#i am here for the reader's open palmed acceptance of both of them without really knowing why

[morverenmaybewrites]

[bookshelf-dust]

you have hearts for eyes

sirius black x fem!reader

word count: 5,451

warnings: minimal swearing, kind of modern!au, reader has insecurities about being inexperienced, very slight suggestive material, fluff/comfort

a/n: hello! i’ve been working on this fic for what feels like forever, and i am so happy to be done with it and to share it with you. i know my audience for sirius is a bit smaller, but i’m hoping some of you will appreciate and enjoy it and maybe find something in it. it means a lot to me and writing it definitely helped me work through some of my own struggles. please let me know what you think!! i love you so much. happy reading <333

————

Sirius’ apartment is really quite sweet. The walls are dark and draped with tapestries, ones you would never know where to find. Someplace you’re unfamiliar with, surely.

Of course you know it wouldn’t be nearly this nice without all of Remus’ help. Sirius thinks choosing to live across the hall from one another was the best decision they ever made. He had wanted to share a place with both Remus and James, but that was before Lily snatched him away.  

The couch is a deep wine color, the cushions bearing imprints from all the hands and backs and bottoms that have embraced them. He’s cracked the living room windows open, allowing the spring air to seep in.

He’s been pacing back and forth from the window where he’d be able to see your car pull up, and looking out the peephole on his front door. He pulls it open just as you’ve raised your hand to knock (despite having a key), making you jump. A boyish grin spreads across his face as he drags his eyes down your figure. 

“Well, Christ, don’t you look gorgeous.”

You feel the tips of your ears burn. One of your hands flies to rest on your lower belly. You put on a dress today; a lovely, long sundress you purchased in a short-lived moment of bravery, one you’ve never worn around him. Actually, you’ve never worn a dress around Sirius, period. Skirts, sure. But he has never seen you in something like this.

“Oh, quit that,” you mutter, dipping under his arm to enter his home. 

He turns around to watch you walk in as he pushes the door shut. “I will not.” He takes your bag from your shoulder, setting it on a stool just under the kitchen island. “Do a spin for me, love. That color looks so perfect on you.”

You oblige, letting yourself have this one moment where you lean into his flirting. His eyes follow the curve of your waist, the dress hugging it so gently where you’ve tied the strings around your back. The way the fabric drapes down your spine and is light enough that he can see each move you make, each effortless shift of your limbs. He has to be careful not to let his jaw fall open.

You complete your turn, stomach flipping at the look on his face. You scramble for something to say, to hide the way he’s flustered you.

“Okay, okay. No need to pretend to ogle anymore. All I did was put on regular people clothes.”

Sirius’ brows knit together. Pretend? Do you think he’s doing this just to flatter you? Just because he’s a naturally flirty man? He wants to toss you over his shoulder and show you how perfect you are. He crosses his arms.

“No pretending here, love. You do look stunning in that little number and I feel blessed that you have graced me with your presence while wearing it.” He shoots a wink in your direction. 

You run a hand over your collarbone and twist to plant yourself on his couch. He follows you, tucking himself into your side, his thigh pressed to yours. You can feel his gaze on you. 

“You’re terrible at taking compliments, you know that?” He gingerly takes your hand away from where it’s scratching at your neck and keeps it in his, subconsciously tracing the lines embedded in your palm. 

Your eyes fall on his fingers, watching the way his rings glint in the fading sunlight. “I did know that, yes.”

“Give me a compliment then,” he says, attempting to display how one can accept a compliment. Part of him knows he’ll go red once you give him that attention. 

You look at him, your mind swirling with every sweet thing you’ve ever wanted to say to him but kept to yourself because all this flirting doesn’t leave you as easily as it does him. 

“Your hair looks very pretty,” you let out, softly. A smile wide enough to expose his dimples spreads across his face. 

“Does it?” He gives his head a shake, the dog-like movement making you laugh. “I haven’t brushed it today.”

You tuck a strand behind his ear. “Would you like me to do it for you? I could braid it for you after so it won’t get tangled tonight.” 

That gesture comes from you so naturally that it makes Sirius swoon. You want to do that simply for his convenience and because it might make things a bit better on him. And he’ll be damned if the thought of your fingers touching his scalp and your nails on his neck doesn’t sound like the best thing since…well he hasn’t got a reference for that. But you’re often so shy when it comes to physical affection, and this just might make his entire life.  

This pool of thoughts must be showing on his face, because you suddenly look very flustered. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had hearts in his eyes to replace his pupils.

