his ear, nipping his earlobe lightly. He hums into your neck, his breaths evening out. You pull his dress shirt out from the hold of his pants while still rubbing circles over his back.

“Did you see Jean’s face? Poor kid,” You laugh lightly, “Think he’ll come to one of these things again?”

Your honeyed voice anchors him, and he wants to sink into you.

“He’s a good kid,” You continue, “Like you. Like I know you were. Like I know you are. I know your heart. You gave it to me, remember?”

You snake your hand to his chest and lightly scratch at his left side.

“I need you, Levi,” You murmur, tipping his chin from the crook of your neck to meet his eyes, “Can you feel how much?”

You move his hand first to your chest, where he can feel your heart beating fast. Like a hummingbird. His gaze is sharp, eyes boring into yours and you don’t falter. You lift the skirt of your dress to your waist with one hand and take his hand, allowing him to brush his fingers against your panties.

Levi’s throat goes dry at your unwavering, hazy eyes and rubs you over your panties. He swallows when a soft sigh escapes your pretty lips.

“You gonna do somethin’ about it or what, Levi?” You drawl, a smirk tugging at your lips. He sees the plea in your eyes, your plea for him to come back to you.

His thumb circles your panties once more, avoiding where you need him the most. Your smirk crumbles into a pout quickly and you try to buck your hips into his hand to get him to touch you. You watch him rub circles over your panties, finally getting the friction you so crave. He noses your neck, pressing his searing lips to yours fiercely.

His eyes aren’t so wild anymore, but his touches are.

You fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, fingers slipping with every touch of his lips to yours. You’re uncoordinated and clumsy, getting frustrated with yourself. How is he so good at doing things with his eyes closed?

Levi senses your frustration and lets out a breathy chuckle. His hand is still under your dress, lazily teasing you’ve and you finally open your eyes to unbutton his waistcoat and dress shirt with shaky fingers.

You’re suddenly taken back to a memory of the first time you had seen him. You were one of his firsts and he was far from yours. He wanted to do right by you, and it took time for him to learn what you liked and how to please you and make you sigh in that sweet, breathy way.

Levi pushes your panties to the side, thumb circling your bundle of nerves. You gasp in surprise at the sudden but welcome warmth.

You manage to pull his shirt off of his shoulders, leaving his chest bare in front of you. Hunger floods your senses, hunger for this man in front of you. For your man, who has given you his heart despite his heart being so heavy for so long.

You feel your panties being pushed down your legs when Levi crouches on the floor. His fingers squeeze your thighs and your calves lightly as he looks up at you. You step out of your panties as he tugs you by your hands.

“Come here,” Levi mumbles, pulling you into his lap.

Levi reaches behind you to search for the zipper of your dress with his fingers. He peels the dress off of you easily and you can’t say that he’s looking at you like you’re a goddess in his arms because he looks at you like this every day. All the time. But that’s what this look reminds you of. Before, when you were in your early stages of your relationship, it intimidated you. The depth of his devotion.

But now, it surrounds you and you welcome it.

Just before he sets your dress on the couch to keep it off of the floor, you stop him.

“Let me put it in the hamper,” You murmur, “We’ll forget about it and then I’ll wake up in the middle of the night because it’ll be bothering me.”

That’s one of the many reasons that his love for you runs deep. You can keep up with his need for cleanliness. Levi follows you into the bedroom with his shirt, waistcoat and your panties in his hands. And his eyes on the arch of your bare ass and the curve of your spine.

“Give me that,” You say, turning around to take his dress shirt and waistcoat. You place it in the special hamper, the one designated for dry cleaning.

Levi tosses your black panties into your hamper with an unassuming smirk and you can’t help but wonder how a simple action like that turns your stomach over in arousal. Levi pulls you towards him, littering your hips with fleeting touches before squeezing your ass firmly.

His lips are on yours in an instant, pulling you even closer into his chest. Your fingers spread over his scarred shoulder, fingernails pressing into his skin. You pull a groan from him and trail your fingers down his chest. Scratching where you see fit, scratching over the smattering of dark hair leading into his pants.

Levi snakes a hand in between you, fluttering over your chest. His fingers are replaced by his lips quickly, as your breath hitches with each bite of his lips to your skin. You can’t get enough of his mouth on you, or of the way the shadows fall over his broad shoulders and taut muscles. His other hand brushes against your heated center and your hips buck into his hands involuntarily.

