#doing all this at SIX AM? what is WRONG with you !!! i got four hours of sleep and then you pull that shit !! bitch make an appointment and

[weidli]

wow some people are assholes

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Six

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings - tags: 18+ MDNI. No smut but this fic contains mature themes. Nurse reader, hospital setting, medical inaccuracies. Reference to past domestic violence. Angst. Alcohol. Crying, anxiety, panic. Johnny in distress. Johnny is still a menace. Soft dads. POV switches. Note: Safe sleep for infants always. I do not endorse sleeping with your baby in your bed. This is a fic not real life. Simon does some digging.

“Shhh now, ye’re alright.”

Johnny coos, Penny cradled up to his chest. He’s not wearing a shirt, eyes still half sealed shut with sleep, and she squalls in his arms, screaming as loud as her little lungs will allow. “What is it, mah wee lamb? Are ye hungry? Do ye need a change?” He checks her nappy, efficiently looking for a mess or something to clean up and is nearly disappointed when he finds her still dry. If it’s not her nappy, then maybe her stomach? Could she be hungry again? He thumbs through the notes on his phone to find Simon’s last entry: 23:20 – 50 ML. 

That was only an hour ago. 

He frowns, walking in a circle, bouncing her gently, trying to settle her back to sleep. She’s so tiny, and still has grown so much in just the short time since they brought her home. It amazes him. It terrifies him. 

“What is it, sweet bairn? What’s got ye all upset?” He touches his lips to softest skin he’s ever felt, his thumb trying to swipe away the tracks of tears on her cheeks. “Please dinnae cry. I-“ 

“You okay?” Simon clears his throat behind him, and Johnny tenses. 

“We’re fine. Ye’re supposed to be sleepin’.” 

“Heard the two of you in here fussing. Thought I could help.” Simon’s trying to be supportive, trying to be a good partner, Johnny knows, but all he can feel is irritation, a defensive reaction making his hackles rise. 

It’s not fair. He’s so good at it. He’s a natural. And Johnny… Johnny feels like he’s failing his own kid, when she’s not even a month old yet. 

“I dinnae need-“ 

“Hey.” Simon touches his elbow, and then his chin, tilting his face upwards. “I know you don’t, love. You’re doing a great job. It’s not your fault she’s having a rough go.” He soothes him, fingers kneading into the top of his spine, squeezing the nape of his neck and pulling him into his arms. Penny is still crying, but softer now, a low-pitched tone of misery that makes his heart ache, and he feels so overwhelmed, so helpless, staring down at her as she tries desperately to tell him what's wrong, the only way she knows how. He rests his cheek against Simon’s chest, melting into his hold, letting him wrap his arms all way around his waist. 

“She hates me.” Johnny grumbles, and Simon presses his mouth to Johnny’s temple in short, succinct kisses. 

“She doesn’t. She’s brand new. She can’t hate anything, yet, and certainly not her Da.” He strokes her cheek. “Let’s bring her to bed, see if we can get her down and then one of us can put her back in the crib, alright?” Johnny sighs. 

“Alright.” 

“What’re you doing after this?”

“Going to bed?” What else would you be doing?

“I’m thinking about going to Jackie’s for a drink… wanna come?” Nia untucks her scrubs, pulling the top up over her head.

“Jackie’s, huh?” You chew on your lip. You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t. But… Jackie’s is a dive. It’s dark, and dingy, with black walls, black floors, no window in sight. And... it’s a hospital haunt. 

“It’s my birthday.” She whispers, casting a glance around the rest of the room. “I’m not… it’s not a thing, I just want to go, have a few to celebrate.” You take a deep breath. “Please?” She tacks on at the end, and your shoulders dip down in defeat.

“Okay. One. And then I gotta go.”

“Yes!” She cheers, excitement smashing her palms together.

Nothing like a seven am beer. 

Jackie’s is a distinct place. It’s one of the only twenty-four-hour liquor licenses left in the city, or so you’ve been told, and has been frequented by hospital staff for decades. It’s dart boards and dark wood floors, cheap beer and rail vodka, a worn to hell pool table, and an old, disabled juke box that someone broke intentionally, years ago. It’s an institution, and reminds you of some old places you used to frequent, when you weren’t… who you are now. Years ago, before, you used to love a good dive bar. Didn’t mind the way the floor stuck to your feet, and you considered yourself nearly tactical at darts. It was a source of pride, the accuracy, the rate at which you could make a bullseye, even when you were a few sheets to the wind.

“Coulda been a surgeon.” You’d tease, a smirk growing across your boyfriend’s face.

“If you were a surgeon, sugar, who’d be at home waitin’ for me after work?” He’d push back, coating the warning in an adoration, giving whoever was undoubtedly watching a slick smile before snaking an arm around your waist and tugging you close. “You don’t need to be surgeon. You don’t even need to work. You have me.” 

You thought you knew, then. Knew how to handle it, how to navigate the ever-present, ever-growing threat… but you were wrong.

You were so, so wrong.

“So, heard there’s a spot opening up on days.” Nia chucks her purse at the bar top, climbing onto the stool next to you. “You’ve got the seniority… you givin’ it any thought?” The bartender walks by with a hello, and you nod at him.

“Old Speck please. And no, I like nights.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know Americans liked Old Speck.”

“We have it in the states. I didn’t live under a rock.” You quip, and she laughs before ordering her own poison, a choice that makes your own eyebrows shoot up in question. “Vodka on the rocks?”

“I’m a straight to the point kind of girl.” She explains. “So, no days?”

“No days. You?”

“I might. Night shift is kicking my ass.” She complains. “Don’t even know what day it is half the time. My rhythm is off.”

“You need like, at least six months to fully adjust.” You put a note down in exchange for your beer, and then the bartender scuttles away, distracted by some insistent woman at the other end of the bar.

“Six months?!” You’re about to launch into your spiel about how it’s not that bad when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

>Make it home from work alright? 

>It’s Johnny, by the way :) 

The two texts are the start of a new group chat with your number, Johnny’s number and the number you put in your contacts just yesterday… Simon’s. Your head jerks back on instinct, confused.

“You okay?” Nia asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, fine just…uh-“ She peeks over your arm, and giggles.

“Is that your patient? Two sixty-eight?”

“What?”

“Your patient. The military hottie. The one that’s always lookin’ at your bum.” Your face burns, and she tsks. “Ah, don’t be embarrassed. He’s smokin’. Wish he looked at me the way he looks at you.” You’re surprised at the flare of irritation that starts up in your stomach at her, a hot streak of jealously simmering there, burning away indignantly. “Aren’t they… I mean… isn’t the scary mask guy his partner?” He’s not scary, you scowl inwardly. He’s just… protective. The butterflies in your stomach startle, and you drift back to last night, in the stairwell, in the car.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” 

“If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” 

Nia says your name, dragging you back to earth, and you shrug. “Yes… they… they’re together. It’s just been hard on them, so I think there’s a bit of an attachment growing there. You know, it’s not unusual.” She bites her lip, mouth pushing up into a smile.

“They’re quite fit. Wouldn’t mind if they formed an attachment to me.” She pauses, delicately sucking her gasoline on ice up through a straw. “Gonna text him back?”

“Nia.” You hiss, and she barks out a laugh.

“Oh, come on, just a bit of fun. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s not appropriate.” You remind her, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re such a stick in the mud sometimes. Remember when Marshall was fucking his brain cancer girl? Now that, was not appropriate.” You do remember- Marshall’s sudden absence, the whispering, the HR investigation that spanned weeks, interviews with everyone on the floor.

Your beer goes sour in your stomach.

“I gotta get home.” You wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze and a whisper. “Happy Birthday.” You feel bad for abandoning her, and maybe in another life you might even consider her a friend, but you’re already too exposed here as it is, and staying any longer would be too indulgent- not to mention, incredibly stupid.

You pass another nurse on the way out and him know that Nia’s at the bar, alleviating your guilt just a tad before you hike up your hood and make a beeline for the train.

By the time you get back to your hotel room, get showered, and collapse on top of the far too big bed, it’s nearly been an hour. You plug your phone in, unlocking the screen to flick on do not disturb, and realize the group message is still open, cursor blinking, waiting for your response.

It’s fine. You can tell you got home okay, that’s not crossing any lines. 

>Yeah, just got settled for bed. See you later!

A text from Simon chimes back within a minute, and you squint at it, one eye open.

>Get some rest.  

The floor is dead silent at the beginning of your shift.

Nothing beeps or whines or cries, no noise echoes around the corner to where you’re scrolling through Johnny’s chart, getting caught up on his day, triple checking that his levels and vitals are all within normal range. He passed his follow up for the liver procedure with flying colors, and the relief you feel is not unexpected, the weight of worry lifting free from your shoulders without another thought.

He’s fine, he’s better than fine, he’s… too healthy for the ICU.

Reality hits you like a truck, and you stop short, sneakers squeaking along the floor.

He won’t be your patient anymore. 

He won’t… be your patient anymore. 

The thought twists you into a mess of complicated emotions. A snarled, tangled viper's nest of unknowns, uncertainties, things you're desperately trying to tuck back behind your heart, hide them away so no one, not even yourself, can see them.

This is a good thing. This is what you want. Stable patients, on their way to recovery. 

So, you’ll miss them, that’s okay. There’s a little bit attachment, that’s alright. 

This is the best case scenario. You’re making a mess of things. You’re getting too involved with your patient and his family. You let Simon drive you home, for fucks sake. 

They’re getting confused, because you’re the caretaker. It happens all the time. As soon as Johnny steps down, they’ll forget all about you. 

You’re risking too much. You’re risking their safety, their child’s safety, your own. 

It’s for the best. 

You put your best work smile on when you approach his room, pulling as much air into your lungs as you can manage.

Focus on your job. Your patient. You’re a professional. 

Johnny is alone. No Simon, no visitors, nobody keeping him company. It’s a strange sight, and he looks almost uncomfortable, creased brow lowered down over his eyes. That’s… odd. Worse, there’s a heaviness in his gaze, sadness pulling his mouth downwards, usual playful demeanor nowhere in sight. Even sad, he’s a marvel, and every day, he gets stronger, he gets healthier, he gets closer to leaving this room, amazing you with his tenacity, his will. 

“Hey, you on your own tonight?” You casually knock on the door frame, and then pull it shut behind you, cocking your head.

“Aye.” He’s sullen, his despair tugging you closer to the bed, an urge to try to comfort him too strong to deny. 

“How are you feeling?” You try the subtle question, hoping he'll be forthcoming, and you keep yourself composed as you wait for his answer. 

“’m alright.” You tab through his chart, glancing it over once more, if only to assuage your own anxieties, and then tap into his vitals. Everything looks good, last labs look great… so what’s going on? 

“Just alright?” His fingers flex in the blanket, tanned skin against white linen, picking at fibers and threads, unable to hold himself still. He looks like he’s going to burst open at the seams, explode inside this room, a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the end of the countdown.

A tear tracks down his cheek. “Johnny?” You step closer, close enough so your fingers graze his, trying to delicately let him know, you’re here. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. What’s going on?” The monitor beeps steadily in the silence, his chest depresses with a gust of air.

“It’s… it’s nothin’ bun. I’m jus’… I’m havin’ a bad day.”

“Want to talk about it? I hear I’m a pretty good listener.” You encourage, and his face twists.

“No, I- Ach. Aye, alright.” He shifts in the bed, and you hover in case he needs help, but he waves you away. “It’s… bein’ in here. I want to be wi’ my family. Penny turned one, before I left for this assignment. Was only supposed to be two weeks tops, but then it turned into a month, then two. And now, I’m home… but ’m not really home, and I-“ His voice cracks, raw thread of agonized emotion separating his words, and he swallows it, forcing it back. “I’m blown to bits and cannae even see my own daughter. I’m missin’ out on everything.” Oh, Johnny. Your heart is heavy, and it hurts for him, bleeds as he wipes his face. 

“You’re not blown to bits, just a little banged up.” You give him a soft smile, and when he shakes his head, your fingers find his on instinct. You don’t even stop to second guess yourself, fully sinking into the contact with a gentle squeeze. “Hey, look at me.” His lashes are wet, sticky with tears, and he sniffles. “You’re making great progress, Johnny, going to be out of here in no time. You won’t even be in the ICU much longer, and then once you’re downstairs, Penny will be able to come visit all the time. After that, it won’t be too much longer until you’re back home with them.” He nods, and you stroke your thumb across his knuckles.

“Ye think so?”

“You’re the toughest patient I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a fair amount, you know. Traumatic injury recovery takes time, it takes patience, but you’re doing a great job of it so far. You just have to take it one day at a time. Before you know it, you’ll be at home on your own couch, bossin’ Simon around all day instead of me.” He laughs at that, a throaty chuckle capable of spreading heady warmth through your veins, and then gives you one of those stupidly stunning smiles.

“Shouldnae be cryin’ in front of ye.”

“You can cry in front of me any time you want. That’s what I’m here for. Besides, it’s not the first time.” You tease and he rolls his eyes.

“Doesnae count. I was high.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” The untouched dinner tray on his side table catches your eye, and chilling worry reappears in the back of your mind. “You didn’t eat?”

“Didnae have an appetite until ye showed up, pretty girl.” Okay. You can remedy this easily, if he's interested in eating. Lack of appetite is alarming, but if you can get him to eat now... 

“You hungry? I haven’t eaten yet. Want me to grab you something?” He brightens, indulging in a spectacular smile, and you take it as a yes with a small laugh. “Alright. Let me run down to the café, yeah?”

“What’s that saying, about how I hate to see ye go, but love to watch ye leav-“

“Okay!” you practically shout, cutting him off, fire racing across your skin, and he snickers, palm pressing against his heart like he’s wounded. “I’ll be right back.” You give him a serious look, and and he rubs his palm through his hair, mirth sparkling in his eyes. Holy hell. How is he so attractive? And how is it still so blinding, every time?  

You get two of the only option left this late in the evening, chicken soup and some sourdough, balancing the bowls carefully on their trays until you’re placing them down in the room, swinging the little table over Johnny’s lap and settling in beside him, perched on Simon’s recliner. The soup is warm, spiced with herbs and thick with noodles, and you're pleased that it's better than you were expecting, happy that Johnny seems to like it as well. 

"Wanted to take ye out properly for our first date, but this will have ta’ do. Simon’s gon’ be so bloody jealous.” He masterfully hums between your bites, and your eyes go wide, trying and failing to swallow your soup instead of choking on it.

“Johnny, we… this… I- this isn’t a date!” you squeak.

“Why not?” He asks, inflection innocent, and your brain rattles around inside your skull, splitting down the middle, falling apart in bewilderment. Why not? What does he mean?

“You… you have a partner. Simon? You know, your family that we were literally just talking about?” He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with this look on his face, one you can’t interpret. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What did Simon tell ye, the other night. When he took ye home?”

“What? He… I don’t remember.” Does he know that Simon gave you his phone number? 

Of course, he knows, he started that group text. 

Does Simon know what Johnny said, about you coming into their lives? About-

“Didnae he tell ye, we’re here for ye?”

“Y-yeah.”

“We, bunny? We.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” He sighs. What is he trying to say? What is going on?

“We like ye. Like I said, we think ye’re really special. Simon, and I. Together, bun.”

“Wh-what?” Puzzle pieces snap together and then break apart, like a landscape jigsaw that you spent days completing once before it was promptly ruined. Does he... does he mean... Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no. You have to squash this. Now. Just explain it, he’ll get it. He’s smart. “No… no, Johnny it’s just… it’s this thing, that happens. Patients get attached to their nurses or doctors sometimes, it’s normal. You d-don’t like me, I promise. There’s nothing even to like.” He blinks, jaw grinding under stubble. If Simon’s stare feels like he’s reading your mind, then Johnny’s is like being pinned down in one place, unable to move. You’re paralyzed, and powerless, lost in the icy blue sea of his eyes, drowning with a hand sticking out above the crest of the surf, reaching for him.

“Why would ye say that? That there’s nothin’ about ye to like? Nothin’ could be farther from the truth.”

“I don’t… there’s not. It’s… I’m your nurse, Johnny. That’s all.” Sweat glosses the small of your back, slicking upwards to cover your spine, and your heart hammers, it beats, beats, beats- so loudly you’re sure the pulse point in your wrist is visible. “Johnny.” His name shakes from your lips, and he relaxes, gentle concern replacing the relentless intensity in his gaze.

“Shhh, hey. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to upset ye.” You're still frozen, a statue, and he reaches for you, trying to grab onto your hand. The heat of his skin breaks you from the spell, and you force a robotic, bedside smile onto your face, scooping up your half empty bowl.

"It's okay." You need to get out of this room. Now. The walls feel too close, Johnny feels too close, everything is compounding on top of you, threatening to derail your entire life, ruin your plan. They cannot like you. They cannot care about you. They cannot show interest in you. You can’t let this happen. “I’ve gotta check on some other patients, okay? I’ll swing back your way in a bit.” You promise him, guilt eating you alive about running away, and when he gives you a sad smile, you almost lose your resolve.

“Alright, pretty girl. I’ll see ye later, then.” He murmurs, and you try not to trip over feet during your hasty exit.

Fuck. You’re so fucked. 

Simon and Johnny’s house is finally silent.  

Penny is down, safely tucked into dream world, her grainy grey-scale image flickering on the video monitor at Simon as he pours two fingers worth of bourbon into a glass.

Poor baby girl. His stomach twists. She put up such a fight tonight, hollering at the top of her lungs, standing up in her crib, working herself into an absolute state. He hates leaving her alone to cry, and on nights like this one, the only way she’ll close her eyes is if she’s being held, snuggled in Johnny's arms, or against Simon's chest. 

He’s a sucker, he knows. Doomed from the day she was born, but he can’t help it. Neither of them can. She’s their baby.

So, he doesn’t blame her for being so out of sorts. She always sleeps better when her Da is home. They both do.

His phone vibrates with a text, a short message from Johnny, and he scrolls through it, settling on the couch with his laptop, unopened email from Laswell blinking impatiently.

>She’s jumpy. Tired. Looks like she hasn’t gotten any sleep. Simon frowns.

> She manage to find a pair of panties for work today?

>Unfortunately. He can practically see the pout on Johnny’s lips, can hear the way he probably huffed and puffed when you first came into the room this evening, your hips swishing side to side, pretty smile on your face for him.

>I think I made her upset. Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. Johnny, love. Why can’t you listen? He takes a deep breath, trying to relax the worry that’s creeping up the back of his neck. 

Disagreements aren’t for text messages. They’ve learned that the hard way. 

>Take it easy for the rest of the night, then. She’s skittish. He shoots off the recommendation, and then pulls his laptop across his knee, clicking open the email from Kate.

Simon,  Your girl is a ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?  I’ve attached everything I could find, but it’s pretty scarce. The name you provided pulled a copy of her NHS nursing license, her taxes, an award she won at work last year, and a COVID vaccination record. No birth certificate, state identification, or public records of any kind, even after a global hand search. Nothing that even proves she exists or is an American except a sealed record from years ago in the states. It’s not accessible, even for me, which means it could be WITSEC, or a court ordered name change in relation to a domestic violence case. There are 18 states that seal those records to protect the victim, so she could be from anywhere. My gut says it’s probably the latter, which is why she doesn’t exist prior to.  You’ll notice on the vaccine record, she marked ‘unhoused’, and I couldn’t find any lease/rental agreements, sale records, or mortgages in her name.  I wish I had more for you, but she really is a bit of a puzzle. I’ll keep digging.  -K.L. 

There’s an unsettling rattle going off in the front of Simon’s skull. It’s a siren, a smattering of warning bells, and he swallows the rest of the bourbon in one go, embracing the burn that slides down the back of his throat.

Who are you, little bunny? And who are you running from? 

[repulsiveliquidation]

If I have to ask, I don’t want it.

Alexia Putellas x Reader [ANGST.]

Years into married life, Alexia gets bored of you. Based on a quote from Frida Kahlo.

//

I’m not asking you to kiss me, nor apologize to me when I think you’re wrong.

“Where the hell were you?” you ask Alexia, confronting her after she walks into the house way past midnight. It’s four hours past she promised to be home, having gone out with the girls for a drink after training. You were home all day waiting for her but she sounded like she needed some time to relax after being cooped up at home from her surgery so you told her to have fun and sorted yourself out. She had promised to only be an hour or two, but it turned into six hours without even a phone call or text.

“Don’t start with me, I’m not in the fucking mood for one of your lectures,” she growls, throwing her bag down and walking into the house without even a glance at you. Your eyes fill with tears, hands clenched into tight fists by your side as she slams the bedroom door behind her.

You follow her, tears flowing down your face. She’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth, rolling her eyes when she sees your crying state in the doorway.

“What does that mean?” you ask her, arms crossed before wiping away your tears.

“I wanted to drink, it’s none of your business what I do.”

“You promised me you’d be home by 8.”

“I’d rather be out with them than stuck at home with you.”

//

I won’t even ask you to hug me when I need it most.

Tears rolled down your cheeks when the doctors told you you couldn’t have children. Your heart shattered into a million pieces when he uttered those words to you and your wife. Alexia looked almost distant, you figured that she was simply devastated by the news and didn’t know how to process it. The moment you got home though, she had lots to say.

“You’re telling me you didn’t fucking know?” she yelled the moment the front door closed.

“Ale, I’ve never had problems before! I-”

“Save it. You know I wanted to start a family and now you fuck things up.”

“Ale, I’m sorry…I’m so so sorry,” you tell her, moving closer to her. you reach out for her hand but she flinches away.

“Save your apologies for someone who cares.”

//

I don’t ask you to tell me how beautiful I am, even if it’s a lie, nor write me anything beautiful.

You’re at an award ceremony with Alexia, she’s sat at the table chatting away with Aitana while you are backstage waiting to receive an award. The beige dress you had on matched Alexia’s suit, there were many compliments hurled your way the entire night. One person hadn’t said anything to you yet, not one compliment from the person that mattered the most to you. Even if you knew that you didn’t come close to being hers.

“She looks stunning in that dress, doesn’t she?” Aitana compliments you as you walk out on stage. Alexia is on her phone, texting someone who’s clearly more interesting than her wife receiving an award on stage.

Aitana slaps her arm, getting more and more annoyed at her friend.

“What?” Alexia says angrily, Aitana just rolls her eyes.

“Alexia. She’s looking at you.”

Alexia looks up at the stage just in time to hear you thanking her for being her beautiful wife and for sticking with her through all the rough patches throughout your career. She forced a smile, knowing that there was surely a camera on her.

You know her well, and that itself hurts because it’s when you walk off stage and you see her smiling at her phone that you know you’ve lost her.

//

I won't even ask you to call me to tell me how your day went, nor tell me you miss me.

Three days. It’s been three days since you last heard from Alexia. You were both on international duty, the England camp was going smoothly when Sarina called for a quick break. You sit beside Leah and go on your phone, hoping to see if Alexia has texted you. Nothing. Your shoulders slump a little and your best friend notices, a look of concern across her face.

“What’s up?” Leah asks, genuinely curious.

“Nothing, it’s,” you contemplate telling her. telling her that you know Alexia is seeing someone else. Loving someone else. Kissing someone else. Fucking someone else. But you hold your tongue. You force a smile like you’ve seen Alexia do in front of you lately, hoping it’s enough to convince your best friend. She doesn’t buy it but knows not to pry, especially when she can see that you’re hurting.

“It’s nothing.”

//

I won’t ask you to thank me for everything I do for you, nor care about me when my soul is down.

“Dinner’s on the table,” you tell Alexia as she walks into the kitchen. You look up to see her all dressed and ready to go out, your expression changes to one of sadness.

“You go ahead,” she says, grabbing her car keys. “I’m meeting someone for dinner.”

“Is it the woman you’re always texting?” you ask quietly, back turned to her. You were a coward, your mind told you; you couldn’t even bear to see the expression of pure surprise on her face that quickly turned into one that was serious.

“I am texting no one,” the front door opens, “Don’t stay up.”

//

I won’t ask you to support me in my decisions.

Having requested to be loaned for the rest of the season, you were excited to see what clubs would want to have you for a while. Arsenal had always been interested in you, having played alongside Leah in the academy when you were younger. So when their legal team got into negotiations with Barça, you immediately agreed.

Things at home hadn’t at all improved, you figured that some time apart would be good for you both.

“Can I speak with you for a second?” you sheepishly ask Alexia who was sitting in the living room on her laptop working away.

She doesn’t even look up at you, nodding her head for you to continue.

“I’m moving to Arsenal for the rest of the season.”

“Why?” she asks with a sharp tone, eyes narrowing in an accusatory fashion.

“They don’t need me here at Barça, besides, it’s not like you need me either.”

“So your solution when we’re having issues is to run away to England? You’ve always thought about yourself and not the team.”

“Don’t you dare say that, I have given this team my everything.”

“And yet here you are, throwing it away because you’re mad at me!”

“Who the hell says I’m doing this for you?” she looks taken aback when you raise your voice. You rarely did, and it takes her by surprise.

“I am doing this for us. You can’t even LOOK at me without looking like you’re disgusted by me. I am going, whether you fucking approve or not.”

//

I won’t even ask you to listen to me when I have a thousand stories to tell you.

