#and how fucking daunting that would be to hear at 14.

[jooba]

wolfman x reader

"Imagine getting the great news that you're one of a million civilians chosen to go to a distant planet, to intermingle with the local aliens. Unfortunately, your online friend doesn't exactly seem to like that idea."

TW: MDNI, reader referred to as 'girl', sexual desires, anxiety, neurodivergent reader, reader big dumb, licking, 'virgin' reader, hand appreciation

wordcount: 2,388

Three words: Civilian Space Program. The most incredible opportunity of a lifetime (for an average Joe like you).

One word: Congratulations! The letter you held in your shaking hands almost didn’t seem real. It was glossy, professional, and signed by someone so important that it was a 100% probability that you would never breathe the same air as them. Congratulations! But it was real, and your life would never be the same. You were going to space. To meet aliens. Your poor little heart almost couldn’t take it. Breath labored, you quickly snapped a picture of the letter before posting it to all of your socials. Quickly, friends and family bombarded you with questions and excitement, just as in disbelief as you are. Several phone calls later, and plenty of assurances to those with concerns, you fell back onto your couch, still clutching the letter. In just a month, you would be boarding a vessel with 14 other civilians, shipped off to the planet Geron 6GI, and left there for 3 years to “create relations” and “cultivate a human lifestyle”. Whatever that means. All you knew was that you… were a monsterfucker… and… well… aliens are sort of like monsters too. 

In your elation, you nearly missed the newest comment on your Instagram post. It was Peter, an online friend whom you had known for years. It simply said, “call me.” Peter knew about the program and how badly you wanted to be in it, but he was pretty adamant that your chances were too low. Smiling, you dialed his number. He answered on the first ring, speaking before you had a chance to.

“This is serious? You’re serious?” 

“Of course! I’m freaking out, Peter. I’m going to SPACE. I’m going to fuck so many aliens, you don't even know. Well, you do know, but-”

“You’re leaving in a month?” He asked. You kicked your legs in glee, squealing. 

“Yep! 3 years in space and depending on how the program goes it might go on for longer. God, should I bring my toys? Do you think they’ll even be allowed on the flight? But what if the aliens have toys that I can buy…” Your breath hitched just at the thought. There was silence on his end for a few moments.

“You’re a virgin.” Cheeks turning red, you scoffed into your phone.

“So what?” 

“So you’re giving yourself away to some random alien?” He hissed the word lowly, talking in a manner you had never heard from him before. You take a second to collect your thoughts, not understanding where his aggression is coming from.

“Peter… we live in the 21st century. Virginity is a stupid construct. Besides, I uh... I’m not really a virgin, you know.” 

“What?” 

“Ugh, can we not talk about this? So embarrassing…” You mumble, turning to a more comfortable position on the couch. There was silence as both of you struggled with what to say next. It wasn’t like you were actually embarrassed talking about sexual things, but Peter had a way of making your stomach flutter. It was awful having a mini crush on someone online, and even worse when he insisted on hearing all the details of your life. All the details. 

“I’m going to come see you.” He said, sighing into the phone. You froze, blinking in surprise. The two of you had never met in real life before, you’ve never even seen a picture of him! Sometimes, you would discuss meeting, but he lived a long flight away and schedules never seemed to work out. Over time, the thought of seeing him in person became too daunting, and you always shot him down. What if he thought you were too ugly to be friends with? What if the two of you couldn’t get along in person, and he lost interest? 

“A-are you sure, Peter?” You could hear the smile in his voice as he responded. 

“Of course.”

You stood nervously in the airport, shifting back and forth. People kept glancing at you, giving you curious glances. Avoiding eyes with an old troll whose beard desperately needed maintenance, you wiped the sweat from your face with your sleeve. Maybe you’d be less nervous if you had brought a friend with you to pick up Peter… Your phone buzzed with a text. 

landing now

You watch as the terminal quickly fills up with tired travelers. Eyes swiping back and forth from person to person, you attempt to pick out a man to match Peter’s description of himself. But his description was so vague, all you really knew was that apparently he was tall and had brown hair. 

Someone bumps into you, and your phone clatters to the ground. They quickly apologize but scurry away too quickly for you to get a good look at them. Grumbling, you bend down to pick up your phone, dusting it off and checking for cracks. When your eyes lift, your heart explodes in surprise at the wolfman standing before you. Hot! Inner you squeals. Standing nearly two heads taller than you, he’s lean and dressed very cleanly. Chestnut-colored fur streaks around his cheeks and neck, speckled with darker colors around his hairline and dipping underneath his shirt. Black eyes peer at you, squinting slightly.

“Oh, um. Hi!” You laugh nervously, tugging at your hair. “Just dropped my phone.” You wave your phone in front of you, but then quickly tuck it away when you realize how dumb you probably looked. The wolfman’s mouth slowly curls up into a predatory smile, top lip slightly gaped to allow for pointy fangs to peek through. 

“You’re cute,” he says quietly, eyes appraising your figure. You have to desperately ignore the urge to cover yourself from his evaluating gaze. You laugh weakly.

“T-thanks.” You give him a small smile. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. He hikes his backpack up over his shoulders, raising one eyebrow at you. Does he want something from you…? Oh god. Despite his good looks, it’s not the best time to be flirting with someone: not when you’re waiting for Peter. 

“I’m sorry. I’m.. uh… picking up a friend. Sorry.” You glance away from him, pretending to search the crowd for Peter. Why is he taking so long?

The wolfman grumbles with quiet laughter, almost a mixture of a purr and low-pitched whine. It's a rather charming sound. Suddenly, his clawed hand is on your scalp, rubbing against your hair to mess it up. He tugs certain strands this way and that, causing an absolute mess. You gasp, pulling away, quickly attempting to fix the mess he just made. 

“You’re even denser in person than I thought you would be,” he says, looking extremely satisfied at your misery. His ears twitch slightly. You pause, squinting up at him in irritation.

“Well, that’s rude. And please don’t touch my hair, I don’t know you.” You take a step back away from him in caution just to be safe. 

The wolfman huffs, rolling his eyes slowly. “That’s the thing. You do know me.” He pulls his phone out, and types onto it quickly, before looking at you expectantly. Your phone buzzes. A message from Peter. 

right in front of you. so dense.

You can’t quiet the gasp that leaves your mouth in time. You gape up at him, astonished.

“You never told me you were a wolfman!?!” 

Heart racing, you bring your knuckle up to your mouth and light chew on a finger. All these years, all the calls and long talks and he never thought to mention his species?! Oh god, you have said so many embarrassing things to him: things you would never say to a non-human. Things about giant monster cocks and clawed hands and fluffy sensitive ears and oh my GOD. You swear heat is steaming out of your ears with how embarrassed you are. 

“Didn’t think it mattered,” he shrugs. He reaches up to lightly scratch at one fluffy ear, maintaining eye contact with you. It twitches at his touch, apparently sensitive. You want to coo and squeal at how cute it is, but you restrain, just barely. Gnawing on your finger, you avert your eyes. You must not look at the handsome wolfman. Must resist. Must get Peter home without drowning in your drool…

One car ride home, hours of gentle ribbing and teasing, a desperate call to the nearest fast food joint, and a change into pajamas later, you find yourself sitting on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in hand, waiting patiently for Peter to join you. He’s taking a long time in the bathroom, but you’re not too worried. It seemed your apartment was a bit too small for him, and he was constantly ducking his head and squeezing past your furniture. Admittedly, it was really charming. You can’t help but shovel popcorn into your face as you wait. You can’t wait too long, otherwise the popcorn will get stale! In the middle of licking your fingers free from butter and salt, Peter plops down next to you. You slide down the couch and end up sitting right against you. He wraps an arm around you on the couch, hands already playing with your hair. He’s dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt that says ‘You are fang-tastic!’ in faded letters.

“Really couldn’t wait for me, huh.” You smile in embarrassment, pulling your fingers out of your mouth. His dark eyes quickly zero in on your glistening fingers. Grimacing, you go to wipe them on your pants, but his hand wraps around your wrist before you can. You immediately notice how much bigger his hand is than yours, and how fur wraps around his knuckles but his fingers and palm are bare. 

“Let me,” he purrs, eyes drooping into half lids. He opens his mouth and a long, pink tongue rolls out. It’s rounded at the end and fades into a slight purple the further back it gets. You’re instantly drawn to it and watch in stunned silence as he brings your fingers up to his mouth. He licks a long stripe up your fingers before twisting and turning them to lap at every inch. Quickly, your fingers become drenched in hot saliva. You clench your thighs, wishing he would put that tongue somewhere else… A soft noise leaves you, and he meets your eyes again. You mentally berate yourself for having dirty thoughts about your friend. He nips gently at your pointer finger. You squeak and pull your hand away, face certainly red. You hold your hand to your chest limply, now drenched in saliva. You blink at him, words caught in your throat.

“Mmm… tastes good.” Right. Good popcorn. Ha ha… ha… The TV blares and the two of you startle at the noise. Peter is quick to grab the remote and mute it. He watches the quiet television for a moment, throat bobbing.

“Let’s talk for a moment, space girl.” His voice is almost... uncertain. You grin unabashedly at the nickname, pleased. It immediately calms you down and you find yourself relaxing.

“Sure!” You place the popcorn down and turn on the couch, facing him directly. He turns to face you as well, one leg crossing over the other. The arm around the back of the couch begins to tap on the cushion.

“Just let me talk for a moment, no interruptions, okay?” He raises an eyebrow when you open your mouth to respond, and you huff, but stay quiet.

“Honestly, I thought I was being pretty straightforward with you all this time, but with this space fiasco, I knew you weren’t exactly getting the message. Had to talk to you face-to-face. I’ll make this short and sweet, easy to understand. I don’t want you going to space.” He raises one hand when you look like you are about to object. Breathing deeply, he continues.

“Don’t go to space. Stay here. I’ll give you all the monster cock you want, promise… I’m not usually one to wait so long, but I knew during our first call I would have to take it slow with you. I’ve been biding my time all these years, slowly getting to know you, waiting for my chance. And then I saw your post. When I saw that, it left me ‘peterified’.” He chuffs at his joke, pleased. 

“So yeah, I’ve got feelings for you. And a lot of them revolve around ramming my cock down your throat. Or god, knotting you,” he sighs wistfully as he speaks. He looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself. 

.

.

.

Ho….ly…. SHIT! You’re frozen on the spot, mind racing with a thousand dirty thoughts. You’ve dreamt of this moment, dreamt of a monster desiring you. And now…now you’re presented with an opportunity. 

“F-forget space! Oh my god. Peter? Peter!” You’re squealing now, your body shaking with excitement. You stand up and begin pacing, not even really aware of what you’re doing. Peter relaxes on the couch, mouth tilted up in a sly smile.

“This is crazy. Are you serious? He’s serious. I-I need to shave! And prep! Oh god, I don’t know if I’m ready for this…” You bite at your finger nervously, the beginnings of nausea twisting your stomach. Who knew that aching and wanting something for so long would have you feeling so sick?

Peter tugs at your hand, slowing your pacing. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, you nut. Just breathe.” He breathes in deeply, and you copy him instinctually. He guides your breath into something much slower, much more manageable. You smile at him gratefully, falling onto the couch. 

“Sorry, this is just… a lot,” you sigh out. He shakes his head. 

“Not at all. Just take it easy.” He nudges your knee with his. “Just think about it, yeah?” You nudge him back, eyes twinkling.

“So, all this time you’ve…” you question. He simply nods his head.

“But you didn’t even know what I looked like?” You're surprised when his face starts to turn a gentle shade of red. He coughs into his fist, looking away. He speaks, in a cool tone that doesn’t match his cheeks, “Yeah, I knew right from the start. Your looks are just a plus.” 

Aaand now you’re looking away, embarrassed. 

“Oh, okay,” you mumble. 

[welcometololaland]

Some sort of Eurotrip?? I love self control Lola she's very unhinged.

okay for you and @wtfuckevenknows who also sent me an ask on this (thank you both kindly):

Firstly, the premise: Alex and Henry become accidental travelling companions in Europe for a month, after Alex's flight is delayed and his original plans with June and Nora fall through, and Pez (mysteriously) abandons Henry in Rome.

Secondly, my defence as to why it is not finished: I started this in December 2021. It's 30k. It's probably going to be 160. It's just a lot. I simply cannot fathom how insane this WIP is and why I decided to write it, but I also LOVE it. I updated it in Barcelona, randomly. It's never far from my mind it's just so daunting.

Snippet for you (hungover Alex in a 14 bed dorm in Florence aka. Henry's worst nightmare):

“I think I might be dead,” Alex moans, squeezing his eyes shut and rolling his head into Henry’s pillow.

Henry rocks back on his heels slightly and peers down into the bunk bed. He’s made an admirable effort at gently rousing Alex, but it appears that stronger methods may be required. “I can assure you that you are not,” Henry replies. “It appears that you are still able to speak, for example.”

Alex moans softly again and squints back at Henry through his eye that is not squished into the pillowcase. “You’re looking offensively fresh this morning.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Henry asks in a polite tone. He’s fairly sure Alex would be violently ill if he recounted how many things he’d managed to do before trying to wake the apparent-dead. For starters, he’d had a mild panic over the state of the bathroom, walked halfway to the Mercato to buy flip-flops, walked back via a bakery for something to eat and then had a very long shower until his hands went pruney. 

“Yes,” Alex retorts, clapping a hand over his eyes. “I hate your aura of cleanliness. Also, why am I in your bed?”

Henry swallows and silently praises his past-self for making good decisions. “I believe it’s because you couldn’t climb the ladder into your own.”

“Of course I couldn’t,” Alex grumbles to himself. Henry thinks he hears him say 'fucking tequila' under his breath. “Wait. Where did you sleep?”

“In your bed,” Henry says, perhaps too quickly. “It’s fortunate you made it for me,” he adds in a sardonic tone.

“Ugh,” Alex groans. “My mouth tastes like glue.”

“Charming,” Henry muses, and wonders whether it’s possible to make Alex’s resurrection happen any faster.

[fruitquake]

realizations pt. 1

read it on ao3

James Potter knows he likes girls. In his mind, that has always meant he must be straight. Of course he’s straight. Whenever he sits next to Lily Evans in class, his heart flutters and he gets all useless and flustered. He has kissed girls before, and liked it.

But then, Regulus kissed him, and he’s pretty sure a straight guy wouldn’t have liked it as much as he did. He’s pretty sure a straight guy wouldn’t be up all night, replaying it in his head, a hopeless burning sensation is his chest.

Regulus kissed him. Or did he kiss Regulus? He’s a little fuzzy on those details. But crystal clear is Reg’s lips on his own, the feeling of being featherlight as everything else faded into the background, leaving only him and Regulus.

James sighs, pressing both hands against his eyes until he sees stars, and once again, Regulus is there, a crystal clear image of soft lips and silky black hair that James messed up with his hands as they kissed. Just as he isn’t sure who initiated the kiss, it’s also a bit unclear to him who broke it off. Only that he had been absolutely speechless, staring into Regulus’s eyes for a hint that he had felt what James had felt during that kiss. Then Regulus had muttered some obvious excuse about a curfew and he had been off, leaving James with a warm, confusing feeling bubbling in his stomach.

Regulus is practically family to James. When Sirius ran away from home, Regulus stayed, and for over a year they didn’t talk. Reg avoided him at school. James remembers how hard that was on Sirius. But now, things are good between them. Reg comes over almost every day, without his parents knowing. He’s almost as much a part of the family as Sirius.

It hadn’t occurred to James, before today, that the way he feels about Regulus, the soft affection that makes his cheeks warm, could be anything other than platonic. But that bloody kiss...

James slides out of bed and gets dressed, careful not to wake Sirius, who sleeps in the top bunk. There’s one place he goes when he needs to clear his head. He tiptoes over to the window and opens it as quietly as he possibly can, glancing over his shoulder to check that Sirius is still asleep. He seems to be, so James slides out of the window and onto the roof. He sits down, careful not to step on the loose shingle. His mum doesn’t want him or Sirius to go onto the roof, of fear that they will fall down, but they do it anyway, because there really is no better place to just… sit and be. He looks down onto the street below him, the streetlights the only thing shining through the night. A cool breeze caresses his face, tugs at a rogue strand of hair. James closes his eyes.

There’s no way he isn’t straight. He has spent years watching Sirius and Remus pine after each other like idiots, and the past six months watching them be all gross and lovebird-y. And if he is… anything other than straight, wouldn’t he have realized sooner? He remembers asking Sirius, after his coming out, when he realized he was gay. Sirius had told him that, in a way, he had always known, but he had fully realized it by the time he was 12. For Remus, it was when he was 14, and similarly to Sirius, he had sort of half-known for years before that.

James had never questioned his sexuality before. Surely if he wasn’t straight, the thought would have occurred to him sooner, and not just after kissing a boy. A very, very pretty boy with very soft, kissable lips, who hadn’t left James’s mind ever since.

He sighs, leaning back his head and looking up at the sky, as though some God, if there really is one, is going to come down and give him all the answers.

“Oi.”

James starts and looks over his shoulder. Sirius is leaning against the window sill, squinting up at him. He’s wearing boxers and one of Remus’s t-shirts, which is slightly baggy on him.

“Oh,” James says, his voice a little hoarse. “I didn’t hear you get up.”

“What kind of 2 AM crisis are you having up here, and why didn’t you invite me?” Sirius asks.

James huffs a nervous laugh. “I…” he begins, but trails off, not knowing where to even start.

Sirius heaves himself up, crawling through the window and out onto the roof besides James, and James can’t help but worry that he will catch a cold, sitting out here with bare arms and legs. “Come on, spill the beans, Potter,” Sirius says, nudging their shoulders together.

“Sirius…” James looks down at his hands, nervously fidgeting. “You always say that your gaydar is flawless.”

“Uh-huh,” Sirius says. “And I have yet to be proven wrong on that.”

“Well, d’you think… could I be… anything other than straight?” He’s too nervous to look at Sirius, so he keeps his eyes on his own hands.

“Oh. It’s that kind of crisis,” Sirius says. James’s eyes dart up to meet Sirius’s. He’s leaning back a little, looking at James with thoughtful consideration. “I mean…” he begins. “I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”

James blinks, a little perplexed. “Really?” He had expected Sirius to laugh and tell him how ridiculous that was. That James was the straightest person he knew.

“Yeah,” Sirius just says, tilting his head back to look at the sky. It’s cloudy. Almost no stars. “I mean, I’ve caught you staring weirdly at guys several times. And you always used to get flustered around the older teammates when you first joined the football team.”

“Well,” James says hurriedly. “That was because, you know… They were older and so much more experienced and…” Really fucking handsome. He sighs, dropping his face into his hands. “I’m honestly so confused.”

“What exactly sparked this sudden confusion?” Sirius asks. “You’ve always seemed rather confident in your supposed heterosexuality.”

James pushes up his glasses, which had been falling down the bridge of his nose. He hesitates, carefully watching Sirius. When it comes to his brother, Sirius is incredibly protective, and James isn’t entirely convinced he won’t get pushed off the roof for telling the truth.

“I kissed Regulus,” he says finally, deciding that Sirius probably won’t push him off the roof.

A beat. “What?”

James swallows nervously. “I… kissed your brother. Or maybe he kissed me. A kiss happened, between me and your brother.” He watches Sirius for several agonizing seconds. “Please, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not… mad,” Sirius says. “If you were anyone else, I probably would be grabbing you by your shirt collar and threatening your life right now, but… You’re James Potter. I’d trust you with my bloody life.”

James releases a breath of relief. “Right,” he mutters. “Thank you, Sirius.”

There’s a stretch of silence between them, which Sirius is the one to break. “So… you kissed Reg,” he reiterates. “And you liked it?”

The kiss forces its way back into James’s mind, and he lets out a strange sound between a sigh and a groan. “I… think so,” he says. “I mean, whenever I think about it, I get this warm, bubbly, incredible feeling in my chest, and… Well, I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Sirius grins, shaking his head in amusement. “Yeah,” he says. “Doesn’t sound very straight to me.”

Well, yeah. James knows he’s right, but he can’t quite wrap his head around it.

“It’s just,” he says quietly. “I definitely like girls. I’ve always known I like girls. I mean, for goodness’s sake, I’ve been crushing on Lily for years.”

“Yes.” Sirius nods. “But that doesn’t automatically make you straight, J. You can like girls and guys, you know.”

“I know…”

Sirius covers his mouth, stifling a yawn. “I think you should talk to Re about this,” he says. “I mean, he’s the expert, really. Like… A Bisexual Messiah or something.”

That earns him a laugh from James. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he? You’re right. I’ll… talk to him tomorrow, probably.”

“Lovely,” Sirius says. “Can we please go back inside now? I’m freezing my bloody ass off.”