You can taste his longing, hidden in the crevices of his lips, the roughness of his touch against you. The way he slots himself with you, molding into every curve of your body. You hear your own soft moans and calls of his name as his lips touch every part of your soul.

Without a word, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you up. His lips are still on your skin, wherever he can reach. You lock your arms behind his head, tugging his hair back tight enough that it pulls him back. An audible groan escapes his throat when you pull at his hair.

Something you had discovered early on that he liked.

He stumbles for just a step before regaining his balance. You let out a breathy laugh into his neck before pressing a kiss there. Then behind his ear. Close to his collarbones. Along the expanse of his chest.

Levi gently drops you to the bed, drinking you in from above with wide eyes. The voracity in his darkened eyes nearly makes you look away but you hold his gaze. He surges forward, unable to fathom another moment of not touching you.

He grinds into you lazily, your bare center seeking more friction than the roughness of his pants.

“Levi,” You nearly whine, pulling at his belt buckle, “Take it off, Levi.”

“ You take it off,” He drawls, voice low. Your heart flutters and your throat goes dry.

You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest and pull him closer to you by his belt. Your movements are slow as you unbuckle his belt and toss it to the floor, and you yank his pants and boxer briefs down in one swift motion.

Levi can’t deny that the way your eyes always widen when you see him strokes his ego.

“Off, Levi,” You say softly and he tosses his pants into his hamper before ducking down to meet your lips- your chest- your navel.

Levi presses a hand to your center and you gasp, the pretty sound floating into the air and reverberating in his ears. He holds your hips steady with his forearm as he circles your clit with his thumb. He hoists your legs over his shoulders while gazing at you with that same tenacious look.

Lust and love mixes together to make your eyes a darkened brown.

You gasp his name breathily, back arching slightly with the first flick of his tongue against your center. He maintains his gaze, eyes piercing into yours and your toes curl at the added intensity. You struggle to keep your eyes open but Levi squeezes your hips every so often as a reminder. He squeezes your breasts, pinching and tweaking.

He pulls his hand away to rub your clit with his thumb as his tongue laps you up. Levi wasn’t always this good with his tongue and with his fingers. It took you both some time to get in sync with each other, in terms of what you both liked.

Time and patience, which you both had infinite amounts of for each other.

Stars are beginning to dot your eyelids, your hands bunching up in the sheets as urgent, broken whispers of his name float into the air. Just as your thighs begin to shake and your toes curl, he pulls his lips away from your aching, empty center and you could scream .

Levi does this often. He brings you to the edge, only to back away. Only to take you there once more. Like clockwork.

The smug smirk on his face makes you want to kiss him. So you do. You pull him into your arms, grinding into his hardened length and hungrily bite his bottom lip. Your stolen release burns in the back of your mind but you give it no attention. Levi groans in pain at your bite and you smile against the kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You lock your legs around his waist, holding him in place and reach in between your bodies to stroke him in your hand. Levi bucks against your hand with a low moan.

“I want you, Levi,” You whisper into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. Warmth pools in his belly at that and he looks dazed for a moment before snapping out of it. Your lips are parted and swollen, brown skin glistening and warm, dark eyes wide and wanting.

“Fuck ,” Levi mutters, “I need to be inside you right now.”

You nod vehemently, parting your legs for him quickly. He looks to your dripping center and guides himself in one swift glide. Both of you groan in unison and Levi stills for a moment when you pull him in for a kiss. You run a hand through his hair, smiling when he groans as you clench around him.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, playfully biting at your shoulder.

“Why? You gonna cum or somethin’?” You tease, earning yourself a squeeze to your hips.

“Shut up.”

Before you can say anything back to him, he lifts himself up over you, arms around your head. His hair falls into his eyes, tickling your heated cheeks and he shallowly thrusts into you. It’s the sweetest burn, the way he fits in you.

Your eyes begin to water when his thrusts get deeper. You subconsciously tilt your head to the side, away from him and Levi kisses your neck. He nudges your jaw with his nose to pull your eyes to him. You crane your neck up to press a kiss to his lips but he pushes himself into you particularly roughly and you moan into his mouth.

Levi pulls you up into his lap, arms tight around your hips and you hum. His lithe fingers are everywhere- cupping your neck, holding your thighs steady on either side of his waist, your scalp.

You’re gasping his name as he pushes into you and murmurs soft notes of encouragement into your neck. He watches as he slides in and out of your wetness with darkened cheeks. Nails scrape his back and he winces for a second but pays it no mind. Your soft breaths and whines of his name against his neck are distracting enough.