“I’d love it if you did. You really don’t mind?” he asks, already shifting to sit on the floor in front of you, trying not to make you feel too nervous because he knows you’re branching out just based on your actions since you arrived. 

“Nope. I love to braid hair,” you say, feeling a chill run down your spine seeing him settled between your legs like this, feeling the warmth of him through your dress and being able to really look at him—even if it’s just the backside of him—without feeling so shy.

Sirius grins to himself. He’s realized that you do keep a lot of things to yourself, and though he likes to think he’s cracked away at a bit of your shell in the time he’s known you, there is still so much he doesn’t know. 

“Did you know that Remus can braid?” he asks you, closing his eyes at the feel of your pinky fingernail parting his hair down the middle. 

You giggle. He could get drunk off that sound, and he knows so. It leaves him dazed. “Can he?”

“Apparently so. His mum taught him and used to have him do her hair because he was better at it than she was.”

“Well, that’s sweet. I should have him do mine. Test his skills. How’d you find out he could do it?”

Sirius lets out a breath of a laugh, “He did mine for a Quidditch match once. Mcgonagall used to fuss that I’d rip all my hair out if I didn’t contain it.”

You’re braiding his hair very slowly, much slower than you’d do yours or anyone else’s. His hair is so soft, and much thicker than you had realized. It’s got a wave to it, one you think you would be a bit more defined if he put some product in it. You’re enjoying the feel of it in your hands, the heat of his scalp against your skin. 

You’re losing yourself in it so much that you almost miss his words.

“I bet you guys had a lot of fun playing together,” you say, knowing that kind of bond must be one of the best things in the world. You tuck the strands of hair at the base of his neck in so they don’t droop when you’re finished.

Sirius wraps a hand around your ankle, and your eyes widen. 

“I wish we’d been friends then,” he tells you. Your nervous system is sent into overdrive, trying to adapt to such a casually intimate touch and the fact that he’s dwelling on the past. 

You tie off the end of one braid and start on the other. You exhale through your nose. “I don’t think we could’ve been.”

Sirius’ eyes open at this. He fights the urge to spin around and face you, but knows you’re concentrating, and he has the feeling that not staring at you directly is why you’re suddenly being so open with him. 

“Why?” he asks. Why couldn’t you have been? He’s always been friendly. Sure, he was much more rowdy in school, but he never would’ve tried to intimidate you. 

“We ran in different circles, you know? I certainly knew who you and the boys were, but everyone did.” Sirius’ brows furrow as he listens more intently than he knew he was capable of. “Though no one really knew who I was, except for my professors, of course. I was even more shy and reserved then, if you can believe that. I never really fit in, and I never found my people.”

“I sort of just…observed everyone. I did my best in class and tried to be social, but nothing ever stuck. I think there’s only one person I keep in touch with from Herbology. I learned at some point that I was going to be alone, and I might as well make the best of it.”

“So I guess what I’m saying is that we couldn’t have been because I’m not sure you ever would’ve seen me.”

The silence that follows your last few words is deafening, and all you hear is the sound of your blood rushing in your ears and your nails scratching against his hair as you finish the other braid. 

When he feels the tie rest against his neck, he forces the words up from where they’ve been sitting in his throat. “Love, I…”

He turns around so quickly you think he might’ve given himself whiplash. He’s giving you puppy dog eyes, and you hate that he’s feeling sappy over you and your pitiful school experience—or lack thereof. 

“Weren’t you lonely?” he questions, resting his hands on your knees. 

You start to fidget with one of your rings. “Of course I was. I know for lots being at Hogwarts are some of the best years of your life. But mine were very hard. I was extremely lonely, but I just learned how to be my own friend and do things that made me happy.”

“Plus I made great relationships with the professors, which helped me in getting a real job. And if that hadn’t happened…I’d never have really met you. Don’t feel bad for me, okay? It’s no big deal.”

Your words are followed by a poignant pause.

So much starts to click for Sirius, and all it does is break his heart. You give him a shy smile, and fuck, you’re absolutely right. He can’t remember what you looked like then, doesn’t remember seeing you in any of his courses. And he knows you’re a badass, but thinking about how he always had a circle, people he’d trust with his life and go to when he needed them, compared to how you were completely alone…that hurts. You deserve to be loved, praised, shown off to the world. You’re only a bit more outgoing now, and he knows much of that is owed to him and James. Remus is your introverted confidant. 

Sirius stands up and moves to sit next to you on the couch. 

“How could I not feel bad for you? Love, you’ve grown so accustomed to being alone that you don’t think it’s a big deal—not having a circle. You’ve accepted it, and I hate that you have felt so alone for so long.”

