#rated t because i let alex say fuck

[skylarsblue]

✦Incorrect C.o.D Quotes Nine✦

(Sexual Implication) Ghost, trying to be sexy by whispering: Gaggin’ for it, aren’t ya, love? Soap: Nope. Ghost: No? Soap: I don’t gag on anything. Ghost: *404 Error* Soap: …Ghost? Si? Simon, are you alright?

-- Y/N: Let’s play a word association game! Ghost: Why? Y/N: Because I saved your ass last mission and I’m bored, so you owe me. Ghost: *sigh* Fine. Y/N: P e r f e c t . Gaz: ?? Y/N: Cold. Ghost: Winter. Y/N: Spring. Ghost: Mattress. Y/N: Soft. Ghost: Comfortable. Y/N: Pleasant. Ghost: Sunset. Y/N, With a shit eating grin: Beautiful. Ghost, unconsciously: Johnny- Y/N: YES Gaz: OHHHHHH Ghost: Soap: *gasp* Simon!~ Ghost: I’m going to go crash in a heli. Y/N: I KNEW IT I KNEW IT-

-- Alex: Bitch do you want me to jump across this table? Because I don’t have all day for this. Norris: You feeling froggy? Leap. Alex: Okay, well here I come- Farah: Alex no, no- hOLD OFF

-- (NSFW Joke) Y/N: Oh sorry. I almost drank out of your cup. Soap: Wh-Just go ahead, it won’t matter! Y/N: Well I- Yeah no, you’re right. I’ve drank out of your cups dozens of times. Soap: We’ve sucked the same dick- Y/N: That’s a good point! Ghost: ….*sigh*

-- Gaz: What kind of girl do you like? Soap: My wife. Gaz: And you? Ghost: Johnny’s wife. Gaz: OH- Price, knowing they recently started a poly situation: Pfft-

-- (Use of the word pussy because haha) Gaz, filming: Pffft- Soap: Shhshh- Y/N in the hallway: FORTY THREE FUCKING CENTS! AHHHHH Soap: *wheeze* Y/N: I NEED A SUGAR DADDY!! Gaz: PFFFT- Soap: I can’t breathe- Y/N: At this rate I’m ready to plaster my fuckin’ pussy on the sidewalk for some sPARE CHANGE! Gaz & Soap: *doing that silent cackle thing and smack each other in the arm* Ghost, leaning into the room: What the f- Y/N: SPAARE CHANGE, SPARE CHANGE! ANYONE GOT ANY SPARE CHAAANGE?! Gaz: *coughing* Soap: Steamin’ Jesus I’m fucking crying- Y/N, passing by the room: 🎵Walkin’ in a winter wonderlaaaand🎶

-- Y/N: Would you love me? Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Y/N: Gaz: Would I love you if…? Y/N: nO ThAt wAs tHE QuesTiOn-

-- Y/N: Pretty boy! With me I said! Rudy: Rudy: Rudy: Oh I’m pretty boy! Y/N: Yes! Oo that came out a bit quick- (Also works with Soap & Gaz, honestly)

-- (THIS IS A CONCEPT IM TOO WHIMPY TO WRITE, SO HAVE IT HERE! THIS COULD WORK WITH SO MANY CHARACTERS Also, NSFW warning) Ghost: I don’t miss. Y/N, on his ear piece: Never? Even with distractions? Ghost: *turns his scope* Not ever. *just about to take a shot* Y/N: Hmm…what if I went… Mm Simon~ Ghost: *misses* Y/N: Ya missed. Ghost: Cheeky bitch…

-- Gaz: Alright, so, since we’re now in America and we have some time to kill, I went and I got you something. Y/N: Aww Gaz, you really didn’t have to- Gaz: *puts down their Whataburger order* Y/N: OH MY GOD Price: Really? Gaz: *shrug* Soap: *snickering as Y/N Fucking demolishes some fries* Y/N, having the time of their life: Garrick you ever need your dick sucked, a dead body buried, a beer or whatever, you call me. I got’chu Gaz: BAHA- Soap: *wheeze* Ghost: Are you fucking crying? Y/N with their mouth full: I missed it so much.

-- (Team bonding exercises) Soap: You’re a football player, it’s in ya blood! Gaz: That’s racist. Soap: Your soul? Gaz: That’s racist! Soap: …your eyes? Gaz: That’s gay- Soap: That’s homophobic. Gaz: That’s black. Soap: That’s racist!! Gaz: Damn- (this one is extra funny since Gaz is now confirmed LGBT)

-- Gaz: You overrated little twink! Soap: Hey I am a TWUNK, alright?! That is a combination, twink, and HUNK, get it?? Hunk-

-- Soap: Hey~ Fem!Y/N: You’re Gay. Soap: …oh yeah. Soap: *looks at Ghost* Soap: Hey.~ Ghost: *sigh*

-- Soap: I’m gonna have to meet men lying down. Y/N: …I thought’cha did?? Soap: OI!

-- Soap: Everyone says what a giving person I am! Y/N: He’s talking about when you’re in an upright position.

-- Graves: What if there’s a connection? Y/N: I think there’s a connection between your brain and wallpaper paste.

-- Shepard: Now you’re always ornery, rude, unpleasant, and sometimes downright mean. That’s part of your charm. Y/N: Thank you, you colluding-county-hopping-idiotic-relic. Price: *pride*

-- Alex: Oh my god, how are you such a good driver? Soap: Because there’s illegal shit in here. Alex: Soap: Because if I don’t use my turn signal, we’re both gonna do fifteen. Because I am going to lie and say yours. Alex: ….. Soap: Put your seatbelt on, sweetheart. Alex: *clicks it in places* Soap: You are not safe!

-- (Sucking dick joke) Kidnapper: You’re gonna do as I say or I will make you regret ever being born. Y/N: Oh please, I’ve sucked dicks more intimidating than you. Soap: Oh this is why Simon was the way he was after we rescued you both last time.

-- Soap, shoving marshmallows in his mouth: This isn’t very ha-*chokes* MILF!Y/N, across the fucking base: ….*mom instinct* Price: ??? Ghost: Uh- Y/N: Something just happened. Kyle: PFFT-

-- MILF!Y/N: *letting Soap & Gaz lean on her while Price and Ghost stand close behind* Untrue. I’m a mother now. It’s really changed my perspective. Graves: And do you find it hard juggling life and a career? Y/N: You can juggle these nuts.

-- Soap: *rambling* Soap: Agh, sorry, I’m just goin’ on and on- Ghost: Oi, keep talking before I kick your ass. Soap: ….. Gaz: See? This is exactly what I m-where the fuck are these flower petals coming from?? ARE THOSE SPARKLES??

#call of duty mwii #call of duty x reader #cod headcanons #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #phillip graves #rodolfo rudy parra #incorrect cod quotes

[musings-of-a-rose]

Jump Then Fall - Part 3

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc “Vanessa Morales”

Word Count: 3600+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Please be aware there is an 11 year age gap. Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: When the story starts, Vanessa is 19 and Javier is 30.

**Shoutout to @VaneMando15 for listening and bouncing ideas from me, and for her guidance with being a Latina herself. Without her, this wouldn’t even be a thing, just another line on my WIP spreadsheet. And also to my husband, who is also Latino and answered any questions I had (along with taking me to Colombia back in 2014). And to @wyn-n-tonic, who listened to my rambles and insecurities about writing an oc in first person.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Jump Then Fall Masterlist

General Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

<<Part 2<<

He's coming back. Chucho is bringing Javier back after 6 years. What do I say? How do I tell him he has a son who is already 6 years old? Will he even remember me? Will he want to be a part of mine and Alex's life or will he turn and run?

My mind spirals as I finish drying the last few pans before putting them away. I head upstairs, my brain going through a million different scenarios before I take a quick glance in the mirror. I smooth down my hair and put on a new outfit, a simple summer dress that goes down to my knees, and end up randomly tidying and cleaning the house, never settling on one spot.

I knew this day would come. I guess I just never thought about it specifically. 6 years ago, I was so sure of my choice not to tell him, that I wouldn't want him distracted in Colombia but I wouldn't want him to come home and resent us for forcing his choice. But a part of me, ok a large part of me, feels guilty for not giving him the choice.

I hear Chucho's truck pull up outside and my heart starts beating faster. The truck doors slam and muted voices make their way to the front door. I pick up the book on the counter in front of me and open it, my eyes not taking in a word but I didn't want to look like I was waiting around for them. For him.

"...'m fine. You don't have to b-baby me."

"I'm just trying to make sure you don't vomit on the clean floors."

He's drunk. I can tell by the way his words are slurred, his feet thunking across the wood floors in a sporadic pattern. Before I can move, he stumbles through the kitchen doorway, his eyes taking a few moments to focus on me.

"Who are you?"

My hearts sinks a little. I would've been surprised if he remembered me, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt.

"Vanessa."

He steps closer to me, his eyes scanning my body before settling on mine.

"Are you fucking my dad?"

"Uh, no. I-"

"Ok, Javi. Time for bed. Vanessa will be here later for you to question," Chucho claps his hands on Javier's shoulders and guides him towards the doorway.

"Ok, ok. I have more questions later, Vanessssssa."

I give him a little wave as he disappears through the doorway. Chucho struggles to get him up the stairs, but eventually the sounds of them arguing disappear and I'm left alone for the moment. I turn around, gripping the counter with both of my hands and take several deep breaths.

He doesn't remember me. Or maybe it's because he's drunk? How do I handle it now?

His eyes, though filled with the drink, held a lot of anger and regret. He's hurting. I can't imagine what he's seen or had to do in persuit of Escobar. Chucho walks back in, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Sorry about him. He doesn't usually get drunk like that."

I wave my hand. "It's fine. I imagine he's been through a lot."

"Still, it's not an excuse to act like an asshole...he's going to be out for a bit but I'm thinking hamburgers for dinner? Something greasy to help that hangover he's going to have."

"Sounds good."

Chucho studies me for a moment. "How are you?"

That's a good question. "I...I'm not entirely sure."

"You need to tell him."

I nod. "Of course. But I can't tell him when he's drunk."

He chuckles. "No, I suppose not. But soon, ok?"

I give him a small smile before moving to get out the ingredients to bake some hamburger buns. Chucho moves to the living room, the tv turning on a moment later. He flips the channel and the news report echoes through the doorway to me.

"Breaking news! Pablo Escobar has just been killed. This is live footage of the rooftop where he was killed by DEA agent Steve Murphy..."

I step into the living room, watching the live broadcast of the rooftops where the outline of a dead man lays splaid on the tiles, other men in tach vests surrounding him. A blonde man high fives someone as the news anchor continues their report. But then it dawns on me.

Javier is not there, finally catching Escobar after 6 years of chasing him. He's here. No wonder he's drunk. What happened?

"Why is Javier here, Chucho?"

He's quiet a moment. "I don't know."

I return to the kitchen, mixing the dough before forming the buns. I can't imagine working for 6 years trying to catch one of the most elusive men, only to be forced away at the very end, not even being allowed to be there for his capture. I'd lose my mind too. I know I need to tell him about Alex, but I also need to give him a moment with this.

But how long of a moment?

-------

It takes 3 days for Javier to come out of a drunken stupor. I hear his bedroom door open as he stumbles down the hall with a groan, the bathroom door closing behind him. I hear a slam from the bathroom, sounding like the toilet lid. I wipe my hands on my apron and head upstairs, hesitating for a moment outside of the bathroom door. I knock very gently.

"Javier? Are you alright?"

A grunt followed by another violent heaving sound answers me. I turn the handle, slowly pushing the door open as the heaving subsides. Javier slumps against the side of the bathtub, his hand moving around to find the handle to flush the toilet. His hair is rumpled, his eyes mostly closed, clad only in a pair of sweatpants. I walk over to the toilet and close the lid, flushing the toilet for him. His hand drops to his lap and he takes a couple of deep breaths.

"Thanks."

"Of course. Do you want help up?"

He cracks his eyes open and looks at me. "You're not my dad."

"That I am not."

He lifts his head, opening his eyes a little more before hissing and closing them, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "The fucking light is going to kill me."

"Well I can't do anything about the light coming in this window. But let's get you back to your room in bed. You'll feel better."

I wait a few moments while he gathers himself, extending my hand to help him up. He squints at me and I roll my eyes.

"Just take my hand. I'm stronger than I look."

He takes it and I have to hold back a gasp as his large hands engulf my small ones, the warmth from the contact sparking all sorts of thoughts and memories. I pull him to his feet and he leans on me as I help him back to his room, pulling back the sheets as he slides in. I pull all of his curtains firmly shut, only using the light from the hallway to see around. Javier settles into bed, groaning a little as he puts his hand on his stomach.

"I'll bring you some water and pain meds."

"Oh you don't have-"

"That wasn't a question."

I head back downstairs, getting a glass of water. I stop by the bathroom again, opening the medicine cabinet and getting out some pain meds. I also pull out the bottle of activated charcoal tablets that Chucho handed me shortly after Javier came home. He said they suck to choke down but they'd really help the hangover. I carry everything to his room, shaking out the right amount of charcoal tablets. Javier sits up with another groan, taking the pills and the glass of water.

"This isn't aspirin."

"No. It's activated charcoal. Chucho said it will really help your hangover. You can't take it with any meds though as it'll just absorb those."

"I'll just take the aspirin."

"I really think you need to take the charcoal."

He looks up at me. "I don't even know who you are why the fuck would I listen to you?"

"Because I just carried your stubborn self all the way from the bathroom after you puked your guts out. I'm just trying to help. Take the damn pills."

He studies me through squinted eyes. "Yes ma'am." He chokes down the pills and makes a disgusted face before drinking several sips of water. "Those taste terrible."

"I never claimed they tasted good. So let those do their work and get some rest. When you're ready, come downstairs and I'll make you something to eat."

He looks at me again, his eyebrows slightly furrowed together in concentration. "No really, who are you?"

"Vanessa. Now get some rest."

He lays back and I pull the blanket up, giving him a small smile when I catch him looking at me. I leave the room and head back downstairs, finishing up some of the lesson planning I was doing for the upcoming semester.

A few hours later, Javier comes downstairs, this time with a shirt. Although he only has the bottom 3 buttons done up. I'm not sure why he even bothered with a shirt. Not that I'm complaining. He stands there awkwardly, like he doesn't know what to do.

"Feeling better?" I ask, turning to face him from my stool at the kitchen island.

"Yeah. Those charcoal things worked really well."

"Good. I've never been hungover so I wasn't sure, but I figured Chucho knew what he was talking about. Are you hungry?"

"I uh...I'm not sure," his hand goes to his stomach, his face souring slightly.

I head over to the slow cooker on the counter. "I made some chicken noodle soup. If anything, you can sip on the broth?" I look over at him, his head cocked to the side, watching me.

"Javier?"

"What? Oh soup. Yeah. Sure."

I ladle him a bowl and grab some saltines and set them on a little plate next to his bowl and set it in front of him. I also set down a glass filled with cloudy looking water.

"Coconut water?" Javier asks skeptically.

I shrug. "My mom always gave it to me during and after a cold. Said it gave me back nutrients. I figure alcohol probably takes a fair amount of nutrients from you. So it should help."

"Hhmm. Guess we'll find out." He takes a tentative sip from the cup, licking his lips a little after. "Hey that's sitting alright."

I give him a small smile. "Good."

Before I can move, he grabs my arm and gives it a little squeeze, sending jolts of electricity through me. "Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome."

I sit and pull my planner and books to me, resuming my task of lesson planning. I can feel his eyes on me, like he's studying me. I wish he would find something else more interesting.

"What are you doing?"

I don't look up. "Lesson planning for this upcoming semester."

He takes a slurp of his soup and swallows it. "Teacher? Holy shit this soup is amazing."

I look up at him as he takes another bite, his eyes closing for a moment as he savors the soup.

"Yeah. I'm teaching 2nd grade this year."

"Sounds fun. Seriously, what did you do to this soup?"

"My mom taught me how to cook," My eyes sting and my heart hurts thinking of those memories.

"Well, she did a damn good job."

"Sometimes she got it right."

He looks up at me. "Oh. I'm sorry I touched a nerve."

I wave my hand. "It's ok. I've come to terms with it."

He sets his spoon down, all of his focus on me. His gaze is intense, that little furrow between his brow is back. "You look-"

"Good you're awake, puto. Put some pants on and come help me." Chucho walks in the back door, stomping his boots on the mat outside before stepping in.

"I don't know if I-"

"Come on, son. No more babying I gave you time. Now I need your young bones."

"You sound like a bruja." (witch). But Javier pushes back from the island and starts to grab his plate.

"Don't worry about it, I got it." I stand, leaning over to take the bowl and plate, noticing that he'd eaten all of it. "I have more if you want some."

His dark eyes bore into mine, fanning a flame inside of me. "I want whatever you give me, Vanessa."

SMACK! Chucho slaps Javier on the back of his head.

"What the fuck?"

"Stop flirting and come help me before these chickens run halfway to Mexico."

-------

Chucho and Javier are gone for a few more hours and return just as the sun is setting. I hang up the phone, having had my nightly call with Alex, who is having a blast at science camp. The men kick off their work boots and coats, trudging upstairs to shower.

"Dinner will be ready soon so don't take long!" I yell after them.

Chucho devours the steak I'd made him while Javier opts to have another couple bowls of soup. Before long, Chucho leans back, slapping his stomach.

"Well, I am tired. Gonna get an early sleep. Vanessa? Delicious, as usual. Night, everyone."

"Good night, Chucho."

While he heads upstairs, I start to clean up, Javier immediately moving to help me. I shake my head.

"Nope. I got this."

"I can help."

"Really, it's ok."

"Are you always this stubborn?

"Are you?"

He looks at me before he smirks, but then it's gone just as fast. Man am I fucked.

"I can dry?"

"I appreciate the offer, but really. I'm ok."

"Does washing the dishes relax you or something?"

I know he said it in jest, but now that I think about it, it kind of does. The warm, soapy water calms me down. Gives me space to think.

"Yeah sort of."

He puts his hands up. "Say no more. I don't want to intrude." Did he just wink at me? Javier heads from the kitchen and I hear the front door open, the screen door slapping closed behind him.

After I'm done with the dishes, I dry my hands, thinking. I grab another glass of coconut water and head towards the front door, hesitating for several moments before pushing open the screen. Javier sits on the swing bench, facing out to look over the front half of the farm, a cigarette lit and in between his fingers. He takes a long drag, his lips rounding to blow out the smoke.

"I thought you should hydrate again." I hold up the glass and he turns to look at me, his eyes coming back into focus. He beckons me to him and I walk up, handing him the glass.

"That's a nasty habit, you know," I nod towards the cigarette in his hand.

He shrugs. "You have your relaxing activity, and I have mine." Still, he leans forward and puts it out on the tray he'd set on the arm of the bench. "Come. Sit."

I take a breath and sit, our thighs nearly touching. The air feels electrified, like it's waiting for something to happen. We sit like this for a while, staring out at the cows grazing in the front fields, Javier lightly rocking the swing as he rolls his foot back and forth.

"Thank you for...everything. Taking care of me and..everything." He turns his head to look at me in the light coming in through the windows from the house.

"It's not a problem. Anyone would do it."

He snorts. "Not for me."

"And why not?"

He pauses a moment. "I'm not a good guy."

"Well I know that's not true. You're a great man, Javier." I place my hand on his forearm without thinking, and squeeze. He looks down at where I touch him, placing his hand over mine before looking at me.

"I'm really not. I just..." He trails off, his eyes sweeping over my face. "You...you look familiar. It's been killing me for days."

Well. Now is the time. For this confession, at least.

"That's because we know each other."

His brow furrows slightly. "I had a feeling. From where?"

It still hurts a little that he doesn't remember, even though I know it's a trauma response. Memory loss and PTSD can often go hand in hand.

"You...you gave me a rose, once."

Recognition immediately ripples over his face, his eyes widening, his eyebrows raising a little as he shifts his body to face me.

"Vanessa? From the bar? Right before I left for Colombia?"

I smile nervously. "That's me."

"Summer of new things Vanessa?"

I nod. "Yup. Me."

His eyes are twinkling now, a small smile creeping up his face. "Holy shit! I never thought I'd see you again. It was so hard to walk away from you that morning. The only thing that did it was the fact that the DEA would come down on me hard for missing that flight." His eyes soften the longer he looks in mine and for a moment, we're both transported back to that night, the night he opened up my world.

"H-how are you?" He's hesitant, but his eyes are wide and curious.

"Not bad."

"How did you end up here? I thought you were going back to-" he waves his hand around trying to think. "Austin?"

"Corpus Christi."

He snaps his fingers. "That was it."

Do I tell him about Alex? About being a father? Something inside me tells me to wait. To only surprise Javier with one thing at a time. He's been through so much and the last thing I want to do is pile more on top of that.

"It's a long story but I...got pregnant and my parents..well, they didn't approve. Out of wedlock. Anyway, they kicked me out and I uh, ended up here. Chucho I guess took pity on me and gave me a place to stay. I offered to cook and clean for him which of course he argued against, but," I shrug. "And so I stayed. He demanded I return to college and get my teaching degree I had been working on and he babysat Alex while I did. I owe him so much. My life, basically. I don't know how I'll be able to repay him."

His eyes grew serious. "You're parents kicked you out pregnant?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"That's fucked. Sorry, but it is."

I shrug. "They were the kind of parents that would scrub my mouth out with soap and make me repeat scripture if I had nail polish on so I guess I'm not surprised. I've made peace with it."

"Still. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Thanks."

We sit in silence for another few moments, one weight on my chest lifted but a very heavy one still remaining.

"The dad didn't help?"

Here's your chance, Vanessa. You can tell him now, despite everything. Tell him. TELL. HIM.

"He...He had other things to do."

Javier scoffs. "What an asshole."

I shake my head vehemently. "No, it's not..they were very important."

"More important than knocking up a young woman?"

"I think so."

"I'm sure."

I turn to face him more directly. "What if it was yo-"

RING RING! RING RING!

The phone cuts through our conversation, forcing an ending that I wasn't ready for. Javier attempts to stand but I put my hand out.

"It might be Alex. I've got it."

I feel his eyes on me as I go inside, answering the phone quickly. It wasn't Alex but some automated political message and I grunt, hanging up the phone in frustration. I should go back outside and explain everything to him, confess it all, but I don't. I do peak my head back outside and call his name, momentarily flustered when he looks at me.

"It was some political something."

"I fucking hate those."

"I'm going upstairs. Drink that coconut water." I point to the untouched glass in his hand and he holds it up towards me.

"Yes, ma'am."

-------

>>Chapter 4>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @booksarekindaneat @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @heartpascalispunk   

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[kourtniwritesagain]

Too Good to Be

A/N: First full-length RWRB fic! There’s some spice, but not too much spice to rate it anything but T for Teen. Also, this is going to be a three parter because I just couldn’t stop and it was nearing 10k. So here’s part 1! Super nervous, super excited, super gonna shut up now. Enjoy!

It's finally summer, Alex’s favorite time of the year. Summer means the cabin, no graduate courses, and, most importantly, Henry. His Royal Highness was able to get a full two weeks straight of no engagements. Alex very politely told his scheduler to fuck off when approached with anything that resembled an engagement during those two weeks. Alex isn’t going to allow anything (or anyone) to come between himself and Henry. 

Well, except for Cash, Nora, June, and his father apparently. 

Alex isn’t too upset about his family being around, they all adore Henry and vice versa. The Secret Service is always around, and, honestly, Alex is used to it by now. Plus, Cash doesn't suck.