Levi rubs your folds lazily as he thrusts up into you. All you see, hear and feel is him and you’re overwhelmed. You raise your head to meet his searing eyes with an arm hooked around his head and sloppily press your lips to his.

Heat pools your belly once more, and you can nearly see stars about to burst behind your eyelids once more. Levi can sense that you’re close, in the way your legs quiver around him and in the way you clench around him. He rubs your clit in tight circles, coaxing you to the edge. Where he’s right there to catch you.

“Good girl,” Levi whispers, and your eyes widen like they always do.

He holds you tightly when you cum with a soft gasp and shaky legs. You’re panting broken notes of his name into his skin. Levi peppers your face with kisses. He’s still inside you and you give him a devilish smile.

You push him down to the bed and dig your nails into his chest teasingly. He knows that look in your eyes all too well. You stretch your torso, your hands skimming your sides and brush your fingers over your clit to tease yourself. Levi groans and plants his hands firmly on your hips. Squeezing your ass and your thighs as he pleases.

“You feel so good, Levi,” You breathe, as if it’s a secret only for his ears. You start to rock against him, hips dragging across his heated skin. The friction from his skin sends a shudder up your spine and Levi slides his hands over your sides before squeezing you.

Levi loves the way your eyes shine with desire and an undercurrent of trust. He loves the way your brown skin glistens with a thin layer of sweat, the way you’re clawing at him for something to hold on to. Levi pulls you close to him, kissing up and down your chest.

You find a rhythm and ignore the way your thighs burn as you take all of him in. The only sounds in the four walls of the bedroom is the sound of your skin slapping on his and his shaky breaths. Levi is always so composed- seeing him come undone by your hands sends another pool of heat into your belly.

“Shit,” Levi groans, throwing his head back and tightening his grip on your thighs. His hooded eyes are trained on you, watching you bounce as your legs slowly begin to tire out. But you’re determined, he can see it in your face. He loves watching you like this- determination and desire mixing together. Levi rubs your clit with his thumb and you gasp, your legs beginning to shake once more. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you flat against him, thrusting into you.

You clench around him without meaning to and he moans breathlessly in your ear, feverishly pressing his lips to your throat to stave off his climax until yours. You can feel how close he is, in his sloppy thrusts, the way his legs jerk against yours and you breathe him permission for him to cum inside of you.

Levi gasps your name into your skin as he cums, his stomach tightening as you feel warmth inside of you and beginning to leak down your thighs. He’s about to pull out but you stop him with a tug of his wrist.

“Stay,” You mumble and he swallows. He’s sensitive, but he stays. He flips you over so you’re under him and rubs at your clit lazily while his lips find your salty skin. Your senses are deliciously overwhelmed as Levi engulfs you.

“Levi,” You nearly cry, water gathering in the corners of your eyes. You’re overwhelmed by the love you have for him, by the love you feel and see in his grey eyes. Your nails are piercing against his bicep but he hardly feels it. You’re so close , and he needs to feel you come apart under him.

Your grip is tight around his arms, lips parted as your back arches when you finally cum for the second time so far.

“Good girl,” Levi murmurs again, kissing your hairline, your heated cheeks and your chin.

You rub your foot up and down his calf with a small smile. You hold him close to you, enjoying his warmth as it lights you up from inside out.

“We should go shower,” You murmur, rubbing a hand over your face.

“Why? You thought we were done?”

“You’re right. How stupid of me,” You muse, earning yourself a pinch to your waist.

“You’ve said worse.”

***

Fatigue settles in your bones after the fourth, or was it fifth, orgasm of the night. Your eyes are heavy, both from the events of the day as well as the events of the night. You hear Levi panting next to you, exhausted as well.

But you can’t rest. Not yet.

“Levi,” You nudge his shoulder, “We have to shower.”

“Give me a minute,” He says hoarsely.

“Can’t believe you seduced me into sex before washing up after the gala. You’ve made me lose my marbles.”

“Me?” Levi says, flabbergasted.

You hum, closing your eyes for a few minutes. You feel Levi’s weight shift and he carries you to the bathroom on shaky legs. Once you’re under the warm water, you groan as it soothes your sore muscles. You feel heavy, but weightless at the same time. Levi holds you up with your back to his chest and washes you down with his shower gel quickly but effectively. It smells just like him and you inhale deeply.

You swear you could fall asleep like this, and Levi knows it. You’re beginning to yawn widely enough that your eyes water. But you open your eyes to take the gel from him and lather him down slowly, taking your time with the dips and crevices of his body.

