#Smells of Em too and not exactly something or someone he can eat

[chiropterx]

Em leaves a very smooth rock for Man Bat as a thank you gift for saving them. It's actually kinda pretty? It's still a just rock tho

Leave an object in my ask and my muse will react to it being given to them.

Em's rock is indeed very smooth. It's also shiny and underneath the right sort of lighting, it might even be a little iridescent. Unfortunately Man-Bat is not equipped to handle such small objects, thumb claw unable to properly hold onto the smooth stone in the same manner he might have been able to were he still human. Nonetheless, Man-Bat's soon able to secure a shaky grip, digit curled around Em's offering curiously. The beauty of the rock is lost upon the creature, inquisitive nose more interested in seeing if the object is edible before snorting dismissively and tossing the gift aside. The stone clatters across the old, worn cobbled pavement and Man-Bat's wings spread at the sound, taking off with a single mighty flap to leave Em behind with his offering, alone - and safe - in the alleyway, where armed thugs lay waiting for a choice victim before an even greater danger found them. A shame. It really was quite a pretty rock but concepts such as gratitude and gifts hardly registered to the winged beast now disappearing into the night, a high-pitched screech echoing faintly in the wind.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hiii

Please can you do connor stoll x reader "you know I like u, right? I mean, I know that you know. And you know that I know that you know... so what are we doing that for?"

hiii I'm so sorry this has taken like half a year lol but I hope you like it! it's mixed in with two other peoples requests for Connor [gn, and child of Athena] <3 <3 <3

strawberries After Midnight [ft. Chappel Roan]

Connor Stoll x child of Athena

»»————-　★　————-««

“Hey,” you said, looking up from the clay sculpture in front of you.

“Hey!” Connor said cheerily. You watched his hands carefully as he sat down in the chair in front of you. He spun around in it, went too far, and had to push himself back around to face you. 

He didn’t grab anything and slip it down the sleeves of his brown and cream bomber jacket, so you went back to cutting away slivers of clay around the base of your block. Wet clay got stuck underneath your fingernails. 

You smoothed out the bumps at the bottom, where the legs would be. “Aren’t you supposed to be strawberry picking, or something?”

“Maybe,” Connor sniffed, and kept watching you. His shoes were duct taped together, and someone had drawn smiley faces on them. 

Someone at the back of the arts and crafts shed threw their project at the wall, where it shattered. You ducked a flying pipecleaner and went back to work. Sun shone through the big open wall that looked out over the whole camp, where you could see teenagers hauling boxes of produce around and Will Solace sleeping in a wheelbarrow of straw. 

The Pegasi had been let out of their paddocks, not that fences did much [you still didn’t understand who’d even had the bright idea of putting them up], and they grazed on the long grass. 

You weren’t quite sure what exactly you were making out of the sculpture, but the Aphrodite boy at the front of the room watching dance moms with a satellite phone said that was something called the artistic process. 

You scraped some of the clay from beneath your fingernails when you felt Connor’s eyes still on you, and paused. “Can I help you?”

“Am I being annoying?” He asked with a smirk, resting his head on his arms.  

“Depends on if you brought strawberries,” you said. 

He picked up a little paper basket a naeid had probably woven, filled with the bright red sweet-smelling berries. Then he set the fruit on your clay covered table. It was harvest day, or more accurately, harvest week. You’d done your fair share of berry picking and crate carrying for the day, so you got til dinner off. Connor didn’t. He was supposed to be working. You decided not to dob. 

It’s not your fault. He just had the cutest gap between his teeth when he grinned. Not that you were looking near his mouth, or anything like that. 

You waved your hands around widely, grey water flicking every which way, and started to wipe them down on your pants so you could eat.  

Then Connor held a strawberry to your lips. 

»»————-　★　————-««

“Remember to drink some water.”

“Uh hu.”

You squinted at your sister for a long moment. Annabeth didn’t look up from her messy desk. She hadn’t moved in about three hours, hunched over her laptop while she rebuilt and planned out the Ares cabin in sims, since it’d been hit by one two many grenades and lost its internal supports. 

Or at least that’s what she’d called them before she tied her braids up behind her head with her singular grey one and disappeared into the world of adjustable door frames and roof beams. 

You watched her reach for her mini model and knock over a cup of cold noodles.

“Okay,” you said, folding your arms. “Grover just ate all your chapsticks, by the way.”

“Yeah, in five minutes.”

“Aliens totally built the pyramids.”

“Just send Clarisse to beat ‘em up,” Annabeth said, clicking away at her keyboard. All of the keys were covered in stickers from different people. You didn’t understand how she even knew what she was clicking.

You waited for the water in the bathroom tap to run cold, and then filled up Malcom’s strawberry patterned stanley cup. You set it in front of her, grabbed your uneaten chapstick, and your favorite pair of shoes. The night was young, as they say, and you didn’t know how long you’d be on your feet for.

That translated to: Cabin 12 was throwing an end of harvest week party in their cabin that would most definitely end in glittery bodily fluids, yet another blow up animal on someone’s roof, and a terribly planned camp store break in. 

You couldn’t wait. 

“I’m gonna go stare sadly at cute boys and eat hubba-bubba grape flavored cupcakes,” you called out as you left, following the bright colorful lights. Everyone had to pack inside the cabin until the feral harpy night watch distraction was set off. 

Usually that just meant the giant delivery of bird seed and unidentifiable flesh had been opened.  

“...Just kiss him already.”

“I knew you could hear me!”  

Annabeth just mumbled something about bomb proof piping. You left her to it. The grass crunched under your feet, and you walked backwards, slowly, to see the orange and pink streaked summer sky filled with white clouds and the occasional seagull.  

It looked like something out of a melancholy movie about boardwalk thrift stores and putting good friends over bad family. If that made sense. 

The music grew a little louder, as you weaved around the Hephestus cabin, and then the layered marble fountain that was currently housing a small family of goldfish in the basin. 

Hold on, hold on, fuck that

Fuck that shit

Hold on, I got to start this motherfuckin' record over again

The Dionysus cabin was like a little white cottage with a wraparound porch and red trim. Perfectly sweet. Crushed vanilla coke cans scattered the doormat when you crept inside. Leopard print duvets were strung up over the windows, the fluffy red rug in the center of the giant dancefloor was already sticky, and you were certain there hadn’t been this many giant speakers last time. 

Never the less, they blasted out a song that the jostling crowd was already booing too. You raised an eyebrow at the campers. Not a spec of orange was in site, only oversized band t-shirts and spaghetti straps. When there was a chance to wear something other than cargo and neon, it was taken wholeheartedly. 

You looked down at your Valentina-approved outfit. It was speckled in LED lighting, but you liked it. 

“Turn this motherfuckin’ record off!” Travis yelled, his hands cupping his mouth. He bumped into you, then realised it was you, and swung a lanky arm over your shoulder. “Yo!”

“...Yo?” you said, narrowing your eyes when an entire beach ball was tossed over the two of you. 

Travis grinned. He leaned in like he had a massive secret. “Okay, you can’t tell anyone I told you this, especially not you, but Connors got the fattest crush on you, kay?”

You stared at him. 

“Like, what’s that thin’ Drew was explaining at dinner? Heart eyes? His eyes turn, like, uh… massive hearts. So yeah. Don’t tell. Pinkie promise?” He held out his thumb eagerly. You gave him a fistbump and tried not to pass out. 

Travis patted your shoulder triumphantly, and was lost in the sweaty crowd.

You stood there for a moment. 

Psst, I see dead people

Aggressive cheers arose. 

You could totally handle this situation. You could totally pretend you weren’t about to dissolve into a strawberry scented puddle of goo when Connor eventually found his way to you through the clouds of smoke like he promised he would. 

You could totally pretend you didn’t know that he liked you and not just grab onto his very muscular arm and stammer your way through a stupid speech you probably picked up from over hearing dance mums. 

You were totally handling this situation as well as you could handle the thought of Connor being in a five foot radius right now with his adorable tooth gap and very soft jacket you totally weren’t wondering about if it would fit you. 

Maybe if you just hid from him. 

Then you very carefully laid out plans to have fun, possibly get a stick and poke in the bathtub from Will Solace, drink out of date off brand soft drink, then lay on a broken couch outside and watch the sunrise while listening to an overplayed pop song, wouldn’t be ruined by a cute boy.

The beach ball made a return. You ducked it, and weaved past some kid pretending he could do magic tricks. 

“Hey,” Lou ellen giggled. Her wildly curly hair was caught in her earrings. 

“Hi,” you said.

She smelt like something that was definitely the reason there was a general [but probably too low] age limit on these sorts of things. 

“How are you? I feel like I havent seen you in ages, if you could like randomly magically transform into any animal of your choosing that fits into a totally irrelevant category in my spellbook what would you pick?” 

You shook your head slowly, and looked for a victim to pass her onto. “Don’t you think Clovis would look great as a tiny sheep?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god, yes!” 

The party continued around you in slow motion and colorful flashing lights. You talked to a few more slightly deranged teenagers and helped Butch pull a pegasus out of the fridge. Whoever was in control of the music had very good taste. The bottoms of your shoes were sticky, and made a little sound every time you walked.

Time passed. A lot of that time was spent hiding from Connor. You spotted him a couple of times and consequently crawled into the empty fridge. One of those times he was holding a pained and grinning Travis by the ear while stomping on his toes, red in the face. 

After that, you proceeded to hurry into the bathroom and lock the door [someone had written ‘Rodrick Rules’ in black marker on it] behind you. 

Will was sitting in the bathtub, cowboy hat pulled low, and a stalk of wheat in his mouth. 

“Wanna stick’n’poke?” 

“No thanks,” you huffed, sinking into the dry tub next to him and pressing your head against the cold tile wall. It helped your stress and flashy lights induced headache. “Do you do lobotomies? Or extract hearts?”

There were about a million candles burning on the bathroom sink, the wax stuck straight to the marble. It made the little room smell like a garden made of lollies. You glared at the roof. 

“Is this about your serious case of heart eyes?” Will asked. You could see his smirk under his stupid hat.

You snatched the open can of sour peach soda from him and took a sip. There were no bubbles left. It tasted like really good soap. “I do not have heart eyes, I have perfectly normal shaped eyes.”

“...Not when Connor’s feeding you strawberries.” 

“What do I do?” you grumbled, toeing the pink bathroom tiles with your sticky shoe. 

“You go up to him, and you ask if you can kiss him, duh,” Will said, drawing skulls on the wall with a snapped pen. He paused. “Actually maybe don’t do that on the dance floor. Drag him outside first.”

You sculled his drink. It made you feel sick. 

»»————-　★　————-««

“Cause everything good happens after midnight,” You sang to yourself quietly, between hiccups. 

The speakers were so loud you could hear them from outside. The stars above you spun around in circles when you tilted your head. They stretched out to the horizon, over the ocean you could see in the distance. You knew the constellations, One of your little brothers had them painted on the roof of his bunk bed, but they weren’t coming back to you now. It was chillier now. You put your hands underneath your butt. 

Maybe if the legless couch you were sprawled across had come with a blanket. “I'm feeling kinda freaky, maybe it's the moonlight.”

“I kinda wanna kiss your boyfriend if you don’t mind.”

You spun around, as well as you could while you were squashed in the corner, pressed against cushions that smelt like wine stains and dust. Then you turned back around. “...I love a little uh huh.” Connor put his hands on the back of the couch, either side of your head. You kept your eyes on the stars. “Let’s watch the sunrise.”

There was silence for a little bit, something that didn’t usually happen when the son of Hermes was around. 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as Connor lent over the couch, til he was nearly upside down in front of you. “I found Travis.”

“Right.”

“So you know that I like you now. I mean, I know that you know. And you know that I know that you know now... so uh… what are we doing that for?”

Connor grinned at you hesitantly. It turned to a smirk when he spotted your face. You tried not to stare at his pretty lips and silly little tooth gap, distracting yourself with his freckles instead. He had a lot of them. 

You chewed on your thumb nail, and then moved over, making room for him. He flopped down next to you, sinking in the cushions. Your heart was pounding as fast as the beat playing in the cabin behind.

“I kinda wanna kiss you… if you don’t mind?” You said quietly. 

Connor laughed. He reached out to hold your very hot and flustered face, but you’d already lent in and pressed your lips to his. He was warm and soft and you could feel glitter on his big jacket when you held onto his arms. 

You both pulled back, matching smiles and sparkling eyes. Connor didn’t let go of you. “I would’ve brought you strawberries sooner if i knew that was gonna happen.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, and pulled him further down into the couch.  

'Cause everything good happens after

»»————-　★　————-««

A perfectly sober Travis Stoll got a stick’n’poke of the Mona Lisa with a mustache from Will in the bathtub. 

»»————-　★　————-««

[le-stickynote]

Bi - Weekly Plant Update !! [00]

(Just a little series where I update everyone on how my plants are doing and yap about them in general :3🙏)

((Sorry in advance for any typos/bad punctuation💀🙏))

Okay!! So, I figured that a good way to begin this series would be by introducing my plants and their lore! (Dun dun duuun!!) ((Basically just how I got em)) :33

So, around the start of my Freshman year, I signed up to be apart of this STEM group where we learned to code, connected with nature or something, and learned how to use power tools 💪💪

During one of our meetings, we were tasked to build a greenhouse, which we'd then attach a sensor to monitor the humidity inside of said greenhouse, thus making it easier to gauge when to water whatever plant would end up inside of it.

Sadly, the computers never ended up connecting, so we just moved on to the next thing :(

Cut to sometime around,, January? By this point the program was over and we'd "graduated" from it. We had a small party where we drove water boats or something around this pool, got to eat food while the staff congratulated us for going to all of the meetings, and at the end they gave us a little gift (I got headphones ^_^), as well as the greenhouses we built and a small plant to go in it !!

And that's how my plant collection started, with my first baby,, Tennis Ball !! (The name my friend recommended ;P)

Look at him!! Look at my baby boy!! :D

But of course, after having Tennis Ball for a few weeks, I couldn't just,,, not get another plant,,

So that's how I got this cool baby !!

Around my family, he's Stan A. But around my friends, he's Stank ass 🙏 (No, he doesn't smell, ((I don't think he does atleast)), I just thought it was a funny name ^_^)

Then, a couple weeks later at a flea market with my grandparents, we found this lady selling plants, and that's how I got this fella:

This little guy here is Basketball !! :33

At some point I actually did forget his name and would refer to him as "little orphan boy" because he came in a square container, thus meaning he was an outcast amongst the others (no, I will not expand upon this-).

Then, maybe like, a week later(?) Me and my dad were at a Lowes so he could buy cow manure or something for his plants, and he pointed out the little shelf of succulents and was like, ",,do you want another one? Maybe one of the ones that look like an actual cactus?"

So me, having already three plants by this point, looked at all the succulents, at all the colorful flowers with cool dye, and said, "ykw,,, why not,," and grabbed the only one that wasnt full-grown,,

And that's how I got Bob!! The only cactus that didn't have a flower ^_^

He also came with a cool little plastic thing on top that I could hold him by :3

All of these photos are from last year, so here's a recent photo I took about two(?) days ago so you guys can compare them and see how far they've come!! :D

As you can see, they've all been moved into terracotta pots !! This is because (as you can see with Stank Ass) they were getting too big for their containers, as well as the fact that my dad thought it'd be good for them because their dirt wasn't exactly the best.

And don't they just look so nice? :]

They’ve all actually come a pretty long way since when I first gotten them- and I've come a pretty long way in terms of caring for them as well!!

Admittedly, leaving a plant in the hands of someone who forgets to eat unless reminded isn't the best idea, but I'm pretty glad I've got them !!

They're my babies and I love them as if I birthed them 🙏🙏 <33

Anyways,,, if you've gotten to this point then congrats!! And thanks for reading all this too ^_^ Even if you clicked on this and skimmed it, I'm just happy to be able to share my love of succulents with someone else !! :D

[ethereal-bumble-bee]

heyy uh… idrk how this works but could we maybe get some Javey hurt/comfort where jack gets really overwhelmed by everything during the strike and davey calms him down? something like that. if not that’s totally ok! love your work <3

(Note: Thank you so much for requesting something! Super sorry that this took a while, but I really hope you enjoy! Anyone who’s reading this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see- I’m always happy to write requests! 😁)

Everything’s falling apart.