They're all at the cabin by the lake, and everyone is in bathing suits while lounging on the deck after a long afternoon of boating and jet skiing. Henry is watching videos with June and Nora off Nora's phone and laughing, eyes crinkling adorably. Alex can't help but smile. Last year, Alex wasn't sure he would ever even see Henry again, let alone be at the cabin with him. So much has changed since then. Alex is Henry's official suitor. England has embraced the two of them wholeheartedly, including Henry's older brother. The Queen…well, she still sucks. But everything is practically perfect. 

"Alex!" June calls, waving her hand for her brother to come to her. 

He stands and walks over to the others, still smiling softly. Henry lets out an adorable laugh at the video, and Alex sees it’s a cat compilation video. 

“I left my very comfortable chair to watch cats?” Alex asks, amusement in his voice despite his words. 

“I-I’m sohorry, it’s just so f-funny.” Henry gets out through his giggles. Nora and June are cackling beside him. 

Alex watches as cat after cat jumps in fright after seeing their owners with creepy realistic cat masks on. 

“Y’all are too easily entertained.” 

June snorts. “You spent all day yesterday giggling at British memes.” 

“Oi!” Henry feigns offense. 

“In my defense,” Alex says. “I loved every single one of them.” 

Henry rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice. “I suppose I’ll be receiving a few in the future.”

“You’ll have one every day for a month, baby.” Alex winks. 

Henry blushes beautifully. 

“Alexander.” Henry admonishes, rolling his eyes. 

Alex simply grins widely. 

June reaches over and tweaks Alex’s ribs, causing Alex to squawk and jump. 

“Bug!” Alex swats at her hands. 

“Leave Henry alone, brat.” June chastises, a mischievous grin on her face. Henry smiles smugly, clearly pleased that June was on his side.

Alex scowls at all of them, including Nora because she’s not helping. 

“Don’t scowl, baby brother. You’re too pretty.” 

That mollifies Alex somewhat. “I am pretty.” 

Henry rolls his eyes. 

They spend the entire afternoon outside, drinking beer and wine, watching ridiculous videos, and talking of summer plans. Alex is happier than he’s been in a very long time. Supper has been eaten, s’mores have been consumed, and a movie is currently playing in Alex and Henry’s room. Alex isn’t paying any attention to it because Henry is currently kissing his way down his throat. 

“You’re seriously good at this, has anyone told you that?” Alex asks, stretching his head to the left to allow Henry more access. 

“You have.” 

“Well, I’m always right, so.” Alex lets out a groan as Henry adds a bit of teeth. 

Alex thinks he’ll never tire of this. Not just the awesome sex (and it was awesome), but just having Henry with him…and not having to hide it. Alex absolutely adores holding Henry’s hand while they go shopping. Alex loves that Henry will kiss his cheek during photo ops. Alex enjoys being able to embrace Henry openly. Alex still sneaks very handsy things at very inopportune times for Henry, relishing in the blush it brings to the prince’s cheeks. 

Henry slides his hands very slowly up Alex’s sides, causing him to squirm. He feels Henry smile against his throat. 

“Don’t think I didn’t see your reaction earlier.” 

Alex tenses. 

“I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about…” Alex trails off. 

“I think we both know that’s not true,” says Henry. This time, his fingers wiggle on their way down Alex’s ribs.

“Ah!” 

Henry chuckles against Alex’s throat as he continues to spider his fingers along Alex’s ribs. 

“You f-fuhucker!” Alex squirms and laughs, reaching for Henry’s hands. Henry avoids them for a few seconds more before Alex finally catches them. Alex is panting slightly, but he narrows his eyes, wraps his legs around Henry’s waist, and flips the two of them onto the floor. Henry lands on his back with an ‘oof’. Big blue eyes look in shock at Alex. 

“Mistake.” Alex growls. 

“N-Now, sweetheart…let’s not do anything hasty.” 

“Nicknames will get you nowhere, baby.” Alex replies. 

Henry blushes and opens his mouth to barter, but Alex is having none of it. Alex turns around so his back is to Henry and goes straight for Henry’s thighs, easily his most ticklish spot. 

“Alehex!” Henry immediately starts laughing. Alex found out about Henry’s ticklishness pretty early on during the ‘friends-with-benefits’ stage of their relationship. Alex and Henry had been lying in bed after a thorough makeout session, still clad only in boxers, and Henry giggled when Alex had lightly traced nonsensical patterns across Henry’s stomach. Alex proceeded to find every ticklish spot on Henry’s body, which…hadn’t been difficult. Henry turned out to be ticklish everywhere, but especially on his thighs and hips. 

“How you’re able to fool around with thighs this ticklish, is kind of amazing.” Alex comments as he rakes his fingers up and down Henry’s quivering thighs. 

“Plehehease!” Henry begs, alternating between pounding on Alex’s back and probably grabbing at his hair if Alex knows him well enough. 

“I do not intend to stop anytime soon,” says Alex. “First, you must be punished for trying to tickle me. And second, you love it when I tickle you.” 

“I’m sohohorry!” 

“I’m sure you are.” Alex turns to face Henry now, wiggling lower onto Henry’s legs.

Henry doesn’t say anything else but instead lets out loud booming laughter as Alex moves to clamp down on both thighs right underneath where they meet Henry’s hips, squeezing mercilessly. Henry is devastatingly ticklish here, and Alex absolutely exploits this. The crease where thighs meet hips is just as ticklish. Alex plans on spending time there as well. 

“Oh baby, you are too adorable.” 

“Shut uhuhup!” Henry tries to command, batting at Alex’s hands. 

“Usually your royal commands are a big turn on,” Alex tells him casually, as if he isn’t straight up torturing his boyfriend. “But this one just doesn’t have the usual oomph.” 

Henry babbles something about ‘dick head’ and ‘fucking fuck.’ Alex can’t help but laugh as he listens to Henry’s own beautiful laughter. 

“You are the most ticklish person on the planet, I swear. It’s kinda good that England isn’t actively trying to conquer the world anymore. You’d be kidnapped for ransom and tortured into oblivion the moment the enemy found out how ticklish you are.” 

“A-Alex!” Henry pleads. Alex knows Henry gets more sensitive the more Alex teases him with words. 

“I know that’s how royals were punished back in the medieval period,” Alex continues. “They’d tie up princes and princess, and fucking tickle the shit out of them. Sometimes, guards were told to put honey on the feet of royals and have goats lick them off.” 

“Shut the fuhuhuck uhup!” Henry whines through his laughter. Henry has caught Alex’s hands, but all the prince does is hold onto his boyfriend's wrists. Alex is now lightly stroking at Henry’s hips, scrabbling his fingers along the hip bones every other downward stroke. 

“Maybe we could get the queen to start that shit up again! She’s still super pissed you’re gay; I’m sure she’d loooooove to have someone punish you.” 

Henry turns redder if that’s even possible. Alex knows that Henry’s thinking about it, though. Henry’s thinking about being tied up and helpless while being tickled. 

“Do you like that thought, baby?” Alex asks. 

Henry shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. Alex reaches behind himself and strokes at Henry’s thighs again. He loves the feeling of the twitching muscles, firm from years of Polo. Henry kicks out his legs as Alex switches back to scrabbling his fingers all over Henry’s pelvis and hips. 

“They’d call me Katniss because I would volunteer as tribute to be your tickle torturer.” 

“Y-You alreheheady ARE!” Henry shouts as Alex digs his thumbs into each of Henry’s hip divots. 

“Yeah, but it’d be an official title!” Alex crows. “First Son of the United States slash His Royal Horniness’ Official Tickle Monster!”

“You’re incorrhorrigible!” 

“I’d never go easy on you either. It’s hips and thighs immediately, right out the gate,” explains Alex. “I’d move on to your ribs next, then your back. That spot near your kidneys? Yeah, you forget that spot a lot, but I don’t.” 

“Alex, please!” 

Alex ignores the please and runs his fingers up Henry’s ribs. Henry lets out a high-pitched squeal, causing Alex to laugh loudly himself . 

“Now that was an adorable sound. Can you do it again?” 

“Why dohoho you n-never stohop tahahalking?!” Henry is starting to really lose it. Alex has been tickling him nonstop for close to ten minutes now. Henry’s face, chest, and legs are red, from blushing and the devastating effects of Alex’s fingers. 

“Everyone loves to hear me talk.” 

“I swehehear, I will get you bahahack!” Henry promises, giggling. Alex has slowed his fingers to nonsensical patterns on Henry’s stomach, allowing the prince to breathe. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Alex winks at him. 

Henry shoves at Alex’s shoulder. Alex falls dramatically, but not before scrabbling his fingers across Henry’s thighs once more. 

“Stahap!” Henry rolls in on himself. 

Alex laughs as he stands up, offering a hand to Henry. 

“Piss off.” Henry tells him, swatting his hand away and standing on his own. 

“Don’t be mad, baby.” 

Henry blushes again. 

“Every time.” Alex grins. 

“Fuck you.” Henry retorts, a silly grin still on his face. 

“Any time, Your Royal Highness.” 

#tickle fic #tickling fic #alex claremont diaz #henry mountchristen windsor #ticklish!alex #ticklish!henry #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #rwrb #kourtni writes things

[formula1fanfiction]

Logan Sargeant / Oscar Piastri

Title: First heat

Pairing: Logan Sargeant / Oscar Piastri

Characters: Logan Sargeant, Oscar Piastri

Prompt: Logan thought he was a Beta at least until his first heat arrives.

rating: 18+

A/N: This is part 7 of the ABO series, this can be read as a stand alone story but you can find Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 part 4 Part 5 part 6 here. :)

Logan's in the Williams garage with Alex and a few other members going through the statistics for the next race. He can barely concentrate though, it's getting extremely hot in here, sweat is pooling off his face.

"Logan are you okay?" Alex says from somewhere, Logan shivers despite how sweaty he is. The alpha scent is a lot stronger than normal in here, it's something he's never really noticed before. "Logan?" Alex says again, it's only then he realised he'd never responded to his teammate.

"Yeah, i'm just really hot. I must have a fever or something." Alex smiles at him it's laced with pity. Alex touches his forehead with the back of his hand, it sends shockwaves through his body, he mewls somewhat embarrassingly at the contact. Why is he acting like this?  

"You're a Beta right Logan?"  Of course he is, that's what he was a teenager and he's never had heats, ruts or anything like that. He's just getting sick that's all. Logan can only manage a nod as another wave washes over, this time he feels something wet leaking from his arse.

"I think you're an omega Logan." Alex says gently, he takes a step back, keeping a good distance from him. "I'm a beta." He protests weakly, he can't be an omega. Logan watches over Alex's shoulder as James walks over. "I can smell it too Logan, you must be a late bloomer."

"I can't be..." He doesn't know why he's still protesting, his body is screaming at him to submit to Alex or James, his cock is rock hard and his arse is leaking like a fucking tap. How fucking embarrassing, it's a good thing the two alpha's have kept a good distance because Logan wants to beg them to fuck him.

"Why don't you just go back to your hotel room. We'll talk when you feel better." Logan practically runs away, before his instincts make him do something he'll regret.

As soon as he's back in his hotel room, he strips off his clothes with such fury they are sure to be torn. It's only then he starts to cry, what the fuck does he do now? He goes through the other omega's on the grid, Pierre, Charles, Lando, George. None of them would ever give him the time of day. All he wants is a fucking knot.   

In the end he calls Oscar. "I need your help." The crying is so obvious in his voice, he hears the Australian gasp on the other end of the phone. "Tell me what's wrong?" Logan wipes his tears away with the back of his hand. "I came into heat." Oscar agrees to come over straight away and luckily he doesn't have to wait too long to hear the knock at the door.

"I thought you were a beta." Oscar looks a very naked Logan up and down and takes a deep breath. "Logan before you let me in you know what's going to happen right?" Logan knows exactly what's going to happen, he needs it. "If it means you're going to fuck me, the yes please. Oscar doesn't move and it's torture having an alpha this close doing nothing. "Logan think about this, are you sure because i'm finding it pretty hard to hold myself back."

"Fuck me, please." That's all it takes for Oscar to be all over him, kissing and biting at every exposed piece of skin as he's pushed back onto the bed. "Fuck Logi, you smell so fucking good." Oscar smashes his lips against Logan's its full of teeth and tongue, Logan is struggling to keep up. There must be a puddle of slick underneath Logan.

Oscar please, I can't take it anymore. Please, please, please." Oscar takes pity on him and helps him onto his hands and knees. "Don't worry baby, i'll help you, I promise." Oscar sinks three fingers into the wet heat to test how open the American is. "You're my first, can't promise i'll be any good." Logan is just happy to hear he's not the only one losing his virginity.

Finally fucking finally Oscar starts sinking into him, his strong hands holding Logan's hips for leverage. Logan feels like he's on fire, he's no idea if it's pleasure or just the heat talking. It feels so good exactly what Logan needs. "Oscar, please." Logan doesn't even know what he's begging for but Oscar understands him. "Shh baby, I got you."

"Move, please." Logan whines, pushing back on Oscar's cock. The Aussie growls loudly an does start to move, slowly at first but soon works his way up to quick hard pace. Each hard thrust into his body feels even better than the last one. Logan's body sighs with relief at being stuffed full with cock.

"Fuck Logi, can't tell you how long i've wanted you for." Oscar catches Logan's prostate, the American can barely get anything out other than loud moans as Oscar slams into over and over again. "Even when I thought you were a beta." Logan feel Oscar's knot start to form, he really can't wait for it.

Oscar must be close now, he's slamming into Logan with such a brutal pace that the bed shakes along with them. "I'll make you feel good baby." Oscar's lips are on his ear as he wraps his fist around Logan's cock stroking him to the same pace as his thrusts. Logan's body is so over whelmed with pure red hot pleasure he doesn't last much longer. He screams Oscar's name over and over again as he comes over his fist.

"Beautiful little omega." Oscar plants a kiss onto Logan's temple as he thrusts into him impossibly fast, his knot swelling bigger and bigger with every thrust. Logan cries out underneath him, his own clenching down around the knot. His knot finally catches and Logan's stuffed full of Oscar, just like he wanted.

Oscar rearranges them until they are in a spooning position. He keeps pressing little kisses on the back of Logan's sweaty neck until his knot finally pops and Logan is filled up with the warmth of his seed.

"I don't know much about heats but I think you'll need to go again soon, i'll help you through it. I promise." Logan can barely hear him, his eyes are already closing, ready for sleep.  

#logan sargeant #oscar piastri #formula 1 fanfiction #fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #mxm #fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #mxm smut

[kiwiana-writes]

Kiwiana's Christmas Fics

@stereopticons tagged me to share my Christmas/holiday fics and uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm not sure how I feel about this list 🤣 I am a HUGE Christmas person... in the southern hemisphere, so I’m super out of my depth writing Christmas fics for most fandoms because winter Christmas just feels so fundamentally wrong to me. (I've done it exactly once, in 2019 with family, and I felt like I was in a Hallmark film.) Which does result in the Schitt's Creek list being... well, interesting.

Let's go.

Red, White & Royal Blue

All Those Christmas Clichés [Alex/Henry; rated M (subject to change); WIP (advent fic, daily triple drabbles Dec 1-25)]

Daily triple drabbles: snapshots of the lead-up to Christmas 2023.

Schitt's Creek

I see every part of you [David/Patrick; rated M; 1,514 words]

Patrick is a straight-up aficionado when it comes to giving gifts. David has known this from literally day one of their relationship, when he pulled a bunch of tissue paper out of a blue gift bag, looked away from a sentimental receipt in a solid frame and into a pair of earnest eyes, and thought, 'I hate it when Stevie’s right.'

How the reindeer loved him [David/Patrick; rated E; 2,178 words]

David wraps an arm around him, hand splayed across his chest to pull him close. “Tell me,” he says quietly. “I want you to dress up as Santa,” Patrick rushes out in one quick breath.

This is all I'm asking for [David/Patrick; rated E; 3,957 words]

But by the time they clean up after the party, and Patrick tactfully offers to take the garbage bags out to the shed to give the Roses a bit of family time, it’s well after eleven and David can only assume all their plans for the evening are out the window. That is, until they turn out of the motel parking lot and instead of Patrick putting his hand on David’s knee like usual it lands halfway up his thigh, fingers tracing absent circles around his inseam, and David realises that at least one part of the plan is still very much on the table.

Dear Santa... [Gen: David, Alexis, Patrick; rated G; 2,191 words]

Letters to Santa, 1987-1997

Do you wanna fuck a snowman? [David/Patrick; rated E; 7,216 words; co-write with @ships-to-sail]

David mimics her stance — and he has to admit, she’s not entirely wrong. In the quickly disappearing light, already blurred a little bit by the still-fallen snow, the snowman does look a little like he has tree trunk thighs and a well-formed ass, rather than being Frosty-shaped. But it’s the best they’re going to do, and David’s toes are officially cold.

I need some Christmas spirit [David/Patrick; rated T; 626 words]

David can handle his alcohol, is the thing. So no, it doesn’t occur to Patrick to warn him.

It probably should have.

Happiest Season

We always walked a very thin line [Abby/Riley, Harper/Abby; rated T; 2,775 words]

The girlfriend — Abby — stumbles over a lie about being Harper's orphan roommate, which… wow. Girl is a bad liar. Riley kind of wants to take her by the hand and tell her she’s going to have to get a lot better at that particular skill if she’s going to be in a relationship with Harper Caldwell. She doesn’t though, because it’s not her place and because who knows what, if anything, Harper has told Abby about her?

#kiwiana-writes #rwrb fic #schitt’s creek fic #happiest season fic

[master-sass-blast]

T.L.C.

Summary: A study on Piotr's character as he cares for the Reader through her pregnancy and medication withdrawal symptoms.

Set after "The Long Awaited Arrival."

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: T for panic attacks, vomiting, medication withdrawal symptoms, and other features of hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 3.8k.

Update Time: So! After three months, the first place I was referred to for physical therapy did not contact me! Hooray!

But, fortunately, I got a new referral to a new place, and they contacted me within two days. I finally have an appointment scheduled for the end of the month.

Thank you all for being patient with the delays in updating the series. My pain makes it difficult to sleep and write; suffice to say, I've been exhausted the past few months. I'm hoping that with physical therapy, I'll finally get my pain managed and get back to having a life.

I hope you're all doing well. Thank you so much for reading and for sticking with the series!

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @leo-writer, @dandyqueen, @sadstone-s

There’s a lot of ups and downs to pregnancy.

Not that Piotr knows from being pregnant; obviously, he’s not quite –ahem–outfitted with the proper “parts” for carrying and delivering a baby. But he remembers his mother being pregnant with Illyana. Granted, she’d always kept a pretty straight face through it all, but he could remember her not eating certain foods because they’d make her feel sick, or having to adjust how she worked on the family farm as her belly grew –not to mention the cranky period she went through while cold turkey-ing off coffee. (Alexandra was right to fuss over her husband for smoking, but her caffeine addiction was just as bad –if not worse.)

He could remember his father allocating extra time to care for his mother, too. There’d been several days where Piotr came home from school to find Nikolai making a fresh batch of chicken dumpling soup for his wife because it was the only thing Alex could keep down during the first trimester. Countless evenings of witnessing his father massage his mother’s shoulders, back, legs, and feet. Late night runs to the kitchen to whip up craving snacks. All done as Nikolai did nearly everything his family asked of him –with a loving smile and nod.

So, when Piotr comes home after prepping his classroom for school the following week and finds you perched on the couch, curled over a mop bucket, heaving up your lunch, his response comes naturally.

He’s had a good teacher his whole life, after all.

***

His first order of business is holding your hair and soothing you while you puke.

He’s grateful, at times like this, that he has a strong stomach. Granted, even if he didn’t, he’d still tough it out for you. But not having to fight down his own queasiness makes it easier to focus on caring for you.

“It’s –it’s just the medication withdrawals,” you pant once you catch your breath. “I’m fine, it’s just the meds–”

Piotr winces, chest aching with sympathy when you gag and retch into the bucket again. “It is okay, myshka. Let your body do what is natural.”

You cough, then groan. Your cheeks are wet from tears caused by your gagging. “Fuck.” You dry heave, then sigh. “I’m fine. You –you don’t have to–”

He shushes you gently. “I am staying right here. Just focus on what your body is doing.”

***

Once your stomach’s done, he ushers you upstairs to rest in bed and cleans the vomit bucket.

He’s glad to have had some foresight for all this. Aside from the well-known symptoms of pregnancy –hello, morning sickness–he’d expected another round of illness when your specialist had advised you to reduce the dose of your anxiety medication. He’s seen you go through withdrawals before; aside from the mental symptoms, they always made you sick. So, after that appointment, he’d stocked up –chicken soup, ginger ale, saltines, applesauce, some of your favorite chocolates just to help sweeten (pun intended) the whole ordeal.

He sprays some Lysol into the –now empty–mop bucket and sets it aside to dry, then frowns when he hears you groan. “Are you okay?”

“Just chills,” you reply from the bedroom. “Fucking withdrawals.”

Piotr grimaces. Your back’s been hurting, too; he’s felt you tossing and turning next to him in bed for a few weeks now. He pads back into the bedroom, then kneels down on your side of the bed so he’s at eye level with you. “Do you need medicine? Or your heating pad?”

You shake your head, expression one of resigned misery. “No. It is what it is.” You crack one eye open and manage a small smile, then reach out and stroke his cheek. “But thank you, love.”

He frowns. Another trait he inherited from his father: he doesn’t like not being able to help. Piotr watches you for a moment, mulling over in his mind what might bring you some comfort and relaxation –then puts a gentle hand on your shoulder when an idea pops into his head. “Would you like to take hot bath?”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, you stretch and nod. “Actually, yeah. That sounds good.”

He kisses your temple before standing. “Alright. I will draw hot bath for you, myshka.”

You grab the hem of his shirt before he can walk away. “Will you soak with me?”

“Konechno –if you want.”

“Yeah. You holding me sounds really good right now.”

Piotr smiles softly, then bends over and kisses your cheek before heading to the bathroom to get the tub ready.

Mostly, he just has to wait for the water to heat up and for the basin to fill –the latter, of course, takes the longest. There aren’t many tubs that fit him; the one in the master bathroom was a custom job. As such, filling it is a drawn-out process requiring a great deal of patience. For that reason –and the water usage–neither of you use the tub often.

It’s still nice to have, though. It makes for a nice treat, every now and then, to enjoy a luxurious soak instead of a more practical shower. And, in situations like these, Piotr’s glad to have a tub that fits him (even if the monthly utility bill is nowhere near as grateful).

He sets fresh towels next to the tub, makes sure the bath mat is in place (your sense of balance keeps changing as your belly keeps growing, and he doesn’t want you slipping on the tile floor), then grabs a change of clothes for him and fresh pajamas for you:  a pair of leggings and one of his shirts. That’s what you’ve been comfortable wearing lately; he’s certainly not about to deny you anything that makes you comfortable. He opts against any scented oils or bath bombs; both your skin and nose have been sensitive lately. Once the tub basin is –finally–full enough for a soak, he goes back to the bedroom and collects you.

He helps you undress first, then quickly strips down before –carefully–climbing into the tub. He slowly settles in the steaming water –he doesn’t want to slosh water all over the bathroom floor–then holds one arm out to you once he’s situated.

You let out a soft, pleased groan when you climb into the tub and quickly settle in his lap, making little waves lap against the tub’s porcelain walls. You pillow your head against his shoulder and sigh. “Thanks, baby. This is nice.”

“Konechno.” He kisses the top of your head and wraps one arm around your back to help support your weight. “We can stay here as long as you want.”

You giggle, quiet. Barely there. “Until we’re all pruney and gross.”