You even manage to sneak a kiss onto his bruised lips in between.

Levi holds you under the spray of the water for a few moments, with your head over his shoulder and an arm around your waist. His heartbeat is even and steady, so close to lulling you back to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Levi says softly but firmly, “Still have to towel off.”

You give him a noncommittal answer but pull away from him and wait for him to give you your towel. His dark hair is slightly damp, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water and from you . You can’t help but run your fingers through his hair as he wraps a towel around his waist and around you. Your limbs feel pliable, and damn, you are so tired.

Levi holds the implicit, unwavering trust you have for him in the palm of his hands and carries it carefully but confidently. He moisturizes the both of you, knowing that you hate waking up to dry skin.

“Raise your arms,” Levi murmurs and slides a sleep shirt over your head. He pats your head when you look up at him with a sleepy smile and nearly closed eyes.

“C’mon, it’s bedtime for us,” Levi says, carrying you to bed and drawing the covers over both of you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder as a goodnight and wraps himself around you. His legs intertwine with yours, and he draws you close to him. You’re fast asleep in minutes, your hand loose around his.

***

It’s the middle of the night when you wake up to a cold bed. You rub sleepiness out of your eyes and stretch your muscles, feeling every inch of the delicious soreness. Especially in your legs.

A soft but unsurprised sigh leaves your lips when you see the empty bed and the faint glow of the lights in the living room.

Levi is sitting on the couch, scrolling his phone mindlessly. His eyes are tired but you can tell his mind is spinning.

You wordlessly take one of his favorite teacups from the kitchen cabinet and start making tea for him. It’s a teacup that you had bought for him, painted black with gold accents. It reminded you of him.

He lifts his head a little at the scent of his favorite tea.

You bring his teacup and the teapot in a tray to the coffee table and tuck your bare legs under yourself to sit a few inches next to him, unsure if he wants space. When he says nothing for a few minutes, you assume he wants to be alone and you press a kiss to his hair. To leave and go back into the bedroom.

But he tugs your hand gently and so you stay.

“Come back to bed, Levi,” You murmur softly, fingers in his dark strands of hair.

It’s 3:18 AM and Levi drinks his black tea in his overhanded manner, leaning into your touch.

“Can’t stop thinking,” Levi finally says, “About Kenny.”

You’re not surprised.

“He asked me if I would take care of you,” You muse. Tension immediately fills his shoulders but you press your fingers into his muscles to calm him down.

“He told me that your mother would like me.”

Levi cracks a small smile at that.

“I told him to leave us alone, unless you want to see him,” You reply, “Then I told him I’d break his wrist if he touched me again.”

Levi kisses your cheek.

“Do you? Do you want to see him?” You ask, pressing a finger to his cheek.

“I don’t know,” Levi says honestly.

“It’s okay if you do. You don’t need anyone’s permission or justification but your own if you do want to see him,” You say firmly.

“Come with me. If I decide that I want to,” Levi breathes.

“Of course,” You nod determinedly.

He presses his lips to your forehead before leaning his forehead on yours.

“He did this, too,” You murmur, poking his forehead, “Oddly affectionate for a man with asshole tendencies.”

Levi lets out a soft chuckle.

“I saw,” Levi says, “He used to do that when I was a kid.”

“I figured.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, tracing patterns over the scars on his chest. Sleep is threatening to overtake you with the steady hum of his heart against your ear.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.”

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagine #snk imagine

[willcwthewisp]

and the sky is grey | nora, tommy, & willow

PREVIOUSLY: all the leaves are brown PARTIES: @fearfordinner, @wrightnotwrcng, and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Im9ffv1a_N0

At first Nora thought she’d found a like minded friend online. Someone who openly admitted to breaking the law online. Someone else who was aware that White Crest’s police force was a joke. Nora was against the police for multiple reasons; White Crest just happened to have the dumbest police force she’d ever met. She was probably being biased on that. It had taken a bit to track down the online stranger’s home address. Unfortunately for the woman against crime, there was nothing that money couldn’t be. Private investigators were good at their jobs and she was good at handing over boatloads of money to absolutely pointless endeavors. That was how Nora Pine, artist & fear incarnate, ended up outside Willow’s apartment window. The fire escape rattled under Nora’s boots as she climbed up and up. The window slid open easily. Not locked. Sliding in the window, Nora took her first look around and was surprised to find that it looked a lot like her own home. Art and art supplies everywhere. “Cool.”