“You could’ve put on some trousers and a jumper, you moron!” James scolds him, and Sirius shoves him gently.

-

“Babe,” Sirius says over lunch the next day, taking Remus’s hand in his own. They share a disgustingly sweet look. “I think James had something he wanted to talk to you about.”

Remus looks at him, chewing a bit of his sandwich. He swallows. “Oh?”

“Er...” James looks around the crowded school cafeteria. “Can we talk somewhere more private, maybe?”

Peter looks up from his lunch. “What’s it about?” he asks James.

“Nothing,” James says, a bit too fast. “There’s just something I wanted to ask Re. It’s nothing interesting, don’t worry, Pete.”

“Then why do you need to go somewhere private?” Peter presses on.

Sirius opens a canned soda, looking around to check that no teachers are close by. Every day at lunch, he plays the same game of “Can I drink my soda before a teacher confiscates it?” Most days he’s not quick enough to actually finish it, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. “Damn, Petey,” he says. “Maybe it’s none of your fucking business. Shut up and eat.”

If someone else talked to Peter like that, they would probably end up with Sirius’s fist in their face, but apparently, it’s fine when Sirius does it himself.

Remus takes another bite of his sandwich, before putting it down. “Well,” he says to James. “We can go find an empty classroom if you’d like.” He looks intrigued, and James guesses Sirius hasn’t told him anything yet.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” James says, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. It was one thing, telling Sirius last night. He has always told Sirius everything, and there’s something about that spot on the roof that makes late-night talks feel… almost sacred. Telling Remus will be a bit more daunting. But he follows Remus out of the cafeteria and into an empty classroom, anyway.

“So,” Remus says, shutting the door behind them. “What did you wanna talk about?”

James realizes he probably should’ve thought this through beforehand. He has no clue what to say. “Well,” he begins awkwardly. “You’re bi.”

For a few long seconds, Remus just looks at him, confused. “Yes?” he says. “I… know?”

James sighs, leaning back against the teacher’s desk. He combs a hand through his hair, messing it up at the back. “Yeah, it’s just that, er… I think I might be bi, too?” He looks up for Remus’s reaction.

“Oh!” Remus says. “But you aren’t sure, or…?”

“I don’t know,” James mumbles. “I’m bloody confused. And Siri said I should talk to you because you’re like… The Bisexual Messiah. I think that’s how he phrased it.”

Remus grins. “The Bisexual Messiah? Huh. I should get that on a t-shirt.” James must look quite miserable, because Remus clears his throat, looking a bit more serious. “So you’re questioning if you might be bi?” he asks softly.

James nods. “I kissed… someone,” he says. “A guy. It was Reg, actually.”

Remus arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, so James goes on:

“And it felt really, really good. I practically haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But I’ve just always thought of myself as, you know, completely straight. But, well, as Sirius pointed out to me yesterday, there’s not really anything straight about the way I felt when I kissed him.” He bites his lip, looking up at Remus.

“Right,” Remus says thoughtfully. “What exactly did you need me for? Sounds like you’ve got it figured out alright.”

“I have?” James asks in bewilderment.

Remus chuckles. “Okay, maybe not, then,” he says. “I just meant, you know… You’ve known for a long while that you liked girls. And now, after kissing Reg, you’ve realized that you like guys too, right?”

Does he like guys? James lets his mind wander, filtering through memories he didn’t realize he had archived. A gym locker room, all of them sweaty after football practice. One of the older students, shirtless, slinging an arm around James and telling him he played well, and James getting light-headed and flustered. He had told himself it just felt good to be acknowledged by an older, more skillful teammate, but looking back on it, it was possible that some of the heat rushing to his cheeks had been because of their bare skin touching. And then there were the dreams, which he had dismissed as not meaning anything, but… Perhaps dreaming about kissing boys did mean something.

“Huh,” he says finally. “I’m… lowkey stupid.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I’ve somehow managed to ignore loads of signs that I wasn’t straight. And I didn’t even realize it before now!”

Remus’s face softens. “Jem, that’s… completely normal. I think a lot of queer people at some point look back and wonder how they didn’t realize sooner. I certainly did.”

“Oh.” James laughs breathily. “Well… Shit. This is interesting.”

Remus laughs with him. “You know,” he says. “You can take as much time as you need to figure all of this out. And if you have any more questions, I’m here.”

“Thank you, Re,” he says. “But… I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Oh, okay.”

James lets the silence stretch for a moment. His palms are sweating a little, and he wipes them on his trousers. “So, er… Can I tell you something?”

Remus smiles a little. “Yeah.”

“I’m bisexual,” James tells him, and… wow. Saying it out loud feels incredible, like a weight he didn’t know he was carrying being lifted off his shoulders. He grins.

Remus nods, grinning back at him. “That’s great, James, thank you for telling me!” Then, after a short pause: “Have you talked to Regulus?”

The mention of him brings the memory of the kiss back in full effect, and James can feel his cheeks heat up. He’s grateful that his darker skin makes it almost impossible to tell when he’s blushing, though he guesses Remus still senses it. “Not since he practically fled yesterday, after we… you know.”

“Ah,” Remus says. “Well… Maybe you should. Talk to him, I mean.”

James sighs, ruffling his hair with one hand. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I usually am,” Remus says with a grin. “That reminds me, Siri owes me ten pounds.”

“What? You and Sirius had a bet running on my sexuality?” James asks, slightly indignant, but more curious than anything.

Remus shrugs. “Well, no. We had a bet running on whether you would realize before we graduated. And you did!” He throws his hands up in a little gesture of victory, and James groans.

“You’re the worst,” he says. “You’re both the bloody worst.”

[tlou-1]

Joel x Reader - Home (Chapter 11)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13| Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 TBA

Chapter 11 - A Question and Supplies (A patrol goes slightly wrong and an important questions is asked)

The following Morning Joel and you are up for patrol. Patrols were always more daunting at this time of year, it was darker for longer and in a couple months visibility would be even worse with snow. Joel and you had also been tasked with travelling into a nearby town to trade off a couple items for supplies for people in town, these items usually were medical items for the doctors, knives for butchers or anything useful you could get your hands on in exchange for goods. 

You were almost at the nearby town in Driggs after a long day of travelling on the horses. It was nice to get out of town but when you were carrying supplies it was a strenuous trip that you had to have your guard on, between infected or anyone that came across the two of you with useful supplies. “Not long now Y/N” Joel calls to you from his horse “Thank god, it’s bloody freezing and it’s getting uncomfortable with this saddle in between my legs” you shout from Shimmer.“You sure it’s the saddle and nothing to do with our afternoon activities yesterday” he laughs and you couldn’t help but join in.“Well it definitely hasn’t helped” you chuckle as you approach the gates of Driggs. Joel calls out to the guards who were expecting you and let you through the gates to meet the group at the front of the town. You both unmount your horses and begin to untie the supplies from the horses, Joel gestures for you to pass him your supplies too. “I can manage them Joel” you protest. He seems skittish, like he wants you out of the way.“I know you can but you were complaining about being sore. So let me deal with this, you go sit and get a hot drink somewhere.” He kisses you on your temple and swings your supplies over his shoulder before you can protest. 

You had been sat for half an hour before Joel came to fetch you from the tavern in town. You let him have what was left of your hot coffee before needing to get back on the road. “You get everything we needed?” you asked on the journey back to Jackson. He smiles to himself slightly before responding, he was definitely acting unusual. “Yeah - I got em all” he nods. “Mhmm” you reply sounding suspicious of him.“What?” He asks you. “Nothing” you shrug “You’re just acting a little bit suspicious is all”.“I ain’t acting suspicious Y/N. I think yo-“ you cut him off “Be quiet, do you hear that?”. A noice up ahead. 

You both nod at each other agreeing not to make any further noice and continue heading in the direction home with your hand resting on your pistol holster. Ahead you can see a group of infected, ‘fuck’ you think to yourself. Joel and you unmount your horses nearby to be able to take the infected out, you take a few steps towards the group and when you place your foot down to take a 6th step there is a loud snapping noice as something metal ensnares your left foot. The shock and pain shoot through the bottom of your feet up all the way to your spine as you try your best not to scream. It didn’t matter though, they had already heard the trap slam against your foot. Joel’s face looks at you in panic as you both begin to shoot the infected making there way to you, you had taken out three but one had gotten too close and was grappling with you as you tried too push it away, collapsing to your knees from the pain in your foot. Joel was there in an instant, taking his pocket knife to the creatures throat, once, twice until it didn’t move. 

“Jesus baby, I’m going to pull both side of this and I need you to pull your foot out okay?” You nod unable to speak in the moment. Joel counts to three and you pull your foot away from the trap swiftly. Joel guides you back to the horses. You sit together and you bury your face into his jacket as you let out a slight cry before composing yourself. He strokes your hair and as you pull your face away you notice his other hand is clasped tightly around something. “What you got there?” You say wiping your tears away. “Do you think you can stand?” He asks trying to bring you to your feet. “Just about. Don’t answer a question with another question” you say as you shift on to your knees. “Its nothing. Baby forget it - lets just get you back home. We are going to have someone to look at your foot to make sure nothings broken.” He sighs, kissing where your tears were on your face. 

He had been acting strange since you left Driggs and even in this moment of madness couldn’t answer your questions. “Joel Miller, my foot could have snapped off and we were set upon by a group of infected and you are holding on to me and whatever is in your hands for dear life. It must be pretty important. You better just tell me wh-“ you begin ranting but he stopped you.“Fine god damn it Y/N. There look, see” he unclasps his hand and sitting in the middle of his palm was a small simple silver ring.“I didn’t want to loose it in the middle of all that, so I thought it be safer held tightly in my hand than in my pocket.” He sighs shaking his head. “I - I don’t understand. Where’d you get it?” you say confused sitting back down in the grass. “Today along with our supplies for town, I picked this up” he says softly as he holds the ring in between his fingertips. “Now this wasn’t exactly how I had any of this planned out in my head. I thought maybe I would make us dinner with a couple candles and get down on my knees and ask you if you’d marry me” he shifts onto his knees in front of you.“But that would be ironically too normal and you wouldn’t be the woman I loved if you had let me do it in my own way” he shakes his head laughing slightly. “So what do you say darlin, you wanna hitch your wagon to mine?”.

“You’re sure? I thought you didn’t see the point in it?” You say with slight tears in your eyes no longer from the shock of the trap but from the question you had just been asked. “Never been surer of anything. I know what I said and I know it’s not something legal but if I can be tied to you in anyway, that’s what I want” he says gently taking your hands in his. You nod, smiling “Yes, Yes Joel of course”. He gently places the ring on your hand, its a little loose but you can have it altered back home.He pulls you in for a soft kiss before picking you up and carrying you over to the horse.“I am sorry I was so stubborn and ruined your plan” you say looking up at him. He carried you like you weighed nothing.“Awk it’s alright. I don’t mind all that matters now is that you said yes” he shrugs it off kindly. “I love you” you say before he hoists you onto Shimmer and gets back up on his own horse.“I love you too baby. Lets get you back and get someone to check your ankle”.

[713-4th-ward-g]

Yo i can't lie seeing that spm got his bond revoked cause he was found with two 14 year old girls in his motel room is sick.. not to mention 9 women came out and said they had sex with spm when they were underage. 9 ? I get that some are going to be looked at as money grabs. but 9 of them ? Not to mention the fact that he couldn't tell a 13 year old from an adult is mind boggling to say the least. Like yeah i she was working at a strip club with a fake id. But, like, how could you not tell something was she wasn't an adult. Not only that he continued to fuck with her and have sexual relations with her even knowing she was under age. Even picked her up and dropped her off at middle school, MIDDLE SCHOOL. But, yet i have to believe the narrative that he's innocent. It's hard to believe when he's a predator. A full fledged predator. You cannot tell me other wise. It's the fact they revoked his bond cause he was found with two under age girls during the whole case process... Like come on y'all... I can let you have the narrative of him sleeping with his best friends girl and she wanted to extort him. But it isn't out the realm of dreadful possibility that dude really did prey on that lil girl. She said it could have been a dream, i suppose. But it's just the fact he's got a track record of messing with under age women. To the point of even when on trial, fighting for his freedom, he couldn't resist getting two 14 year old girls in a motel room by themselves. I used to be like free spm but it's hard to say that knowing he not only Continued to mess with a 13 year old after she had his kid. He would pick her up at middle and drop her off at MIDDLE SCHOOL. I would have totally been on the free spm train but hearing how he got his bond revoked just made me think of how much of a predator one would have to be. To be on trial and still have the audacity to have underage girls in a hotel room by themselves.. it's just daunting to that people fully believe spm. Like i can totally understand the narrative of a money hungry lady trying to extort him for money by using her 9 year old daughter to lie about being touched. But then it's another to deny the fact 9 other girls came out during the trial to speak against Carlos coy. 9 GIRLS. Not 2. Not 1. 9 people. Predators lie. And he could easily be lying in his song when the devil strikes. Because let's be honest. That song does not mention the 9 girls who came out during the trial. That song does not mention the two 14 year old girls he had in the motel room. That song was just on how he is supposedly being extorted or blackmailed by a false allegation of a 9 year old And the mother of that child. Let's not get to the fact he fucked his best friends girl while he was in jail. And already fucked up situation. But, i could totally see her try to extort him for some money like give me money or i tell your best friend. But to use her own daughter is quite evil. It's just hard for me to sit here and say free spm knowing how much I know now. I'ma stand by spm being a child predator that is a fact cause he is. And the people who helped him get them girls are predators themselves.

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 2

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: light anxiety Word Count: 2.2k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. A/N: Chapter 2! Our pals are kicking it off already. Can you smell the chemistry? The rOMANCE? LESSGO

Pictures used in this chapter were found on google images :)

Beta: no one.

Catch up! : Part 1 Masterlist

Chapter 2: overthinker.

From: y/n_andrews85 To: D_impala67 Subject: I have your phone. That sounds creepy. I don’t think there’s a non-creepy way of writing this. Whatever.

Dear Dean, is it?

I just wanted to let you know I found your phone at the bus stop the other night. I wasn’t planning on holding on to it, really, but I got worried that you may have been in trouble, and then you never really looked for it either so, I don’t know, I figured better than someone who’ll snatch it and leave, you know?

Anyways, that’s why I’m emailing. I snooped through it a little, sorry, hopefully you’ll understand it was kinda necessary? Maybe we can arrange something so I can get it back to you. This girl, Jamie, keeps sending me (well you technically) topless photos of her. It’s not really what lights my candle. I’m assuming you’d like it back too.

I hope you’re safe. Looking forward to hearing back from you!

Y/n Andrews

-

Do you believe me now?

oh god

you didn’t

Sure did

wow. just wow.

you just handed his ass back to him holy shit!

last time he called, he said he dropped his phone while walking back to his motel, so

he’s okay.

That’s good, I’m glad he’s safe.

I was planning on including something along the lines of “This would’ve been easier if you were an active member of the 21st century and used social media”

But I figured the Jamie thing was motive enough?

yeah. topless Jamie? that’s something else.

Don’t be getting any ideas, dude, I don’t do nudes lmao.

oh god, no i didn’t think that

you did not just type lmao though. how old are you again?

oh god, you’re not 14 or something right? i don’t know what that would make me.

Don’t worry about it, I turned 16 last week.

…

are you serious?

Lmao, no, I’m kidding. I’m twenty-two.

But I think the word you’re looking for is a creep. Oh, and an ageist.

ouch.

Haha, I’m joking.

Lighten up, what are you, ninety?

hi pot meet kettle.

Shit I walked right into that one.

also i’d like to think i don’t text like a ninety-year-old man. could be wrong though

to answer your question i’m twenty-four.                                

Twenty-four huh? I assume you’re done with college, no?

Or- wait, I guess not everyone goes to college.

Yes, this is me fishing for information.

well… i kinda dropped out.

decided to go on a road trip with my brother.

things went a little south I ended up continuing the family business.

Damn, college drop-out ey? Where from?

Also, Family business? What do you do?

Is this too interview-y? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snoop.

you’re good.

stanford. pre-law.

and my brother and i are private investigators. that’s why he’s not in Kansas with me. he’s working a case.

Daaaaamn. Stanford AND a lawyer? And now working as a PI? You’re pretty smart, then.

an ageist and a generalist? i didn’t take you for such y/n.

Fuck, okay, you sound like a lawyer too.

hahahah

so what about you?

What about me?

are you in college?

Oh yeah! Film school. My dream has always been to be a director. It’s rare to find someone who loves movies more than I do.

that’s really cool.

hey i’ve been meaning to ask.

Thinking of me, Sam?

…

Do tell.

how come you were walking home through a park in the middle of the night the other day?

Ooh, I was coming back from work.

I’m a bartender and I had a late shift on Friday.

oh I see. That makes sense yeah.

I’m sorry to cut this conversation short, but I’m legitimately three seconds away from falling asleep. I’m gonna hit the hay.

See you later, Sam :)

See you, y/n :)

A smile creeps on Y/n’s features at the thought of more conversations with Sam. He has given her something to look forward to, something to make her a little more excited during her boring every-day life. As she tucks herself in under her covers, eyelids heavy enough to droop involuntarily, the last thing she thinks of is him, the clever, sassy, twenty-four year old college dropout on the other side of the cracked phone screen. The overwhelming urge to get to know him overtakes her as she succumbs to sleep

--

So

Do you believe in ghosts?

that’s… random.

May be

why do you ask?

Idk, just wanna get to know you better.

that’s what you ask people you want to get to know better?

Yes?

Are you avoiding the question?

no

i do. believe in ghosts.

You?

So do i.

Well, sorta. I guess I believe in souls more than anything.

hm?

Well… I guess I hope (more than believe) that we are more than our corporeal selves.

In the sense that, it’s comforting to me that when we die, and our bodies stop working, we don’t evaporate.

I guess.

yeah I understand.

i don’t know. i guess i wanna believe in science more than anything but i know better.

How do you mean?

call it a hunch.

Oh c’mon, it’s gotta be more than that.

Sam…?

Y/n huffs out a breath, gnawing at her lip. She hopes her anxiety isn’t right, that Sam isn’t sick of her silly questions and existential dread, and is actually doing something. Perhaps his battery ran out.

...Sure.

She was doing something too, before she decided to text him. Eyes falling on all her books and notes, spread around her like ugly, depressing, anxiety-inducing flower petals. There’s a blanket over her legs, chilly fall weather seeping through her bones, and there’s a half empty pizza box in front of her. She’s full and the left overs are kept for her sister, Emily, who’s currently locked up in her room.

Damn it. Y/n is stressed and tired, and now her distraction is refusing to reply. This sucks. She hates the crawling, awful, gooey feeling of cold anxiety gripping every beat of her heart and stupidly convincing her he’s purposefully ghosting her, because he doesn’t like her.

Not knowing what to occupy herself with, she heads to take a shower. In the back of her head, she knows that she’ll probably not study any longer, so she takes it upon herself to sink under the hot water and wash thoroughly, trying to get her mind off Dean’s phone. When her feet step out of the shower and she has towel-dried herself as best as she can, she tosses her wet hair in a haphazard bun, and gets dressed.

Books stack under the rickety, stained coffee table, and she grabs her sketchbook, her favorite pencil, as well as her and Dean’s phone. She shoots Connor a text, arranging a hang out of some kind, and opens her little booklet, when a text vibrates Dean’s phone.

hey i’m sorry i got caught up in something.

It’s alright.

She doesn’t press the ghost subject, because he doesn’t seem into it and she really doesn’t wanna make him dislike her any more than he possibly already does.

The empty page of her sketchbook daunts her. With a tight grip on her mechanical pencil, she urges her creativity pumps to use some gasoline, but they seem limp and dead, and once more unwilling to help her. As her eyes fall on Dean’s phone, like a light bulb out of a cartoon, she gets an idea.

Hey, this might sound creepy, but what do you look like?

She stares at the phone. This feels like a risky question. God, if he wasn’t done with her before, he certainly must be now. But then, he surprises her.

why do you wanna know?

I’m in the mood to sketch some, and my creativity has officially left the building.

Care to help a girl out? Maybe your literary descriptions will spark something in me lmao.

i didn’t know you sketched.

Yeah, sometimes. Nothing great though, I promise. I’m certainly no Picasso.

i mean you don’t have to be picasso to sketch well. and you don’t have to sketch well to sketch at all.

Yeah, may be.

I don’t wanna pressure you into anything, you really don’t have to humor me.

If you do feel like it though, don’t send me a picture. Kinda wanna spark some life into my brain cells.

haha i will. only if you show me the finished product tho.

You’ve got yourself a deal :)

She simply cannot believe he has just agreed to this. Her breath is caught in her throat.

so.

what do you want me to start with?

Just whatever. Idk, tell me about your face.

well

i have brown curly-ish hair that reaches my ears. uh, my eyes are hazel.