“Sirius, really, it’s—”

“Can I ask you something?” He blurts out the words, causing you to blink a bit. 

“You just did.”

“Please?” 

“Yes.”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Oh. That’s not where you were expecting this conversation to go. And this is one of the most embarrassing things to talk about. Especially with him, because you know he’s experienced. You’ve heard the stories.

Sirius takes your silence as encouragement to continue, scrambling to explain why he’d ask this. 

“Obviously you’ve been around us, you know James and Lily and—whatever, you know. And we sometimes talk about relationships or escapades and you always retreat when that happens. Is that…is that why?”

You swallow, ignoring the slight pressure behind your eyes. Fuck, this is embarrassing. Especially at your age, and knowing you’re behind everyone you know. It is hard to hear them talk about relationships or hookups. Most definitely when it’s Sirius. 

“No. I’ve never had a boyfriend.” 

Sirius blinks. He can’t understand how any guy could look at you and not want you all to themselves. That’s what he wants. 

“I’ve never even held hands romantically, Sirius. Isn’t that pathetic?” You feel the need to make sure he knows you realize how pitiful it truly is. 

Alarm bells ring in his head. 

“Darling, no. It’s not pathetic.” He searches your face, noticing the way you’re retreating from him. “Look at me, please?” He tracks your smile lines, each freckle or mark on your skin until you meet his eyes. His own brighten at your willingness to listen. “There she is.” 

Something about those words shoot straight to your stomach, butterflies smacking against your insides, begging to be let out. 

“Why do you think that’s pathetic, love?” He’s asking you seriously. That bitter voice, the one you’ve shoved deep inside the back of your mind, claws its way forward. It must be easy to think it’s not pathetic when you’re so experienced. Because you haven’t met the ache that comes from lacking what others have. You shake your head. 

“Because it is, Sirius.” He opens his mouth, but figures this isn’t the time to bicker. His jaw falls shut just as quickly. “I am twenty-two years old, and I have never had any romantic interactions, despite the fact that I have been desperate for one for years.” He knows you’re really letting your emotions fly when you begin to talk with your hands.

“It is so gut-wrenching sometimes to see people be so happy in their relationships. It’s hard for me to listen to our discussions when they delve into each of your experiences, because it tugs on my insecurities, and I try my best to hide it, but it does hurt.”

“Truthfully, I’m at a point where not only am I ashamed of all of this, but I’m afraid that a kiss, or a hug, or anything—that I just won’t feel anything. That maybe I will never understand what affection or love feels like and it’ll always be something I imagine. And my imagination only goes so far. There’s such a disconnect, and I can’t feel those things.” 

You rub at your temples. “So that’s why. I’m behind everyone else my age, and I wish I wasn’t.”

That little bit of anger you’ve worked so hard to suppress bubbles up in your chest. You worry he’ll say something that pushes it out, that he’ll give you that same spiel everyone else does—

“I could try and help you with your romantic interactions.” 

Your breath catches. Sirius’ gray eyes bore into yours. 

“But I’ll have you know,” he continues, “that I understand how you think you’re behind, especially with the stupid shit we talk about, and I don’t think it matters. You’re on a different path than I’ve been, but it’s not as though you’ll never do those things. Frankly, I can’t see why no one’s jumped your bones to date.”

Your nervous system feels so confused. At once you’re fighting that bout of frustration, and feeling your heart pick up at the idea of this actually being a possibility. 

“Did I braid your hair too tight?” you mutter. 

Sirius laughs, tossing his head back to reveal a glorious neck. “No, love.” He places a hand on your knee. “Now, be genuine when you answer this for me, alright?” He waits for your nod and then leans in close enough that you can feel his breath on your collar bones. 

“Is it really that difficult to see how enamored I am with you?”

Huh?

Sirius laughs again. Shit, did you say that out loud? 

“You did say that out loud.”

You slap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you rush out, “that was supposed to stay in my head.” But all of the small things he’s done, all of the romantic things—cooking you dinner, helping you zip your dresses, buying you jewelry, even just making you feel seen—come rushing to the forefront of your mind. Perhaps you didn’t want to believe it. Or maybe you couldn’t believe someone would feel romantically about you and decided to block out any of his loving gestures.

He’s staring straight into your eyes, and it’s like he’s cast a spell on you, because you feel like you could spill your guts right then and there. And maybe it’s best you do. 

“I think maybe I’ve just convinced myself you’re sweet to everyone? That you’re a loverboy at heart and so it hasn’t meant anything more for you to be sweet to me.”

“Sweet on you,” he says. 

You blink.