Piotr chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Da –until we are shriveled raisins.”

“You’re gonna be one big raisin, buster,” you quip, tone warming with amusement. “I don’t even want to see the grape vine that grew you.”

He considers for a moment, then laughs again. “You have met my mother.”

You go quiet for a moment. Then, you bust out laughing –hard, hearty, joyous laughs that make your shoulders shake against him. “Shit, you’re right! I didn’t even think of that.”

He grins and holds you closer. One hand slips beneath the water to support your stomach, so he can feel it quiver as you laugh.

He’s missed hearing you laugh like this.

***

Your panic attacks don’t scare him.

He’s served as an X-Man and mentor at Xavier’s for years. He’s seen all manner of mutations and side effects –including how emotional distress can lessen a mutant’s control of their abilities. What’s more, he’s seen how your emotional distress affects your powers; he knows the kind of carnage you’re capable of unleashing.

So, when he comes home from running errands on a Sunday morning and gets greeted to a rush of wind and you balled up on the floor, sobbing while the curtains flap wildly, he drops his things on the table inside the front door and runs over to you.

“No!” You try to shove him away when he pulls you into his arms. “No, no –just leave–”

“It’s okay,” he assures you, drawing you into his lap anyway. His throat constricts with grief when you let out a broken sob. “It’s okay, myshka. Everything will be okay. Just breathe and let wave pass.”

Eventually, the anxiety does pass. The curtains settle back into their normal hanging positions. Your breathing settles, and your body slowly relaxes against his.

Once he’s checked that you’re okay and that you don’t have any immediate needs, Piotr leans back against the base of the couch and just holds you. He stays quiet so you can focus on processing. Occasionally, he checks in to make sure you’re still doing okay. Kisses your forehead, your temples, the top of your head, your cheeks –whatever he can reach, really.

After a while, you sniff. Then, in a scratchy voice, you murmur, “Maybe… maybe I should move back into Xavier’s while I’m pregnant.”

His brows furrow together in alarm and confusion. “Why? Why would you need to do that?”

“If –if I’m going to have more –more panic attacks and episodes again–”

Piotr shakes his head automatically. “Nyet. Absolutely not. This is your home, dorogoy.” He strokes your cheek when you tip your head back and look up at him. “You have every right to be here.”

“Piotr, be reasonable,” you sigh. “I could blow out the fucking windows with a breath.”

“Then we will get new windows.”

Your jaw tightens. Your chin quivers, and you avert your gaze. “I could kill you.”

His heart aches in his chest at how defeated, how certain your voice sounds. He says your name –softly, tenderly–and gently presses his fingers under your chin until you look up at him. “I could kill you, also.”

“It’s not the same,” you mutter, looking away again.

“I break dishes without meaning to,” he reasons as he strokes your hair. “I could crush other’s feet if I am not careful about where I step. If I do not pay attention to how much force I use, I leave bruises. Breaking bones, crushing organs with a hug –it is not out of the question.”

You shake your head. “If you have a panic attack, you won’t break someone’s bones just by being in the same room with them.”

“I know.” He kisses the top of your head. “But I do not want you being unduly unkind to yourself.” When you hum in assent, he hugs you close and kisses your forehead. “What triggered this one?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Saw my mom standing on the stairs. Thought she was real.”

Piotr frowns. It’s been a while since you’ve hallucinated. Between your meds and psychic therapy with Professor Xavier to heal the scarring on your brain, your condition’s been managed. Perhaps elevated anxiety from going off meds exacerbated injuries from scarring. “Let’s talk to Professor. You may need more sessions since you are not taking medication.”

You nod, slowly. Tiredly. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He cradles you closer against his chest and kisses your forehead again. “And… if moving back to main house is necessary, we go together. Khorosho?”

“Khorosho.” You sniff, then bury your face against his chest. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu.”

No, your panic attacks don’t scare him.

They just break his heart.

***

School starts for the year. The first week passes in a blur; it’s a whirlwind of learning names and faces of new students, getting everyone settled back into the school year routine, getting his art and Russian language students oriented with this year’s lesson plan (no small task for the latter, since he’s teaching three classes this year to accommodate the different experience levels), and trying to keep the mansion in some semblance of order now that it’s packed to the gills, Monday through Friday.

And you… seem to be doing okay. The worst of the withdrawal symptoms have settled, and you’re doing two sessions a week with Alyssa and the Professor. You’re eating more regularly, getting back outside for walks, and have started working with new high school students on essay writing on Fridays.

He’s relieved –if only because he doesn’t like to see you suffer. He wants you to have a happy, as-stress-free-as-possible life.

But he’s also been with you –from boyfriend, to fiance, to husband–for a long time. He’s been by your side for many a breakdown. He knows firsthand that when the first storm passes, there’s usually another wall of clouds close behind.

So, when he wakes up on the second Monday of the school year and sees the light of your phone on, Piotr’s saddened, but not necessarily surprised. He blinks a few times to clear his eyes, then reaches across the bed and touches your back. “Privet.”

“Hey,” you murmur, voice heavy with exhaustion. You pause the video you’re watching, then roll over so you can look at him. “Good morning.”

Piotr frowns sadly. Your face is pinched with fatigue and stress. He brushes some hair away from your face, then cups your cheek with his hand. “Did you sleep?”

You shake your head. “Couldn’t wind down. Brain wouldn’t shut up.”

He watches as you turn your head into your pillow to hide your miserable frown. He studies you for a moment, then shifts his hand lower to rub the back of your neck. “Do you want me to stay with you today?”

“You can’t,” you reply, shaking your head automatically. “It’s a school day.”

“Is only second week of school year,” he reminds you. “It will not be end of world if I miss today.”

“I don’t want to take you away from your kids.”

Piotr shifts forward so he’s closer to you, then fishes one hand under the blankets so he can caress your faintly rounded stomach. “I have kid right here, too.” He smiles when you let out a soft –if tired–laugh, then kisses your forehead. “Do you want me to stay?”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, you let out a shuddering breath and nod. “Yeah.”

Piotr’s heart aches at your tense, wavering tone –it sounds suspiciously like you’re about to start crying–and tugs you into a gentle hug. “Alright, myshka. I will stay with you today.”

***

You do indeed cry. He holds you until you calm down again, then gets out of bed to call Logan.

“S’too bad,” Logan gravels out –and then there’s a pause as he shouts at some of the live-in students that they get one cup of coffee each morning, no extras. “Sorry she’s hurting.”

“Ne volnuytes'. I can call my mother to sub for Russian language classes.”

“That’d be good, since none of us speak it.”

He says good-bye to Logan, then calls his mother.

Alex tuts when he gives her the news. “Poor girl. Pregnancy is hard.”

“It seems to be, yes,” Piotr agrees in Russian. “Sorry to ask last minute, but I need substitute for Russian language classes.”

“I think I can manage,” his mother replies, voice tinged with amusement. “I did run a legitimate curriculum translation business, after all. And I raised you three hooligans.”

Piotr scoffs, albeit good-naturedly. “If you stop by our house, I can walk you through where each class is at before day starts.”

“Good. I will be there shortly.”

***

His brother teleports his mother over twenty minutes after the phone call. Mikhail nods in greeting, ambles over to the fridge, and pulls out a can of lemonade before waving good-bye and winking out of view.

Piotr rolls his eyes, shakes his head, then turns to greet his mother. “Thank you, again, for helping on such short notice.”

“Of course.” She accepts his hug, then nods towards the stairs. “How is she?”

“Tired,” he answers, frowning sadly. “She did not sleep. And her anxiety has been bad.”

Alexandra tsks, sympathetic. “Poor girl.” She eyes Piotr, then smiles and squeezes his shoulder. “Good thing she has you to support her.”

Piotr smiles and ducks his head, pleased by the praise. “It goes both ways. Let me get you class schedules.” He grabs the shoulder bag he uses to transport his laptop and other school materials to and from the mansion and sets it on the kitchen counter. “I have three language classes. Entry level is at nine, intermediate is after lunch, and advanced is at two…”

By the time he’s nearly done catching his mother up, you come padding downstairs. “Hey.”

Piotr and his mother look up in unison. He leaves his mother’s side, heading over to the stairs so he can hold out a hand and steady you the rest of the way down. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just wanted to come say hi.” You wave at Alex. “Dobroye utro.”

“Dobroye utro,” she returns before switching to English. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh.” You shrug, then cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you yawn. “Is what it is.”

Alex hums, nodding, then holds out one arm in offering. She hugs you when you accept and step closer to her, gently rubbing your back. “You are doing good job. Taking care of yourself is part of the process.”

“Thank you.” You sniff, then step back and fan your face with your hands. You let out a laugh. “Ugh, I’m all emotional.”

Alexandra chuckles. “All part of the deal.” She pats your arm. “It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” You blink a few times to clear your eyes, then look her over. “You look sharp!”

Alex preens a little, adjusting the lapel of her navy blue suit. “Spasibo. Nicky’s choice.”

“He’s got good taste.” You share a grin with her, then turn and hug him. “I’m gonna head back to bed.”

Piotr kisses the top of your head. “Khorosho. What would you like for breakfast?” He fixes you with a fond, yet determined look when you grimace. “Myshka, you need to eat.”

“Wow, which option will taste best when I’m throwing it up?” you mutter, dejected. “What a fabulous contemplation.”

“What about something like toast?” Alexandra suggests, slightly bemused, after watching the two of you for a moment. “Something not too heavy, can be eaten slowly. It may help.”

Piotr smiles when you relent with a grunt, then kisses the top of your head once more. “What kind of toast?”

“One piece, Mr. Giant,” you grumble –although your voice is tinged with humor. “And apricot jelly. That one’s smelled the best lately.”

“One piece of toast with apricot jelly,” Piotr parrots back, rubbing circles over your back and shoulders. “I can do that.”

“With butter,” you add, voice slightly muffled as you rest your head against his chest. “And make sure it melts all the way before you add the jelly. The texture turns weird otherwise.”

“Konechno.” Piotr leans down to kiss you, then ushers you towards the stairs. “Go rest. I will be up shortly.” When he turns back around, after you’ve made it to the second floor and he can hear your footsteps heading towards the master bedroom, he finds his mother watching him with a fond smile on her face. He frowns faintly, confused. “What?”

“You’re sweet with her,” she explains, switching back to Russian. “It’s lovely to watch.”

Piotr ducks his head, somewhat flustered by the attention from his mother, but nonetheless pleased. “It’s easy. I love her.”

Alex chuckles, then sighs. “You take after your father. Sappy.”

“I think I take after you, too,” he retorts with a soft shrug. He smiles when Alex scoffs –though the tips of his mother’s ears turn red, which is a dead giveaway that his compliment landed how he wanted–then returns to the papers laid out on the kitchen island counter. “So–”

“You’ve done a good job explaining.” She stacks the papers together, taps them against the counter to get them aligned, then tucks them back into his shoulder bag. She slings the strap over her shoulder, then pats his shoulder. “Go take care of your girl. I’ll manage.”

“Thank you, mama.” He hugs her, then watches as she strides down the hall and out the front door. He starts to follow her, then catches himself when the door shuts and latches on it’s own behind her. Right. Of course. He laughs to himself, then turns back to the kitchen. Toast time.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Piotr blinks rapidly, then angles his head down so he can look at you. His brows pinch together as he tries to puzzle out what you could possibly be apologizing for this time (you’ve fallen back into the habit of over-apologizing since reducing the dose of your medication, which isn’t all that surprising, but it concerns him). “For what?”

“For being so picky about my toast,” you murmur, tone sheepish. You tuck your head against your shoulder, thus hiding your face. “I didn’t mean to make you do all that extra work.”

“It –it was not ‘extra work,’” Piotr assures you, laughing slightly at the sheer absurdity of the notion. “You are not feeling well. You are my wife. And you are carrying my child. Taking extra fifteen seconds to make sure butter melts completely is not ‘extra work.’”

“Well… still,” you mumble before you resume nibbling at your toast. “Thank you.”

“No ‘still,’” he insists as he leans over to kiss your temple. “And you are very welcome.” He smiles when you relax a little, then settles back in to watch the video you’d pulled up on your phone–

And then his phone chirps. Once. Twice. Three times.

Piotr frowns when the fourth and fifth notifications roll in. Chto za chert…

The messages are from his students, each with pictures attached.

Pictures of his mother.

Kitty: [image attached] DUDE, YOU NEVER SAID YOUR MOM COULD PULL DAPPER BUTCH.

Ellie: [image attached] Tell ur dad he needs to pick ur mom’s outfits more often

Yukio: [image attached] Your mom looks nice!

Evan: [image attached] u never mentioned ur mom was hot dude

Evan: [image attached] is she seeing anyone lol?

You peer over his shoulder, then start laughing. “Uh oh. I think your kids may have a new favorite teacher.”

“All she did was wear a suit,” he mutters –even as he screenshots the texts to send to his parents; he knows they’ll get a kick out of them. He makes a mental note to have Logan talk to Evan about appropriate boundaries, then squints when a new text rolls in.

Ororo: I think your students have started a Snap group dedicated to your mom wearing that suit.

He sighs and rolls his eyes skywards –then smirks and looks down when he feels you start shaking next to him. “Are you alright?”

You tip your head back and let out a bright cackle. “Yeah,” you manage once you catch your breath, “I think it’s official. Your students are going to replace you after today.”

He shakes his head, still bemused, then turns off his phone and sets it back down. “Very funny, myshka.”

#sass writes #piotr rasputin x reader #tw: panic attack #tw: vomiting #tw: medication withdrawal #the reader has a rough time of it and piotr takes care of her #hurt/comfort #also alex wears a suit and everyone loses their minds sdlfkjdsflkjdslfkj #x-men fanfiction #deadpool fanfiction

[michelangelinden]

Caress my cheek and leave traces of glitter (and hold me like I'm something precious)

Chapter 7/7 - Epilogue - Donate all your books before you move

It's an epilogue my guys. I'm a bit sad that it's ending. So have fun reading one last time!!

Thanks to @legolasghosty for beta reading, @lyxchen for making beautiful art, @julieandthephantomsbb for organising the event, and everyone who read this fic!

AO3 link and taglist in the reblog <3

Rated T (for swearing). Warning for implication of being overwhelmed. Chapter 7 - Epilogue - 2.8k words.

“Chop chop, guys, this was the last trip,” Julie says cheerily when she passes Alex and Willie. In her hands is a box which Alex knows weighs pretty much nothing, because he handed it to her, compared to Alex and Willie’s boxes, which contain books. Willie lets out a groan. “Finally. I’m so ready to just fall into bed.” “You’ll have to build it first,” Alex reminds him ruefully. Willie stops and grimaces. “Fuck.” They turn to look at Alex. “You are not sleeping with your mattress on the floor.” “I—I wasn’t even gonna suggest that,” Willie mumbles, looking caught.

#One Last Time #*quietly sings from Hamilton under my breath* #i'm a tad emotional #i'm so proud of this whole fic #julie and the phantoms #willex #alex mercer #willie jatp #linden writes stuff #julieandthephantomsbb #caress my cheek and leave traces of glitter

[queenofbaws]

🌹 what about Conrad?;)

close calls and busted balls

Rated T

Just when he thought he’d reached his absolute threshold for terror, Conrad receives a nasty surprise. After narrowly managing to avoid the pirates ransoming them for his family’s money, he and Alex end up sharing some pretty close quarters...and an absolutely horrifying admission: Alex almost proposed to Julia tonight.

Kidnappings? Ghosts? Tetanus? Government cover-ups? None of that shit holds a candle to the pulse-pounding horror of hearing how close Alex came to irreparably ruining his whole life by marrying Julia, of all people, holy shit! Conrad tells him as much. Repeatedly. And endlessly. No way is he about to let this guy willingly enter into a legally binding contract with his fucked up family - especially not if they manage to survive...whatever this whole ghost ship thing turns out to be.

...

There was a smell in the room he didn’t like. Come to think of it...there’d been a smell in every room that he hadn’t liked, making him wonder if maybe, just maybe, the smell was, in fact, them. They had been doing an awful lot of running, and man alive it was hot on that fucking boat, so that stink was really probably just a couple dudes’-worth of sweat, and -

Alex turned around, the dim light of the lantern falling on a pile of leathery corpses huddled up in the corner, and actually that made more sense. That was was probably the smell, huh? Not exactly a more comforting thought, but at least he could keep convincing himself that his Old Spice was hanging in there.

“This is...so fucked up,” he heard Alex grumble. He’d probably meant to say it to himself, but the bunkroom was so cramped and the air so still that he didn’t have any choice but to hear him. “How could this happen?”

He made a concerted effort to breathe through his mouth (at least for the time being), if only to cut back on some of the ungodly reek they were dealing with. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, you’d hate our parents.”

There was a pause, and then Alex turned around again, the lantern light making the shadows on his face that much darker and deeper, turning his confusion into a comical mask of surprise. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, they’re awful. And I don’t mean awful like ‘Oh, they’re so overbearing,’ or ‘They’re a little too supportive,’ either. They’re just like. Bad people. Objectively. Come to think of it, they probably wouldn’t like you. They don’t like anyone. Shit, I’m not even sure they like me, and that’s just...” He snorted a laugh to show how positively ridiculous the idea was, “Everyone likes me.”

For a beat, there was nothing but the sound of the waves lapping against the ship’s side. Nothing but the far-off clanging of bare feet on metal. Nothing but the tiny squeaks of the lantern in Alex’s hand. Then his shoulders dropped and realization hit. “I’m n...Jesus Christ, man, I’m talking about all the bodies, not the marriage thing!”

“Who cares about the dead bodies?! They’re not doing shit, they’re just being dead! You, though? You’re still plenty alive, Smith - alive and apparently set on making the worst call of your life! You don’t want in on this family! The fuck is wrong with you?! We celebrate the Kentucky Derby like it’s Christmas, for fuck’s sake! You really want to volunteer for that?!”

send me a flower and i'll make up a fic (that doesn't exist [yet {because we all know how bad my self restraint is}])!!!

#torahime #asks #queenie writes supermassive #the more time goes on and the older my siblings get the more i dig down into my hc that conrad has a panic attack the second he learns #about the proposal - doesnt matter what he says or does he's freaking the fuck out

[straighttohellbuddy]

discretion {Quackity}

Request: quackity x reader, clingy alex🤔 would be funny to see LOL

Summary: Literally just tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, Reader and Q being cute and clingy and in love.

A/N: 2174 words. my soul needed to write this holy shit i need to be held. anyways. im kind of in love with this man, i watched his drunk cooking stream earlier and honestly he's so fucking endearing it hurt.

Warnings: mentions of food & PDA & 1 mention of his first name & the reader being a part of a drunk stream

Citrus Scale: 🧡 ORANGE 🧡

Maybe you hadn't noticed at first because it seemed as though all the friends you made online were a little touch starved in real life. Maybe you hadn't noticed because you enjoyed his company, and wouldn't complain about getting to be close to him. Maybe you hadn't noticed because when you started dating, you'd assumed you were in something of a honeymoon phase at first, that all new couples were this close, and you weren't going to complain, you loved it and you loved him.

But it quickly dawned on you that Quackity was a lot, for lack of a better word, clingier than he would ever admit. You'd never call him clingy to his face, you wouldn't want to insinuate that you didn't enjoy it, and honestly you enjoyed the contact, just as much as you enjoyed how easily he would give you space if you'd ask.

It went unnoticed by most, for which you were kind of thankful, it felt like a secret you could hold close to your heart. When out and about, there's a good chance the two of you would never stray more than a few feet from each other, joined at the hip, magnetised; even if you weren't trying to make it obvious that you're together, not holding hands or being particularly cute, there's barely even space for light to escape between you.

"You're too far away," he'll tell you when you're filming together, pulling your chair closer to his by the monitor, even when you're still perfectly in shot, but you'll let him, leaning on the arm of his chair and resting your cheek on his shoulder for a moment, "better," he'll say, like he's glad you're properly in frame, but he's trying to school his expression into something that isn't so pleased and sappy with the contact.

Your relationship had been made public after a few months, though it was still rather lowkey. You were in each other's videos often, on each other's Instagram and Twitter stories, mentioned often, but it was always decidedly G-rated. The only constant indications of your relationship was the fondness with which you spoke about each other, and your physical closeness in video, vlogs, or streams.

Like when you'd been waiting in line for food, vlogging your day about the town, and he's quiet by your side, looking down at his phone, and you step away for a moment to catch a shot of something out the window, and you feel a faint pressure by your hip. Turning back, he hasn't looked up, but he's looped a finger through one of your belt loops, not pulling you back, just... there. You're trying to not be endeared by it.

"Don't go too far you'll lose your spot," he says, as if knowing that you're looking at him, and his tone is nonchalant, finally glancing up with half a smirk when you point your camera at him, "I'm not letting you cut back in." He teases. For a moment, you consider testing him on that, but there's also a good chance he'd insist you head to the back of the line, just for the bit, and so you obligingly step back; he gives a faint tug on your belt loop before letting it go, going back to his phone.

"Love you," you murmur fondly, leaning against him for a moment, and he gives a noncommittal hum, but you can see the way he's grinning.

Love is common and quiet. Love is spoken easily and freely. Love is said through gestures and moments. Love is heard in laughter and understanding.

Cold nights and cold morning in late December make it hard to wake up, to get out of bed, even with all that you both know that you still have to do. The light of the morning infiltrates your room, and he's barely awake when he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight, incoherent mumbling, burying you both further into the duvet in a way that says not yet, don't let the day start yet, stay here, stay with me. So you stay, of course you stay, even if it's only for five more minutes.

Late nights often find you editing while he's buried in studies, sharing a little office space, quiet typing becoming background music as irritation and frustration builds in you both as the night wears on. He pushes himself back from where he's working so hard his chair almost topples, and you raise your tired eyes from your screen. You watch him scrub his hands over his face like he's gone numb and is trying to feel something again.

"I'm fucking starving," he grumbles, irate, and you're already pulling out your phone to see what's open at this time of night.

"What are you vibing?" You ask, and he's draping himself over the back of your chair when he declares that he could eat anything, idly squishing your cheeks as you keep listing out different options as if this kind of behaviour isn't out of the ordinary.

When you offer to show him how your video's going while waiting for food to arrive, he promptly sits himself in your lap, taking one of your earbuds when you offer it.

The video comes to an end, and for a moment, there's silence, right up until he starts leaning back, squishing you against the seat back.

"I love you so much," he sounds proud, even as you wheeze that he's a dick, "you're so talented." At least he sounds brighter than before, though in retaliation, you attempt to crush him in a hug, arms around his waist. Thankfully your phone goes off, and the food arrives before either of you has to forfeit.

You get so used to him being close, being in your orbit, that you miss him for the silliest reasons, and you're starting to think his clinginess has rubbed off on you, not that you were complaining.

There were jokes here and there, people starting to notice how close the two of you tended to be whenever you were spotted together, or were in a video together. This, of course, isn't helped when Karl puts a video up on his Instagram story when you had all met up to film some videos together.

"Sure guys -" the camera flips from showing a close-up of his face, to showing yourself and Quackity on a sofa in what appeared to be an office, your head in his lap while you're stretched out over the rest of the sofa, both of you looking away from your phones to him, "make yourselves at home."

After a beat of silence, you drew your legs close to yourself, as if to make room for him, and the camera flipped back around to show his pleased little grin as he sat down... right before you bridged your legs over him, and Quackity began chanting 'one of us, one of us' as the video cuts out.

Of course the first thing you see on Twitter after that is a post that reads 'Y/N nd Quackity see each other and are really just like..... its Free Real Estate' followed by a response of 'Y/N nd Quackity see another human being and are just like...... its Free Real Estate'.