Jack couldn’t stop the whirlwind of thoughts running rampant through his brain, worry and regret eating at his mind until he could barely hear a logical thought over the emotions screaming in his head. He’d just barely been able to find a place quiet enough to try and sort them out- little did he know that the isolation only served to worsen the spiral.

It must have been hours that he sat there, though it was probably only minutes. Eventually, the volume in his head lowered to a dull roar, and Jack stared numbly at the wall in front of him in the dark, lonely alleyway that he’d chosen to sit in. Despite the heat of the summer night, cold worry chilled his bones, seeping into his hands as they ran through his hair.

Everything’s falling apart. The strike was as good as over. They hadn’t even been able to get Brooklyn on their side, nor had that article gotten anyone else to even bat an eye at their cause. Crutchie was gone, his boys were beaten half to hell by Pulitzer’s goons, and Jack had all but lost hope.

He suddenly heard the crunch of a step onto dirt and gravel, and he glanced up to see Davey standing in the mouth of the alleyway, frowning into the darkness until his gaze caught the other boy’s.

“Jack?” he asked, and Jack didn’t dare answer for fear of his voice breaking in response. “Are you okay?”

Jack still didn’t reply as Davey sat down next to him, taking in his disheveled clothing and red-rimmed eyes. “You’re one hell of a sight,” Davey commented, trying to lighten the mood but failing as his pleasant expression turned to one of concern. “How long has it been since you slept?”

“Dunno,” Jack muttered. “Why do you care?” His voice came out more aggressive than planned, and he felt guilt stab through him at the sight of Davey recoiling. God, I can’t do anything right, can I?

“I’m worried about you, Jackie,” Davey admitted. “Well, I’m worried about a lot of things, but mostly you.” He took a deep breath before meeting Jack’s gaze with an intensity Jack had never seen before- a sort of caring look in his eyes that felt more like a glare. “Things aren’t great right out there right now, and those boys need their leader.”

“And it’s one hell of a leader they’ve got.” Jack sighed, trying to keep the prickling at the back of his eyes at bay. “I failed ‘em, Dave. It’s my fault that Crutchie’s locked up and the rest of them are hurt.” His voice wobbled, and he choked out the last sentence as if it were poison. “They’re better off without me.”

“Jack.” Davey’s voice was soft, and his words seemed more of a whisper as he set a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “That isn’t true, and you know it.” He smiled kindly. “It’s not like we’ve done this before, Jackie. When was the last time you led a strike?”

“Never.” Jack knew it was a rhetorical question, but he was too tired to care.

“Exactly,” Davey encouraged, wrapping his arms around Jack and pulling him close. He smelled of cinnamon mixed with fresh-baked bread, and Jack closed his eyes and relished the warmth of the hug.

“We’re all scared,” Davey admitted. “Damn it, I’d be lying if I said I’m not terrified right now.” He chuckled, and Jack couldn’t help but smile as he continued. “They need someone to let them know that they’re gonna be alright,” he said seriously, holding Jack at arm’s length to look him in the eye. “Your boys trust you, Jack. You make them feel safe, protected… cared for.”

Jack nodded, still not completely at ease. “What if I fail ‘em again?” He worried aloud, feeling helpless and humiliated that he couldn’t stay strong- even in front of Davey, even for the kids that were counting on him.

Davey shook his head. “You won’t,” he decided. “No matter what goes down after this moment, I know that you haven’t let us down. You’re going to be okay,” he promised, and Jack felt a strange but not unpleasant warmth blossom in his chest as Davey hugged him tighter, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Dave,” Jack whispered, and Davey pulled back with a smile.

“You’re my friend,” he replied. “I care about you.”

Jack closed his eyes and smiled as Davey pulled him into another embrace, laughing softly and burying his face in the taller boy’s neck. After a while, Davey stood up, offering his hand to Jack.

“So, what do you say?” Davey asked as Jack let him pull him to his feet. “Are we going to win this damned strike, or what?”

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

I went to Meow Wolf in Denver today, and because it's themed on a station that leads you to a planet made up of four other planets that smashed into each other because of inter-dimensional whatnot, it got me thinking about some of my sci-fi based aus on this account.

And considering the first place you go to when you get off the elevator is into a local port that kinda reminds me of when Ten took Martha to New Earth, I decided to write something up for my au where the Doctor is traveling with Arthur from Passengers.

Warning: weird alien nonsense, it's not really a safe place but Ten and Arthur can defend themselves, stabbing, Arthur has cool robot spider legs because reasons (gr1d, I'm stealing from you)

On with the fic!

--

"Here we go!" The Doctor threw open the doors, grinning as he jumped out of the TARDIS. "Welcome to Port 8!"

Arthur slipped out of the TARDIS and frowned, glancing around at his surroundings. "It's... certainly different from what I'm used to."

The area around them was the complete opposite from Arthur's original home. It was filthy, grungy, someone's laundry was out on display on a clothes line, including a bra with multiple cups for it, and it smelled like something might have died while smoking something strong.

The Doctor shrugged. "It's got its charms! And the best place in all of the galaxy to get street tacos! Oooh, I am very excited to get some of those!"

"I don't eat." Arthur commented.

"I know, but still! And there's a bar I'd like to take you to, I'm sure you'll find it enjoyable to be a snob. Oh, don't look at me like that, Arthur, you know you love being superior."

Arthur did not reply to that, just straightened his bow tie and clicked his metal feet on the street as he walked past the Doctor. "Show me where to go."

The Doctor grinned and shoved his hands into his pockets, walking alongside the android as they passed people of all shapes, sizes, colors, flesh, and appendages. This was a very busy port, one that had quite the doozy of an incident centuries ago where it seemed to have been the subject of a universal one-of-a-kind phenomenon where several planets congealed together into a strange place that left you lost for hours but feeling like you were in a fun house.

And also making you a bit sick from all the neon colors.

Still, the Doctor liked coming here, you could find the most interesting things!

He walked past two aliens who looked oddly like Sularians, before suddenly being yanked into a strange room by the back of his jacket. That was the thing about this place, it had hidden doors all over and if you knew where they were, you knew where they were.

And if you didn't...

Well...

You end up in a situation like this.

The Doctor hissed as he was slammed into a wall, blinking past the paid to see a weird hallway, covered in what looked like thousands of posters and stickers and blinking lights. And red splatters of varying degrees of age.

There was an alien before him, tentacled and slimy, and reminding the Doctor way too much of a nasty one he and Donna had the misfortune of dealing with twice.

"Look, if you think you're gonna get money off me, it's pointless!" The Doctor shrugged. "I don't carry cash on me! Or credit sticks!"

He tried to smile, but that only angered the alien more. "Don't seem like the type not to have credits, or mems."

"Oooh, you can't exactly get those off me, way too many, way too hard to sort through, would upset some of my past selves if we did that." The Doctor completely forgot about mems, or memories, some of the locals used those as currency. It was not always a fun way to pay for things, but if you were low on credits, it helped.

"Someone paradin' around all snazzy in a suit's gotta have somethin' on 'em." The alien snarled, baring blunt teeth that looked like they'd break bones.

"I'm telling you, I- hey! Get your tentacles out of my pockets!" The Doctor shouted, letting out a squeak when he was suddenly grabbed by more tentacles, his arms locked in place, and one slapped across his mouth.

Uhg! Disgusting!

"Shut it, or you won't have ta add to the art here." The alien held up a nasty looking knife with another tentacle.

The Doctor squirmed, trying to free himself. He wondered if Arthur was aware that he was missing, he hoped that Arthur was looking for him. The tentacles in his pockets felt like they were going deeper and deeper, pocket dimension pockets were so helpful, but that still had him worried.

Then they attention was both drawn to the door, where there was a sound, and the Doctor watched as it seemed to move, like someone was trying to tear the secret door from the wall.

And then it was torn right from the wall, with Arthur standing there, and a few startled aliens behind him.

He threw the door out onto the street, getting shouts and warbled complaints from others out of view. He dusted his hands and put them in front of himself. "Excuse me, but what are you doing to my friend?"

"None of your business, get outta here!" The alien yelled.

The Doctor shouted from behind the tentacle, kicking and flailing his legs. The alien growled and turned, moving to stab at the Doctor with the knife.

But Arthur was fast, much faster on those new legs of his.

He was there just as the knife dropped, and struck him in the shoulder. The sound of metal scrapping metal was terrible and the alien hissed.

"How rude, this is my favorite jacket." Arthur huffed and grabbed the tentacle, gripping it tighter, and tighter, and...

The alien howled in pain as there was a horrible, wet sound, a nasty looking liquid spilled from between Arthur's fingers. He pulled away from Arthur and something purple and squirmy dropped to the ground, moving about on the ground.

With another hiss, one of anger and fear, the alien rushed away, down the other end of the hallway. Arthur looked bothered by the fluid on his hand and the Doctor, now free and wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief from his pocket, handed it over.

"Thank you." Arthur said as he cleaned up the mess, then looked up at the Doctor. "What happened?"

"Got grabbed and pulled into one of the many secret hallways and locations around here, was threatened for money."

"I see. You're lucky I noticed you vanished." He handed over the rag, which the Doctor pocketed it.

"And I'm grateful for that but... how'd you find me?"

Arthur sighed at the tear in his shoulder after he yanked out the knife and tossed it aside. "I may or may not have had the TARDIS put a tracking device on you so I could know where you wandered off to."

"Ah, I see." The Doctor nodded, then stopped, eyes wide. "You did what!?"

--

Look, Arthur seems like the type who would have the TARDIS do this because the Doctor may complain about the companions wandering off, but they're just as bad (if not worse).

The tentacled alien is based on one from an audio story (Time Reaver) and from a book (In The Blood).

A lot of the weird stuff I talked about, hidden doors and such, those were at Meow Wolf, lots of weird shit. I found a room full of bones and teeth in jars. And a terrifying pizza place.

[burnwater13]

Grogu looked at the little scurrier and wondered what it was thinking. He knew the little critters weren’t considered sentient, but still, all critters had some sort of basic thoughts. Grogu could tell when they were happy and when they were frightened. He mostly cared about whether or not this one was hungry. 

Grogu was hungry. It had been a long trip to Tatooine and the  Mandalorian still hadn’t realized that Grogu really needed to eat something other than rations. Fortunately the tall human didn’t notice all the things he’d managed to eat along the way. But, strange as it might seem, Grogu was kind of tired of worms and frogs. He wanted something that tasted different from that. 

But, looking at the scurrier, which seemed to be sizing him up, he didn’t like eating things that were actively considering eating him. Not that the scurrier could eat him. For once Grogu was too big for that to happen. He knew that the critters ate worms and other bugs and scraps of things it found on the ground that didn’t smell or taste too foul. 

Grogu giggled at that. The scurrier had the same taste in things that he did, in general. The only difference between them was that Grogu knew what day of the week it was (Taungsday) and the scurrier didn’t. Well, that wasn’t the only difference, but it was a pretty big difference. That made Grogu sigh. 

Now he knew he couldn’t eat the critter. It was too much like him now. It was small. It was hungry. It was searching for a meal, just like Grogu. It probably would be eaten by someone or something. Grogu had seen them at the market in Mos Eisley and being served at the cantina in Mos Pelgo. Now that made him sad. Eating things could really be spoiled by knowing too much about the thing you ate. Dank Farrik. 

Grogu went back over to the tall human who had been assigned to be his protector. The Mandalorian was drinking some spotchka along with the Marshal. They’d stopped fighting as soon as they both realized that everyone in Mos Pelgo was at risk from the Krayt dragon. 

Now that thought made Grogu shiver. A Krayt dragon was a huge critter and Grogu was pretty sure that it knew exactly what it wanted to eat at any time of day. That was kind of scary. He was pretty sure a Krayt dragon wouldn’t even notice that it ate him. He was just too small. That was probably the same for scurriers. 

A critter as big as Krayt dragon would have to eat hundreds of the little critters to even notice them. Otherwise it would be like specks of dust that settled on your dung worms while you’re waiting for the Mandalorian to say it was okay to eat. You just didn’t notice it was there and it sure didn’t change the flavor of what you were eating. Uff. That was a gruesome thought. 

Grogu hopped onto the table top and waited for the Marshal and the Mandalorian to stop talking for a moment. Then he complained that he was hungry. Din Djarin just gave him a look, but the Marshal seemed to understand. 

“Hey, Taanti? Can you find something for the little one to eat? I’m bettin’ he would like some of those friers you make.” 

The Weequay bartender nodded his head and then disappeared for a couple of minutes. 

“Friers?” The Mandalorian asked, curious about the food that Grogu was already looking forward to eating like a barghest. 

“Yup. I don’t know what critter they come from, but Taanti has a great recipe. Leg pieces battered and fried. Serves ‘em with hot sauce and some sort of vegetable, when he can get them. The vegetables that is. Some things are hard to come by up here. Not many folks visit Mos Pelgo.”

Good. Not that people didn’t visit Mos Pelgo, but that they didn’t drag vegetables with them. Grogu was not a fan and he doubted that the little scurrier had been either. Grogu liked to savor his food but there was nothing to savor about a vegetable. 

Sooner than he thought possible, the Weequay brought out a plate covered with little fried things that reeked of hot sauce and a small dish of some sort of white stuff. 

“Thanks, Taanti. Put them on Mando’s tab. Well, kid. Eat up. I like to dip ‘em in the white sauce. Takes away some of the bite of the hot stuff.” The Marshal pushed the plate over to Grogu who eagerly followed the Marshal’s instructions. 

“Hey, what are these things?” The Mandalorian asked, poking at them with one finger. 

Grogu thought he should be more careful than that. Grogu was really hungry and these things were great, whatever they were. 

“Well, I used to make them out of scurriers.” The Weequay responded. 

Grogu stopped eating. Oh no! Not the little guy like him!

Then Taanti continued, “But I just got a shipment of frozen stuff in from off planet. The package calls them ‘Chicken wings’. They don’t look like any wings I’ve ever seen, but your boy seems to like ‘em.”

Wow. That was a close call. Grogu was glad that he wasn’t eating scurriers. But watch out chicken wings! These things were great, even with the hot sauce and dip!

Note: This picture is from concept art for Season 2 of the Mandalorian and was created by Christian Alzmann.

[absolutepokemontrash]

Aaa congrats on 666 :D you've been one of my favorite obey me blogs since I joined the fandom! can I request the brothers with an mc that looks/acts like they just walked out of a zombie apocalypse? Turns out that while the demons werent looking, things in the human realm went down hill ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

👀 I love this! Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy!

Lucifer

When Solomon popped down into the Devildom earlier, Lucifer had noticed that the sorcerer looked a tad… concerned. After he left, Lucifer thought nothing of it until the second human exchange student appeared brandishing a gun and looking like they hadn’t showered in eight days.

After managing to disarm the human and avoiding the baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, Lucifer managed to explain exactly why the human was in the Devildom and what was going on. In return, the human calmed down and explained what was going on in the human world.

…geez, shit really hit the fan. Uh… Lucifer wished them luck in their exchange year and foisted them off on Mammon. Lucifer was not about to deal with that right then.

(Apparently one of Solomon’s necromancing acquaintances had something to do with the mini apocalypse going on in the human world. Lucifer and MC were assured that the zombie problem was being dealt with)

As confused and annoyed as Lucifer was at first, he quickly became glad that the human had some kind of self defence on them. The Devildom was a dangerous place, and the human could nullify some of that danger by popping a bullet or twelve into some idiots’ heads.

But one of MC’s more annoying habits were their tendency to set traps and hoard food. They didn’t seem to grasp that lack of food wasn’t an issue and that there were plenty of spells in place to make sure-

Okay, Beel just raided the fridge. Maybe MC had the right idea. Up for sharing some spaghetti-o’s?

Mammon

Now listen here! The Great and Amazing and Mega-Sexy Mammon wasn’t scared of the human at all! Got it?! Good. He wasn’t scared of how dishevelled and dirty they were and how they looked like they just crawled out of a horror movie! Not at all! He also wasn’t scared of the baseball bat they threatened to hit him with if he continued to spout threats of eating them.

Pff, he wasn’t scared… totally not scared… *ahem*

Once the human took a bath and stopped pointing their various weapons at him, Mammon quickly began to warm up to the human in their own tsundere kind of way. Fine, he could admit that MC was kinda cool.

The one thing that Mammon just couldn’t deal with was MC’s traps… he kept setting them off while trying to get into MC’s room!