“She’s having the time of her life there! Did you see that goal she scored over the weekend, that’s goal of the year material no?” Patri talks to Lucy and Ona about you, the girls missing you, and having spent the weekend bonding and watching your game against Watford.

“Sí, it was perfect. She is thriving at Arsenal, but I hope they give her back!” Ona says with a light chuckle, leaning into Lucy’s side in the locker room after training.

Alexia walks in, Patri yelling at her to join in on the conversation. It was her wife they were talking about anyway.

“Did you talk to your wife at all today? She called me last night and said that she misses you.” Lucy tells her, watching the captain sit in her cubby and undo her shoes. Alexia shakes her head, immediately getting on her phone.

“No, I didn’t have time last night. I’ll text her.”

“What could you possibly be doing except sulking when she’s not at home? You didn’t have a drink with us either, quite frankly you seemed eager to leave after watching the game yesterday.”

“What I do or where I go is none of your fucking business,” Alexia stands and walks across the room to them. She shakes with rage, eyes filled with pure anger at the insinuation of her being unfaithful. She was, but the thought of her friends finding out that she was doing this to you ate at her. You were perfect in their eyes, the person who would be there for anyone, no matter what. And there she was, being the very thing she promised never to do to you the day you got married.

//

I won’t ask you to do anything, not even be my side forever.

Divorce. That was where your marriage was headed. As you sat in your lawyer's office drawing up the documents, you were devastated. Pictures of Alexia with another woman surfaced just before you got home for Christmas. The plane ride was the worst 2 hours of your life. Alexia and you were through. She hadn’t loved you for a very long time but you had tried so hard to ignore it and convince yourself that it wasn’t true. Those pictures were a slap to your face.

She looked happy with her.

She looked content with her.

She looked in love.

You set the papers in front of her at lunch with the girls. They sat in silence as she read the stack, slowly realizing what you had just handed to her. She tried to get you to take them back and work things out but you firmly held your own.

You knew your worth.

You didn’t need her anymore.

You didn’t need to ask for her love ever again.

Because if I have to ask you, I don’t want it anymore.

[stylesloveclub]

Pleasing (grumpy h blurb)

In which Harry's acting kinda grumpy, and y/n helps him... destress. :)

+++

Harry’s hand slams onto his phone, muting the blaring chimes of his 6 AM alarm. His head hurts and his eyes are heavy, and the thought of having to get out of bed, get dressed, and go to a business meeting when it’s still dark outside makes his feel physically ill. 

He’s tired… beyond tired. Last night had been another one of his annual “In-Chef nights.” He’d been up on his feet, cooking meal after meal from 6 PM all the way until midnight, and had then spent an additional two hours with his staff cleaning up. He’d driven home in the cold rain, and didn’t even have enough energy to change into his pajamas when he got home. He just stripped down to his briefs, and collapsed into his bed.

 Running on barely four hours of sleep, he’s feeling cranky and miserable and irritable. The sound of his alarm has been nagging at him through three snooze cycles, and he knows if he stays in bed any longer, he’s going to be running late. 

He forces himself to blink his eyes open. He feels gross and sluggish, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, and letting out a loud groan. The early morning meeting he has today isn’t even one that he’s excited for… he hates the constructors that are helping him open a new Pleasing location in New York. They’re bad communicators, and always make mistakes in the plans that they’ve made. Harry’s a very particular man, he’s picky about the way his food is cooked, a neat freak in his home, and has an organized schedule that he never strays from. So working with these incompetent people, who somehow always manage to royally fuck something up… god it really gets Harry frustrated. 

He yanks the blanket off of himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His feet meet the floor, and it’s ice cold. Great. 

This is just fucking great. 

+++

“Jesus fucking christ.” 

Harry takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes to calm himself. It doesn’t work. His nostrils are flaring and his eyes have turned a dark, angry shade of green. “I fuckin’ said last week that I wanted gas stoves. So why is there an order for six electric stove tops?”

Ian, the contractor, fumbles in front of Mr. Styles, cheeks turning red. “Uh-um, t-the installation of the electric stoves was cheaper.”

“What did I explicitly ask for,” Harry seethes.

“Err– t-the gas–”

“So what in your right mind made you think that I’d be okay with this?”

“I– well, sir, we just wanted to go with the option that was more affordable–”

“Do you think I give a fuck which one is cheaper?” Harry yells. “For fuck’s sake, I’m running a multi-million business!” He slams the papers he’d been holding onto the desk in front of him and stands up angrily, his chair scratching loudly against the hardwood floors. “Get this fixed, today,” he says before storming out of the conference room and slamming the door behind him. 

He locks himself into his office, and sits in his chair, rubbing his red-veined eyes. He’s too tired to have to deal with all this shit today. How hard is it for people to follow instructions? His life would be so much easier if everyone else didn’t fuck up so much. 

He sits there for a few minutes with his head in his hands, fingers still rubbing at his eyes to try and soothe away the burning feeling he feels every time he opens them. His head is starting to hurt, a pounding migraine so intense that he can feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his stomach hurts. All he had to eat today was a black coffee before he went into that horrific meeting five hours ago. 

Yes, the one hour meeting they had planned had ended up taking five hours instead. He literally had to clear his schedule to fix all the fucking mistakes that they were making. They’d chosen the wrong tiles for the floor, ordered the wrong stove tops for the kitchen, and had designed all of the countertops to be one inch too low… it literally pained him to be working with such incompetent designers. 

And now he was behind on his work. 

He lets out a tired sigh and turns on his desktop, opening his emails. The bright screen makes his eyes sting, and he has to squint to read the tiny word on the screen. He scrambles around in his drawers and finds his reading glasses, but still, the words blur together and make his head hurt. He bares with the pain, and spends an hour or so responding to emails and filling out paperwork, until there’s a knock at his door. 

“What is it?” he calls out a bit snappily, not looking up from his paperwork. 

He hears the door jiggle, trying to open but struggling against the lock. “It’s me, Mr. Styles!” 

Immediately, he puts his pen down and unlocks the door for his sweet y/n to come in. She’s holding a plate of food for him, and looks up at him with her pretty smile, cheeks warm and dimpled with kindness. 

“Hey puppy,” he murmurs, surprised. She hadn’t come in for the majority of this week because she had finals. In fact, she just had her physics final just this morning. 

“Hi!” she says enthusiastically, entering his office. “Teddy told me that you’ve been here since 8, n’that you haven’t eaten anything all day.” She looks up at him with her adorable bambi eyes, “How come you’re allowed to scold me for not eating enough at work when you’re skipping meals too?” 

He smiles lightly, “you’re right puppy, that’s hypocritical of me.” 

“Very hypocritical,” she nods resolutely. “So, I brought you some food! I had Teddy make it, ‘cos I know he’s your favorite.”

His stomach growls at the sight of the fettuccini alfredo in front of him. He’s starving but he’d been way too caught up in his work to think about getting up to get himself any food. “Thank you,” he says, taking the plate from her and picking up her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. 

“It smells yummy, so I want some too,” she says, sitting down on the chair behind his desk. “But we gotta eat it quick, ‘cos I’m supposed to get back out there in five minutes.” 

“Thought you weren’t meant to come in today?” he says, sitting down next to her. 

“I wasn’t scheduled,” she says, shoving a forkful of the pasta into her mouth, “but then Grace texted me asking if I could cover for her. She got the flu.” 

Harry hums, grabbing a tissue from his desk, and wipes off the little bit of white sauce clinging onto y/n’s lips, her mouth full of deliciously creamy and garlicky pasta. “How were your exams?”

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Don’t talk about it. So hard, but everyone else said it was super hard too, so hopefully there’s a fat curve.” She claps her hands excitedly, “But at least I’m done! No more school for the rest of the month!!!” 

Despite his initial grumpy mood, he can’t help the smile that graces his face. His girlfriend is literally the cutest thing in the world, especially when she gets all giddy and excited like this. She’d been really stressed out and MIA all week because of her exams, so it’s refreshing to see his lively and happy y/n again. 

“So proud of you puppy,” he says, cupping her cheek and giving her a kiss. 

She twirls a forkful of pasta for Harry and feeds it to him. “Are we gonna hang out tonight?” she asks. 

“Of course. Need t’cuddle tonight, you’ve been so busy I feel neglected.” Just sitting with y/n for a few minutes has already calmed Harry down, the stress in his body fizzling away. 

She giggles cutely. “Okay baby. We can spend alllll night together.” 

+++

The ache in his stomach fades away after finishing the pasta that y/n brought for him, and after popping an advil, he feels his headache start to slowly go away as well. He’d gotten an email that the electric stove tops had been returned and that an order for the gas ones had been put in, so he’s feeling more relaxed about that as well.

He lounges around in his office until y/n is done with her shift, and they sneak out the back exit to head home together. He’s got a one hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on her thigh, and he’s feeling much better than he was this morning when he’d been all grumpy and stressed out. 

When they get to a stop light, his phone rings. He thinks nothing of it when he picks up, not even looking at the caller id. “Hello?” he answers casually.

“Er– Hi, Mr. Styles.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. It’s Ian on the phone. “What’s going on?” he says tersely.

“Um… so we figured out the stove issue, which is great…” 

The light turns green. “Okay…?” Harry says, slightly annoyed.

“So… well– the stove company said that the shipment is gonna take a few weeks, which is gonna put the construction schedule behind since we can’t install the countertops until we put the stoves in, which means…” Harry sighs in disappointment, already knowing what’s coming. “Well, it means that the restaurant might not be ready for the opening date that we’d set.” 

“Ian,” Harry’s knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel, and he’s using every cell in his body to keep his voice steady so that he doesn’t start yelling in front of y/n. “When I signed that contract with you, didn’t we agree it would be done in three months?”

“I– yes, it’s really unfortunate–” Ian stammers, but Harry cuts him off.

“I don’t want to hear fuckin’ excuses,” Harry bites. “We signed a contract.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to tell you,” Ian says casually.

“How about we start with the fact that this issue could’ve been completely avoided had you simply followed the plan that we had agreed upon?” Harry’s voice is steadily rising, an angry fire to his tone. “Or how much money you’ve already cost me from all the mistakes you’ve made? I signed a contract and I expect the deadline to be met. It’s far too late to push back the opening of the restaurant.” 

“It’s out of my control–” Ian tries to explain, but Harry won’t hear it.

“Jesus christ, do I need to do everything for you?” Harry bursts. “Call the company and tell them the delivery is for Harry Styles! Figure it out with the investors, pay them extra! We will not be pushing the date back, not when we’ve already invested so much into it.” Harry hangs up the phone angrily and throws it into his lap. “Fucking hell,” he breathes angrily. 

Y/n sits next to him quietly, her eyes wide. “Everything okay?” she asks timidly.

“S’fine,” he bristles tersely, pulling into his parking spot. He puts the car in park and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him with such aggression that y/n winces for the car. 

Scrambling behind him like a little puppy, she follows him into his penthouse. There’s an angry furrow in his brow as they ride up the elevator, and his lips are pressed together in a frustrated line as he types out a message on his phone. He storms into the kitchen without even glancing at y/n, and pours himself a glass of ice cold water to maybe help himself calm down. 

Y/n stands shyly behind the kitchen counter, not saying anything but watching him quietly.

“Just a second, puppy,” he says, his tone impatient and clipped, pushing past her to head into his home office. He dials the number of one of his restaurant’s business partners on the phone, and spends nearly half an hour figuring out what they were going to do. 

“I want a new fuckin’ contractor,” Harry rants.

His partner. Niall, gives out a hearty laugh, “I know mate, but don’t worry. I’ll figure it out for ya. I know the guys over there, I’ll give ‘em a ring and see if they can get your appliances sent over any quicker.”

“Thank you,” he mutters gratefully. Finally, there was someone who knew how to get shit done. He hangs up the phone and runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly. His headache is back and his neck and shoulders hurt from being so tense.

Y/n knocks on his office door, and he sighs heavily. “Not now, puppy, v’got to send some emails.”

She steps in, despite the fact that he’s dismissed her, with sad eyes and a pout on her lips. “If this is how it’s gonna be all night then… I’m just gonna go home.” 

His eyes snap up. “What?” 

“You’re working and being all… grumpy,” she says quietly. “So I’m gonna get an uber.”

“Y/n, don’t be like that.” He looks at her with an exasperated look. “Something important came up, v’got to deal with it.” 

“I’m not trying to be like anything,” she shrugs. “You’re stressed out and you don’t wanna talk, so I feel like I’m just annoying you by being here.”

“Baby…” he sighs, rolling away from his desk and getting up to go stand in front of her. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest in a shy, almost protective manner, and she has her bag hanging off of her shoulder, fully prepared to leave. Standing in front of her, he can see the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t go, m’sorry.” 

“I know you’re upset…” she whispers, looking down at the floor, “but that doesn’t give you the right to be snappy with me. It hurts my feelings.” 

Oh, his precious girl, so sweet and sensitive. His heart breaks a little bit, knowing that he’d made her sad… he’d been so caught up in his own stress that he’d neglected her feelings. He knows that she was probably so excited to come over after having finished all her exams… and he knows that she’s sensitive. She gets teary eyed whenever someone uses a stern voice with her, cries for days if she ever gets yelled at. Of course it would hurt her when he pushes her aside and snaps at her to leave him alone.

He pulls her into his chest, “Sweetheart, you’re right, m’sorry. I shouldn’t be takin’ it out on you, you’ve done nothing but been sweet t’me all day.” She’d brought food for him when he was hungry, was cheerful and lovely on the car ride home, and had tried to talk to him when he was upset… only to get pushed away at the end of the night.

“I wanna stay, but not if you’re gonna be mean,” she says into his chest.

He presses a kiss to her hair, “no, m’done puppy. Not gonna be mean, promise. Please, stay?” 

She looks up at him and smiles softly. “Okay,” she puckers her lips and leans up for a quick kiss. “Thank you.” 

He smooths his hand over her hair, and rests his head atop her cheek, still hugging her close. She’s warm and smells sweet… holding her in his arms is all he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“How about I go take a shower while you send your emails, and then we can go to bed?” she suggests, pulling away.

He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No more emails tonight, I can send them in the morning.” It’s late at night anyways, it wouldn’t make a difference if he sent them now or tomorrow. 

“M’getting in that shower with you.”

+++

In the shower, y/n washes away all of Harry’s stress and worries. She lathers up the loofah with the rose scented body wash that she keeps in his shower, and rubbed it all over his chest and back and biceps. She even went so far as to lift his arms above his head and scrub his armpits for him, making Harry cackle at how silly she was.

Then, she took his yummy smelling shampoo and had him bend down so that she could wash his hair for him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp deliciously, scrubbing his hair as though he were getting spoiled at the salon. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as the foamy shampoo dripped down his forehead, but she always made sure to rinse the bubbles away before they got into his eyes. 

They got out and dried themselves together, standing in front of Harry’s heater in their towels for a few minutes while y/n brushed her hair. He changed himself into only a pair of boxers, while y/n opted to skip on undergarments (it’s very important to let ur pussy breathe!!!), putting on only a pair of thin sleep shorts and one of Harry’s huge t-shirts. 

“M’gonna give you a massage,” she tells Harry once they’re both changed, shoving him onto the bed. He chuckles to himself at her weak attempt to manhandle him, but complies easily, settling onto his stomach so that she could straddle his back. She squirts some lotion onto her hands and warms it up between her palms, then rubs it smoothly onto Harry’s broad and muscular back.

“Mm, thank you baby,” he groans. “So good t’me.” 

It’s all innocent at first – y/n knows that Harry was stressed out and probably super tense, so she thought giving him a nice massage to work out the knots in his shoulders would be nice. But, of course, with Harry shirtless underneath her, it’s hard for her thoughts to stay completely pure. 

Harry’s so strong and muscled… it’s so hot. He feels firm underneath her hands, her palms smoothing over the ridges and curves of the muscles in his toned back. His shoulders are broad and his biceps look huge, even without being flexed or anything. The skin of his back is warm and smooth… so soft and tan. Her mouth waters as she rubs her hands up and down his back.

Her fingers find his shoulders and she kneads them deeply, which makes Harry let out a loud groan. His shoulders are particularly tense, and her little fingers are rubbing the tight knots in them so nicely. “Harder baby,” he grunts, and she obliges. Her thumbs dig deep into the meat of his shoulders and rub in slow, painful circles.

She uses all her strength to massage him. He’s so built, every inch of his back covered with hard muscles, that it takes a lot of energy to really get in there. She has to put her entire weight into her hands and press deep onto his back. Luckily, the lotion made it easy for her to glide over his skin and knead his sore muscles. The groans that he lets out tell her which spots to focus on. 

His eyes are shut, eyebrows furrowed with pleasure. It hurts so good. His cock has started to plump up a bit, twitching every time her delicate fingers knead a particularly painful knot in his back. She keeps rubbing him, digging her fingers into his muscles, and the pressure in his cock grows unbearable. 

He flips himself around, unable to deal with it any longer. Y/n gasps at his sudden movement, then finds herself short of breath when she settles herself back down on his lap and feels how hard he is underneath her. Straddling his hips in nothing but her little, thin pair of sleep shorts, she can feel him… feels the curve of his cock, restrained in his boxers, and feels the ridge of his tip nudging against her clit. She’s sure that he can probably feel her pussy too, feel every fold and the tiny bud of her clit.

He smirks up at her when her little pussy flutters around nothing, twitching so delicately against his clothed cock. Her center feels hot, keeping him warm while she sits prettily atop him. “Keep going baby…” he says, voice low and dangerous. “M’arms hurt so much, can you rub ‘em for me?” 

He pouts up at her, but it’s a mocking pout. He knows exactly what she’s thinking about, and it’s much more filthy than his innocent request for an arm massage. 

Nonetheless, she squirts some more lotion on her hands and brings them down to his strong biceps. He’d been to the gym yesterday for arms, so he wasn’t lying when he said they were sore. But also, that means they’re particularly pumped today, firm and delicious… y/n just wants to bite them. 

His hands rest on her hips while she rubs her palms up and down his arms, his thumbs tracing soft circles onto the skin of thigh where her shorts have ridden up. She looks like she’s intently focused on rubbing his arms, but really, she can’t stop thinking about the way his cock feels underneath her. He subtly grips her hips and presses her down harder onto the hard bulge in his pants, and lets out a strained breath through his nose. Y/n similarly feels her breath catch in her throat, her hands pausing momentarily as she flutters her eyes shut.

“Feels so good baby,” he murmurs when her hands migrate up to massage his chest, rubbing circles over his swallows and tracing over his butterfly delicately. It’s a not-so subtle innuendo to fuel the fire of the sexual tension burning between the two of them right now. 

The hands on her hips start to slide upwards, under her shirt to rest on her warm tummy. He can see the soft peaks of her nipples poking through the shirt she’s wearing. “Baby… show me y’pretty tits, please?” he begs. He slides his hands even higher until his fingers graze the undersides of her breasts. “Had such a long day, I deserve a treat don’ I?”

“Y-yeah,” she agrees softly, taking her shirt off and throwing it onto the floor. She’s left topless, her perky nipple peaking in the cold air of Harry’s bedroom, and her wet pussy pressed firmly to his hard cock.

She continues rubbing his chest with her tits out, and Harry takes it upon himself to do the same to her. He plays with her tits, holds them in his palms and rubs his thumbs over her hard nipples. Still, it’s not enough. 

“Come closer, baby,” he murmurs lowly, guiding her forward. She inches forward slowly, back arching while holding herself up with her arms, until her boobs are hanging in front of Harry’s face. 

He sticks his tongue out and leans up, attaching himself to her nipple and sucking it into his mouth gently. His tongue licks the soft bud gently, and he hums happily. “Mmm, baby, so nice to me,” he mutters, switching to her other nipple, “Lettin’ daddy play with your pretty tits ‘cos I had a long day.” Hand engulfs the breast that he’d just hand in his mouth, palming it gently while his tongue plays with the other. His teeth skim her soft skin gently, and he starts sucking. Each purse of his lip and pass of his tongue sends a shock straight down to y/n’s center, and she’s absolutely, totally drenched. Her heart is beating erratically in her chest, and she can’t help herself before grinding herself down. 

Since she’s lifted herself up to align her tits with Harry’s face, she’s no longer sitting on his bulge, but instead now sitting on the butterfly painted on his abdomen. She presses herself onto his abs, soothing the dull ache that comes each time he hums around her breast.

Her boobs are so plump and plushy, dangling in front of his mouth and covered in his spit. His hands grope her chest sensually, pushing her breasts into his face and letting himself indulge like a teenage boy. He lets them bounce on his face, skimming his lips against them then pulling himself back, teasing himself. He nudges his nose against them, and they jiggle prettily right in front of his face. God, he’s making himself so hard, playing with her tits like this, having them all up in his face. All he can see is her skin, the roundness of her breasts, the soft bud of her nipples. No matter which way he turns his head, he makes contact with her, her nipples skimming his cheeks or his lips dancing against her sideboob. 

“Jus-” she gasps when he takes her boob back between his lips and sucks, tongue curling around her nipple, “Jus’ wanna make you happy daddy.” 

“Doing so good baby, taking caring of me so well,” he murmurs, barely moving his lips from her skin before reattaching to her areola. “You know what would make daddy so happy?” 

“W-what?” she whimpers, pushing her clit down against his hard abs.

“If you got on my cock and got yourself off. Could you do that for me, puppy?” 

She nods eagerly and shuffles herself down, shoving Harry’s briefs down. His cock bounces up and slaps against his stomach, the tip completely slick with his own precum and arousal. She doesn’t even bother warming herself or Harry up – the massage and his little play session had gotten both of them 100% ready.

She doesn’t take her sleep shorts off, genuinely too excited to stuff herself full of his cock. Grabbing him by the shaft, she hovers right over his hips and slowly guides him into her dripping cunt. The slide in is easy, absolutely no resistance from how wet she is, and she’s able to bottom out on the first go. 

Her hands rest on his chest to support herself, and she starts to lift her hips, up and down, skin meeting skin with every drop down. Her nails dig into his flesh, and it hurts just as good as her massage had. She’s riding him like she never has before – usually she’s a bit of a princess, mostly grinding her clit down and rubbing herself on his cock slowly until her thighs start to burn and she whines for Harry to take over. 

Now though, with the way he’d teased her all nice, she’s bouncing on his cock properly, using all her strength to pull herself all the way up, then drop back down. She sets a messy pace for herself, but it doesn’t matter. He’s hitting all the right spots in her, and that’s all she care about. 

Harry lies on his back in bliss, her pussy absolute heaven around his cock. Her messy pace and high bounces have her tits jiggling, and Harry pushes himself up onto his elbows to get a better view. “Fuck, puppy, you’re an angel.” 

He brings a hand down to rub her at her clit, fingers rubbing tight circles as she grinds herself on him. “Gonna cum baby,” he groans, “Are you close?”

She whines out, and nods messily, eyes shut as she keeps herself going. 

Harry throws his head back, and shuts his eyes, rubbing her clit faster and faster until she’s cumming, clenching around his cock and squeezing him so tightly. His vision goes white his ears start to ring, and he’s in absolute heaven.

Y/n collapses onto his chest, and he spurts out long streaks of cum into her warm pussy, balls clenching with every release and his hips twitching upwards, trying to get as deep into her as he possibly can. She lays on top of him heavily, breathing hard with rosy cheeks and a glistening forehead from how hard she’d worked to get them both to their end. 

He pulls her up for a kiss. What had he even been stressed about, again? 

+++

HOPE U GUYS ENJOYED!!! SUB TO MY PATREON FOR MORE EXCLUSIVE PLEASINGRRY CONCEPTS AND EARLY ACCESS TO ANY AND ALL FICS!!!!

[wileys-russo]

mb4 + "are you sure that’s right??” + setting up furniturefromhell ikea furniture

flat packs II m.bright

"do you think the grey or the charcoal mills?" you questioned with a frown holding up both pillows as your girlfriend sighed tiredly knowing too well the question itself was rhetorical.

"i like whatever one you like baby." millie mumbled as she had done over and over as you'd dragged her around ikea for the last three hours. if you asked her there was absolutely no difference between the two cushions you had in hand.

"mmm i think the charcoal. mill?" you glanced at her over your shoulder as the footballer only hummed, leaning against the cart with her chin resting on her fist making you smile. tossing four of the cushions in you returned to her side.

"i love you." you spoke, well aware that shopping was only really enjoyable for one of you and that was not your girlfriend. "love you too." millie sighed with a tired smile as you pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"i think thats everything. we just need to go and find the flatpacks in the warehouse bit and pay for it all, then i'll buy you some lunch grumpy." you teased, your girlfriend exhaling and straightening up.

"baby i'm gettin beyond grumpy and dangerously close to hangry."

~

"and you definitely don't want any help? not even from the instructions?" you hinted, waving the small stack of papers around in your hand as millie shook her head and laid everything out in front of her.

"baby. its a desk, i've got this easy! you're good at the buying, my strength is the building." the blonde flexed her arms with a smirk making you roll your eyes. "fine! call me if you need me." you bent down to peck her lips, sending her a glare as her hand shot out and smacked your ass as you walked off.