But people still don't know the full extent, still don't understand how you've both become accommodated to being in close orbit around each other, at least not until you agree to finally do a cooking stream on his channel. A drunk cooking stream.

The first thing that the chat hears is you voicing your regret, already tipsy, while Quackity's fixing his camera.

"Don't say that, don't say that, it'll be great, won't it chat? It'll be great! Hi everyone!" He waves at his camera, stepping back cautiously once he's happy with the angle. Then he's looking at you, gesturing adamantly for you to join him, which you do, almost overshooting your mark, almost running into him, though he's got an arm around you to steady you.

"This was a terrible idea," you say quietly, covering your face with your hands, peering at him through your fingers.

"No it isn't, stop saying that, why is it a bad idea?" He rolled his eyes, and you curled your fingers down to at least show the top half of your face, barely managing to conceal your smile.

"Because I can't be like, edit that part out, and there's gonna be so many moments I wanna edit out," you admit, not looking away from him for a moment, and you sway on the spot, leaning in closer to him. Then, after a moment, you cast a glance to the camera, to the stream, and it takes all your will power to step away from him, stepping back to be closer to the ingredients haphazardly piled on the counter.

"Hi chat, I hope you're all well," you raise your voice a little, trying to regain your composure. It doesn't last long.

The self-consciousness disappears quickly as you and Quackity attempt fancy cupcakes from scratch. You move seamlessly around each other in the little kitchen, even while drunk and elated the two of you are in sync. Finally, with the cupcakes in the oven, the two of you share a thrilled high-five, but you take a hold of his hand.

"Come on, babe, two minutes, dance with me to the DMCA free music," you snort, and you don't have to ask twice, the two of you dancing like absolute fools to the instrumental bop in the background. He ends up trying to dip you, and you definitely end up falling, but he helps you back to your feet, apologising despite how hard you're laughing.

And you're making the icing while he makes the filling, and yet you're side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and anyone would think that you'd rather have your own space, but it works for you.

"Wait, where are you going?" There's concern in his voice as you step away for a moment, out of frame, to which you assure him you're just getting another drunk, and his concern fades, though you can't stop yourself from being endeared. Quickly, you step back into frame to kiss him quickly.

"What was that for?" He asks, though he's grinning from ear to ear. God he's so lovely; you kiss him again.

"Love you is all," your voice is soft and flustered, and you glance to the camera, as if you've just remembered your audience, before absconding, asking if he'd like a drink too.

When you get back, he's still beaming, chattering away to chat, and in your sappy, drunken state, you take a moment to admire him. Even when he catches you, raising his eyebrows expectantly, curiously, all you can do is grin at him.

"This was a terrible idea for a stream," you hear yourself say through your actual giggles, "you're gonna kill me, Q."

"Seems a bit drastic," he snorted, before adding, "chat was yelling at me for not telling you I love you too, by the way," his smile turning soft at the edges, turning fond, "which I do, obviously," his gaze slides to the computer, "happy now chat?"

"Alex Quackity you're going to be the death of me," you groaned, face in your hands to hide your flustered embarrassment, "I can't do this, man, not in front of thousands of people," you laugh, "I don't wanna be the gross PDA couple in front of all of your viewers."

"I don't know what they expected from a drunk stream from a couple who live together and have for a while," he pointed out, turning down the heat of the stove as a timer went off, "but I feel like they should have expected at least a little."

"I don't wanna be weird," you said softly, as if asking for permission, and he looks up from the compote he'd been stirring, grinning faintly.

"Get your ass over here," he nodded you over, and you obligingly joined him, wrapping your arms around him from behind, pressing your smile against his back as he hums appreciatively, "we can be the gross PDA couple sometimes," he assures, with a decisive nod, "as a treat."

A dono reads out 'maybe love is real after all'.

"Maybe," you muse, still not letting Quackity go, just soaking up this moment as your sappy, content mind wills you to.

"Fuck you," Quackity snorts; you don't even have to be looking at him to know he's rolling his eyes. Instead of answering, you plant a kiss on his cheek, before finally letting him go, fully intending on finishing off the icing. But he catches your wrist and pulls you back to him -

"Do it proper," he grins, arms around your neck, the two of you nose to nose. You're more than happy to oblige him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him hard.

Love is clingy, the way you both are, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

#quackity imagine #quackity x reader #quackity x you #cc!quackity #shut ur pretty mouth #cyltlanp #Spotify

[hrina]

Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

#be sweet #harry writing #lmao you can tell i've given up on posting my writing on tumblr cus i don't even tag it with the typical fic tags anymore 😭

[marchtomydrums]

Our Rules 8

Alex Cabot x Reader

Rated M

“Hold up! You hit her?!!” Tara asked in shock cutting in for the third time since you started telling her all the events that have taken place in the last 48 hours. “Yes.” you chuckled. “Man damn! I can't believe I missed it,” she says shaking her head in disappointment. “ I didn't mean to but she just kept talking and this was the fourth time someone from Alex’s side referred to me as a whore and I just lost it,” you explained. Tara chuckles “I don't blame you. Fuck em.” she says.

You laughed nodding your head. “So... You and Alex?” she mumbles. “Yeah. I wasn't expecting that either.” you chuckled. “But it was good right?” she asked. You grinned “It was amazing. I'm so happy T. Happier than I've been in a long time but I'm also scared.” you confessed. “Why?” she asked. “I don't know. I mean I just worry too much time has passed. Maybe we're stuck on what used to be and not focusing on the present. What if she realizes I'm not the same? What if I trigger her self-harm? What if we aren't supposed to be together.” you rambled. Tara smiles “Listen I'll admit there have been times I couldn't stand her. However, I have more good memories than bad ones. Alex loves you y/n and to be loved by a person like her is a blessing. She loves hard, she protects the people she loves, and she's loyal to them. She's kind and caring and would do anything in the world for you. So you had some bad breaks... It happens. You both have had time to grow and mature. And yes you've changed..so what? We all have. There is no doubt in mind that Alex is the person you're meant to be with and Momma K knew it too.” she says with a smile. You chuckled nodding your head “I know. I'm just so scared I'm going to fuck it up. I can't lose her again T. I just can't.” you sighed. She nods “You won't. She let you leave for four years she's never letting you out of her sight again.” she jokes laughing at your expression. “Shut up.” you chuckled rolling your eyes. “It's true,” she giggled.

The sound of your phone cuts off your words. Looking down you smiled at the name flashing across the screen.

“Hello,” you answered.

“Hey,” she answered cheerfully.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“About to kill Tara why?” you snickered sticking your tongue out at Tara.

“Oh.” she chuckled. You giggled watching Tara walk off into her bedroom.

“Do you miss me?” you asked. She chuckled into the phone. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes because I miss you too,” you whispered.

“Can you come over?” she asked.

You sighed “ I don't know. I have a hot date tonight.”

“Oh really?” she said.

“Mhmm. She's tall and blonde and really hot. She walks around in suits with black-rimmed glasses tied together with a pair of fuck me heels.” you chuckled. Alex laughs “She sounds wonderful.”

“Oh, she is. That tongue of hers works wonders too,” you said seductively.

“Oh yeah?” she asked. “Mhmm,” you whispered.

“Well, I can have Grey pick you up in ten if you'd like. Maybe you can try mine out for comparison.”

You chuckled “ I think I'll take you up on that offer.” you smiled. She laughs “ I'll inform Grey. See you soon love.”

“See ya soon.”

Approximately ten minutes later you meet Grey outside of the apartment. The man smiles as he opens the door letting you in. Once you two hit the road he glances through the review mirror. “Were happy to have you back Ms. Y/n. We missed you,” he says with a smile. “Thank you, Grey. I missed you too.” you smiled. He chuckled “Ms. Alex is happy and it's nice to see her happy again.” he confessed. You smiled. “And I know I shouldn't say it but out of all the people Ms. Alex has been with you're by far my favorite.” You giggled “Thank you, Grey.” The man smiles “You're Welcome. You're a hell of a lot nicer than Ms. Casey ever was. But I didn't say that.” he chuckled shaking his head. You giggled “Your secret is safe with me.” He smiles giving you a wink as he drives to Alex’s home.

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

You giggled as Alex kissed your neck surely leaving marks from her occasional love bites. A low moan escapes your lips when her fingers tug on your nipples through your shirt. “Alex,” you whined. “What?” she says in a mocking tone. “Stop teasing me,” you tell her. She chuckles lowering her mouth to your nipple kissing it through the fabric “But it's fun.” You groaned holding the back of her head against your breast. “Please,” you begged. She smiles looking up at you moving upwards to place a kiss on your lips. “Well since you asked so nicely.” she grinned unbuttoning the buttons on your shorts.

Lifting your hips you watched her slowly slide your shorts off throwing them to the floor. Spreading your legs apart she slides down the bed until her face is near your lower regions. She gently places kisses on your lace underwear occasionally kissing your clit through the fabric causing tiny gasps to escape your mouth. She bends your legs placing kisses down your thighs and back up to the sides of your panties. You sighed wiggling your hips. “Alexx,” you whined. “So impatient.” she chuckled. Leaning down she takes a long slow lick with her tongue over your panties. She chuckles looking up at you “Look at you already soaked.”

You huffed sitting up on your elbows as you glared down at her. “I swear to God Alex if you keep teasing me...” your threats were cut short as she pulls your panties to the side sucking your clit into her mouth. “Fuck.” you cried out throwing your head back against the pillows. Alex moans into you as she feasts on your cunt. You gasped and moaned beneath her tangling your fingers in her hair tugging at her roots. She smiles as your back arches when she thrusts two fingers inside of you pumping in and out drawing out more liquid. In a matter of seconds, you feel your body explode moaning her name as you orgasm. Alex lays her arm around your waist holding you down as your body twists and turns to escapes her tongue on your sensitive clit. She fucks you hard never letting up until you explode once more into her mouth. You cry out begging her to release your clit. She chuckles as she slowly pumps in and out bringing you down from your high.

Your body goes limp as she gently pulls out focusing her tongue on cleaning you up. You breathed heavily as she cleaned you waiting for her to crawl back up your body. Making her way up she leaves wet kisses across your body until she's hovering over you. “Jesus. Christ. Alex.” you panted looking up at her. She smiles leaning down to kiss your lips. “So is my tongue better than the hot blonde’s?” she asked. You chuckled nodding your head “Most definitely.” She giggled laying down beside you as the two of you drift off.

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

Across town:

“She hit you?” Elliot asked. Casey rolls her eyes “Yes I just said that.” The man chuckles “Don't be mad at me because you got your ass kicked.” he snickered. “I didn't get my ass kicked but you're about to,” she grumbled. Elliot laughs taking a sip of his drink. “So what are you going to do about it?” he asked. Casey looks at him in confusion “What can I do? Alex made her choice.” “Indeed she did doesn't mean she has to enjoy it,” he said with a mischievous smile. Casey smirked “What did you have in mind?” Elliot chuckled “Believe it or not but there is someone a lot more upset about them rekindling their relationship.” he says. Casey gives him a puzzled look until it clicks. “Alexander,” she whispered. Elliot smiles lifting his drink.

#lgbtq #wlw #law and order svu #fiction #television #stephanie march #alex cabot x reader #smut and fluff #age difference #lady of the night #sex on the brain #casey novak #elliot stabler #writing #angst #family sucks #olivia benson #rated m #fin tutuola #sonny carisi #mentalheathawareness #growth

[tangledstarlight]

oh all of this silence and patience (oh im pining in anticipation)

listen it’s still august in some timezones so this totally counts as posting something in august okay? okay! i hope people like this, it took me far too long to finish, but also special shoutout to the wonderful @ourstarscollided​ who really helped me with the whole first section of this fic, without her i truly would still be working on it, so thank you eunice, you’re the best!💜 okay enjoy! 

the first firefighter!luke fic for anyone who wants to read that first, though it can be read alone: ao3 / tumblr

also on ao3!

lil disclaimer: i’m still not a firefighter and i also know that they dont use fire poles anymore but lets just ✨pretend✨ for the visual okay. this takes place between part 4 and 5 in the original fic!

trigger warnings! lots of swearing, implied sexual content.

RATED T –– there’s no graphic scenes but there’s a lot of kissing and fading to black, so rating might change if anyone needs me to 😬

Word count: 6,072

“Look who it is!”

Julie feels a grin pull up on the corners of her mouth as she spots Luke’s station captain coming around the end of one of the fire trucks Julie is walking between, sending her a wave of the clipboard she’s holding. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah, class ended early and I thought I'd pop over to see if I could get some extra time with Luke,” Julie shrugs, holding up the pale grey burlap bag that Alex had packed their food into.

And there’s a sympathetic look that crosses over Harrison’s face, because she knows that the younger woman knows she’s in charge of Luke’s shifts and the reason why Julie comes over every Tuesday to have lunch with her boyfriend.

Because that’s why she was here. To have lunch with him like she did every Tuesday between her classes and when the fires of LA would allow. Sometimes Alex would text her to stop by to pick up a packed lunch for them, sometimes she made something herself, sometimes they just ordered in. The food wasn’t really the point, it was just getting to spend some time together. Julie had never really thought about it before, but there was always something, someone, somewhere, trapped or hurt or on fire. Luke was a very busy person, and it meant sometimes their lunches got interrupted by blaring alarms and him pressing a quick kiss to her lips before rushing off.

Tuesdays were apparently very busy days for a firefighter.

“What’s the master chef prepared for you this week then?” Harrison asks, crossing her arms and clipboard across her chest and lifting one brow, “Y’know Alex used to cook for us, he’d send Luke in every Saturday he was on shift with all sorts of goodies.”

Julie bites her lip to try not to laugh at the exaggerated sigh that leaves the older woman's lips as she shakes her head sadly. There was something about Vivian Harrison that just— put people at ease. The first time Julie had officially met her there had been a warm hug and teasing remarks and there was just something that had viscerally reminding Julie of her aunt Victoria that it was kind of impossible not to like the station captain after that.

“He was pretty busy so it’s just some sandwiches,” she wrinkles her nose a little before smiling, “I’ll tell him how much you’re missing his cooking though, I’m sure the blame will fall completely on Luke.”

Harrison laughs, and tilts her head slightly as she shrugs, “That boy of yours is just very easy to blame.”

She feels a sudden flush to her cheeks at ‘that boy of yours’ that she hopes can be played off by how warm it always is in the station. She can see Harrison’s lips twitching, like she’s about to say something teasing, but Julie is saved from it by two people walking past them and a change of mind.

“Morales, can you tell Patterson his lunch is here.”

“Sure thing Cap,” one of the guys says, shooting her a wide smile that Julie feels compelled to return quickly before he’s rushing off, past the fire engines and up some stairs. And Julie’s about to ask Harrison if they’ve been busy today and if she’d found time to visit the farmers market they’d talked about last time, but another voice interrupts, and Julie hadn’t even realised the other guy hadn’t followed his friend.

“So you’re Patterson’s girl, right?” The blonde asks, eyes scanning her up and down in a way that makes her want to hide behind someone. There’s something vaguely familiar about him, probably because she’s seen him in passing for the last couple of months but never talked to him. Which wouldn’t have been weird if most of the other people in the station hadn’t introduced themselves the first time Luke had invited her to one of their station parties, and made an effort to talk to her whenever she'd stopped by since.

“Yeah, I’m Julie,” she smiles politely, trying to put emphasis on her name. She doesn't mind being known as Luke's girl by people at the station who have actually made an effort to get to know her. 

“Right, right, nice to meet you Julie. I’m Nick, I’m sure Luke’s mentioned me,” he grins, teeth showing and shoulders pulling back like he’s expecting her to — what? Clap? A small furrow works its way between her brows as Nick starts up a conversation without even waiting for her response and she suddenly understands what Luke means about him. Because he has mentioned the condescending, stereotypical blonde frat boy before, and never in a good way. It was mostly followed by some very creative swear words and a mumbled ‘he’s going to get either himself or one of us really hurt one day’.

She tries to follow along with the conversation, nodding politely and laughing whenever Harrison forces one out, but Nick only seems interested in talking about himself, and normally she can feign interest, but right now all she wants is to talk to one person in particular.

There’s the sound of too many voices heading in their direction and Julie turns around, eyes searching for one person, but all she’s met with is a collection of firefighters she vaguely knows and tries not to let her disappointment show too clearly on her face.

“Wow Molina, don’t look so excited to see us!” An elbow nudges her side and Julie glances up to see Carrie Wilson has appeared in the place that Nick had just stood, eyebrows raised and a blinding smile as the other blonde frowns from behind her, still trying to carry on his conversation.

“No! I am glad to see you all it’s just—” Julie starts, eyes a little wide as she looks at the other girl because Carrie had only ever been nice to her, but Luke had a lot of stories about the blonde being ruthless and rude to people she was mildly inconvenienced by.

(One of Luke’s favourite stories was about Carrie loudly telling some girl that Nick was flirting with how he had used the same lines on her two months before. Luke told it every chance he could get, sparing no details on the look of horror that has taken over Nick’s face.)

“You’re here for Patterson,” Carrie cuts her off with a wink, elbow nudging her lightly again, “Don’t worry, we all know. He should be down soon.” There’s something about how she says it that raises more questions than answers for Julie, furrow between her brows and mouth opening to comment when Carrie just nods her head behind her, and Julie turns around to spot Luke.

It’s impossible, Julie knows it’s impossible, but she could swear time slows down. Like she’s in some rom-com movie where the main character sees their love interest for the first time.

Only she’s not in a film, she’s stood next to a fire engine and trying to care about what the people around her are talking about and it’s far from the first time she’s seen the love interest. But the world still feels like it’s in slow motion all the same as she looks up as Luke calls her name from the second floor, grinning at her from over the banister and holding up one hand in that universal signal for ‘wait’.

And Julie waits, not that she could really do anything else with the firehouse blurring at the edges and Nick's voice fading into the background. Focus entirely on Luke.

She’s never seen someone slide down the pole before, didn’t even know that they still used them in firehouses, but Julie’s pretty sure it shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Though, she supposes, it could just be Luke. His hand wraps around the metal and Julie swallows as her eyes are drawn to his arms, to where his top pulls tight and his forearms are on show. If this was a film, there’d be some stereotypical song about sex playing in the background right about now. All her slightly hazy brain can supply is the chorus to Lady Marmalade on repeat. His legs wrapped around the pole, ankles crossed and thighs pressed together, comes into view as he slides down the metal, all cool and in control, and Julie's throat goes dry.

She knows how much strength it takes to slide down a pole. Her and Flynn had taken a few pole dancing classes a few years ago in an attempt to add some sort of exercise into their day. Julie can still remember how much her arms ached and the bruises that littered the insides of her thighs after even the simplest of moves.

It was hard, and Luke was making it look so easy.

His feet hit the ground, and even though she’s too far away to actually hear it, she’s pretty sure they must make some sort of thudding sound. Because that’s what happens, right? You slide down the pole and your feet hit the floor with a thud that shows you’re ready for action. Only Luke isn’t going off to put on his uniform and fight a fire or save a life.

He’s walking towards her, suspenders swaying and smile widening and eyes never leaving her face.

And look, she knows that she’s seen Luke fully naked, fresh out of a shower or panting on his back. But seeing him slide down that fucking pole in his white t-shirt, suspenders by his knees and hair a mess? Hottest thing she has ever seen. And he knows it if the way his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he gets closer is anything to go by.

“How long did it take you to practice all that, Patterson?” Carrie asks, and Julie can hear the teasing tone in her voice and would normally enjoy seeing Luke stammer and blush, but right now she’s the one feeling too warm and is pretty sure if she started speaking right now all that would come out would be a high pitched noise.

“About the same amount of time it takes you to do your hair,” is his easy reply and Julie watches as Carrie rolls her eyes, hair flipping over her shoulder, and because he’s momentarily not looking at her, Julie tries to pull her thoughts together. To get a hold of herself. This is not the first time she has seen him in his uniform, she has seen in him in far less, and she will not turn into a blushing mess right now!

“Alright you lot, back to work!” Harrison interrupts before anyone can say anything else, and everyone starts walking away, some nudging Luke as they go, some giving her a wave, and she thinks she must smile back, at least she hopes she does. Her brain is still very much focused on Luke and how his thighs probably looked coming down that pole without the heavy duty trousers. “You tell Alex I’m still a fan of the flapjack he makes,” Harrison says as she walks past, dropping an eye into a wink and giving Luke a look she doesn’t understand.

A tense smile pulls at Julie’s lips that she hopes comes across as genuine and not just her unable to speak because of her incredibly hot and infuriatingly knows it boyfriend.

“You alright, Jules? Looking a little flushed, need me to get one of the EMT’s?” Luke asks, all innocence and anything but subtle as he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, teeth still chewing on his damn lip.

“Just—” she clears her throat, trying to glare up at him, but already knowing it’s ruined by the heat in her cheeks and how she can’t stop staring at his arms. God, she hasn’t been this distracted by his arms since their first date. Blowing out a breath, Julie drags her eyes away from where his arms are crossed across his chest — which, she’s like, 80% sure he’s doing on purpose right now, the little shit — and up to his face just as he raises an eyebrow at her.

“It’s just a little warm,” she finally manages to get out, raising her hand that’s clutching the reusable grocery bag too tight, “Alex sent me with lunch.”

Luke’s eyes light up at the mention of Alex and food, hands dropping from his chest to eagerly reach for the bag and Julie can’t help but giggle at how quickly he can switch from cocky to cute.

“Swee-et! Alex is best,” he grins down at her, drawing out the first syllable of the word and bobbing his head at her. “You wanna eat outside?”

Julie doesn’t respond, just nods her head and links her fingers through his empty hand, letting Luke lead her out of the fire station and to the little grassy area outside. There’s already a blanket on the ground, two bottles of water and a warmth spreads through her for a different reason as Luke pulls her down to the ground and spreads out the food Alex has given them.

They get an hour.

An hour to eat lunch and curl up together to talk and giggle and try to keep their hands visible at all times. It’s both her favourite and the most tortuous hour of her week so far. And Luke’s just leaning in to whisper something in her ear, his breath against her cheek sending shivers down her spine when the alarm starts blaring from inside and his head drops to her shoulder with a sigh that mingles with her own groan.

“I gotta go,” he mutters into the fabric of her t-shirt, and she can imagine how his lips would feel brushing against her skin if they were somewhere else right now.

“I know,” she sighs and carefully moves her shoulder so he has to lift his head up, eyes apologetic as they meet hers. “Be careful?”

“Always am,” Luke smiles gently at her and then he’s getting up and leaving her on the blanket and feeling the loss. Julie watches him go, knees pulled up to her chest and blowing him a kiss when he turns around to wave one last time like he always does when the alarm inevitably ends their lunch date early.

Which normally Julie was fine with.

He was at work. He had a job. He had an important job.

Running out in the middle of lunch was fine. And it would have been fine today, if he hadn’t slid down that damn pole and filled her head with all sorts of ideas and left her fidgeting in her seat. It doesn’t help that Luke clearly knows, if the way he presses a kiss to her forehead and mutters a sorry, eyes a little wide and promises to see her later.

Which is all well and good, but Julie can’t help but feel like he did it on purpose and wonders if there’s a way for her to make him feel just as flustered as she had an hour earlier.

//

It takes her a while to form a plan of revenge, and then it takes a while longer for her to gather all the things she needs. And okay, maybe at some point she forgets why she’s doing all this, and then Luke mentions the pole at the station and how it makes his muscles ache sometimes as he says he’s going for a shower and Julie remembers the sight of him coming down and redoubles her planning.