Willow was sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the state of her apartment and the fact that it was being broken into while Nora began her study of the area. She might have even stayed that way had her local and friendly ghost friend in the form of Kal hadn’t taken it upon himself to try and wake her despite knowing how unreliable her ability to hear him was. “Willow! Willow!” he yelled as loudly as he could, frustrated beyond belief that the medium had chosen this time of all of them to be unable to hear him. “Willow, wake up! Someone’s here! Someone’s coming in!” But it was useless, and the blonde simply rolled restlessly in her sleep as Kal’s efforts persisted. However there was another ghost perched nearby, feet propped up on one of the canvasses he didn’t like nearly so much as the bear one the little artist had painted for him. “I don’t know why you even try!” Tommy chuckled as he watched Kal’s desperate attempts to wake the slumbering woman. “We both know she might as well be dead like us with the way she ignores us. Here- watch!” With that he banged a hand against the nearby dresser, only to be surprised when it actually made a loud and hearable noise. Willow jerked awake, looking around with groggy eyes in an attempt to find the source of the noise.

 “What? ….who?” Her voice was sleepy as she rubbed at her eyes, and though it hadn’t been Tommy’s true intention to wake her, he was more than pleased with the results as he barked out a laugh. “Ha! Did you see that shit? It fuckin’ worked! This is gonna be even better if she’s awake for a break in!” Now all there was to do was sit back, relax, and watch the beautiful series of events and terror unfold.

Nora was not deaf to the cries of the ghosts. With each cry for Willow to wake up Nora moved closer to where the sound was. “Is everything okay in here?” Nora asked upon reaching the threshold of the bedroom. Nora saw two ghosts sitting around a sleeping blonde. She seemed to be moving. “Why do you want her awake?” Nora asked them. She walked closer to the bed, rudely passing right through the legs of the ghost who was disrespecting some art. “Hey your friends think you should wake up now.” Nora said, looking down. “Ghosts are real. If you didn’t know. The library has been lying to everyone about them not being real.” Nora stopped. Now really wasn’t the time to get in her spiel about how ghosts were real. “Nice art by the way. Can I have the studio tour?” Nora was aware that she was speaking more than she normally did. It surprised her to look in on her own emotions and find that she was excited to meet another artist. One who had almost as much canvas, brushes and ghosts as her. 

“Get out!” Kal yelled as Nora made her entrance, hands in front of him as if he could push her away. “Get out!” Unfortunately it seemed the moment of the ghosts’ tangibility had been as brief as the loud thump Tommy had made, and he passed uselessly through the woman. Meanwhile, Tommy’s grin was nearly infectious on his lips as he realized this chick could see him and the other spirit. “Come in! Come in!” he goaded, his own arms making a welcoming motion in towards the center of the room. It was fine if she walked through his legs so long as she was gonna give him a good show. 

Willow’s eyes finally cleared as she heard a foreign voice enter the mix, one she’d assumed was another ghost until she found she could clearly make out the face of a woman standing over her. Her scream was instant, almost as quick as the pulse of energy that ricocheted out from her as she realized a stranger was standing in the middle of her bedroom. Or had been standing in her bedroom. The energy wave sent the woman flying back through the window from whence she’d come, landing her with a heavy thud on the fire escape outside. “Who are you?!” Willow screeched, hands gripping uselessly at her sheets as she frantically searched for something to defend herself with. “What are you doing in my apartment?!” Meanwhile, Tommy’s guffaws of amusement had already left him short of breath, his feet now solidly planted on the ground as things heated up. “Holy shit! Did you know she could do that?” he asked Kal with a hand point in Willow’s direction. “This is gonna be even better than I thought it would be! Hey, come back!” he yelled towards the woman who’d been thrown out the window. He wanted to see that again.

It was noteworthy that one ghost seemed very protective and the other ghost full of mirth. Nora had been turning to look at the distressed ghost, to tell him that it was okay. She wasn’t there to hurt anyone when the breath was stolen from her lungs. Stolen by the violent force propelling her back out the window. Nora thudded against the fire escape ladder. Her back let out a large cracking noise as the tension she’d been holding released with the crack. “Cool.” Nora mumbled. Sure, she was in a little bit of pain but that was to be expected after she was thrown across an apartment and into a fire escape. But there had been the crick in her back for so long she thought she’d never get rid of it. 