"it slipped!" she grinned twirling a screwdriver around in her hand as you hummed. "sure it did bright, sure it did."

an hour or so later you looked up from your book with a smile of amusement hearing yet another thud and a groan, some colorful language filling the air as you heard your girlfriend kick off for what felt like the tenth time since she'd commenced building.

"want a hand mills?" you called out with a grin. "no! i'm fine." the blonde huffed back and you could hear the obvious scowl of frustration in her voice as you shook your head at her stubbornness and tuned back into your book.

easily another hour and six or so chapters later your book was ripped from your hand and the defender towered over you with excitement plastered all over her face.

"i did it!" she announced proudly, marking your page for you and tossing the book onto the coffee table. "only took you...two and a half hours, not bad!" you teased making her eyes roll as she held her hands out to help you up.

"don't be cheeky." the blonde warned in her thick northern accent you adored dearly, pecking your lips a few times as you hummed and allowed her to drag you off to the study.

"ta-da!" she dropped her hands and wiggled her own at the desk, a slight frown curling into your features as you moved closer and inspected it. "what!" millies hands dropped to her hips as she stared down at you in annoyance.

"are you sure thats right? it doesn't look like the display model babe." you hummed, ducking down to inspect it properly as your girlfriend scoffed.

"well thats gratitude innit! slave away buildin this for ya after bring dragged round shoppin for hours on my day off, hardly any kisses and hardly any attention only for you to question if i did it wrong!" the footballer threw her hands up in protest.

"i was only asking! i am very thankful for you. my big strong brick wall turned builder!" you teased playfully, standing on your tippy toes to kiss her as her head swiveled away from you with a huff.

"you know its quite hot that you can do a flat pack baby." your hands crept up her top, nails scratching at her sides as her eyes dropped down to meet yours, smug smile on your lips and eyebrow raised as her face softened.

"i can do a lot of things." millie purred, bad mood melting away as her grin matched yours, hands finding refuge on your hips as she ducked down to connect her mouth to yours.

a small moan dropped involuntarily from your lips as her large hands moved around to grip your ass, a quick tap all you needed to jump up as she easily caught you, lips not even leaving yours for a second as your legs wrapped around your waist.

walking you backwards the defenders tongue made itself at home in your mouth for a moment before her teeth nipped at your bottom lip, tugging on it teasingly as she sat you down on the desk and pulled on the hem of your shirt wordlessly asking you to take it off.

but before you could even move an inch there was a squeaking and suddenly the desk was giving in, legs concaving as you let out a yell and grabbed out for your girlfriend who yanked you up and off the desk right in time for it to fall completely apart on the floor.

"i told you it didn't look right!"

[aureliaporter]

just breathe

summary: when you disappear for six hours straight, overworking yourself, shoto panics and misunderstands the entire situation. 

a/n: literally the first anime man i ever simped for and holy shit do i need to get caught up on MHA i am like two seasons behind :,(

cw: intentional lowercase, slightly insecure!todoroki, probably ooc!todoroki, overworked!reader, overwhelmed!reader, mentions of skipping meals, reverse comfort

YOUR TO-DO list had seen better days. much better days.

today, it was overflowing. there were assignments for every class, multiple different kinds of quirk training you had yet to complete, cleaning to do in your dorm room, hopefully a meal or two to eat - if you had the time - a multitude of people to call back and respond to, and, as always, a boyfriend to communicate with.

but, sitting at your desk with a stack of papers beside you that seemed neverending, you found yourself forgetting anything else you needed to do. hours passed in a haze of paper, hand cramps, and scribbles of words and equations and formulas. time blurred together, your neck and back ached, and it wasn’t until you noticed you were practically squinting at your papers that you realized-

the sun had set.

you didn’t register it for a moment. you had a candle burning beside you and a laptop in front of you, enough so then you could still see your papers and continue to work. but you were squinting hard, and it was starting to bother your head as well as the rest of you. with a sigh, you stood up for a moment, finally stretching as you made your way to the light switch.

you passed your nightstand on the way back, and your eyes locked onto your phone. you told yourself not to touch it, to return to your desk until the work was done, but then you were desperate to know what time it was, and you were unlocking your phone.

seven thirty-eight.

you were about to click off your phone, you really were, when you received a text message from tsuyu. you merely blinked at it, not really comprehending the words, until you swiped down to see all your notifications.

.. oops.

as it turns out, your sudden disappearance off the face of the earth had scared - not just your shoto - but the rest of your classmates. even bakugou, who was prone to either ignoring everyone or expressing his severe dislike, had texted you, asking where you were. you had messages from everyone - thankfully not aizawa-sensei - in your class. you stared at the screen for a moment, trying to weigh your options.

respond.. finish the work.. go downstairs.. what to do? your thoughts were fragmented, a sure sign of overwork, but you dismissed it. maybe you just needed a coffee. yes, that sounded perfect. it got you downstairs, so everyone would know you were still alive, and it would help you focus.

with your plan in mind - get downstairs, make a cup of coffee, answer three or four questions of where you were, return to your room - you left your room for the first time in six hours, footsteps light on the ground as you walked to the elevator. the doors opened, and you were stepping inside, not noticing the other occupant.

“.. (y/n)?” shoto todoroki asked, eyes wide as he looked at you. “you’re- where have you been?”

you froze, not having prepared yourself to see him just yet. “uh.. in my room?” you said, your tone lilting upwards, as if you were also confused. 

he nodded, reaching out a hand to you before pausing and retracting it, his eyes boring into his palm. “did.. did i do something?” he asked, refusing to look at you.

you stared at him, lips parting. “what?”

he shrugged helplessly, suddenly looking a lot like the hurt little boy he had confided in you about. “well.. you didn’t respond. to.. anyone. i kept calling, and texting, and then i went to your room, and i knocked, and you didn’t answer so i didn’t know if you were even in there, and then i remembered that sometimes i leave you on read or i say the wrong thing or i freeze you and then i thought that-”

you cut off his ramble with a hand to his left cheek, your thumb stroking softly over the scarred skin. “shoto. breathe, baby,” you said softly, taking his hand to press to your chest and taking a deep breath, showing him to match your breathing. “just breathe.”

he nodded, taking in a shuddering breath and releasing it with you - at least, doing his best to. when he exhaled, he slumped, like all the nervous energy in him had slipped out, and he rested his head against your shoulder. you continued breathing with him, and he kept matching your breaths until his heart rate was calm again.

“thank you, (y/n),” he murmured, keeping his head resting on your shoulder.

you nodded, releasing his hand, fully intent on letting go of him, but he merely grasped your hand tighter, taking a half-step closer to you.

“can we.. stay like this? just for a bit?” he said, one hand enclosed around yours, the other wrapped around your waist. 

instead of responding verbally, you wrapped your free arm around his torso, keeping him close to you. 

you both remained like that for quite some time, merely basking in each other’s embrace, until the elevator doors started to open. you both froze, having forgotten where you were entirely.

and then denki’s voice was practically echoing in the elevator, making you both wince.

“hey! quit canoodling in public!”

:p hello children! i am heading off to vacation tomorrow, so i have no idea what posting will be like, but i will do my best!! please make sure to comment or send in an ask if you like anything or if you want to see anything! have a great night lovelies <3

[sp0o0kylights]

Adopt a Jock Part Four  / Part Five P 1 YOU ARE HERE / Part Five P 2 

As always I own my soul to @chalkysgarbagefire and Hayley for helpin out with this one! 

The problem with D&D games was that the drama room was only available on specific days.

As in, the days Hellfire was scheduled as a club for, much to said club’s distress. 

This led directly into the second issue Hellfire faced--finding a place to host them all when they wanted to do something as a group outside of the main campaign they played. 

(At least anything D&D related, with all of the screaming, ranting, and frantic dice rolling that came with it.) 

Gareth knew Eddie had been lying through his teeth when he'd try to pitch Steve's house as a Hellfire hangout. Accepted that they’d never get to use all the sweet, sweet space Steve was known to have as much as he’d accepted Steve himself. 

It was a lot, after all. Particularly when Eddie’s one-shots were known to last a good chunk of the day. 

Once again, Steve had proved them all wrong. 

(“We can use my house.” were five words not a single person at the table had ever expected to hear out of Harrington’s mouth, and it showed in the shocked silence that followed when he actually spoke them. 

“What?” Steve asked, as six pairs of eyes stared at him. “Space is the problem right? So my house is the perfect solution.” 

“Are you sure dude?” Grant asked hesitantly. “You know this one-shot isn’t gonna be a like, two hour thing, right?” 

To their surprise Steve just gave him a flat, almost dead-eyed stare in return. “I’ve hosted the kids at my place before. Believe me, I am well aware.” 

“As long as you’re absolutely sure…” Jeff had added, and could only roll his eyes when he got a sassy response from Steve. 

Gareth of course, caught the way Steve kept seeking out Eddie’s eyes, as if hoping to make their oldest friend smile simply by offering up his house. 

He didn’t even need to look to know it was working.) 

It had taken some creative thinking (and a few wild excuses) to finangle things so that he could show up to Steve's literal castle of a home before anyone else without alerting Eddie but he'd managed it.

It was in fact, looking to be the highlight of Gareth's month. 

Possibly the year, if they managed to pull off the little plot he had cooked up. 

“I still don’t get how this is a prank.” Steve said, as Gareth prepped him before the others arrived.

"Trust me. If Eddie is anything, it's a jealous bitch." Gareth replied, seated on one of the countertops. "We dethrone him and he's gonna make an ass of himself for the next week. It'll be hilarious." 

"I fail to see how that's different than usual." Steve grumbled as he bustled about. 

Upon arrival Gareth had found him elbow deep into making cookies and what appeared to be  themed cocktails, among several other bowls full of snacks of all kinds. 

There was even little finger sandwiches, the kind that absolutely looked homemade, and Gareth would have teased him about that except he’d instantly stuffed two in his mouth.  

("I won't be able to host since I'm playing, so I just want everything done before anyone comes over." Was Steve's explanation, when Gareth did manage to get out a few teasing quips.  

With the proud lack of manners so many teenage boys possessed, Gareth talked right through his mouth of food. "God you’re a dork. How the hell did you get popular?"

"Shut up Emerson, you're wearing two jackets." Steve snipped in response, as if he didn’t look like the poster boy for Nordstrom.) 

"Don't bring logic into this." Gareth continued, as he tried to snag some cookie dough. 

 Steve smacked the back of his hand with a spoon. 

"Get a bowl and a spoon if you're going to eat the dough!" Steve grumbled at him, already bustling to get said bowl and spoon himself. “God you’re worse than Eddie. And the kids!” 

Gareth waited until Steve turned before he stuck his tongue out at him. "Whatever you say, mom." 

He got an over exaggerated eye roll in response. 

 "Anyway, the point is you're gonna witness something we'll get to tease Eddie about for years." Gareth said, as he watched Steve dole out some dough. 

"You get to watch the little hamster on the wheel that powers Eddie's brain lose its shit and cause him to do something really stupid.” He made grabby hands for the bowl and spoon, and tucking in delightfully the second Steve handed them over. 

Steve himself treated the entire exchange like he was feeding a particularly vicious and wild animal, making a show of yanking his hands back like Gareth might just go for his fingers. "I just don't understand why the thing you wanna fight about is cuddling."

"Bragging rights. The jokes we can make. The fact that your thighs look like they were made out of clouds, take your pick man.” Gareth counted off, in-between bites of dough. 

"Clouds?" Steve asked, tilting his head. 

“Big muscley clouds, Harrington. Also Grant’s here.” 

Steve blinked. “How do you-” He asked, right before the sound of a car with an engine far too loud pulled into his driveway. 

“He drives an absolute piece of crap. You ride in that thing one time and you’ll be able to hear it coming for the rest of your life.” Gareth explained, as Steve peered out the kitchen and down to his front doors. 

(Plural, because he had two.

Gareth had never felt more judged by slabs of wood in his life than he had when he’d walked through them.) 

"Last chance to bail, Stevie.” Gareth teased. “I won't hold it against you if you call it off mid-show though." 

Steve didn’t answer for a moment, too busy disrobing from his baking apron—a bright yellow and red garment that practically swallowed him whole, complete with an embroidered ‘Claudia Henderson’ over the right breast. The embroidery gave rise to a few questions but Gareth decided to save them for later. 

"No, something this fucking weird has to have a story behind it and I want to witness the fallout.” Steve finally replied, before rushing out of the kitchen. 

He ripped open his front door, right after a knock echoed loudly throughout the house. 

“Shit! What the hell man, were you just waiting to do that!?” Stewart yelped, prompting Gareth to snicker quietly and Steve to apologize. 

Like the wealthy housewife he’d been no doubt raised by, Steve went through a whole spiel as he ushered Stewart and Grant in, pointing out bathrooms, letting them know where the game was going to take place (the giant fuck off table that looked like it should be hosting some kind of high-stakes negotiation instead of a bunch of nerds) and where they could put their things (into a closet dedicated to just guests.) 

The trio of Eddie, Tiffany and Jeff arrived next, the latter two having been roped into helping Eddie haul his “D&D To Go” bags around. 

Steve started his little host speech over, much to Gareth’s amusement, fluttering about and entirely forgetting about his cookies until the oven dinged, causing him to swear and rush back into the kitchen. 

“Dude, breathe.” Gareth told him, almost done with his bowl. “It’s a D&D game, you don’t gotta go full out for us.” 

“I just want to make sure everyone has a good time.“ Steve said with a shrug. Like none of the effort he’d gone to, was a big deal. 

“Careful Harrington, say stuff like that again and we’re going to start thinking you enjoy hosting us.” 

“Shut up Gary.” Steve said, setting his cookies on a cooling rack. “And put that bowl in the sink!” 

Gareth jumped off the counter, trying his best to remove the shit eating from his face.

He failed entirely. 

xXx 

As far as pranks went, this one required quite the set up. 

They couldn’t do it in the beginning of the D&D game--too obvious, and too easy for Eddie to call bullshit. 

Doing it at the end wouldn’t work either. Eddie would know they were trying to rile him up and would no doubt find a way to ruin it. 

Years of being Munson’s best friend had afforded Gareth the knowledge that this was going to have to be split in two parts, and the first part, the setup, started now. 

Slowly. Methodically. 

In a way that wouldn't spook Steve, or trigger Eddie's sense for trouble. 

Gareth began by selecting a seat as far away from Eddie as possible, knowing his lovestruck idiot friend would be pulling out all the stops tonight in order to impress Steve (and get him to keep playing, of course.) 

Sure enough, as soon as Eddie was done setting up he crooked a finger in Steve's direction.

“Harrington you’re here, next to me.” Eddie flashed him his most award winning grin, the one that said he was up to trouble in that charming, ‘aren’t I just a charming ol’ rogue?” sort of way. 

“I made you a human fighter, just to start you off." He continued, as Steve took the seat next to him. "You can always make your own character later if you don't like playing this class, but I made this set up as straightforward as possible.” 

“Human fighter huh?” Steve said, glancing down the sheet. “Okay.” 

“You have any questions, you just ask. I promise I won’t bite. Not for your first time anyway.” Eddie winked, dipping in and out of Steve's space as he did so. 

“Dude, I am begging you to please stop saying shit like that.” Jeff said with a long suffering sigh. 

“No.” Eddie replied promptly, sticking his tongue out. 

Steve just ducked his head to hide his smile. 

A harsh clap halted any further response, as Eddie settled back into his seat and dipped into his DM narrator voice. 

"Alright my little adventurers! Are we ready to begin?"  He looked around as everyone looked towards him, the energy shifting instantly in the room. 

Eddie grinned gleefully. "Perfect. You all wake up at an Inn, with no memory of how you got there…" 

A story was quickly spun, one of mysterious memory loss and a sense that the group needed to stay together. Introductions were given once everyone came into the tavern of the inn, cut short when they were interrupted by a lone barkeep.

“Is the barkeep a human?” Steve cut in. 

Eddie paused, temporarily thrown, but nodded encouragingly. “Yes, he is actually!” 

Grant and Jeff both went to open their mouths, no doubt to tease, but Harrington beat them to it. 

“Okay, I roll to fight him, or whatever.” Steve said.

“I--what?” Eddie asked. 

“I roll to fight him.” Steve repeated. “Oh and my character screams “Death to humans!” before he attacks.” 

He sat back with a smug little grin, and watched as Eddie froze in surprise, while Grant and Stewart's jaws promptly hit the floor. 

“Harrington, you menace.” Tiff cackled, delighted. 

Eddie just threw his head back and laughed. 

It set the tone quite nicely for the rest of the one-shot. 

xXx 

“Grant, why are you looking at me through a fork?” Steve asked, about thirty minutes into the game. 

“I’m pretending you’re in jail.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Grant, whose character had to physically carry Steve's fighter out of two altercations he started,  just gave him a flat look.  “It’s spiritually healing.”

"Hey Jeff." Gareth asked quietly, as banter was traded. "I'm catching a hell of a draft over here." 

Jeff raised an eyebrow at him. "And what do you want me to do about it?" 

"Switch me seats?" 

Jeff rolled his eyes, but gave in easily enough. 

"Fine."  He said. 

Gareth did his best to keep his grin off his face. 

Step one, complete! 

xxx

"You come upon a door." Eddie said, sitting deep in his seat while steepling his fingers. "It's a normal door, unremarkable in every way except for two things." 

Groans filled the room, startling Steve. 

"Oh god, not again." Stewart moaned, raking his hands through his hair. "I can't do this again!" 

Eddie's grin merely grew. "The first odd thing you notice is that the door has been put into the wall at a tilt." 

"I'm gonna kill him." Tiff snarled, writing something frantically in her notes. "Munson is a dead man walking." 

"What is happening?" Steve asked, glancing around. 

"The second thing is that you recognize this door." Eddie's grin was Cheshire cat-esque, smug in the chaos he was causing among his friends. "It's the same door you saw at the beginning of this adventure, leading into the room the Innkeeper asked you to stay away from." 

"We're boned." Grant announced, throwing himself dramatically back against his chair. 

Gareth made his own dramatic, frustrated noise, banging his fist on the table. 

The full glass of soda next to him wobbled dangerously. 

With a cough, he made another loud "ugh!"  smacking his fist down a second time, closer to the glass. 

As intended, it spilled all over Tiffany. 

"Dude!" She exclaimed, shoving her chair backwards and jumping up. 

"Oh shit Tiff, I'm so sorry!" Gareth gasped. 

It was hard to keep a straight (albeit very sorry, least Tiffany hit him with her papers) face, but he managed. 

Barely. 

"You got my shirt wet you dick!"

"Here, switch it with this."  Gareth stood, unwrapping the red and black checkered sweater from his waist. He offered it up with an apologetic face as Tiff snatched it out of his hands with a glare. 

"I'll switch you seats too!" He called as she stormed off towards the bathroom. 

Jeff and Grant both stared at him with raised eyebrows as Gareth quickly shuffled his and Tiff's stuff around, taking her now sticky chair. 

"Maybe we should take a break?" He suggested, trying to act embarrassed when he was anything but. "This whole area needs to be wiped down."

"Five minutes." Eddie conceded. "I wanted one of Stevie's delicious cookies anyway." He stood, putting his arms up in a lazy stretch. 

Steve stood with him, leaning over to examine the mess Gareth had made. “We can wipe this down but this wood’s kinda funny, it’s gonna be wet for a bit no matter how much we dry it.” 

“Well shit.” Gareth said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about the table man.” 

Steve waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, the kids spill on it constantly. You are probably going to need a different chair though unless you’re fine with your ass getting wet.” 

“Do you have another chair somewhere, Stevie?” Eddie asked, making a show of looking around. “Cause I’m not seeing one. Not that I care if Gary-Berry sits on the floor.” 

Steve had several extra chairs in fact, but he and Gareth had hidden them all away before anyone else had arrived. 

“I used to, but Mike broke two.” Steve said, and Gareth found himself insanely impressed by the improv on display. 

He hadn’t thought Harrington had that level of acting in him. 

“If you’re okay with sharing though, the chair’s are big enough that we can kinda squish together.” Steve continued, completely ignoring the way Eddie’s eyes about bugged out of his head. 

“Only if you’re sure, man. I don’t want to be more of a bother.” Gareth put on his saddest, ‘I dun fucked up’ face, and shuffled his feet a little, just for dramatic effect. 

This was the performance of a lifetime and Gareth wanted his Grammy after it, because he and Steve had planned the entire thing right down to the shared chair bit. 

“You’re not, Dustin does this constantly.” Steve replied easily. 

“Or we could just put down a towel.” Jeff said, with a look on his face that said he thought everyone in the room was a fucking idiot. 

Gareth could’ve strangled him. 

“That’s probably a smarter idea.” Steve agreed, like the traitor he was. “I dunno if that’s gonna work for your papers and shit though, so you can just hedge into my space.” 

Which wasn’t what Gareth wanted, but he had to give Steve props for the quick thinking. 

At least it was just a minor setback. 

“I’ll get a towel.” Jeff continued, and at least they all got to witness the look that graced Eddie’s face upon realizing that Jeff of all people, knew where Steve kept his towels. 

xXx

"What the hell else can we do to try and open the door!?" Jeff snarled a while later, slamming his pencil down. 

They'd tried multiple different approaches and so far nothing had worked to set off whatever trap Eddie had set up. Something that made their DM absolutely delighted, while frustrating everyone else. 

"I still don't get why we can't just try to turn the knob." Steve complained, staring in confusion at the absolute riot Eddie's "completely normal" door had caused among the rest of his party. 

"Do not touch that door Harrington!" Grant bellowed, pointing at him. 

Steve raised his hands in the air placatingly. "Easy, easy, I was just making a suggestion." 

Gareth, wedged as close into Steve's space as he could get, tapped his fingers on the table twice. It was the little code he’d come up with to alert Steve that he was about to do something to piss off Eddie related to the prank (mostly, so Steve had a heads up Gareth was about to touch him, not that Gareth had spun it that way when he’d explained it) before patting Steve’s shoulder, hooking his elbow on it and leaning over. “Not gonna lie man, it’s not a bad idea. We’ve tried right about everything else.” 

He could feel Eddie's eyes burning a hole in his skull from here and he delighted in it. 

“Do not encourage him.” Grant said through gritted teeth. 

Gareth leaned his face on the arm perched on Harrington, his hair tickling Steve’s cheek as he tried to look as angelic as possible. “I couldn’t possibly know what you mean, Grantman.” 

He was flipped off in response. 

xXx

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Stewart howled, and even Gareth’s jaw dropped when Steve finally gave in and tried to turn the knob--only to succeed and swing the door open. 

“Well Munson? What happens to him?” Tiff said, having refused to call Eddie anything but his last name since the door had first appeared. 

“Nothing.” Eddie practically purred. “I told you, it’s a totally normal door, and the only weird thing about it was that you recognized it and that it was put into the wall a little tilted.” 

“Fuck you dude.” Stewart practically growled, balling up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on and flinging it towards their DM. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck. You!” 

“No thank you.” Eddie replied cheekily, twirling a finger in his hair. 

“We spent almost an hour trying to figure out how to open a regular door.” Jeff said, clearly processing. “An hour.” 

Eddie just shrugged, shit eating grin plastered across his face. 

Gareth once again tapped his fingers twice against the table, waited a moment, before banging his head gently against Steve’s shoulder. “I hate him.” He groaned. 

After a long moment, Steve gently, if not a little awkwardly, patted him on the head. 

“There, there, Gary. We defeated the door in the end.” He said calmly. 

Gareth laughed, absolutely delighted. His head jerked up and a grin crossed his face as he immediately looked to see what Eddie made of that. 

Pure murder, going by the face Eddie poorly tried to cover. 

Perfect. 

xXx 

“With his last few moves, Sir Carrington-” 

"I refuse to let that be my character's name.” Steve interjected, as he had every time Eddie brought up the name they’d apparently argued over. “If I have to figure out how to change it legally in your dumb game I fucking will."  

Eddie didn’t even look in his direction. 

“--Sir Carrington leaps into the air, swinging the sword of truth. It cleaves right through the Innkeeper, revealing him to be the dastardly villain you’ve heard so much about, Tareth the Trait. He’s gained an unusual amount of power after stealing the Inn from the former Innkeeper--” 

“Really bro?” Gareth said, sending Eddie a flat look. “Tareth the Trait?” 

“--With this final blow, Tareth collapses to the ground, dead. The Inn returns to its prior form, a safe haven for adventurers, instead of a trap.” 

“Shut up guys, we did it!” Stewart said, throwing his hands up in a victory pose. 

“Not gonna Eddie, I liked the twist.” Tiff complimented, a rare thing from her. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Eddie stood up, sweeping an arm across his chest as he bowed. “Give yourselves a round of applause as well, especially for our dear Steven, who just completed his first D&D game!”

A cheer went up, causing Steve to flush red. 

Gareth pretending to drum, knocking his shoulder into Steve’s much the way he had seen Eddie do as Steve sent an embarrassed smile around the room. 

“We should celebrate.” Jeff said, as the chaos finally died down. 

“I conquer, Jeff the Chef!” Eddie hollered, putting his foot on Steve’s chair. “Stevie-boy, you gotta have some good stuff around here for those big basketball wins!” 