The hard part comes when she has to pick a day. Because she can’t lure him to her house, not while her dad is working odd hours and her brother is home and Victoria still has a tendency to show up unannounced. Which leaves finding a time when his apartment is empty.

Not an easy feat when Reggie works from home part time, and can’t actually be trusted to stick to his word when he says he’ll be out and Alex has a weekend routine he’s hard pressed to change and likes to get home from work and relax. Plus she has to check when Luke isn’t working on a weekend, which turns out to be the easiest part, because it turns out Harrison really likes her and was happy to schedule Luke a weekend off when she asked.

Sure, she could have enacted her plan while one or both of them were home too but, well Julie knows the boys are all very close, and she knows that they’ve accepted her into the closeness with welcome arms. But she’s not sure she wants to have sex while they’re eating leftover lasagna down the hall. Feels a little too close for her liking. Plus, she has a plan that might end up involving their bath and she’s not sure they’d want to be there for that.

So Julie bides her time. Changes her mind on what clothes she wants and practices different poses on her bed at night and drops little hints about a weekend alone together.

Alex makes plans first, announces that he’s going with Willie to an out of state kids skateboarding competition to help cheer on Willie’s little proteges. He makes a big deal out telling them all the dates and how they had plans to go to some couples spa on their way back and how his restaurant would be ‘more than happy to supply any meals for two that you two might want’.

It had gone over Luke’s head, just nodding and asking about the competition. But Julie had gotten the hint.

And then a few days later Reggie said he had ‘big plans’ with her dad and brother of all people. He’d said it one afternoon when she’d stopped by to see Luke before his week of night shifts, how they were going to go camping so her dad could take some photos for a project and Reggie could teach Carlos to fish, and then he’d dropped his eye in a dramatic wink when she’d asked if that was the same weekend Alex was also away.

(Julie knew that she probably should have found it a little weird how often Reggie seemed to talk and hang out with her family, but the first time she’d gotten home to find him sitting at the dining room table, helping her dad edit photos and offering to order pizza, had felt strangely right.

Like he had always been a part of their family.

Luke had asked her once, a few weeks after they first started dating if it was okay. If she didn’t mind that Reggie had seemed to attach himself to her family. He never explicitly said anything, but she’d known him long enough by then to see the hints, the secrets she wasn’t aware of yet. Of lonely childhoods and something lacking. The hints that he’d found that with her family. And even if she hadn’t been fine with it already, she wasn’t about to stop Reggie. The Molina’s had never been shy about taking in lost souls.)

So apparently she hadn’t been quite as subtle as she thought she’d been with her hints. Both boys clearly conspiring to get her a weekend alone with their best friend. Julie’s just glad that Luke clearly hasn’t noticed. Or if he hadn’t, hadn’t teased her about it.

And that their apartment is empty when she uses her key to let herself in on Friday evening, Hotdog already waiting by the shoes for Luke, head tilted as she looks up mewling softly in disappointment.

“Sorry sweetie, he’ll be home soon though,” Julie mummers, bending down to scratch behind the cat's ears before stepping out of her shoes, which Hotdog happily moves to sit on top of instead. “Be sure to make a big fuss when he gets in so I know, alright?”

Hotdog doesn’t respond, just fixes her eyes back on the front door to wait for Luke, and Julie moves further into the apartment, laughing quietly at the plate of brownies Alex or Willie have clearly left out for them on the counter, blushing slight as she reads the short message scrawled on a post-it note,

‘Don’t mess up my kitchen ;)’

She tries not to let herself think too hard or long about how clearly they all knew about her grand plans for the night. And the next day, and hopefully the whole weekend if things went according to plan.

Picking up the plate on her way through the kitchen, Julie shrugs out of her coat to leave on the back of one of the kitchen stools, because if Luke missed her shoes in the hall, he won't miss this, and she’s really hoping he’ll get the hint to head towards his bedroom. By the time she’s made it to Luke’s room she’s lifted the cellophane off the plate and taken a bite from one of the brownies. Definitely Willie who’d baked them, he was always doubling up the chocolate content. Where Alex was experimental in the kitchen, Willie was a traditionalist who believed chocolate was the best way to set a mood. Julie couldn’t really fault his logic as she moves into Luke’s room.

His room looks the same as it had the first time she’d seen it. Only now there’s a bottle of her perfume on his dresser, and some of her clothes on his ‘laundry’ chair, and polaroids of the two of them stuck in the corners of the photo frames of him and the boys. And Julie knows if she thinks about it, that her room at her dad's house is also littered with pieces of him as well, and she knows it’s only been a few months, but it feels like years. Like her life had been full of all these little gaps she’d never noticed until they were filled with Luke.

Putting the plate down, she starts moving around his room. Pulling out the firefighting coat he’d brought home a few weeks ago because he’d found a rip in the shoulder, rooting through his wardrobe for the plain blue cut off she’d seen the last time she was over and laying them out on his bed. Tilting her head, Julie mentally puts together her outfit one more time. Shorts, suspenders, Luke’s cut-off, coat, maybe the shoes? She bites her lip and decides to come back to it, to see how everything looks on.

It’s strange, Julie thinks as she clips one side of her suspenders to her shorts, how nervous she is about this. It’s not like this is the first time they’ll have slept together, but it is the first time she’s done anything like this. Dressed up in something other than a pretty dress for dinner that he’d taken great care of taking off her.

What if he didn’t like it? What if he thought it was weird? What if he got home and was too tired to do anything? He’d been at work all day, after a long week of working, maybe she should change her plans and do it tomorrow night? What if—

She cuts her own thoughts off with a groan, sitting down on the end of Luke’s bed to take a breath and fiddle with knee high sheer socks dotted with little stars that she’d ordered online. Logically, Julie knows that Luke will like this, that he’ll look at her with those eyes of his that can’t hide a single emotion and smile at her slowly and call her beautiful.

Because he’d been complimenting her since their first date, and every day since. Little things and big changes and all the between. He really did seem to like her just as much dressed up and with make-up on as he did when she’d just woken up on a morning with her hair a mess and pillow creases still on her cheeks.

And that in itself was scary.

Because he liked her for her and didn’t need her to change. She’d never really dated anyone before who didn’t want her to be less invested in music or spend less time with her family or who didn’t like Flynn or even one guy who thought she should try a different scent of shampoo. They’d all been relationships littered with red flags, big and small.

But not even Flynn could find a real warning sign about Luke. Maybe he was a little co-dependant on his friends, but neither of them could say anything because they were a little co-dependant too. And maybe he could be a little over enthusiastic, but he also knew when to give her space. He had a stable job and good friends and was cute and lived in a nice area and he had a cat.

And, once upon a time, he had had a similar dream to her.

One of the things Flynn had managed to dig up on him during her ‘background’ check was an old low quality video on youtube of three boys in a garage playing instruments that looked too big for them but taking the whole thing seriously. Voices cracking on the cover of Summer of ‘69 they were playing, but Julie had seen the way they grinned at each other, at the way a younger Luke had bounced around the small space and Reggie had rocked on his feet and Alex had thrown a drumstick in the air and caught it again. They were kids, but they were talented and it's at that moment that Julie realises Luke was right. They could have made it.

She wonders what would have happened if fate hadn’t intervened in the form of a fire. She’s pretty sure Luke has wondered the same thing too. He doesn’t talk about it much and Julie’s never sure how much to push because he seems happy in his life and choices. And plus, if it hadn’t been for a fire in a record store, there’s a chance they wouldn’t have met.

Julie frowns a little at that thought as she rolls on her second sock over her knee and stands up, straightening out her shorts and twisting the side of Luke’s cut off up and tying it into a knot. She’s never been the biggest believer in fate since her mom died but she thinks there’s something a little like fate that’s pulled them together. And she thinks they’d have met with a fire or without a fire, with music or without.

She wrinkles her nose at herself in the mirror at that thought, rolling her eyes at how cheesy it sounds even to herself. Fate and destiny, who did she think she was? They were just two people lucky enough to find each other.

An alarm goes off on her phone to tell her she’s got half an hour before Luke is due home and this is her last chance if she wants to change her mind.

Tilting her head a slightly to the side, Julie takes in her high waisted shorts, red suspenders dangling by her thighs, the way her t-shirt cinches at her waist and reveals just a strip of skin above her shorts where she knows Luke likes to rest his hands when he pulls her close. She’d taken extra care with her curls and all she had to do was apply some lipstick and touch up her eyeliner and she’d be ready.

It’s Flynn’s voice in the back of her head as she tucks curls behind her ears to lean a little closer to her reflection and, as she pulls back, smacking her lips once before letting them rest in a pout, she can’t help but reiterate it, “I do look hot.”

The front door shuts and Julie can hear Hotdog meowing and Luke’s muffled voice down the corridor as she’s pulling his coat over her shoulders. It’s far too big for her, hanging below her knees and she has to roll the sleeves up three times to free her hands, but the collar smells like smoke and metal and Luke and his last name is written across the right hand side and his station across her back.

That was the part that Flynn had said would really get him — his name on her. Luke wasn’t exactly possessive, but she and Flynn had agreed there was just something about it that was A Lot, in a good way. (Unlike buying a pole and installing it in Luke’s room for a weekend, that was A Lot, in a bad way. Her plan had gone through many different phases before settling on this one. Luckily, it was also the cheapest.)

“Jules?” Luke calls and Julie bites her lip as she carefully climbs on to his bed, and kneels in the middle before changing her mind and crawling off the other side to stand next to it instead.

“I’m in here,” she calls back and she hears something dropping to the floor, probably his bag she guesses, and then his footsteps sounding down the hall.

Julie’s glad she opted for the shoes, just simple black heels, but they give her an extra lift and something more for Luke to look at as he opens his bedroom door. She has one knee slightly bent and resting on her toes, coat sleeves hiding the way her hands are balled up at her sides and one shoulder raised a little higher than the other as she tilts her head at him, biting her lip.

He freezes in the doorway, mouth partly open like he’d been about to say something only to get lost somewhere between his brain and vocal chords as his eyes seem to lock on to the coat she’s wearing before traveling down to her bare legs and Julie watches him swallow, adam's apple bobbing. Just as his eyes get back up to her face she moves one hand to tuck her coat behind her hip and hook her thumb under her suspenders in a way she’s seen him do countless times.

And it gets the reaction she wants, his eyes zeroing in on her hand and tracing up the line of red that covers her chest. Luke’s tongue darts out to swipe across his bottom lip as he blinks and finally drags his eyes back up to her face, pupils blown wide and she watches as he lets out a heavy breath.

“Hi,” she breathes out, and almost immediately regrets it. She's trying for sexy but thinks it just comes across as gasping. Which she hopes she’ll be eventually at some point tonight, but would at least like to be touched a little first.

“You—” Luke starts, and his voice is rough like he’s not used it in hours so he swallows again and Julie’s momentarily distracted by the way his throat moves before his speaking again, “Is that my coat?”

“Maybe,” Julie shrugs, turning slightly so she can pull at the collar of the coat to peer down at the name stitched in the fabric, “Oh look, it does say your name. Would you like me to take it off?” She blinks up at him with a soft smile.

Julie doesn’t know if it’s the smile or her words or just everything about the moment, but Luke lets out a low groan and before she can even blink he’s stood in front of her, hands on her hips and fingers brushing against her strip of visible skin, just like she knew he would. And she’s thankful for the heels all over again when it gives her the little extra height that means Luke doesn’t have to bend down quite so far to brush his lips across her cheek.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, lips ghosting along her jaw and Julie has to rest her hands against his chest to steady herself as her legs already feel wobbly. If she didn’t love him, she’d almost hate him for how easily he can affect her.

“Luke,” she whines as he continues to avoid her lips and trails one hand up his chest to wrap around his neck, fingers winding into his hair to tug lightly which only results in making him huff a laugh against the skin below her ear before giving in and pulling back.

“So,” he starts, press a light kiss to her cheek again again, “fucking,” he kisses the corner of her lips, “beautiful.” And he finally presses his lips to hers, soft at first and then she nips lightly at his top lip and he flexes his fingers against her hip, tugging her a closer with her suspenders to deepen the kiss.

Julie walks them backwards until the backs of her knees hit the edge of his bed and Luke takes the lead from there, lowering her down without breaking the kiss. He pulls away just enough to gasp for a breath, and she looks up at him, chest heaving and takes her chance to start her own teasing trail of kisses up his neck and across his jaw.

“Fuck,” he mutters and Julie smiles as she sucks lightly at his neck and sees the red mark her lipstick has left behind. She just hopes it lasts long enough for her full plan.

//

“This was because of the pole thing a few weeks ago, right?” Luke asks a few hours later as they lie in the middle of his bed, blankets half pushed to the floor and Julie’s spent the last five minutes kicking her legs back and forth to try and dislodge the reminder from covering her legs without having to turn around or sit up. She’s perfectly comfortably lying on her front, licking chocolate off her fingers from one of the brownies that Alex and Willie had been correct in leaving for them.

“Maybe,” she tries to shrug, but it’s awkward in this position and she quickly gives up to just look at him from under her lashes with a smile.

Luke laughs, his fingers trailing up and down her arm and over her shoulder a few times before he sits up slightly and leans over to press a kiss to her shoulder, “If I’d known it would cause such a reaction I would have slid down that pole in front of you months ago.”

“It might have still taken us months to get to this. Your roommates have very annoying schedules,” she shakes her head sadly and she thinks her hair has to be hitting him in the face, but he doesn’t say anything, just carefully gathers it in one hand to drape over her other shoulder, his lips still brushing soft kisses across her skin.

“Yeah. I’d get rid of them if Alex didn’t feed me for free and Reggie didn’t get us so many free tickets to stuff,” he sighs, breath blowing against her skin as his nose nudges over her shoulder blade until his lips follow and his rest his chin on her shoulder, and all she has to do is turn her head a little to find his eyes on her lips. “Though it would be so worth it for weekends like this.”

“Guess we should just make the most of this one first, huh?”

It’s a little awkward, and Luke must be uncomfortable with his torso twisted like it is, but it’s easy to kiss Luke, and to roll over until she can push him back down until his back hits the mattress and she can hover over him instead.

“You sound like you have a plan,” Luke comments, and his hands rest on her hips, fingers tapping against her as he looks up at her with those damn eyes of his. The ones that can’t hide a single thought or emotion. And all she can see is love, and okay yeah, probably a lot of lust.

“There might have been some bullet point list involved,” she shrugs one shoulder, her hair slipping over as she moves and Luke’s fingers flex against her, squeezing one hip as he lets out something that sounds halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“That shouldn’t be this hot,” he shakes his head, but his eyes are still shining and Julie loves him.

So she tells him. And kisses him. And wonders if it’s too soon to suggest they spend all their weekends together forever.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp fics #julie molina #luke patterson #jukebox #jatp #firefighter!luke au #serioulsy what else am i supposed to tag fics on here ghfj #*fics #i post this then i go to bed. enjoy and goodnight 😌

[bopbopstyles]

ELEVATED SURFACES

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, smoking, lots of cursing)

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

MASTERLIST (check it out for extras) | INSPO TAG | PLAYLIST 

a/n: as a recently graduated srat girl and lover of a good frat party, this one shot was intended to fill the whole in my heart which is LEGIT frat Harry. he is fratty and hot and long haired and a mess. if u like this try out TEMPTATION which is my other frat!h series and the first thing i ever wrote on this gd website (he’s not as fratty but we love him a LOT)

a/n pt.2: as a note, i want to make very clear that frats and greek organizations frequently harbor predators and abusers. i do not in any way condone that behavior or that reality, and i would like to bring attention to a petition to remove a fraterity that had done truly many horrible things--your signature would be a huge help. for survivors of assault, you are not alone, and it is not your fault. 

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

or

Harry is a very fratty frat boy and Y/N is a really good dancer

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“We really should not be still going to our own mixers,” Emily said to you, fluffing her hair and rotating to check her ass in her jeans. You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed, a gin and tonic in one hand to get your blood flowing before the party started. Emily sighed, and then turned from the mirror to you, grabbing the coffee cup that had never seen coffee, just alcohol. “Are people even going?”

You nodded, tossing your phone next to you and leaning against the bed frame. “Alexis is on her way over—she got held up finishing an essay. Maya said she might come, I tried to convince her by promising I’d bring my flask and you’d have your Juul.”

“I swear, she has to just give in and get one of her own.” Emily took a long sip and crossed her arms.

“She claims that will make her addicted.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “She’s already addicted—she uses half my pods and ends up hanging out with whatever guy will let her take a hit. Is it just going to be us and all the new members?”

“No, I think some juniors are going. And definitely the sophomores—they’re all on the little hunt.” You got up, going to your computer to change the song, scrolling through your comprehensive and well-curated pregame playlist. “Plus, who gives a fuck, we’ll only be there for an hour or two for the free alcohol and then we’re hitting the bars.”

“True.” A knock came from the door, and Emily hollered to come in, and Alexis appeared in the doorway, her makeup looking utterly flawless as always. You had always wanted Alexis’s wardrobe and told her constantly, to which Alexis always replied that she wished you were the same size. Unfortunately, Alexis was a solid five inches shorter than you and had a completely different bra size, making sharing quite difficult.  

“Bitches, I brought tequila!” Alexis swung into the room in a cloud of perfume, and threw her arms around you and Emily’s shoulders. “Come on, we need to get tipsy before we get to this mixer. Nick already texted me making sure I was coming.”

“Grab the shot glasses,” You replied, nodding to the makeshift bar cart in the corner, which as laden with glasses of all kinds and all your alcohol. “Are you hooking up with him tonight?”

Alexis shrugged, pulling her tequila from her bag and setting it on your desk before turning and going for the shot glasses. “Probably. I don’t know, he’s been weird lately—we hooked up on Monday night, but then he got all weird and left like immediately after and hasn’t texted me since. Barely acknowledged me when we saw each other in the library.”

“Was the sex weird?” Emily asked, unscrewing the top on the tequila so she could pour.

“Yeah,” Alexis replied, holding the glasses steady while Emily poured. “Like weirdly…intense? I let him come inside me which was probably a stupid idea, but I’m on the IUD so we should be all good. And then I offered to let him stay and he just got all flustered and said he had to go.”

You took your full shot glass, and you all clinked before tossing them back, the alcohol burning on your throat.  You hated tequila shots but Alexis loved them, and you did admit they did their job. “Do you think he’s caught feelings?”

Alexis’s eyes widened. She had been pining after Nick for ages, his tall basketball stature and surprisingly good fashion sense a dime a dozen. Much less, apparently the sex was insane, so what wasn’t to like? “You think? I thought it might’ve not been his vibe.”

Emily grabbed the bottle. “Another?” You all nodded, and she poured again, The Weeknd crooning in the background. “Just see what happens tonight, feel out what his vibe his.”

“Good idea.” You slammed back another shot, hissing before setting down the glass. “Okay, that’s enough tequila or you two are going to be carrying me home tonight.”

Emily and Alexis laughed, before taking seats on your bed, continuing to chatter about the night ahead. It was a Friday, your favorite night because it was usually just mixers, no general parties, which as a senior you had grown to despise. The fighting for watered down alcohol, packed bodies and horrific gender ratio was simply no longer something you had the energy to deal with. Mixers were your preferred zone, filled with your sorority sisters who you adored, the opportunity to actually hang out with the frat brothers whose presence you enjoyed, and usually pong. Sometimes they even let you DJ because you had the best party playlists. The president of Sig Ep had actually asked for the link one time and you’d heard they used it sometimes when the brothers didn’t want to man the computer anymore.

You surveyed your outfit in your narrow mirror, the black denim jeans and simple white tank that showed a bit of stomach and your tan you’d worked hard on during your winter escape to the Caribbean with your lineage. It was simple, yet it suited your needs—after three and a half years of college parties, you had discovered getting dressed up for frat parties was a useless activity, since your clothes would get drenched in jungle juice and sweat anyways. You left your best outfits for Saturday nights spent clubbing downtown.

If you were being honest, the whole reason you were going tonight was because at the last mixer you’d had with Beta, you’d turned around on the dance floor to find Harry’s eyes on you. You were already dancing with another one of the brothers and ended up making out with him in a corner until you got bored, but you hadn’t been able to get the sight of his eyes on you out of your head.

You’d known Harry since freshman year, your interactions limited mostly to mixers and the occasional run-in in the dining halls when you exchanged pleasantries, or the one time he’d volunteered for a karaoke team for your sorority philanthropy event and you’d been in charge of his team. But the two of you had rarely ever spent time together.  That didn’t mean you hadn’t had a lingering crush on him since you’d first laid eyes on him, though, and over the years he’d only gotten more attracted. A body that filled out his white t-shirts and black jeans, hair long and sweeping his shoulders to where he wore it in a bun most times, a jaw that could cut glass. He was hot and he knew it, as did everyone else on campus.

As juniors you had both been on the executive boards of your respective Greek organizations and had ended up in meetings together about housing violations and social calendars, but it hadn’t ever led to much more than you both complaining about how fucking annoying FIJI and their insistent requests for a house was, considering they’d trashed their last one. But this year, you’d found his eyes on you multiple times, and you wondered if perhaps your time had arrived. You’d both always danced around each other and you were curious after all these years if he was finally interested in hooking up. Not that you really expected much more, or were looking for much else—you were a senior, after all, and you were enjoying it.

“Y/N.” Alexis’s voice ripped you from your musings over Harry, her fingers snapping from her spot on your bed. “What’s got you thinking hard over there?”

“Harry?” Emily guessed, one eyebrow raising. “Emmett said he’ll be there tonight.”

“He’s always there,” you replied, because he was. Like you, he seemed to enjoy the mixers, but usually avoided the open parties unless he was on door duty.

“You’d hook up with him, right?”

You looked at Alexis. “Obviously. He’s so fucking hot.”

She laughed, as did Emily. “Then go for it, girl. It’s not like he’ll say no.”

You shrugged. “He might. Never know.”

“I seriously doubt that. You look hot as fuck, as usual, and are the life of the party. Beta adores you. They literally asked you to move in this year when they had an open spot.”

“It was a joke,” you reminded them, because it was—you wouldn’t ever be allowed to live in the house and they knew that. It was true though, you had become a bit of a groupie over the past few years, preferring the more laid back vibe in their house. You’d become friends with all the senior guys, except the weird or obnoxious ones, and had become a regular invite to Bachelor Monday watch parties in their second floor living room. You brought snacks and your friends, they provided the booze and the cable.

“Still,” Emily said, nudging you the toe of her black booties. “Don’t sell yourself short, babes. He is missing a brain if he’s not interested in you.”

“And seriously missing out,” Alexis added. You shot her a look, but she just chuckled. “Bitch, I lived next door to you last year. You are loud.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, laughing, but she was right. You were. Guys had told you on countless occasions, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care all that much. “Come on, we should go. Maya is texting me asking when we’re leaving.”

“Do you have your cigs?”  Alexis asks you, downing the rest of the drink she’d made while you had been staring into space.

It was your vice, one you had picked up during a semester abroad and only did when you were drunk. You knew you should stop, but something about it made you feel powerful, a bit badass, so you kept doing it. “Obviously. Emmett will have a fit if I don’t.” You swiped your pack from your desk drawer and your trusty pale blue lighter, and shoved them into the pocket of your jacket. With one last swig of your drink, your veins buzzing with alcohol just the right amount, the three of you were off, singing an old Hannah Montana song in the elevator down to the lobby of your dorm.

One of the pledges was working the door, but happily let you three into the frat house. The lights on the main floor were off, except for the ones in the front study that doubled as a coat room, where you tied the arms of your jackets together and set them in the corner so you didn’t lose them. Your cigs were transferred to your back pocket, and you just prayed you didn’t forget they were there and crush them again.  