Oi! Don’t look at him like that! He wasn’t tryin’ to steal anything! He also wasn’t goin’ in there to hang out with the dumb human either! Wasn’t goin’ in there to check on em’ and make sure they were comfortable…

Mammon is also #2 in terms of food theft in the house. He just spotted ramen and decided that possibly getting hit with MC’s baseball bat of pain was worth getting his greedy little mitts on some dollar store noodles.

Leviathan

When Levi went downstairs to threaten Mammon for his money back, Levi immediately recoiled at the absolutely fowl smell coming from the human. Ew, normie stink was getting all over him! And why did they look like they just walked out of TellTale’s The Walking Dead?

Once MC explained their situation, Levi took it upon himself to mansplain the zombie apocalypse to the poor human that was going through it. He had played plenty of zombie survival games and he was surely the expert-

AAKSJAKAJANA- PUT THE BAT DOWN! HE’LL SHUT UP! HE’LL SHUT UP!

After that was over and done with, Levi decided it would be his job to reintroduce MC to some quality entertainment. There couldn’t be that many good shows to watch in the apocalypse, so MC (starved for entertainment) agreed to watch whatever Levi wanted.

Food hoarding? Been there done that. Levi keeps at least ten boxes of Pocky in his room at all times, and a crap ton of other snack foods too. That habit doesn’t phase Levi.

The traps on the other hand? HELL YES TEACH HIM MC! THAT’LL WARD OFF SOME SCUMMY MORONS! *insert Levi cackle here*

Satan

Satan was amongst the people who had the privilege of getting a gun pointed at them on the first day of the exchange program. He kept his fake little smile on his face, but he sure as hell wasn’t too pleased with the human.

He kept his distance at first, studying MC from afar and taking note of their weird little habits. Satan found it quite interesting how quickly this seemingly average human adapted to their new circumstances.

After the body switching incident and the murder train incident, Satan developed a fondness for MC. But… maybe MC shouldn’t have brought their weapons with them on one of their hangout sessions with Satan.

It was on that day that MC learned that Satan was as good a shot with a gun as they were… Rest in Pieces to the idiot that decided fucking with the Avatar of Wrath would be a good idea.

The traps… oh yes the traps… that exact skill set transferred perfectly to pranks! Oh if MC would be so kind as to let Satan teach them the way of the bastard (tm) so the two of them could annoy that pompous peacock together?

Asmodeus

Ewwwww! What was that awful stench coming from the- EWWWWW! Why was the human so gross and dirty! Someone get the hose! They summoned a feral one!

Asmo was less concerned with the fact that the human was threatening everyone with an actual weapon and more concerned with how they smelled like a month old macaroni salad.

MC got a bottle of admittedly pleasant smelling soap thrown at them before Mammon dragged them off to the HOL.

Despite the nasty first impression, once MC took a much needed bath and washed all that gross grime off of themselves… they were honestly really hot… man, apocalypses should happen more often if they produce babes like MC~ *eyebrow wiggle*

Though, the poor human still needed some work, Asmo declared himself their fairy goddaddy (I regret ever learning how to type) and took every opportunity to make sure MC looked their best and took care of themselves.

MC’s odd habits don’t exactly phase Asmo much, I mean, look at who he lives with.

Beelzebub

…he doesn’t wanna eat this human.

Listen, Beel will eat anything, but if he has other options, he’s not eating the gross dirty human pointing a gun at him.

At first, Beel’s pretty neutral towards anything and everything MC ends up doing. They barricaded themselves in their room to keep safe out of habit? Okay. They scarily polish and clean their weapons out in the middle of the living room? So does Satan on occasion. They cleared out the fridge- wait they cleared out the fridge?

BEEL WAS GOING TO DO THAT! PREPARE TO BE EATEN, HUMAN!

MC miraculously survived a hungry Beel attack by chucking food at him until he calmed back down. Beel felt a little bad for scaring them, but anyone with more than five brain cells should know not to steal food from the Avatar of Gluttony.

Anyway, once the two get closer, Beel’s always there for a hug and comfort if MC needs it. Just don’t let him near the food hoard. He will reduce it to nothing in less than an hour.

More than 90% of the traps that get set off are set off by Beel trying to get into MC’s room for food.

Belphegor

Father Dammit, Belphie wanted a nice easy defenceless human to murder, not this Rambo-lookalike. Whatever, sure the human looked tough, but Belphie’s a demon.

Well… Belphegor’s plan went to shit when he was in the middle of choking the human, who pulled out a gun and nearly shot him in the eye. He ended up dropping them in surprise when the bullet grazed his face and ended up getting MC’s boot planted into his forehead.

Yeah… Belphie did not fare well. MC: 1 Belphie: 0

After that nonsense, Belphie demanded begged that MC become his full time nap guardian. They were scary and could protect him, the totally defenceless war criminal 🥺, come on MC, don’t be heartless!

Similar to Asmo, Belphie isn’t too phased by MC’s weird habits. As long as they don’t try and steal his pillows, he’s okay. Those traps though… perfect for a certain older brother of his…

He joins in on Satan’s crusade to get MC to join the Anti Lucifer League. Puh-LEEEEEEEAAAAAASE MC?

[tartrazeen]

Nellis Fluff - The Stars

-

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41696913

-

“I’m Greek,” Nick had said, like it answered anything. After a moment, he followed that up like Ellis was dumb: “That means I already know all that ‘stars’ shit.”

  “Okay, yeah - but you don’t.” Ellis knew that for a fact. “First night without the lights on, you kept lookin’ outside like you’d never seen the sky before. And I know you’re gonna say it was for the zombies -” Nick’s mouth had snapped shut because Ellis had been around long enough to get that exactly right. “- but unless those zombies were in the air, it doesn’t make a lot'f sense for you to be watchin’ 'em looking up. And I know you city types only get - like, four of 'em back home, as if that ain’t saddest shit you’d ever hear.”

  “Besides the zombies eating everyone,” Nick had said.

  “Nick. Be nice,” Rochelle had warned from the other side of the table. She’d barely looked up from her book until Nick turned back away, and then she was all smiles and thumbs up at Ellis - then back to her book as Nick followed Ellis’ eyes. “Be nice.”

  So Nick had let go of his book, purposely folding the page in half - and in exactly the way that would’ve had that old librarian from Ellis’ school throwing him off the roof for just letting it happen - and not-so-politely shifting in the farmhouse’s kitchen chair to face Ellis head-on.

  Ellis had smiled at him.

  Nick had kinda smirked back.

  “Let’s go look at your damn stars.”

  “Nick.”

  … So.

  That was pretty much it: Nick got up, Ellis led him out to the front, and Rochelle suddenly clicked in to go, “Wait - Greek?”

  And then they were outside.

  Which is sorta where his plan stopped. Ellis didn’t really think he needed a plan for every step in “look up but bring Nick with you,” yet there he was.

  There was Nick.

  Here they were.

  “I can give you my jacket,” Ellis offered.

  It was the one he took from the front closet. Wasn’t the cleanest thing in the world, but it smelled a little bit like home.

  “I’m bigger than you,” Nick said.

  Again, like that explained anything.

  “I guess you got that sweater on anyhow,” Ellis said instead.

  It was a nice sweater. Definitely handmade by the lady that lived here. There’d been balls of yarn in the corner where Coach put a crowbar through her head. She was a zombie, of course, but still a hell of a yarn-worker. Ellis hadn’t thought Nick would go for it, what with it being a bright plum purple and baggy. But Nick had said it was the ugliest thing he’d seen all week, so he was obligated to wear it just 'cause it’d be funny.

  He liked Nick. He did. But the man had an odd sense of humour at times. Ellis wasn’t sure if Nick got offered a potato sack, whether he’d wear it 'as a joke’ to bitch about it the whole time or punch whoever was asking. It probably meant something that he could go either way more and more lately.

  He wondered if it meant Nick was loosening up.

  “Okay. The stars are observed. I am counting more than four.”

  Nick didn’t even finish the rest of that, which would’ve been, “When we go inside, can you tell the others I was playing nicely out here? Or they’ll be on my ass about it.”

  The part that wasn’t loosening up was still this bit. Rochelle kept swearing up and down that Nick liked him a lot more than he was letting on, but it wasn’t in a way that someone from his part of the country might pick up on. Then she swore side to side that she wasn’t saying Ellis couldn’t pick up on things, but that people in big cities tended to do things differently. The signs were more subtle than handing somebody a frog.

  Ellis couldn’t argue that too much. Nick had not appreciated the frog.

  He still thought it’d been a good idea, though. Maybe another time.

  Until then, Ellis settled on trusting Ro and decided to do what he’d do if any girl had sent along her interest - or, as he’d been in the process of learning before the world’s supply of people went to hell, what he imagined he would if it’d been a boy or something.

  It just turned out the 'or something’ was Nick.

  “How about we sit for a minute?” Ellis sat first, planting himself right on the front yard. “You look at more than four stars with me, and I’ll tell 'em you were so nice, you even let me get a story in.”

  “Yeah - you can’t sell that, kid.”

  But Nick sat in the jeans they’d raided from a store yesterday. They fit him well. They were like that weird blue-grey colour - quiet on purpose, making them loud all over again because they were on Nick.

  “The first one,” Ellis began, “is the Big Dipper.”

  “Ursa Major.” Before there was time to reply, Nick tacked on a lazy, “It’s a bear.”

  “I mean… yes,” Ellis said. “That’s around the Big Dipper -”

  “It is the Big Dipper. It’s Greek. It’s the bear’s ass.”

  “- but I figured we’d start small.” Ellis vaguely gestured to the sky. “I don’t think you know how to tell a constellation apart from the Milky Way -”

  “That’s also Greek,” Nick said, finding new interest in constantly cutting Ellis off. “It’s breast milk from Hera. Zeus stuck a kid on her tit while she was asleep, but she woke up and flipped out. Threw that kid right across the room and splashed everywhere.”

  Ellis tried to follow along with that story. He wasn’t sure what the point would be in asking, since it wasn’t like he could double-check, but he asked because…

  He liked Nick.

  And he wanted to know more, too. It wasn’t like he did everything purely for Nick.

  “Was that real?”

  “Hm? Yeah,” Nick said. “It’s the story behind it. Don’t worry, the kid was fine. He was Hercules, actually, which is his Disney name.”

  “Zeus stuck Hercules as a baby onto some lady while she was asleep?”

  “Oh, he was always doing shit like that,” Nick breezed on by. “Zeus would knock someone up, have a kid, Hera’d make trying to murder it her new past-time in-between cursing everyone who wasn’t Zeus, and then sometimes you’d get a constellation at the end.” Nick had leaned back onto elbows, looking generally across the night’s show. “Ooh. Asteroid.”

  Ellis perked up.

  “Actually, that’s a meteor -”

  “Thanks, nerd.” The silence that followed it hung between them for a while. At least until Ellis felt a nudge at his side and saw Nick smirking at him. Softly. “I’m joking. Meteor. Not an asteroid.” But just before that sounded sincere, Nick’s tone switched back and he let out an antsy, “Also not a star, though, I noticed…”

  “I was gettin’ there.” Apology accepted. “So you know about the Big Dipper. The bear. Its ass.” Nick’s smirk brightened closer towards a real smile, and Ellis felt it warming him in a far-off way. “Right. So the constellation itself - it’s really famous so you probably already know what it looks like, and now it’s down to helping it stand out for you amongst all the - uh…” Ellis wanted a complete smile. “The breast milk.”

  There it was.

  Warm.

  All the jokes, all the snark - it always lost its bite once Ellis could see the warmth coming out from it.

  The trouble was when that warmth took too long to shine through. Maybe it wasn’t faster or slower than it usually was, with how it curled around the corners of Nick’s eyes and moved along the bottom of his lips - like he would stop and stare and wait for Ellis to catch on so the snark was free to come back without having to apologize for it every minute… but Ellis was searching for it more often lately.

  Rochelle said it was there.

  Ellis hoped it was there.

  Coach and Ellis had a 'talk’ about respecting the whole group, then went off to take a nap while saying something about locks on doors.

  It wasn’t like he wanted Nick to change or suddenly be nice. He liked Nick the way he was already.

  Ellis just wanted in on the joke.

  And maybe not to be the joke as much.

  “This has been a lot of eye contact,” Nick said.

  … Shit.

  “The stars,” Ellis said, looking up, not at Nick, “are in this kinda pattern right here -” And he looked down, not at Nick, trying to find a patch of dirt to scribble in and only coming away with remarkably well-watered lawn. Nick held out his hand. “What?”

  “Use my hand,” Nick replied, continuing to hold it out to him, palm up.

  The thin flash of metal drew his eye and caught it.

  Rings suited Nick. Not because Nick was already wearing them before they met, but because they looked like the sort of thing someone as fancy as Nick would wear. And Ellis supposed that coupled with the lovingly knit sweater Nick had taken from the house as well, the cold coil of purposeful metal did seem a little funny to Ellis too - Nick cleared his throat, so Ellis tapped out the pattern.

  “These,” he said. “This is what you wanna look for. You get it?”

  “No. That was a terrible drawing.” Nick took his palm back. “Just point 'em out to me.”

  “I can’t point to 'em, Nick - there’s a lot of stars, and I’m sittin’ over here. I’ll just look like I’m pointin’ at the whole sky.”

  “Alright, well, fine -” Those words, and those words alone, were all the warning Ellis had before Nick moved. In a split between a second and an eternity, Nick was in front of him and leaning his back against Ellis’ chest, tucking under Ellis’ chin, and staying there. “Great. Problem solved. So point 'em out the way you see 'em, and I should be close enough for it to line up.”

  Ellis managed to make himself blink.

  Not to breathe - that still took another second - but he did blink.

  He kept staring on right ahead, damned by how great he could see from the corner of his eye. He knew Nick wasn’t looking at him - and they’d been walking together long enough for him to know that’s when Nick’s paying the closest attention to everything.

  And probably had a smirk on his face.

  Probably did this on purpose.

  Ellis wasn’t mad if that was the truth, but…

  … he wasn’t sure how to feel about -

  “Ellis,” Nick said. “Today please.”

  That was sure as hell one smirk in his voice. And like he knew Ellis was thinking it, Nick somehow leaned even farther back, relaxing the rest of his weight onto Ellis’ arms. Which, by the way, were trapped under Nick still.

  Which, Ellis realized, was probably what Nick would be smirking about, expecting Ellis to have to wriggle out from under him now.

  Which Ellis did, not letting Nick get the better of him like that.

  … Which meant Nick - impossibly, magically, purposely - got to lean farther back. The man silently closed the rest of the space like water filling up a cup, moving as Ellis’ arms got out from underneath, and seeming to make damn sure there were shoulders directly pressed against his ribs.

  Nick’s hair tickled Ellis’ chin.

  Which Nick must’ve thought was hilarious.

  “Um -” Ellis wasn’t making that up, by the way, or trying to sound sour. Nick, tucked up with the back of his head resting on Ellis’ neck, was quietly laughing. And that’s why Ellis’ chin tickled. “Okay. The - uh… The first one was -” What the hell was he doing again? “Oh! Yeah, yeah - the stars -”

  “The stars,” Nick echoed, apparently needing to cut in and make fun of him. “Baby steps, huh?”

  His heart was pounding.

  Oh.

  So that’s what was funny.

  “We’re not all as fast as you are, Nick,” Ellis casually tossed out. “Not all of us wanna rush back inside to read a book only our grandma would ever read.”

  He tried to bend forward a little, keeping Nick’s head where it was, but with a bit of room between Nick’s back and Ellis’ heart and how it was hitting against his ribs -

  “You’re moving me,” Nick said, with his low note of annoyance.

  So Ellis stopped moving him.

  And Nick did a little wiggle to settle in again like he was.

  “The stars,” Ellis said. Finally he pointed at a set. “Big Dipper. Leo. Gemini.”

  “Ooh. Slower,” Nick purred.

  Ellis tensed up.

  Because that was it.

  “Look - I ain’t gonna do this if you gotta keep makin’ fun of me. I’m not gonna tattle to Ro but she’s gonna ask, and I 'can’t sell’ that, remember?”

  Nick, whose own arms were crossed because he wasn’t even trying to sit up by himself anymore, gave a little wave like that was the end of it. Better than nothing, Ellis guessed.

  “Big Dipper.” He took his time with it. “Those ones there. That one. That one.” He pointed them out. “And that one. See them?”