Okay, that’s a start.

What’s your nose like?

it’s a bit pointy. thin i think?

Jawline?

sharp? i guess?

this is by far the weirdest thing i’ve done.

Lmao, yeah, this is pretty weird.

Exciting though.

She shouldn’t have said that. Fuck, that is definitely overeager.

yeah it is.

Her stomach feels floaty at his response.

Eyebrows?

uh

normal?

How do you classify “normal” eyebrows, exactly?

i don’t know? they’re simple i guess.

Are you implying complicated eyebrows exist out there?

…

Elaborate, Sam. Are you shy? Do you not have eyebrows? Are they bushy? Or too thin? Or pointy?

i’m telling you they’re average.

Sam

what

You officially suck at this.

oh fuck off how would you describe yours?

Y/n proceeds to write a cohesive sentence that includes adjectives apart from “normal” and “average”. Words like bushy, thin, arched and curvy.

well shit yeah i guess i do suck at this.

i think it’s not a skill i mind not having.

That… is a confusing sentence.

just… draw them however. what difference can eyebrows make?

Oh you have no idea.

Okay, last thing.

Do you have a fringe?

yeah but not for long. i’ll probably let it grow out.

Okay, I can do something with that. Thanks :)

no problem

Her creativity is finally servicing her according to her commands, and Y/n puts pen to paper and scribbles messily. Line after line, they curl and sit on the page, forming a smile with thin lips, a sharp jaw, a pointy nose. She has to guess the eyebrows a bit, and the eyes are more cartoonish and generic than she likes. In the end, she gets anxious at the prospect of having to show him, and gives him a hood, so she won’t fuck up the hair.

Okay, I’m done.

that was quick, actually.

Well I didn’t have much to go on.

Sam doesn’t reply. She worries he might have misinterpreted her teasing tone.

Gimme a sec, I’ll send it over.

Ugh, Dean’s camera is such shit. Do you mind if I send it from my phone?

no go ahead.

[Y/n has sent a picture]

As you said, it didn’t take long. It’s really not the best.

that…

is actually not too far from the truth

it kind of looks like me from two years ago

wow, really?

yeah.

and it’s honestly a pretty good sketch. good job.

Thank you :)

Sam doesn’t say anything after this, and she huffs. Her head falls back on the couch, and she stares at the ceiling. She should go to bed soon, it’s getting late.

isn’t this strange?

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit oh shit, she thinks. He’s regretting this. He doesn’t like her. He’ll stop talking to her and that’ll be it.

Why does she care so much? It’s a thought that passes through her mind. It hasn’t been long since they started talking and, after the near-kidnapping encounter, they’ve been having nearly daily conversations, but that still doesn’t mean much. She knows barely anything about him.

She guesses, she wants to get to know him better. He seems like the type of guy she’d enjoy hanging out with and she has so far. Stopping any kind of conversation would surely feel like a loss. She’d have to go back to her boring routine. This is the most exciting thing she has allowed herself to do in years.

A part of her feels rather lame for finding such a thrill at something so trivial. She’s talking to a stranger, and that’s all it is, but the prospect that he could be anyone at all, and she’s never even seen his face… well… It feels refreshing, new. Scary in an adrenaline-rush kind of way.

What is?

us. texting.

isn’t it a little odd?

I guess it is a bit.

I mean we’ve only known each other for, what, a week? And a half?

yeah.

should we stop?

I don’t know

Do you want to?

The extra moment his reply takes to arrive makes her want to vomit.

no

Then there’s your answer.

okay then

can I save you in my contacts?

Sure, go ahead.

I just did too.

alright.

Okay :)

I’m sorry, I have to go.

I guess I’ll text you later, Sam.

Go be whoever Sam Something is.

it’s winchester.

Like the shotgun?

yup.

That’s BADASS. Can you even get more badass than this? Pre-law, now a PI, and you’re named after a shotgun? Damn dude.

Well, it’s nice to meet you Sam. I’m Y/n Andrews.

Haha thanks.

nice to meet you, too

goodnight Y/n Andrews.

Night Sam Winchester :)

--- Part 3

A/N: Thoughts? How are you liking the newer version of this? right after I post it, I’m gonna delete the other one.

Taglist:

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove @sammysgirl1997 @kymberlytorres @bambi95-blog @demonic-meatball @thekarliwinchester @littlekay15 @li-m-ii  @thinspo-isuppose @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker @marichromatic @illuminatus42 @lazy-author @mirandaaustin93 @hauntedsiriel @pilaxia @devilgirlsarah @nobodys-baby-now @captiveties @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes @captainmarvelcorps @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @nellachain

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 1: Getting To Know Her

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Step 1: Getting To Know Her

All witches are unique. Before pouring effort into charming a witch, it’s important to get to know her well, Aim to understand why you like her, and stay observant, because there will always be more to learn.

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

Ron was lying awake in bed, flipping through the old and tattered book, and he couldn’t help but chuckle when he read part one, ‘Getting To Know Her’. Like that’s remotely possible.

He smiled softly at her sleeping form beside him. Her dark and bushy hair splayed wildy across both pillows, and the stress lines that appeared on her face throughout the day seemed to vanish in the night. She looked peaceful and calm, and it was contagious. Funny how the same girl that could rile him up and ignite his passion could also ease his anxiety. Her effect on him was undeniable, even this far along in their relationship.

Ron had a date planned for tomorrow, and he was pretty damn excited about it— so much that he couldn’t sleep, which is why he had picked up the old book again. His anticipation for tomorrow resembled a kid’s on Christmas Eve. He’d taken Hermione on plenty of dates before, but this one was going to be a surprise for her, and it had to go well. Maybe it was time to refresh his memory in the art of charming witches.

He nearly skipped this chapter the first time he read the book. It was in his sixth year, back at Hogwarts, and he scoffed at the book’s assumption that he would be interested in trying to charm a witch he didn’t know. He figured he could skip it because, well, he knew Hermione. They had already been through so much together, and he knew her like the back of his hand, or so he thought. But it turned out that Hermione was a complex witch, and even after years of friendship, she still managed to surprise Ron. Even now— they lived together, spent the majority of their time together, and could finish each other's sentences, but sometimes she still left him scratching his head, working new details into his understanding of her.

He recently learned that the scar on her knee was from a biking accident when she was younger. It needed stitches to heal. Muggle doctors actually sewed her skin back together. He was horrified when she told him— His parents had always been able to cast a cushioning charm around the Burrow’s grounds in case someone fell from their broomstick, and any cuts and scratches could be easily repaired with a dab of dittany— no needles required. Although it was a minor detail of her life, it further differentiated his childhood experience from hers, and unveiled that a lot of his knowledge of her upbringing was based on assumptions, not facts.

She surprised him again the first time he threw her a birthday party at their new flat. They had recently moved in together, and Hermione had insisted on living in Muggle London so her parents could have easier access to their new place. To go with the theme of their home, he decided to throw her an entirely muggle party, complete with muggle decorations and games and a cake baked the hard way— magic-free. He was quite proud of the result, and definitely didn’t expect her panicked reaction when she came home to find their apartment bursting with balloons. Hermione— who fought dark wizards as early as age sixteen, was afraid of balloons simply because they could pop anytime. Mental.

Ron’s perception of Hermione was constantly expanding with more information— Hermione had grown into a new person over the past decade and a half. The witch he met on the Hogwarts Express was completely different from the one sleeping next to him, and he had no idea what to expect in another fifteen years. This thought used to terrify him. He remembered discussing this with his brother Bill the summer before his wedding, after learning he was going to marry Fleur.

“What if you fall in love with someone, and then they change?”

Bill’s answer left Ron quite confused at first. “That’s the most exciting part,” he had said.

Of course, now Ron understood exactly what Bill had meant and agreed whole-heartedly. There was something exciting yet reassuring about how truly unknowable people were. Hermione was like an ocean— well studied and explored, yet ever-changing and mysterious.

At this point he had known her for fifteen years, and the words “Get To Know Her” made him laugh for completely different reasons that they did at age seventeen. This time, he laughed because he knew he never would.

******

There were many moments that stood out as turning points for Ron— moments when his knowledge of Hermione expanded, and his feelings for her strengthened.

There was a clear shift when he discovered her crying in the bathroom on that first Halloween, Hermione was no longer a “nightmare”, but a vulnerable, insecure kid who simply wanted to fit in— just like him. He saw her in a new light, and realized her commitment to studying so much, and showing off her knowledge wasn’t intended to be condescending, it was her attempt to make sense of a world of which she knew nothing. Knowing nothing meant knowing no one and the hurtfulness of his words took on an entirely new dimension. He had teased her for having no friends, but he also had the power to change that. On October 30th, she had been an annoying know-it-all, and by November 1st, she was his best friend, and he thanked Merlin every day that his eleven year old self had changed his opinion.

Things changed again in his fourth year. By the Yule Ball, Hermione had outgrown the young, precocious, socially awkward first year that pointed out dirt on his nose, and corrected his pronunciation of wingardium leviosa. She was a brilliant, confident, and strikingly pretty young woman, but his 14 year-old self was stuck to his original perception. He was forced to reassess when he saw her dancing with Victor Krum at the ball, looking magnificent in her periwinkle dress. He watched her laughing, dancing, and carrying herself with poise and confidence, while other girls lurked nearby, their faces contorted with envy. Victor Krum effortlessly ignored them because he was so drawn to Hermione, and he wasn’t the only one— Ron couldn’t take his eyes off of her either. Her words swam back his mind, suddenly changing everything.

“Just because it’s taken you three years to notice, doesn’t mean no one else has spotted I’m a girl.”

Why hadn’t he noticed before? And now that he had, what the bloody hell was he supposed to do about it? Hermione had evolved from a friend to a girl to a girl he fancied and Ron was left with the daunting task of moving forward with that revelation, somehow.

Although unsure how to proceed, he grew accustomed to his new feelings about Hermione. He edited her character profile in his mind to reflect this new person, someone who was infuriatingly clever, beautiful, and confident. This was Hermione, not that.

He kept learning, and her definitions expanded over time. He added both fearless and terrifying in their fifth year, when she risked her prefect badge to help form Dumbledore’s Army, jinxed Marrietta Edgecombe, and fought valiantly at the Ministry of Magic. He added flirtatious during their sixth year, when he could have sworn he saw her eyes that lingering on his taller, scruffier, more athletic-looking body, thanks to a combination of puberty and Quidditch. That same year, he briefly added not interested when her signals became too vague for him to trust, and completely fucking mental when she set a flock of canaries on him. Those descriptions changed again when they reconciled, and he fell right back into his old pattern of wanting her, this time slightly more confident that she felt the same way.

At that point he was convinced that knew her. He had adjusted his definitions so many times and finally felt that he had landed on something all-encompassing. But of course, he was wrong.

It was at the Burrow before Bill and Fleur’s wedding when she alerted him to another unexplored cavern of her personality. It had been a few months since the Lavender incident and they’d been dancing around their feelings for one another since then. Ron wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make the first move, or if it had been an appropriate amount of time to date someone new after breaking up with Lavender, so he just continued to hang around her, lamely hoping something would just happen between them.

His mother made an effort to keep them apart that summer, as she was— rightfully— scared they were planning something dangerous, so in order to spend any time together, they had to be sneaky about it. One day, his mother sent Hermione and Ginny to change all the sheets without realizing she had already asked them to, and instead of asking for a new chore, Hermione wandered up to Ron’s attic bedroom where he was busy tidying up.

“Hi,” she said before jumping and landing prone on his bed. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up my room,” he replied. “Not sure why I have to do it, it’s not like any of the guests will come in here.”

“You know why,” said Hermione. “To keep us busy.”

“Oh I know,” replied Ron, laughing at his mother’s antics. “Care to help me?”

“No, I think I’ll just sit here and watch,” she said with a coy smile.

Ron looked over and grinned at her. She was so cute lying on his bed like that. He couldn’t help but think she looked quite sexy too, with her skirt riding up, revealing more parts of her leg that kept him up at night. Sexy was another word Ron had added to her profile, one he found himself noticing much more frequently as of late.

He shook his head as if to jumble the randy expression that had undoubtedly formed his face, giving away thoughts that were best kept to himself— at least for now. At this point, they had not discussed where they stood relationship-wise, and gawking at her exposed thigh could easily ruin anything that remained unsaid.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. He winced as he said it, hearing the unintended flirtatiousness of the words only after they left his mouth.

Fortunately his comment was well received. “Well, maybe take me to dinner first..,” she said playfully before shifting toward the edge of his bed, making room for him to sit down.

He felt his face warming as he lowered himself to the bed beside her and realized he had nothing to say. Dreading an awkward silence, he spluttered the first question that came to mind. “So uh, have you ever been to a wedding before?”

She turned onto her side to face him before nodding. “A few, but only muggle weddings. I was actually a bridesmaid in my cousin’s wedding last summer.”

Ron had expected that she’d attended a wedding before, as most people had. He was surprised by the other part of her answer. “You… have a cousin?”

“Yeah,” said Hermione. “This was Ellie’s wedding. She’s about five years older than me. Have I not told you about her?”

“No, I thought it was just you.”

“Hmm,” she said contemplatively. “I don’t have any siblings, but I have a lot of cousins. My extended family’s actually quite big.”

It wasn’t a personality-altering detail, but it revealed a sudden gap in his data. Ron wracked his mind for any missed conversations where he could have learned more about her family. “I never knew that. Are you close to your cousins?”

She shrugged. “Well I guess I just don’t talk about them that much. But growing up they felt like my siblings.”

“Do you visit them a lot?”

She hesitated before answering. “I used to,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. Ron suddenly regretted asking about her family, remembering what she had just done to keep them safe. “I probably won’t see them much anymore. At least not for a while.”

In a moment of courage, he reached for her hand, which was lying on his bed between them. He squeezed it gently and smiled. She returned the gesture, caressing the back of his hand in a way that sent shivers down his spine, but Ron was distracted by the glisten in her eyes as she reflected back on her family.

Also, his head was spinning. Hermione knew his family so well after their years of friendship, it almost felt like she was part of it. How had she never mentioned this detail about hers? Had he never even asked?

He had only met her parents once or twice, and he didn’t really converse with them when he did. Hermione had spent holidays with his family. His mum would send birthday and Christmas presents. Fred and George would take the mickey out of her like she was their own sister. She felt comfortable waltzing into his bedroom and sitting on his bed, and he had never even been to her house. He didn’t even know what it looked like.

“Can I meet them someday?” he asked boldly. “Your cousins, I mean.”

She paused in thought before answering cautiously. “Well, they don’t know I’m a witch. They think I attend a muggle boarding school. Whenever I visit them, I have to lie about everything. It’s a lot of work. A lot of stress.”

Ron hadn’t thought of that— she lived in a world that her family knew nothing about. Even if they got through this war, and she reunited with them, he would have to learn a whole lot more about muggles in order to keep up the lies she must have developed over the years. “I’m a good liar,” he said. “And a quick learner.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” she laughed.

Ron chuckled too, glad he could cheer her up, even if temporarily. But he was overwhelmed by this new information. There was a lot he didn’t know. He wondered what she told her cousins she studied at school, and what they thought she was planning to do after graduating. He didn’t even know how many cousins she had, how old they all were, or their names.

Now that he thought about it, he didn't even know her parents’ names.

“What are your parents’ names?” he asked.

“Jean and Hugo,” she answered. “Why?”

“I’m just curious.” He looked down at her hand, which he was still casually holding. He gave it another squeeze and saw her smile brightly at him when he did it, and he grinned softly back at her. It was the same Hermione, yet there was still even more about her to discover— things about her that he had never even thought about.

He felt a bit guilty learning exactly how many questions he’d never bothered to ask. But his guilt was overshadowed by his excitement to learn more. He really was a quick learner when the topic held his interest, and nothing held his interest quite like Hermione Granger.

[hermannsthumb]

Oh could you do baking for the fall prompts?

14. Baking

from autumn fic prompts here

set some ambiguous time after the movie....this one was funnnn

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The first thing Newt notices when he opens the door to their place is that it smells fucking amazing, like all of autumn wrapped up in one small, cramped apartment; the second, that it’s hot as hell. He manages to unwind his scarf (borrowed off Hermann) from around his neck with one hand without spilling his iced coffee, and calls out to the kitchen, where he can hear pans clattering around, “Hey, dude, you good?”

“Yes,” Hermann says. He sounds frazzled.

It’s not just hot—it’s stifling. Hermann’s lit a fire in the fireplace, and when Newt rounds the corner to the kitchen, he finds that he’s attempting to cram a tray into the oven as well. “You wanna open a window or something?” Newt says. He takes a sip of his coffee. “It feels like a fucking sauna. You’re killing me.”

Hermann ignores him and slams the oven shut. He’s a wreck, Newt realizes when Hermann turns to him; he’s got flour streaked all across his face, smudges all across his little leaf-patterned apron, and his hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat. When Newt popped out two hours ago for a walk, Hermann was slouched over his computer and grumbling away. It’s a shocking change for such a short amount of time. “I—” he says. “What are you doing?”

More silence. Hermann pulls an oven mitt off his hand and scowls. “That article will be the death of me,” he declares.

Earlier in the month, Hermann was invited to contribute a featured article to his favorite dorky STEM magazine—Newt’s not even sure about what, to be honest, but he assumes something with his work on the jaegers—and he’s been equal parts agonizing over and procrastinating it ever since. Newt thinks the procrastinating part might be his fault—one of those pesky drift after-effects, you know, like Newt’s new weird aversion to leaving dirty mugs in the sink, or his sudden proficiency with some advanced mathematics. The article is what Hermann was scowling over when Newt left that afternoon. “Still no luck with it?” Newt says.

“I have…the abstract,” Hermann says.

Newt looks to the counter. On it, amidst the wreckage of all their baking supplies, and what appears to be orange smears of canned pumpkin, are a series of unevenly-sized and unevenly-baked small pies. There must be at least two dozen. Possibly more. “Hoooo-lee shit, dude,” Newt says. “I didn’t know you…stress-baked. What are we supposed to do with all those?” Newt loves junk food, but even he finds the prospect of cleaning out even a quarter of these to be daunting. They could give some to the neighbors, maybe, as an apology for their loud three-in-the-morning arguments. Or feed them to birds. Do birds like pumpkin?

“Throw them out them out with the bloody rubbish, what do I care?” Hermann snaps. “I read online this was meant to be calming. I don’t feel particularly calm.” He grits his teeth. “I feel, in fact, quite the opposite.”

Newt picks up one of the decently cooled pies and bites into it. It’s pretty good, for the most part. “Could use more spice,” he says, then, at the look on Hermann’s face, quickly amends, “is what I would say if they weren’t perfect.” He sets the pie down. “Do you want…help?”

“With what?” Hermann says.

“The article?” Newt says. “Or baking? If you have crust left, I know a mean recipe for an apple pie my dad used to make this time of year. From my grandma, or something like that. German,” he adds, knowing Hermann’s weird brand of food snobbery when it comes to the Old Country, which includes—but is not limited to—beer, dishes that involve the use of potatoes, and most desserts.

This softens Hermann up. “Hm,” he says. “Yes, the leftover crust is in the refrigerator—do we have enough apples?”

Newt inspects the netted produce bag hanging on the edge of a cupboard. “Just enough,” he says. He pulls out the remainder of their apple stock. “Add ‘em to the grocery list for later, though. Can you get me—” He hums thoughtfully. “Cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar…”

They work together easily, as they often do these days, moving around each other in one fluid motion. Newt peels the apples, and eats half the skins; Hermann cuts them up, and eats half the slices; they cook what survives in a little pot on the stovetop with the appropriate amount of spices, and soon the kitchen is smelling even better than before. “Do you want to do the assembly part?” Newt says, as Hermann stirs the pot. “I’ll look over your article for you. Second pair of eyes, and all that shit.”

Hermann allows him a small smile. “I suppose—if you wouldn’t mind terribly—”

“Not at all,” Newt says. He snags anther one of the miniature pumpkin pies and kisses Hermann’s cheek, enjoying how Hermann blushes and ducks his head in response. It’s so easy to rile him up, it’s kinda adorable. “Add a little more corn starch if you want it thicker.” He bites off half the pie, and adds through a mouthful of crumbs, “And crack a fucking window already. I’m sweating.”

Hermann does, so Newt—in compromise—tosses another log on the fireplace and settles into their living room couch. Away from the hot, hot kitchen, Newt almost feels comfortable. He bypasses the password on Hermann’s laptop easily and pulls up the article. There’s a significant amount more finished than just the abstract like Hermann said, at least. He crams the remaining half the pie into his mouth and dives in.