Josephine and another junior were the sober sisters, and offered you three hugs before checking your names off the list. You got positive points for being there, as if that was the main reason you had shown up.

“Emmett!” Emily called, and the blond-headed boy’s head flipped up from where he was standing behind the bar. A Gatorade water cooler was sitting on the high bar, stacks of red solo cups and boxes of white claws and beers sitting on top of one another.

Aka, your happy place. “He’s bartending, thank god,” you said, and grabbed Emily and Alexis, weaving through the crowd. Girls stopped you all as you moved, hugs and squeals at your appearance. You had to admit, you were popular in your sorority, but mainly because you had made it your mission to get your money worth. As a result of your exec position, you’d gotten to know the sophomore member class and you adored them all, chaotic messes who always turned up with you and made you laugh hysterically. Honestly, you were sad to graduate because it meant leaving behind so many fun friends and memories.

“We’ve been waiting for you three,” Emmett said when you arrived in front of him. He was wearing the frat’s homecoming shirt from the previous year and his eyes were dilated, obvious that he had smoked before. “What are we drinking?”

“What’s the mix?” You asked, pointing to the cooler.

He grabbed three cups, knowing you would be taking it. “Shit ton of vodka, Kool Aid, water, the usual.”

“My favorite,” you replied, blowing him a kiss. “How is it downstairs?”

He filled the cups and handed them to you all. “They just wrapped up pong so it’s still getting moving.”

Alexis took a long sip before grabbing your hand. “Sounds like we need to get people dancing.” With that she turned around, her long slick black hair moving in a circle. “Let’s dance!” She called, and the girls around you cheered, following the three of you down the slippery steps to the basement.

Downstairs, The Motto was playing and you bobbed your head along with the beat, moving your hips as you entered the large basement space. It was dark except for a glowing sign with the Beta letters in narrow neon lights, casting the room with a tint of green. Your battered frat shoes, an old pair of white Vans, stuck against the beer and jungle juice-covered floor as you made your way to the middle. A couple of other girls and brothers were scattered around the floor, and you broke from Emily and Alexis’s hands as you twirled on the floor.  

You raised your cup above your head and started dancing, rapping the lyrics by heart, moving your hands and hips along with the song. Emily and Alexis sang along with you and some of the younger girls showed up, then some other seniors who shared your love for frat parties. All of a sudden your little was screaming and running towards you, Mallory’s arms wrapping around your waist.

“Oh my fuck god, MOM,” she screamed, using the nickname she’d had for you since you’d taken her as your little two years ago. You laughed and threw your arm around her shoulders, screaming the lyrics. There was a specific reason you had taken Mallory as your little, and it was because she lost her shit at parties just as much as you did. You two were a dynamic duo like no other, and if your grand little didn’t have a huge exam on Monday, she’d be here too and you would all be dancing together as usual.

You downed your jungle juice, the sugary drink combined with the loud music blasting and your friends making your adrenaline kick into high gear. And then Maya appeared, arms waving like crazy, and then she dropped it low and you remembered why you adored her, even if she always stole Emily’s Juul. She had a beer in one hand and a white claw in the other, ready for the night ahead.

Then Emmett appeared, trailed by some of the other brothers in tank tops and t-shirts, one carrying a six pack on his shoulder and handing out warm beers to the brothers he passed. Emmett beelined for Emily, his arm thrown around her shoulder, their completely platonic friendship on show for everyone. The song ended and you took a breath, crushing your cup and tossing it into the corner so you could have your hands free. Emily pulled her Juul free and took a hit, passing it to Maya next without a question between them.

The opening notes of Come Get Her started and you immediately grabbed Alexis and Emily, beelining for the bar that the speakers rested on, something you weren’t even sure how it got there, but it was your favorite elevated surface of all time. Wide enough to dance, tall enough to be high but not too high where you couldn’t mostly stand. You clamored up, coming to nearly full height and turning to your friends.

“Somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper!” You screamed, your friends coming in a circle in front of the three of you, some other girls getting up on the bar. When the line came through again, you decided fuck it, and you dropped your ass low, bending your knees and tipping your head back.

When you danced, you didn’t give a single fuck about impressing guys or any of that. You just simply loved to dance with your friends, move your hips, and didn’t care what you looked like. Mallory screamed when you got low, your name falling from her lips in a squeal of joy.

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

That had him moving. He joined a circle where Emmett and some other senior guys were dancing with some other girls, beers in hand as they shifted back and forth. But you knew what would have them all actually dancing and screaming and jumping along with you. You needed to see Harry like that—loose and free. So you turned around and grabbed the attention of the sophomore on aux, his name something along the lines of Justin, and screamed your song choice to him. He gave you a thumbs up, and then you turned back around. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck, and you rolled it into a loose, high bun, pulling the elastic on your wrist around it as you swayed to the song.

You could hear the song ending, and with your eyes on Harry, you decided you would get down. He was next to a pledge with a six pack, and you wanted a beer. You were mixing alcohols like nobody’s business tonight, but you’d done worse. You squatted down and kicked your feet out, Mallory’s hand coming out to help you down. “You good?” She asked, leaning in to you.

“Yeah, just hot,” you replied. “Going to get a beer.” She nodded and let you go. There wasn’t a need to watch your friends as much in a normal party, since you knew all the girls here. Maya pulled you in for a hug as you moved, and then the current president called out your name from where she stood with her boyfriend, a white claw in her hand.

Squeezing next to Emmett, you nudged the waist of the pledge next to you. “Can I get one?” You asked, pointing to the beers.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling one from the case and handing it to you. It was a Natty Light, but you really could’ve given fewer fucks—they were a frat after all, they didn’t buy the good stuff.

You popped the tab and took a long swig, the liquid quelling your rough throat from singing. And then, the song changed, and you smiled, eyes meeting Harry’s. You decided you were going to draw him out. “I got hoes, callin’!” You screamed, the song starting the speakers, and the boys all joined in. Fuck it, you thought, and chugged the rest of your beer so that you could jump, your arms outstretched and pumping up and down. Your bun was bouncing on your head and you were grinning, the music flowing through you.

Harry was watching you, his head tapping, hair swishing back and forth. You needed more. So you moved into the center of the circle, knowing the guys would hype you up, and reached for him. “Why aren’t you dancing?” You asked him playfully, and his eyebrow shot up.

“Fuck! Shit! Bitch!” The best lines of the song ran through the speaker and you just grabbed his hand, which was warm, and pulled on him. Suddenly his body was in front of you, close, and you tried to process what your original plan was. But then, Harry started moving, back and forth, head bopping, rapping the lyrics in time, and you knew you had gotten him. “I be ballin’, like a motherfuckin’ pro,” you sang, starting up to jump, and to your surprise, Harry joined you, a carefree expression finally crossing his face. He was screaming the lyrics then, hair bouncing as he moved. He rotated, grabbing the shoulders of another one of the boys, who joined in with him, them screaming the lyrics at each other.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the change in his demeanor so sudden. When the song changed, T-Shirt by Migos coming on, he turned back to you. All of a sudden, his lips were next to your ear and you choked on air. “Fuckin’ love that song,” he said, accent smooth in your ear.

“You and every other frat boy,” you replied, stepping backwards. You had ended up at the side of the circle closer to the wall, and so you moved towards it, freeing yourself from the heavy circle of boys.

The song was slower, not a jumping and dancing song, but one that suggested the slow grinding of hips and closeness of bodies. Which fuck it, you wanted. Desperately. He was looking at you with an intense stare, smile sloppy from alcohol, Harry sweaty on his forehead, arms straining under the fabric of his shirt. He was following you, taking a step away from his friends and following your body as if magnetic. So you just went for it, putting your weight lower, and rolled your hips back and forth to the music.

Mama told me/not to sell work/Seventeen five/same color T-shirt

Your eyes met his, and the shared intensity of his gaze stirred something inside of you. Desire. A need to know what his skin felt like, a desire that had been lingering since you first saw him. Your hands moved on their own, draping over his shoulders, and his hands found the curve of your waist, and suddenly you knew what his skin felt like on yours. They found the bare skin between the hem of your shirt and the top of your jeans, burning your already warm skin.

Justin-something on aux changed the song, deciding that was enough, and then No Role Modelz was on, and you moved, swaying back and forth, your chests coming closer and closer. His face was inches from yours and you wondered what his lips would taste like. The slow rap and smooth feel of the beat had your eyes fluttering shut, mind twirling from the alcohol and the lowlights, the heat of the packed basement. If you didn’t have Harry under your hands, you might have left for a smoke break, an excuse for air. But you weren’t letting go of him anytime soon. So you turned around and when your ass touched his dick you couldn’t help but smile—he was already hard. You felt his arm move and watched him sip his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. You rolled your hips against him and then reached up, grabbing the can and bringing it to your own lips, taking a sip and watching him watch you. The two of you were taunting each other, acting on a feeling that had always been an undercurrent in every one of your interactions, a slight sexual tension that if you pulled on would become taught.

Which as you pressed against him, you fucking yanked on. His free hand clasped around your hip, holding you close and swaying in time with you. You could feel the sweat that had soaked through his t-shirt a bit, but you didn’t care—you  were sweaty yourself, so was everyone in the room. It was part of the appeal, the fact that everyone was a mess and no one cared. He was rock hard between the denim of both of your jeans, and you could feel the power racing through you, the fact that you had him like this going straight to your head.

When Mr. Brightside came on, you decided that was your smoke break time. You couldn’t stand the song after so many years, and the feeling of bodies pressing together as they jumped was too much for you. “I’m going to get some air,” you said, turning around so you could face Harry.

He was so close to you, just inches away, when his tongue licked over his lip. “Can I come with?”

“Sure.” You grabbed his hand as you moved through the crowd, pushing between frat brothers and your sorority sisters who were all dancing together to the song. When you made it through the exit you sighed, the stale air of the stairwell even feeling better than that room.

“Fuck it was hot in there,” Harry said, your hand dropping from his. He followed you up the stairs and you nodded. You pushed open the door and a Doja Cat song was playing, some people upstairs scattered around, drinking and talking, some sitting on couches together. You waved to Maya, who seemed to have also needed a break, and nodded to the door as if to tell her you were getting some air.

“I’m going to smoke if that’s okay,” you told him as you made your way to the door, pulling your cigs and lighter from your back pocket.

He nodded. “Can I bum one?”

You opened the heavy oak door and said hello to the handful of guys sitting on the steps, who were manning the door and making sure no one random got in. “Sure,” you responded to Harry finally, sitting down on the concrete half wall that lined the landing. You could hear the slight thump of the music, but for the most part it was quiet, the the frat house a couple yards away not throwing anything tonight.

Harry leaned against the wall close to you, taking your offered cigarette. You flicked the lighter and raised it to your cigarette, taking a drag when it lit. Then you handed it to Harry, who accepted it gladly, doing the same. The smoke filled your lungs and your drunken mind considered that you should quit, but at the same time, you liked having something to do when you got air, an excuse to be on the steps. One of the other guys asked for one, and you handed one over, making a new friend.

And then you looked back to Harry. “So,” you said, tapping the ash on your cig. “How have you been?”

You hadn’t seen him since your last mixer with Beta, but you two hadn’t talked in ages. “Good,” he replied. “Busy with classes and stuff.”

“What are you studying again?”

“Political science,” he answered, and your eyebrows shot up. You had expected business or economics, like most of the Beta brothers.

“Why poli sci?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash before taking another drag. “Dunno, really. Took a class freshman year and liked it enough.”

“You don’t want to work in politics or something?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do, honestly.”

“You make it sound like that’s unusual,” you tell him. “Most people don’t.”

He chuckles, a low sound from the back of his throat, and you like the sound of it. “I’ll tell my dad that next time we talk.” You could tell there was a story there, but didn’t push. It wasn’t that kind of moment. “What about you?”

“Psych and pre-law,” you reply, the answer rolling off your tongue with ease.

“Oh? What kind of law?”

You took another drag before answering. “Criminal defense, but I want to work with people on death row.”

His eyes widen, just as you expected. It’s the usual response from people. “Fuck, that’s awesome. What made you interested in it?”

“I just got really into true crime when I was in middle school and ended up doing research on the criminal justice system and what a fucking disaster it is. Death sentences and death row especially. So I want to overturn false convictions.”

He puffed a cloud of smoke, and you watched his lips form a circle, a dark pink color that drew you in. “And you said most people don’t know what they want to do.”

A breeze made the hair on your arm hair stand up, and you rubbed the skin to warm up. It was cold tonight. “I’m unusual,” you told him. “Most of my friends have no idea what they’re doing after graduation.”

You had reached the end of your cigarette, so you dropped it to the ground and stamped it out, the combination of the nicotine and alcohol making your head deliciously hazy. “I’m going back in.”

Harry dropped his cigarette too, putting out the bud. “Lead the way.” He swiped his ID card on the door to let you both in, and you held the door for him, the sound of Post Malone sweeping through the house. “Want another drink?”

You mentally considered how drunk you were, came to the conclusion that you could take some more, and nodded. “White claw, please.” If you laid off the jungle juice you would last a bit longer, and you weren’t particularly wanting to get wasted tonight—you wanted to see where this went.

Harry nodded and walked towards the bar, while you turned to the group of girls closest to you, who were drinking juice and chattering amongst themselves. They immediately started asking you about Harry, about what was happening, and you shrugged because you truly didn’t know. “He’s hot,” one of them, a sophomore named Cat said. “You going to go for it?”

“If the opportunity presents itself,” you replied. You weren’t going to push with Harry, the last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in front of him. You’d follow his lead, see what he was interested in, matching his flirting and  see where it went. Not to say you weren’t forward, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. “What about you guys?”

Cat launched into an in-depth analysis of the weird flirtation she’d been having with a junior guy in Beta, how they’d hooked up once but not again, but he kept looking at her. You encouraged her to go for it if she wanted, and she grinned, perhaps just needing an extra push. All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your back, and Harry was next to you, a Black Cherry white claw in one hand, a Heineken in the other.

“If I’d know there were Heinekens I would’ve had that,” you told him, accepting your white claw.

His hair fell behind his shoulders when he tipped the beer back. “Most girls don’t like beer.”

“Well you’ve met one now.” You liked messing with him, dropping flirtations into the conversation and pushing buttons. It made him smirk at you and you loved it, the twinkle in his eyes and the pinkness of his lips.

“H.” A guy appeared behind Harry. “We’re out of vodka.”

“How are we out?” He asked, taking another sip of his beer.

The guy, a pledge from the looks of him, grimaced. “Someone took one of the bottles.”

“Fuck,” Harry said with a sigh. “Have one of the other pledges go get more and keep the receipt. Get more claws while you’re out, we’re running low.” With that, he turned back to you, exhaling sharply. The boy disappeared, sensing that was his cue.

Right as you were about to speak, you heard the opening notes of I Love It from downstairs, and you turned to the girls around you. “Downstairs,” you told them, and they all tossed back the rest of their drinks before tossing them into the trash can a few paces away. You opened the door to the basement and then looked back to Harry. “Coming?”

That made him move, following you down into the dark stairwell that smelled of stale beer and sweat. He stayed close to you, and when your foot slipped on a stair he reached out to steady you, a hand to your side that made your body warm with more than just the temperature of the room.  The girls in front of you streamed into the room, screaming the lyrics to the song.

“You’re such a fucking hoe/I love it!” You joined in, laughing at the lyrics in spite of yourself, but the truth is you fucking loved the song. It was absurd and was filthy, but you liked screaming the lyrics in a room with a bunch of your friends.

You twirled around and walked into the room backward, moving your body with the beat, taunting Harry to follow you. Which he did, as if connected to you by a magnet. You could see his lips moving, the lyrics falling from his lips to match you. You stopped moving in the middle of the room and Harry’s hands found your hips. Turning in his hands, a coy smile on your face, you knew what this song was going to involve. Hips moved on their own accord, grinding hard against him. You could feel his breath on your neck, the lyrics I’m a sick fuck/I like a quick fuck/I like my dick sucked/I’ll buy you a sick truck in your ear. Hearing the words on his lips for some reason had your blood pumping,  and you wanted to hear them again on a loop.

His dick was hard against your ass and your hands stretched behind you, finding his hips to hold him close. His head fell to your neck, nosing at your skin, his fingers on the bare skin at your waist clenching. Your hips moved in time  with each other, his body dropping to be at the height as yours, chasing the desire that was running between you. Your head tipped back against his chest and eyes fluttered shut, letting the alcohol in your veins and the music pounding in your ears take over. All you could feel was him, the cut of his body and the strength of his arms next to you, his hips insistently rubbing against yours and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually grind on him.

The song changed, Work Out by J. Cole sounding through the speakers and you pulled away from him and turned to face him. You were going to put on a bit of a show, you decided, because why the fuck not. It was clear at this point that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, so why pretend like anything else was happening?

So when the lyrics Let me see you get/High then go low/Now, girl won't you drop that thing down to the floor? fell through the speakers you dropped to the ground, Harry’s eyes following you came back up slowly, your body just inches from his. His hands fell on your body, grabbing at your waist to keep you close, pressing his hips forward to grind right over the front of your jeans and you panted from both the heat in the room and the pleasure ripping through your body. When the chorus came again, you dropped down, and this time you ran your hands down his legs lightly as you moved, fingers dancing down and then back up the seams of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said and you could barely hear him over the music.

His eyes met yours, searing into yours, a question passing between you. And then you were moving towards each other, an answer to the question in the way your lips met, slotted together and pulled at one another. Your hands were pulling at his shirt, grabbing at the material and the skin underneath, one of his hand holding your head close to his,  the other at your waist. It was fast and messy, your lip pulling on his bottom one, before chasing him, his tongue brushing at the seam of your lips before dipping inside.

Kissing Harry was hot. It was like setting your whole body on fire with desire and you just wanted to know what the rest of him felt like because his lips were sending you to another planet. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and a moan escaped you, desperation clear in your throat. You could feel bodies press around you, the notes of Fire by Louis the Child ringing through the room. When the beat dropped, you knew people were jumping, the guys doing that thing where they slammed into each other like some kind of mosh. But Harry just stayed there, pulling his lips into yours, drawing wet pants from your body. He was holding tight to you as if you were going to slip away, even though that was the last place you wanted to go.

But you decided you wanted to tease him a bit more. Not let him get away, but just…push him a bit. So you drew away, enough to where you could dance, your sorority sisters at your back—you had seen Alexis move behind you. You grinding on her, your asses touching, and you could hear her laughter, before moving against you. It was something you two always did, dancing partners since the moment you met.

“If I go down in flames/The smoke going to spell my name,” you sang.

Harry watched you, his eyes burning a line down your body, the ministrations of your hips against Alexis’s. And then he was moving towards you, his front pressed yours and his lips were at your ear. “Drink?”

You nodded, and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. People were moving down them and you pressed yourself to the wall to let them pass, before following Harry up the stairs to the main floor. “Is there anything better than that shit?” You asked him when you stood next to him, his arm loosely around your waist, holding you to him.

His gaze drifted to the bar and then back to you. “I’ve got some stuff in my room.”

You knew he lived in the house, the result of being on exec last year and having first dibs after the current exec board was placed, the hierarchy the same as in your own sorority house. “Do you have mixers?” As much as you drank, you still hated drinking most straight alcohol, especially if you were going to be sipping on it. When he nodded, you replied, “Let’s go.”

You caught the eye of Emily who was standing on the other side of the room, watching you, and you pointed upstairs to tell her where you were going. After she gave you a thumbs up, letting you know she’d check in before leaving, a silent conversation well rehearsed over the years, you followed Harry up the stairs. Other guys and girls streamed down them, coming from rooms where they were smoking or using the bathroom or drinking just like you.

“What floor are you on?”  You asked when you passed the first floor, twisting to go up the second flight.

“Third,” he replied, not pausing no the stairs. “It’s quieter.”

That made sense, as you could imagine if he didn’t feel like partying one night it would be kind of hard to avoid. You followed him up, the sound of the music fading as you made your way higher into the frat house. You passed other girls on the way you exchanged hugs and promises to catch up after chapter on Monday night. Finally, you made it to the third floor, and Harry pushed open the door to a room with his name on it.

You followed him in and the first thing you noticed was how much of a boy’s room it was. Messy comforter, clothes on the floor, alcohol bottles lining the window sill, the frat’s flag above his bed. Some posters and photos littered the opposite wall, a single framed photo of what looked like his family on his dresser, along with some random items like cologne and a brush and hair ties. A pair of athletic shoes and boots were shoved into one corner, and a tub of protein powder sat on top of his mini-fridge, along with a stack of solo cups. On his desk was a bong and a couple of lighters, his computer sitting next to it on a charger. The dorm room was narrow, most of it taken up with a double bed that you were a bit confused by, since most rooms just had a single.  

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” he said, shutting the door behind you. If you focused on it, you could hear nerves in his voice, a low laugh in the back of his throat as he surveyed his room. “Didn’t expect to have people up here.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, moving into the middle of the room to get out of the doorway, taking in the space.

“Uh, I’ve got Tito’s, Jack, some gin one of the guys got me.”

It drew you back to the whole reason you were in his room. He was standing next to his mini-fridge, a solo cup in his hand as he looked at you. “What mixers do you have?”

“Coke, juice, and tonic,” he replied. “Sorry, it’s not much.”

You shook your head. “Tito’s and tonic,” you told him. Usually you would’ve been all over the Jack and coke option, but considering how much you’d already drank the last thing you needed was to mix clear and dark liquors.

You watched him pour, leaning against his desk as you waited. He handed you the cup, asking you to try it and tell him if it was too strong. You took a sip and it was strong, but not too much. Then, he made a whiskey and coke you were jealous of, and the two of you stood in his room, not quite sure what to do. You didn’t want to go back down the party, the feeling of fresh air—even though it smelled vaguely like college boy, a mixture of sweat and cologne that you keenly recognized—feeling good on your skin.

“Want to listen to some music?” He asked, moving towards you. There was a bluetooth speaker on his desk, you realized,  and shifted away so he could get at his computer.  

You decided to sit on the bed, thighs resting on the soft comforter. “Sure.” You pulled your cigarettes and lighter from your back pocket, before looking back at him.

He fiddled with the speaker, the sound of it connecting ricocheting in the small room, before clicking keys to wake up his computer. “Any preferences?”

“I’m good with whatever,” you replied. “I like pretty much everything.” It was true, you had everything from country to Top 40s and rap on your Spotify, a variety of playlists to fit the mood.

He pulled on his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as he perused his Spotify and you tried not to focus on the sight. Low music began to sound in the room and you immediately recognized the beginning notes of Let Her Go by 6LACK,  a smile drifting onto your face. He must have noticed, because he turned around, his cup in his hand. “You like 6LACK?”

“More like obsessed,” you replied and he chuckled.

He sat on the edge of the desk, his knees falling open, his back slumped a bit. “I don’t know a single girl who even knows who he is.”

You took a sip of your drink before replying, resting your body back on one hand. “They must not have good music taste, then.”

Harry gave you a small smile, an edge of playfulness to it. “Where’s home for you?”

“Denver,” you responded. “You?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

“Where’s that?”

He brushed a hand through his hair, the long locks slipping between his fingers and you couldn’t help but wish you were the one doing it. “South of Manchester. It’s a small town, lots of fields and shit like that.”

You’d never been to England so you had no idea of where Manchester was, but you didn’t ask. “Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t want to like, move back or anything. But it’s a good place to go home to.”