  “No.”

  “Nick, come on -”

  “I’m a little low,” Nick said, like it was a simple thing with a simple fix. “That, or you’re bad at pointing too. But I think it’s the 'low’ thing.”

  So Nick, with his rings shining under the starlight, put his palms upon the grass, and as his wrists flexed, he lifted himself up.

  “… Nick -”

  “That’s better.”

  Nick’s ear was on Ellis’ cheek.

  His cheek.

  His cheek.

  And - just…

  He sighed and felt Nick’s head getting in the way of him shaking his own.

  Their stubble twirled around each other’s. That was a dumb thing for him to notice.

  “That’s not funny,” Ellis said.

  “What’s not funny?”

  Nick was looking up. At the sky - not at Ellis - but still, the man was probably laser-focused on him anyhow.

  “I get what you’re doin’,” Ellis started.

  “What am I doing?”

  Like the answer was 'nothing’ - the question rolled right along from Nick’s mouth like it was asking about the weather.

  “You’re tryin’ to get a few laughs out of me,” Ellis said, second-guessing it with how Nick had asked. “I just wanted to be nice to you -”

  “You’re showing me the stars,” Nick said. His arms moved so serenely in the night that even though Ellis was watching them, he didn’t notice where one was going until after it had Ellis’ other arm in his grip. “That’s very nice. Not as educational as you promised, but nice enough.”

  Ellis’ arm was being moved to wrap around Nick’s waist.

  And somehow, despite the flood of thoughts dumping out from his ears, Ellis still came up with dumbest thing to go out through his mouth.

  “I can’t point if I’m holdin’ you like that.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “'Cause I gotta use my other arm to keep us sitting up.”

  “Well,” Nick replied, “good news: there’s a solution for that.”

  Huh?

  And again, worse, because this one was outloud.

  “Huh?”

  Nick leaned back. Pushed back, more like.

  “Lie down,” the man said. “I’ll try not to crush you.”

  “I’ve carried you a few times, Nick. You’re not gonna crush me,” Ellis kept talking. But good Lord, at least his body knew what to do and took over, lying down. With his arm still tensely around Nick’s waist, they both got situated, Ellis almost tucking his other arm behind his head as a pillow before he remembered that that was his pointing arm.

  'Pointing arm’.

  Shit - no wonder Nick thought he was dumb. All of Georgia would’ve disowned him if they weren’t… well. Zombies. He supposed that made him the smartest one left from his hometown. Well - except for Coach. Then again, Coach was a different kind of smart, so if they ever gave out two prizes -

  Nick’s-hand-was-on-his-hand-and-he-just-felt-Nick’s-thumb-stroll-across-across-the-back-of-his-knuckles -

  “We gonna do this or what?”

  Okay - that had to be on purpose, but Ellis felt Nick giving his hand a quick squeeze. Just like that wave, this was meant to be the end of it. Unlike that wave, Nick was laughing again.

  … Nick was laughing.

  “I’m gonna - uh…” Ellis’ thoughts had gone the other way and now they were cramming back inside his brain. “… gonna need you to use your arm like a pillow or something so… y'know - so your head doesn’t have to stay lifted up like that.”

  “Aw. What a gentleman. Making me do the all the work.”

  But Nick did like he was asked and tucked his arm back under his head - and a little bit under Ellis’ neck for extra measure. The side of Nick’s face was still cozied up to Ellis’, and with an arm holding onto him above his hips, Nick seemed to balance pretty leisurely on top of him.

  “Thanks.”

  And then Ellis moved his arm - the not-pointing one - to rest his hand - their hands - over Nick’s hip properly.

  “Easy, tiger.”

  “Sorry.”

  Still, Ellis didn’t move his hand.

  Nick didn’t make him move it, either.

  He chanced it, took a breath, felt his heart pounding, felt that thumb run over his hand again -

  -

  Nick was Greek.

  So he probably knew all of this 'stars’ shit anyway.

[reidjumpers]

Here Comes the Sun: Blue and Pink

Spencer Reid x Reader

Warning/Includes: mention of eating, foods.

Series Summary: A journey of going through parenthood with Spencer.

Chapter Summary: In which you find the gender of your baby

Note: dad!spencer is a dear concept to me. I try to make sure all of the chapter could be read as a stand alone, but if you squint you can tell there's a string of connections to previous chapters. Enjoy!

previous chapter, next chapter, series masterlist

“What do you think about a gender reveal party?”

You stopped in your tracks as Penelope thought out loud. You rolled your chair to face her, and immediately your face scrunched up as you noticed the content displayed on her screen. It wasn’t work, or anything tech related that sometimes made your head a little fuzzy, it was a mood board filled with gender reveal party ideas.

Throughout your pregnancy, you have found yourself burrowed in Penelope’s lair more often than not. She was more than welcoming, all happy to have someone accompany her in her safe space. She even made an effort to make you feel comfortable, go all board to put all soft and fuzzy things to soothe your aching back and swollen feet. You had been crying for thirty minutes straight when she first presented it to you.

You liked it here a lot. The room is always at the right temperature that didn’t leave you shivering or grumpy with heat. But most of all, it smells really nice, and as much as you’d love to be in your desk and your own element, you couldn’t handle the wafting smell of everyone’s perfume in the air. You once lashed out at Morgan for having the audacity to wear his perfume that he had been wearing for years, and then proceed to cry for an hour profusely apologizing while he laughed his ass off.

“Gender reveal?” you hummed, not knowing what you feel with the idea. Your hand absentmindedly made its way to your bump, now more visible than ever, and you’re both delighted and terrified about it.

“Look at this!” Penelope eagerly made a gesture towards her computer screen. She scrolled slowly through all the well-put mood boards. You cocked an eyebrow at it, knowing fully she probably had spent weeks planning before even asking your opinion. “It’s cute, isn’t it? All fuzzy, blue and pink! So many cakes and happiness radiating from it all.”

“How long have you been planning for all of these, Pen?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Three weeks? Four weeks?”

“Ugh!” she grunted, a pout appearing on her lips as she sent you a heatless glare. You pressed your lips together to bit back a triumph smile, proud of your achievement to be able to crack her up. “Fine! Three weeks.”

You snorted a laugh, “Thought so.”

“I hate profilers,” Penelope huffed. She pressed a key on her keyboard to reveal more pictures of her mood board. “So? What do you think?”

“I don’t know, I have to talk about it with Spencer.”

“Talk about what?” a voice appeared behind you nearly startled you to death. You whipped your head towards the source of sound, smiling when you caught the sight of your husband standing in the doorway.

Spencer quietly made his way to you, pressing a chaste kiss on your hairline as he gently placed your lunch on the desk. It had been a routine in the past four months that he would make his way to Penelope’s office during lunchtime, bringing food for three of you and he joined you and Penelope devouring lunch in her office.

“Lovely Boy Wonder! You always have the most perfect timing,” Penelope basically beamed at the sight of Spencer. He furrowed his eyebrows confusedly, but from years of befriending her, Spencer had learned not to question too many things about her. “What do you think about a gender reveal party?”

“Gender reveal party?” Spencer pulled his designated chair, the one that Penelope provided just for him to eat lunches. He scooted his chair close to you, hand absentmindedly finding its way to yours.

“You heard me.”

“I don’t know…” Spencer muttered, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles. He eyed the mood board displayed proudly on Penelope’s screen carefully, examining each picture. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

Penelope gasped, “Dr. Reid! I am honestly offended that you didn’t consider Penelope Garcia will handle everything and you and Lady Reid don’t have to lift a single finger!”

Now that caught your attention. “We don’t have to lift a single finger?”

“All you have to do is sit down and the next thing you know, we’re all huddled together in a happy space full of love.”

You glanced towards Spencer who shared the same look with yours. He shrugged and a small smile settled on his face, entrusting the decision fully into your hand. You pucker your lips, weighing all the pros and cons about throwing a party.

“Come on!” Penelope whined. “We see horror and gore almost every day. We need a sweet reminder of everything good in the world. It’s nice to have something good to look forward to.”

You glanced at Spencer once again who subtly nodded. “Okay. Make it small and private.”

“Yes!” Penelope squealed, startled both you and Spencer. “I love you both so much.”

***

The whole idea of preparing a gender reveal party alone made you tired, but one trip for your check up changed everything. Penelope joined you and Spencer for your routine check up, tearing up when the sound of your baby’s heartbeat echoed. At this point you would have thought you’d get used to hearing their heartbeat, but it had never lost its magic.

Penelope practically vibrated with excitement and squealing when the doctor slyly slid your ultrasound photo and the gender of the baby to her, wrapped in a cute envelope. Spencer tried to take a peek, but Penelope was quick to swat him away.

“Do you think we’re having a boy or a girl?” Spencer thought out loud. You glanced up from your book to meet him staring at you, a solemn expression painted on his face.

“Can’t wait until the weekend, can you?” you teased, eyes fell back into the string of words in your book again.

You felt his hand rubbing your feet, his fingers dutifully untangle all the tangled knots that made you sore. You let out a satisfied sigh, shifting slightly on your seat to positioned your feet better on his lap. You really started to think you were probably the luckiest pregnant wife in the whole wide world with a husband like him.

Spencer sighed. “I think we’re having a boy.”

“You think?” you turned the page on your book, already feeling your focus shifting fully into the conversation now. “I’d say we’re having a girl.”

“I’ll tell you what, if we turn out to have a girl, I’ll buy you that handbag you’ve been eyeing on in the past two weeks. And if we turn out to have a boy, you’ll tell me how you cheat on every single UNO game we have.”

You snorted a laugh. Spencer must have noticed you stopped reading minutes ago, for the way he wasn’t unfazed when you lowered down your book and stared at him with a questioning look. He shot you a challenging smirk, with one eyebrow shot up into his hairline.

“Spencer Reid, are you really betting on our children?” you hit his arm playfully with your book. He feigned a pain, frowning as he rubbed the sore spot where you hit him. “I love you, but there is no way in hell I’ll tell you how I play UNO.”

“Ha! So you admit you do cheat!”

“No I didn’t! I never said that!”

“Your words do imply otherwise. So you do cheat!”

“I don’t cheat! I am just really good at what I do!”

Spencer scrunched his nose, not exactly buying your words. “Morgan and Emily also think you do cheat, hon.”

You rolled your eyes at the mention of their name. Of course they would conspire with your husband about your amazing ability of kicking everyone’s asses in UNO. You pulled your book back into your line of sight, tried your best to pick up where you left off. “Just accept the fact that UNO and Mario Kart is my expertise, babe. And a magician never reveals their secret.”

Spencer squinted his eyes at you for using his words against him. You lifted your book up slightly to conceal your growing smile, doing your best to ignore his burning stares. Spencer shifted slightly on his seat, his hand ghosted just above your ankle.

“I beat you in Mario Kart already,” Spencer said smugly. His voice was soft, and if it wasn’t so quiet, you were sure you would miss it.

“It was one time!” you groaned. “Once, babe, once.”

Spencer laughed. “You’re just bitter I beat you up with Baby Peach in Rainbow Road.”

You sighed through your nose, pouting as he rubbed about your defeat a year ago that you were still slightly bitter about to your face. You had no idea how he managed to beat you in Mario Kart using Baby Peach out of all things, in Rainbow Road out of any places.

“Honestly, how did you do that?”

Spencer beamed up at the question. You regret asking once your eyes caught the look on his face almost immediately, already knowing the answer he was about to say before it left his mouth. He leaned closer, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “A magician never reveals their secret, sweetheart.”

***

“Garcia is one amazing crazy bitch, isn’t she?” Emily nudged your shoulder. She took a sip towards her drink, her eyes scanning through the room. “How the hell she managed to take care of this party alone, I have no idea.”

Penelope had outdone herself. But then again, she always managed to break her own records after records breezly like it was nothing. Rossi was more than happy to provide his backyard to host the small party. Penelope managed to turn it into the most colorful and cutest gender reveal venue you’ve ever seen.

You just snorted, turned around to steal a slice of cake from Emily’s hand. She groaned at you, but didn’t do a thing as you shove it into your mouth. “Once she has a goal, she’ll do everything in her power to achieve that one goal, Em. You know that.”

Emily grinned, raising her glass slightly. “Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?”

You hummed. “Honestly? I don’t know. But something tells me it’s a girl.”

“Good,” Emily grinned. She jerked her chin towards the direction where Spencer was sitting together with Jack and Henry, a big amused smile on his face as he showcased his newest magic trick. “JJ already has two boys, Hotch has Jack, I think it’ll be nice to have a cute little girl into our family.”

Your eyes settled on Spencer once again. A loud squeal and delighted laughter rang throughout the walls as Spencer pulled a string of cards from Jack’s ear. “We’ll see.”

The party had been, much to your delight, a beautiful one. It was a spur moment of excitement and laughter, Penelope had made sure to make everyone comfortable and happy. The small game she had creatively come out with had been nothing but fun. You nearly fell from your chair laughing as you watch Morgan and Hotch doing their best to put a pen into a bottle blindfolded.

Everyone was here for one thing, and you watched the atmosphere shift from excitement to anticipation and suspense as JJ placed the cake into the table almost immediately. You bite your lip, somehow nervous at the prospect of knowing the gender of your unborn baby and reveal it in front of your friends and families.

Spencer wasn’t doing any better either, he was visibly jittery. You squeezed his hand gently once. Two times. Three times. Sending him all the wordless immense love you hoard for him, and a reminder that you were there with him. A small smile appeared on his face and he squeezed your hand a little firmer than you did, before he lifted it up to plant a soft kiss against your knuckle.

“Okay! When I reach three, you’ll cut the cake!” Penelope instructed. “If anyone would love to record this very magical moment, I advise your camera is ready by now.”

You chuckled, glancing up from the blue and pink cake in front of you. You saw Rossi already recorded the whole thing.

“One!”

You gently gripped the knife, feeling Spencer’s hand covered your hand warmly. He sent you a nervous smile as he adjusted his hands, his fingers settled in between yours seamlessly.

“Two!”

Spencer gently guided your hand to place the knife just right above the cake. You held your breath, feeling your heart trumped inside your chest loudly.

“Three!”

Spencer a little too eagerly cut the cake, almost forgot that he squeezed your hand underneath his a little too tight. A soft gasp escaped your lips as you finally saw the inside of the cake, and Spencer was stopped in his track as he gawked at the cake.

“It’s a girl…” Spencer whispered, like he couldn’t believe what he saw. He blinked and took a sharp inhale, feeling the reality settling in a lot better. “It’s a girl!” He then pulled you into a chaste kiss, his lips pressing into yours raked with love and happiness that you couldn’t help but to smile.

“A girl!” Derek hollered from his spot, already made his way to steal Spencer away from your embrace and pulled him into a hug. Everyone followed not so long after, and you could feel Emily pulled you into a hug, followed by JJ, and then Penelope trapped you in the middle.

“Aw,” you heard Penelope cooed. You didn’t realize there were tears streaming down your face until you could feel her thumb gently wiped it away from your face. “Don’t cry!”

You just laugh, pulling your girl friends into another round of hug. Emily let out a soft chuckle, and muttered something about having a new member to your sacred girl’s night out. You didn’t say anything, but feeling a smile growing on your lips at the thought of having a little girl following you in tow during your night out.

=======================================

series tag list:

@measure-in-pain @wooya1224 @reidemandweep @manuosorioh @jswessie187 @starrfruit

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

[rehkkuma]

she's all yours | okuyasu x reader

summary: unlike his partner in crime, Okuyasu lacked experience in the dating field. Once he believes that he may have a chance with his crush, his best friend begins to get in the way.

words: 1.8k

disclaimers/tags: fem pronouns, modern AU (basically just phones being involved), tiny bit of angst, fluff, and cursing.

He was staring again. The poor 16-year-old boy couldn't help but notice every single detail about her: the slight tilt in her walk whenever she went up the stairs, how she would tie her shoes, and the unfortunate glint of light in her eyes whenever she spoke with his best friend.

Y/n L/n was someone extremely special to him (whether she knew it or not). She could read his expressions so clearly, sometimes knowing more about Okuyasu than Okuyasu did himself. The emotions he couldn't quite put his finger on, she always had an answer to. At times, he felt undeserving of the friendship he had with her. After coming to terms with his developing feelings for the girl, of course she began to get closer with his best friend.