Nora climbed back into the window and right back. “That was cool. Can you do it again?” Nora asked while grabbing a pillow from the blonde’s bed and shoving it down the back of her shirt. It’d hurt less that way.  She looked around at the three in the room while she shimmed the pillow down. By the look on everyone’s face she had absolutely no clue which one had done it. Except one of the ghosts had said ‘did she know she could do that.’ Nora’s eyes moved back to the blonde. “Did you know you could do that?” Nora asked her. “I’m Nora by the way. We talked online. About breaking and entering.” 

“Oh God- oh no, oh no.” Somehow this was a nightmare Willow had never even considered. Someone was breaking into her home and she was throwing people? Very possibly breaking them? “Stop! No, that’s my pillow!” Willow cried as she reached out to try and yank the thing back, but it was too late. “Again? What do you mean again? Who are you?! Get out of my home! I don’t want to throw you again!” Unfortunately it seemed the unbridled anxiety racing through her veins had other plans Nora was once again sent soaring through the air. This time the angle launched Nora flying towards a few of Willow’s recently finished pieces, including the grizzly bear she’d finished earlier that day. “Please- please just leave,” the medium practically begged, breaths coming fast and short. “I don’t want to hurt you! And I don’t want you to hurt me!” 

Tommy was a much different story while he watched in absolute awe as the woman came trudging back, asking to be thrown once more. “Fucking superb, you funky little lady!” He got to see someone get thrown not once, but twice? He could only hope he might get to see it a third time. But concern managed to enter his voice as Nora ended up next to his painting. “Hold on! Be careful! That one’s mine,” he said while moving towards the bear portrait. “You wouldn’t wanna mess up such a handsome lookin’ fella would ya now?”

Willow had only just begun to process what it was that Nora had said as she finished her telekinetic throw, and her panicked tones continued. “You’re the girl from the internet?!” Why? Why, had she decided to break into Willow’s home? “I don’t want you to break into my apartment!”

Fear was abundant here. A veritable feast. A full ass eight course meal coming from probably the most scared person Nora had ever met. And Nora had met a lot of scared people in her life. This one, the blonde, just seemed more scared than most. “I’m not going to hurt yo-.” Nora tried explaining but her wish was coming true. Nora’s pillowed back hit the wall with a nice thud. She slid to the ground in a pile of canvases. A ghost, the one who was laughing and not the one who looked like he was about to meet his second death, said something about it being handsome. Nora looked for a moment, just long enough to recognize it as a bear before the blonde was talking again. This was something she’d have to process later. After she was done being thrown repeatedly. 

Nora picked up the canvas and slunk back into the bedroom. “You can invite me next time.” Nora explained, holding the canvas. “And your window was open. Nothing really broke. Besides, it's fun. So I won’t stop.” Nora came closer again sitting on the edge of the bed. “So how do you do it. Throw people?” She asked, then, pretending it was an afterthought she added. “You could do it again if you want. It’s fun.” Really fun. Nora found herself longing to be capable of flight in that moment. A longing she’d never had before. 

“I’m not gonna invite you!” Willow yelled, folding in on herself where she sat on her bed, her arms latching around her knees as she tried to make herself smaller and get as far away from this insane woman as possible. “Not after you came into my apartment without asking! You can’t just do that!” God damn it, her window. She’d been leaving it cracked more often the closer the warmer weather came, letting the freshness of the outside air trickle in whenever she could. After all, she didn’t get much of it anymore seeing as she minimized her time outdoors. That’s generally where all the people were. People who could be touched and thrown and broken. “But I don’t want you in here,” the blonde nearly cried, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to reconcile the fact that she’d now tossed this woman twice, and that she still wasn’t leaving Willow’s apartment. “And that’s- that’s victim shaming!” she managed to get out. “Just because someone’s window is open, doesn’t mean you can go through it! If you leave- if you go, I’ll tell you how I throw people! Not here, though!” The medium clutched desperately to the only thing she seemed to have over Nora, not bothering to consider that she also didn’t want to talk about her telekinetic abilities any time soon. “I don’t want to throw you! That’s how people get hurt! Please...please just leave,” Willow begged, looking as if she might actually start to cry. 

But Tommy had little interest in seeing Nora go. “Nah! Don’t leave! This is great! And she makes you fly! What’s more fun than flying, right?” He wanted to see it again! Plus this was the most interesting that had happened since he’d started following Willow around, and her face looked kinda hilarious when it was all scrunched up like this. “Listen- what other chance are you gonna get to fly?” Tommy asked Nora, crouching a little beside her to look her in the eye while he sent her a manipulative grin. But Kal was having none of it. “Do what Willow says, and get out! Both of you!” He said while pointing between Tommy and Nora. If this new asshole of a ghost was going to disturb Willow, he wouldn’t stand for it. After all she’d been nothing but sweet to him.