Newt edits, and Hermann assembles the pie, and—by the time the last batch of Hermann’s pumpkin pies have finished up—Hermann is sliding the apple pie into the oven and Newt is shutting the laptop. “Done!” Newt calls to him. “What you’ve got so far is good, I don’t know why you’re so worried. They’re gonna love it. Obviously it wasn’t perfect, though, so, you know, I had to make some changes. You can thank me later.”

Hermann emerges from the kitchen doorway, red-faced, a sag to his shoulders, and leaning heavily on his cane, but looking satisfied. “I’m finished as well,” he says. He unties his dumb apron with one hand and tosses it onto a clean spot of counter. Somehow he managed to get pumpkin on his sweatervest under it. “It’ll be—oh—twenty minutes?”

There’s a hell of a mess to clean up in there, but Newt only has three things in mind: the way sweat has curled the edges of Hermann’s hair, the flour still in patches across his face, and how shy he’d been when Newt gave him that little kiss in the kitchen. Newt tosses the laptop to the side and grins at him. “Plenty of time to make out,” he says. He pats the couch cushion next to him. “C’mere.”

“So long as it doesn’t burn,” Hermann tells him sternly, but he’s smiling when he takes Newt’s hand.

[kitkats-mikrokosmos]

you who led me through that maze, you are my light - chapter 1: such stuff as dreams are made

crossposted on ao3

genre: fluff, slowish burn, romance pairing: ot7 x reader summary: ❝ this rain, too, is coming to an end i won’t let go of your hand anymore i wish that you would love me ❞

(or the one in which bighit holds a raffle for army to spend 4 months with bts in a remote lakehouse, and you win)

word count: 1390 warnings: cursing

see author notes at the end

Words could not begin to describe the cocktail of emotions that shot straight through your veins as you stared down at your phone.

"Dear (L/N) (F/N),     Congratulations! You've won the raffle!     Please contact us by January 31st, 2021 to claim your prize.     We look forward to hearing from you. -BigHit Entertainment"

This had to be a joke, right? There was no way that this was real. Spam or a cruel joke from your family or maybe this was a dream.

You reached over and pinched your forearm. Hard.

The only thing that resulted was an explosion of stinging pain across your nerves and involuntary tears springing to your eyes.

So this wasn't a dream. But that still left spam or a joke.

It was totally in character for either of your brothers to pull something like this. But you didn't know if they knew how to spoof an email address, and, as you peered at the screen, you realized that address looked very official.

Quickly, you opened an incognito browser and did a Google search for BigHit's email address (addresses?). There was no guarantee of credibility, but still, it was better than operating under the assumption of goodwill. That was the sort of thing that got you hacked and all of your data sold on the dark web, and that was something you'd rather avoid. Once you'd found emails that looked like they might be correct, you opened the email again to compare them. The result had your heart hammering in your chest and your pulse fluttering in your throat like hummingbird wings.

They were almost identical.

This was probably the real deal.

This was probably the real deal.

You leaned back in your chair, a bark of disbelieving laughter leaving your lips.

Well shit.

You had some plans to make, you guess.

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

"Dear (L/N) (F/N),     We discussed what you mentioned in your last email, and, in the effort of making you more comfortable, we thought that we might send the boys out one at a time to join you in the as-of-yet undisclosed location. You would have a week to get to know each other individually before another member would join you both.     Is this sufficient? -BigHit Entertainment"

"Dear BigHit Entertainment,     That sounds great! Thank you so much for being so understanding. I really appreciate it. -(F/N) (L/N)"

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

"Your plane will leave tomorrow at 6:00 AM. Sorry, but that ended up being the most convenient time."

"It's fine, I understand," you said, smiling even though you wanted to cry at the thought of waking up at 4 in the morning so that you could make the plane ride. You'd have to make an emergency order from Target for a couple of those Starbucks frappucinos. You absently scrawled a reminder to yourself down onto a sticky note that you stuck to your corkboard, phone balanced between your shoulder and your ear.

Oh, how you missed the days when you could just drive to the store down the road and pick up whatever junk food you happened to be craving at the moment.

Still, life goes on.

"All precautions will be taken, of course. Still, when you arrive in Seoul, you'll be required to quarantine for two weeks. I know you've already been informed, but I just wanted to double-check one more time: you are okay with this, correct?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

You'd expected it, in fact. They couldn't have known for certain that the ARMY that won the raffle would be from Korea, and there were all sorts of travel restrictions, worsened by winter - that they could fly you in at all was nothing short of a miracle. Quarantine seemed obvious.

You'd rather not spend time holed up in some hotel or someplace for fourteen days, waiting to see if you'll start displaying symptoms, but you'd also rather not get other people sick by accident - especially not the boys. The only way those two things could coincide was if the pandemic was over, and, unfortunately, things weren't there yet. You were still praying for a vaccine, but in the meantime.

"All right, I believe that's everything. We look forward to meeting you, (L/N)-ssi."

"I look forward to meeting you, too. Thank you. I really appreciate this opportunity."

It sounded like the person on the other end was smiling when they replied, "Of course. Have a good day."

"You, too."

"Bye."

You hung up and turned in your chair. Your suitcases were packed and waiting by the front door, and butterflies swooped in your stomach. In less than 24 hours, you'd be hopping on a plane to Korea, and in a little more than 2 weeks, you'd be meeting BTS.

Already, you were nervous. You couldn't imagine how much of a wreck you'd become as the day approached. Still, that was something for future-you to deal with. Present-you had enough on your plate.

First order of business: ordering coffee.

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

You blinked blearily up at the airport.

Where to now? you wondered as you stepped through the automatic doors. Multiple signs blinked at you to please wear a mask, and you adjusted yours a little, fixing it on the bridge of your nose. You glanced around. There weren't any obvious directions or anything.

"Uh, are you (Y/N) (L/N)?" an unfamiliar voice spoke.

You turned.

A woman in a pressed blue uniform and a matching mask stood there. She stopped the mandatory six feet away, and, judging from the crinkles of her eyes, she was smiling at you.

"That's me," you said, reshouldering your carry-on bag.

"Excellent!" she chirped, in true customer service fashion.

You felt bad for her, having to be this upbeat at ass o'clock in the morning. Maybe she could recommend you her coffee brand. Or maybe she was just fueled by spite like you'd been when you worked at the coffee shop downtown. Opening was always a fucking nightmare.

"Please follow me." She gestured onwards, then began walking.

You trailed behind.

"I'll take you to security," she continued as she walked, her heels clicking against the linoleum. "You'll be flying on a private plane today. Whoever's flying you out must really want to be sure you're safe." She paused. "And have a lot of money." She gave a tottering laugh.

You probably would've found the joke funnier if you were actually awake, but alas. You'd had two of your three coffees already, but there was only so much caffeine could do when it was up against the existential nightmare of an early morning.

Luckily, she didn't seem particularly daunted by her less-than-enthusiastic audience. Instead, she kept chattering on - about what, you weren't sure; you were having an incredibly hard time focusing your foggy brain to focus on anything for longer than 0.2 seconds.

You were flying to Korea. Jesus Christ. The reality was finally sinking in - as much as it could, given your current state. What country had you saved in a past life to be this lucky?

You likewise went through security in a daze, still reeling. You were only slightly more coherent when you were boarding the plane.

The flight attendant gave you a sympathetic smile and advised that you try to get some sleep - it was going to be a long flight.

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

14 hours later, give or take, the plane had touched down in Seoul. You disembarked and were immediately swept away, rushed through customs before being deposited into the care of BigHit employees. One notable employee being Kim Hyun-Woo, whom had been the one you communicated with primarily as this whole thing was being set up.

He greeted you with a wide grin. "It's so great to finally be able to meet you in person, (L/N)-ssi."

You tried to return his smile as best you could. "You as well." You yawned. "Sorry, that was a really long flight."

"I understand." He nodded and gestured to the car. "If you'll climb inside, we'll take you to the hotel you'll be staying at for the duration of your quarantine."

You did so, and you were soon on your way.

You watched Seoul's cityscape slide by, the brilliant lights offset by the dark of the night, and you wondered why it was that you felt like your life was about to change. Forever.

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Short first chapter I know, but the next chapter will be longer - and juicier. You’ll be joined by the first member next chapter, so be sure to vote to decide who that’ll be.

[yfere]

Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E62

Downtime (n): a word which here means “bust a drug ring and spy on war meetings,” with some home improvement on the side.

*wheezes* Anyway, we do math no matter how stressed we are, yes? A mathematician must never be daunted by mere….madness. Masterpost here.

+23 to Fjord/Jester Outside experts were necessary for this. On the one hand, Shipping Calculus Law states that you lose points for facilitating a relationship to another person….but if you do that while also clearly getting “heart eyes” for the whole affair? Those rules no longer apply. We have, here, Fjord’s Over The Top “I Am So Cool Pls Notice” at Jester referencing his bravery at rooming next to her, and mutual, uh, attempts to comfort that are Deflected By This Deflecting Pair! You Would Earn More Points For Not Deflecting! Oh no, Jester, are you worried about your mom I’m sure she’s oka—NAH, FJORD, HOW ARE YOU. Are you feeling uncomfortable latel—NAH, I’M FINE I’M HAVING ZERO ISSUES WITH THE WATER EXCEPT THAT IT’S IN MY EARS AND I CAN’T HEAR YOU. Lots and lots of banter, and Jester asking Fjord about whether this is his first home, and offering him a mural because she’s a sweetheart. Point loss because Fjord did not accept the mural invitation which makes Jester, deprived of this gesture of affection from her artistic soul, very sad. Also, Jester’s hair was gross and that’s a tragedy for all Jester ships this week.

+8 to Beau/Jester Speaking of gross hair. These two—still roomates! Beau looking for the Best Room, as always! And for some reason, they very much don’t mind in each other all the things that would make them awful roomates to everyone else? Jester happily deals with Beau’s horrific snoring (if they ever have to split, Beau and Cads need to room as the resident snorers), and Beau handles Jester’s Hair Fiasco with nary a complaint, only a surreptitious request for some incense from Caduceus. That’s love. Point loss for Beau complaining about Nugget’s drooling—you need to love pets to love Jester, and that is law

-30 to Jester/Pets. But pets….they may not love Jester. My darling….forcing your beaten and world weary weasel (a ground dweller) into a tree dwelling against its will, forgetting your weasel’s name….I mean, you would think that someone would have sat you down by now to talk about consent (and that you never call someone you love by another name).

+20 to Beau/Gaydar And she foooooooooooools Caleb into thinking it’s a faulty Straightdar that has her saying he and Nott have tension. Don’t worry, Caleb, Beau understands you a little too well. And as we all know, ejecting a man from your room is a Special Lesbian Power bequeathed from the gods.

+2 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester because Frumpkin also got to hang out and gape at Fjord’s tremendously awkward honeypot display at the apothecary. Those three made a stellar Team A to the two-team investigation, with Jester and Fjord distracting like champs while Frumpkin learned of the invisible guard! Also, +2 to Frumpkin/Detective Work!

+18 to Jester/Yasha for Jester’s incredibly thoughtful and sweet wildflower mural for Yasha, and Yasha’s equally sweet surprise and thankfulness. A perfect combination of the ancient and venerable practices of  Seduction Through Art and Seduction Through Flower Arrangements—Jester is on top of her game. Point loss for sticking even a lovingly drawn dick anywhere in Yasha’s vicinity, that should be illegal

+2 to Beau/Yasha for partnering up to go to the library, yeah! A training pit, which is Ripe for Physical Contact Opportunities! Yasha being inspired by Beau’s bracers to get a set of her own, and you know how wlw love sharing clothing? I’m just saying.

+15 to Caleb/Caduceus A bit of an understated week, in the absence of Intense Conversation, but with a lot going on. Beginning, of course, with Caduceus making Caleb’s Special Gift the Literal Symbol of him “putting down roots” and spending a full week making it the centerpiece of the Xhorhaus and such an ostentatious landmark no one in the city will ever forget it. Caleb helps out with construction of the garden using cat-shaped spellwork,  and also invites everyone he meets to Come To the Krynn’s First Treehouse the man is proud. Frumpkin, too, climbing the tree, and it’s only a matter of time before Caleb does the same. Speaking of, Caleb once more pulling the “O, Large and Attractive Man, Please Shield Me From the Haters” card in a Cramped Alley, which Caduceus himself sort of initiated by aggressively campaigning for Frumpkin Spying. Nott gets +5 to Cockblocking for pulling Caduceus away to Detect Magic. Caduceus making windchimes to help make feel Caleb safe—though Caleb is sadly dismissive at the time No point gain for Caduceus’ very sweet and genuine and incredibly unsuccessful attempt to prevent the wizard from choking to death on his grand plans. Point loss for Caleb preferring to use residuum to craft a protective ring, possibly over trying to fix the sword that Caduceus is fixated on. Can Caleb’s Sword make him forget about it?

+30 to the M9/Winning the Local Dick Measuring Contest. You take a tower, you add a 60 foot tree as an elaborate penis metaphor, spread your seed all over the rooftop garden, and put permanent daylight in a region that is permanently dark and worships the Light. All right. Okay.

+20 to Caleb/Essik oh gods, and now we have evidence that a cleaned up fashionable Caleb is perhaps also a little bit catnip for the NPCs. Caleb’s silver tongue and flirtatious finger-wiggling with his special Cat Spell? Bowing and opening the door with magic like A Flirt? The favor exchange convo which is how Every Male Character Woos Caleb Apparently? Essik, for his part, giving up his schedule for the moment, strutting his stuff with his fancy spellbook and chuckling and asking for Caleb’s permission and no one else’s to enter the home???? These boys move faaaaast. We’ll see how this develops with time. Also, between the spellwork Giving Caleb Game and Frumpkin detectiving, +50 to Caleb/Cat-Shaped Creatures, +30 to Caleb/Plot Relevant Magic Gott-damn

+35 to Fjord/Caleb So here in Shipping Calculus, Intense Conversations earn lots of points and uh, there was so much steam from this one it got sound effects. Clasping of hands, promises, declarations, in a callback to Every Major Widofjord Moment Ever. Not to mention, the ambushing-in-the-room maneuver straight (?) out of a romance novel. Caleb taking a gentle pry bar to the locked door of Fjord’s past and insecurities, as all Fjord shippers ultimately hope to see revealed on screen. The mention of Mighty Nein being family? Admiration and resentment? We can remake ourselves into something better? Admitting to worrying about everyone? Saying Caleb is not crazy (but he may be, crazy for someone?) Point loss for Fjord not…..getting the caring thing up until the end, probably. Oh dear. Oh my.

+55 to The Cast/Ashley Johnson. Yasha never fucking says anything, but Sam and Liam both love Ashley. Laura wants everyone to fuck off except Ashley, she’s an angel and we’re glad she’s here.

-100 to Caleb/Astrid/Eodwulf as Caleb says at one point Astrid was “The One” for him. But Caleb. Why could it not have been “The Two?” Throw me us a bone here.

+1000 to Nott/Yeza KISS! THEY KISS! And Nott goes on about not needing to kiss for some things. Spending time in the hot tub together, and in the Lab together (thanks, Caleb!) and being Dangerous Together. Yeza offering to be a house husband and clean up the place while they adventure! Nott being too protective of Yeza to send him without protection to the Coast or the Empire!

+14 to Caleb/Jester as Caleb aims the full force of his Worrywart self at Jester’s direction over the Astrid letter—all Jester ships gain points for distress over Marion Lavorre, as it should be. Jester alongside Nott immediately and frantically insisting that nothing letter-related is Caleb’s fault at all, but hey it’s not Jester’s fault either, it was Nott who told her what to write and she didn’t know anyyything. The suggestion for “The Salty Sea” that Jester and Caleb (and Fjord, hello +1 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester) are tied up with becoming the unlocking mechanism for a secret entrance to Caleb’s library. Jester unfortunately funnels many points into +20 to Jester/Foot in Mouth as she makes sad Astrid conversation but more importantly the horrific “you’ll always be an assassin to me” flirt. Jester. Jester no. Jester you know how he feels about his past right. Jester?

+3 to Beau/Hosting which was great until the cocktail racism, damn that’s a lot of point loss

+70 to Nott the Best Detective Agency/Detective Work as they uncover evidence of a SUUDE OPERATION and listen in on KING DWENDAL’S WAR PLANS. Interpretation of evidence once more provided by partner Beau and Lab Guy Caleb, who between their history and arcana checks and shady histories shed light on the puzzle before them.

-15 to Fjord/Charming the Neighbors. Caduceus is unfortunately too busy with home renovations to be his sweet Lets Bake For The Neighbors self, so Fjord ventures outside and proves why there need to be three high CHA people in this party. Because while Fjord can swing a honeypot in a crisis and intimidate like no one’s business, his inclination to dress people down and match insult for insult makes things go pretty sour with Bylan pretty quickly. The obvious solution, considering Fjord’s skill set, is to redress the issue by undressing the man.

+100000000000000000000000000000000000 to CR/Naming It The Xhorhaus because it got a SONG!!!!!!!!!

[sunrisespidey]

ceo!tom

pairing: tom holland x reader

summary: ceo!tom falls in love with smoothie-loving intern, y/n

word count: 5.9k im sorry 

a/n: i’m literally never writing shit like this again wtf?? the ending is so rushed and i’m rlly sorry but i got so bored of this i just wanted it out and done with. it was 14 pages on google docs bye 

it’s a different style that i usually write in, but i wanted to branch out so idk let me know what you thought about it?

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP! I WORKED ON THIS FOR LIKE A WEEK

warnings: swearing, long read, and unedited

masterlist ♡

Y/N’s made a mistake.

Or at least, that’s what she thinks, staring up at the daunting skyscraper that towered before her, with the large Holland and Co. sign glinting under the bright glare of the sun. How had she ended up here? Her, a struggling college student, and yet here she was, interning at one of the biggest business firms in England. It really didn’t add up. It’s all been a blur. She remembers getting the phone call, being told to arrive at, and she quotes, “7AM on the dot, tardiness will not be tolerated”, and it’s almost as though she’s reliving high school all over again, only this time around, her future is actually on the line.

Which is probably why she’d dragged herself out of bed at 4 in the morning, and then proceeded to spend an hour pep talking herself in the mirror. Was it too late to back out now?  She figures if she turns back and leaves, she can probably make it back to her apartment in 20 minutes flat, and then she can call in faking an illness or whatnot. After that, she can stay in, snuggled up to her cat, Dusty, and stay curled up in front of her tv with a warm mug of hot cocoa in her hands and an episode of The Office playing quietly in the background. (This, she decides, smiling internally, is her ideal day.) She’s almost ready to give in, leaning back to book it, the idea of leaving almost too enticing. Instead, she finds herself placing one foot in front of the other. Y/N doesn’t even know what motivates her to take that step forward, the step that began to lead her to those terrifying glass doors, but she’s managed to take a second step, then a third, a fourth, and—

A rush of warmth surrounds her, sending a shiver through her body, and she immediately misses the cold outdoor winds that previously nipped at her ears. Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever wanted to venture back out into the cold winter as much as she does at this moment. Her eyes stay trained on the ground, and she dreads the moment she’ll have to inevitably look up, so she doesn’t. Instead, she studies the marble floors (they’re really nice, she should consider investing in something similar, she thinks), until she hears a voice, practically coated with sugar, pipe up.

“Excuse me, Miss?” Her head whips up, swallowing nervously, and she’s greeted by a lady who looks to be in her mid-twenties with a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face (fake, no doubt, but really, who was she to judge?), head tilted in concern. “Are you lost?”

She considers saying no just to turn back around rather than face the fire, but she steels her nerves and sends her an abashed smile. “Yeah, I am. Would you mind helping me?” And Y/N nearly cringes at her attempts to be polite but continues anyways. “I’m an intern, Y/N Y/L/N?”

She isn’t really listening when the receptionist lady answers, and she knows she should’ve, but she listens to the lady drone on, the same smile that didn’t seem to reach her eyes glued to her face, and Y/N wonders what kind of toothpaste she uses to whiten. Somehow, Y/N finds herself being whisked away and up into the elevator, where she finally starts paying attention long enough to meet a kind woman who she remembers is named Nadine and would be her shadow for her time at Holland and Co.

She listens attentively (or at least she tries), as Nadine gives her a tour of the floor, and she can’t help but wish that she brought along a strawberry smoothie. She ends up so lost in thought that she nearly stumbles into Nadine after she stops abruptly, and Y/N peeks around her to see what’s happened. She’s startled when the noise reaches her ears, and she realizes that it’s a grown man backing away slowly from an office, pleading for someone to rethink their decision.

“Please, Mr. Holland, I’ll do better next time, please—” Y/N hears the slam before she sees it, yelping quietly at the shock of it, the noise still reverberating through the office. Her eyes blow wide, mouth gaping. She hopes she never comes in contact with this Mr. Holland.

Y/N finds that the tour ends quickly after that.