He was painfully aware of the difference in treatment he received compared to Josuke. While Josuke could be referenced as Morioh's pretty-boy delinquent, Okuyasu was more like the intimidating ruffian that stood by his side. Obviously, Y/n did not think of Okuyasu in that way, but her perception of him didn't matter if he was considered nothing more than a friend.

"Hey," Josuke called out, concerned for his friend.

"Y-Yeah?" Okuyasu stuttered, trying to regain his thoughts.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

Okuyasu silently thanked Y/n for standing in a crowd with other students. If she stood any further from the school's front entrance, it would've been easy for Josuke to pinpoint who he was eyeing.

"Nothing, really. Just thought I saw a cute girl."

Josuke shrugged his shoulders, repositioning himself so his back laid more comfortably against the tree. "Well, if you do see one, ask 'em out or somethin'. I wanna see you have your first kiss before we graduate," he chuckled.

"Mhm, yup," Okuyasu responded, eyes now glued to the grass he was sitting on. He was about to spew out a self-deprecating joke but stopped himself once he noticed Y/n approaching the two of them. Immediately, he recognized Josuke's energy shift from disinterest to eagerness.

"Y/n!" Josuke cheerfully said, waving at the girl.

"Hi, you two!" she waved back. Once coming close enough, she sat down along with the boys, her knees lacing together in a criss-cross position. Because of the short distance between her and Okuyasu, the boy could smell the flowery essence emitting off of her body. He wasn't too fond of fragrances, but the one Y/n had was light and sweet-- perfectly suiting her personality.

Before he knew it, Okuyasu was staring again. The only thing that got him to snap back into reality was the cry of laughter Y/n let out after Josuke made a funny remark.

"Did you hear that Okuyasu?" Y/n choked out, leaning back with both hands on her stomach.

"Y-Yeah." Okuyasu fake laughed, really having no clue what the hell was going on.

"God," Y/n sighed as she wiped off the faint tears forming in her eyes. "I wish I could hang out with you guys a bit longer, but I just wanted to drop by and say hi. I gotta help out with some chores tonight."

"It's all good," Josuke smiled. "But only if you promise to call me tonight."

The girl rolled her eyes while getting up from the ground. "We'll have to see about that, Jojo!" She then stuck her tongue out before scurrying off to her house.

Josuke chuckled, slowly placing his chin on the palm of his hand. "She's pretty cute, isn't she?" he said, eyes glued to the girl's figure in the distance.

"Yeah, she sure is."

* * *

Okuyasu could remember the first time he met her as clear as day: his hands were tucked deep into his pockets, feet dragging along the sidewalk while he was on his way to school. Unlike his regular routine, Josuke was unable to walk with him due to an argument breaking out between him and his mother. It seemed like a bummer at the moment, but maybe it was actually a blessing in disguise.

"Fuck!"

In front of Okuyasu's feet laid a girl. Her uniform was stained with a bright red juice and its can rolled next to her. He didn't recall exactly what happened, but he did feel someone's face hit his chest before hearing a thud.

"I didn't get any on you, did I?" the girl asked with panic.

Okuyasu, hands still in his pockets, shook his head. "Mnn. Don't think you did."

"Okay, thank God. These stains are so hard to get rid of."

That was one of the first things that Okuyasu remembered from Y/n. Her casual way of talking was enough to make any stranger feel like a good friend. Something about this girl piqued his interest.

"Guess it's not your first time, huh?" he hummed.

"You'd think I'd learn my lesson after the third time."

After the small accident, Okuyasu took the girl to the laundromat. Classes would begin in any minute, but neither one of the pair minded skipping it.

"Oi, what're you gonna be wearin' in the meantime? Don'tcha think the teacher's gonna kick your ass for showing up like that?" Okuyasu pointed at the revealing tank top she wore.

"Yeah, definitely. That's why you should totally let me borrow your top," she winked.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself. I don't even have a clue on what your name is."

"L/n." she replied crassly. "It's Y/n L/n."

That was several months ago. Since then, their relationship started to significantly grow. From sending short texts to sharing a few inside jokes, to hanging out every other day after school. In Okuyasu's eyes, it was inevitable for him to fall for a girl like her.

Right before he could spill about his crush to his best friend, Josuke had already introduced himself to her. It crushed Okuyasu to see the girl he loves slowly start to move on from him-- to his own best friend nevertheless.

All of his frustrations were best to be kept to himself. No way could he express his jealousy to Josuke or Y/n. Out of all the girls that fawned over Josuke, why did she have to be one of them?

**Brring**

Okuyasu rolled his body to the other side of his bed. On a nightstand was his phone that rang. The alarm was just loud enough to break through the pessimistic thoughts roaring through his brain.

"Who's this?" he asked, too lazy to check the contact number.

"It's me, Okuyasu! Why, is it that hard to use a second of your time to check the contact name?"

He recognized that voice anywhere. It was her.

"Aw, look. I was in bed, alright?" he smiled, feeling his mood change immediately after speaking with her.

A small giggle echoed from the other end of the phone. "Alright! I wasn't here to nag you all night anyways." The girl then cleared her throat with a cough before soon speaking again. "I was thinking we should hang out tomorrow. For ice cream, maybe. Just us."

Small butterflies began to form in his stomach from hearing the last sentence. "Just us" had never sounded better.

"Sounds good to me."

"Great!" she nearly interrupted. "A-Ah, sorry! I just got excited. It feels like we've been parting ways the past couple of weeks, but I promise tomorrow's gonna make up for it!"

"It's alright," Okuyasu sighed. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow!" she repeated.

* * *

Was it just Okuyasu or did she look way cuter today? The makeup she wore differed from the one she usually had on, her accessories managed to compliment her eyes even more, and she even put an effort into customizing her uniform like Josuke and Okuyasu despite expressing her laziness multiple times. She looked like an absolute doll.

"Hmph." She huffed. "You've been doing that a lot lately," she said flatly.

"Doing what?"

"Staring at me like I'm some crazy person."

Okuyasu internally panicked for a few seconds but composed himself. "You just look pretty lately, that's all."

He expected a cheeky comeback in return but was left with a bashful smile from her instead.

"Let's just hurry up and get ice cream..." she said, eyes faced to the ground.

Okuyasu nodded at her suggestion and began to walk, making sure his pace wasn't too fast for Y/n. He'd occasionally give a glance at her direction to know if he was walking at a comfortable speed for her.

Several minutes of walking and a few casual conversations later, the duo made it to the ice cream shop. Y/n ordered a mix of her two favourite flavours while Okuyasu ordered two scoops of mocha almond fudge. Feeling a bit more gentleman-like today, Okuyasu insisted on paying for the both of them.

"Thanks for the ice cream!" the girl said, taking a small lick of the cone. "I feel like the more I hang out with you, the more things I owe you back," she chuckled as the two left the shop.

"Don't sweat it. Hangin' out with you's enough for me." Okuyasu smiled.

"Ah, really?" she blushed. "That's... really sweet of you."

There she did it again. No witty comeback. Just a flustered reply.

"Somethin' up with you? Eat something bad today?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"You're just actin' a bit different, that's all. Not sayin' it's bad though. I kinda like it." Okuyasu continued to walk on the sidewalk but stopped once he realized Y/n was frozen still. "Hey, you comin'?"

Y/n began to slowly jog her way to Okuyasu. When she caught up with him, she paused once more, now looking into the young boy's eyes. "I feel like you don't hear yourself talk sometimes," she said. "I can't tell if you're flirting or you're just naturally this oblivious."

He didn't know how to respond. He was starting to get nervous from how close their faces were. If he wanted to, he could practically count each beauty mark on her face.

"Well?" she said.

"Well..." Okuyasu tried to come up with something but found himself paying more attention to the girl's lips. They looked plush and soft with a slight glossy coat from the ice cream.

Eventually, the girl noticed where he was looking at. Slowly, she closed the already small gap between the two.

"Okuyasu," she breathed out with a gentle tone. "I really like you."

"I-" he stuttered. "Not Josuke?"

"Josuke?" She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and chuckled. "I don't know what you think is going on between us, but it's not that. He's not exactly my type either."

Okuyasu couldn't believe what he was hearing. Before he could say anything back, he felt her lips against his right cheek. It was a delicate kiss. Maybe a bit sticky, but it made his heart do several backflips nevertheless.

Once her lips left his skin, she stood awkwardly in front of him. The way she looked up at his eyes with that lovestruck gaze made Okuyasu realize something he didn't before: he wouldn't need to jealous of other guys. It was clear that Y/n L/n was all his.

[wienerbarnes]

Italian Heart

Pairing: Bucky x Italian!MobBoss!Reader

Word Count: 4,867

Warnings: canon level violence, possible inaccurate italian slang lol

A/N: ive been watching a lot of the sopranos lately and i feel like ive never seen a bucky x mob boss reader au (ive only rlly seen em where buckys the mob boss. if there are ones where reader is the mob boss PLS SEND EM TO ME I BEG) a lot of the slang and mob stuff here is from sopranos bc... im not in the fucking mafia so forgive me anyway enjoy :)<3

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky’s never seen a woman quite like yourself.

Dressed in expensive satin and jewelry that hangs between your breasts, an angry look on your face at the fact you’re sitting before him and Sam in an interrogation room in the tower. Freshly done nails, clean and crisp lipstick, spicy perfume, and an expression of annoyance.

As put together as you look, you don’t look like someone to be fucked with. Which, he supposes is good for a mobster; the Boss of Newark.

Looking at you, though, he’d never thought you to be such a figure of intimidation. While the mafia is still alive, despite how the media tries to deny this, he always pictured an old Italian man that chain smokes cigars. He doesn’t think he’s too far off, to his credit; he can smell the remnants of smoke on you.

“Mind if we make this fast? My cousin’s comin’ for dinner and I was gonna make ziti.” You huff, crossing your legs under the table.

“Sounds delicious. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.” Sam says, a calm look on his face even though he’s well aware of what you’re capable of.

When hunting down the last traces of the super soldier serum, he never thought Nick Fury himself would suggest getting in touch with you. He didn’t think it was worth the time to question how the two of you knew each other.

Theft. Drugs. Murder. Bribery. The list goes on, and there’s not a single thing that ties you to any of it.

A shrug of your shoulders, “So, what exactly is this about?” You ask.

“What is it that you do for a living?” Sam asks.

“I work in waste management.” You respond, a rehearsed answer.

Not exactly a lie, the environmental facility you manage is one of hundreds of covers used by your crew for your crimes. Environmental facilities, deli shops, strip clubs, auto shops. There isn’t a business in Jersey you aren’t tied to.

“Waste management? Like, garbage disposal?” Bucky asks, knowing exactly what it is you do for work.

You smirk, “Yeah, we dispose of garbage sometimes. What’s that got to do with me being here?”

“It’s to my understanding that you’re in the business of… buying and selling things. You and… the people you hang around got a real knack for it.” Sam tells you.

Bucky holds back a roll of his eyes. More like stealing and selling. Expensive Italian suits, antique watches, cars, electronics, illegal cigars. Who knows what else.

“I don’t know where you heard that… but I’m a popular gal, maybe I know a guy who might know a guy. What are you lookin’ for?” You ask.

You know this game, after being in the mob for so long. After being a part of your own crew for years, your patience and hard work paid off, working your way up to a captain and finally a boss. It didn’t take you long to learn in this business that government officials are jokes. Always wanting to bust my balls and then come crying to my corner for help, it’s a bunch of ugatz.

“Serums.” Bucky finally speaks.

A laugh escapes you, “What, like vitamin C?” You teasingly smirk at him.

His chair makes a loud sound in the small room as he pushes it back harshly and stands, resting his hands on the table in between the two of you. You don’t flinch.

“Enough with the bullshit. Super serums. To create super soldiers. We need to get them before they end up in the wrong hands and make a big ass mess.” He snaps at you, but you don’t seem phased in the slightest. In fact, you seem rather amused.

“You must have a lot of agita with all that anger, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t hold back this time and rolls his eyes before you speak up again, “Your first name is James, isn’t it? Ain’t that Italian?”

“No, it’s English. Or Scottish. Or Jewish - I don’t know, who cares? Are you gonna help us or not?” Bucky takes his seat again, crossing his thick arms over his broad chest.

“What’s in it for me?” You ask, leaning back in your chair.

“Not being arrested for all the shit we know you’re caught up in.” Sam offers.

You roll your own eyes this time, “I’ll take my chances. Thanks for wasting my time, boys, don’t let it happen again.” You stand, prepared to make your way back to the train station to go back to Jersey.

“Wait,” Sam stops you, “What is it that you want?”

You smile innocently and take your seat again, taking a minute to think before answering, “My little sister’s a big fan of yours. I’m sure she and all her friends would think it’s cool if you showed up to her prom as her date.” You wink at Sam.

Silence fills the room as the men think about your request.

“You’re gonna do it, right?” Bucky looks over at him and sees Sam rubbing the crease in between his eyes. He was expecting you to ask for immunity, protection, money, guns. But after hearing your request, he supposes you have enough of all that stuff anyway.

“Man -” Sam begins to refuse.

“Sam, it’s a fucking school dance in exchange for some of the most powerful and sought after serums on the planet - go to the fucking prom.” He tells him, eyebrows scrunching in confusion as to how he would hesitate on something so simple.

“She’s eighteen, so you won’t have any problems with the media or none of that.” You add, the information not really making Sam feel any better.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll go to the dance with your sister if you help us get these serums.”

You smile, happy to have done business with the two men, “What information do ya got for me?”

…

Bucky and Sam wait outside a back room in the facility you own. They passed the garbage trucks parked neatly outside, but could hear your screaming and the smell of Cuban cigars as soon as they entered the building.

She’s with a customer, they were told, by someone in your crew, them meeting Bucky’s expectations for mobsters more than you did. None of them ask any questions, but Bucky and Sam aren’t stupid, they’re sure your crew is aware of what’s going on and know the exact reason they’re there.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? The Bible says, Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit -”

“You listen to me, you take your Bible and your quotations book and shove it up your fat fucking ass! Now get the fuck out of my face!”

Bucky can’t help but scoff listening to you scream at whoever’s inside. Sam elbows him, silently telling him that now isn’t the time to find your work funny, especially not in front of the rest of your crew.

Bucky knows he’s old-fashioned, and while things that were taboo such as body modifications or certain fashion styles don’t phase him anymore, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to hearing a woman talk like that. He doesn’t think he’s ever even heard anybody talk like you do.

Suddenly a man bursts out of the room, huffing and puffing, and you walk slowly behind him, as if to make sure he makes it outside okay.

“Grab his plate for me, will you?” You say not to anyone in particular, voice smooth and calm as if you hadn’t been yelling and threatening that man’s life for the past twenty minutes.

One of the men from your crew follows outside, seemingly to collect the license plate of the man who just left.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to that guy, right?” Sam asks as he and Bucky enter the room, taking a seat in front of the desk you have in there. He knows there’s no point in asking, that you’ll do whatever you want regardless because it’s obvious you’re passionate about receiving respect, but it was worth a shot.

“Is that what you came all the way to Jersey to ask me? Christ, I’m fuckin’ starving, you boys want anything to eat?” You ask, accent heavy as you reach into the side drawer of your desk and pull out what seems to be some kind of meat wrapped in paper.

“Gabagool?” You offer to them, picking out a slice for yourself and placing it in your mouth.

“Gesundheit.” Sam responds.

“It’s pork, you asshole.”

Bucky silently reaches over and picks off a slice of the cured cold cut, putting the meat in his mouth and savoring the flavor. While he can’t stand the way you make a living or the sailor’s mouth you have, he loves Italian food, and actually chose a neighborhood in New York that has plenty of traditional cold cut markets and restaurants to live in in order to fulfill his cravings.

“There’s a big party staged downtown this weekend, we think that’s when the drop is going to happen.” Sam tells you, bringing the focus to their reason for coming here in the first place.

“I’ll send one of my boys.” You reply in between your chews.

“That wasn’t the deal. The deal was you get the serums.” Bucky speaks up.

“Buck, you know how many people want her dead?” Sam tries to reason.

“What the fuck do I have a crew for then? - No, if pretty boy wants me to do it myself, then I will. The same people that want my head are the same fucks who are terrified to be within twenty feet of me in fear they’ll make eye contact. I’m not scared of nothin’.” You say, narrowing your eyes at Bucky.

“What did you guys come here to talk about?” You ask.

Sam looks confused at your expression, “...To go over the plan? Hash out details? So you know how everything’s gonna go?”