“Get your foot off the chair, Eds.” Steve groaned, but stood up (forcing Gareth to get up as well considering how far he’d been leaning into Steve’s space.) “And yeah we can order like pizza.” 

“Pizza and beer?” Grant suggested.

“Oh my friend. I can do better than that.” Steve replied, a flash of his old, charming self coming through. “Allow me to raid my father’s liquor cabinet.” 

“Hell yes!” Grant yelled, pumping his fist. 

Tiffany rolled her eyes but didn’t protest, and neither Gareth noted, did anyone else. 

Which was exactly what he wanted, because he hadn’t managed to land the perfect ending he and Harrington had planned. 

Gareth would make it into Steve’s lap tonight, even if it killed him.  

(Or worse, even if Eddie got there first, a thing that may very well happen considering Eddie was clearly annoyed with how Gareth had been hogging Steve. 

Just as intended.) 

SOME NOTES: I don't play d&d so writing it always requires a lot of research. Several pieces here (like the human fighter bit) are based off of/stolen from memes, videos or stories I read. If I fucked it up thaaaan idk squint and pretend its right LOL. 

This one doesn’t have a bonus because I had to split Chapter Five into two parts. This is Part One, it’ll be one chapter on A03.  It just kept going.

Also Adopt a Jock is officially going up ON A03 so I will no longer be accepting tags ( Ch. One is already uploaded I’m just struggling with the summary lol. I will make a post and link it to my pinned post when it’s up.) I will still be updating here since I am only updating chapters on A03 as fast as I can edit them, which is not fast at all, so I imagine the next few chaps will be here before there but eventually shits gonna even out, so those who did not get onto the tag list can subscribe to the A03!  

Finally, Sorry this took so long, I have a prior ongoing medical issue and getting laid off fucked up my insurance. Had to cram in some procedures before it ran out. Long story short all I've done is sleep, go to a doctor or rant about one of the two lmao. Legit slept 18 hours yesterday ahaha k i l l m e 

[vase-of-lilies]

His Sister's Keepers

Paring: Mommy!Wanda Maximoff x Little!Barnes!Reader (f) x Mama!Natasha Romanoff (Bucky Barnes x Sister!Reader - not romantic at all)

Warnings: Forced Age regression, this is a dark AU, Reader is in little space when she meets Bucky again — but goes back to adult space later in the fic, faking readers death, angry bucky, drugging (use of Rohypnol), long car ride, profanity, mentions of a suicide letter, and other warnings. Do not proceed if any of these matters upset you. 

Request: How does Bucky react to his sister Tiny Reader being with Wanda and Nat all along? I love your fics 😭🩷 + Ok but like reader going back to finally see Bucky again dressed in an oversized hoodie with woodland creatures on it and space buns with ribbons in her hair oh and fuzzy socks 😍. Sorry I feel like a bean rn and this sounds so cute (girl literally no problem I love feeling like a smol bean 🥹)

A/N: Thank you for the kind words!! I am SUPER excited to post this one! I think this will be in order after all the drabbles, and then once Bucky finds out we can do more requests with Bucky included:) This was based off of the request, but I took more inspiration from this post!! I really hope you like this:) I also took some of the other requests regarding this story and put them in here:)

Bucky had a feeling you were still alive. You survived once, you would have to survive again. Wanda was good with tricks and visions, so she easily could have shown a hallucination in his brain when he saw your lifeless body on the cold ground in the Hydra base. And Natasha was good at cover-ups. She could easily cover up a death with a simple certificate and funeral since she has covered multiple aliases during her career. She did it for Fury, she could do it for you. 

She did take it as far as holding a funeral for you. With Wanda’s magical craft, she made a near-perfect model of your sleeping body to put in the casket. With your [length, color, texture] hair perfectly done, a small dash of makeup on your cheeks, and lastly a beautiful dress to lay you in. But it wasn’t you. Bucky knew it wasn’t you. Your hair was just slightly less [hair color] than it usually was, your nose was just a millimeter off, and your top lip was slightly smaller than before. 

One might think that it would just be the “dying process,” and everything on a dead body looks deflated or off. However, your older brother has known you for one hundred and seven (107) years and the Y/n in the casket was not the same Y/n he knew all his life. The body he was looking down at looked uncanny. Trying to be human, but failing so miserably. 

Bucky’s room was filled with pictures of you and him from when you were younger, all the way to when you both became Avengers. Your smile was what kept him going every day you were gone. Six (6) months, four (4) days, fourteen (14) hours, and twenty-six (26) minutes. All this time he had been looking for you, trying to find any sign of life outside the compound for you. 

Bucky was suspicious of Wanda and Natasha since they both had their eyes on you. He knew they wanted to court you, but he would not let them. He knew what Natasha had done, what Wanda had the power to do, and what your sweet and innocent brain would accept as love. Even dangerous love was acceptable love for you, you didn’t mind just as long as you were cared for. 

Of course, you were more than cared for with Wanda and Natasha. You were fed, clothed, kept warm, and loved. But in such a wrong way. They turned you into a child reliant on only them. They had no intentions of hurting you when you were in your little or tiny space, only implementing discipline as if for a child. Nothing was permanent, but everything was different when you were in your adult headspace. 

On one rainy morning, you woke up in your bigger headspace. No tears, whining, or whimpering were heard from you. You got out of your teddy bear-themed bed and opened your closet to find something comfy that wasn’t bright pink or covered in bunnies or ladybugs and finished getting dressed in the bathroom. You got ready on your own, but since you knew you were not going anywhere, you did not make yourself look “presentable.” 

Wanda and Natasha were still asleep when you woke up, so you went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Turning on the radio to a quiet classical music station, you began cooking pancakes, bacon, eggs, and some muffins for lunch. The whole process took no more than two (2) hours, and you even got a second outside on the patio before you decided to wake up your keepers. 

Putting two plates filled with food, two cups of orange juice, and a vase of flowers all onto a tray, you walk down the dimly lit hallway to the women's door. Knowing there were only some rules you had to follow when you weren’t in little space, you didn’t knock and just went right in. 

The sight you stumbled upon was oddly…sweet. The two women who kidnapped you six (6) months ago, were asleep in each other's arms. Wanda's head lay on Natasha's bare chest, her arm across her belly. Nat’s left arm was around Wanda’s body, and her right hand resting on her shoulder softly. You sigh, not wanting to wake them up just yet knowing that they need rest. 

But Natasha could feel your presence. She knew you were awake the moment your eyes opened. Gently, she lays her wife to the side and tucks her back in, looking over at you with a smile. “Good morning, малышка (little one). What do you have there?” She says in a soft voice, her long red-faded-to-white hair brushing over her shoulders. 

“Breakfast,” It took a long time for you to become verbal with them after the initial few weeks with them, but you understood what they were willing to do to you to get you to use your words. 

“Come here, love, let’s see what you have,” She says with a smile, sitting up against her pillows and wrapping another blanket around her back and shoulders. You approach the bed, the tray only slightly shaking as you get closer. 

“I hope pancakes are ok…” You whisper, not wanting to disappoint her. 

“Oh little one, this looks delicious. Thank you,” Natasha takes the tray from your hands and sets it in front of her on the bed. Wanda begins to stir at the soft voices around her and she yawns as her eyes open. Her lips pull into a smile as she sees you and you can’t help but return her smile. 

“Sweetheart, did you make us breakfast?” Wanda asks, her voice soft yet raspy from just waking up. You nod at her question, scooting onto the end of the bed. Usually, you would be asleep next to them, but you fell asleep the night before in your little space. Tonight you knew would be different though. 

As they ate, you allowed them to feed you some of their breakfast too. You told them you had eaten already, and you had, they just wanted to make sure you had enough. They really did love you, and care for you, it was Bucky who was in the way at the compound. He was a protective brother, and you loved that about him. 

As the morning went on, Wanda and Natasha helped you with dishes from breakfast, held you as you watched a movie together, and finally in the early afternoon, they had you sit down at the kitchen table to talk to you about something. Your thoughts were frantic as you didn’t know what this conversation was about. Did I do something wrong? Did I not clean the bathroom? Did I say something? Did I not kiss them good morning? (You had) You were calmed by Wanda putting a gentle hand on your thigh from under the table. 

“Y/n, you did nothing wrong. Ok?” God damned mind readers… “Watch your language…” She squeezed your thigh a bit tighter and you sheepishly looked at her. 

“S-sorry,” You whisper, not wanting to cause any more trouble. But you weren’t in any, as a matter of fact, this talk was going to be filled with good news! 

Natasha started the conversation; “You have been here quite a while, and in that time you have voiced how much you miss your brother. I know it, Wanda knows it, Tony knows it, even Bruce knows it. We all know it. So, I think it’s time we let you see him again.”

A flood of emotions filled your system, from the relief of being able to see your brother again, to anger that the two women and many people at the compound kept him from you in the first place. All the way to the sadness of seeing his reaction to what Wanda and Nat turned you into. 

You stared at the wooden table in front of you, tears threatening to spill from your widely opened eyes. “How long have I been here?” Your voice quivers, and your head raises to look at the women before you. 

“That’s not relevant, lov-” You are quick to cut Natasha off. 

“How long have I been here, Natasha?” You repeat your question, your bouncing knee under the table picking up speed. You needed to know how long you have been away from your family, your only family. 

Wanda looks at her wife across the table and nods. “About six (6) months.”

You let out a small sigh, and you lean back in your chair, shoving your hands into the pocket of your white sweatshirt. Slowly, you stand from the table but you don’t walk away just yet. 

“What does Bucky think happened to me?” You ask, the question aching in the back of your mind since you first got here, and why there hadn’t been anyone looking for you. 

Natasha has a blank look on her face, but Wanda has a look flooded with shame and guilt. She knew what she did was wrong, but she loved you all the same. 

“He thinks you are dead.” Natasha answers your question after a couple seconds of silence.  

A breathy laugh exits your mouth, your hand moving towards your forehead in disbelief. “I- I can’t believe-”

“Baby, can you come sit down?” You listen to Wanda's instructions, moving to sit back at the table with your caregivers. 

Tears roll down your cheeks, your voice wavering as you speak, “When do I get to see him?” Wanda smiles as you obey, her hand going to your arm to soothe you. 

“We are packing today and leaving early in the morning to go back to the city. How does that sound?” She asks, trying to push you into your smaller head space so you are easier to control. She knows this tactic can work, and you do as well, but you are too uptight. 

Excited was an understatement, but ecstatic was an overstatement. You didn’t know how you felt. All you knew was that you were going to see your brother again, but you didn’t know what version of yourself he would see first. 

~~~~~~~

After talking with your mommies, they told you they had to work a little bit longer and then they would help you pack. But you didn’t allow them to help. You wanted to pack all of the clothes that kept you in your adult head space—well, you packed what clothes were closest to what an adult would wear with what clothes you had to work with. 

It was mostly pink, frilly dresses, teddy bear-themed shirts and pants, and other toddler-ish clothes. Despite your hatred for these clothes, you absolutely loved one thing, your woodland creature-covered sweatshirt. It was a white-based hoodie with pine trees sprouting from the bottom rim. There were deer, bunnies, birds, foxes, and other creatures within the trees that circled the entire hoodie. 

It was your favorite because you felt free when in it. You felt like you could turn into a rabbit any day now and escape from Wanda and Natasha. But you knew better than to think of escape, especially in the hands of the Scarlet Witch and the Black Widow. 

As you folded some black leggings, Natasha entered your room. “I thought we told you that we would help you, дорогая (sweetheart)?” She says, leaning against your doorway. 

“You did. But I know what you would pack me, and I don’t want Bucky to see what you did to me.” You say defensively, the defiance and spark they loved about you showing. 

“Y/n, don’t talk back to me. We took you in when you needed us, and Bucky was just in the way. I know you have been happy here despite everything. I can understand your anger, but you don’t get to take it out on us, do you understand?”

Her stern voice is enough to push you into submission. You sigh, “Yes, I understand,” You answer plainly and resume packing. “Can I bring Leo?” You ask, knowing deep down that your little self would never go anywhere without your toy lion. 

The question makes Natasha smile and she nods. “Of course you can, sweetheart,” She says, walking further into your room. Your denim duffle back with pink, yellow, green, and blue flowers on the fabric sits fully on your bed and you let out a soft huff of pride as you smile at the bag. Ever since the two women took away your independence, you have felt very proud of yourself whenever you did something on your own. 

“You did a great job, my little love bug, now why don’t we pack your to-do bag? It’s a bit of a long drive, back to Tony’s building.” Natasha reaches for the matching backpack and goes to your bookshelf to grab a few books, a notebook, two coloring books, your teddy bear pencil case, and some crayons. She sets your backpack next to your duffle and gently wraps her arm around you, pulling you into her side. 

“Does this look like enough for you to do in the car?” Nat says.

“Mhm,” You hum your answer.

Nat gives you a soft squeeze, “Words, baby,” 

“Yes, all of that looks very fun,” Natasha kisses your forehead as you answer, then zips up your bags to take them to the car. Once everything is packed, it is nearly seven thirty (7:30), and time for dinner. 

Not once did you fall into your little space today, no matter how hard the two women tried. They knew that you were excited to see Bucky, but they also wanted a smooth car ride to the compound. Little space or not, you were going to be sleeping. The packing of the to-do bag was just a ploy. Of course, this was just a bag of things to do while you were at the compound. 

Dinner was mostly silent. A few hums and thank you’s to fill the quiet. But one question was burning in the back of your brain. 

“Project recapture didn’t follow through, and I am not going to see Bucky in a prison cell, right?” 

Both Wanda and Natasha freeze, looking at one another. The mission failed when Steve backed down. He couldn’t do that to his best friend, not after what he went through when they took him out of the ice early. The fact that they left you and Steve in the ship too everyone that Hydra knew exactly who they were looking for. 

Wanda shakes her head and puts her fork down on her plate. “Love, how did you know about the Project Recapture?” She turns to you and takes a sip of her wine. 

“I didn't lie when I said I wasn’t looking at the files, but I did see one file about it after Tony left. I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t remember exactly what I saw until now.” You explain, practically telling yourself that you indeed did look at Natasha's files. 

“Alrighty then, well to answer your question, no. The project failed thanks to Rogers’s doing. Your brother is safe, and he is not going back under Hydra control,” She pauses and gently takes hold of your hand. “Thank you for telling the truth about the files, sweet pea.” She smiles and gives your hand a small squeeze. 

You return a false smile, taking in the fact that if Steve didn’t care about his best friend, Bucky would have been under Hydra's torture once again. You cringe at the thought of him in pain, wincing when you look back at the memory of him coming back from Wakanda with a new arm. 

Dinner was finished silently, and once you all were done with your food, you cleared the table while Wanda and Natasha packed up. They each packed their clothes and necessities, while also bringing along some of their favorite toys to use on you when you were in your adult space. As per usual, the couple loved torturing you just like the day they brought you to the cabin. 

Finally, the night came to an end. While Natasha read a book in bed, Wanda was in the kitchen making you some tea to ‘help’ you sleep. In your cup of [favorite tea flavor], she stirred in some Rohypnol to get you to sleep. She would give you another one in the morning so it would be a peaceful drive.

“Here love, I made you some tea,” Wanda says as she walks into your bedroom, smiling as she sees you in your teddy bear onesie pajamas. This of course wasn’t your first choice of pajamas, but it was something you would wear. In fact, it was something Bucky would get you for Christmas if you’re being honest. 

You smile at her, still feeling love deep, deep down. You knew it was wrong to love your kidnapper, but you felt so safe in her arms and felt so loved when she kissed you. Same with Natasha. Although she may be a bit rough when it comes to making love to you, the way she held you afterward made up for a rough fucking. 

As you pull back the blankets on your bed, you slip in next to Leo who is lying on your stacked pillows. He falls into your lap as you scoot back, and you look down at the plush toy. Even looking at it pushes you into a smaller headspace, but you fight it, wanting to stay big for Bucky. 

“Little one? Can you drink some of this? It will calm you down. I know you’re nervous for tomorrow, but I promise you, once we get back to the compound everyone will be so happy to see you.” Wanda says, handing you the warm mug. 

You sigh and take a sip of the [favorite tea flavor] flavored tea. The warmth in itself almost puts you to sleep, but as you drink more you start to feel the effects of the drug mixed inside. The feeling was very familiar— your eyes became heavy, your vision blurry, and your breaths were slightly shallow. A whimper was caught in your throat, and you looked at the blurred shadow of Wanda standing above you. 

Gently, she takes the mug from your sluggish hands and puts it on your nightstand. While she is there, she presses the squishy duck night light on and moves to press a kiss to your head. She then carefully maneuvers you to a lying down position and fluffs your pillows to make you comfortable. 

“Sleep tight, sweetheart. We’ll see you in the morning.” She smiles and kisses your lips softly. You whimper at the feeling of helplessness that comes with the drug, and you hate it when they don’t tell you that they are putting you to sleep. For good reason of course; you would beg them not to. 

But this was the best solution to helping you stay asleep, and in the morning the same routine will follow. 

~~~~~~~

Wanda and Natasha had set their alarms before the sun woke them up. They wanted to get you into the car, and on the road as quickly as possible. Once the car was packed, Wanda came back in and helped you change out of your pajamas into the clothes you picked for your car ride; Your woodland creatures hoodie, black joggers, fuzzy socks with bunnies on them, and your pink puffy coat just in case you get cold. 

Still asleep, Wanda lays you between her legs while she does your hair. Parting your hair down the middle, she puts your [color, texture, length] hair into two buns on top of your head. Tying two pink satin ribbons around the buns, she kisses your head and picks you up. Your legs dangle over her arms and your head rolls against her chest as you lay sleeping in her arms. 

With the car being heated up in the driveway, Wanda walks you outside opens the back door of their rusty, red explorer, and sits you down on the chair. She gently lifts your hoodie and puts Leo right against your belly, and she buckles you in. Your head falls against the seat belt, but Wanda is quick to grab a pillow to cradle your neck during the car ride. 

Natasha stands behind Wanda, smiling as she sees how cute you look with your hair all done and your peaceful sleeping face. She sighs and kisses her wife’s neck as she wraps her arms around her waist. 

“We’re doing the right thing letting her see him again. He might be angry, but let him. She’s alive and that is all that matters to him,” Nat whispers in Wanda's ear, her worries almost creating an aura of angry red light around her body. 

Wanda nods and turns around in her wife’s arms. “I love you so much. Thank you for everything,” She whispers, her lips connecting to Natashas in a loving kiss. 

“Let’s get going,” Nat says, squeezing Wanda gently and opening the passenger side door. As Wanda gets in, she shuts the door as Nat goes to lock up, and smiles once she is back in the driver's seat. 

The long journey back to New York City has begun, and the wrath of Bucky is only getting closer. 

~~~~~~~

Bucky’s POV 

When I heard that Wanda and Natasha were coming back to the compound, I was more than angry. I was furious, ballistic, eradic, some might say. They had no place coming back here. However, if they came back with Y/n, all my questions would be answered and I would kill them both when I got the chance. 

The morning of Y/n’s funeral, the company around me was off. There was a feeling surrounding the musty room that just felt… secretive. Like the people within the room knew something I didn’t. That was when I decided to do my research. I looked into every single one of the Avengers. 

Tony was my first suspect; he has multiple houses in different countries, can cover up anything he wants to with money, and has plenty of people to work for him. Two of his maids from his mansion in California answered my questions, and I believed them. They genuinely looked frightened and wanted to help me find my sister. But I kept Tony in the back of my mind. 

Despite how guilty it made me feel, I investigated Steve. My best friend. He lived a modest lifestyle in an apartment in Brooklyn and that was all the housing information I knew of and could find. He kept to himself and was looking out for me. He was concerned at my desperation to find Y/n when he had already accepted her death, but I continued despite his concern. But when I found out about Project Recapture, I didn’t even bat an eye. Hydra would never get me again, and I knew Steve would follow through with his promise of keeping Hydra away from me. 

That mission to the old hydra base went smoothly, but Tony seemed awfully angry at Steve and pulled him aside after the mission de-briefing. 

Now my eyes were on Bruce, Wanda, and Natasha. Ever since Y/n “died,” they have barely been present during missions. Only when we really needed them. Natasha was here more than Wanda, and that scared me. Where was the witch and why was she never on missions with us? 

That was when I went on a deep dive into their finances. Near the death of Y/n, they had purchased a small cabin in the Beacon Mountains. They are married, but they live in the compound due to their job. I also noticed that the week before the purchase, there was a large transaction between their account and Clint Barton's account. A whopping 2.4 million dollars. What on earth did they need that money for? 

The next few transactions answered my questions perfectly; For $4,300 they bought a Stark home security system. Obviously, they got a discount for knowing Tony because those originally went for $7,600. The next few items on the list were items that a child would use. Pacifiers, bottles, sippy cups, and other childish toys and accessories. Natasha can’t have children, and Wanda has admitted she never wanted children. 

The money that was spent at Stark Industries was overwhelming. There were countless security items such as locks, keys, alarms, cameras, and other equipment that the couple really didn’t need if they were just living in a cabin for a while. 

But one thing caught my eye. 

Transaction 62938: “Sleeping drug - For the little one” Paid by Bruce Banner on 02/19/23

Who needed a sleeping drug? “The little one?” That made no sense. 

Unless Y/n never fucking died, and they have her in that cabin. 

Everything was making sense now, but I still needed proof that she was alive. I needed to know that she was breathing, eating, sleeping, living. But the security cameras were locked, and no amount of hacking let me in. I was devastated. 

And when Natasha texted the team group chat, it almost seemed like a celebration that they were coming back to the compound. But it was just another fucking Tuesday. With them, it was always a fucking celebration when they entered. God, I hate them so fucking much. And if they have my little sister, I swear, I'm going to kill them and make it painful. 

As I lean back in my desk chair, I take a breath as I finalize two fake suicide letters for the two people I despise the most. And as if on cue, I hear JARVIS announce the welcoming home of the two bitches themselves. 

“Mr. Barnes, there is someone who would like to see you…” The AI says to me. I hum and I wave him off, knowing damn well I don’t want to see Wanda or Natasha. 

“Mr. Barnes, I think you would like to see her.” He says, and I let out a huff as I stand up from my desk. 

“Yeah, yeah, ok, but if it’s not Y/n, I’m telling Tony to unplug you.” I replied, and all I was met with was silence. I sigh and I open my door, walking down the hallway and going to the living room where the elevator is found. It is our apartment's “front door” and is locked unless someone is buzzed in. 

I look around the room and I freeze. My breath hitches in my throat and my heart drops to my stomach. There she sat, smooshed in between Wanda and Natasha with her hair all done, a childish-looking sweatshirt on, and fuzzy socks to match. 

I stuttered out her name, “Y-y/n?” I slowly walked closer to the three women, and I knew it was her the second she looked up. 

“Das me!” She said, but it wasn’t in a normal voice. She spoke like a toddler. 

I look at the two women beside her, imaginary daggers stabbing them over and over again. I just knew that they had her, but what the fuck did they do to her? As I got closer, the wheels in Y/n’s head were turning, trying to recognize me. And as I knelt down in front of her, it finally clicked in her brain. 

“Bonky?” She whispers, clutching a plush lion in her hands. I nod with a small smile, confused beyond belief as I take in this new version of my sister. 

“Oh god… what did you do to her? You monsters…” I say to Wanda and Natasha, who sit silently, watching the interaction between me and Y/n. 

“Bonky, s’me!” Y/n’s head tilts, trying to justify that she is still my sister. She has to be in there somewhere. I glare as I see Wanda's hand rub her arm up and down soothingly, a part of me wishing I never let my eyes off of her on that god-forsaken mission. 

“Love bug, why don’t you go show uncle Tony your lion while we talk to your brother?” Natasha says, Y/n turning her head to the woman. She nods and stands up from the couch, skipping over to Tony who nods his head at me and guides Y/n to the other room. 

“Before you say another god damned word, I will never forgive you. Never. You don’t get any more fucking chances, do you understand?” I say in a low voice, standing up with balled fists. 

Wanda is the first to nod her head, Natasha putting her hands up in surrender. I roll my eyes at the gestures, letting out a scoff as I turn around. 

“She missed you, you know?” A voice sounds from behind me. “It took days to calm her down, but she missed you. And now you have her.” 

I slowly turn around, the two women now standing as well. “You told me she was dead, had a funeral, convinced Steve to undergo Project Recapture, paid off Stark and Banner, kept her locked in a cabin for the past six (6) months, and you expect me to be happy when you say that she missed me?? Please! You both are crazy mother fuckers, and I will never, EVER forgive you for what you did to my sister!” I shouted. 

The two women sighed, and I made my way to where Y/n was now. She has the brain of a toddler at the moment, so I have to treat her as such. I never thought I had to do this again, but here I go. 

As I knock on the door, I see Tony sitting on the ground coloring with Little Y/n, or Tiny, as everyone calls her. The look I give Tony would put him six (6) feet (or 2 meters for you non-Americans) underground. He gave Y/n a pat on the head and left. 

“Be gentle with her, Barnes. She’s not the same as she was before she left.”

I scoff. “Taken. Before she was taken, and held captive.” I corrected him. He shook his head and left the room, leaving me alone with my sister. 

“Hey, Y/n…” I start softly, kneeling down next to her as she lays on her belly, coloring a picture of some deer in a forest. “What are you doin’? Hm?” I get in the same position as her, and I grab a crayon from her bag. “Mind if I join ya?” 

She hums, nodding her head as I lay next to her, coloring away and not batting an eye. They really did ruin her…

“You’s can colow (color) dis guy!” She says, her words exiting her mouth with a speech impediment. She points to an owl on the left page, up at the top perched in a tree. 

“Alrighty,” I say with a small smile, trying my hardest not to scare her in this state of mind. I had to be mindful, as I knew exactly what it felt like to be in another state of mind in the body I had. I was a killer in the body of a good soldier, a hero some might say. But Y/n? She was a four (4) year old inside of a twenty (20) [or your age] something-year-old body. What Wanda and Natasha did to her to get her there will haunt me, and I don’t think I ever want to know what they did. 