“That’s not nice.” Nora mumbled as Willow told Nora she wasn’t going to invite Nora and that she didn’t even want Nora there. It stung a little. Hurtful to say someone wasn’t welcome. How would Willow feel if Willow found out she wasn’t invited to  hang out in her own apartment. She also said she didn’t want to throw Nora. This was getting confusing. If she didn’t want to throw Nora then why had she thrown Nora twice already? Nora couldn’t keep up. Not when there were a lot of people talking at once. Willow, on the edge of tears. The laughing ghost somehow knew Nora was into flying and then the protective ghost was. Well, he was there telling two of them to go. Nora looked down at the canvas in her hand. “I do like flying.” She admitted absently. Her fingers lightly traced the bear on the canvas. She liked that piece of art a lot. An idea suddenly hit Nora. She could turn into a bear! She could show the other woman that she was different just like her and they could be friends and Nora could get the studio tour! 

“I like your bear.” Nora looked up from the canvas, flipping it around to show Willow what piece of art she was talking about. Getting off the bed Nora took off her jacket and boots. She tossed the borrowed pillow back to Willow. “I’m a bear too. Look.” Nora backed away from the bed, checking to make sure she had enough space for the transformation. It happened in an instant. Then there was Nora. Standing as a bear in front of Willow. She let out a friendly little yodel. As bear friends do. 

“You...you like my bear?” Willow managed to say through her panic, nonplussed and confused by the compliment. But what did Nora mean about the fact that she was a bear, too? Tommy, now absolutely certain that Nora had wonderful taste in artwork after seeing her reaction to his portrait straightened as his curiosity piqued. What did she mean by the fact that she was a bear? Certainly he couldn’t have had the absolute earth-shattering luck to stumble upon-

His hopes were answered as a little bear promptly filled the space where Nora had been, and his hands shot above his head in excitement as pure joy filtered through his laughs. “A bugbear! Holy fucking shit, you’re a bugbear! Look! Look!” He continued his display of exuberance with a boyish charm before he too was shifting, letting fur, claws, and teeth take him over as he turned into a behemoth, ghost, grizzly bear. Almost immediately he backed onto his hind legs in a bear welcome, answering Nora’s little yodel with an elated bear chuff and roar. 

Willow was not nearly so fond of seeing a human turn into a bear as Tommy was, and for the third time that night Nora was sent flying out of Willow’s room via mystical means as the medium screamed. Only this time it was in a mass of black fur and beady eyes. Had she ever thrown someone three times in a row? Had she ever thrown something nearly so large as a bear? She wasn’t sure, but as her arms went weak, and her eyes began to droop she was certain that this was how she was going to die. Eaten by a woman who turned into a bear while she couldn’t keep herself awake after expending so much energy through telekinesis.

Nora had come here for Willow but now Nora’s full attention was on the ghost. A bear. A Bugbear. The ghost shouting bugbear. “You’re a bugbear?” Nora tried to ask. It came out as low bear grumbling. But the ghost shifted. The ghost shifted into a bear. A really big bear. Oh god was her bear smaller than average like her height? Despite having been thrown twice before Nora didn’t see it coming. She was too enamoured by the ghost bear in front of her. Nora went flying, shattering the window that she landed against but didn’t make all the way through. Shards of glass poked her heavy hide. It didn’t matter. Nora shifted back, standing there naked and bleeding in a strangers apartment with open windows. 

This time when she ran back to Willow’s room Nora’s attention wasn’t on Willow. It was on the Bear ghost. “You’re a bugbear?” The words practically tumbled out of Nora’s normally taciturn mouth. Excitement was reaching her normally monotone affect. “You’re a bugbear?” She asked the ghost. She looked back at the really tired blonde. “You’re a friend of bugbears? Did you paint him?” Nora’s attention shifted to the third ghost. She didn’t have anything to say to him. Back to the bugbear. “Do you know other bugbears? Alive bugbears? I- How’d did you die? Why are you here?” Nora turned back to Willow. “So you can see ghosts then? Are you a bugbear too?” 