-

It’s not that Tom’s a cruel person.

He doesn’t jerk off to the thought of firing employees — he’s most certainly not a masochist — it’s just that he works with absolute morons. So really, what’s he supposed to do when some twat from accounting screws up some simple numbers that cost his company 10,000 pounds? (it’s not like his company can’t afford it, but the thought still makes a scowl form on his face) The only reasonable choice he can make is to fire the man, and it certainly isn’t his fault if the twit stumbles out of his office blubbering about how he’ll do better. And it definitely isn’t his fault if a cute, smoothie-loving intern witnesses the whole thing, because why does it matter if a bloody intern is afraid of him? (at least, that’s what he tries to convince himself)

(spoiler alert: it doesn’t work)

-

It’s day two, and Y/N thinks she’s made some friends.

She’s promised to bring each of them a smoothie (“They’re the light of my life,” she’d said, “can’t live without ‘em.”), which explains why she’s currently juggling four smoothies, one for herself and each of her new friends and, Sarah, Jacqueline, and Mike, while arriving at work at 6:50 in the morning. She’s so focused on carrying the drinks, eyeing each one with a careful precision that she fails to see the man donning a crisp suit (expensive. Gucci, maybe?), and a stern expression on his face, walking in front of her. She doesn’t realize that he’s been eyeing her the entire time, face softened into an unusual smile, rarely seen around the office. And she definitely doesn’t notice when he stops walking — at least, not until it was too late.

It all happens in slow motion to Y/N. She watches, helpless, as the smoothies in her hand tipped, and as Tom Holland, CEO of Holland and Co., turned around to be met with not one, nor two, nor three, but four strawberry smoothies. His mouth gapes, and hers does too, a quiet but sharp “oh fuck,” spilling from her lips. She stands, motionless, for less than a second before she’s sprung in motion, leaping for the nearest towels, endless apologies spewing from her lips.

This is it. Months of effort to even be considered for this position, and she’s fucked it up on the second day.

Y/N waits, eyes closed, preparing for the inevitable blow of being fired, the humiliation she’d face (god knows the entire floor was already staring at them wide-eyed), but to her surprise, it never comes. Instead, the towels are plucked from her hands, and her eyes snap open to be met with the prettiest face she thinks she’s ever come across, amusement flitting through their eyes.

“Don’t do that again, yeah, love?” And he’s gone, strolling away from her stunned form, so casually that Y/N wonders how he can ignore the smoothie dripping off his suit so easily. The rest of the floor stare after him as well, each of them with eyes blown wide and mouths hanging open.

-

Tom has no idea what just happened.

He’s got smoothie dripping from his suit that — mind you — was quite possibly one of his most expensive clothing investments, and he’s not even that angry about it. He isn’t really sure what had happened. He remembers looking over at the intern, Y/N, he remembers (and god, was she adorable), and then suddenly being drenched in a thick, gooey substance that suspiciously smelled like strawberries. Had it been anybody else, Tom’s sure they’d be out of his company faster than they could blink. But there was something about Y/N that captivated him, and he isn’t sure he’d be able to handle firing her over such a trivial mistake (of course, he’s fired employees over less, but he dismisses that thought). So instead, he’d strolled away as casually and as quickly as he possibly could force himself to act, trying to disguise the red blush that would’ve surely risen to his cheeks and turned his ears a bright, piercing red. His heart had pounded in his chest, so loud he wonders if Y/N had heard it, and as soon as he was out of sight, he’d darted into his office and shut the door.

His heart is still pounding in his chest, and he has no idea how some intern he’s never even said more than three sentences to can have such an impact on him. (Tom almost considers turning to Harrison for advice, but he would prefer not to be called a sap for the rest of his life) So, he strips himself of his smoothie-soaked suit jacket and prays to avoid any future interaction with Y/N.

-

Of course, Tom’s wish refused to come true, because the next morning, walking into the building, he bumps into her again.

Well, not literally. He’s strolling leisurely into the warm building, shooting a tight-lipped smile to the receptionist who always seemed to be showing a ridiculous amount of cleavage whenever he came around when he hears his name being called and the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning around, he crosses his fingers desperately, hoping that it was some other employee — preferably one that didn’t make his heart skip a beat at the mere thought of them.

But he’s still met with the sight of Y/N running through the doors of the building, regardless of his desperate wishes. It only takes a few seconds for her to catch up to his still figure, and when she does, she bends over, panting with her hands resting on her knees.

“Holy fu— sorry, language. M’so out of shape,” Y/N heaves, straightening up and wiping at her head, “you’re so fast, wow—” Tom finds himself unable to respond, head dizzy from her presence. He’s pretty sure if she knew he was taking such deep breaths because she smelled so oddly intoxicating, she’d call him a creep and run away and never speak to him ever again. He thinks she smells like vanilla, which is so common that he wonders how she can make it work so well, and—

“Mr. Holland?” Y/N’s hand waves in front of his face, and Tom snaps out of his daydream to muster up a charming smile for her. “Were you listening?”

Tom hums, nodding his head to show he was interested — a common courtesy. She shot him a suspicious glance but returned his smile nonetheless. “Well,” she started, clapping her hands together, “I brought you something — to say sorry for spilling my smoothies on you yesterday.” Tom doesn’t really know what to expect, but as she reaches into her purse, he’s definitely not expecting her to pull out a small pastry wrapped in a Greggs wrapper, neatly folded into a small rectangle.

“It’s a sausage roll,” Y/N explains, pushing it into his hands, “from Greggs. I just love their sausage rolls, and I just passed one as I was pulling into work, so I thought I’d buy you one as an apology.” At this point, he’s working overtime to not consciously drool over the sausage roll in his hands, because he’s sure that Y/N would run for the hills if she saw him so unprofessional.

So, he musters up a polite nod, a smile, and a: “Thank you, love.” And she takes that as her cue to scurry off, with a wave to the receptionist who’s not so inconspicuously scowling at her, and she’s out of Tom’s sight.

He stares after her until she’s completely out of his sight, and when she’s gone, he breathes a sigh of relief.

He’s got an issue on his hands.

---

When Y/N tells her new friends about the traumatic incident that had occurred the previous day, she finds that they’ve taken to staring at her in awe, because holy shit, you’ve spilt four smoothies on the most temperamental CEO in the business and yet you’re still here. (how reassuring. mind the sarcasm.)

“Are you joking?” Mike stares at Y/N, mouth open so wide that Y/N’s curious if his jaw is achy yet. “If that were me, I would’ve been fired quicker than I could’ve said sorry. And he called you ‘love’ too? Man, you’ve got him wrapped around your little pinky finger.” (Y/N’s sure they’re just saying this to make her feel better — after all, it’s not every day you spill four smoothies on a multi-millionaire CEO)

“I bet Mr. Holland’s got the hots for you,” Sarah whispers, turning her head to make sure nobody important is in earshot (because anything can set Mr. Holland off, really), “you could probably bust up all of his cars and he’d smile at you, babe.”

“Yeah,” Jacqueline butts in, and Y/N sends her a frown because this entire time they’d been talking, Jacqueline had been quietly filing papers (or at least that’s what Y/N thought), only to realize she’d actually been listening in the entire time, “Mr. Holland likes you— like, like likes you.”

Y/N snorts, sending Jacqueline an unamused stare. “What is this, middle school? M’sure he’s just being nice, s’all.”

Sarah scoffs, raising her eyebrows disbelievingly. “Yeah, right, and I’m a millionaire,” she jokes sarcastically, glancing at Y/N with a lopsided grin on her face. “Trust me. Mr. Holland is anything but nice.”

But Y/N can’t seem to believe that. Surely, he wasn’t that horrible, right?

-

Days pass and Tom hasn’t seen Y/N in a while, and although he has to admit that popping out a stiffy in the middle of a business proposal at the thought of her isn’t the most enticing, he’s starting to miss her. (of course, the only interaction he’s truly had with her is the disaster that cost him a fortune at the dry cleaners, but he still admires her from afar in the least stalker-y way possible)

Most employees would find it beneficial to have the least contact with Tom as possible. It’s been a bit of a known fact that when called into his office, chances are, they’d be leaving with their belongings in a box. So when Nadine, her supervisor, tells Y/N that he’d like to see her in his office, (and in a very loud tone, at that, so now she’s got the whole office staring after her as she shamefully trudges to Tom’s office) she’s quite terrified. She’d only heard horror stories about what went on in his office, and she’s really come to love the company and crosses her fingers and toes that he isn’t going to terminate her internship. (maybe, Y/N thinks, Tom changed his mind about the smoothie incident. Or even worse, he hated the sausage rolls)

So needless to say, Y/N is just about ready to piss herself pushing open the door to his office, because she remembers what happened on her first day and she has no desire to receive the same treatment. As soon as she sees Tom, sitting in his office chair sorting a few papers, she’s already immediately blurting out a plea.

“If you’re going to fire me, please just make it quick.” Tom’s face twists into one of confusion, and he chuckles. (my god, was she dense.)

“Fire you?” He laughed, placing the papers to the side. “The opposite, actually. When your internship finishes, I was going to offer you a permanent job here at Holland and Co. Unless you don’t want it?” The grin that he offers her is so cheeky that Y/N considers saying no just to wipe the smile off his face for scaring the shit out of her like that, but she isn’t nearly rich or petty enough to refuse such a huge proposal. So instead, she nods eagerly, holding in a squeal that threatens to burst out of her throat, and thanks him profusely. What Tom doesn’t expect is for her to pull him into a tight hug, and he’s floored. (he realizes that he really enjoys her hugs.) When she’s pulled back, her face has contorted into one of embarrassment, and she mumbles an awkward apology before she escorts herself out of the door.

(Tom’s grateful, because maybe then, she wouldn’t have seen the blush that tinted his tan cheeks a rosy red.)

-

Tom has a problem.

He’s found that he’s got a crush on one of his company’s interns, Y/N. A real, massive, red-faced, crush on her. In fact, he’s found himself looking forward to seeing her when he can — even though he only sees her a handful of times in a month — and yet, he feels an oddly joyful twisting in his gut when she directs that brilliant smile of hers towards him. He’s realized that she’s weaseled her way into his heart and life, and truth be told, he really has no problem with it. Even embraces it, at that.

So yes, he’s got a problem.

-

Tom is absolutely fucking exhausted.

He’s just about ready to go home, make himself a cuppa, and crash in his obnoxiously soft bed. He’s sure that the company is empty by now because it’s well over the time they get dismissed, so he stumbles out of his office before closing and locking the door. Tom scans the room a final time, ready to leave, but his eyes catch a dim light left on in the back, and he rolls his eyes to go check, annoyed at whichever wanker decided to leave the lights on before they left. So he’s certainly caught off guard when he comes across Y/N tapping away at her computer, sat in her little cubicle.

“Y/N?” Tom asks cautiously, brows furrowed. He has no idea what she’s still doing here, especially since she was supposed to leave at five and the sky outside has already darkened drastically.

“Holy fucking shit—” she screeches, her arms jerking up to cover her mouth, “oh my God, Mr. Holland, you scared the shit outta me.” He finds it quite adorable that she’s sitting there, eyes wide, a hand placed on her heaving chest.

“What’re you still doing here?” Tom questions, because he hasn’t known a single person who would stay past the time they were supposed to return home, and he wasn’t expecting an intern of all people to do so at all.

“I was gonna leave soon, promise, s’just that I almost had this done, so I just wanted to stay to finish it.” Tom nods thoughtfully, switching his briefcase from his right hand to his left, and beckons her to follow him to the parking garage.

“Well come on then, I’ll walk you to your car.” And although Y/N appreciates the thought, (a foolish one, to be honest, because what university student can afford a bloody car?) she shakes her head.

“Well, I was just planning on walking home, because it’s not too far, y’know, and—“

“No way you’re walking home at — 9 at night!” Tom scoffs, checking his watch. He’s gotten way too attached to her to let her put herself in any sort of danger, so he proposes the only idea he could think of in the spur of the moment— “I’ll drive you home, darling.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Mr. Holland,” she protests, shaking her head wildly, “besides, I’m sure it’s not even on the route, so—“ He interrupts her yet again, (a repeating occurrence, she realizes) shaking his head.

“Nonsense. Come on, now. The sooner we get you back, the better.” And with that, Y/N watches him turn around, followed by her trailing behind him like some sort of lost puppy.

It’s not long until they arrive in the parking garage, but Y/N sees a stunning Rolls Royce and gushes over it internally. She’s ready to pass it by, wave goodbye at it, (call her dramatic, but it isn’t every day you can admire a sleek red Rolls Royce in person) but instead, they stop in front of it.

Y/N, who experiences an odd sense of deja vu, crashes into his sturdy back in response. Tom raises an eyebrow, amused, and shoots his hand out to steady her. “Thank god you didn’t have any smoothies this time, hm?” Y/N watches as he moves to the driver’s seat, opening the door, but pauses when he catches sight of her frozen figure.

“What’s the matter, love?” He grins, his hand resting lazily on the open door. Y/N stays where she stood, too terrified to even approach the vehicle (because let’s be real, if she fucked anything up, she’d have to sell every single one of her internal organs to pay it back).

“Oh—Oh fuck— sorry, but shit, Mr. Holland, there’s no way you can expect me to get in that car,” she swallows, backing up slightly, “that’s gotta cost more than I would if I sold myself on the black market.”

Tom simply chuckles, and Y/N’s heart sort of bursts at the sound since it’d been her first time hearing the joyous sound. He ducks his head to crawl into the luxurious car with a simple, “Alright, doll, just get in,” and she practically scrambles to the passenger seat. (as reluctant as she was, she wasn’t thrilled to walk the long trek home in the slightest.)

She’s barely halfway inside the car before she’s already cramping herself to occupy a smaller area of space despite the spacious interior. Tom notices at the same time, tilting his head as he watches her cautiously press the seatbelt into its buckle as if she’d shatter the buckle with too much pressure.

“You look like I‘ve just forced you into an airtight box, love.” He mutters casually, placing a hand on the back of her seat to reverse out of the garage, “Loosen up for me, alright? Where am I dropping you off?”

She gives him an address, and he programs it into his phone. “Well, look at that, darling, you’re right on my route home.” (he’s lying, but she really doesn’t need to know that they essentially live on opposing sides of London, because the last thing he wants her to do is to leave and walk home) He can see her exhale a sigh of relief and grin, and that alone is enough for Tom not to feel an ounce of regret about his choice.

-

In hindsight, this was a great idea.

Now, Tom’s not too sure, because she’s got the radio on now, and she’s singing like nobody’s there and it makes Tom’s heart grow three sizes too big. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s starting to fall for her, further than any point of return, and if anyone saw them in that car in that very moment, they’d see him staring at her with the softest gaze anyone had ever seen on the seemingly apathetic CEO in a long time.

It’s when they approach Y/N’s apartment building that something happens. Y/N whispers out a thank you, and she’s almost out of his car, that Tom catches a glimpse of her phone wedged in the cup holders, and he reaches out for her wrist, calling out for her to wait. He doesn’t expect her to unceremoniously tumble back into his car and lap with a squawk from the sudden tug on her wrist.

“S—Sorry!” Tom yelps, a flush crawling up his neck, and it’s then that he realizes how close their faces were. If he were to lean down in the slightest, their lips would meet and— “Your phone! You forgot your phone!”

Y/N never really had the ability to think rationally in unforeseen situations. Which is maybe why she can’t help but lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips, stunning into silence, but it’s not even her fault, truthfully! (it is, but she tries to give herself the benefit of the doubt) She’d never seen him so uncomposed and flustered, and it was honestly the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.

Her eyes blink at her sudden bold attitude, and then she’s scrambling out the car, maneuvering herself in a way that she wouldn’t headbutt Tom, and she’s gone, running into the building with a loud stuttered “sorry!” Tom loses sight of her, still staring after her, dazed, one singular thought running through his head.

Holy fuck.

-

Tom calls Harrison as soon as he gets home. Harrison arrives in ten minutes flat. (“God, you’re such a drama queen. I’m on my way.”)

“C’mon, mate, don’t just stand there and call me a sap, what do I do?” Tom groans, throwing a toy to Tessa who lay on the couch beside his body, staring at him with a peculiarly knowing look, and Tom groans again because even his damn dog knew about his dilemma.

“She probably likes you, you div,” Harrison grins, raising his voice to imitate Y/N. “Mr. Holland is just… so hot! I dream about kissing him every night!”

“Oi, come off it, you dickhead, she doesn’t even sound like that,” Tom mutters, shoving Harrison to the side. “Probably didn’t even mean shit to her, just like, a friendly kiss or summat.” Tom knows it was more than that. If the amorous gazes and gestures were anything to go by, it would be easy to mistake them as head over heels for one other (unfortunately for them, it’s not exactly a mistake to assume they’re goners for each other, because it’s absolutely true).

Harrison shoots him a look. “Yeah, mate, I kiss all my friends too. S’just a normal friend thing, innit? Now c’mon, gimme a nice smooch.” Harrison teases, puckering his lips to make obnoxious smacking noises towards Tom. He’s met with a pillow to the face, and he laughs, throwing his head back. “You’re so whipped, mate.”

Maybe just a little, Tom thinks.

-

The next morning, Tom’s prepared to man up and do something about his hopeless crush on Y/N. He’s got his entire speech planned out, in fact.

He’ll start it off by handing her a muffin. Chocolate chip, to be specific. And then, he’ll woo her with a romantic speech, as follows: “Y/N, I think I’ve liked you ever since you spilled those drinks on me. I’ve been wanting to ask you to dinner for a while now, and the kiss we shared last night was amazing. So, will you go out with me?” (it sounds better in his head, it really does)

But none of that happens, because when he catches her eye, he beelines for her and they both let out a rush of words at once.

“I brought you something—“

“Last night was a mistake—“

Tom stops, mouth drying at her words. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Holland, that was so unprofessional of me to kiss you. We can just forget it ever happened if that’s alright.” And Tom’s mouth snaps shut, his hopeful words dying on his tongue before they could escape. Y/N stood in front of him, wringing her hands, a smoothie by her side. “I brought you a smoothie to apologize — you seemed like a Berry Blast kind of guy. Hope that’s alright.” She hands him the smoothie, unaware of Tom’s internal battle because damn it all to hell, he so desperately wanted that kiss to mean something to her and no, he never wanted to forget about it. He sends her a pained, restrained smile, accepting the smoothie she holds as a peace offering and tries to retreat to his office.

“Wait, Mr. Holland!” Y/N cries out, running to tap his shoulder, “What were you saying? I cut you off earlier.”

Tom carefully hides the chocolate chip muffin behind his back, shaking his head. “It was nothing, you took the words right out of my mouth.” Tom laughs, and yet the sound is so forced it almost makes him wince. Y/N’s smile drops for the slightest moment before it’s up on her face again.

“Oh, alright then!” She smiles, waving her hand towards him, “Have a nice day then!”

Tom decides he most certainly will not.

-

“You guys are such bloody wankers!” Y/N cries as soon as she reaches her cubicle, “Y’said he liked me! And just now, he told me that he wanted to forget about the kiss too. God, I’m so humiliated! I might as well just go on and die from humiliation now—“

“Okay, babe, chill,” Sarah tries, but to no avail.

“—I can see the headlines already! ‘Intern kisses boss, gets rejected and dies.’ Fuckin’ hell—“ Y/N’s mini-rant is cut off by Sarah’s hand coming to clamp over her mouth, muffling any sound, but quickly yanks her hand back at the feeling of Y/N’s tongue licking a stripe across her palm.

“I’m sure everything’ll be fine, no harm done. He’ll forget about it in two days flat, promise.” Sarah reassures her, patting her back awkwardly.

-

“For fuck’s sake, mate,” Tom grumbles, head in his hands, “you said she was into me!” Tom’s in shambles because as far as he knows, he’s just humiliated himself in front of the girl he’s taken a liking to.

Harrison laughs at his distressed state teasingly, tossing a pen in the air and catching it to cease his boredom. “M’sure she was just doing what she thought you’d want — hope you realize you aren’t the most approachable guy.”

“Fuck off, you div,” Tom mutters, tossing a highlighter at Harrison’s head, “I resent that, mate.”

-

The next time Tom interacts with her, it’s not for at least a month. (he needed the time to shake off his humiliation.)

It’s so similar to the previous time that it makes Tom’s heart clench at the memory of her soft lips on his. This time though, it’s because the weather outside was pouring buckets that flooded the streets and soaked everything in contact. So it’s not even a question of ‘maybe’ before Tom’s already insisting on driving her home.

“Love, there’s no way in hell that I’m letting you walk through that rain,” Tom tells her, already pulling on his jacket. “Now c’mon, what kind of boss would I be if I didn’t drive you home?”