~~~~~~~

Y/N POV

It was nice seeing Bucky, even in your little state you knew exactly who he was. You knew that he would never forgive Wanda and Natasha for what they did to you, but from the time you have spent with them and the times they saved you from Agatha, you learned to forgive them. They told you their circumstances and desires, and you felt so guilty when Bucky tried to keep you away from them. 

Maybe taking you was a lesson for Bucky. Maybe it was their way of saying that I wasn’t a little girl anymore and that I could make decisions for myself. That was obviously never their intention to let you choose for yourself. 

It was just past three o’clock (3:00), and you had just started to wake up from your nap. Wanda was next to you, holding you in her arms, and Bucky was at the end of the bed watching you both like a hawk. He had a mission, and that mission was to protect you all over again. Wanda of course was not a fan of this, but she let him do what he needed to feel like he was in control. 

When you began to wake up, you nuzzled your face deeper into Wanda's neck, humming softly as you got comfortable yet again. You were in your adult head space again, and Wanda could tell the shift happened in the middle of your nap when you let go of Leo. 

“Sweetheart? It’s time for lunch, are you hungry?” Wanda whispers, your eyes opening and your tummy rumbling. She chuckles as she hears your tummy, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You sit up, yawning and rubbing your eyes. Once you meet Bucky’s gaze, your face tells him everything. “Please don’t be mad at me. I had no choice. I will tell you everything.” He nodded at you softly and you scooted off the bed. 

As you approach your brother, he stands up and immediately wraps his arms around you. “I missed you, pipsqueak, so much,” He whispers into your [color, length, texture] hair. His body shook as he cried, he never wanted to let you go. Tears filled your eyes as you returned the hug, missing the comfort that your brother gave you in times of stress. 

“I missed you too, Buck,” You whisper into his shirt. Wanda and Natasha left the room, leaving you and Bucky once again. “You know I have to go back with them… don’t you?” You pulled away and looked up at him, your eyes puffy with fresh tears. 

“No, no I am never letting you go again, you are not allowed to be out of my sight, do you understand?” He says, his hands on your shoulders squeezing just a bit tighter. 

“I wish I could, b-but you have to understand something too… I love them, Bucky. A-and they love me too. I will never be the same after what they did to me, but I can at least be with people who know how to take care of me when my brain goes… you know, back.” You pause, looking up at him again. “I forgave them when they told me they loved me outside of the space they forced me into. They don’t love the little me, they love me. And I- I just- just please understand.” 

Salty drops of tears roll down your cheeks, soaking into your white hoodie. Bucky’s heart broke, shattering into a million pieces as he heard your explanation. He pulls away from you and moves to sit on the bed, you follow and sit next to him. 

“I am so sorry, from the beginning I didn’t know they were going to do any of this, and it all happened so fast. They found my journal, and they used it against me. I was in love with them first, but I didn’t want to disappoint you so I kept it to myself. That was in the past,” You let out a sad sigh. “I love them, Bucky. I love them and they love me.” 

Bucky was dumbfounded. He loved you with all of his heart, mind, and soul. But he also understood your pain. He went through a lot in his time kept at Hydra, and he understood the caring aspect of a dire situation. A nurse had kept him company, but the guards killed her before she got a chance to get closer to him. But that nurse worked for Hydra willingly and kept him there. She was not there against her will but with the full intent of working for RedSkull and his army. 

“Ok.” That was all Bucky could say. He didn’t want to alter your choices or thoughts, he only wanted you to be ok. “Do you promise to visit me, and you can leave on your own now? They don’t have to be everywhere with you?” 

You shake your head, “They don’t have to be right next to me, they just need to know where I am. And of course I’ll visit you. I know they didn’t buy a new apartment just to spend money,” It takes a second for him to process what you said. 

“Apartment? Wait, are you coming back to New York for good?” He asks, and a bright smile appears on his face. Once again, he pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “I want to burn that god damned cabin…” He whispers, making you sigh. 

He is right to want to burn it. You wanted to burn it the second they locked you in there. The wishes of them letting you go were said to them, begged to them, screamed at them. But still, they kept you in that cabin, deep in the woods, never to be seen until your captors allowed it. 

“You don’t have to forgive them, Buck. But please tolerate them? They are kind and loving when you get to know them. Truly,” A hint of yearning is hidden in your voice, and Bucky can hear the desperation. So, he nods. He agrees to let Wanda and Natasha take care of you and love you.

“Ok… but on one condition.” He says, pulling away to face you. You tilt your head, silently telling him that you are listening. “I get to see you when ever I want to. Or, well at least need to. They don’t get to keep you hidden away anymore. I get to be your brother again, not the enemy.” 

You nod immediately. “Yes, yes that works, they will be happy to have another babysitter around when the little part of me comes out. If I’m being honest…” You say, chuckling softly. “Im not going anywhere, Bucky. I promise you.” 

From that day forward, Wanda and Natasha allowed you to see your brother when you wanted to and allowed him to come over to the cabin to help while you moved. ‘Tiny’ hadn’t come out in a while, as the move was stressing you out, but when all of the boxes from your nursery came to the new apartment, you finally felt comfortable falling into your thoughts once again. 

You showed Bucky your mushroom tent that was set up in the corner of your room, you showed him Leo and your other stuffed animal friends, and he showed his love to you just the same. He said it was like having two little sisters. It was something he would get used to. Some day. 

And as you sat in your mushroom tent, full of pillows, blankets, and stuffed animals, Bucky joined you and read you a bedtime story. Your favorite one that he read to you back in the forties (40s). You were home again, and letting you see your brother was just the thing that made Wanda and Natasha sure of moving back. You were happier when you knew, that he knew, that you were safe and sound. 

Bucky loved you, Natasha loved you, Wanda loved you. And you loved them. 

You always would. 

[bella-rose29]

Domestic Sweetness - part 1

requested by @oblivious-idiot: HI BELLE MY BELOVED you told me to make a formal request so!! can i request a lockwood x fem!reader - domestic sweetness, cooking for each other, lockwood giving reader his jumper, that kind of thing  feel free to go as wild and fluffy as you like hehe

"Love is wont to bring many calamities upon men" is the other thing I based this on and I feel like it's very fitting indeed

I AM SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME ACTUAL MONTHS TO DO THIS BUT YOU HAD UPDATES ALONG THE WAY SO I HOPE THAT HELPED

word count: 4.6k

warnings: painfully sweet relationship depicted, lockwood actually gets injured quite a lot (sorry to my boy), swearing, I think that's it? oh wait no there's like one or two slight innuendos whoops

“Can you pass the sugar, Lockwood?”

“Sure, here.” A heavy jar was placed on the counter next to you, and you paused in your stirring to measure out the new ingredient. He was smiling widely at you, a grin that could rival the sun with how bright and happy it was, and you almost felt bad about telling him that he’d brought the salt instead of sugar. His brow furrowed, and he checked the label again. “Damn. Sorry, darling, I could have sworn I picked up the right jar. The sun must have faded the pen; I’ll rewrite it.” He pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head before going in search of a marker, turning back momentarily to pass you the actual jar of sugar. 

George, Lucy, and Holly had gone out for the day, taking advantage of one of the last few warm days of autumn before winter started setting in and filled up their schedules with clients. Lockwood and Y/n had stayed in, making the most of the fact they had the house to themselves for a few hours and could make as much mess in the kitchen as possible without being shouted at. Besides, if the others did get mad then there would at least be cake to sweeten them up a little. 

Lockwood let out a small triumphant “Ha!” from across the kitchen, telling you that he’d found a pen. There was a brief pause, the only sounds being those of the spoon in the mixing bowl bringing all the ingredients together, and then the sound of a mason jar being opened. 

“Lockwood?” He hummed in response. 

“What are you doing?” You stopped stirring to look over at your boyfriend just in time to see him eat a spoonful of whatever was in the jar he’d just opened. “Wha… what the actual fuck?” He grimaced, pulling a face and sticking his tongue out repeatedly as though it would get rid of the taste. 

“…I had to check it was definitely salt.” He looked sheepish, a faint tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you stood with your hands on your hips and raised your eyebrows at him. 

“Of course it’s salt, dipshit. I’ve got the sugar!”

“I didn’t want to get it wrong!”

“Are you sure you didn’t just want to see what a spoonful of salt tasted like?” He didn’t say anything, instead starting to write ‘salt’ on the label with far too much concentration. You sighed, turning back to the bowl. “Idiot,” you muttered, but there was a smile on your face regardless. 

~~~

Lockwood could still taste the salt. 

He’d washed his mouth out with roughly four cups of tea and six pints of water, but the tang of the teaspoon of salt he’d eaten earlier was still there. He couldn’t even complain about it either, because Y/n just laughed at him and said he had to live with the consequences of his actions. 

At least he now knew what a spoonful of salt tasted like. 

He heard you struggle a little from his place at the sink (he’d been put on washing up duty), and looked to his left to see you attempting to reach something on the top shelf. Drying his hands on the tea towel he slung it over his shoulder and stepped over, coming up behind to help. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, while the other reached up and took the second mixing bowl out of the cupboard. “Here you are, darling,” he whispered, deliberately lowering his voice and speaking directly into your ear, tightening his hold around your waist for a brief moment and delighting in both the involuntary shiver and small sound that left your mouth. He kissed your temple and let go, placing the mixing bowl on the counter and moving away to finish washing up. 

“You,” his girlfriend started, clutching the sideboard, “are evil, Anthony Lockwood. Pure evil.”

He just laughed in reply, and yelped when you dipped your hand in the sink and threw soapy water in his face. 

~~~

The cake had been sat on the side for a while now, sponges cooling down so that the icing that the two of you were currently making wouldn’t melt and slide right off. 

“That’s way too much icing, isn’t it?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll eat any leftovers.”

“Lockwood, you can’t just put everything in your mouth.”

“Icing won’t kill me, Y/n.”

You sighed, fighting back the smile that threatened to break through. “Still. You’ll probably be sick if you eat that much.” Lockwood didn’t bother hiding his grin, dipping a finger into the bowl to scoop some icing up. He laughed when you smacked his chest, smile never disappearing even when he nearly fell backwards off his chair. “Does it taste alright?”

“Yep. Tastes perfect. I could totally eat that whole bowl and not get sick.”

“Well,” you replied, standing up from the kitchen table and heading for the sponges. “You’re not going to find out if you can. The cake’s cool enough now. Here, take the spatula. You can lick it when we’re done. When we’re done, Anthony. Not now.” Lockwood pouted with the implement halfway to his mouth, sticking his bottom lip out so far it looked ridiculous, and you snorted and gave him a peck on the cheek. “C’mon, the cake won’t ice itself.”

A short while later the majority of the icing had been used, spread as neatly as possible over the cake that had now been assembled. “It looks pretty good!” Lockwood said, standing back to admire it. 

“I just hope it tastes as good.”

“Of course it will. You always doubt yourself and then make the most incredible things I’ve ever eaten, so I don’t know why you’re always so unsure.” He’d said it so casually, inspecting the spatula in his hand and leaning back against the counter, and he was talking about cake, but it meant a lot. He wasn’t wrong, and the fact that he’d said that as nonchalantly as he had made your heart clench in your chest. Looking at Lockwood now, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window and casting him in a soft golden glow, you found yourself wondering how the hell you’d managed to end up with someone as wonderful as him. 

Then he practically deep-throated the spatula, and the illusion of Anthony Lockwood as some magnificent and incredible person was partially shattered. 

“Anthony, what the-” you cut yourself off, staring in shock at your boyfriend as he took the nearly-clean spatula out his mouth and stared back, the picture of innocence. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be mad, not when he was looking at you with those wide brown eyes and titling his head a little in a silent question. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” 

“You- you just shoved the whole thing in your mouth!”

“Yeah, and?” He didn’t seem concerned about the fact he could have choked, instead resorting to licking the spatula like an ice cream to get the last of the icing off. For a moment, memories of his tongue doing a similar thing but in a very different context flooded your brain, not helped at all by the soft moan he let out at the taste of the icing. 

“Just, uh… you could have- you…” He had that innocent look on his face again, and it was difficult to remember what you’d been saying. “Don’t worry about it,” you muttered, gaze fixed on the spatula. Lockwood noticed, of course, and immediately a smug look took over his features. He exaggerated his movements, and the spell was broken. It definitely helped take your mind off of… other things, especially when he accidentally smacked himself in the face with the spatula. 

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his cheek and frowning at the implement. 

“It’s your fault, you know. I have no sympathy for you.”

“Rude.” There was no malice in his response, and the glare he gave you was teasing. 

“What are we gonna do with the rest of the icing? There’s too much to put on the cake, but not enough to put on something else. It would be a shame to waste it.”

“Eat it?”

“You want to eat everything, Anthony.” He walked over to the sink, dropping the spatula in the water and cleaning it before moving to the kitchen table where the bowl of icing sat. “What are you doing now?”

“Come here,” he said, beckoning you closer with his left hand. His right was dipping into the icing bowl again, but before you could chastise him for it he was gently taking hold of your waist and pulling you in to his side, lifting his right hand to your mouth. “Open up.”

“Wha- just eat it off your hand? When did you last wash them?”

“You literally watched me wash them about a minute ago, I’m not sure why you’re concerned about that. We’ve got to eat the icing up, so if you won’t eat it then I will.”

“Fine. Go on then,” you said, sighing and opening your mouth. He paused for a moment, hand a few inches away from your face, and for a split-second you thought you saw a hint of amusement in his eyes. You should have realised that he would take advantage of the situation when his grip on your waist tightened, pinning you to his side so that he could wipe the icing on your cheek instead. A disbelieving scoff left your mouth, eyes widening as you took in the grin he was giving you. “Really? I thought you wanted to eat it?” 

He shrugged. “I can lick it off afterwards.” Under the icing your cheeks burned. Recovering quickly you reached into the bowl yourself, grabbing the back of his top to stop him lurching away when he realised that he was under attack.

“Not a fucking chance you’re getting away with this,” you muttered, spreading the icing over his chin (he’d jerked his head back at the last second, and given the awkward angle it was the only part of his face you could reach). Now it was his turn to huff in incredulity, and there was a brief pause where the two of you stood - still grasping each other to prevent any escapes - and looked at each other. 

Then something clicked, and at the same time you both made a mad scrabble for the icing bowl, hands dipping in to collect ammunition before attempting to smear the topping all over each other. 

When Lucy, George, and Holly came home roughly half an hour later desperate for a cup of tea and a quiet evening in, they found you and Lockwood lying on the kitchen floor, icing spread around most of the room and baking trays used as what looked like makeshift shields, wide smiles on both of your faces. 

George nearly had an aneurysm at the state of the kitchen, but after he made the pair of you swear to clean it before you went to bed and left the room in a huff he couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto his face. 

~~~

“Did we run out of teabags again?” Lucy called from the kitchen. It was incredible how far her voice could carry, really, since you and Lockwood were in his room a floor up with the door closed and music playing, and yet could still hear her. George yelled back something about how he’d meant to go the other day but forgot, and he couldn’t right now because he was doing yoga. Holly had already gone home, and when Lucy appeared at Lockwood’s bedroom door a few minutes later you sighed. 

“Why do we have to go? We just got comfy in bed,” Lockwood said, even though he was the only one currently under the covers and was still in his day clothes. You had been changing the music over, having grown bored of the previous record. 

“Because I need to wash my hair? And George is probably butt-naked so he can’t go. You two are already dressed anyway, so why does it matter?”

“She’s got a point, Lockwood,” you started. “It’ll be fun! Besides, we’ll have some time for just the two of us, and-” You didn’t even get to finish before he was launching himself out of bed, grabbing your wrist, and hurling the both of you down the stairs, already reaching for his coat and shoes. 

“See you later!” Lucy called, heading up to the attic. “Oh, and we need bread too!”

“Got it!” you yelled back, stifling your laughter at how frantically Lockwood was moving. “Why’re you going so fast? No, slow- slow down!” He had pulled your own coat off the rack and started putting your arms through the sleeves, and was now wrapping his yellow and brown patchwork scarf around his neck. 

“What? Am I not allowed to want to spend time with you? Alone?” He waggled his eyebrows around at the last word, leaning in close and aiming for a kiss, lips pursed comically as he shut his eyes. You pushed his face away, snorting at his theatrics, and put your own scarf around your neck before heading for the front door. Stuffing a bag in his coat pocket (you would never understand how he could fit so many things in them, they were stupidly deep) he followed after you, and it wasn’t long before the two of you were walking down the road hand in hand (or rather, hand in arm; your palms always got uncomfortably sweaty whenever you held hands for too long, and Lockwood had long since learned that letting you nestle your hand in the crook of his elbow was much better for both of you). 

“Teabags and bread, right?” you asked, double checking with Lockwood that you hadn’t got it wrong in the five minutes since you’d left the house. Lockwood hummed in response, a soft smile decorating his face. He turned his head to look down at you, and while his smile was still small you could see the happiness in his eyes. It was strange: before meeting him you hadn’t ever thought that someone could look at you like that, but here was Anthony Lockwood, gazing at you like there was nothing else in the world - in the universe - that mattered more than you. 

Maybe he should have considered that other things did matter, because barely two seconds later he walked face first into a lamppost. 

You desperately wanted to comfort him and check that he was alright but instead laughter burst its way up and out, making you double over and wheeze. 

“It’s not funny!” he exclaimed, clutching his nose, but there was a badly concealed grin under his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” you managed to get out, except you were still laughing and probably looked everything but sorry. “You just- you just walked straight into it!”

“Funnily enough,” he started, wincing as he prodded his nose with his index finger, “I was aware of the fact I walked into a lamppost. Not sure what it was that made me aware of it; maybe the way my entire face hurts has something to do with it?” Your laughter had died down now, one or two small giggles still breaking through, and you moved closer to inspect his face yourself. Knocking his hands away, you brought your own up, feeling along the skin to check for… well you weren’t really sure what you were checking for, but his nose didn’t seem broken, and he didn’t have any cuts or bleeding. He might end up with a bruise or two, but he’d wear them just as proudly as the slight blue tinge on his hand from years ago or the very large eye bags he couldn’t seem to get rid of. 

“Sorry,” you said again, meaning it a little more this time. You paused for a moment, a slightly guilty look appearing on your face. “I really wish I had had my camera with me to catch that though, is that bad?” He stared at you in open-mouthed shock, but the amusement glistening in his eyes told you it was just pretend. 

“How… dare you!” He lunged, arms outstretched in an attempt to catch you, but you spun away just in time, laughing loudly and jogging away down the pavement. Lockwood rushed after you, and his long spindly legs made the distance you had created seem like nothing. He wrapped his arms around your midriff from behind, pulling you back against him and lifting you up in the air all in one go. He spun the both of you around, unable to stop his own laughter as you kicked and squeezed your eyes tightly shut, and after what felt like far too long (but in reality was probably no more than five seconds) he put you down again, twisting you around by his grip on your waist so that you were facing each other. “So rude,” he muttered, grinning while he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “So rude.” Lockwood pulled back, releasing your waist and moving to the outside of the pavement while dramatically doing a little bow and offering up his arm. 

“Are you sure your face is alright?”

“I’m sure. A bit sore, but I’ve had worse. A cup of tea when we get back will help, I think.” He was still bent a little in the middle so you took his arm and let him stand up straight and lead you down the road again. 

~~~

“Is that all we needed?” you asked, walking back over to where Lockwood stood with the shopping basket. “It doesn’t seem like a lot given we came to the big shop.” Lockwood looked a little sheepish for barely a second, quickly schooling his expression back into one that looked more like ‘I’m so happy to be out with my girlfriend’, but you caught it regardless. Narrowing your eyes, you spoke again. “We didn’t need to come here, did we.” It wasn’t a question, and Lockwood shrunk back a little. “We could have gone to Arif’s; you saying he was shut was a lie!”

“Sorry,” he grinned. “I just wanted to spend more time with you, is all.” How could you stay mad at him when he was looking at you like that? Those brown eyes would be the death of you, you were sure of it. 

“Fine,” you replied, drawing out the word. “But we’re buying biscuits.”

“Happy to, since it means we get longer together before you have to go home.” The pair of you started walking again, heading for the biscuit isle, when Lockwood stopped abruptly in the middle of the store. “Did you need anything? You know…” he waved the hand that wasn’t holding the basket in the vague direction of your body. “I seem to remember you saying you were running out of something? Pads, maybe? Or was it the liner thingies? Oh! And painkillers, we need more of those. George used the last for a headache he had the other week and I forgot to restock.”

“How… you remember me saying that?” He started dragging you away from the biscuit isle and instead towards the toiletries isle, seemingly nonplussed about the fact he’d remembered one off-hand comment you had made ages ago. 

“Of course I do. I keep a little list in a notebook so I don’t forget anything. Ah, here we are.” He stopped walking to frown at the display of products before the two of you. “Actually… I have no idea what I’m looking at right now.”

“That’s alright,” you responded, reaching out for the things you needed. “I would have completely forgotten if you hadn’t reminded me, and that would have been a disaster.” As soon as you were done, basket just that little bit heavier, you both turned and left for the biscuits for the second time. 

“You pick,” Lockwood said as you neared. “I picked the biscuits last time and the others aren’t here, so tough luck for them.”

Despite you all calling it the Big Shop it was only a small amount larger than Arif’s, and as such the aisles weren’t all that much taller - you could often find Lockwood’s head floating above the shelves which made it easy to not get lost - but it did mean that if anybody was below the height of the aisles, they were practically invisible. Unfortunately someone had been just around the corner of the biscuit aisle, hidden behind a board advertising a brand, and you didn’t have time to correct your course. 

“Oof! Watch it!” 

At first you thought you’d bumped into a small child, possibly around six or seven years in age but just above the average height, and that he was in need of a personality check for the attitude he’d just given you. Then when you blinked and the child stood up after being sent flying across the floor, you realised that you were in fact looking at Bobby Vernon instead. 

“Sorry, Bobby,” Lockwood said, trying not to smile while the other agent brushed himself off. “Didn’t see you behind the display.”

“Lockwood, that display is the size of a large rat at most,” Bobby scowled, inspecting a non-existent rip in his Fittes uniform. You had only met Bobby Vernon once before (a few months ago, and he hadn’t said a word), and you were surprised that he apparently hadn’t gone through puberty yet. There was the odd crack in his words when he spoke, but otherwise his voice sounded like what could only be described as a mouse’s feet gently pattering over a tin roof, or perhaps something akin to a child talking to you in high tones very far away. 

“I’m aware of that,” replied Lockwood, having given up on hiding his grin by now. “What are you doing here?”

“I was getting supplies for a case that we have tonight. Not sure if you remember what those are, Lockwood, but we’re fully booked for the foreseeable future.” He puffed his chest out, giving the impression of a fairy trying to make itself look bigger than it was, or a small pufferfish going up against a whale. His tone had gone all smug and holier-than-thou, and you didn’t much like it. 

“Actually,” Lockwood started, with a look that told you he was about to start lying, “we’re doing quite well ourselves.” There it was. You’d spoken to Holly earlier that day, and the biggest job that Lockwood and Co had for the next week or so was hanging up lavender in a hotel a couple of streets away. Bobby raised an eyebrow (or tried to; it looked a lot more like he’d been told that someone had just adopted a pair of gerbils for him and named them Harold and Nancy or something ridiculous like that) and scoffed. Lockwood didn’t falter though, his smile staying plastered on his face and his posture confident (seriously, the boy had to have had dancing lessons with a back that straight), and after a few moments Bobby gave up scrutinising him. 

“Well I’d best be getting on,” the Fittes agent said, straightening his jacket and sniffing. “Busy life and all that. I hope you fall in a river, Lockwood. Or set another building on fire so that they can finally take you out of the game.” You huffed an incredulous laugh, not believing how someone who looked so small and mouse-like could say something like that. Before either you or Lockwood could respond Bobby Vernon had walked off, his rapier dragging against the floor a little and nearly tripping him with how long it was compared to his body. 

“He was nice,” you mused, turning to grab some biscuits. Jammy dodgers were the first to go in the basket, since George always ate the lot of them and rarely bothered with any others. 