“Of course I’m a bugbear!” Tommy answered in his returned bear-talk, though it mostly just sounded like a series of grunts and growls to the human ear. The bear shaped ghost lumbered over to Nora, sniffing at her side as if he could tell whether or not the damage done to her was anything to be too concerned about. Thankfully, it mostly just seemed to be a few surface wounds. He let loose another inquisitive bear sound before shifting back into his human self, somehow still clothed. “You know the one good thing about being a ghost is you don’t have to find clothes all the time to change back into. The humans can get so weird about that whole not wearing them thing,” he commented with a roll of his eyes. “But you- I’m sure you understand,” he said brightly, all but forgetting that Kal and Willow even existed. “Of course I know other bugbears! We’re the best sort to know. As for how I died, that’s a bit of a longer story but I could tell it to ya if you wanna blow this popsicle stand. I think the blonde one needs a nap anyway- so she’s not gonna be much fun anymore.” 

Tommy was right. Willow was fading quickly now that the toll of what she’d done was beginning to manifest on her energy levels. Her eyes blinked closed a few times as she looked towards Nora and whatever mystery ghost she was talking to. Was it Kal? Was he here? Maybe he could help. But she was so tired. Very much against her will her body collapsed back onto the bed, but not before she saw the little pokes of blood marring Nora’s side. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, insufferable guilt already pooling in her stomach. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t want to- you’re hurt, and I didn’t want to-” A few tears finally slipped down her cheek, unable to keep the emotion at bay now that she’d injured another living being. But sleep made quick work of that despair, forcefully gripping the medium in its clutches as her body relinquished itself to exhaustion and she passed out in her bed. 

The strangest thing was Nora understood those bear grunts. Not like she understood language where the words formed letters and sounds but in an instinctual way. In the most primal of ways. Like that same grunt could be used to say so much but because it was another bear in that moment she understood what it was supposed to be. She blinked slowly revivling in this new discovery. Another bugbear. A ghost bugbear. “Yeah. Nudity is natural.” She blinked down at her own nude body really unsure of what to say. She had so many questions but all of them eluded her now. Now that she was face to face with a bugbear. Wow. Nora reached out to the ghost, her hand sliding through. Oh right. She thought, noting how stupid it was to try and touch a ghost to check if it was real. Real idiot moments. 

“Yeah. We can leave.” Nora looked over to Willow, about to explain that she had to go. Willow didn’t look great. She looked tired. Was she apologizing for the back thing? Nora was about to tell her it was absolutely no problem but the blonde collapsed into unconsciousness. “Do you think she’s okay?” Nora asked walking back over to Willow. “She’s probably just tired right?” Nora tucked in her new friend. There was a broken window, she didn’t want her to get cold. “Let me just… hmmm.” Nora left the bedroom and started snooping around the kitchen. A glass of water for her bedside. An advil cause she’d screamed so much. A ham sandwich to wake up to. Nora plopped the items on the bed side table before scribbling a note. ‘Sorry about your window. I’ll send someone to repair it tomorrow. You’ll have to invite them inside. - np.’  Nora borrowed a shirt and pants before she climbed back out the window. Beckoning to her new bugbear friend she said. “We can go to my place. I’m Nora by the way. It’s so great to meet you.” 

“Oh yeah- she’s fine,” Tommy said with a dismissive wave towards the blonde chick, his tone perfectly confident in the words. He didn’t actually know if she was fine, but he didn’t really care in the least whether she was or not. Sure, she was hot for a human. But she was just that- a human. Nasty little buggers who didn’t do much other than destroy things, and make a nice snack. “She’s easily tired. Most humans are, you know. They’re not as strong as us.” He finished on a point of pride, knowing it to be undoubtedly true. Tommy waited impatiently as Nora took careful steps to ensure what he was fairly certain was Willow’s comfort, and he carefully suppressed a disapproving frown while she finished writing her note. Strange. It was almost as if she cared about the human’s well-being or something. “Great!” he exhaled with a clap of his hands, rubbing them together in excitement as Nora gave her name. “A lovely name for a lovely bear,” he finished with a cheeky smile. “I’m Tommy. Tommy Wright.” Giving the other ghost, Kal, a sarcastic and cocky salute, Tommy made his way towards the window that Nora had shattered, bending at the waist in a little bow. “Ladies first, Nora.” Giving one last look back into the apartment, his gaze settled on the bear painting, and then the silly little note for Willow. Maybe the poor little bear hadn’t been taught better than to show kindness to humans. He’d heard of such terrible things before, though hadn’t come across it all that often. “You know I have a feeling we’re gonna get along great! I bet there’s a lot we could teach each other. How do ya feel about jacuzzis?” 

#// in which tommy nora and willow all have VERY different experiences #anyway this was GIFT BLESS ISHIE #BEAR BUDS <3 #wickedswriting #ch:tommy #ch:nora #chatzy