“I’ll be fine; I’ve seen The Godfather once or twice,” You tell him, wrapping up the cappo, after Bucky picks off one last slice, and replacing it in the drawer, “Don’t worry Captain, this ain’t my first rodeo. I’ll get the serums for you.” You open a different drawer and pull out a cigar and a lighter.

Bucky watches as you place the large cigar in between your red-painted lips, bringing the flame of your lighter to the end and hollowing your cheeks until smoke exits from the corner of your mouth. Bucky feels blood travel south as his eyes glaze over your hand grab the cigar out of your mouth and blow out a long string of smoke.

“I guess we’ll be in touch then,” Sam stands and Bucky follows after.

“My sister’s wearing blue, so find yourself a nice tie.” You call out, lifting your feet up to cross them on the desk, dress rising and showing your legs.

Bucky blushes, and then laughs as he exits when he hears you, in a deep and more exaggerated accent than your own, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in!”

…

The morning of the party, Sam and Bucky pick you up from your house, planning to take you into New York to discuss final details before tonight.

You get in the passenger seat, Sam offering it to you and climbing in the backseat. As Bucky begins to drive off, your phone rings.

“I told you to leave that.” Bucky says, telling you explicitly to leave electronics here to prevent anyone finding out where you are, and also to avoid any distractions.

“Wanted to see what you’d about it, Sarge,” You wink at him, pulling out a flip phone and answering the call.

“Yeah… Uh huh… He what? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright… Tell him not to move a fucking muscle.” You hang up, slamming the phone closed.

“Stop at the facility for a sec, I gotta take care of something.” Bucky sighs and turns away from the route to head to your facility.

“Bucky’s going to be going with you tonight, by the way, he’ll be in disguise. Just in case anything goes wrong.” Sam tells you, not really caring anymore about having to make a stop for you to take care of whatever business you need to take care of.

Your only response is a hum as Bucky can feel the anger radiating off your now tense body.

You slam the car door shut as Bucky parks behind a garbage truck outside, not even waiting for him to fully put the car in park before you exit.

Him and Sam follow quickly behind you to see what’s going on. You enter through a side door that leads to a large room, a garage for the trucks, Bucky assumes.

There’s a large truck inside, and racks of suits wrapped in plastic scattered around. A younger man stands near the truck as your crew peruses around the racks, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five years old. Your heels click on the ground as you approach, slowing down as you glance between the suits and the young man. Bucky and Sam hang around a few feet behind your trail.

You stop, fuming, staring at the man before you speak, “You wanna tell me what the fuck happened?”

“I -” He begins, but you cut him off, raising an open hand at him.

“Actually, I don’t even want to hear your fucking voice right now. Because if what I heard you did is true; if what you did to Vinny’s guy is true, you’re gonna be a fuck load of trouble.”

“Can I -”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“But -”

“I said shut the fuck up, Christopher! What part of that don’t you understand?” You yell, and even Bucky feels intimidated.

You turn to your crew, “What the fuck happened.” You demand, more than ask.

“Kid says he tried to take the truck, Vinny’s guy had a gun that fell outta the seat, went off, shot him.” One of the men summarizes, not looking up from the rack of suits.

You raise a manicured hand to pinch between your eyes, “You keep me skinny, Christopher, with all the fucking stress you cause me.”

“Would you let me explain?” He tries.

“If you don’t do as I told you and shut your fucking mouth, you’re gonna be buried with two assholes,” You threaten before continuing.

“They were fuckin’ suits! All you had to do was take the truck! How did you fuck that up -” You stop yourself and sigh, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take all this shit, you’re gonna take it back to Vinny, and you’re gonna tell him what happened yourself.” You finish.

“Marone!” He exclaims, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Enough with the theatrics! You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your ass! Now, I don’t see you grabbing that rack and that rack and that rack and putting it back in the truck!” You wave your arms around the room.

The kid sighs and begins grabbing the racks one by one and rolling them back in the truck.

“Would it be such a shame if they all went back?” An older man from your crew asks, already wearing one of the expensive suits. You scoff and laugh.

“Bucky, pick yourself somethin’ nice for tonight,'' You turn to face him, and he jumps at the sound of your now calmer voice being directed at him, as opposed to the harsh one used on Christopher, “On me.” You wink.

...

Sam and Bucky sit on the bed and watch as you get ready. A small apartment near the party that’s already been swept for bugs. A favor, you called it, from someone you know.

They don’t question it.

“You and Bucky will go in together and I’ll be waiting at a secondary location watching and listening to everything.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from your dress. A mermaid dress, he thinks it is, black and tight and hugging you in all the right places, curving around your ass and sleeveless at the top, allowing you to show off a nice necklace and your cleavage. It’s an understatement to say that he’ll enjoy accompanying you tonight, even if it’s in a costume.

His mother probably would’ve loved it if he would’ve gotten with someone like you. Someone who loves their family, a spitfire that wouldn’t take any of his shit, and whose god damn gorgeous. She might’ve had to wash your mouth out with soap, though.

“So, why is Bucky goin’ again?”

“Safety.” Bucky answers.

“Is he going for my safety or am I going for his?” You tease, finishing the last few curls of your hair, smoke coming from the iron after each time you pull your hair away from it.

“Once you find our guy, get talking with him and see if you can get him to make you an offer,” He begins.

“One I can’t refuse?”

“Then, you’ll try and get him alone, see if he’ll show you the serums, and once you do, we’ll be taking care of the rest.” Sam finishes explaining.

Bucky plucks a box from his pocket and opens it to reveal a pair of diamond earrings. One, a camera, and the other, a microphone. You’re also given a comm to hide in your ear so both him and Sam can hear everything and you can hear them.

“Easy - peasy.” You respond.

The ballroom is lively, loud music and people everywhere, and Bucky attunes all the action overwhelming him to a sweat and not that fact that you’re pressed up against him, his arm wrapped around your waist.

About a hundred different people come up to greet you, asking about your family, offering you drinks and food. Bucky can see right through all of them though; they’re all putting on the act out of fear. Everyone’s attention is on you, and Bucky’s sure if he wasn’t in disguise right now, no one would even notice.

You bring him to the middle of the crowd and he can’t be surprised when you start to dance with him, pulling at his arms to get him to loosen up. He complies, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close as the two of you move together.

“I’ll let you know when I spot him.” He tells you, voice causing goosebumps to rise on your neck; goosebumps that he notices but doesn’t point out.

It only takes a song or two before he spots who he’s looking for and sends you over, making sure your com is on, and choosing to stick by the bar, giving him a good view of you and allowing himself a break of having your body pressed against his.

He’s impressed listening to you talk to this guy, voice smooth and sultry, yet still commanding.

He knows there was a lot of talk when you took position as boss; not a lot of people in the mob took you seriously and didn’t think you or a woman in general would be good in that kind of position in power. So, you use that to your advantage to get shit done, and Bucky applauds you for that.

It’s not long before the guy offers to go somewhere more private to discuss business and Bucky follows far behind, Sam praising you through the coms from where he waits in the car outside, watching through the camera in your earring.

Bucky waits outside of a closed office door upstairs, listening to the conversation through the coms but hearing your exclamation through the door when the guys give you his asking price.

“5 mil each?! What do you take me for, some kinda stunad?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Take it or leave it, yeah, I can put a bullet between your eyes and take it, alright.”

“Stop messing around and take the offer, it’s not real anyway!” Sam tells you, not wanting to lose their chance on the serums.

You ignore him prioritizing your need for respect over the stupid mission, “How do I know these aren’t Kool-Aid pouches poured in glass bottles?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to test ‘em out for you.” The guy scoffs.

“Stronzo. You’re outta your fucking mind offering me that.”

“I’ll lower the price for you if you give me a little dance, how ‘bout that?”

“Vaffanculo.” You curse at him.

“Up yours, lady!” He yells back, and Sam sees through the camera, he grabs at you.

“Buck, get in there.” Sam tells him, and it only takes Bucky a second to kick open the door.

He’s a bit taken aback when he not only sees the case of serums out on the table, but you holding the man bent over the small table in the middle of the room next to the serums, gun held to the back of his head.

He very quickly decides that you’re fine and moves to grab the serums, closing the case and holding it securely in his left hand.

“Don’t kill the guy.”

You stay silent and Bucky looks at you again. He can almost see the steam coming out of your ears and he notices a small cut on your cheek bone. He looks down to the man’s cowering figure and notices a large ring on his hand.

You mumble something in Italian to the man, a threat of some kind that Bucky can guess given how the man shuts his eyes and shakes a bit under your hold. Sam finally enters the room, military grade handcuffs in hand.

“Feds are on their way, get her out of here.” He tells Bucky.

You slowly lift the gun off the man’s head and stand up straighter, walking over to brush past Bucky in the direction of the back door.

He makes eye contact with Sam and gives him a nod before following after you, watching as you scrunch up the bottom of your dress to replace the gun in an ankle holster. Once outside, he stops you under a street light near the car and raises his hand to look at your cheek.

“We gotta get going,” You swat at his hand.

“You’re still bleeding.” He says, using his thumb to brush away the line of blood, smearing a red tinge on your skin.

He looks into your eyes and for a second he sees the tough exterior drop. The face of someone who got smacked across the cheek all for mouthing off at some asshole.

Your vulnerability doesn’t last long, though, as you sniff and walk towards the car, opening the passenger door and sitting inside before Bucky can make it over there to open the door for you.

The drive back to the apartment is silent, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do or say to fill the silence. Stepping into the apartment, you immediately go to change and collect your things. Bucky moves to the bathroom to look for a first aid kit of some kind.

He meets you in the room and you’re now in cotton pants and a large t-shirt, sandals on your feet showing the bright red color of your toenails and the lines indented in your skin from how tight your heels were. You’re hanging up the dress and zipping it back in the cover when Bucky drops the first aid kit on the bed.

“Christ, it’s only a small cut.” You mumble.

“Just - Let me, would you?”

He takes out the liquid of disinfectant and soaks a cotton pad, cleaning off your cheek bone with it before covering it with healing ointment and a bandaid.

You don’t thank him when he finishes and he huffs as he closes the kit, “When do you drop the act, huh?”

“I don’t.”

“Really?” Bucky asks in annoyed disbelief.

“No. People tend to try and have me whacked when I drop the act.”

He sighs, “So, what, nobody ever takes care of you? Treats you? You don’t have any days off? Time to be yourself?”

“This lifestyle doesn’t really allow me to have days off, Sergeant Barnes.” You snap, gathering the dress in your hands and turning to face him completely.

“Take me home, I’m tired and my feet hurt.”

You leave him in the room and he waits an extra few seconds before dropping the conversation and following you out.

...

Bucky opens the back door to the environmental facility with his right hand and sees the door to your office open, you and your crew sitting together surrounded by cigar smoke and he can hear a TV on.

“Sir, please step into the vehicle.”

“Like the cop would be callin’ this asshole Sir if the fuckin’ cameras weren’t around!” You wave a hand at the TV, not yet seeing Bucky standing there.

He finds it funny that the gnarliest criminals - the literal Mafia - spend their time watching shitty, scripted cop shows.

It’s been about two weeks since the mission with you where you retrieved the serums. Sam went to prom with your sister five days ago, which was hilarious for him, especially when he got photo prints of different sizes in the mail at his apartment. He didn’t bother thinking about how you found his address.

One of the men sitting next to you glances his way and sees him standing there, smirking at the vision of him; hair combed slightly back and to the side, and a large bouquet of flowers in his right hand and a small paper box in his left.

“You got company, Boss.” He says.

You look over to the doorway and your jaw drops in an open-mouthed smile.

“Look at googootz! Now this is a man that knows how to treat a lady, are you boys paying attention?” You tease, scurrying over to him and pinching one of his cheeks, resting your free hand on his large bicep to guide him into the room, the rest of your crew ushering out to give the two of you privacy.

“What’s in the box?”

“Cannoli.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated moan, “You know the way to an Italian woman’s heart, Sergeant Barnes. What’s with all the gifts?”

“Thought I’d treat you.” Is all his response is.

You narrow your eyes at him and stand up a little straighter, crossing your arms over your chest.

The last conversation before he dropped you off that night hasn’t escaped his mind. He understands the difficulties of life - how it’s hard to find time for yourself among the busy schedule that is existing. He catches himself sometimes, too, forcing his body to run with no sleep, burning through all of his energy until he’s completely drained and blaming it on life.

But life’s not always like that. Life allows for days off. For treats. For a bit of kindness. And Bucky’s come to show you just that.

“What, a beautiful woman like you never received flowers and pastries before?” He says, taking a half-step forward to be close enough to look you closer in the eyes.

“Are you flirting with me?” You whisper in amusement.

His eyes glance away from yours to look down at your red-painted lips. He gives you a shy smirk, really turning up the charm. For a big, bad, boss, you’re pretty easy to break down.

“Let me take you out tonight.”

“Maybe I’ve got plans.”

“Cancel ‘em.”

“What makes you think you’re worth canceling plans for?”

“Why don’t you trust me and find out?”

“You should know by now, Sergeant Barnes, that I don’t trust.”

He doesn’t respond for a moment, setting the box of cannoli on your desk before reaching his now free hand up to your face, using his finger to brush away a stray hair and push it behind your ear.

He then takes a hold of one of your hands, turning it over to place a kiss on the top of it, before wrapping your fingers around the flowers in his other hand, forcing you to take them.

“No restaurant you’ve been to a hundred times over, no drama, no business. Just a man trying to treat a lady.” You look down at the flowers before meeting his eyes again.

“I get to pick the place.”

“No.”

“The kind of food.”

“No.”

“The -”

“No. Let me take care of everything.” Bucky insists, determined to get you to give up control for the first time in what he can only imagine has been a very long time.

Bucky knows better than anyone how terrifying it is to give up control. It was terrifying when he was forced to give up control, his free will taken away from him in the war for decades upon decades, but it’s terrifying even now when he has to do it as a free man. It makes a person vulnerable. When was the last time you were allowed to be vulnerable for somebody?

“I’m gonna pick you up here at six. Wear something nice and leave the executive attitude at home.” He finishes, leaving you with the flowers and cannoli before returning back outside, ignoring the stares he receives from you crew who wait patiently outside your office.

He feels your eyes follow him at the door, and he can’t wait to sweep you off your feet tonight.

[arrowflier]

Ian growing his first tomatoes and being proud of himself really excited to share them with Mickey and cooking with them everyday. But what he doesn't know is that tomatoes don't agree with Mickey. They upset his stomach and make him feel sick. He loves seeing Ian so happy and proud of himself so he doesn't tell him and eats everything he makes him. Ian eventually realizes what's going on. A prompt if you'd like to write it

Content Warnings: food, vomit

The first time it happened, Mickey assumed it was a coincidence. 

Ian had been so fucking excited for his first tomato crop; he'd spent ages looking up recipes, running ideas past anyone who would listen, and scrounging through old boxed from the house to look for weird cooking shit.  He had beamed when the day of his first harvest finally came, carrying those little red fruits in his big hands so carefully that you'd be forgiven for thinking them infants, or puppies, or some other fragile living thing.

So after an hour of Ian washing, slicing, and cooking up his new pride and joy, there was no way in he'll Mickey was going to ruin his husband's happy smile by telling him that just the smell of dinner was making his stomach churn.

It was probably nothing, he told himself, choking down bite after bite, letting out agreeable little hums after each one just to add to the sparkle in Ian's eyes.

Maybe lunch wasn't sitting well; he should have known not to eat anything offered by the Alibi, even under new management (especially under new management).  That had to be it.  There was no way it had anything to do with the dish Ian had painstakingly made from ingredients so fresh they had still been on the vine just hours before.

So Mickey swallowed his bile with the last bite on his plate, asked for seconds, and ate that too.  Then he made his excuses, ran down to the little restroom off the gym, and threw it all up where Ian wouldn't have to see.  He ignored the visible seeds and flecks of red tomato skin as he flushed the evidence away.

Just a coincidence, that was all.  Next time would go better.

The second time it happened, Mickey thought that maybe Ian was just a bad cook.  Ian's courage had been bolstered by his "successful" first attempt, apparently, because this time he went all out.  He'd even traded one of his precious tomatoes for some fresh herbs from the plot next to his in the community garden, just to make it special.