“Bobby’s always a joy to be around,” Lockwood replied, reaching his hand out for yours. You shook your head and put a packet of bourbons in the basket instead, already going for some chocolate covered hobnobs and digestives. Lockwood had started grabbing at yours, so you cast one last look at the basket and the shelves before indulging him. “Is that everything do you think?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, keeping his lips there while he waited for you to respond. 

“Yeah, I think so. We can always pop out again tomorrow if we missed anything.”

Just under ten minutes later the pair of you were out of the shop, Lockwood carrying the bags in one arm and your hand resting in the crook of his other. It was darker now than when you’d left the house, the evening properly drawing in and clouds darkening the sky, but with Lockwood by your side the world could never be anything but bright. The wind picked up, ruffling his hair (that somehow managed to still look great while you looked like you’d been dragged backwards through a hedge) and threatening to pull his scarf away. You reached out to grab it before the end could break free, effectively making the both of you grind to a halt. “Thanks,” he grinned, probably completely unaware of how he made you feel. A sudden urge to kiss him like those scenes in the movies overtook you, and you took your other hand out of the crook of his elbow to grab a hold of the other end of his scarf. Tugging harshly on the fabric, you yanked Lockwood down to press your lips to his, closing your eyes right before contact. 

Contact never came. 

Not for you, anyway. Lockwood did make contact, but with the floor instead of your lips, and there was a painful sounding thud when he landed. “Oops…” you murmured, hands now held up by your face instead of holding Lockwood’s scarf. 

There was a moment of silence where Lockwood was just lying on the pavement, face down while splayed out like one of those white chalk body outlines in crime reports, and then you couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore. 

It bubbled up, and at the small groan that escaped your boyfriend you tried to stop, pressing your hand over your mouth in an attempt to prevent any more laughter. You were unsuccessful, instead laughing even harder when he lifted his head to show the red print of concrete on his cheek and scowled up at you. Luckily the shopping had stayed in the bags, so when Lockwood pushed himself up off the floor and brushed the stray bits of pavement off of him, all he had to do was pick up the bag. He gently touched a couple of fingers of his free hand to his nose, testing for any injuries, then nodded when he felt satisfied that there wasn’t anything too worrying. He caught you hiding your grin and gave you one of his own before opening his mouth. 

“Kiss my nose better?” 

You snorted, stepping closer to Lockwood but not yet obliging. You checked for any damage to his nose yourself, not trusting him to have done a good enough job. “What makes you think I will?”

“Well I think I deserve some sort of compensation for my injuries,” he replied, using his spare hand to pull you into his chest by your waist. 

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” he said, voice growing quieter as he leaned in. His nose brushed against yours, warm breath on your face a pleasant contrast to the chill in the air. The wind was still pulling at your hair and clothes, rustling the plastic shopping bags in Lockwood’s hand and making your cheeks sting at the cold. 

“Alright then, if that’s what the doctor ordered.”

“It is,” Lockwood muttered, but the end of his sentence was lost in your lips. 

tag list:

@strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @a-taken-url, @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @rhysand-devorak, @a-candle-maker, @h0lyheck, @apple-bottom-jeans6, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlitcanvas, @cielooci, @35-portlandxrow, @laumire, @isimpfor-everyone, @furblrwurblr

@neewtmas, @bobbys-not-that-small, @avdiobliss, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, and of COURSE @oblivious-idiot for the request

as always, if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here!

[iaure]

𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁; 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟthe dearest collection - part one/beloved 𓆩♡𓆪 part two/prized 𓆩♡𓆪 part three/devoted 𓆩♡𓆪 part four/desperate 𓆩♡𓆪 part five/blind 𓆩♡𓆪 part six/watcher 𓆩♡𓆪 part seven/ardor 𓆩♡𓆪 part eight/fervor this is very heavily inspired by @//clusterfuck-yandere's yandere leon headcanons; please check out their works. this is something of a love letter to their puppy obsession series.

yandere leon s. kennedy headcanons; reader is a survivor of raccoon city.

tw: general yandere behaviour, NSFW (leon has an erotic daydream/slight somnophilia + it is marked by a large page marker like the one below), stalking, ptsd, mentions of mourning

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i am very excited for part four! this one was much longer than the rest; this makes me happy. i may potentially take a slight break from this as i want to see where i want to take this small series; i want to deliver the best product i can to all of you ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ i also want to take time to create my own persona for this blog; i am thinking a sheep. what do you think? ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒

he'd been getting worse.

♡ the truth of the matter was that this was an addiction.

♡ Leon could manage to quit smoking. but this was entirely different. how do you quit someone?

♡ and it's not like it was hard to love you.

♡ gaining entry into your home wasn't difficult. you kept a spare key above the doorframe, and Leon was always careful to replace it.

♡ your apartment always smelled of you, felt like you, and whenever he went in, he couldn't help but imagine a life where he lived with you-as your boyfriend. Your fiancé? Your husband, if he dared.

♡ and he made sure to take care of you, even if you didn't know!

♡ he knew how hard it was for you to take care of yourself, especially with your work.

♡ when he saw that you had made yourself a list of things to do, he was so proud!

♡ he knew you were taking steps to live better. what was wrong with helping, just a little bit?

♡ a dish here, a wipedown there, a dusting every now and then. small things.

♡ he'd made a handful of habits, such as watching you sleep or snagging the occasional piece of clothing for his own purposes.

♡ your closet had just enough space for him to stow away if you ever showed signs of waking up.

♡ you were just too sweet. obsession was staring down Leon's love, and you didn't even know it.

how was he supposed to stay away?

♡ as for your work, Loen had made his peace with it.

♡ as alarming as it was that you were in possible danger every day, it also meant that you were happier, getting more sunshine, and the opportunity to get yourself nice things.

♡ your happiness always came first, after all.

♡ secondly was the blessing that Leon got that was seeing you whenever he could, just by strutting down from his gym and watching you brew some sort of ridiculous concoction.

♡ overall, your work was more positives than anything. besides, Leon could simply watch you walk to and fro from work to make sure you were safe.

♡ his perception of you had completely expanded as well.

♡ back then, on the AOL forum, he only knew a few vaguely scattered personal details that you'd hint at in posts and comments, mentioned offhand, like your brother.

♡ but now, he knew so much more.

♡ he knew your favourite colours, foods, hobbies, who you liked, who you didn't, what you thought about your work, your opinions on just about anything-you'd share them if he simply asked.

♡ you were so sweet, so clueless, and he loved it.

♡ you would spend hours with Leon simply talking about little to nothing, and it meant everything to him.

♡ you were so kind, so soft, and every word that fell from your lips was divine.

♡ for the last two weeks, he'd been as sneaky as he possibly could.

but you were bound to take notice.

♡ he was hanging out with you as you closed the bakery, counting out the tills and setting aside the deposits. Leon was simply happy to be in your presence.

♡ you began speaking about how you felt unsafe, about how you felt someone staring at you in the night.

♡ instantly, Leon felt guilty.

♡ he didn't mean to scare you. he was trying to protect you, for goodness' sake!

♡ he wasn't frustrated with you, though. of course. he never would be. you were perfect and did no wrong.

♡ he wished there was some way that he could convey he didn't want to hurt you on those nights where he made sure you were safe, but nothing seemed like a good idea.

♡ the guilt chewed away at his insides until you asked him that...holy, divine question.

"would you walk me home?"

♡ he might've gotten on his knees and wept.

♡ what opportunity was this? walking next to your warm body, in the rain, under an umbrella...almost like a couple.

♡ the idea sent Leon's heart into overdrive, pounding in his ears as all sorts of ideas filled his head.

♡ upon his enthusiastic agreement, your face filled with comfort, and Leon couldn't help but feel a bit delighted.

♡ he didn't care if he was going to get soaked. as you locked the door to the bakery, he took care to cover you entirely with the umbrella. you asked him if he was cold at all, but no. the heat of your body was enough to light him on fire.

♡ Leon was in heaven.

♡ during the whole walk, he made sure to keep an eye out on the off chance that there were bad actors around. he even made a show of whipping his head back and forth, which he knew you noticed.

♡ and several times, you laughed. oh, what a sweet angelic sound.

♡ how he wished this walk could last forever; your hand brushing against his, the gentle lull of your voice as you made conversation.

♡ he wasn't sure which god or entity or spirit or soul he pleased, but he was thanking all of them.

♡ when the two of you reached your apartment, he could feel himself deflate a bit. he was so endlessly grateful for the time you gave him, but he dared to want more.

♡ he knew he wouldn't be satiated, no matter what you did. but he could hope. he could pray.

♡ whatever prayer he said worked; you turned with an almost guilty look-as though you could ever be guilty-and asked him if he wanted to see the inside of your apartment.

♡ he practically cheered.

♡ when you turned to finish opening the door, he couldn't help a low whine from leaving his throat. his chest was tight, his heart was pounding, and it was like all his dreams were coming true.

♡ he had seen your apartment dozens of times. at that point, every photo and speck of dust had their locations memorised.

♡ spending time alone, with you, in your apartment, with your scent and your signs of life surrounding him might've even been too much to bear.

♡ but he accepted, because what insanity would it be for him to say no? what lunacy would have to possess him?

♡ upon stepping in, he did everything a polite guest should do; took off his shoes, set his bag and umbrella down, and proceeded to try and shake off the excess water.

♡ your laugh at his shake made his heart swell.

♡ you were trying to dig for food, and you had bent over at the waist; it made Leon delirious.

♡ he couldn't not stare.

♡ you either didn't notice or didn't mind, because you gave up, ordering a pizza instead.

♡ he tried to pay-this was dreamy enough, you didn't need to do anything else-but you insisted, saying it was your way of thanking him.

♡ thanking him? for what could you possibly be thanking him for? that walk was no burden, it was a blessing. why would you need to thank him?

but you refused his money.

♡ he felt guilty, but you turned on your TV and began watching some romantic sitcom that he'd never heard of before.

♡ was it a sign? Leon couldn't tell.

♡ the peace was domestic, crumbling away at Leon's self-restraint. why couldn't every day be like this?

♡ if he just told you, then you'd understand. you would forgive him. you would hold him close.

♡ his mind began to wander. did you think of him like that? did you even consider him as a romantic interest?

♡ would you? if he asked?

♡ the question, confession, was on the tip of his tongue.

♡ you were good. you were kind. you wouldn't be creeped out.

♡ he opened his mouth, and-

the power went out.

♡ his heart dropped to his toes, and all the courage he managed to muster disappeared as you got up to light some candles.

♡ he went back to his bag, rummaging for his military-grade flashlight that he kept on hand.

♡ he'd rather you have it, than something go wrong and you stumble in the dark.

♡ he'd rather walk home in the pouring rain than you risk anything for a second.

♡ you lit a handful of candles, setting them aside as he passed the flashlight off to you.

♡ he figured it was time to go, licking his wounds and dragging his pride and courage behind him.

♡ but you didn't say goodbye.

♡ instead, you asked where he lived. his heart seized.

♡ he could do two things from here. one, admit that he lived maybe a fifteen minute walk away.

♡ or he could lie.

♡ he knew how your heart worked, for the most part. you felt like you were in debt. you wouldn't make him walk back in the rain.

♡ so he could pretend that he lived far away, even by car. he could just...manipulate you.

♡ after a beat too long, he made his choice.

♡ he 'confessed' that he lived thirty minutes from his gym, which was ten from the bakery, which was five from your apartment.

♡ and he could see you think in real time.

♡ your eyes flickered from the door, to his still-damp hair, to the half-eaten pizza on the counter, to the flashlight.

♡ and god, the guilt was going to eat him alive.

♡ he knew you were kind. he knew you were soft. and he abused that. he abused your sweetness and goodness. for what? his sick kicks?

♡ but your pretty lips pursed, and they formed around those words that he wanted-no, needed-so desperately.

would you want to stay the night?

♡ the guilt disappeared, his heart wept for joy!

♡ yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes! always! yes!

♡ you seemed relieved, disappearing into your room and coming out with men's pyjamas.

♡ they were a little snug on Leon, hanging a bit low, but he certainly didn't mind. this was effectively the greatest task of his life.

♡ he had to be a viable partner for you. he had to show his worth.

♡ you were quick to go to bed. with the power still out, you clearly just wanted to wait it out.

♡ Leon pulled a blanket out of his bag, but you insisted on giving him several more, as well as a pillow.

♡ and oh god, how was he supposed to control himself? they all smelled like you.

♡ maybe he'd take one in the morning. for safekeeping.

♡ as he lay on your couch, the thought crossed his mind to wander while you were asleep, to see everything with the daring of you being inside your own home.

♡ but he knew better. or, at least, he thought he did.

♡ ten minutes turned into thirty. thirty turned into an hour, turned into two, into four, before he finally cracked.

♡ he literally had you at his fingertips, in a situation where he'd most likely be excused. he had to use it. he had to make the most of it.

♡ and, despite everything he could do...he wandered into your room. and he watched you.

♡ you snored, just a little bit. it was a cute snore that Leon liked. you also slept a bit erratically, sometimes throwing your body in weird positions.

♡ part of your blanket was on the floor, your head was between two pillows, and you were out like a light.

♡ or apparently not, because after about ten minutes of Leon standing there, you woke up abruptly. you gave a small gasp, bleary eyes still trying to grasp what you were seeing. you asked what he was doing.

♡ and what was he doing, honestly? he was watching you sleep. but he couldn't admit to that, not in a thousand years.

♡ so, he said the first thing that he could come up with, in a voice that lost every shred of pride he had left.

"i thought you were gone."

♡ and he can see the pity on your face, and he can't help but almost feel childish at how he hoped you'd comfort him.

♡ your eyes wandered over him, as though putting pieces together. you finally lay your head back down, and pat your bed.

♡ Leon goes into overdrive. again. for how many times this night were you going to do that? how many times were you going to make his heart leap into his throat?

♡ he, for a second, isn't sure what you want. there's no way you'd...

"do you want me to...sleep with you?"

♡ his voice was weak, and he asked, again, until you nodded. maybe you were just moving in your sleep. he asked another time. you nodded again. he asked once more. you said yes.

♡ he started shaking. his grip on your blanket was white-knuckled, his knees were ready to buckle, and the world was spinning.

♡ you did. you wanted to share your bed with him. you wanted to sleep with him. you want him. you wanted him!

♡ he gets into bed with you, gently setting the blanket over your body and trying to not freak out.

♡ you were so warm and so close to him. everything was invading his senses, and when you realised he was staring, you shot him a smile that turned his insides to goo.

♡ he had to take this chance. and he moved a little closer.

♡ you didn't move.

♡ and you were just so unguarded, so gentle. Leon's mind was wandering.

♡ what would you look like in a far more intimate scenario?

♡ what would your kisses look like? feel like?

♡ Leon squirmed a bit.

♡ what would your skin feel like? the skin that he couldn't touch? your neck, your stomach, your thighs...?

♡ his eyes wandered down the silhouette of your body under the covers.

♡ how would you feel underneath him? if he was touching your chest, suckling on your neck, leaving hickeys for everyone to see?

♡ how would you feel if he had his hands everywhere, pinned under his body and rutting into you?

♡ how would you act if he had his cock in you? how would you moan? would you try to close your eyes? or would you keep them open and watch how he loved you?

♡ would you be quick to orgasm? or would you take time, and Leon would be blessed to have your body for so long?

♡ he thought you would maybe try to cover yourself with your hands. you did seem the shy type. oh, but he'd be greedy, and he'd ask if you could move them-he wants to see all of you.

♡ he thinks that you'd be quiet at first, trying to stop yourself from being loud in case it woke your neighbours. but Leon would be in so deep into that tight, divine warmth, and you'd call out his name.

♡ and he'd swallow it. he'd take your lips in his and devour every gasp and moan that left your mouth.

♡ he'd never make you beg, either. he'd do everything to make you be so perfectly spent, fucked out of your mind and left limp on your bed. and even then, Leon wouldn't be satiated.

♡ he'd need more. he'd take you in his mouth, even if you had passed out, just to keep working you until your taste was all over his tongue. and when you woke up, he'd still be hard at work, trying to get more, begging for more.

♡ and maybe you'd decide to take him, instead, as thanks for taking care of you.

♡ you'd be on top of him, sucking sweetly at his cock, and he'd cry out your name with no inhibition. he didn't care about the people in your apartment complex. he just cared about you, and that you would know just how much he loved you.

♡ he'd fuck you for hours, days even, to finally have the curve of your body and the taste of your cum memorised.

��� but let's be honest.

♡ he'd never have enough.

𓂋 ʚ♡ɞ taglist

@theybotomy ⸜❤︎⸝‍ @kujosuke

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Fret

Written for @hinnymicrofic January 2024 - Prompt 22

Ginny Potter paced up and down in the kitchen, holding her bawling eight week old son in her arms. James’s tiny face was almost bright red, contorted with distress, as tears streaked down his cheeks. Ginny lifted him to her shoulder, stroking his back and softly bouncing him as she walked, trying and failing to contain her own spiralling stress levels.

What the hell am I doing wrong? she thought to herself. I’ve tried everything! He isn’t hungry. I changed him, I winded him. He won’t sleep. He doesn’t have a temperature. So why is he crying? Why can’t I fix it?

“Hey there, little man,” she told him. Her words were as soothing as she could possibly muster, but her voice cracked and wavered as she tried to hold back her own tears. “It’s okay. Mummy’s here. Mummy’s got you. It’s okay.”

Except it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. Her son, her tiny little baby, had been crying for hours, and absolutely nothing she did seemed to make a blind bit of difference. A sob of her own escaped from her lips. What sort of mother can’t comfort her own baby? 

She was tired - just so very tired. She hadn’t slept for more than forty-five minutes since the day she became a mother. Every movement felt difficult, as though her limbs weighed twice as much as they should, and all her thoughts were muddy and indecisive. She felt utterly helpless, unable to stop her eyes flicking to the clock on the wall - almost six o’clock. Surely Harry would be home from work soon? She was certain that she had never needed her husband more than she did right that very second.

In her arms, James unleashed a roar of torment that would have done a mandrake proud, and instinctively, she held him a little tighter - but that only seemed to make James wail even more loudly. A little flash of anger burned in her chest. What the hell was wrong with him? Didn’t he know she was doing her best? As quickly as it arrived, the irritation was gone, replaced by an acute sense of shame in her own reaction. How could she possibly be angry with her own baby? It made Ginny stop still in the middle of the room, screwing her eyes tightly closed. Her own tears mixed with James’s as she cradled him, paralysed by a potent mix of guilt, frustration and the sort of bone deep exhaustion familiar only to the parents of new born babies. 

From down the hallway, Ginny heard the front door open and close, then the soft pad of Harry’s footsteps towards the kitchen.

“Ginny?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and without opening her eyes, she tilted her head to rest her cheek on his fingers. The breath that she released was half sigh of relief, half whimper. “Gin, what’s going on?”

“He won’t stop fretting, Harry,” she told him, through the sobs. “He’s been like this for hours. Nothing I do makes any difference. I… I’m a horrible mum!” 

Gently, Harry turned her around, and put his arms around both of them. “Hey, hey, hey,” he comforted her, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. “You are not a horrible mum. You’re exhausted, and he’s got himself worked up. That’s all. Give him to me, and you go and have a lie down upstairs. It will be fine. I promise.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, oddly reluctant to be parted from James even now. “You’ve only just got home. You must be knackered too.”

“I’m sure. We'll have some father-son bonding time,” confirmed Harry, taking his son into his arms and guiding her towards the stairs as he spoke. Ginny’s feet took her towards their bedroom as though she was on auto-pilot. She collapsed onto the bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow. 

Four blissful hours later, she woke to a quiet house. Feeling not exactly refreshed but certainly improved, she headed down the stairs to find… nothing. The house was empty. But, before panic could set in, the back door opened, and Harry slipped through it, with James strapped to his chest in the baby carrier, snug under Harry’s winter travelling cloak.

As soon as he saw her, Harry shot her one of his lop-sided grins and put his finger to his lips. “He’s sleeping,” he whispered.

“Where have you been?” she asked, keeping her voice soft. 

“We went for a little fly,” admitted Harry, looking sheepish

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “You took him up on a broomstick?”

“Yeah. Hermione was telling me Muggles sometimes take their babies out in the car to calm down, and, well, I couldn’t do that, so I thought this might help,” he explained.

Ginny laughed softly. “I guess it did.”

“Yeah. And I’m not going to lie, his dad enjoyed it too,” he smirked. Then his expression softened. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better for some sleep,” she sighed. “I just don’t know what was going on with him today.”

“I don’t think he knew what was going on with him. But a change of scenery and a nap is good, no matter how old you are,” he said, looking at her pointedly.

“True,” she conceded, taking a step closer to him and slipping her arms around his waist, careful not to jostle their son. “Thanks for rescuing me today. I really needed it.”

“Hey!” Harry put his finger under her chin, tilting her head up so that she could look directly into those gorgeous green eyes. “You don’t ever need to thank me for doing my share. We’re a team, remember?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Team Potter.”

“Team Potter,” he nodded, dropping a kiss onto her lips. "Always."

[maxislvt]

Baby It's Christmas

Summary: Natasha gets to spend the holidays with your family

Warnings: Pregnancy, pregnant sex, amab nat, breeding kink

A/N: I am pushing the hopeless romantic!nat agenda and you all get to suffer through it !!! Kinda sad this event is over, but I'm excited to start writing for the new year!!

Event Masterlist

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Deep down, Natasha was hopelessly romantic. She loved being in love. The butterflies in her stomach, tender touches, and the intimacy that is given to otherwise insignificant things. The only thing loved more than that was being in love with you. Love was great, but love with you was amazing. It was like an addict. Every day, Natasha found herself wanting more of you. Just being a teammate wasn't enough, so she became your friend. When "friend" wasn't enough, she became your girlfriend. Then once "girlfriend" didn't satisfy her, she became your fiance. One day, "fiance" wouldn't be enough either and she'd become your wife. 

If she had to be honest, "fiance" was losing its appeal already. Natasha wanted a family. She was already a third of the way there. You were in your first trimester of pregnancy and all the wedding planning was over, but six months until the baby came and six more until the wedding was a dreadfully long time. Natasha wanted to just wake up one morning and have everything be perfect. She wanted to make breakfast, coddle you and the baby, and spend a whole day with nothing looming over her head. No mission reports, no world-ending threats, just her and the family she finally craved. 

Without the baby, you were in the direct line of sight for all of Natasha's spoiling and overprotectiveness. She arranged for you to leave the Avengers early and effectively trapped you in the house. You couldn't exactly complain either. The compound wasn't always the safest place for you and Natasha had literally thrown up just thinking about you going on a mission while pregnant.

"Tasha, is all this necessary?"  You sat with your arms crossed at the dinner table as your fiance frantically moved to put plate after plate on the table. If anyone had come in, they would have thought you were cooking for a small family of four. They'd be dead wrong. All four plates on the table and both glasses were just for you. "Baby, I can't eat all of this by myself. This is crazy." 

Natasha shook her head. "You don't have to eat it all, but this will keep you and our baby strong." She pulled up a chair and began feeding you. Your wife had already learned everything there was to learn about being pregnant. The day after you got your results back she spent hours researching. Ever since she's kept you on the healthiest diet you ever had. "I'll eat it with you and we'll give the leftovers to the team."

"Baby, you're overreacting! One normal meal won't kill me." You opened your mouth and ate. Natasha was a wonderful cook, but no amount of skill could change the fact you were tired of having salmon every other meal. After a few bites, you had to cover your mouth for a chance to speak. "I think this whole pregnancy thing is  stressing you out, why don't we spend the holidays with my family?" 

"How about we do literally anything else?" Natasha nervously chewed on a piece of the breakfast bagel she made for you. "I mean, we always do Christmas at Tony's house. It's too last minute to break that tradition." Despite spending years of her life training to lie, Natasha found it impossible to lie to you. There was never a reason to keep a secret from you, but that knowing look certainly didn't make it easier. "Okay, fine! I'm scared of your dad!"

You frowned. "Is he threatening you again? I thought you two were getting along." There was no denying your father was a bit overprotective. You had lost count of how many partners he sent running because of how scary he looked. Natasha loved you too much to be swayed by empty threats. Your dad admired that, but that just meant he had to start filling his threats. "What about that hunting trip, did that not actually work?" 

A heavy sigh came out of Natasha's mouth. "No, it went great. I just sorta promised that we'd save the baby for after the wedding and we didn't do that." She slumped down in her chair. "He's gonna take me outside and put me down like a dog! I'm done for." 

You swallowed your food and laughed. "Oh please! My families more of a matriarch, just hope my mom likes the ring you bought me and you'll be fine." You pat your fiance on the leg as if she were an upset dog. "You need to relax a little and you'll have time to do that with at least eight other people looking after me." 

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

In a way, you were right. There was technically no need for Natasha to fuss over you as much as she was. She didn't relax like she was supposed to. Natasha instead chose to mingle with your family and spoil you alongside them. You could barely take two steps without being guided to another seat or handed another plate of food. The only thing you were allowed to do was make arts and crafts with the kids, which was surprisingly enjoyable. 

You were suddenly thankful you let Natasha talk you into renting a hotel for the trip. You flopped down on the bed and nuzzled into the crisp pillows. "Noo, I'm mad at you," You groaned and gently pushed Natasha away.  Despite that, your fiance rolled you on your back and began kissing up your neck. "Nope, no kisses for fiance abandoners!"