Denver felt the same way to you—it was home, but it wasn’t a place you saw a future in. You’d go where law school took you, and then the work, wherever you could make the biggest impact. “Where do you want to go?”

The solo cup hung in his hands, and he twirled it a bit, the rim of the cup pressed between his fingers. “LA, maybe. New York. Not sure, really. London, most likely, unless I can get a job and someone to sponsor my Visa so I can stay.”

“Do you like the states?” You knew you were asking a lot of questions, but you’d never had a conversation like this with him and you were curious. Curious about him, about who he was, underneath all the frat shit that he loved so much.

“It’s different than home,” he replied, and you understood what he meant. “I don’t think I’ll want to be here forever, but it’s good for right now. Got friends here now.”

You took another sip of your drink, and then pushed yourself up, the need to pee suddenly overtaking your body. “Where’s the bathroom?”  

“Down the hall. Make sure you slam on the door before locking it—it got fucked up during homecoming and hasn’t been the same ever since.”

You nodded and took your cup with you, four years of college ingraining some lessons into your bones. Down the hall, you found a blond wood door and a doorknob that was barely attached to the door. You pushed it open and shut it quickly, shoving against it with your shoulder so that you could flip the lock. Inside, you wondered for the millionth time why boys were in capable from having a properly stocked bathroom. Head & Shoulders shampoo littered the floor of the shower,  a flimsy shower curtain that had come free from a couple of the rings. You squatted to pee, grabbing the toilet paper roll that sat on top of the toilet, no one even bothering to properly put it away.

As you peed, you scrolled through your phone. Mallory had texted saying she was going bar hopping with some of her friends and you told her to text you if she needed anything and a heart, before checking her on Find My Friends to see she was, in fact at a bar. Then you texted your group chat with Emily and Alexis and Maya, who had asked how you were doing. You told them you were with Harry and most likely going to be here for a while, which got excited responses and Alexis sent the eggplant emoji, which made you snort. They told you to text you if you ended up staying the night so they could keep track of where you were, which you agree to do.

When you went to wash your hands, you rolled your eyes because of course they couldn’t even buy hand soap. You went to the shower and found a bottle of body wash, and squirted some into your hands before going back to the sink, rinsing them off. Then you looked at your face in the mirror, eyeliner and mascara still in tact, but your hair was a disaster. You pulled the bun free and let your hair tumble down your back, running through it with your fingers to calm the strands that were askew.

Standing the mirror, you had the opportunity to consider your choices. Did you want to hook up with Harry? Yes. That was a clear answer, despite your alcohol-hazed mind. Did he want to? Most likely—every indication had pointed towards yes. So your mind was made up as you pulled the door open and made your way back to his room, your phone tucked into your jeans and solo cup in your hand.

“You guys really need soap.”

He was still sitting on the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone and sipping on his drink when you came into the room. At the sight of you, he put his phone down. “I know—it’s fucking disgusting. I have my own, though. Sorry for not sharing.”

You set your cup on his dresser, deciding you were done, and moved towards him. “It’s fine. I made do.” His eyes trailed down your front, the sexual tension thick in the room. When he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it, you decided fuck it you were done waiting.

You crossed the space between the two of you in second, slotting yourself between his knees. His hands found your waist immediately, his solo cup moving to rest on the table once your body was pressed to his. Without pausing, you pressed your lips to his, reconnecting them in a fire—you needed him, you wanted him, you craved his hands on your skin. Now that you were alone, it was like you couldn’t hold yourself together and neither could he. His hands moved up and down your back, tugging you into his chest as your hands curled in his long hair. Lips fought for dominance, teeth tugging and tongues pressing for more. When he licked into your mouth a wet moan left your lips and you pressed into the crotch of his pants without even meaning to.

6LACK was still flowing through the speaker, and the smooth RnB just adding to the desire rolling through your body. When his lips dropped to your neck, sucking and biting on your skin, a desperate, filthy noise fell from your mouth and you couldn’t help but smile when Harry grunted into you. “I—fuck,” he mumbled, squeezing at your hips.

Suddenly your clothes were too warm, burning against your skin. You leaned back and pulled at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Harry’s eyes went wide, blown out irises from alcohol and desire criss-crossing over your body. “You can touch me,” you said, confidence coursing through your veins and just desperate for him to do something.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling you back into him and attaching his mouth to the swell of your breast, right above the lace of your bra. Hot breath on your skin had you keening into him, back arching up into his mouth, your fingers tugging into his hair. You loved his hair, having something to hold onto and anchor yourself, and from the pleased hums he liked it too. His hands fumbled with your bra clasp, and when he got it free and pulled the material away, he pulled your nipple into his mouth and you audibly sighed. When he sucked on it, then laved over it with his tongue you couldn’t help but buck into him. You were putty in his arms and he had barely done anything.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, the desire to see his skin overwhelming you. He didn’t make you wait, helping you tug it over his head, and let it drop to the floor. Black ink scattered across his skin, words and images that made a million questions swirl in your mind. The G on his shoulder, the ship on his bicep, the name Jackson scrawled above a rose, the swallows across his collarbones and a butterfly on his stomach. He sat there, chest heaving as he caught his breath and your fingers brushed his skin, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Y/N,” he rasped, “bed?”

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with ease, and he was backing you into it immediately, hands in your hair and lips on yours. Your bare chests touching sent you into overdrive, the brush of your nipples on his warm skin, a sheen of sweat covering both of you from dancing all night.

The comforter was plush underneath your back as you scrambled up the length of his bed, his body following yours immediately. Your legs fell apart so he could fit between you, and when he did, his dick rested right against your clothed clit and it made you gasp. “Feel good?” He mumbled, the words a haze in your ears as he plucked your lips between his.

All you could do was buck up, your knees finding either side of him. You wanted to be on top, to be in control. You wanted to grind on him properly, after waiting for so long. With a hand at his chest, you pushed slightly, enough for him to move back. He must have understood what you wanted because he flopped onto the bed next to you, one hand on either of your thighs and you mounted him, your ass sitting on the top of his thighs.

When you moved your center over his dick, both of you groaned, deep and drawn out, your head thrown back in pleasure. It was bliss, after so much waiting, to finally be able to do this, his hands crawling from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place, exactly where he wanted you. You put your hands on his chest to hold yourself up, and let your hips find a sinful rhythm, one that was making pleasure curl in your stomach. Pants left your mouth, matched by Harry, who was watching you as if you were a fucking art exhibit, eyes trying to take in every inch of you. Fingernails curled into his skin, red marks that you expected to be there tomorrow, when he nudged at your clit, and you rubbed that spot a few more times, his name falling from your lips in a beg. “Harry.”

That had him moving, pulling your lips down to his so he could kiss you again, his fingers cradling the back of your head. It was just rough enough where you were scrambling to catch up and it felt good, that this was consuming every part of your brain. You rolled your hips again, your hands pressing into the pillow under his head. Then, you felt his thighs agains your ass, and he was pushing up into you, making him snugly flush against you, the only thing between you two being your clothes.

Which you wanted off, and wanted off now. You moved back, crawling between his legs, and his eyes followed you, panting as he watched you pop the button on his pants. He lifted his hips to help you and you tugged the tight skinny jeans that showed every inch of his thickness underneath them down his legs. Then, you pulled on his briefs, and he was bare in front of you, exactly as you wanted him. Your jeans were constricting your movement so you turned tot he side, pulling the denim off of your body so you were left in your underwear.

Then you were on him again, but this time, it was your hand on his dick, fingers running up the length of him.

“Fuck,” he said, voice husky in your ears. He was gorgeous underneath you, desperation making his eyebrows crease, his long hair a mess on the pillow. Why had you waited so long to act on this desire? You suddenly couldn’t remember.

He watched you spit onto his most sensitive part, and then slide your hand over him, spreading the moisture. He hissed at the feeling and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long here—he was already hard, his tip red and throbbing. The fact that you had him this turned on and you’d barely done anything made your ego soar, to be honest. You pumped him three times before licking up the underside of him, his hands curling in the comforter, a stream of curses falling from his lips.

When you took him into your mouth, a low, rough grunt filled the room and you smiled. You hollowed your cheeks and immediately took him all the way into your mouth, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat. “Shit,” he rasped. “You—shit.”  

You’d done what you were about to give him just a handful of times before, only with people who you knew you would feel pleasure from too when they did it, and trusted. And Harry fit both of those categories, because he could fucking smile and you’d want to fuck him. So you grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of your head, before taking him all the way to the back of your throat. Your mouth was full of him and it felt so good.

“Want me to fuck your mouth?” His eyes were glimmering in the light, completely focused on you. You were happy you had left the lights on, because it meant you could every inch of him, every reaction you drew from him.

In response, you licked at his tip, hoping he knew that meant yes.

He seemed to, because he curled his fingers into your hair and pushed his hips up, his tip hitting your throat immediately. You groaned around his dick and he cursed at the vibrations. Then, he kept his hips on the bed and instead pulled you up and down him, fucking your mouth just as you had wanted. You couldn’t do much from this position, so you focused on inhaling through your nose and running your hands over his skin, scratching at the butterfly on his torso. Leaving reminders of this night, of you, on his body.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling you off. “I—I have to stop. But, shit, you feel so good, babe.”

The pet name made you smile, sitting back on your heels to wipe at your mouth, the taste of his salty precum still on your tongue. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, because all that you had done had left you more than ready—you needed him inside of you.

Harry’s eyes went wide and he scrambled up. “Fuck,” he exhaled, grabbing at his desk drawer and pulling it open. Watching him look through his drawers completely naked was, you had to admit, a bit amusing, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. He wrenched another drawer open, tossing the contents about as he looked. Then he sighed, and looked back at you. “I’m out.”

“Go find one,” you told him, leaning back against the wall, letting your knees drop open to show your underwear. You could feel the wet spot on them and you knew he saw it too. “I’ll wait here.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll—yeah I’ll find one.” He pulled on his jeans, not even bothering with his briefs, eyes flickering to you every once and a while. “Shit, I’ll—I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, pushing open his door and letting it slam shut behind him. Through the door you could hear him knocking on the door next to his, some muffled words, and then him knocking again. He was going fucking door to door looking for a condom, you realized with amusement. Then, the patter of feet on the stairs, and you knew he was going downstairs, that no one else was in their rooms.

While you waited, you grabbed your phone and scrolled through it. Caught up on texts, liked shit on Instagram, checked Snapchat even though you barely used the app. Most people were at bars, as far as you could tell, but it looked like they’d set back up pong downstairs according to Emily’s story.

All of a sudden, feet pounded on the stairs and you knew it was Harry. You pushed your phone back onto the desk, and when the door opened, he was standing there holding probably ten condoms. “How many did you get?”

He looked down at the wad in his hand and visibly blushed. “I—I thought I’d re-stock.”

You let it slide, even though you knew exactly why he got so many. He was hoping you’d have a couple rounds, and  you were not opposed to the idea. “Come here,” you said, and let your legs fall back open.

He was on you in second, his pants kicked down his legs as he moved and you were surprised he didn’t trip. Hands found your skin and he pushed you up the bed, this time he was the one hovering over you, lips drawing eager mewls from you. You pressed your hips into his unclothed erection and he cursed, a grimace crossing his face that you knew was from him restraining himself. “Can I take these off?” He asked, fingers pulling at your underwear.

“Please,” you replied and that made him smile at you. He peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Then he brushed a finger over your slit and you gasped, cool touch sending waves of pleasure through you. “Need you.” The two words made his head snap up from where he was looking at your pussy, eyes connecting with yours.

“I was going to go down on you,” he said, and although the thought was tantalizing, you needed him inside of you.

You shook your head. “Later.”

Harry wasn’t complaining. He grabbed one of the condoms from his desk and ripped it open, rolling it down his dick with a concentrated gaze. Then, he crawled up your body, reconnecting your lips, and you both sighed at the feeling of his dick rolling against your center. “Okay?” He asked, pulling away just a hair to check in.

“Please,” you begged, and that had him moving immediately.

He tugged one of your legs around his waist, and then he gripped his dick, brushing his tip to your slit once, twice, three times. On the third time, though, he pressed in, and your wetness accepted him immediately, allowing him to push in about halfway before he stopped.

It burned a bit—mainly just from his size, which was bigger than most other guys you’d been with. You hands scrambled across his chest, grabbing at his skin, struggling to get your breathing under control. “You’re big,” you said, unable to stop the words that fell from your lips.

A cocky smile drifted over his face and you mentally kicked yourself for adding to his ego. “Can I move?” He asked though and you nodded. His head bobbed down, and you realized he was watching where you two were connected as he pulled back and then pushed in all the way. A choked moan left your mouth and a similar one sounded from Harry’s, although his had a string of curses attached. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, hands adjusting so they were next to your head, his face above yours. “Fuck.”

You were about to tell him to move when he did it on his own accord, pulling out and back into you, the impact making your body shift on the comforter. There was a very real possibility of you having sore legs tomorrow, but you really didn’t give a fuck because he felt so good. “Holy shit,” you babbled, those words the only ones you could find as he thrusted in and out of you, finding a rhythm that made you both pant with pleasure.

Sounds drifted out of you without you even realizing, something that always happened when you had drunk sex. You couldn’t control yourself as much, unable to process how loud you were being, what you were saying. Looking back you couldn’t even remember exactly what you had said, but you knew it was a mess of curses and his name and God and just pants and mewls that were feeding Harry like a fucking three course meal.

He loved your sounds, used them to figure out what you liked, where to move and shift. You could tell because when you’d let out a sharp gasp he’d say, “Yeah, there? That’s the spot?” and drive in and out of you, hitting your g-spot perfectly with every move of his hips. Your hands were clutching at his hair as he thrusted into you, your ankles hooked around his lower back, and your body was desperate for release.

But you could also tell he was not going to last. His eyes were heavy, eyelids drawing shut with pleasure, fingers curling in the pillow next to you. Shoulders tensing and abdomen tight as he swiveled his hips, a broken moan falling between you. “Close,” he finally said, and dropped down to his elbows, so his face hovered above yours, only a hair away. “You feel so good, shit, oh my god—how do you feel so good?” His words were broken and that made them even better, that he had no control over what he was saying.

“Want you to come,” you babbled, “want to feel it, come on Harry, come for me, please, I need it.”

“Holy fuck—“ that had him snapping into you, hips slapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin overpowering the music that still played in the background. You gripped his shoulders when his head hung in the crook of your shoulder, and you knew he was about to come.

So you said one more thing. “I need you to come, Harry, please.” The words came out as a beg, exactly as you intended. His hips were stuttering immediately, curses falling between you like a broken record, repeating over and over again as he shot into the condom. He smattered kisses on your shoulder as he collapsed into you, sweat sticking to your skin.

He laid there for a second, panting, and you didn’t mind, even though you desperately needed to come. Perhaps it was how you clamped down on him, or you shifted your hips to feel slightly more of him, but Harry seemed to figure out what you needed. He lifted his head, took one look at you, and then pulled out, ripping off the condom and tossing it into his trash before crawling down your legs.

When his tongue licked your slit, you mewled his name, your hands moving into his hair immediately. You tugged and pulled on it as he licked over you, drawing circles that pulled desire from your flesh. And then he went inside, darting his deftly skilled tongue into you and practically thrusting it into you. His thumb brushed across your nub and you let our a shuddering moan, bucking up into his face. You were close—insanely close—the combination of his tongue inside of you and the thumb on your nub drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Harry,” you rasped, voice broken from panting. “I’m close.”

He seemed double his effort, tongue moving in and out of you at double time, his thumb brushing a brutal pace over you. You were twisting in his arms, hips bucking, curses leaving your lips. And when he pulled his thumb away and sucked on your clit, that’s when you came, in a mess of his name and broken gasps, choking on air. Your fingers curled tightly in his hair, anchoring his face to your center as you came, bucking up into him. He didn’t mind though, he just held your hips and took it, licking at you to draw out all of your aftershocks. Your eyes squeezed shut and your mind was a mess, swirling without the ability to grasp onto a single thread of thought, just a mess under his lips.

When you finally regained the ability to breathe, you pulled your hands from his hair and he sat up. You watched in awe as he licked his lips, gathering your juice, and swallowed them, a smile on his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

He gave you a cocky expression and then flopped down next to you. “They have, in fact.”

“Good. I’d be concerned about the other girls if they hadn’t.”

He laughed, and then pulled you into his body. You were surprised at his desire to cuddle, but you weren’t mad. “You can stay if you want. There’s people downstairs still and it’s cold out.”

You propped your head up on his shoulder. “There’s also all those condoms.”

“That’s true. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

You trailed your fingers up his torso. “Might have to just stay the whole weekend if we’re trying to use them all.”

His eyebrows quirked, but he wasn’t mad at the prospect. “Wanna be my study break for the weekend?”

You smirked, leaning up to quickly peck his lips. “As long as you’re mine.”

He hauled your body on top of his and curled his fingers into your hair. “We’ll get your shit in the morning, then.”

“It’s a deal.” You kissed him, lips slotting against one another, slower and less hurried than before, but that same undercurrent of desire stringing between you two. You were already grinding into him, hips brushing over his as you moved.

Suddenly, a pounding sound came from the door, and you froze. “Fuck off!” Harry called, pulling the comforter that had ended up at the bottom of the bed over the two of you.

“Fuck—sorry—I need a condom, man.” The words were muffled, but you heard them all the same.

Harry snorted, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ask Nick,” he replied, “and leave me the fuck alone.” His hands grabbed at you, kneading into your ass, and you licked at his nipple.

It was going to be a long weekend.

SEND ME CONCEPTS ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY!

#frat boy harry #frat boy au #frat boy fan fiction #Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing

[iamtrebleclefstories]

what’s my hand without your heart to hold - part four

the one where jo is a firefighter, alex is a resident, and chaos ensues

read part three here!

“Jo, I-”

“I know."

“What?”

“I know that Izzie came back."

It’s not Grey’s Day but I’ll post anyway! 

Rated: T

Word Count: 1542

She was almost grateful that she was on a 24 hour shift today because it gave her plenty of time to avoid Alex and the conversation she knew was coming. As she got into her car the next morning and strapped herself in, she could feel the nerves bubbling up underneath the surface. Jo had half a mind to not even go home and just drive until she couldn’t drive anymore. The thought of arriving back at the loft not knowing what she’d be coming home to was enough to have her considering running.

What if she got home and he was packing up to leave? What if she got home and his stuff was gone? What if she got home and he was with Izzie? What if she got home and Alex had left her a letter saying that he was going to get back together with Izzie? What if she got home and Alex was standing in her kitchen ready to break her heart?

Every worst case, heart-wrenching, nausea-inducing thought ran through her brain. She was going to get her heart broken today.

The drive home went by way more quickly than she hoped. As she turned down the radio and shut off the engine of her car, she felt the shakiness all the way down to her toes. Alex’s car was in the driveway, meaning that he was home. This conversation was about to happen whether she wanted it to or not.

As Jo reached the door, she tried her best to steady herself. She took a deep breath and willing the trembling in her hands to cease. If she was going to do this right now, the last thing she needed was for Alex to see the way her body shook in fear.

The loft was quiet. The only sound that could be heard were Alex’s soft snores coming from their bed. No. Not our bed. My bed. Jo reminded herself. She walked over and placed her belongings down and grabbed a pair of pajamas so that she could shower and take a much needed nap. She walked over to the bathroom and changed quickly and quietly, hoping not to wake Alex from his slumber. He must’ve fallen asleep waiting for her to arrive. He was still half dressed in the t-shirt he wore yesterday but his pants and shoes had been tossed hastily into the corner.

He must’ve sensed her presence because when Jo walked out of the bathroom, Alex was sitting up on the bed.

“You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Jo let out a little breath. She wasn’t sure where to start. Should she bring it up? Should Alex? Should she act like she knew nothing about the situation? Should she yell? Should she let him go in peace?

“Jo, I-”

Well, it looked like the decision was going to be made for her.

“I know,” Jo looked away.

“What?” Alex scrunched his face in confusion.

“I know that Izzie came back,” Jo wrapped her arms around her chest.

Alex eyebrows furrowed in question. As if deciding not to ask how she knew that information, he nodded instead. “She did.”

“So, um… I’m gonna go stay with Maya and Andy for a couple nights. They’re always saying that I need to hang out at their place more. It should give you enough time in between shifts to get all your stuff together and move back in with your—uh, wife.” Jo shuffled around and grabbed a bag to put enough things to stay with her friends for a few days.

“Wait, what?” Alex moved from where he’d been standing to pull Jo away from her dresser. “What are you doing? Can we talk?”

“We’re nothing, I know that, okay. I was just a good fuck and uh—a distraction from everything. I know it. I don’t need to hear you say it,” Jo fought against the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “I really don’t need to hear you end this… whatever you want to call it.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Alex frowned.

“But I do,” Jo heard her voice crack and that’s when she knew it was too late. She was going to cry and Alex was going to see it. “You’re gonna say that you owe it to yourself to try and make your marriage work. You’re going to say that you’re still in love with Izzie and that she’s back and you’re finally happy again. You’re going to thank me, and say that you’re so grateful for the support I’ve given you for the past few months. You’re going to say something about how you hope that this won’t change our relationship, that we can still be friends. But deep down, I know you won’t really mean it because how can we go back to being just friends after everything? That’s just what you say when you end something like this. You’re going to make all these promises I know you’ll never keep because at the end of the day, I’m nothing to you. I’m not your wife. I’m not your girlfriend. And I probably won’t be your friend after this so, please, spare me the speech. I don’t need to hear it. I don’t need to hurt more than I’m hurting right now.”

“You think you’re nothing? You think that these last few months meant nothing to me and I’m just using you to forget?” A hurt look crossed Alex’s face. “I thought you knew.”

“You thought I knew what, Alex? That this was temporary? Yeah, I was very aware that this was temporary,” Jo huffed in frustration. “I was aware that Izzie could come back at any moment and you’d go back to her. I knew what I was getting into the minute I let you in my bed and I did it anyway because I wanted you! I’ve wanted you for years, but suddenly you were with Izzie and I couldn’t have you. So when I finally had the chance, I took it! Despite my better judgement because I have been in love with you for years and I never said anything!”

Things went quiet after that. Jo was a little more than mortified at the words that came flying out of her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say them in the first place, much less scream them at Alex. All she could do was stare at him in horror as his face twisted in shock. There was that pesky nausea again. Jo wanted the earth to swallow her whole.

“God, I’m an idiot,” Jo breathed out. “I—I’m just gonna go. Like I said, take your time packing your stuff and leave your key on the counter so that way we don’t have to see each other again. I’ll do my best to avoid you if I’m ever at the hospital or Joe’s. I won’t bother you, I won’t reach out. I won’t get in between you and Izzie, I swear. It’ll be like I don’t exist. It’ll be like none of this ever happened and—”

“Will you just shut up already?” Alex placed his hands on her shoulders. “You know, you were right about one thing. You are an idiot.”

Jo felt her heart drop at his words, “I know and I’m sorry I—”

“Hey. It’s my turn to talk now,” Alex shushed her. He stared at her tenderly for a moment and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re an idiot, but not because of what you said. You’re an idiot because you never noticed that I’m in love with you, too. It’s always been you, Jo. How could you not see that? From the minute I met you in the pit three years ago to today, it’s been you.”

“But what about Izzie? She’s your wife.”

“I thought you didn’t want me. You never said anything when I tried, so I stopped trying,” Alex shrugged. “Then she got cancer and she was dying, so I married her and gave her the wedding of her dreams because I thought it would help make her last few months a little easier to get through. And yeah, I loved her, but never the way I loved you. Love you. Jo, you said you took the chance when it presented itself, but so did I. And I’ve never been more happy than when I’m with you.”