Y/N reluctantly agrees, shutting down her computer and picking her purse up from under her desk. “Alright. But you’ve got to promise me that I’m not a bother, Mr. Holland.”

“Never,” Tom promises, placing a hand on her arm to gently guide her to the exit. “D’you want me to pull the car up? I know it’s raining pretty hard out there, don’t want you to get wet or summat.” He picks up on his unintentional innuendo too late, his cheeks and ears flushing a thorough red blush. “Not—not like that, I mean like—”

“No, no, it’s alright, I can survive a little rain.” Tom’s never been more grateful for Y/N ignoring his slip-up, because he’s sure that if she’d acknowledged it, Tom would’ve stayed red for the next century or so. (get it together, he tells himself, she’s just a girl, and you’re not a virgin, you moron,)

The drive to her place is quiet apart from her loud singing, but the real dilemma comes when they pull up to the door.

“For fuck’s sake, I—ugh.” Y/N groans, hand leaving her purse dejectedly. “I’ve locked myself out. Don’t even have a spare key.” Tom’s headgears are already turning before she can finish her sentence. “S’alright, I’ll just call my landlord and sleep with a neighbour or something.”

“Why don’t you come sleep at my house?” Tom offers, and Y/N is quick to refuse, insisting that she’s already a bother, and she wouldn’t force him to deal with her presence any longer. “I already promised you weren’t a bother, darling.”

When Y/N buckles up her seatbelt again, she’s expecting Tom to just continue down the road, but instead he makes a swift u-turn and drives back down the same road the came from.

“Mr. Holland! You told me my apartment was on route to yours — why’ve we turned ‘round?” She gapes, head spinning to look back through the window towards her flat. Tom gives her a cheeky shrug, flicking his windshield wipers to a higher speed as the rain came down harder and obstructed his view of the road.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” he mutters, sending her a smile. “Plus, that’s Tom to you outside of work — Mr. Holland is my dad, love.”

-

Tom doesn’t know how he’s gotten into this position.

He’s got Y/N in his arms, sound asleep, wearing his shirt, sleeping on his bare chest, and his mind is still hazy from the kisses they shared that night. He remembers how they walked into his penthouse, and Y/N had gushed over everything inside, (“holy shit, Mr—Tom, you have a fucking fluffy bath mat? I’ve always wanted one!”) and awed over his dog Tessa, (“ohmigod, you have a bloody dog too? You’re like… the perfect man!” and Tom has to admit that he took this in a different way, because he would love to be Y/N’s perfect man.) Tom had set up his Netflix for her to browse as he prepared them both a warm cuppa, and he’d returned to see Y/N and Tessa cuddled up in a blanket he’d brought for her. The sight tightened his chest, and really, everything from there is a blur.

The main part that he remembers is that they kissed. (and oh, did they kiss)

“You’ve driven me bloody insane, darling,” Tom admitted, pulling her in for a kiss that frazzled her nerves and curled her toes. Y/N’d pulled away, gasping for air, and Tom trailed light kisses down the length of her neck, his arms wrapping themselves around her waist.

“What’re we doing, Tom?” She’d asked between kisses that he’d pressed to her face.

“What I’ve been wanting for a long while, love.”

And here he was, her head heavy on his chest, nose tucked into the crook of his neck, and Tom’s never felt more at peace. Y/N blinks awake, yawning softly and blinking blearily before she readjusts herself, pulling her body to lay on top of his.

“You’re my… my pillow now, m’kay?” She murmurs, reaching up to press a kiss to his jaw.

Tom smiles, tightening his hold on the sleepy girl, humming. He’s pushing her hair back to kiss her forehead, and Tom decides that he’s never been happier.

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A Girl Walks Into A Bar 14

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU.  For their first outing on the town together, the sexual tension is ripe and heavy in the air. Will their night end how they plan it?

Warnings/Tags: Mild Language. Date Night. Flirting. Sexual Content. Violence. 

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

Bella found herself floating like a much younger girl who’d never been hurt, slumping against the door after a slow and tortuous goodnight kiss.

She could smell him on her hands where she’s buried them in his hair and under his jacket, feel the plumpness of her lips, swollen from kissing him so long. She hummed with calm energy, biting her lip and smiling with no one around to make fun of her girlish behavior. No one except Robbie anyway.

Declan had a dopey smile on his face that he didn’t try to hide from anyone. Smile staying as he kept sighing, feeling a fullness in his chest as he drove home. The line had been crossed, his patience had been rewarded with an amazingly soft and sweet Bella and kisses of the same description. His moody little badass, his low key sweetheart and an absolute stunner in his eyes. And she wanted more. Of him, specifically which made his shoulders go slack and his insides melt at the words. A big puppy getting its belly rubbed is what he felt like, all warm and wiggly and excited. A kiss like the one they shared could only mean that other things between them would also be good. Man, they had chemistry, he thought to himself as he grew only slightly distracted on the empty road at the late hour. He knew he’d be thinking about her until he saw her again. He already wanted to. But he had to show restraint. Didn’t want to come on too strong for a woman like her, scare her off. He had her purring like a kitten in his arms, a smile on her lips after he kissed them, whispering she was looking forward to the date and more of this. It’s exactly where he’d wanted her, and he was going to make her his.

———

Mid-way through the workweek the whole office is buzzing about Bella. Did you see her in PINK lipstick? Hear her listening to Al Green? See the way she smiles at her phone when it lit up now? Her normally curmudgeon behavior had softened its edges just slightly. At least when she thought no one was paying attention.

“You gonna fess up yet?”

“Nothing to confess.” She says brow still low as her fingers shifted through a binder.

“Then tell me why you’re smiling at your phone at least? If it really is nothing I can squash the rumors.”

“Rumors?” She scoffs

“You know, secret boyfriend, secret girlfriend? Hitched in secret, pregnant with a hidden long term partners child?” She offers with a smirk.

“None of those things.” She replies looking up with a not hateful but not accommodating face.

“You gonna blame it on dog memes again?” CeeCee quirks a brow.

“To be fair...it usually is dog memes.” She lets out a low chuckle.

“Fine. I’ll find out one of these days.” She calls out as she walks down the hall.

——

“I closed up before you even got back, boyo.” Mike already grinning ear to ear as he puts on his apron, Declan sat at the bar and going over his books.

“It’s because I got back after that.” He says in a sash tone Mike is used to.

“And…? How’d it go?” He asks leaning on his elbows on the opposite side of the counter.

“Great.” He says plainly.

“Oh c’mon!” He says and shoves Declan’s shoulder.

He takes off his reading glasses and purses his lips at Mike.

“Ya not talkin? That bad? Or that good?” He asks with a jutting out chin and smile that read as patronizing.

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“You’ve not had no kissin TO tell in so long and Christ knows I innit gettin’ any so give me somethin’. Let me know my boy's heart’s intact. That we’ll be seein’ little Bella again.”

“If I told you and she found out she’d be pissed.”

“Likes her privacy eh?”

“Anyone with a brain would assume so.” He shoots Mike an obvious glare.

“So there’s somethin to tell?”

“There’s not...nothing to tell.”

“Fuckin spit it out, if ya can’t tell ya best mate who the fuck can ya tell?”

He sighs and gives in, having her on his mind constantly he wanted to tell someone bless him, it was in his nature to share good news to those close to him. “Paintball was a hit, she was great, liked it. Ate at Tony’s, perfect. Talked for hours. She was...well ya know. I think she was amazing.” He muttered the last part.

“Oh look at him! A wee blush to his cheeks! He’s got it bad he does!” He pinches Declan’s cheek and he smacks him away. “So ya didn’t take her to bed yet eh? Never known two adults who like each other so much to take it so damned slow.”

“We didn’t sleep together but…” he smirks, “I did kiss her.”

“There he is! Lady killer! Get her boy!” He growls and cheers enthusiastically as Declan grins at him slapping his arm.

“We’re going out on a real date this weekend.”

“Oh, a real one eh? That mean you need to clean your apartment?” Mike teases.

“Already did so, jokes on you.” He answers with a groan as he stretches his back. “But I might not be back that night.” He adds.

“I sure as fuck hope not!” Mike says obviously.

————

One part of Bella didn’t want to seem too eager, but another part of her brain wanted to just say “fuck it!” and get all sexed up. She knew he would be looking fine as hell, how could he not? They were going to a place that required reservations, so she takes her time planning her date night look.

It’s been years since she’d cared about such a thing. Dates were casual and in most cases led to nothing after. There were jeans sure but there was also the occasion high heel thrown in the mix, the clipping in of a few wefts of hair, but as she stood in the bathroom and gathered all her things to prep and shave and scrub she remembered that this particular bit had never been fun. Bella wasn’t one to make a big fuss over body hair. Particularly at her age where her main opinion was if he doesn’t want hair on it, he’s too immature to eat it. But with a want to impress she found herself considering it. She shaved her legs and pits and trimmed the rest in the end. Maybe Declan would be into it? And shrugs at the thought and starts to wonder what sort of situation she’ll find on him.

With successfully not getting distracted and having to masturbate before the date thinking about him, unlike the past week where her toys had seen ample use, she now stands in front of her closet in the dress she’d picked out. Should she go for the fuck me pumps she’d splurged on years ago, thinking she would surely find an occasion to wear them, and she hadn’t much at all? Certainly not enough to warrant what she paid for them. But the bottoms matched her tight red dress and she decided she couldn’t pass it up.

Teased and polished she sways and looks at herself in the mirror, knowing another check of her bed would warrant nothing new. She’d cleaned and situated everything just so.

“Can you believe mama might be getting some tonight?” She asks Robbie.

He seems disinterested as he lays on his toy mouse on the corner of the bed.

“I sure as hell can’t.” She mutters, primping just for the hell of it, taking selfies and letting the Slow Jams Hard playlist fill the room.

Declan admittedly hadn’t put so much prep into his look. He was a very low maintenance kind of guy. Plus everything she’d ever complimented him on was covered, wavy hair and beard intact he only trims a little on his face for good measure. He trimmed a little below the belt as well, just as torn on the decision as Bella had been. Neither would have cared ironically. Bella was really into the natural look anyway.

He takes a cab, something that throws her off but shows her he plans on having some fun. And she would always be down for fun with Declan.

She peeps out of her window, strappy black heels ticking across the hardwood floor. “Fuck.” She whispers. God, he looked good. In a black button-up shirt that was tight in all the right places, a few undone at the top to reveal a charm necklace he looks positively edible to her. He cleaned up well, and she wasn’t normally a fan of dress clothes on men, but he’d changed her opinion on so many things already she shouldn’t be surprised. He still wore his big black boots, she could hear them heavy on the front porch, a jingle of a chain, a deep voice clearing his throat as a tingle ran down her spine.

She opens the door before he even knocks, being more than ready to see him face to face after being without him for days. She’d thought about him more the past week than she had in all the months of knowing him.

With his hand raised to knock, he forgets to lower it for a moment as she reveals herself. He felt underdressed despite the slacks and button-up shirt because next to her he thought he’d look downright sloppy.

“Hey...Bella..” a drawn-out and delayed greeting with eyes not meeting hers as he looked at her in her tight red dress. Just a hint of thigh, thin straps over her shoulders holding a chest that demanded he looked with its glimmer. Her skin gleamed as she moved but nothing compared to the smile he found on her face when he managed to drag his eyes up to hers.

“Hey yourself.” She gives him a cocky nod, getting the reaction she wanted out of him. And she better have, what with how much this lingerie had cost. She’d never spent so much on such little fabric before. But she was a fan of an indulgent purchase from time to time.

He turns and holds a finger up to the cab driver and moves inside to shut the door. “Can I tell you just how fuckin’ good you look without you slapping me?” He asks with glazed eyes and a smirk.

“I insist.” She purrs in response, her heels making her so much taller than before, standing up closer to his 6’ 4” daunting frame. He was a beast of a man but he could play civilized as she was seeing in his choices tonight.

“I’m glad we have reservations because otherwise, I might just tell that driver to fuck off.” He says with a slight laugh to his voice, hands moving to her bare upper arms and leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m not so glad about it.” She speaks softly back and gives him a playful tug at his bottom lip with her teeth. “Because you look so good in this, Declan.” Her voice breathy and, making his heart race. Her hands rub up against his chest, fingertips over the bare skin to his neck where she gives his beard a tug to bring him into another kiss. Round after round, the kisses could’ve gone on forever, but he wasn’t about to miss out on his hard attempts to woo her properly. Or at least what he thought she deserved.

He isn’t sure what he expected from her, but this sultry sort of behavior hadn’t been it. He’d been behaving himself, not sure where to put his hands at first, but when her fingers with their long nails snaked up the back of his neck, scratching into his scalp he moaned, a low chuckle against his lips. “That’s what I want to hear.” she smiles, looking up at him and his closed eyes. “You don’t have to be so well mannered Declan. We’re past that now, don’t you think?” she asks sweetly with naughty intentions with a tilt of her head, tongue giving his lips a little teasing lick. Man, was she feistier than he anticipated. But it only made him more eager to know more of this side of her.

“I didn’t wanna...insult you, ya’know? Didn’t want you to think that’s what this was all about.” he says with still closed eyes as she continues to scratch.

“You’re too sweet Declan.” she coos. “You don’t have to to worry about me dropping you for touching me. You’ve proven you’re not just around for a fuck. Besides... I really want you to touch me.”

With expressed permission, he forces his eyes open and looks down at her, a seductive portrait of a woman, and looking at him with long lashes and a wicked smile that told him everything else he needed to hear. “Good.” a deeper, more masculine voice and version of him emerges, no longer trying to withhold himself from her. Perhaps she was only hesitant before, and now that she felt she trusted him, all the walls that had been up that kept them from expressing just how much they wanted each other were now rubble, a clear attraction finally able to be confessed. “Because I’ve thought about touching you all week.” he adds before taking her for another deep kiss, big broad hands finally wrapping around her waist. She was so soft. Moving further down he gets handfuls of her ass, lifting her slightly which makes her let out another soft laugh into his mouth that he eagerly eats from her. The hard bars of her nipple piercings pressed through a thin bra up against his chest, just barely visible under the skin smoothing fabric.

“So have I.” she says, pulling away, hands to his cheeks now as she gives him one adoring look that makes him want her on more than a sexual level. How long had it been since a woman look at him like that? And a sober woman, with more than just a quick fuck on her mind. There would be nothing quick about his plans for her if he could help it. He wanted time with her, more and more the more he got. Any question he’d had about how the night would end was certainly answered for him now.

-------

Their hands gave away their want first. Walking her everywhere with one secure to her back as he moved, making sure no one nudged her or got in her way as they walked down the busy street and into the just as full restaurant. With a leather jacket over her dress, she still looked like she belonged in the most upscale place he’d possibly ever been. They were more than a few pay raises over the usual crowd from The Trading Post and she looked much more at ease than he did.

Bella had been in these sorts of places before. She certainly didn’t prefer them to places like Declan’s, but being best friends with a woman who married a businessman who was given a high position in one of the huge, mirrored window buildings that dotted the city skyline because of who his father was meant mixers, business parties and her and her new fancy friends wanting to sip skinny girl cosmo’s and talk about how hard it was to get their children into the best pre-school. Bella had nothing to really lend to these conversations. She’d gone to public school, so had her parents, and if she ever had a kid, it would go to public school as well. She wasn’t bred well, the daughter of an Irish hippie and a blue-collar Italian and had no illusions of being more. But despite the bad vibes from the picture-perfect women she had to stand with and nod politely for Charlotte’s sake, the buildings and food themselves were never that bad. So with the current company, someone else willing to slum it like she was, she wasn’t worried in the slightest about anyone else and what they thought in that bougie restaurant.

Declan for all his goofiness, was thorough when he wanted to be. Reserving a small U shaped booth near the back for some privacy and coziness, too close to the kitchen for most of the clientele she imagines. There was none of his usual almost clumsily loose body movements tonight, no big eye wrinkling grins, just a controlled and intense version of the sometimes puppy-like man she’d grown so fond of. She was unknowingly getting a glimpse at Black Wolf, the behavior that gave him the nickname. She watched him situate after settling her in, low brow over dark and questioning eyes, surveying the space.

“You didn’t have to bring me to a place like this you know.” she says with a soft and sweet tone, speaking low as he scooted right next to her, his arm around her and stretched across the back of the booth, taking up space and looking predatory.

“I know I didn’t have to.” his smile read more in his eyes than anything else now. His voice low and smooth and making the corners of her mouth slowly rise to give subtle approval to his words. “But I wanted to.” he leans in and nods.

“It’s really nice. Thank you.” she says with a polite bow of her head before crossing her legs towards him and patting his thigh. “Have you been here before?” she asks, looking over the market price only menu after sliding her jacket off, and of course, him lending assistance. With her highlighted shoulders now on display, his hand moves down to rest on her upper arms that were so close to showing definition she’d been momentarily angry they didn’t lean out before the date. But as his thumb swept across her buttery skin, slow drags of callouses from work, it was far from her mind.

“Nope.” the corner of his mouth twitching upward as he leans in close to read with her as she brings the menu between them.

“Me either.” she admits. “Places like this but not here.”

“Doesn’t seem like your kind of haunt.”

“It’s not. I’ve gone with Charlotte and her fancy ass friends.” she dismisses with a shake of her head. “I bet the meat here is amazing.” she says quietly, looking for him to add on his interests but he’s distracted by the fluff of her curls against his nose as he smells that intoxicating blend of deep patchouli and warm, sweet vanilla that he’d never smelled anywhere but on her.

He grunts and she looks up to him with curious eyes. “You smell amazing, babe.” he admits with a deep coo that forces a wider smile across her face, her bold red lips looking even more inviting to him set in the welcoming pose.

She leans in closer to his chest, giving a strong inhale that makes him chuckle, seeing the expanse of his chest jiggle slightly with the massive pecs she wanted to bury her face in. “You smell absolutely edible.” she adds with an amused hunch of her shoulders.

“I’m not sure if that’s the case.” he grins, a softer face pulling through.

She narrows her eyes playfull, chomping her teeth at him in an audible snap that makes his more goofy grin appear. “Don’t tell me what to do.” she retorts with a flip of her hair and turning back to the menu.

He laughs a chest rumbling and moving sound that made her ego inflate. He leans in and kisses her temple, a reward for reminding him why he’d pursued her in the first place. “Not one for being bossed around, huh?” he asks almost innocently. The back of his mind couldn’t help but wonder if her preferences carried over into the bedroom.

“I mean..” she shrugs and smirks, snuggling up closer to him. “For the right man who knows what I’d be into.” she doesn’t meet his eyes but the smirk on her painted lips is enough to make him let out a low growling laugh and give her a good squeeze, another kiss to the head.

“I think I might want to try giving you some orders sometime.” he says into her ear with a clearly intentioned voice that does its job.

Her skin blooms with goosebumps and she hums happily, moving her face to his. “Oh you’re welcome to try anything, Declan.” she purrs and kisses him softly with a wrinkle of her nose.

“Then I will,” he says grazing his nose to hers. “Later.” he says with more authority in his voice as they share another tender kiss.

They order, and they don’t hold back, as per his instructions. Their bodies couldn’t have been closer, a large hand rested on her bare knee, slowly running down her legs and back up again with fingertips teasing the hem of her dress as he spoke. She kept touching his tender jaw, soft and lingering chaste kisses when she couldn’t stand it any longer. Her hands for the most part behaving, but sinking into his collar to his neck, playing with the chest hair with the revealing unbuttoned top of his shirt. She played with his rings and hands while he told stories, but still listening. He would brush her hair back, lean in so close she could feel his breath on her neck and ears before he spoke. There was spoken and unspoken tension that they both knew was building to a peak.

They both get the best steak, a bottle of wine and a dessert to share. Picking the messiest on purpose, Bella demands only one spoon, and let’s playtime continue. She feeds him tiny macarons with her precise fingers. Both taking turns, deciding on which sweet to try next. The underlying lust between them fueled everything they did with all the flirting and wine between them. Her full lips puckered against his large fingertips while he paused and let her playfully bite them as he hand-fed her. He kissed and licked away rouge splashes of cream and chocolate, taking it from her lips with a slow passing of his thumb to suck it into his own mouth. She was utterly mesmerized. On the last bites, taking her finger and wiping the fruit purée from the plate she sucks on her fingers, looking into his eyes, being bold and humming with sexual energy. He couldn’t help but feel and be charged by it.

“Lemme try some baby.” He speaks so low and deep she feels her body thrum like a guitar string deep between her legs when he spoke like that to her.

She repeats the action and he takes her finger into his mouth, and she’s worried her legs would no longer work when he tried to stand. That and her panties were definitely ruined by the forward action. Her lashes flutter and her cheeks flush, licking her lips as he grins seeing her face be so transparent. She takes a deep breath and a tiny little noise escapes her.