Natasha had already made up her mind for the evening, but she could play along with your game. "Whaat, I didn't abandon you! I just thought you looked cuter sitting with the kids and coloring than you did having boring conversations." She placed gentle kisses down the side of your neck and squeezed your hips. "Plus, I came back for you. Isn't that what matters most?" Her hands slid down your body and tugged off your shorts. 

A soft whimper had given away your true feelings before you could even say a word. "Oh, you're awful." Your breathing began to tremble. Being empty was starting to become unbearable, but Natasha always liked to play with her food. Her fingers circled your hole and rubbed your clit as gently as possible. "Nat, please don't be like that." 

Your fiance merely hummed before slipping two of her fingers inside of you. Natasha basked in the vulgar sounds coming from your pussy. Pregnancy had made you incomprehensibly wet and Natasha found herself loving the mess that came with it. "God, I might keep you pregnant forever if it means you'll be this wet." Her fingers practically assaulted your g spot while her tongue lapped at your clit. The feeling of your walls clenching around her fingers was addictive. "Doesn't that sound nice? You can lay around and be my little breeding toy."

A deep moan fell from your mouth. "Ah, don't say that!" Your thighs clamped around her hand. "Fuck, you're so mean!" The first orgasm rushed over you unexpectedly. You had always assumed the arousal was a hormone thing, not an unchecked fetish. Your hips couldn't stop grinding against Natasha's hand. 

Natasha dragged out your orgasm as long as she possibly could. Her hands were practically soaked in your cum. "I think that was pretty nice of me, but I can show you mean." The smirk on her face showed she was serious. She pulled down her pants and boxers. Natasha was fully erect and dripping with precum. "I'm not going easy on you," She whispered before planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Ooh, how rough could you possibly be with your pregnant spouse?" You turned your head to give Natasha a proper kiss. "God, fuck you're so big!" Natasha was unforgiving in the pace she set for you. She filled you up to the brim with her dick. Nothing would ever get you used to the feeling of being stretched out. You were nothing but a fleshlight and a cum dump. "I — ah!" 

Her hips met yours with care.  "That's right, you're a good breeding toy." Natasha held your legs up, allowing herself to go deeper inside you. Your wetness coated her thighs and spilled onto the bed. "God, you're so messy. My messy little toy." Her groans turned to grunts as she began rutting inside of you. "You're gonna drain me!" 

You hopelessly clawed at Natasha's back. "Fuck, that's so good! Please fill me up, please!" Your ankles locked behind her back and forced her inside of you as she came. You whined when Natasha began pulling out. "If it leaks out, you're cleaning it."

[stayandot8]

Caught In The Blast

Genre: angsty mess

Relationship type: exes

Important Contents: slight swearing, gahd dayum this hurt to write but enjoy the fruits of my 2-6am labor

WC: 2.1k

mastrlist

The fight was a bad one. The worst one we’d ever had. 

He hadn’t slept, I didn’t either. We were both in bad head spaces, I know that now. It was a conversation that never should have happened. It was a perfect storm of everything that could have gone wrong, did. 

He had just come back from tour, which explained why he had his bags wih him. He came straight from the airport to my apartment, where I had been up waiting for him. He was four hours late, which he swore up and down wasn’t his fault. I tried to believe him, but there was a voice in the back of my head that told me he was lying for some reason. I had no grain of evidence for this accusation, yet I had convinced myself that this anthill was indeed the mountain I would die on. 

He came in the door in a bad mood. The air around him was just exhausted and defeated, not normal to how he would come home from previous tour months. He almost threw his luggage down when he entered and sighed so loud I heard it across the room. Already irritated with how late he was, I checked the clock for the fourth time that hour and said the worst thing imaginable to start a conversation with your boyfriend that you haven’t seen in six months when you can already tell he’s in a bad mood. 

“You’re late again.”

A great start.

“I know. I told you I was gonna be.” 

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be four fucking hours late, Chris. That’s all.”

“Well I didn’t fly the plane, I don’t know what you would’ve wanted me to do.”

“Did you come straight from the airport or did you sneak off to the studio again? You have a tendency to do that.”

“Really? This again? Come on, I literally have my bags with me. I wanted to see you, so I came straight here. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, it is actually when we haven’t talked on the phone since you were in Japan. Especially when we talked every night before that.” I said that last part under my breath, not quite hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but rather just in case the pang in my chest that I would regret it later was right. 

“Well, shit got busy, I don’t know what you want me to say. The closer we got to the end, the more tired I was.” Or was it because you didn’t miss me? 

“A text telling me that wasn’t too much to do, was it? I just don’t see what would’ve been so hard about-”

“Look. I just landed, I came straight here, and all I want to do is sleep.” He dragged his bags into my room and left me alone in the living room, seething. I wasn’t about to let him off the hook like that, no. My innermost need to win any argument, a quality I got from my mother, wouldn’t let me. So I followed him into the bedroom to see him packing up some of his stuff into his bags.

“What are you doing?”

“I came here to be with my girlfriend after being away for months but if you’re going to be like this, then I’m going back to mine. I know I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“When I’M being like this? Like what? I’m just being honest. A text isn’t too much to ask for, is it Chris? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in what feels like years and you come back and act like you don’t even want to be here! How am I supposed to react to that? What would you like me to say? I missed you so excuse me for wanting to know-”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for being busy’? ‘I’m sorry that my job keeps me fucking exhausted all the time and I’m sorry that I can’t be there for you all the time’? This is my job, this is my life. This is what I signed up for. I have no room to complain about anything to anyone. Just,” He turned away from me to make for the connected bathroom. “Let me grab my stuff and I’ll be out of here.” 

“Maybe when you eventually get back, I’ll be a happy, normal person again who never questions you and will always just be happy to see you whenever you grace me with your presence.” I turned to grab my stuff to storm out, ever the drama queen. “And if you see my boyfriend anywhere, let me know. Tell him to call me.”

“And when you find my girlfriend, tell her when she stops being a bitch for no reason, to come and find me.” He’d never called me that before. I don’t think he’d ever called anyone that before. It had come out of nowhere, seemingly from the depths of his chest with how much vigor he said it with. It was such a surprise that I dropped my coat and shoes on the floor. And then the rage hit. 

“What did you just say?” I said to the door, not wanting to turn around. I couldn’t believe my ears. 

“I knew I would regret that as soon as I said it.” I heard his voice come closer, but he knew better than to try and touch me. “I’m sorry.” The first apology of the night. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get the better of me. I haven’t slept and I’m not in my right mind.”

“You’re damn right you’re not in your right mind. And if this is what your ‘job’ has turned you into after this long, I’m not sure I can keep up. The man I know would never do that, no matter how stressed or how tired he was. He wouldn’t act like this.”

“This isn’t me, you know that.”

“I’m not sure what I know anymore.” I finally turned to him, my cheeks wet with my silent tears and my things forgotten on the floor. “What happened to you?” 

“It’s too much to explain, you wouldn’t understand it all.”

“Then help me understand! I want to, so please just help me. Help me see the world of your profession through your eyes.”

“That’s just it! I can't! It’s not just a profession at this point. It has turned into my whole life. My whole life is under the control of people who don’t know me unless I make myself heard. I have to fight for my voice and sometimes even that isn’t enough. I’m not just fighting for me, I have seven other people I need to make sure whose voices are heard.” 

“I know that, Chan. I know it’s not just you. But there comes a time when you have to put yourself first or else there won’t be anything left for you to fight with.”

“If you think that I wouldn’t fight until I have nothing left, then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” 

“That kind of talk is self-destructive, Chan. You’re going to implode. There will be pieces of you on the walls of the JYP building. And you’re going to take me down with you.”

“If there are pieces of me left, then at least I will have made my mark on something. And I wouldn’t want my ‘self-destructive talk’ to infect anyone else, so I guess there should be as much distance between us as possible.” He pushed past me to get into my room, his empty bags in his hands. He started gathering his stuff and throwing it on my bed to pack it. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the blast.” 

“Oh yeah, because I wouldn’t be there to pick them up like I have a dozen times before. Because everytime you call I’m there. Whenever you need me, I ran to you. But when I need you, where are you? I know you love to make everyone feel loved but when it counts? You feel like you’re being pulled in a thousand directions but why is that? Do you not put yourself there? You don’t help yourself! To the point where no one else can help either because we don’t know how!”

“Like you’ve ever asked how you can help me! You’re so focused on what’s wrong that you don’t see what’s right in front of you. I’m withering away and there’s nothing I can do! Nothing anyone can do…”

He collapsed onto the floor, in the middle of his half-packed bags, and curled into himself. Just like I had said, there was nothing I could do for him now. I had no ideas, no suggestions, no solutions for him. 

I loved him. I knew in that moment I did. I knew it from the moment I met him and from that point on I would for as long as I lived. But I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn’t watch him self-destruct. If this was what it took for him to realize what he was doing to himself, then maybe it had to be done. 

He grabbed his zip-up Mahagrid hoodie he used to wear for his lives that he had to do while he was at my house. I slept in it every night when he wasn’t here, which had been often nowadays.

“Can you at least leave that?”

“Why?” His tone was dead. 

“You barely wear it anymore and you know it's my favorite. You’ve seen how often I sleep in it. Are you that bitter that you wouldn't let me have it?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s mine and I’m keeping it.” And he shoved it into his bag and zipped it up. “You’ll be fine.” There wasn’t any malice in his tone there, more like… remorse, if I had to put a name to it. Like he didn’t want to do it but had to to soothe some inner turmoil he was currently going through. He gathered his bags and gently shoved past me in the doorway. I think he believed I would try and stop him. One more disappointment to give him and on his way out, no less. He slowed when he got to the door and stopped when his hand had reached the door handle. It was like he didn't want to leave because he knew there was no coming back. In some way, I think he knew that this was the last straw and this…this would be the last time he knew that he would be on this side of that door. So I said the only thing I could think of that I knew was still true and would be until the day I stopped breathing.

“I love you, Chris.”

“I know.” And he closed the door gently behind him. 

That was three days ago. My apartment was now littered with used tissues and empty cups of whatever I had in the fridge because it was the only thing I could keep down. I knew I did the right thing. That didn’t make it any easier. And honestly, I expected a text at the very least by now, but my phone was still black across the counter in the kitchen. I felt like I had been staring at it everyday when I woke up until the moment I fell asleep. I spent the last 72 hours moping around my apartment, doing nothing but avoiding the calls from my parents, friends, and anyone whose name wasn’t Chris Bang. Which never came. 

Staring at the contents of my fridge, I couldn’t help the chill that shot down my spine. I had to settle for one of my own hoodies, not nearly giving the sense of home that I had been very dearly missing for the past three days. The fuzz of this sweatshirt just wasn’t cutting it and to be real with myself, I missed him. I fucking missed him a lot. 

God damnit. 

There was nothing in this fridge. Who was I kidding, I hadn’t gone shopping in a week and it was starting to show. The shelves were empty and for the first time, I was actually starting to feel the hunger. Swallowing what little self-respect I had, I put on my shoes, grabbed my keys, and opened my front door.

And there it was, in its black and white lettering glory. Sitting in a cardboard box was his zip-up hoodie. No letter, nothing else in the box, just this. The last piece of him that I would have, thanks to him. 

He would always love me. Just like I would always love him. Nothing would ever change that. Maybe later in life, we could come back together. There was always that hope. But until then, we would have to settle for this; deep down, I knew that promise to always root for each other still stood. I knew he would keep up his end. 

I never took it off.

[ditttiii]

KINTSUGI. | 0T7 (M) || 04 |

◈ Hybrid AU || Ot7 x Reader

◈ Summary:  Life is neither fair nor what you had dreamed that it would be, but the hand that fate had dealt them was worse than yours.

When you get a chance to adopt seven hybrids, all a little rough around the edges, do you take it? Will this last-ditch attempt at doing something right end with you buried six feet under the ground or will it finally give you the family that you have always secretly hoped for?

◈ Genre: eventual romance || hurt/comfort || angst (with a happy ending) || eventual smut.

◈ Chapter Four

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: none. (sfw)

◈ Masterlist

Moodboard By: @today-we-will-survive​ ❤   

 you know i didn't want to

have to haunt you,

but what a ghostly scene. 

You feel like a live wire, buzzing and zapping sporadically in all the wrong places. This is a mess; you are a mess. Your feelings are tangled and knotted tight like a pair of old wired headphones, and the more you try to pull them apart, the tighter the tangle grows.

 Sinking deeper into your hoodie, you exhale in an attempt to keep warm, shuffling across the sweeping, empty parking lot to get to your SUV as quickly as you can.

 The wind outside is cold and no less harsh than when you had stepped foot outside hours ago, but somehow for the first time since you got here, you feel warm. The cold outside feels less hostile, less biting, and your inhales no longer make you feel like the air is trying to suffocate you the more you breathe it in.

 It had taken hours for the whole thing to be done. More hours than you were comfortable with inside that place to finally get the seven hybrids registered under your custody, and with a pained sigh, you sink into your seat. Hands-on the steering, you still. Just for a minute.

  I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

 A minute. Just for a minute, you allow yourself to feel weak. Let your walls down alone and feel your heart squeeze inside your chest till it hurts to breathe, till the burn spreads from your thorax to your throat. Hold your breath till your ears pop and you feel enough pain to find just enough self-pity to stop scourging yourself like this.

  I miss you.

 The constant sense of vacuity and inadequateness you feel is now accompanied by the feeling of being undeserving and wholly unprepared for what is to come but shuddering a breath in, you let them settle.

 The minute’s up.

 Turning the gear into reverse, you back out of the parking lot.

 In the time that it had taken you to finish all the formalities, the sun had set. Darkness shrouds the entire place, creating shadows that alter their shape if looked at for a second too long and play games with you. The already eerie place becomes even scarier, and you hasten to pick up the seven awaiting hybrids.

 Coming to a stop in front of the building, you unlock all the doors and unroll the passenger side window.

 “Hey, guys. So there’s enough space in the back for three people, but it would be better if the…um, smaller of you seven take the last seat?” Right off the bat, you hope your poor choice of words doesn’t offend anyone.

 “Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok; in the back.”

 Unlike how it freezes you in place, Naamjoon’s commanding voice stirs his pack into action and wordlessly, the three climb into place; Namjoon takes the passenger seat for himself. The remaining three take the middle-row seats, and with a mute nod, you put the car back into drive.

 “I live some 40 minutes away, so get comfortable. Also, I know it’s a bit of a drive, but we can make a pitstop along the way if someone needs something?”

 “Anyone?” Namjoon reiterates.

 Variations of I’m good, and I’m fine fill the silence in the car before the quiet reigns again, and you try not to think too hard about how they are really answering Namjoon and not you.

 Did you even expect them to?—No—you know it too, but a very tiny part of you, buried deep enough where you refuse to acknowledge its existence, wishes that you all were at least talking to each other.

 Taking the hint that they might not respond to you unless prompted by their leader, you keep quiet and drive back home in silence.

Blinking dry eyes wet, you press your finger into the biometric scanner of the main gate. A second passes as it registers who you are before the heavy main gate slides open electronically, and you drive in. Tall trees line both sides of your driveway. From the corner of your eye, you watch as the men in the back shift in their seats, leaning forward and showing maybe the first signs of genuine interest in something since you first laid your eyes on them. Soft yellow-lit lamps line the right side of the road, grass sprouting around and encompassing the path in stretches of green, interrupted only by the various stone statues you have gathered over the years. Some passed on, some bought by you.

 It’s a consolation because even if nothing works out and you can never fully gain their trust or friendship, you can provide for them well. Do your best to give everything that they ever desire and protect them.

 A soft gasp escapes Jungkook, bunny ears stirring under his pullover hoodie and the reflection of the passing lamps, the yellow and gold glittered clear amidst his large eyes visible even from where you are sitting. The sight of him unguarded for a moment warms your heart for a reason you can’t yet put your finger on.

 Finally, after a lengthy, awkwardly silent ride, the car rests as you pull up in front of the main house gate.

 “I’ll have to park the car in the garage, but you guys can get off here. I’ll come back around in a minute.”

 “I’ll stay.”

 You blink at Namjoon’s response, unsure of what that means for the rest of the hybrids. You weren’t very comfortable leaving them all alone in a foreign space either, but the property was secured, and there was no point in making them all walk back unnecessarily.

 “Okay,” concludes Yoongi, getting out of the car. No one protests after, wordlessly following him and getting out one by one. You put the car into drive again with all of them off but one.

 Waiting for the garage door to open, you sneak a peek at Namjoon. The wolf hybrid sits perfectly straight, his shoulders wide and broader than the seat rest behind him. Does he not trust you to come back? But that’s a ridiculous notion. Even if he didn’t trust you, which you are sure is the case one way or another, he’s smart enough to know you can’t exactly escape from them in your own house. Putting the car into park, you wonder. Is he being…protective?

In the distance, you see the six of them. Yoongi’s long silver hair made it obvious who was leaning a little space away from the rest of the pack against one of the lamp poles. Hoseok and Jimin are standing close to Jungkook’s hunched figure while Taehyung sits on one of the bottom stairs.

 “Do you have any advice for me?”

 There. You’ve said it. Regardless of Namjoon’s response, it’s worth a shot.

 He remains quiet, not a break in his pace, and you turn to look at him fully. Long, black strands rest against a narrow, sharp face and a vain part of you wonders if hybrids are all genetically tailored to look unreal amounts of pretty or if it’s just your pack.

 “Whatever you think is the best mistress.”

 That word again. You shift to hide your grimace. The word leaves a bad taste in your mouth, and you  need  to figure out a way to get them to stop saying it.

 “My name’s fine, really. You don’t have to–”

 “Mistress, please.”

 You pause. There’s–

 “Don’t ask us to do that.”

 Namjoon sounds…pained doesn’t feel right to you, but it’s something similar. You don’t know him well enough yet to be sure, but you can’t help but think he sounds resigned. It’s the kind of bone-deep weary resignation that makes you swallow back all of the arguments that you have.

 “Alright,” you concede. You won’t broach the subject with the rest of the pack until you have Namjoon on your side, and if he isn’t ready yet, then you are willing to wait. Slow and steady.

 “Jungkook likes you.”

 Your eyes widen. “Sorry?”

 Piercing hazel eyes turn to you, and you can’t even blink. Something about Namjoon’s presence is vital, he demands respect with every breath, and you unconsciously straighten up, giving him your full attention.

 “He’s the youngest, but he trusts you already. He isn’t the easiest and he has his troubles, but—”

 For the first time, you see a crack in Namjoon’s shell. It’s barely there, a very thin hair crack and you only see it because you are looking, but his eyes soften. Just the barest millimetre, and if you blink, you’ll likely not see it again. The edges curled in on themselves, warmth seeping into that otherwise impaling gaze.

 “He isn’t cold. He still believes in goodness and wants a purpose,” Namjoon searches your gaze again like he had a few hours prior, looking for something you are unsure you possess.

“Mistress, if it isn’t too much trouble, please keep him around you. Let him help you. He’s honest and receptive to your wishes and it’ll be the quickest way for him to acclimatise to the change.”

 You see Jungkook hunched in on himself, scared maybe but still curious as his head turns to look at you, and one of his ears pokes out from under the hoodie, crooked and curious as he sees you two approach.

 “I will.”

Fishing out the house key from your front pocket, you jam it in the lock, twisting it with a little more force than you would if the weather out was a little warmer. You make a mental note to get the lock lubricated.

 The door opens to darkness, and you step in, quickly reaching a few steps ahead to switch on the lights. The inside is blessedly warmer and you shuffle your new housemates in, locking the door shut behind you.

 “This is it. Welcome!” The forced cheer in your voice is slightly awkward, tinged with nervousness and anxiety. You will now have seven housemates who also call you mistress and treat you as one.

  This is going to take some time to get used to.

 “Do you guys want a tour of sorts first, or I can show you your rooms, and you can freshen up?”

 A gurgling stomach is the first one to respond.

 “Right, I’ll get started with the dinner while you guys get cleaned up.”

 “Dinner would be lovely, mistress.” It’s Hobi this time, and your lips curl into a bright, encouraging smile.

 “Perfect. However, I am gonna need some help with cooking. I don’t have much experience cooking for more than two people, so do any of you know your way around the kitchen?”

 “Mistress..” Seokjin steps up, his tall frame appearing from behind the huddle, “I know a few dishes and am decent with recipes for most others that I don’t know.”

 Nodding, you beckon him over to the kitchen while asking the rest of them to wait for you to come back.

 Quickly showing him what’s in the refrigerator, you pull out some vegetables and meat, explaining how you’d like him to cut them before you rush out to the remaining hybrids.

 “Alright, follow me.”

 Climbing the wooden staircase, you lead them to the first floor, where most rooms are. Explaining the basic layout of your house en route and letting them know to explore and figure out the rest. Pointing to the door of your room, you simply tell them it’s yours. Wondering for a second if maybe you should ask them to not go in without asking you but ultimately push back your inhibitions, deciding not to.

 “There are three rooms on this floor besides mine, all large enough for two, but it could be a tight squeeze for three. There are another two rooms on the ground floor if someone would like those.”

 Ultimately, you decide to let them figure out the details of their living quarters on their own and quietly make your escape once you have established they know the directions to the ground floor rooms.

 Coming into the kitchen, you see Seokjin’s tall figure hunched over your granite counter, long thin fingers gripping the knife confidently as he slices in practiced, uniform motions.

 “Need any help?”

  Huh—the bear hybrid jumps, looking at you with a startled gaze and you rush to apologise. Maybe not all of them are equally as aware of their surroundings.

 With another apology, you smile, coming to stand beside him.

 “I have got it, mistress.”

 Nodding, you leave him to finish the preparation as you work on making the broth.

 “Do you want a bathroom break or something? I know I dragged you here first thing as soon as we came in. I can hold down the fort alone for a while if you’d like to get refreshed,” you offer, guilt weighing your stomach down at having to ask for help so soon.

 Seokjin smiles, and it’s a small, soft thing. All full pink lips and gentle warmth and try as you might, you can’t force your gaze away from it. With a shake of his head, he reassures you and nodding you accept his response wordlessly. Still a little awe-struck by the smile.

 It’s quiet as you work alongside each other, but the silence isn’t awkward or oppressive. Unlike Namjoon or Yoongi, despite his broad shoulders and tall height, Seokjin isn’t as intimidating. You have no doubt that if a situation arose that demanded it, the predator, that half of him is, would make an appearance. Sharp, long nails stretched out from the ends of his nailbed, a subtle reminder of his part identity. However, at the same time, in the warm yellow lighting of your kitchen, surrounded by a pile of finely chopped vegetables and meat and wearing your soft pink apron, he feels no part predator and all parts the man himself.

 You exit the kitchen in a rush, handing him the apron hanging off a kitchen chair. It’s apparent you are stressed, worried about making them comfortable and maybe not knowing how to.

 Jin isn’t the leader of the pack, but he is the oldest, and with it comes experience that even Namjoon lacks. He has known what it is like to be a hybrid the longest between them, had the most time to come to terms with it before the uprising, and in some ways, he feels for Jungkook.

Maybe that’s why the others aren’t entirely wrong in their assumption when they accuse him of playing favourites with Jungkook. Because while the youngest isn’t his favourite—he could never choose one of them, they are all his just as much as he is theirs—Jin is the most protective of him. It’s the kind of parental love that a hybrid never really has the privilege to feel, but a stroke of fate and his bleeding heart for those his kind had led Jungkook to experience it. In their own way, they all feel the most for their maknae, wishing to protect the most vulnerable of their group, not wanting him to be as jaded as they are, and he hopes it’s the same for you too.

 He boasts of a past no better than any of his pack, but unlike Namjoon, who functions with cautiosness that stems from the self-alloted weight of his whole pack and then some, or Yoongi, who shields himself under a layer of hostility so thick very rarely has Jin himself seen the Yoongi that breathes underneath all that facade; Jin still trusts humans. He still remembers when things weren’t as bad and knows that not all of humanity is alike. There are vicious hybrids, just as there are kind humans, and denying the existence of either by the other is foolish.

 He hears your voice as you pass him by the kitchen, the rest of his pack tailing behind you quietly while you chat; whether to fill the silence or to help them fill at ease, he doesn’t know.

Jin doesn’t feel comfortable with the unknown and is unaware of plenty.

 Like—you; who you are besides what he has already seen and deduced, the real you. The you who chose to have them. He needs to know your reasons for adopting seven hybrids at the worst time you could have chosen. Jin is no fool; he realises how rare anyone wanting a single hybrid is nowadays, let alone seven. Had he been a human, your actions would have screamed a death wish to him. And yet you still did, choosing to do the unpopular and maybe even unwise.

 He can hear the slam of a door closing as several pairs of feet walk above him, the distinct thump of feet against wood, and he hopes, despite all the unknown and unwise, that he is right for putting his faith in you.

Dinner is an odd affair. You aren’t used to having another person under the same roof as you, let alone half a dozen others. Once Jin and you are done cooking, you ask Jungkook—hanging by the kitchen entrance—to call the others, soon passing on a stack of plates to Hoseok and giving him free rein to set the table. When you come out of the kitchen, at last, it’s to the assumption that everyone else must have already picked a seat and settled down, but the sight that greets you is different. Disturbingly so.