And special it was.  A special he'll, more like, when Mickey nearly voided his bowels an hour later on their new sofa.  He leapt up and made it to the bathroom just in time, and spent the next thirty minutes trying to quietly take care of things so Ian wouldn't hear.

Of course, Ian did hear, and he just had to ask about it.  They were getting ready for bed, Mickey tugging on a too-large sleep shirt from a pile of Ian's laundry, when a hand landed lightly on his waist.

"Feeling better?" Ian asked softly, rubbing soothing circles into the stretched skin of Mickey's sore belly.

"Uh, yeah," Mickey hedged, not wanting to reveal his lingering discomfort.  "It's nothing, really."

"You sure?" Ian asked, pressing closer against his back as his hand migrated to rest over Mickey's chest.  "You can tell me if something made you sick, you know," he said.  "I won't take it personally."

If he wasn't used to Ian hitting close to home while having absolutely no knowledge of what he was talking about, Mickey might have wondered then if his husband was catching on.

But it was an innocent enough question, after all.

"Nah, man," he said, pulling away to sit on the bed.  "Probably picked up a bug on our rounds or something."

Ian looked unconvinced, biting his lip, and Mickey rushed to reassure him.

"I'm be right as rain tomorrow," he promised.  "Just you watch."

Ian hesitated, but ultimately nodded, and joined him in bed.  He curled just a little tighter around Mickey than normal, hand resting carefully on his stomach.

It wasn't a lie, Mickey figured as he waited for sleep to claim him.  He would be fine by morning.  And next time, he'd do the cooking himself, just in case, and then this couldn't happen again.

By the third time, just the next morning, Mickey finally had to admit what he dreaded all along: it really was the goddamned tomatoes.

He’d made the omelets himself, using normal ingredients they got from the store, all things he had eaten before.  He’d mixed in some diced tomato, just for flavor, and because he knew Ian would like it.

And like it Ian did.  His husband was chowing down like someone might take away his plate if he didn’t eat fast enough, barely stopping to sip at his coffee, while Mickey sat silently across from him.

The first bite of his eggs had already almost done him in, the taste of the tomato now forever associated with stomach cramps and bile and bloating.  He knew there was no way for it to be effecting him already, but his stomach clenched when he tried to lift another bite to his lips, and he set down his fork with a clatter.

Ian stopped eating.

“Everything okay, Mickey?” he asked, concerned.  “You’ve barely touched your breakfast.”

“What are you lookin’ at my breakfast for?” Mickey deflected.  “Eyes on your own fuckin’ plate, you’ve got yours.”

Ian obediently ducked his head, but still managed to catch Mickey poking a chunk of tomato away from everything else on his plate.

“You don’t like the tomato?” he asked, ignoring Mickey’s exasperated sigh at his interference.  “I think they really add something.”

“Love them,” Mickey answered with a forced, toothy smile.  “Just saving the best for last.”  He stabbed at the tomato with his fork, spearing it, and lifted it to his lips to make a point.

“Yum,” he said around it as he chewed and forced himself to swallow.  “See?  Delic--”

Then he was up, away from the table, and running to the kitchen sink as it came right back up.

“Mickey, what the fuck?” Ian yelled, his chair sliding back with a screech as he hurried to join Mickey at the counter.

“Sorry,” Mickey managed, head still down, as Ian rubbed his back.  “Think something’s wrong with me; didn’t mean to waste it.”

Ian’s hand stilled.

“Waste it?” he asked.  “Mickey, what are talking about?”

“The tomatoes, Ian,” Mickey sighed.  “I know you’re fuckin’ proud of ‘em or whatever, but I just can’t keep ‘em down.”

“Can’t keep them...” Ian started, then stopped.  His hand fell away, only to reappear on the back of Mickey’s neck, forcing his to lift his head and look at him.

“Mickey,” Ian said firmly.  “How long has this been going on?”

Mickey didn’t answer.  Ian shook him, just lightly, then winced when it set him retching again into the stainless steel sink.

“How long have my tomatoes been making you sick, Mickey?” he asked again, quieter, and Mickey finally gave in.

“Few days,” he muttered, and Ian let go of him completely.

“A few--Mickey, it’s only been a few days.  And I’ve been putting them in everything.”

Ian sounded worried, almost distraught, and that was exactly what Mickey had been trying to avoid.

“No, it’s fine,” he insisted, pushing away from the sink.  He forced himself to swallow past the burning bile in his throat.  “I’m not some fuckin’ pussy-ass kid, Gallagher, I know how to work through a fuckin’ stomach ache.”

If anything, that only made Ian look more concerned.

“I know you do, Mick,” he said.  “But why the hell did you think you had to?  Terry’s gone, we’re doing good; you know you don’t need to do shit like that anymore.”

Oh.  

“You’re not upset?” Mickey asked, just to clarify, and Ian rubbed a hand over his face.

“Of course I’m upset, Mickey,” he sighed.  “You lied to me for days because what, you didn’t want to look weak?”

“No,” Mickey said.  “Cause I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Ian took a deep breath.

“Mickey,” he said slowly.  “I promise my feelings aren’t hurt just because you can’t stomach tomatoes.  It really wouldn’t have been a big deal.”

Mickey shrugged.  “I should be able to, though,” he said.  “Ketchup, soup, fucking pasta--I eat all that no problem, and we just had extra sauce on our pizza last week.  It’s just...”

He hesitated to say it out loud.

“Just my tomatoes,” Ian finished for him.  ‘Right.”

Ian took a step forward, and took Mickey’s hand.  He guided him back over to the table, sat him down--moving his plate away so he didn’t have to look at it--and joined him there.

“Mickey,” he started.  “Maybe it’s not just that.”  Mickey bit his lip, figuring that Ian cared more than he let on if he wanted to find some other excuse, but what his husband said next surprised him.

“I mean,” Ian continued, “it’s not like either of us had a lot of fresh ingredients around growing up.”

Well, he was right about that.

“And really fresh stuff, not processed, none of the preservative shit we’ve been eating our whole lives...well, it’s not your fault that your system doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“Still wish I could eat it,” Mickey grumbled, feeling a little better in spite of himself.  “It makes you so happy, man, and I had to go and ruin it.”

Ian laughed.

“You didn’t ruin anything, you idiot,” he said fondly.  “But next time I want to try something new, maybe we’ll take it a little slower, yeah?”

Mickey nodded.

“And maybe,” Ian added, “You’ll tell me there’s a problem before you puke all over our dishes.”

Mickey looked over to the sink, where sure enough, the majority of their dishes were piles and waiting to be washed, now needing it more than ever.

Oops.

“At least they were already dirty?” he said, and Ian smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed.  “At least there’s that.”

He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s head.  Then he grabbed up Mickey’s unfinished breakfast and a fork.

“Really, Gallagher?” Mickey asked.  “You still wanna eat after that?”

“Why not?” Ian answered, mouth already full.  “Besides, if you don’t like it,” he added, a stray piece of egg clinging to the side of his mouth, “then all the more for me.”

It was Mickey’s turn to grin, even as he watched the gruesome show that was Ian trying to eat.

Tomatoes or not, table manners or not, he really loved that man.

[professionalsimpfor2dboys]

“Scenting” Obey Me Fluff (slightly sexual)

All demon brothers x Female! MC

Introduction: when in Devildom, MC always knew demons were very different from her human self but she never knew they did something called “scenting” until some random demons did it to her, ensuing a very possessive & peeved off demon brothers

MC sat at her desk as she normally would but quieter than usual, compared to her other classes she’d be surrounded by her demons but this was the only class that she had none of them in. Sighing out of boredom, she hunched over her desk as she waited for the bell to ring but was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. She looked up to meet black eyes that belonged to one of the many demon classmates she had grown used to ignoring.

“Hah! I told you! She finally noticed me!” He cheered cockily at his friends that stood alongside him, each very different from the other. “Jeez, I almost gave up on getting your attention, human,” he winked flirtatiously, which MC just blinked at in an oblivious manner.

“Hey! Just because she noticed you first doesn’t mean she doesn’t see the rest of us either!” The shorter out the bunch yelled out defensively.

“Ah, sorry...? I never realized anyone was trying to get my attention. Could I help you with something?” She questioned, holding a finger to her chin. After multiple lectures from Lucifer and the others but mostly Lucifer she had grown accustomed to not conversing with other demons since she was told they wanted nothing but to eat or hurt her and what idiot was not gonna take that warning? It surprised her that they seemed overall harmless, other than a common spark in the eyes of each of the demons in front of her.

“W-well, it’s not necessarily something you can help with...” a particularly shy-looking demon stepped forward, his black hair covered his eyes like a curtain which he nervously patted at. “W-we have a slight, ahem, fascination with h-humans...particularly y-you,” he trailed off as a taller demon slung an arm around his shoulders.

“Quit beating around the bush! We like you, human! You’re pretty cute!” Said demon announced, winking then continuing to give the shy boy a noogie.

A melodious giggle to their ears erupted from her throat at the slight blushing faces of her previously unknown classmates in front of her. “I’m flattered! I didn’t think I met up to demons’ preferences,” she laughed. MC was happy to be conversing with others for once, not being isolated to just the seven brothers felt as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders which she hadn’t noticed before and the fact that they found her cute was all the better.

“Nah! Attractive up there is still attractive down here! All we really prefer is that our horns don’t get caught up with each other when kissing and since you don’t have any it’s all the better!” The first demon replied cheerily, patting at her head to get the point across as she laughed. “Not to mention, since you’re human, you have a different type of beauty ‘bout you that we’re not too used to,” he continued, boldly leaning close and tipping her chin upward with a finger.

It was MC’s turn to blush. As her cheeks dusted with a slight pink tone, she couldn’t help but giggle at her classmates’ antics. “You guys are a funny bunch. I like y’all!” she commented happily, smiling at the four demons in front of her. It felt strange to not feel afraid of anyone other than her particular seven demons but not in a negative way. Inside she hoped that this would start a domino effect of others wanting to try striking up a conversation with her, the thought made her feel warm inside. The four stepped back in surprise at her revelation, whilst blushing at her cute smile they all shared a look with one another.

“D-do you mind if we, um, s-scent you...” the shy demon stuttered out as he twiddled his fingers nervously, fearing her reply to such an intimate request. Seeing her head cocked to the side, he quickly tried to explain himself. “A-Ah! We don’t want to fully scent you! Just one rub to show our interest in you is all! We would never fully scent without an established relationship! It’s just to show that we’re trying to court you is all! Y-you don’t even have to accept!” He rambled, jumping forward out of how frazzled he was which revealed his two gold eyes from underneath the curtain of pitch black hair.

“Sorry to interrupt, but what is ‘scenting’ exactly?” She questioned, confused at what it was and why there were different types. Realizing she didn’t know what it meant, the shy demon’s legs gave out from embarrassment as the taller demon caught him, his outbursts seemed to be normal to them.

“Oh, right! You’re human so you don’t know!” The shortest realized, putting his fist in to his other hand. “Hmm, long story short it’s what demons do to show our interest in someone,” he shrugged simply, but a sly glint in his eye as well as the smirk that lifted his lips said something else, which MC didn’t quite catch. “Here! I’ll show ya!” He continued before dipped down and nuzzling his neck against hers just once before pulling away with a satsifactory grin as he inhaled.

“Hey, you’re leaving some things out-“ the black-eyed demon spoke up before the shortest cut him off.

“You don’t mind it, right? It’s completely harmless!” He shrugged, holding his hands up and shaking his head innocently. The other three waited quietly in anticipation.

“I-I guess,” MC nodded which four smiled triumphantly at. The black-eyed demon didn’t waste time in following the prior demon’s actions but with a warmer smile before the taller did the same, a flirtatious lift to his lips. That left only the shy demon to scoot hesitantly close before rubbing his neck against hers. Once. Twice. Before being pulled away by the other three.

“Hey! What are ya trying to do? Don’t be going overboard with the scenting, dumbass!” The tallest reprimanded, holding him by the back of his collar.

“I-I’m sorry! I got carried away! I wasn’t going to do anything more! Promise!” He wailed as the three pulled him out the classroom just as the bell rang, not forgetting to wave at her as they left.

“Strange. I wonder what the brothers will have to say.” She thought to herself.

-

Disappointed but not surprised that the brothers each had plans after school, she walked home alone that day. One would think at least one would stay behind for her safety, but she felt that they were beginning to get too used to having her around and often forgot she was human, which was nice she was so included and familiar to them but annoying nonetheless when she didn’t get to see anyone until dinner. Beel and Satan had after school activities, which she understood as well as Lucifer having his own duties to Lord Diavolo but the other four’s excuses were ridiculous to her. Mammon texted her to inform that he was going to be trying to break into Diavolo’s office at school with the full intent to steal any valuables in there, Levi had shut himself in at some newly opened Internet cafe and refused to even do his online classes there, Belphie had disappeared somewhere most likely in a strange spot sleeping, and Asmo was completely focused on waiting in line at a popular cake store since morning just for what he called the “perfect Devilgram post”.

By the time she had gotten home she had completely forgotten about the whole “scenting” thing and decided to take a shower. She had just gotten out when she heard hurried footsteps leading to her door. Acting quickly, she ran to the door and locked it before anyone could enter and see her in all her naked glory. This was met with a deep “oof” as the person hit the door, expecting it to open, and followed it with loud knocks when it didn’t.

“Oi! Why’s the door locked? Who ya got in there? I can smell ‘em!” Mammon’s voice berated as he incessantly banged at the door, awaiting his human’s answer. He stopped briefly to press his nose against the crack of the locked door as he deeply inhaled to pinpoint the foreign scent before starting back up again. “Oiiii! Who’s scent is that? That ain’t any of my brothers or mine!” He yelled.

“Yeah, because it’s mine! I just got out the shower! Are you a bloodhound or somethin’? Am I not allowed to lock the door or would ya rather see me naked?” She yelled back, annoyed at his questions. Obviously she’s going to smell like her body fragrance after coming out the shower, what kind of question is that?

Blushing at her remark, he stopped knocking but still cocked his head to the side out of confusion. He knew her scent so why did it smell different? Shaking his head, he brushed it off as a new body lotion or something among those lines. “I’ve told ya! Demons have got a stronger sense of smell than ya humans! Anyways, I’m on dinner duty and it’ll be done in thirty minutes so I expect ya down here right when it’s done! The Great Mammon’s food shouldn’t be kept waiting, alright?” He stated.

“Yeah, yeah! I’ll be down there when I’m ready to!” She answered angrily, his questioning from earlier and the fact that he abandoned her to try breaking into Diavolo’s office instead taking play.

-

She took her time after that, knowing fully well that dinner was ready and the others were sat waiting for their beloved human that they neglected all day to come down and eat with them. By the time she came down, they had all been seated and Beel was already on his fifth plate which didn’t take him long mind you.

“Ah, better late than never, I suppose,” Lucifer commented teasingly, noting her damp hair as her excuse.

“Hurry up and eat before Beel devours it all!” Mammon ushered at the seat in front of him, he usually sat beside her but the twins had beat him to it since there was only one seat she preferred to sit at.

Taking her usual seat, she began to eat but it wasn’t long before a faint but definitely there foreign scent emanated from her. Reaching Belphie first while Beel was too busy stuffing his face with food. It roused him from his short slumber he decided to take at the dinner table, as he inched forward towards his human’s neck. She jumped when she felt his nose pressed against her nape as he inhaled and pulled away with a disgruntled look on his face.

“Why do you smell like that?” Belphie sneered. At this point, the smell had reached Beel as well and he promptly stopped his feasting to investigate. He followed Belphie’s actions but on the opposite side, deeply inhaling before quickly pulling away with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yeah...you smell like someone else,” Beel growled, surprising her at the tone of his voice. The smell wafted towards the other brothers as well and it wasn’t long before they were all on their feet, surrounding her with quizzical expressions while each taking turns of two to sniff at her exposed neck as she sat red-faced at the attention. She knew she was a bit petty from being neglected earlier but she didn’t expect this much attention at once!

“I knew I smelt something-someone earlier!” Mammon said as he angrily took another whiff, which only peeved him off more.

“How strange,” Satan hummed, a smile on his face that she knew masked his anger all too well. The brothers tried to rack their brains from what the scent could be from before Levi suddenly gasped.

“S-she’s been scented!” He revealed before dipping down yet again to smell. “And by, what seems like, multiple demons!” He continued, an angry flush against his cheeks. All the brothers looked at each other before returning their attention back to MC, who sat looking dazed in her chair.