“What is it babe? You like that or something?” He teases, nose on her hair and words traveling directly from his lips to her ears. Every time he’d call her some sweet pet name her insides quivered. A gentle affection with intentions that were anything but.

She gathers herself before speaking, moving her face back to his, forcing eye contact to prove he hadn’t won yet. “It makes me wish the ride back home was a whole hell of a lot shorter.” Her lips and taut and speak with articulation, tongue flicking for dramatic effect and it all worked seamlessly. “I wanna take you home, Declan.” She coos, fluttering her lashes and rubbing her fingers down his neck. “Let me show you what I like.” She adds before pressing another kiss to his lips.

“There is nothing else I’m more interested in doing, sweetheart.”

——————-

They were like two hormonal teens in the back seat of that cab in the dark. Cozied up close and every touch feeling electric and sending signals to every amorous part of their brain and thus, body. Flirtatious giggles and their quietening with kisses turns hot quickly. Her hand on his neck and jaw, his rubbing up the outside of her thigh up to the swell of her hip, dragging the hem of her dress higher. If they weren’t kissing their faces stayed close with sweet whispers and affectionate nuzzles the whole ride home. The well-lit city fades to more spaced street lamps of residential areas and before they knew it they were back at Bella’s and both covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Thanks. And some extra for having to deal with us.” He chuckles and gives a nod to the driver. “Kept it strictly PG-13 don’t worry.” He grins and joins her in readjusting their clothes as they stand on the curb for a moment.

“C’mon handsome.” She says with a smile that was more happy than sexual, taking his hand and walking up to her door.

He puts his hands on her hips as she finds her keys in her purse and kisses the rounds of her shoulders. She was finding it very hard to concentrate. With hands almost Misbehaving and roaming up to just under her bra, they felt like they could wrap around her entire torso they were so big. Although that was far from factual, the fact that he was making her feel like something dainty that could be taken and overpowered had her nipples standing at full, sensitive attention from thought alone.

“Movin’ a little slow there baby.” He grins against the bend of her neck, lips hovering by her ear.

“You’re doing a very good job of distracting me.” She huffs out a laugh and finally gets the keys in and the door open. He hangs her coat first, then his as she enters the security codes. Lazily tossing her purse onto the small bench by the standing lamp in the hallway that went straight from the front door to the kitchen, it gives the perfect amount of ambient light to the living room. It illuminates the warm-toned, retro and southwestern style room just enough to be alluring but not be clumsy.

After the chain leaves her hands from her bag, his are back on her. Snaking around to her lower back and into her hair at the nape of her neck which gave her a thrill all the way down into her stomach. He meets her eyes, her face lit by the lamp but his shadowed, he looks over her expectant expression of slightly parted lips and doting eyes.

“Would you think less of me if I told you I was tired of taking it slow? ” She unexpectedly whispers as his thumb traces her bottom lip, getting an intimate look at her up close.

His eyes threaten to roll back in his head at her words, he could feel his pulse in his throat and lets out a low masculine grunt at her confession. He takes her face into both of his, entirely encapsulating it in his grasp. “I don’t intend on rushing with you baby. But I promise I won’t make you wait too long.” He promises in a rasping whisper before joining their mouths.

The kiss slips over chest and light, her arms around his neck, pulling him close as his hands control her body, moving it back towards the living room couch. With deep, probing turns that had their tongues wrapped around each other, escaping their mouths as one would have to stop to pant or moan. Their eyes are rolled back behind their lids, their hands desperate and now free to roam as they pleased. Hers sank into that glorious mane of his, the almost black roots like her hair color fading lighter from his time in the sun as they traveled down to his collar bones. Her fists balled into it, and with the feeling of finally giving in to something he’d wanted to do for longer than she liked to admit, she moans as she gives herself over to the pleasure of it.

Showing her impatience she pulls him to the couch, one finger into his belt loop to tug him her way, and it didn’t take any more than that to have him follow her. With a strong hand moving self assuredly down her backside to her thigh, hiking her leg up and causing her dress to shimmy up in the process, he grabbed her tightly and with his strong arms and long legs he lowered her onto the couch on her back.

Him not even making it to the bedroom wasn’t lost on her. She said she didn’t want to wait and he wasn’t going to make her. Her muscular thighs latch ahold of him, small desperate noises escaping her as his hands finally grabbed her with purpose like she’d been daydreaming about. With a growl and a firm hand to her ass, his kisses start to travel and she sighs out helplessly against him. Buried in her neck she feels the suck and bite of him against her, shutting her eyes and fully indulging in it, her back arching off the plush couch involuntarily.

Her hands move between them to reach down and run her hand over his growing length, biting her lip and snarling at the hardness she finds there pinned against her.

In response, he bites the fullness of her breast over her dress and makes her let out a breathy chuckle. He kisses his way across her bare skin, nipping at her piercings that were now pushed prominently against the strained fabric. “Ugh, these are so fuckin sexy baby.” He noses against the bump of bar. “These, the tattoos...so fuckin’ sexy.” He groans and takes a big mouthful into his mouth.

“I like yours too ba- Oh!” She squeaks as his phone starts to vibrate against her in his pocket. With a shared laugh, he takes it out and silences it, putting it on the coffee table and moving back to kissing her. “Thought you’d bought some toys to the party.” She giggles as he kisses her cheeks and the sides of her mouth while she nuzzles against him. “Although I’m certain you won’t need them.” She purrs and reaches down to grab him gently, fingertips tapping and dragging over him sensitive length.

He grunts and starts in on her jaw, a muffled “Nuh uh.” A shake of his head against her, working back down to her chest again. His hand had worked its way under her dress, which was now around her waist revealing the black and mesh thong that makes him drag his tongue across the swells of her breasts to her mouth again. “Fuck Bella.” He exhales softly, looking down at her soft and thick thighs. A perfectly framed, chubby mound grabs his attention, proving every bit of her was soft, so he does the same to it. His hand cupping over her entirely, fingers feeling between her thighs and finding her already wet through her panties, cueing another deep, drawn-out “Fuuuuck.” as he rubs over her, propped up on one arm and sucking away at her neck as she lets him explore her body.

His phone buzzes again, the call goes unanswered and barely noticed with their noisy kisses and moans, her unbuttoning his shirt and him pulling the front of her dress down. Her hands are working on his belt, fumbling with the buttons. as he broadly licks over the mesh cups on her bra. They were in their own little bubble again, hands harsh and needy, kisses hard and biting. And his phone buzzes a third time.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who wants a piece of you tonight.” She jokes, kissing his ears, voice extra breathy in his ear as she takes his earlobe into her mouth.

“Well fuck ‘em.” He mumbles and she exhales an amused sound into his ear before taking a nibble. He retakes her mouth with his into a messy kiss with a hard grip to her thigh and she hums contently in his embrace. He shifts, hard cock herring against her middle with pants undone, her with her dress around her waist and his weight grinding into her making her swear and bury her hands in his hair again with a tight grip. But then the phone rings again.

With a pause from them both, Declan lets out a rugged sigh.

“Go ahead.” She says sweetly, understanding the cause for stopping for a moment.

“Shit.” He groans, running his hand through his hair. “It’s Mike.” He knew Mike wouldn’t interrupt him on this night, of all nights for no reason. “Baby I’m afraid I need to-“

“Take it babe.” She insists with a shake of her head, snuggling into the couch and her hands going back to roaming over him. A sneaking under the band of his boxers over his muscular ass, a hand running over his chest and into his hair where she began kissing as he spoke.

“Mike you better be dead you asshole to be calling me.” He growls out, face stern and intense as he stares into the darkness of the room to concentrate.

Bella continues on under him, rubbing her hips against his, palming him over his tight and now wet boxers with a serene face and bitten lip. The usual questions follow, who, why, when. But she knows the gig is up when he lets out a loud and annoyed sigh and buried his face in her chest, hair covering his face. “Fuck you man, yeah.” He forces out angrily. “Shut up I’ll be there.” He says hanging up on him and putting the phone back on the table. He sighs and touches her cheek, hips subtly moving with her still moving against him.

“You have to go don’t you?” She whispers as he runs his thumb across her lips.

“Yeah, baby I’m-fuck I don’t want to.” He lets out a frustrated laugh. “Some asshole is fucking up the bar and asking for me.”

“Your reputation precedes you.” She grins and gives him a soft and slow kiss they both allow themselves to get lost in for a minute.

“I hate this shit. I try to stay out of this bullshit and-“ She pulls his face down into a hard kiss and he moans into it.

“I get it. I fucking hate it but I get it. When you’re the boss these things happen. I know.” She says with a graze of her nose to his.

“You’re too good to me baby girl.” He says with a disheartened sigh and another lippy kiss with her center throbbing at the pet name. He pulls back and she watches him move, making no move herself to hide or change position, her hand only trailing between her legs to find the, even impressive to her, wetness that had seeped through the panties.

“You’ll be good to me later.” She winks and sticks out her tongue. He looked her over, biting his lip and latched his pants back up.

“I’ll be the best to you later baby. I swear.” He says leaning over and taking her foot and kissing her ankle, then her calf, leaning in for another kiss to the lips. “God damn it’s hard to leave you looking like this.”

“You left me plenty wet for me to have some fun without you. I won’t be happy but I’ll live. I’ll be pretending it’s you anyway. Will you think of me later baby?” She playfully licks his lips as he raises again to separate himself, finding it hard enough watching her with her tits almost out, dress pulled away, her red nails rubbing circles over her panties, sinking into the glistening wet and softness.

“Every fucking minute until we’re back like this.” He groans.

“You go take care of business, boss.” She orders with pouty lips and a deeper turn of voice. “You ring him up by his fuckin neck for me baby.” She smiles wickedly and he takes a deep breath and exhales towards the ceiling.

“Fuck you are….well you might just be fucking perfect. Fuck.” He groans and mumbles.

“You’ll find out soon.” She whispers, hand disappearing down her panties.

“Fuck yes I will.” He says stalking with a still hard cock straining against his pants. “And I’m sorry baby, I couldn’t be more sorry.” He says with his hand on the doorknob.

“I know big guy.” She grins and moans. “You know where to find me.” She giggles, running a hand through her hair.

“Night baby.”

“Night.”

—————-

The number of people outside the bar told him something was wrong. Normally, when someone was raising hell no one would look twice, it happened, it was a bar. But as he stepped out of the cab, his impressive stature primed and ready for a fight, the men parted to let him through, their rubbernecking ceasing for a moment. He slung the door open with a loud and carnal growl, it slamming against the rubber stopper and bouncing, taking the attention of the man causing the trouble. He knew him or knew his brother anyway. Another abusive piece of shit he’d beaten up months ago because he’d hit one of his friends in front of her kid. Declan didn’t stand for that shit. He’d gone to jail recently, and he’s guessing this poor drunk bastard was acting out and looking for someone to blame. Well, he’d found him.

“There’s the mother fucker!” the guy drunkenly yells.

Once Declan sees who it is, no longer worried about a fight, he looks around to the damage done. Mike wasn’t joking. An end of the bar was still on fire, taps searing red hot and all the stools broken, a few booths had been knifed and gutted, a neon sign smashed, it was enough to make Declan want to wreck the guy, but he’d already fucked with him on the wrong night.

Throwing his jacket off he charges like a bull to the guy, ignoring the knife in his hand and putting one hand around his neck, and picking him up off her feet and slamming him into a wall. Hard. The other hand takes the knife while the guy was caught off guard and pushes it into his cheek, enough to let him know he was serious.

“You picked the wrong night to come fuck with me you little shit.” he barks in his face, spit flying as he growled from his gut, all his frustration into the guys face.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ keeeeel you, you mother fuck-” he begins but Declan squeezes his throat and he chokes, knocking his head against the wall again.

“You think you are? You stupid piece of shit?” he takes him and throws him into a table, stalking over him, leaning and looking while he struggled. “Is this what you wanted? Me to kick your fucking ass, huh?” he shouts, kicking him lightly with his boot. “Because I could fucking KEEEL you for coming in here. Fucking with MY shit. Ruining MY night with my girl? Fuck you!” he yells, giving him a kick to the ribs.

“Declan. Slow down.” Mike warms while trying to put out the fire.

“So I beat the shit out your brother? So what? He’s trash just like you. You wanna send the rest of the family down? I’ll kick their asses too.” he growls and stands over him now holding him by the shirt.

“HE went to jail because of you!” he drunkenly slurs.

“No. He went to jail because he’s a fuckin’ idiot who can’t keep his god damn mouth shut. Must run in the family huh?” he snarks, slapping the guy across the face.

“If you hadn’t-”

“If I hadn’t he would’ve kept beating Sasha and that kid would’ve seen it and had to live with that. You might not care, but I do. And your brother deserves whatever he gets, same as you. Now c’mere.” he yanks him up, the guy's feet not even on the ground as he holds him to his face. “Now you can get the fuck out of here, or I can put your name on the fuck ton of paperwork this is gonna take to get the damage your little fuckin tantrum has caused and your ass will have to pay for it. And we’ll have to go to court, and you’ll have to pay for that and get a lawyer. So what’s it gonna be? You get the fuck out and stay the fuck away from me and mine? Or do I need to make you disappear?” he threatens with a low threat. He knew he could if he wanted. He’d done it before, he’d, unfortunately, have to do it again, he was sure.

“I’ll go-fuck-Jesus.” he sputters out of a bloody mouth.

Declan carries him like a battering ram and throws him onto the sidewalk. “You gonna come for me you best not miss mother fucker.” he says giving him one last kick to the ass and knocking him down again.

Declan whips back his hair, running a hand through it and letting out a sound of frustration, blood pumping fast and fingers tingling with anger.

“Get back in boys, before you start calling attention to us.” he calls out, stomping back inside. He slams his hand down on the non-burnt end of the bar. “Give me a fucking drink!” he shouts and Mike obeys, handing him an entire bottle of whiskey. He takes large gulps and closes it back. “God damnit.” he growls again, still angry, the burn in his throat fitting for how he felt.

“Yeah this is-”

“A fucking mess.” he says with his eyes shut. “And a week before the fucking show.”

“And on date night.” Mike mumble which he was the sorriest for. “Didn’t mean to interrupt ya mate.” His eyes lowered he throws a hand towel to Declan who is covered in smudges of red lipstick.

“YEAH! THAT TOO!” he yells and groans. “What?” He wrinkles his nose at the offering.

“Ya got a bit a-“ Mike motions to Declan’s neck as he turns to see the polka-dotted lip prints across his skin.

“Fuck.” he roars out in frustration, thinking about having to leave in the middle of the act of those prints being left. “Fuckin’ bullshit. Stupid mother fuckers. Goddamned idiot-” he mumbles walking into the back to get the folder for the insurance information.

Mike sighs and purses his lips. There wasn’t any way he could turn this to make it better. So he just let Declan boil until it all evaporated and went down to a simmer. Because a furious Declan wasn’t something you wanted to be in the sights of. Even if he wasn’t coming for you.

-----

Bella, not having heard from Declan becomes slightly worried amid her horniness. She takes pictures of herself, dimly lit room and not a stitch on.

When a lackluster response of “You’re killing me baby.” With radio silence afterward she goes to sleep mildly concerned.

A call to the bar just rang unanswered, and she didn’t have Mike’s number so she does the next sensible thing and goes to the bar after work.

She stands in the doorway with wide eyes. Men with clipboards and hard hats carrying out chunks of the bar and booths, and little Mike sweeping and looking rather forlorn.

“What the fuck happened?” she says with a frowning face as she steps aside for a man to get through the door.

“Oh hell, Hi Bella.” Mike says with a sympathetic looking nod. “The reason I had to call and interrupt last night happened. Sorry ‘bout that by the way.” he shrugs.

“Looks like you had a good reason.” she says with a hand running through her hair.

An exhausted looking Declan comes out the back room, hair tied back and in worn and dirty jeans and t-shirt. “Oh fuck.” he sighs out and rubs his face. “I still hadn’t called you back. Shit.” he groans and walks towards her, reaching out and giving her a hug. “I’m gross but-”

“Shut up. Are you okay?” she asks, patting him down with her hands and then holding his face.

“I’m fine.” he dismisses her worry. “But the bar…” he sighs.

“Yeah. Fuck dude.” she answers, still looking him over, putting loose strands behind his ears as she looks around the bar. “You sure you’re okay? No offense but you look rough.” she says with a kind, soft laugh, her thumbs rubbing over his cheeks as the softness makes the tension in his neck ease.

His shoulders slump and he finally focuses on her and her worried expression. “C’mere.” he says, taking her hand and leading her into the back, behind a door that led to a flight of stairs and a door with lots of stickers and banners on it.

“What’s?” she asks before he opens it, revealing a studio apartment. “Whaaa?” she says surprised.

“You didn’t know?” he chuckles, shutting the door and moving to wrap his arms around her.

“No I didn’t know this was here.” she laughs, feeling a bit dumb. “I didn’t wanna be nosey.” she shrugs.

“Well this is my apartment.” he says with a nonchalant shrug. The space wasn’t huge, but not small, all exposed brick and wood and industrial looking. It felt old, the wood worn and haggard, two walls to block off a bedroom, a bar for seating in the kitchen, a bathroom tucked away in the corner. It felt very him to be so bare bones.

“I like it. Very... rustic.” she says before he takes her face and kisses her. “Mmph. Oh okay.” she mutters into it and giggles, moving to wrap her arms around him and kiss him back. After a few rounds that were for comfort more than anything he parts, his forehead to hers.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you back.”

“Well, you’ve clearly been busy.” she says supportively.

“So fucking busy. No excuse. I’m sorry, okay?” he insists and she kisses him softly.

“Forgiven.” she says with a smile, reaching to give him a hug. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your plate.” she insists, rubbing his back. How had he gone without this sort of comfort for so long? He grunts into it and she smiles, nuzzling into his hair and kissing his head. “You’re exhausted. Have you slept?” she pulls away and strokes his face.

“Not really.”

“That’s what I thought.” she nods. “Can I help?”

“You are helping.” he sighs out.

“Good.” she smiles and kisses his temples. They stay like that for a moment, her rubbing on him, easing the pain in his joints and muscles with the moment of recharge she was giving him. “Shit. What about the-?” she blurts out.

“Show. I know.” he shakes his head and groans. “I got the paperwork started last night for the insurance, then called these guys first thing this morning. We’ve been surveying and taking pictures and all that shit all day, so we’re getting out all the damaged stuff now. Insurance will be here in a few days, so that’s good. But the taps are destroyed, so’s the register and some of the stock. I can replace the booths and stools and shit no problem but the other things take time.”

“Do I need to cancel my stuff then?” referring to the walkthroughs she had scheduled for later in the week to set up the sound and lights.

“Nah. It should be fine. I’m helping the guys out, I’m a workhorse. We can drive out and get some shit from the supplier ourselves, it’ll be faster. I think we can manage.”

“You’re gonna be exhausted.” she responds with a pout of her lips, already seeing it on his face.

“Yeah but...gotta be done.”

“I can reschedule.” she insists.

“No, no. You’ve worked hard on it. I’m not gonna start this off with backing out. Don’t wanna jinx it like that.”

“It’s your call, babe.” she says with a supportive, soft smile.

“And it’s still on. It’ll be a shit week but by the end, it should be worth it. And if this works out then that money will be much needed to cover everything until the insurance comes through.”

“What’re you gonna do about the taps and everything? The POS?”

“A register is easy. The taps harder but doable.” he shrugs.

“Well, you could take this opportunity to upgrade a few things?” she says cautiously, not wanting to offend. “It’d cost more and I don’t wanna be nosey about your finances but a few upgrades could really give you an edge.” she offers with a face that was hesitant but honest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean get some taps installed, some temperature regulated ones, keeps the head just right. A one-touch POS that you could program everything into, wouldn’t have to remember prices. WOuld really help with the temps. You get a report at the end of every day, you can manage everything from a computer. If you get volume in here it’ll really help you out. And if I have anything to do with it, you will.” she nudges her nose to his and he smiles down at her.

“You’re brilliant but I have no clue how to even go about that.” he chuckles in self-defeat.

“Lucky for you, you know a girl who does.” she beamed at him.

“I am lucky. You know that?” he hums and leans in and kisses her.

“Stop being so sweet I don’t know how to act.” she lets out a laugh that shook her shoulders.

“Get used to it.” he huffs out and kisses her again, squeezing her around the ribs. “How about you come down and talk to the guys? Before they tear too much up.” he grins.

“No problem.” she says cheerfully. “I’ll text my bar guys for prices and time frames and all that.” she says getting out her phone.

“Bar guys?” he says with a playfully territorial smirk.

“Oh yeah, I just collect you all. Didn’t you know?” she laughs.

“I did not!”

“They’re owners from when I used to travel and do shows and stuff. Some have done well for themselves over the years. I helped them with the manual labor to get some air time in the beginning.”