 The seven hybrids stand divided behind the two sides of the table, leaving both ends clear, with their heads bowed and hands folded. It shouldn’t surprise you after today, after everything you have seen and felt, after the almost breakdown you’ve had, realising the extent of their servitude and yet it does. Something about being under the same roof had fooled you into thinking they’d treat you just like they do each other. Something about the domesticity of sharing your kitchen space, cooking with someone and having someone waiting on you at the end had deluded you into a sense of normalcy.

The scene that you walk into quickly shatters that illusion.

 “Sit down please, it’s late and we should all be heading to bed soon anyway,” you force yourself to be casual as you take one head of the table, unsure if the nonchalance is for their benefit or if you are just too cowardly to ask why they don’t feel comfortable sitting until you do.

 Time. You’ll take it one step at a time, and this is a battle you choose to not wage today. 

 The sobs are quiet, muffled, and maybe some other day, you wouldn’t have heard them, but tonight you are careful and the unmistakable sound of crying brings you to a sudden halt. You debate going in, fearing the unknown and fumbling out of your depth as you stand there with sweaty fingers clenched white around the cool metal handle. You pray for resilience—strength you don’t have left after the long day, curse yourself for hesitating and force yourself to turn the handle.

 Curled into himself, hands wrapped around his knees and eyes leaking tears hidden in the space between. You don’t need to remove the cloth over his head to know it’s Jungkook dwarfed in a frayed oversized hoodie. The shudders that were poorly muffled before are quiet now, his breaths seized as he no doubt registers your presence. A voice inside you supplies how he must have heard you even before you had stepped into the hallway with his abilities.

But if so, why hadn’t he quieted down then? Did he not think you would care enough to check?

 Whatever remnants of hesitation were left regarding reaching out faded at the sight of him trying to curl his broad shoulders tighter into each other.

 “Jungkook?” you call, moving closer.

 He doesn’t answer, head lowering further into the gaps of his knees and the hood over his head slides away a little at the moment. One lonesome ear peaking out, down and tucked close, and you ache to gather him in a hug.

 “Hey Koo…,” voice soft as a feather, you get down on your knees, inching closer until there’s less than a metre of space between you two. This close, you hear the barely audible sniffles as he breathes through a wet and, judging by the downturned head—leaking nose.

 Jungkook shivers under your touch as you place a hand over his clothed knee and a semblance of hope bubbles in your heart realising that at least he hadn’t flinched. You think he’s frightened of the unknown too, but maybe he isn’t terrified of you.

 “I won’t force you to talk if you don’t want to, and I don’t want you to explain something you don’t feel comfortable with. I just want to know if you are okay.”

 The lone long ear twitches, rising slowly.

 “Can we start there?”

 Your words are still soft, quiet, so no one outside hears anything, and Jungkook finally stirs. A pair of deep chocolate brown eyes rise to meet yours and you don’t know if it’s the tears or the stark bathroom lighting reflecting back, but for an instant, you swear nothing has shimmered quite as bright.

 “Yeah. okay.” he says, and it’s just as quiet and for a brief moment, you sit there in companionable silence, content to be still except for the small of your hand rubbing comforting circles on his knee.

 Keeping hold of his gaze, you smile a small but encouraging smile. “Are you?”

 “I don’t know.”

 Nodding, you accept the unexpectedly raw confession. “That’s okay. To be honest, I don’t know if I am either but as long as you hold on. I think that’s ultimately what matters the most. Not giving up.”

 Pools of deep molten brown widen, an emotion you can’t identify swimming in them before he averts his gaze, biting his lips nervously.

 “I am sorry, mistress.”

 With a shake of your head, you dismiss his apology. “There is nothing to apologise for. It’s okay to not be okay and to cry,” your fingers tighten around his knee, “Just know you are not alone. There are people who care; you know they care, and I care too. So let us be there for you, okay?”

 His gaze still glistens but he gathers enough to where the shudders stop and you make yourself comfortable on the floor. At this point, there isn’t much you feel like you can do to make him change his mind over whatever it is that’s tormenting him, but at the same time, you know what suffering is like too. You’ve been there, down on your knees at your worst, crying and begging things to change to go back in time. Long for something you never had, for a release and a better next day.

 So, you don’t know what he has been through and don’t see how you can make it better at the moment (if anyone can), but you do know loneliness. The poignant void that your mind can weave that makes you feel alone in a crowded room—thoughts that weigh your core—the only thing keeping you company, and it’s horrible. You hate being lonely but enjoy being alone and it’s that feeling of powerlessness. Being unable to understand where the feelings come from and only knowing how heavy they weigh you down settled around your shoulders, claws digging into your skin, leaving bruises unseen.

 If being here is the only thing you can ever do for him–any of them–you’ll do it. Day after day till your last.

 Moments and minutes blur into each other as you sit pressed with your knee against his, the reassuring warmth of company tugging you two back to the present and in place. Eventually, he nods. Long thin fingers peek out from a large hoodie to wipe away any residual tears.

 “Yes, mistress.”

 Smiling, you lean closer to Jungkook, the barest bit, cautious of his boundaries, and your heart physically warms when he moves to do the same. It’s not an embrace, with your head barely grazing his shoulder, most of its weight still being held up by your neck and one of his ears flopping down to rest against your ear, more a ghost touch than any real contact, but it feels better than any hug you have received in years. You stay there, enveloped in each other’s warmth and hesitant touches, until the tiles under you grow warm and your eyes start to feel heavy. The surprise of being comfortable in another’s presence omitted in your exhausted state of mind. Eventually, Jungkook moves. Or you slip. You aren’t sure which came first but when you finally start coming to, it’s to the feeling of Jungkook’s hands around your forearms, straightening you up as he supports your unsteady, half-asleep body.

 “Oh god I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” a blush cloaks your cheeks and you wish you were wearing an oversized hoodie too, if only so you could hide behind the comforting cloak of said fabric. 

Jungkook shakes his head, both ears now on display as he smiles. It’s small and timid and he can barely meet your gaze for more than a second but it’s more than what you had expected to gain by the end of the day and certainly far more than anything you could have even hoped for. 

 Fragile and new it may be, but you two now have a bond. 

 It’s not onesided. You know you are not just fooling yourself when the same fingers lightly grab the back of your tee as you move through the hallway, intending to leave Jungkook at his bedroom door, preferably with one of his hyungs.

 Slightly embarrassed, you realise you don’t exactly know which room he is in or with whom. “Which room did you pick, Jungkook?”

 Shuffling a little closer to you, his fingers pinch your tee tighter and you slow your pace, leaning back to catch his gaze. “I mean, I know this sounds stupid, considering it’s my house but mind directing me to your room?”

 His eyes visibly soften, and he nods, leading without another word. Jungkook lets go of the back of your tee only to grab your full sleeve from the side a second later.

 You furiously squash the voice inside your head urging you to pinch his cheeks.

 “I was planning on doing a grocery run tomorrow morning, so if there’s anything you want, just let me know.”

 “Can I come?”

 Surprised, you look at him. “Ofcourse you can, but you really don’t have to. I will probably leave early, and well, it’s just a grocery run. I will take you guys out to get some stuff later in the day. Today’s been long; if you want to sleep in, you should.”

 He shuffles shyly, one hand in his pocket and one grabbing your sleeve. “I want to.”

 Something in your chest constricts, too tight and too full as the rest of you feels slightly weightless. This boy is going to be the death of you.  

 Namjoon opens the door to the room Jungkook leads you, and the youngest wishes you night with a bow and a soft thank you before shuffling in. The straight, quivering ears give away the excitement and joy the rest of him so desperately tries to hide in favour of being poised. 

 It makes and breaks your heart. You are happy—beyond thankful—that he has started to consider you as more than just his owner, maybe not yet a friend, but at least someone he trusts. However, the way his responses, ingrained and trained, all have an underlying hint of servitude; it makes you want to protect him from yourself, lest you do something to encourage that sense of captivity that comes so naturally to him. 

 “Goodnight, mistress.” 

 Namjoon’s voice is all gravel and stone as he drops you off at your bedroom door despite all your protests. 

 There’s a thankyou somewhere lodged in your chest, pushing against the confines of your ribs and wanting to escape through the hollows in between, words that tickle the back of your throat, begging to come out and tell him how you think Jungkook trusts you now. Ask him shamefully if he thinks you are doing good, if he trusts you to take care of him and his family. 

 But the words never come, and with the greeting returned, you step inside your room, shutting the door on the longest day of your life. 

  a/n: i am alive. i am back and my apology comes in the form of this nearly 5k word chapter. this has been a long time coming and i have no excuse. i am scum. life just got away from me and it took all of me and then some to get it back on track. if you wanna talk to me, shoot me an ask. i am always beyond happy when i get the chance to talk to any of you so yes! i m here and i hope you are here too. 

Lemme know what you thought of the chapter in the comments please! it's as always the support and comments that bring me back to some of my stories with the drive to give them the ending that they and you all deserve. We have got a long road ahead of us but i promise to make it worth it 💕 Thankyou so much for reading my story! i love you ❣️ i hope you have an amazing day/night ahead 🫶

[purplephantomwolf]

Love in Motion

Chapter Five

Synopsis: Lydia gets a wrong number text from Lando Norris.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings for this chapter: None

Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four

Next Chapter: Chapter Six

Masterlist

April 22, 2022

7 pm Italy Time

Lando’s POV

     I walk back to my drivers room from the media pen. I grab my phone, hoping to see messages from Lydia. I frown when I see no messages from her. “Why are you frowning? You’re starting P3 in the sprint tomorrow!” Jon asks, walking into the room. 

     “I was expecting a message from someone by the time qualifying ended, but I’ve got no messages,” I sigh. 

     “He’s expecting a message from a girl,” Daniel says, entering the room. I sigh and roll my eyes at him extending the word girl. 

     “Yeah,” I sigh, “We’ve been talking every day, so I’m not sure why I haven’t got any messages besides her good morning message. She’s a big F1 fan, so I assumed I’d get messages about qualifying like I did last time.” 

     Jon puts a hand on my shoulder, “I’m sure she’s just busy.” 

     “Yeah, she probably is in class or something,” I nod. Daniel and Jon nod along with me. 

Lydia’s POV

3 pm Minnesota Time

     I grab my laptop, sitting down on the couch. I turn on the tv, pulling up qualifying for the Imola grand prix. My plan is to look for photography jobs while qualifying is happening. I’m having to watch a replay of qualifying because I have had class all day. I grab my phone so I can text Luke throughout watching it. 

Me: I finally am free, so now I can watch qualifying. Stupid school getting in the way of my hobby. 

     I set my phone down, not expecting a message back because it’s 10 in Italy. My phone vibrates immediately.

Luke: Oh good! I was getting worried after not hearing from you for hours. 

Me: Sorry, I had exams in my three classes today, so I wasn’t on my phone. 

Luke: All good! Let me know what you think of qualifying! 

Me: Don’t worry, you’re going to be getting all my reactions as I watch it. 

Luke: Oh good. I loved reading your comments after Australia.

Me: Good, cause I’m not going to stop. You’re the only person I know who likes F1. 

Luke: That sucks. Well, at least you have someone now. 

Me: Yeah! 

     I look up at the screen as Alex’s car catches on fire and a red flag is shown. 

Me: Holy shit! Alex’s brake is on fire! 

Luke: Yeah, that sucks when it happens. 

Me: I can’t believe you say that so casually. I would be scared as hell.

Luke: Yeah, but these guys can’t be scared of these sorts of things, otherwise they’d never get in the car. 

Me: True. 

     As I wait for the red flag to finish, I head to the McLaren job website. I’ve been checking different Formula 1 team’s job sites to see if any of them post anything about needing a photographer. I sigh when I don’t see any new postings. I switch over to the Red Bull site next. I see a new job posting and start to get hopeful. I click on it and the words “Red Bull Photographer” stare back at me. I immediately hit apply and start the application. 

     I look up at the screen when I hear the commentators say something about a yellow flag and Latifi. 

Me: Aww, Latifi spun. Williams just isn’t having a good day. 

Luke: No, they didn’t. 

     I turn back to the application, filling everything out. I submit the application with my photo portfolio just as the commentators go “And Sainz in the wall!” My head flings up to see Carlos’ car against the wall. 

Me: No!! Carlos hit the wall! Thank goodness he’s okay. I always get so worried about the drivers when they crash. 

Luke: That’s so sweet of you. It’s always worrying when drivers crash. 

Me: Yeah. I hope you’re staying dry this weekend. Looks miserable out there. 

Luke: I’m luckily in the hospitality all weekend. 

Me: That’s good. It’s bright and sunny here. 

Me: Hopefully it doesn’t rain too much during the races. 

Luke: Hopefully, that would be good. 

     I watch as the cars come out on track for Q3. I groan as Kevin Magnussen crashes and causes another red flag. 

Me: How many red flags are there going to be?

Luke: You just see Magnussen crash?

Me: Yeah, luckily it won’t be too long it looks like. 

Me: I still have 6 minutes left of Q3 but there’s 25 minutes left in the video. What happens?

Me: Ohhh! Valtteri is off! And it’s another red flag. 

Luke: Three red flags. It was an interesting qualifying. 

     I patiently wait for the red flag to lift. 15 minutes later the flag is lifted. I know I can skip until the flag is done, but I like watching everything I can on the sport. I groan when I see another red flag. I gasp and yell, “No!” It’s Lando who’s caused the red flag. 

Me: No! Lando crashed! Hopefully he’s okay! But hey! He’s starting P3 tomorrow!

Luke: He’s okay, happy to start P3 tomorrow.

Me: Oh good! He did great today. 

Luke: I should head to bed. It’s midnight here now. 

Me: Okay! Have a good night!

Luke: Good night, Lydia. 

     I turn off the tv and head into the kitchen to make some dinner. 

April 23, 2022

9 am

     I sit down on the couch as the five lights go out. “Oh no, what happened to you, Zhou?” I ask, seeing his car in the wall. “Ooohhh, contact with Pierre,” I hum, seeing Pierre limp around the track. 

Me: Poor Zhou and Pierre. 

Me: Zhou should’ve given Pierre more room, but it’s going to go down as a racing incident probably. 

Me: The fact that Carlos is fighting against Fernando, who is the driver he idolized as a child, is crazy. 

Me: Noooo, Perez passed Lando. 

Me: NO! Carlos! How could you do this to your bestie? How could you pass him?

Me: Let’s go! Lando finished P5!

     I set my phone down, standing up. I start cleaning my apartment, waiting to see if Luke responds any time soon. 

     I’ve just finished cleaning the bathroom when I hear my phone vibrate. I grab it, excited to see if it’s Luke. I frown when I see that it’s an email from an unknown sender. Curious, I click it. I almost drop my phone in shock when I see the contents. “RED BULL WANTS AN INTERVIEW WITH ME!” I shriek. I’m shocked that they want an interview and the incredibly fast response time. I immediately respond to the email, wanting to set up a time as soon as possible for an interview. As soon as I get that figured out, I start pacing my apartment. “Oh my god, this is it. This could be you fulfilling your dream, Lydia. Don’t freak out,” I mumble to myself. My phone vibrates, and I dive for it. I grin when I see a message from Luke. 

Luke: I’m sure Lando would be grateful for your support if he knew you.

Me: Hi, Luke!

Luke: Hi, Lydia. How has your day been?

Me: It’s going amazing. I have an interview on Monday for a possible photography job.

Luke: That’s amazing! Congrats!

Me: Thanks!

Luke: I’m sure you’ll do great.

Me: Thanks! How’s the weather look in Imola tomorrow? More rain?

Luke: Lots of rain.

Me: Damn, good luck to the drivers then. 

Luke: They’ve driven in all kinds of weather, I’m sure they’ll be okay. 

Me: I hope so too. 

Luke: What’s your plan for the rest of your day?

Me: I’m finishing cleaning my apartment, then doing some homework. Can’t slack off for even a day or I’ll fall behind. 

Luke: Damn, I really hope you get some free time soon. 

Me: I should, it’s almost the end of school. Just two more weeks. 

Luke: Oh, that’s good!

Me: Yep! What’s the plan for your night?

Luke: Well, just resting and preparing for the race and events tomorrow. 

Me: Okay! Have fun with that! 

Luke: I will!

Lando’s POV

     I pick up my phone, grinning when I see messages from Lydia. My disappointment from losing positions in the sprint disappears when I see she’s excited that I finished P5. I dive into a conversation with her, lounging on the bed to relax. We talk for a good hour before I feel myself start to fall asleep. I groan, wanting to spend more time talking to Lydia. I fight sleep for a couple minutes before it starts to take over. 

Me: As much as I’d love to continue talking, it’s 9:30 here now and I’m fighting sleep. 

Lydia: Okay! Good night Luke!

Me: Good night, Lydia!

April 24, 2022

Lydia’s POV

8 am

     “And in Imola, we’re racing,” Will Buxton says. I grin, as Lando takes two places right off the bat. “And Sainz has been hit!” I gasp, seeing Carlos and Daniel in the gravel. 

Me: LET’S GO LANDO! TAKING TWO PLACES OFF THE BAT!

Me: Oh no! Not Carlos and Daniel! It must be so hard to see with all that rain. 

Me: The drivers need little windshield wipers on their helmets. 

Me: It sucks that Carlos is beached. 

Me: Oh! Mick had a little trip through the grass too. 

Me: I could never be a race strategist. So many variables. 

     I bite my nails as Charles makes an attempt to pass Lando. “Charles, I swear if you take Lando out,” I say. I pout when Charles passes Lando, “Come on, Lando. You can do this.” 

Me: Aww, Mick spun again. 

Me: Stroll is worrying me going onto the wet part of the track on slicks. 

Me: I don’t want anyone to crash!

Me: No! Charles! He crashed! 

Me: Good shot of Carlos though. 

Me: BUT THAT MEANS LANDO IS P3! LET’S GOOOO!

Me: YESSS LANDO GOT P3!!!

Me: Awww, his reaction on the radio is so cute. 

     I laugh as Lando appears on the screen, his hair sticking straight up. After the podium ceremony, I shut off the tv. I grab my laptop, setting up camp on the couch to work on homework and get ready for my interview tomorrow. 

Lando’s POV

     I step out of the conference room, still stinking of champaign. “All I want right now is a shower and sleep,” Max says, coming up next to me. I nod, making a noise of agreement. We walk back to our drivers rooms together. “See you later, Lando. Congrats again on your race,” Max says, waving bye. 

     “Thanks, Max. Congrats on your win,” I say, before heading into the room. I race for my phone, grinning when I see a string of messages from Lydia. I quickly read through them before replying. 

Me: Lando is super happy with his final position. 

Lydia: As he should be! He did amazing! 

     I almost send a thank you to her, before catching myself. “She doesn’t know she’s talking to you, idiot. Don’t mess it up now,” I mumble.

Me: He did.

Lydia: Any plans to go out and celebrate?

Me: Not tonight, I’ve got an early flight to catch. Celebrations will be later this week. 

Lydia: Sounds like fun!

Me: Yeah! Now it’s time to head back to the hotel and getting some sleep. 

Lydia: Sounds like a fantastic idea. Sounds like a lot more fun than what I’m doing. 

Me: What are you doing?

Lydia: I’m studying for my final in organic chemistry. 

Me: That sounds awful.

Lydia: It truly is miserable. But I’m getting through it. 

Me: I’ll leave you to it then, I’m headed back to the hotel now and will probably fall asleep as soon as I sit down. 

Lydia: Alright! Have a good night and sleep, Luke! 

Me: Have a good day and study, Lydia. Good night. 

     I grab my stuff, heading for the hotel. As soon as I get back, I shower and fall into bed, quickly falling asleep.

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Taglist: @copper-boom @ironmaiden1313 @ophcelia

[matchayogitea]

Downward Dog - Sirius Black x reader (part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

"How long does it take to brew the Felix Felicis potion, and how difficult is it?"

You frowned in concentration, trying to remember the exact amount of time it required. You always got confused on this one, you weren't sure why. "It's one of the most difficult potions to make, with disastrous consequences if made wrong, and it takes... four months?" 

Sirius closed the book with a smile. "Almost. Six months."

"Almost?" you repeated, sighing. "That's not even remotely close!"

"Sure it is. You could have said it takes six days."

"Potions is my least favorite subject and I suck at it but I know that brewing Felix Felicis requires months. I'm not that dumb." 

Sirius leaned back in the armchair, grinning. "I never thought you were. And you don't suck at Potions."

"Thank you..." you muttered, lowering your gaze. Sirius was doing it again. Staring at you with that intense look that made you wonder what the two of you really were. Because that stare wasn't something you normally directed at friends.

"Alright! Now that's out of the way - you're going to ace Slughorn's test, don't you dare doubt me - can we go practice yoga?" He jumped to his feet, making you laugh. He looked so excited, like a child on Christmas' Eve. 

"We can, we definitely earned it."

"Yes!" He pumped his fist in the air and you laughed again, shaking your head. "Look at you all thrilled after you've had just one lesson!"

"I had a good teacher!" He winked, and you tried with everything in you not to blush, as you left the Common Room and headed up to the dorms to get changed into something more practical. Sirius said you could do yoga in his dorm, since James, Remus and Peter were busy, so you quickly put on some comfortable clothes and grabbed your mat, before reaching him.

Studying with him had actually been very helpful. When he had told you he could help you revise everything in a few hours you hadn't really believed him, but he had been good with making you memorize ingredients and effects of several potions by linking them together. He said it was a method he had come up with that made learning subjects he hated easily, and he wasn't lying. You did feel better after cramming with him.

You knocked on the Marauders' dorm room and waited. You didn't hear anything, so you knocked again. "Sirius, are you ready?" Without thinking, you pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Your mouth almost dropped open when you saw Sirius by an open window, looking outside. He was waving wildly, you guessed at his friends out on the school grounds, and he definitely hadn't heard you, judging from the way he was standing there clad only in his trousers, shirtless.

You cleared your throat and he turned around, but didn't look embarassed at all. "Oh, sorry, Y/N! I didn't hear you, James was shouting something." He hurried to close the window and walked toward you, smiling brightly. "Ready?"

"I am, but..." you gestured to his chest. 

"I thought about practicing like this, it feels less... restrictive," he explained. "Unless it makes you uncomfortable..." 

You certainly didn't want to make a fuss over a shirtless boy. Even if you and this shirtless boy were standing extremely close to his bed, in his deserted dorm room, and the boy in question looked so good it took you everything not to stare. "Of course not. Shall we?"

You laid out your mat while Sirius just moved to the centre of the carpet. 

"Alright, let's start in mountain pose. Follow me, and stop me anytime you don't understand or need help," you exclaimed, trying to sound confident. 

Sirius nodded and mimicked your pose, as you both closed your eyes and you guided him in your practice. 

It went well. He even almost managed to pull off crow pose, but ended up almost face-planting to the floor. Almost, because you had moved beside him to help him with alignment, and managed to steady him just in time.

Even his back looked good, you thought, as you stared at his shoulders, his shoulder blades, the muscles that twitched as he moved slowly. As you touched his shoulders to help him with the pose you felt your face flush. He was so damn attractive, and you hated feeling so affected by him. You two were just friends, and you had grown closer lately but it didn't mean anything at all, not when Sirius could have anybody he wanted-

"Y/N?"

You blinked. "Yes?"

"Can you show me that other pose... wheel pose?"

"The one I was practicing yesterday when you walked in?" He nodded. "Sure."

Hoping you wouldn't end up looking like an idiot - you had only recently mastered wheel pose - you showed it to him, and Sirius let out an appreciative whistle. "That is impressive. How long does it take to learn?"

"Everyone's different, some people can do it right away. I wouldn't recommend you try it today though, I think we've done enough and you should get some rest." You told him after coming out of the pose. 

"You're right. It's almost dinner time, as well. I feel hungry after exercising!" He paused, staring at you with a slight smile. "You're quite the sadist, making me hold forearm plank for a whole minute."

"Am not! You insisted you could hold it for longer than five breaths," you pointed out, smiling. "I am sure you just wanted to show off. Admit it."

"Me? Do I look like somebody that thrives on attention?" he gasped dramatically, a hand on his heart, pretending to be offended.

"Of course not. You're such an introvert," you rolled your eyes, still smiling. 

Suddenly, silence enveloped you both. As you stared into his eyes, marveling at how handsome he was, Sirius moved one step closer to you. "When Peter interrupted us yesterday..." He bit his lip, slowly placing a hand on your arm. That instantly gave you chills. Good ones. "I meant to ask you..."

"Yes?" you whispered, eyes fixed on him. His fingertips on your bare arm were really distracting. And he smelled so good. Damn. Stop it, Y/N. Focus.

"It's Hogsmeade weekend next Saturday, do you wanna go together?"

You felt your breath hitch in your throat. You had been hoping he'd ask you out for a long time, but had never dared believe he really would. "I would like that," you replied, trying to smile but feeling as if your face had frozen.

Sirius was smiling big enough for both of you, anyway.

Comments welcome! :D