He wiped away a tear that had made its way down Jo’s cheek. “Which is why I ended things with Izzie, officially. They were over a long time ago, but these past two months with you have shown me that I’m a good guy, deserving so much better than what she could give me. Because Izzie always said I wasn’t good enough, for her or anyone. But that’s not true. I am enough. I’m good. You remind me of that every second of every day. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to not move out and back into Mer’s place.”

“You’re not getting back with Izzie?” Jo’s eyes were wide in question.

“Nope.”

“You’re in love with me?”

Alex chuckled, “Yes, Jo. I’m so in love with you.”

“And you want to stay with me? You actually want to be with me, like a couple? A real relationship?”

“Yes.”

Jo nodded as she tried to process everything, “Okay. “

“Okay?”

Jo smiled, “Yeah.”

And for the first time in a long time, all was right in the world.

#jolex #what's my hand without your heart to hold #jolex fanfiction #jolex fanfic #alex karev #jo wilson #Izzex #izzie stevens #grey's anatomy #greys anatomy #grey's fanfic #grey's anatomy fanfic #grey's anatomy fanfiction #angst #seattle grace mercy west #station 19 #firefighter jo #separation #break up

[debbiechanclub]

Know You Better Now (*new* BTOOT sequel), Part 1

The title is the same, but I assure you the content is all shiny and new! The revamped BTOOT sequel is here!

Thank you to everyone for your patience on this. I just lost interest/direction for the original sequel after Ethan all but disappeared off Dynamite, but I'm honestly kind of glad I did because I like this new version so. Much. More. And we have Kenny's facial hair to thank for it.

So enough talking - enjoy! And please let me know what you think!

Know You Better Now

Synopsis: Nearly nine months have passed since Alex's freak shoulder injury, and she's still not cleared for action. But while Kenny has been a source of strength for her throughout her recovery, all her other relationships are in shambles - and she's finding it harder and harder to reconcile the Kenny she knows behind closed doors with his persona as the "Belt Collector."

Part: 1/?

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x TBD 👀

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Language, ANGST

Find more of my fics here.

Tag squad: @galacticstat @hotyeehawman @hdbngsprnva @heelchampbucks @kingswitchblade @bec0m @betsy-bradock @linziland13 @librathepheonix13 @gabbynorth98 @exe-babymox-exe @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @brokenglassslippers @rocca09 @meteora-fc @kawaiikels @adriii-omega @thatgirlforever5 @sugar-melts-mo-fo

May 30, 2021 AEW Double or Nothing

Surgery with six to twelve months’ recovery time. That was the prognosis Alex had received when she’d dislocated her shoulder in September. Now, nearly nine months later, everything had changed.

“Well, there’s good news and there’s not-as-good news,” Doc Sampson started. He’d just completed yet another check-up exam on her shoulder, and Alex could tell he was trying to keep up morale. But she already knew what he was going say. “The good news is you’ve gotten the full range of mobility back. The bad news is the strength isn’t quite there yet.”

She scoffed lightly to herself. It was exactly as she suspected. “So it’s no news, in other words,” she quipped.

“At least it’s not bad news?” Kenny hopefully offered.

Doc smiled sympathetically. “Just keep at it. Resistance bands, weights; you know the drill.”

Alex’s eyebrows arched. “Yeah, I do,” she returned. It seemed like weight training and physical therapy was all she did anymore.

“Just a few more weeks,” Doc said; but in medical-speak, time was relative. Alex knew all too well that weeks could easily mean months. “Good luck tonight, Kenny,” he added, and he went out the door.

Alex’s head fell back and she groaned in frustration. Kenny wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him. “It won’t be much longer,” he assured with a kiss on the side of her head.

“It’s been almost nine months,” she muttered.

“I know. But you don’t want to rush your recovery, especially for something like a shoulder injury.”

She frowned. “At this rate Anna will be back from her shoulder injury before I am.”

“What?” Kenny laughed and hugged her tighter. “No, she won’t. I give it maybe another month and you’ll be back better than you were before. Which reminds me, you should probably have some new gear made. I bet your old stuff is too big on you now.”

The sound of her laugh was muffled by his shoulder. “Because you’ve been kicking my ass every week for the last six months,” she said. If there was a silver lining to her injury, it was that she’d gotten into the best shape of her life what with all the training she’d been doing—and it was all thanks to Kenny. Truth be told, Alex didn’t know what she would have done without him over the last nine months. He’d moved her into his house so she wouldn’t have to struggle through the weeks after surgery alone; he’d set her up with his doctors; he’d driven her to physical therapy appointments and trained with her every single week. He’d been there for her in ways she couldn’t even express, and she’d fallen even more in love with him for it.

It made it that much more difficult for her to admit that the Kenny she knew in private was a far cry from the one who called himself the “Belt Collector.”

“I wouldn’t push you if I didn’t think you could handle it,” he returned with a peck on her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna recognize you out there tonight.”

Alex momentarily tensed in his arms, but she didn’t relax quick enough. Kenny felt it—and he knew exactly what it was about.

“You’re not having second thoughts about it, are you?”

She looked up at him. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she admitted.

Kenny’s face fell. “Alex… we’ve talked about this.”

“I know,” she breathed. She stepped back from him, suddenly anxious. They had talked about it, at length. It was a big statement for her to accompany him for his match tonight, because she hadn’t been seen since her injury. In fact, she’d all but gone off-grid. She hadn’t been on television; she’d barely posted on social media; she hadn’t responded to any questions for comment about her recovery or her thoughts on Kenny’s pursuits. She’d just wanted to fly under the radar until she was back in that ring for good.

But then, two-and-a-half weeks ago, the match between PAC and Orange Cassidy for a shot at Kenny’s AEW World Championship had gone to a no contest. As a result, it was decided that Kenny would defend the title in a triple threat match against them both at Double or Nothing—tonight. And as soon as the match was booked, Alex knew—she knew—that Kenny would find a way to pull her into it.

But she didn’t know if she could—or should—go out there with him. Not with the way things currently were between her and the people she’d thought were her best friends.

Kenny reached out and took her hands in his, and she looked back up at him from the floor. His blue eyes were concerned. But she could tell he was frustrated.

“I want you out there with me, baby. And yeah… I’d be lying if I said Orange wasn’t part of the reason why.”

She frowned. “Kenny—”

“Just hear me out,” he gently cut her off, and she pursed her lips. But she let him continue. “Best Friends are actually supposed to be your best friends, right? But when was the last time any of them checked in on you? I know Chuck did for a while, but Trent? He’s been a complete asshole to you.”

Alex fidgeted, her chest tightening. His words were like salt in a wound—but he wasn’t wrong. At first, Chuck had checked in on her fairly regularly… but his texts and FaceTime calls had tapered off after the first couple months. At the time, she’d just chalked it up to circumstance. She was out of sight and out of mind, and he and Orange had been put through more than their fair share of bullshit by Miro, Kip, and Penelope after Trent had torn his pec muscle in December. She couldn’t really blame him for going quiet.

But then, two months ago, Trent had returned with Kris in tow—and Alex hadn’t been able to chalk it up to circumstance any longer. And when Kris seemingly became an official member of Best Friends, she couldn’t ignore the twinge of jealousy in her gut, either. She felt forgotten. Replaced in person just as much as she had been on the Best Friends t-shirt. And the thing of it was, none of them seemed to even miss her.

Least of all Trent.

Kenny squeezed her hands, redrawing her attention. “Look… I’m not trying to turn you against them. But I can see how hurt you are by how they’ve acted over the last couple months, and it kills me. And yeah, it pisses me off, too. So… why not come out there with me tonight, looking absolutely fucking fantastic, and show Best Friends just how good you’re doing without them?”

Alex’s brow furrowed. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was a petty part of her that wanted to do exactly that. But the softer side of her just wanted her friends back.

“I get what you’re saying, I just... I feel like I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

“I know you do,” he sympathetically returned. “But I’m not asking you to go out there and try to keep Orange from winning. I just want you in my corner. And maybe I want to show you off a little bit, too.”

He grinned and pulled her closer, and Alex couldn’t help the coy smile that pulled at her lips. Through all their ups and downs, Kenny had never failed to make her feel special; wanted. She didn’t take that for granted—especially not now.

“I did bring a really cute outfit to wear,” she said, sliding her hands up his arms. “It would be a shame if it went to waste.”

His smile widened. “Well then you gotta wear it.”

Alex bit her lip in thought. But she didn’t think for long. She put her hands on either side of his face and gave him a tender kiss. “You know I love you, right?”

Kenny gripped her waist. “Of course, I do. I love you, too,” he returned, and he kissed her again. “Come on, you should go get ready,” he said with a pat on her backside. And as they left the exam room, Alex knew that accompanying Kenny for his match was the right decision.

It was the potential consequences that worried her.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Holy shit, I almost didn’t recognize you!”

That was what Stella had proclaimed when Alex walked into hair and makeup. It was followed by a chorus of more of the same, a parade of hugs from everyone in the room—and dozens of questions.

“How are you? You look incredible!”

“Is your shoulder cleared?”

“So, are you officially living with Kenny now?”

“I’ve been dying to know how you feel about everything going on with him.”

And Alex had done her best to field each one of them.

“I’m doing pretty well, and thanks. It seems like I’ve been filling all my free time with working out.”

“No… not yet. But hopefully in the next few weeks.”

“I mean, not officially. I still have my house in Virginia—my cousin’s been renting it out. But I don’t know. It feels like I’ve officially moved in.”

“It is what it is. He’s just being Kenny Omega.”

Thankfully, no one pressed her on that last one.

Instead, Stella was all too happy to dish on all the latest and juiciest backstage news and gossip. Anna Jay and Jungle Boy were an item. Cody had estranged himself from nearly everyone. Callie had left AEW and pro wrestling altogether—and moved in with Cash. Alex had already known about that one, but it was still strange to hear. Looking back, it was hard to believe her friendship with Callie and relationship with Cash had ever even happened at all. It felt like another life; another time.

“You’re all done, my dear,” Stella said. She handed her a mirror—and Alex was taken aback by her own reflection. Long, sleek dark brown hair; glowing fair skin; pouty nude lips; a sexy reverse cat eye that made her hazel eyes pop. She sat up a little straighter. For perhaps the first time in months, she felt herself again.

She thanked Stella and hopped out of the chair, a pep in her step as she went out the door—

“Alex?!”

She halted in her tracks. Even though she hadn’t heard it in forever, she’d recognize that voice anywhere—Kris. She held her breath and turned around; but relaxed in relief. It was just her and Orange. At least she wouldn’t have to face them all at once.

“Holy shit!” She hurried over and wrapped her in a tight hug before she could even blink. Alex was stiff and awkward as she returned it. She hadn’t expected that reaction.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d be here tonight?” Kris asked as she stepped back from her. Alex hesitated to answer.

“Um, I thought about it. But given why I’m here…”

She trailed off and looked awkwardly at Jim. He shrugged. “It’s business,” he returned. “So I guess this means you’ll be in Kenny’s corner tonight?”

Alex crossed an arm over herself and nervously fidgeted with the skin on her elbow. She nodded. Jim’s expression remained as indecipherable as ever.

“And you look hot as fuck,” Kris perceptively interjected. “Seriously, I think I might be questioning my sexuality.”

Alex breathed a laugh—

“You should come say hi to Chuck and Trent! Trent’s gonna shit himself.”

Just like that, her smile vanished. Her lips parted in silent question, uncertain if Kris was being serious. But she looked too genuinely excited not to be.

“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Alex said. “I mean, considering the last time I talked to Trent…”

She trailed off and looked down at her shoes. There had been things said by both her and Trent in the heat of the moment that had made an already uncomfortable situation worse. They hadn’t spoken in more than five months, since right before he’d gotten injured. She didn’t think now was the time to start.

“Trent has his head up his ass,” Jim said, and Alex flicked her eyes back up at him, surprised. “You know how he is with this stuff. You’ll probably have to be the bigger person.”

Alex sighed. He was probably right. But again—tonight wasn’t the night. “Now’s just not the time,” she remorsefully returned. “But I’ll see you out there. Good luck—really.”

And before either of them could say anything else, she turned and continued down the hall, digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Maybe you shouldn’t come out there… you’re gonna distract me walking around like this.”

Alex looked at Kenny through the mirror as he sidled up behind her. He reached up and brushed her hair back from her neck, and she tilted her head so he could press his lips against her skin.

“It's too late,” she returned. “I’ve already gone through all the trouble of getting ready.”

Kenny hummed. “Well, I can take it all off for you, if you want.”

He nipped her neck, and she smirked and squirmed. Her mood had completely turned around from earlier in the night; it was amazing what a little hair and makeup and the right outfit could do. The white bustier-style crop top she wore wasn’t her usual style, but it showed off the hard work she’d put in at the gym—and it didn’t hurt that it made her boobs look amazing. And even though she’d made the outfit more “her” with a pair of distressed boyfriend jeans and her white low-top Chucks, Kenny was right—they probably wouldn’t recognize her out there.

But truth be told, she’d never felt more confident.

“You can later,” she smirked, and she felt a low growl rumble in his bare chest.

“Get a room!”

Alex rolled her eyes. Matt’s voice was an unwelcome interruption from across the locker room. She’d almost forgotten that he and Nick were there.

Kenny shot a glare over his shoulder. “Why are you looking?”

Matt opened his mouth, but two quick knocks on the door cut him off before he could make a smart-ass retort, and then Don Callis walked in.

“We’re up, Ken.”

Kenny smirked at Alex. “Let’s go give the people what they really want.”

He picked up his AEW World Championship, and she helped him secure it around his waist, followed by the Impact World Championship, which he strapped across his chest. Then, he picked up the AAA Mega Championship and old TNA World Heavyweight Championship and held them in each of his hands. And Alex had to admit—it was an impressive sight, Kenny draped in championship gold. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t turn her on.

“How do I look?” he asked her.

She bit her lip. “Good. Really good.”

He grinned, cocky.

They started for the door; but before Alex could follow Don and Kenny out, Matt stopped her. “Alex.” He pushed himself up from his chair and cast Nick a glance. He stood too. She rolled her eyes. They weren’t subtle at all.

Matt gave her a discerning look. “You are one-hundred percent in Kenny’s corner… right?”

Her brow lowered dangerously. Was he really questioning her loyalty now? “Are you serious?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Well… I know Orange is one of your best friends—”

“Or he was,” Nick interjected.

“—and I just want to make sure that there aren’t any conflicts of interest.”

He smirked, obnoxiously smacking his gum between his teeth. Alex bit down on her jaw. She’d thought that maybe—maybe—Callie’s departure and her relationship with Kenny would have led her and Matt to at least be friendly with each other. But she’d thought wrong.

She gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Matt. The only conflict going on here is the one between what you think that outfit looks like and what it actually looks like.”

He abruptly stopped chewing his gum. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But Alex was already out the door. She caught up with Kenny and fell in step beside him. “Forget something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Just got held up.”

They arrived at Gorilla, and Don went on and on talking Kenny up, boosting his confidence, assuring that neither Orange nor PAC stood a chance; but Alex tuned him out, nervously looking around. Waiting. And then she saw them: Orange, Chuck, Kris, and Trent.

Her heart jumped into her throat when her eyes met Chuck’s. He flashed her a smile; but it wasn’t as wide or as bright as she was used to.

“Hey. It’s good to see you,” he said, and he gave her arm a squeeze as he passed. She said nothing in response—just a tight grin of acknowledgement. Entirely impersonal compared to how they used to greet each other.

It’s the circumstances, she tried to tell herself.

Orange and Kris greeted her in much the same way, with awkward half-smiles as they walked by; Kris seemed apologetic, for some reason. And then, Trent reached her. His expression was cold, his eyes hard, and then he muttered underneath his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, “Thanks for telling us you’d be here.”

He kept walking, not waiting for her to even process what he’d said, and Alex’s heart sunk petrified into the pit of her stomach.

This was how things were now. She felt stupid for hoping for different.

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex had known it would be difficult to be ringside for this match. But, sixteen minutes into it, she hadn’t realized it would be this difficult.

PAC laid on his back, staring up at the lights courtesy of a bridging deadlift suplex into a pin attempt from Kenny. So, with him taken care of for the moment, Kenny turned his attention to Orange. He pulled his right kneepad down, and Alex had to stop herself from watching through her fingers as he kneed Orange hard in the face, once, and then again. She could feel the eyes of the fans at ringside watching her with keen interest, trying to gauge her reactions. They’d been shocked to see her come out with Kenny, and now her presence provided them with an extra layer of entertainment. At least Chuck, Trent, and Kris weren’t at ringside, too; they’d walked Orange out and promptly disappeared backstage. Alex didn’t know what she would have done if they’d stayed.

Kenny backed toward the ropes, aiming to deliver a third and final V-Trigger. But before he could, Orange held up his hands as if to tell him “stop.” And then he plunged them into his pant pockets and fell facedown onto the mat.

Kenny laughed, but he couldn’t care less. He walked over and started to pick Orange up; but then a revived PAC grabbed him and hit him with a hard forearm. They traded blows and kicks in the middle of the ring until Orange suddenly intervened and hit Kenny with a Michinoku Driver. However, Kenny rolled away and PAC hit Orange with a brainbuster. He covered him, but Orange thankfully kicked out at two.

Alex put her hand on Kenny’s shoulder as he laid underneath the ropes, halfway out of the ring. “Are you alright?”

But he didn’t answer her question. Instead, he said, “Go get one of my belts.”

She looked back at him in confusion. “What?”

“Go get one of my belts in case.”

Alex blinked and shook her head. She could not believe what he was asking her to do. “What? No, Kenny, I’m not doing that. You don’t need—”

But he rolled away, back underneath the ropes into the ring. PAC and Orange were in a precarious position on the top turnbuckle closest to them. It looked like PAC was trying to execute a superplex—but Kenny jumped up and shoved PAC off-balance, causing Orange to tumble from his grip and bounce off the ring apron to the floor. Alex started to check on him—but then she remembered she wasn’t out there for him and stopped short. She ran her hands over her hair, helpless. Inwardly hoping that he was alright.

Meanwhile, PAC had reversed Kenny’s attempt at a One-Winged Angel from the top turnbuckle and sent him sailing across the ring via a sunset flip powerbomb. They stood atop the opposite turnbuckle now, and Alex’s eyes widened in horror when PAC delivered an avalanche Falcon Arrow. But then, Orange suddenly scrambled back into the ring, tossed PAC out, and hooked Kenny’s leg. Every single person packed into Daily’s Place jumped from their seats as Bryce Remsburg slid to the mat and started to count. Kenny barely kicked out before three. Alex leaned her elbows on the ring apron, her head in her hands. That had been way too close.

All around her the fans started chanting, “That was three!” booming in her ears, and she bit down on her jaw. Kenny rolled out of the ring and stumbled over to her. For some reason, she already knew what for.

“Alex, go get one of my belts,” he said again. It was an order, not a question. But she stood her ground.

“No! I’m not helping you win like that!”

He let out a frustrated huff. “Baby, now’s not the time to argue about this. Just go get—”

She cut him off with a gasp as PAC came flying over the top rope headed straight for them. Kenny shoved her out of the way at the last second, taking all the impact himself and getting knocked to the floor. PAC, meanwhile, sprung back up and to the top turnbuckle. He slowly stood—and when Alex saw him jump into the air and perform the Black Arrow, she knew she had just seconds to act. She jumped over Kenny and rounded the turnbuckle as PAC hooked Orange’s leg. And just before Bryce could count three, she grabbed Orange’s boot and put it on the bottom rope.

Bryce stopped the count and pointed at Orange’s foot, none the wiser to what had happened. The fans, on the other hand, showered Alex with thunderous boos. Realizing what she’d done, PAC turned and shot her a glower that seemed almost inhuman. But she just pursed her lips and raised her chin in defiance.

Kenny pulled himself up by the ropes and ducked back into the ring, grinning like the cat that caught the canary, and the match went on, back and forth between him and PAC—until Orange scored another near-fall after he hit Kenny with a frantic Beach Break. PAC then tried for a Liger Bomb on Orange, but he fought out of it and landed a hard Orange Punch across his jaw, dropping him to the mat. Then he gave one to Kenny, and the crowd came unglued.

Orange fed off their energy, pumping himself up as PAC staggered to his feet. He hit another Orange Punch and went for the pin. Time seemed to stop as Alex watched, her heart in her throat and her hands on her head. She didn’t want Kenny to lose at all, let alone like this. But just as Bryce started the count, Don appeared out of nowhere and pulled him from the ring by his ankles.

Alex stood frozen to her spot as Bryce and Don yelled at each other, and she fully expected the former to expel the latter from ringside—but he didn’t. He simply got back in the ring, and the match continued. Don walked toward Alex, straightening his suit jacket. “Good work putting Orange’s foot on the ropes,” he said to her.

She didn’t say anything in return. She didn’t want a compliment from the likes of him.

Back in the ring, Kenny had been knocked to the floor once again—and PAC had the Brutalizer locked on Orange. When Kenny finally made it back through the ropes, he kicked PAC in the face once, twice. But he didn’t let go of his hold on Orange. So instead, Kenny made the desperate decision to hit Bryce with a hard double axe handle to the back.

The crowd booed, and Alex hid her face in her hands. “Come on, Ken…” she breathed. Not like this.

Meanwhile, Don took the initiative to do what Kenny had been asking Alex to do all along. He grabbed the Impact Championship from the timekeeper’s area and tossed it to Kenny in the ring. Kenny caught it, and then he turned and clocked PAC over the head. He dropped like dead weight to the mat, and Kenny tossed the belt aside, the fans still booing all the while.

But apparently, one belt wasn’t enough.

Don tossed in the Triple A Mega Championship next, and as PAC staggered to his feet, Kenny hit him again. Then he threw in the TNA World Heavyweight Championship. Alex had to bite her lip to keep from shouting at Kenny to stop. She looked away just before he hit PAC a third time.

Finally, Don handed Kenny the AEW World Championship. He took it and held it high above his head, gloating, reveling in the crowd’s hatred. Somehow, PAC was still moving, trying to stay in the match. But just as he climbed to his feet for a third time, Kenny hit him again and knocked him down for good.

Kenny held the championship up again, parading around the ring. He didn’t notice Orange darting toward him until it was too late. He laid him out with another Orange Punch across the jaw.

Orange crawled toward Kenny, obviously going for the pin; but Bryce was still down from Kenny’s earlier attack. However, it didn’t matter. As soon as he draped himself across Kenny’s chest, Aubrey ran down to the ring. Alex grabbed her own throat as she counted.

One.

Two—

But unexpectedly, Kenny reversed the pin and rolled Orange’s shoulders to the mat in a crucifix. Aubrey counted again.

One.

Two.

Three.

That was it. The bell rung, and Kenny’s music started. Alex let out a breath. He’d won by the skin of his fucking teeth.

She and Don both rushed to Kenny’s side as Justin Roberts officially announced him the winner. He clutched his jaw, and somehow his left hand had been sliced open. “What happened?” she asked, looking over the blood on his fingers with concern. But he wasn’t able to answer her before they were suddenly swarmed by both the Young Bucks and the Good Brothers. Matt and Nick practically pushed her aside as they congratulated Kenny, and Nick and Karl Anderson put an arm each over their shoulders and helped him up the steps to the entrance ramp. And as they all celebrated, reveling in Kenny’s stolen victory, Alex felt a sourness curdle at the back of her throat.

She was in love with Kenny. He’d come to mean the world to her over the last nine months. But she hadn’t signed up for this world.

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