“After all this is over I’ve got some manual labor I’ll be needing you to do.” he gives her a goofy grin and she lets out that giggle he loves as he bites on her neck and growls, a handful of her ass in her tight jeans, the rough turning quickly to loud smooches to show his gratitude for her.

“I’d say so. You’ll owe me BIG time big boy.” she boops his nose and he smiles like a dope. “I’ll take my payment in installments over a long period of time if you don’t mind.” she snorts and his eyes turn to hearts as she lets herself go around him, her jokes being a way for her to be sweet without the vulnerability.

“No lump sum for you.” he shakes his head. “How long of a payment plan we talkin’?” he asks with a kiss to her cheek.

“I don’t know…” she pouts her lips in thought dramatically. “Depends on you doesn’t it?” she sass’s back.

“I have excellent credit I’ll have you know.” he retorts and she laughs and puts her head into his chest.

“I thought we were talking about something else entirely. Unless excellent credit is what you call your dick.” she holds in a laugh with a wrinkle of her nose, her front teeth showing as she hunches her shoulders.

“Nah that’s old faithful.”

“Also a good indicator of regularly scheduled payments being made!” she says with a beaming smile and a tilt of her head.

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous.” he lets out a rolling laugh and gives her a good solid squeeze and kiss while they grin against each other. “C’mon. Work first. Then play.”

“Agreed.” she chirps and pulls him in for one last kiss before they return back to the world of professionalism.

Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking@jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness  @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag

[lovelykhaleesiii]

My Dear Husband

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Reader

Words: 1.6k 

Summary: Reader is married and is unaware of her husband’s true identity, until the end confronts her with the truth about the Antichrist. 

Warning: angst, fluff, short time jump (***) 

REQUESTED BY - @stxrmkatie

A/N - Hope you enjoy this read love, sorry the wait xox 

The Antichrist, the Apocalypse was all too much to take in. The idea that someone was created with their sole “purpose” to destroy humanity, was hard to comprehend… And yet here you stood, a fellow survivor, a fellow witch.

This so called Antichrist, had you never met, somehow left you fearful. It was daunting to know that the fate of mankind, rested in the shoulders of the Coven, was a hefty responsibility, even for you.

Yet a part of you raged with anger… This so called Antichrist, had presumably killed your husband, the love of your life.

You say presumably, well because, your husband had been absent from your side before the Apocalypse: away for a ‘business’ trip. Without knowledge of what was to come, it was too late, when Cordelia had finally sought you out and had confided in you.

It was long since you’d left the Coven, wanting nothing more than to live out your own independent life, that was, until you’d met him.

Since having left the Coven, your powers had degraded: no longer being used with consistency nor challenge, you felt yourself weaken.

And yet, if that was the sacrifice you were willing to take for the sake of love, you had no regrets in doing so.

You’d fallen so insanely in love, you cherished and supported him always and would love him from then on. In return, he told you who he was, his true nature: a warlock. You were thankful for that, the acceptance and openness, and you had loved him for that.

And yet, unfortunately, you were in mourning.

You lost him to the uncontrollable clutches of this so called Antichrist. The one everyone had feared, the one that everyone had come face to face with. Hearing their encounters with him was chilling and all too daunting.

And yet there you stood, swearing to protect the rite of the Coven and to preserve what was left of humanity, all in the name of seeking vengeance, despite your weakened state.

***

It was the greatest relief having finally returned from beyond the grave. The extremity of no fresh air, the stench of swamp soil and insects that lay beneath was excruciating, yet worth what was to come.

Although, the greatest pleasure remained for last, having walked through the gates of what used to be a warlock school, the same one your husband had attended, the many times he had recalled his memories there.

He loved it here, he appreciated the company and most of all the undying union between them all. It was emotional, walking through a remnant of your husband’s past, and yet still your anger was your resilience.

You were determined to seek justice no matter the costs.

***

Finding your sisters, the sisters of the Coven, was in no stretch difficult. A few summoning spells had done the trick, and all 3 had been found almost instantly, and in no time had they been revived. You looked at each, the only familiar face was Dinah, and yet you were compelled to know that she was unworthy of your trust. The betrayal of her had stung, she was an past companion of yours, and you felt at this point in time, with everything that had happened, you were most infuriated towards those who helped to wreak havoc. You couldn’t help but stare, at the woman who helped such an inhumane person kill not only your husband, but the innocent lives who were defenceless against his wrath.

“You think you can defeat me, when I’ve already won?”

That voice, that damned voice: the devastation in your body showered over you in no time. It stung, it ached like never before in the pit of your stomach.

It was Michael: and the sheer unexpectedness of it caused you to grow sick, revolting at the idea that the love of your life, the man you married and swore to love till death do you part, was the Antichrist himself.

How oblivious could you have been? How blind could you have been, to not realise that it was Michael all along?

He’d kept it so well hidden from you, so discrete about his movements, and the thought of deceit pained you like no other.

You remained still, frozen by the revelation, you couldn't bear turning around to confront reality.

Your eyes immediately swelled with tears, your body remained rigid from fear.

The thought that you’d loved him, the entirety of this time, and the fact that he had left you to perish under his notice, was gut-wrenching beyond any emotional pain you’d ever felt.

The ignition of your anger, revolted through you, as the chattering and arguing surrounding you, simply sounded all too muffled. Your head gradually turned, instantly spotting the familiar figure of your husband.

He was alive, and yet it seemed he had no intention of seeking you out.

His eyes immediately fell onto you, and you could sense how shocked he’d become. Perplexed by your sheer presence, he couldn’t fathom the reality, as you both stood there silently unable to speak a word against one another.

“Y/N. Ho-How did you- I thought you were-”

“Dead? Think again, Michael. Your plan to rid me, your own fucking wife, the only family you had left, the only person you knew loved you from the beginning, left to die...How could you?” The rage imminent in your voice, as the rest of the Coven remained in awe of the truth, still attempting to grasp who Michael was to you.

“It-It’s not like that, it was never like that. I tried to bring you here, bring you home to me. I had my men searching for you day and night. When I heard they still hadn’t found you, it was too late...I-I thought you were dead, everyone convinced me you were gone...I mourned for you.”

He began to walk his way down the steps, ever so cautiously, as though not wanting to frighten you away. It pained to hear that Michael had given up so easily and yet a part of you, was ungrateful for the witches finding you first before Michael.

He was your husband, and you should’ve known better. After Cordelia had confided you with the fate of the Antichrist, you should’ve searched for Michael, and just as he said...It was already to late.

Whoever was in charge of dismissing the nuclear attacks did so during a time, where you made the haste decision to regroup with your fellow Coven. They were there first, when they found you, seeking you out first, trying to claim as much helping hands as they could get. It was all to coincidental: pure fate that you felt was beyond your mundane control.

Here you stood amongst your Coven, Michael standing before you as the Antichrist, and you completely torn between the two.

You both were in the wrong, both in complete bewilderment of each other.

Should he have told you that he was the Antichrist, perhaps circumstances would have changed, the Apocalypse may not have ever happened.

You fell in love with Michael, the humanity in him, his innocence was compelling enough to convince you to want to remain by his side as time went on.

Should he have told you earlier on, you would have sought to change him, reassured him that this path his so called ‘father’ had set out was unnecessary, if he simply had told you the truth.

And yet, here you stood, realising that this was much more than a coincidence that the Coven found you before he ever could, that you both had survived and were now face to face, and yet still madly devoted to one another.

You couldn’t deny it… Michael was your husband, and you’d promised to love him since. You simply couldn’t rid that foundation of endearment you both had sought in each other now.

“Y/N”

Instantly, he fell to his knees, crumbling before you with fear of rejection.

You knew Michael: you were aware of his past and the ordeal he’d faced having been disowned by everyone he ever truly loved. All he ever wanted in life was forgiveness and more so, redemption.

The familiar, reassuring grip of his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you tightly in, wanting nothing more than to embrace you, his wife. It was overdue and definitely, comforting.

“Please forgive me, my love-”

His sobs beginning to sound, desperation and despair alive in the sheer tone of his broken voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, Y/N.”

As though out of instinct, tears began to streak down past your cheek. You had never seen Michael in this state, having only ever heard of his past experiences. You couldn’t bear to witness how miserable he must have been. Your hand gradually began to pat his silky hair, the other caressing his cheek, trying best to wipe away his tears.

Kneeling down to face him, you felt was a terrible mistake, as now you were completely helpless from resisting the urge to cry.

“Of course, my love. Of course, I forgive you.”

Your arms wrapped instantly around his head, embracing him in a heartfelt hug, as he continued sobbing against your chest, his cries muffled, his hot tears soaking against the fabric of your dress.

This was the Michael you’d grown to know, and had inevitably grown to love: surely now the witches, and Cordelia would realised that if Michael was essentially capable of love, redemption was a viable option for him still.

He was no Antichrist in your eyes...He was simply Michael Langdon, the love of your life, your dear husband.

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[callmeblake]

Vulture Hound Issue Seven Published  Oct 14, 2015

from issuu

Photo Credit: Kimberley Bayliss

Taken during Reading Festival August, 2015

Transcription of main article below the cut

FRANK IERO (THE VH INTERVIEW)

10/01/2016

Shane Bayliss

This interview was first published in VultureHound Issue 7

When My Chemical Romance split up in 2013, it was inevitable that some members of the band would move on to other projects. Gerard Way made his grand entrance at Reading and Leeds in 2014, bringing his unique indie sounds to the world, but former rhythm guitarist Frank Iero’s appearance on the scene was far stealthier.

We caught up with Frank as he made his début solo appearance on the Reading and Leeds stage.

First of all, I know you played Leeds back in the day with My Chemical Romance, but I’m sure this time will be a different experience for you. Are you looking forward to it?

I am. That’s the thing, every time you play any show it’s a different experience. You never know what to expect, even though you’ve done it a million times, which is one of the greatest things about doing what we do, but also one of the most terrifying things about doing what we do. But I’m very excited, I know as a kid hearing about the festival and reading about some of my favourite bands getting to play it, I had no idea what it was, because we didn’t have anything equivalent to that in the States. So when finally – however many million years ago My Chem played it for the first time – it was like “Holy shit. Now I get it and the legacy behind it.” Some bands don’t even get to play it once, let alone many times, let alone ever get to headline it and do it again in a different project, so the importance and the blessing of that isn’t lost on me. It’s really truly amazing, and I’m excited to get to do it again.

The album has been out a while…

A year actually on the 25th!

Now the dust has settled are you pleased with how the album came out and was received? It’s a very different project.

It is! It’s weird, I never expected to put it out. It was one of those things that when making it, it was truly just for me. When I met the people that wanted to put it out, and we signed the deal, actually putting it together was a bit of a daunting task because I never thought about any of it. So now looking back, there are a million things I would go back and do, do this differently or change that, but for the most part I wouldn’t change anything really when it came down to it. It’s definitely a moment in time, and I’m proud with the way that it happened.

You recorded everything bar the drums on the last record?

Yeah!

As the project goes forward, will it be a case of you doing everything (bar drums) again? Or has it become more of a band project?

It’s definitely grown organically, but as far as the recording process is concerned and what it is going to be like, I think it depends on the song. I don’t know if I would do drums, I played drums on one track and the other stuff was programming, I don’t have it in me to do that. As far as everything else, it’s fun! A lot of the songs started with me playing and stuff like that, and it made sense that I should. Honestly, I think it is going to be played just song by song.

When someone goes solo, as you have, there is often a case of the fans wanting to hear songs from the previous project. Did you ever have that? Were fans wanting you to play My Chem songs, or have they been respectful of Frank Iero and the Cellabration?

I think you always have that case of rubber necking, but for me nobody wants to hear me sing My Chem songs. I didn’t sing those songs and thank god for that. But yeah, nobody’s coming to the shows wanting to hear that because they won’t hear it.

I saw you caught a bit of Against Me! earlier, (we spotted him stood at the side of stage) any other bands you plan on catching over the weekend? Because you’ve got a day between shows.

Yeah I hope so, I’m going to try and get to Reading tomorrow and hopefully get to see a bunch of bands. I’ve never got to see Metallica before, I really want to see them. I want to see Wolf Alice, Alexisonfire I haven’t seen since we toured together like – Jesus Christ – a million fucking years ago. But yeah, there’s a lot of people on our day that I want to see to but because of doing press stuff I haven’t had chance to see, I want to see Moose Blood, like to see Frank Carter and The Rattlesnakes. For Gaslight, I got to see a couple of songs but missed most of their set.

Sorry, that’ll be our fault.

Nah. It’s nice to be able to this kind of thing and talk to people I haven’t met before and have a New Jersey soundtrack in the background.

Huge thanks to Frank for speaking to us prior to playing his set at Leeds.

Photos: Kimberley Bayliss

© Copyright VultureHound Magazine

[snowdropheart]

1, 5, 14, 19

1. song of the year?

according to spotify it’s funeral by phoebe bridgers (which is very true) but i would also say:

- conversation piece, julien baker

- love song, lana del rey

- carry me home, hem

- i believe, carrie newcomer

- easy / swansea / emily / no provenance, joanna newsom (i want to say her entire discography but these were the songs that really Hit this year, you know?)

- didn’t know what i was in for, better oblivion community centre

- what do you hear in these sounds / travelling again / i love i love, dar williams

- walk like thunder / all i can do, kimya dawson

- precious things, tori amos

that’s way too many but it’s impossible to just pick one you know how it is

5. tv show of the year?

i watched so many good shows for the first time this year, so i just have to list some bc i can’t pick:

- russian doll

- end of the f***ing world

- bojack horseman

- broadchurch

- sex education

- these aren’t really tv shows but a few of my fav stand up specials i watched this year (bc i need somewhere to mention them) are: stage fright by jenny slate / right now by aziz ansari / homecoming king by hasan minhaj / hard knock wife by ali wong  

i’m sure there’s more bc i watched so much tv this year but these are the ones that are sticking out in my mind right now

14. favourite book you read this year?

little weirds by jenny slate is by far my favourite (although wayward son by rainbow rowell is pretty fucking close bc that’s how being 20 feels! that’s exactly how it feels! it feels like reeling out of control across the american desert lost and confused and sun burnt!)

but little weirds is just. so delicate but indestructible, if that makes sense. the imagery is unparalleled and the strange metaphors are perfectly crafted. it just makes me want to scream and cry and take better care of the spider plant in my window. it’s everything i try to live my life by: love and kindness and colours and flowers, but it also reminded me that these things and being a real, sweaty, imperfect human are not mutually exclusive. she talks about going out to eat and drinking and watching documentaries in the same essays she talks about flower petals and ancient castles. it reminded me i don’t have to divide up the things in my life, and that i don’t have to look like a picture-perfect waif to enjoy the aesthetic of the moors of scotland. i kept having to put it down because she just puts things so perfectly, in a way i’ve never read before. i have so many favourite passages, but here are two that immediately comes to mind: 

“My physical heart feels so exposed, so shallowly planted. It feels like it is in my mouth. I can’t tell if I’m spitting it out or swallowing it. I can’t tell if I’m going to chomp it to bits just by trying to be here.” (from ‘Colour-Spirit,’ page 52) 

“I would stick my tongue out like when you are trying to catch a snowflake and the rabbit would stick its tongue out too and press the delicate pink petal-tongue into my own tongue, like a stamp. Then eventually when I would speak again, all of the words would pass over my stamped tongue, and whatever I’d say would be marked by the rabbit stamp of acceptance that says, ‘I am a gentle creature. You can listen to me completely because I am not trying to hurt anything.’“ (from ‘beach animals,’ page 83)

19. what are you excited about for next year?

i’m not sure how to answer this question. i’m not really excited about much? that sounds very sad, but i’m scared to end this semester and i’m scared at the daunting task of re-making friends in class and having to do the whole ordeal of midterms and assignments and exams again. i’m scared to get a job and i’m scared to turn 21.time just keeps tumbling on, gaining speed with every age i turn, and i’m holding on for dear life and i think my hand keeps slipping a bit every year. i’ve been thinking a lot about being a kid lately, how much i want to turn back the years and be a wispy-haired girl spinning in the springy grass of the backyard. I know you can do those things as an adult and i know you can cultivate that wonder and joy again, but it’s hard and it’s different and i like easy ways out.

i guess i am excited for the sun to come back out and the weather to turn warm, which will happen next year. and i’m excited for season 2 of sex education and more b99 and more of more shows i’m forgetting right now. i’m excited to hear new stories and songs that will be made in 2020.

i’ll tell you what i want to happen next year: i want romance. i want heart-stopping romantic love. i want to find my person. that’s what my new year’s wish is. to find that person who will look into my soul and think “she’s the one i will love because the colours of her heart compliment mine and also they are very pretty shades of raspberry red and muted green and vibrant love and i would like to keep that in my life.” i want someone to see me and choose to stay and be okay with the fact that a lot of ‘normal’ things are hard for me. 

anyway! thank you for the ask! sorry it got so long i love a lot of things and i like putting them into neat little lists and i like getting ramble-y about my thoughts to strangers on the internet

[fairycosmos]

I don't know why I always fall back on self destruction. My mood has been pretty stable and good a few days in a row which rarely happens, work is good. On paper I should be completely fine but I keep self harming anyway. And it feels pathetic like such a 14/15 year old thing to do like I'm 18 now and I guess I don't know why it's so hard to be happy about getting better

hey lovely. i'm sorry to hear that and i'm sorry if some of this sounds nonsensical, i can't get my head straight today, but honestly i know exactly what you mean. like i said this very thing to a friend a while back, especially the bit about being 18 and feeling stupid for still being stuck in that mindset. i totally get it. but you have to understand that the stereotypes you've been taught about self harm aren't necessarily true at all, and regardless of your age you're still struggling with it, it's still an issue. getting mad over it, or blaming yourself, won't change it. i actually think a lot of people our age engage in harmful behaviours like that. it's probably more common among older teens/young adults than you realize - i promise, you're genuinely not alone. you're not the one dimensional concept your own mind has of you. and you're absolutely not pathetic.i think it's because, generally speaking, self destruction is easy. if you hate who you are, it's the path of least resistance. if you think you deserve it, you're not going to make much of an effort to prevent life from fucking you up, right? trouble with that is that it leads you nowhere fast. you're going to spend the rest of your life with you, so you might as well attempt to unlearn all of the unnecessary self crucifixion you've been taught to engage in. working on your level of self worth and the way you perceive who you are will make a huge difference, it's a direct antidote. you can use that self awareness, that shame, to guide yourself away from listening to that urge. one day at a time. you won't always be successful at it. dropping a habit is fuckin difficult. but if you honestly want to try, if you really want to be happy about being better, then give it a go. celebrate every day you hold back, every time you say no, each moment you take to breathe and recalibrate. compliment yourself in the mirror even though it feels dumb. let friendship and love into your life. it all adds up, it all matters. you're doing a lot better than you think you are. it's just a part of the process.it's also important to keep in mind that these episodes often don't have any rhyme or reason - there doesn't have to be a definitive cause behind your negative thoughts/emotions. that's the trick of mental illness, thats what's so hard to explain to others. you don't have to prevent sadness or emotional pain, cause it's inevitable to an extent. the real focus should be on doing all you can to cope with those feelings in a healthy way when they do arise. not numbing yourself to it all together. it's natural to feel and process a wide spectrum of things. you're human, and it's alright. if we're being straight up i also think you should consider talking to someone about what's going on if you haven't done so already. please don't write the idea off, if you take anything i say seriously make sure it's this. keeping everything locked inside is just another way to hurt yourself, just another part of the cycle. you need to wrench yourself away from the idea that it's embarrassing to reach out, because while it may feel that way in the moment, it'll help you way more than it'll hurt you in the end. whether it's your parents, a friend, your doctor, a hotline......anyone. you have options. you are not trapped. there are so many resources out there dedicated to showing you how to let go of something like this, how to overcome it. self harm is a genuine issue, obviously you know that, and it's likely a symptom of a much deeper problem which you may need professional help for. which is okay, it's daunting but it's ok. just like you would with any physical problem, please see if your doctor can refer you to someone. or look into low cost counseling options if you're worried about money, there's got to be something. there's always a way forward for something like this.you clearly have such a strong drive to want to improve your situation, and that's a really good sign. it all starts with opening up and putting it into words and digging up the root causes of why you feel the need to hurt yourself in the first place. a professional will be able to examine your thinking patterns and then teach you, slowly but surely, how to substitute them for a healthier state of mind. i get that it's all a lot easier said than done, but i'm just asking you to think honestly about what you need to logically do next. i absolutely believe you're capable of so much more than you realize, and i'll be rooting for you with all my heart. you deserve more than this. you're good, and you deserve a good life. it's alright to give in to recovery. it's not going to be as scary as you think. sending my love. let me know if you want to talk about it properly.