“Now, now, lets give her space,” Lucifer commanded, waving his hand for his brothers to step away. “Care for an explanation, darling?” He questioned, the glint in his eye and slight furrow of his forehead outing his subdued anger as he felt a crack in his pride that some lowly demon, multiple in fact, had scented his human and she allowed it. He held a threatening but gentle hand on her shoulder as she tried her best to rack her brain to recall why she would smell like someone else. A lightbulb lighting up in her brain when she finally recalled.

“Ah! I talked to four classmates of mine for the first time and they mentioned something about ‘scenting’, I didn’t really understand it and next thing I knew they were doing it so that’s probably why!” She explained, looking up at the brothers with innocent eyes that made their hearts squeeze. So, she didn’t know.

“And what did they tell you about it exactly?” Lucifer questioned further.

“Hmm, they said demons do it to show their interest in someone? Something about courting?” She replied.

“Aw, my poor darling! Taken advantage like that!” Asmo cooed as he threw his arms around her.

“O-oh, did they lie?” She asked sheepishly.

“More like gave ya half-truths!” Mammon answered as he ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated manner. “Satan, explain,” he sighed, waving his hand.

“Well, while what they said was true it was very vague and not all of it. Scenting is when a demon claims one as their own, it’s territorial and tells other demons to back off or else there’s gonna be...problems,” Satan explained in a matter-of-fact manner.

“They mentioned something about not ‘fully’ scenting. What’s that?” She asked.

“Ah, if they did that we’d have their heads,” he chuckled out evilly before resuming his explanation calmly which made her shiver. “Fully scenting is when demons claim one as their mate. It creates a tether between them more romantically intimate than a pact and is stronger smelling than normal scenting. The one who was scented on can also release distress signals when in danger and it’ll alert the other demon almost right away,” he ended.

“A-Ah, so there was more to it,” she laughed weakly, realizing how dumb she was before.

“Hm, yes. Well, it seems that we’ll have to further stake our claim on our human here. Luckily we’re powerful demons, so we can easily break this mediocre scenting,” Lucifer stated before pressing his lips against her neck and harshly sucking, causing a gasp to leak out her lips. He pulled away and smirked at the bright hickey that bloomed on her neck as well as the fading scent that was on her.

“I agree,” Mammon monotoned as he did the same, finding her sweet spot almost instantly as he suckled and kissed on it to leave a deep bruise. “How dare they put their disgusting scent on my human?” He growled against her. She covered her mouth to muffle her voice, but Levi pulled them away.

“I don’t think so,” he tsked, nibbling at her jaw and smirking against her as she gasped at the feeling of his bite on her skin.

“We’ll be covering you with these,” Satan spoke against her, dipping to her clavicle to leave yet another hickey as he circled his tongue around it.

“We’ll put it in places you can’t cover and make it so dark no makeup could make a dent!” Asmo giggled mischievously as he aimed for where her jugular was, causing her to shiver.

Beel licked his lips at the sight of her as he took it upon himself to bite new territory, which was her shoulders. “This is better than when I wanted to eat you when we first met,” he mumbled lowly, lapping at the bite marks he left on her to soothe them.

“Ah, hardly any room for me,” Belphie muttered before taking a bite at the top of her chest, her jumping up as a reaction making him smile smugly.

Oh, how was she was going to avoid prying eyes at school tomorrow?

I’m a whore for scenting so I wanted to give it a go! I think ima make this a series since they didn’t fully scent on her just yet & will probs make a part for each of my bois, Mammon being first of course! Oh and I’m definitely gonna make them smutty because duh probably start off being some fluffy cute cuddles & then progress to absolute ravaging ;) interested?

Oh and what do y’all think of the demons I made up for this story? I kinda like their personalities & antics together idk 🤷🏻‍♀️

[ask-spidermom]

Amends and West Coast Sunshine

After about three days of being pissy and just overall miserable, Sterling finally had a bit of an epiphany while he was pacing like a cornered animal. Em was clearly a little bit out of the loop on how people generally reacted to something like this, and how things affect others, kinda like Ez forgetting that appearing from a mirror would scare Bryce. Not malicious, just a bit impulsive and not situationally mindful.

Speaking of, that was another thing Em clearly didn't think too much about, ma's guests had dependents. October and himself being the most at the forefront of Sterling's mind, but he wasn't so sure on Mr.Parker, as he hadn't interacted with the other much. He did however know October had Pax and Miles he needed to keep an eye on to insure that the NH virus didn't resurge, and the two didn't relapse, while Sterling had two very traumatized young boys at home.

This made things complicated.

Em may run him the wrong way, but he could see them trying to be well meaning, and he had a hunch he could reason with them. At least, he hoped he could. Em seemed to have a bit of a soft spot for kids, so perhaps he could use that as a way to convince Ma to at least let him leave. The others he couldn't speak on, but if his sense of smell was to be trusted, they were both under extreme amounts of stress. October was extremely worrying, as Sterling had a hunch the other wasn't eating or drinking.

Pausing his pacing, Sterling moved to sit on the bed and consider his next move. The only option he could see was to talk to Em, which required leaving the room. Or maybe…

"Em? Can I speak with you please?"

If this worked, Sterling was going to have to choose his words carefully.

"Yes!" Em replied from behind him, perhaps too eager.

As Sterling turned, he could see them step out of empty space. They had a small handful of flowers tightly enclosed in their fist.

"Alright, I'm actually kinda glad that worked, I don't actually like trying to find someone in a place I'm not overly familiar with."

Turning so he was cross-legged on the bed, he motioned to the other spider to sit.

"This probably isn't going to be a fun conversation for either of us, but I think it's needed."

Sterling took the tone he used when explaining something to Harry and the kid was having trouble with the empathy aspect of it. Not patronizing, but steady and even.

"If we can get through this, I'll gladly sit and chat with you for a few hours about whatever you want, is that fair to you?"

Their brow furrowed, but they sat down across from him, "You're not having fun, are you? And- and nobody else is- and they're all so mad..."

Em's voice hitched a bit and they went quiet the way Ez did when they couldn't continue without bursting into tears.

"Hey, hey, hey; no need to cry, alright? I just need you to listen to me okay? It will probably help you understand why."

Sterling soothed, reaching out and rubbing ma's shoulder in a comforting gesture, like he would with Ez.

"The long and the short of it is that we have a lot of problems, and things we have to attend to that we need to plan for before going on vacations. For instance, October needs to account for who would monitor Pax incase she experienced complications do to the virus,  Mr. Parker has to be mindful of Cecil and what they can handle on their own without putting themselves or others at risk, and I have to be mindful of my kids and make proper arrangements for them. And while warnings are appreciated, these things take more than a day or two to sort out. Had we had the time to make sure things were taken care of, I know I personally would be enjoying this quite a bit."

"I don't... I knew they wouldn't give me a chance unless I made them... But I made it worse, didn't I?" Em whispered, "God, how am I gonna fix this?"

"Apologizing probably help here, but right now, neither are exactly happy to chat with you as they are both very paranoid individuals. I am happy to try for you though. Because that's the other thing Em, the worlds we come from aren't kind, not like how you've made this one perhaps one of the kindest. Our worlds put us in a state of constant hyper vigilance, and that doesn't go away when we are put in calmer environments, it actually makes it worse. I forgot the exact reason behind it, but I know it needs therapy to be fixed properly."

Sterling looked off at the wall for a moment, considering how to phrase things.

"They probably would have accepted, if you had socialized and made friends organically. That takes time and effort, but it would put everyone at ease I think. If you are anything like the Ez we know, it won't be hard to endear yourself to us, but I will restate that it will take time. And the best way to start on that path right now is to apologize and explain why you did this, as that probably will go a long way to helping this."

How an antisocial person like Sterling is was in anyway qualified for this, he didn't know, but he hoped it worked.

"You may also want to reconsider interacting with Mihai. He has been... Very possessive and stalkerish to October if I remember right, and your positive interactions probably have made the poor man fear that Mihai is in on this I'd imagine."

"That sounds hard," Em sighed, wiping their face, "Yeah, I know he's a bit of a creep. I thought... It's stupid, but I thought I might be able to help him."

They gestured vaguely at their surroundings, joking flatly, "All things considered, I might be onto something, right?"

Ma paused again.

"Yeah. I guess I'll... Send you guys home. I mean, Parker really, really sucks at gardening but it did make me feel better that he tried. That's beside the point, though."

"He's a city boy, not that I can talk much, but my youngest has taught me a bit. I'll never match his green thumb however."

Em nodded, smiling slightly. They looked down at the flowers in their hand, then put them down on the bed.

"Yeah... My mom's a gardener. Though I guess you probably know that from Ez."

"I believe so, I'll be honest, we try to not talk much about family that isn't directly in our social circles."

He smiled a bit sheepishly.

"Now, why don't you show me around town? I probably could use the sun."

He stood and offered a hand to them.

"I think I'd rather hear it from you then the kid anyway, we get along like baking soda and vinegar."

Em scoffed and took his hand, "Bad taste. Everyone loves Tony!"

Outside, the clouds cleared away and the sun shone more brilliantly than ever.

[cuppimagines]

Hi I'm currently dying trying to make this older guy with GIANT hands fuck me and your blog is like. killing me rn. Can we have some more imagines that have literally anything to do with big hands 🥺 I just want some big burly mobster w giant thick ass fingers to make me cum so hard i cry

I KINDA went really indulgent with this one, I had a TON of fun writing it which is probably why it came out as quickly as it did, SO I hope you like it too

Back straight, head held up, arms behind your back, but you were still shaking in your heels. The room smelled of cigar smoke, and the man in front of you toon the cigar from his mouth and put it out in an ashtray nearby. With his...second pair of arms. Not only was he a shady arms dealer that you were hunting down for months, but also a four armed, eight eyed dark grey spider with biceps bigger than your head on all four arms. His name was Harkan Spinner, and you found him alright, but now he had you right where he wanted you.

“So...” Harkan leaned against his desk. “What’s a cute little private eye doing getting in over their head? Did someone want you to find me? A pissed off colleague, a lonely betrayed friend?”

“I-well I uh...” you started to stutter. You had to find him because of a supposed loan he owed your client before jumping ship and taking business elsewhere in the country. But only now, standing in front of him did you realize that you didn’t know what to do now that you were here...He was huge, and could easily crush you under one thumb. Seeing the realization wash over you made Harkan let out a condescending laugh.

“I actually don’t care, I’m sure there are tons of people who hate me, but I didn’t expect any of them to send a rookie detective,” his eight eyes all glared you up and down. “Especially not one so cute, cute enough to eat I might add...” he stood up, and even with him getting closer to you, you didn’t run, instead looked up at him as you felt your face flush red hot.

“I’m not here to force anything, but my client knows your location, and so will be needing your lo- your Uh...” you got distracted when he put his hand on your shoulder, and pulled you even closer.

“You and I both know I won’t do that, because I really don’t give a shit,” he smirked. “But I will thank this “client” that you keep choosing not to name. I love the entertainment he sent me.” You stopped staring at him only to start staring at his hands. Along with the rest of him, Harkan’s hands were so large, you felt that if he squeezed your shoulder just a little bit harder it would shatter. And the thought made you very intimidated, but excited at the idea.

“Are you looking at something?” He asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Did something catch your eye little one?” His hand moved from your shoulder, right up to grabbing your face, with two of his hands holding your waist.

“Use your words kitten,” he smirked. He made you stare right up at him, and you could feel your body shake even more. He was so big...so cocky and sure of himself. You’d be angry at him but instead you were drawn to him.

“Y-your hands are...”

“Big?” His thumb gently rubbed your cheek. “And I got more than two of em, wanna see what they can do, kitten~?”

“Yes! Please...!” You realized you answered way too quickly, almost immediately, and turned your head in embarrassment.

“That’s exactly what I wanna hear,” Harkan smiled. At that second, the hand on your cheek wrapped around your neck, and his free hand went to your face, two fingers gently placed up to your mouth.

“Open your mouth, kitten,” he demanded. Your parted your lips for his fingers, and almost immediately his fingers went to the back of your throat. Just two fingers felt so large they filled your mouth so much. Without a command, you started licking his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and curling against them. You moaned and whimpered, and shuddered in his touch.

“Mmm...you’re so cute,” Harkan smiled. “And so eager too...keep sucking, those fingers are gonna be fucking you to tears very soon...” The thought made you melt in his touch, your thighs pressed together as your arms went up to grab his large wrist. It felt too soon when his fingers left your mouth, and his hand left your throat. His two fingers were slick with your saliva, and you could swear you were drooling in anticipation for what’s gonna happen next.

Very roughly, Harkan tossed you down onto his desk, and you felt his hand creep up your skirt, while one of his other hands grabbed your wrist.

“Legs spread, keep still, be a good girl,” Harkan smiled. He pulled your panties down, and put them to the side, before two of his slick fingers started rubbing up and down your folds. You moaned, looking up at him with pleasing eyes while you kept your legs nice and spread. You wanted it so badly...

“What did I say earlier kitten?” Harkan asked, his slick wet fingers still against your cunt. “Use your fuckin words.”

“Please!” You cried out. “Please Harkan, please I need this...”

“Good...such a good girl...” Harkan smirked down at you, before you felt only one of his large fingers push past your entrance and thrust up and down inside of you. Just ONE felt so large, practically the same size of a regular cock you’ve taken in the past, and that alone got you moaning loudly for him. So large, yet so gentle at first. He obviously didn’t wanna hurt you, and it felt so good.

“That feels so good, oh god...!” You moaned. “Ah...ah fuck...you’re doing so so good...”

“No need to tell me, kitten,” Harkan leaned down and kissed you, before you felt his two fingers slide into you, filling you up so good while his thumb rubbed your clit. If your hands were free at all, you’d grab him by the collar and keep him in the kiss, but you were at this large spider’s mercy, and he pulled away and looked down at your glazed over expression. Your moans were so heavenly to him, Harkan could barely look away from you, like he was admiring his work.

“Oh kitten...” he sucked his teeth. “No other lover is treating you well are they? Haven’t had someone finger you like this?” You didn’t even answer, just moaned loudly and squirmed in his grip. You bucked your hips against his fingers, as you felt him go deeper than your own fingers ever could until his knuckles couldn’t go any further. Your moans were absolute music to the large spider’s ears, a sweet melody that made his pants feel tighter and put a satisfied smirk on his face.

He was gentle, so gentle with you at first, but he slowly got rougher the more he gauged your arousal. You felt him thrusting his fingers in and out of you while a fourth hand rubbed circles into your clit. There was a soaking wet mess that was dripping onto the table, and your eyes were completely glazed over, but soon shot back to life as you arched your back and cried out. Harkan started to get real rough and fast with you, his fingers getting soaked down to the knuckle in your juices as he watched you beg and plead for more.

“Please, please oh god please!” You moaned out. “I need more, please it feels so good!”

“Shhh shh shh,” Harkan leaned down to kiss you. “I know you do, you’re such a good little kitten, I can feel it, you’re almost there, come on~!” You felt yourself tighten around his fingers, moving and bucking your hips like your life depended on it. You couldn’t take it anymore, you could feel yourself tip over the edge. In one final loud moan of his name, your pussy clenched around him and you felt your body twitch and spasm as you finally came, soaking your inner thighs, his fingers, the table underneath you.

When Harkan let you go you lay there limp and exhausted. You felt a mess but a good one, and Harkan sat back with a grin on his face admiring his work. You tried to sit up, and noticed a very large, impressive bulging in Harkan’s pants, and went to rub at it while looking up at him.

“Sh-should I...?” You muttered. He just grabbed your hand and gently pulled it away.

“No, no, I’d be way too much for you to handle, for now that is,” he said. “I had fun with you tonight though. I guess that means I’ll be a good citizen and pay what I owe, if your client comes and faces me like an adult.” Harkan looked down at his soaking wet fingers, and went up to lick them, moaning at the taste.

“Cute enough to eat...” he smirked, causing you to turn red and look away. He looked down at you and gave you a few gentle, loving kisses on the cheek and forehead.

“If you’re still in town tomorrow, I’ll visit,” he said. “In fact I’ll drive you back, there’s no way in hell the buses are still running at this hour, sound good?”

“Yeah, uh, thanks Harkan,” you smiled, as he lifted you up in his arms and carried you, exhausted to the exit of his office.

“Anytime, kitten.”