“I am sweet on you, love. While I won’t deny that I am a flirt at heart and do my best to charm most anyone, I have dedicated my time to you as of late. Truth be told, I'd quite like to be your loverboy.” He pauses, looking over your face, a grin spreading across his. “But I suppose your inexperience explains why you’ve been so oblivious.” He’s made himself laugh now. 

You lean forward and smack him on the bicep, and even though it is a firm hit, there’s no malice in it, especially with that smile on your face. He’s not wrong at all—you have been oblivious. 

Sirius falls back dramatically onto the couch, feigning severe pain. “Fuck, you’ve wounded me.”

You roll your eyes, watching how he clutches his arm and gasps for air. His braids are splayed out, his cheeks a shade of rosy pink. He looks so…gorgeous. You’re in awe of him. It’s like when you stare at the statue of David, just completely entranced by how beautiful this man made of marble is. That’s how looking at Sirius feels. Taking in something so soft and knowing it should be handled with care. 

You hold out your hands, wiggling your fingers. “Alright, come on. You’ll recover.”

Sirius grabs hold of you, allowing you to hoist him up. When you do, you could easily touch noses. There’s a new tension in the room, one you’re sure anyone would be able to feel if there were more people there. 

You look down when you realize Sirius hasn’t let go of your hands. “So, what do you say?” he asks, bringing your attention back to his face.

Say something, you tell yourself. You’re just staring at each other, and you’ve got to speak. Your heart is pounding, rattling your rib cage. You want to have all of these experiences, you really do, but it’s also so terrifying to think about the vulnerability that comes with them. Though…it’s Sirius. And if you’re being truly honest, you’ve always wished it’d be him. That he’d look at you…the way he is now.

“I—I’d really like that. If you’d really like to deal with my clumsiness and all.” You give him a shy smile, and suddenly he’s threading his fingers with yours. He raises his hands, forcing you to do the same. Your fingers are intertwined, his hand engulfing yours, which is undoubtedly much smaller. 

You’re holding hands.

“Look, love. Now you’ve held hands romantically.” He laughs a little at the look on your face, one he’s sure is a result of the awe you’re in. You’ve never done this before. It feels so nice to have his hands in yours. They’re so warm, and sparks are shooting up your wrists. You feel giddy. 

You bite your lip in an effort to suppress the excitement that is practically begging to come out. He sees it though. “Is this making you happy, darling?” he asks. You nod enthusiastically, your ears burning. “Perfect. And about what you said, I did warn you that I was head over heels for you, so I might be so weak in the knees that I’ll be clumsy too.” He winks.

You squeeze his fingers experimentally. A little nervously. “You’re sure you want to do all this with me?”

Sirius squeezes back, his thumbs rubbing over your skin. “Of course I am. You trust me, don’t you?” He already knows the answer to that, but how could he not make sure that you feel safe with him?

“Always,” you say. 

“Good.” He glances down at your clasped fingers. “Wanna keep holding hands? It’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

You giggle, and he swears his insides turn to jelly at how sweet the sound is. “I think I’ve been spoiled now,” you say. “I might always want to hold your hands.”

Sirius presses a gentle kiss to your knuckle, locking eyes with you as he does it. Your heart kicks against your throat, your chest aching with the lack of air you’re getting. 

“You think you’re spoiled now? Best prepare yourself then, love.”

————

Sirius was right.

And that was confirmed when he gave you your first real hug. Not the quick hug you give your grandmother or your friend on the way out the door. But one of those hugs you’ve always seen in muggle romantic comedies or read about in your novels. The kind of hug you’ve never been able to fully wrap your mind around, but have imagined more than is healthy. When you lay in bed at night, clutching your teddy bear and wishing you could feel someone with you. 

He gave you your first romantic hug. And you’ve requested one each time he’s available. 

The request came after dinner one night, when he was watching you diligently scoop ice cream into a cone for him. Because you wanted to. Sirius hated to boost his own ego, but he had to admit that the way you had changed since furthering your relationship with him had you glowing. It’s not that you weren’t happy before, because you were, but this is different. It’s like he’s unlocked this vault inside of you, one where you’ve stored all this love and kindness, and he gets to experience it. 

He’s never seen you so…free. 

You’d set the ice cream cone down on the counter for him. “Ta-da,” you said, sticking the spoon back in the container and waiting for him to pick his toppings. He did so, admiring how you’d chosen things you knew he liked, how you were so giddy just from this moment. Your hair was a mess and you were wiping the stickiness from your fingers and he was so overwhelmed by you. 

“Sweetheart?” He’d asked, eyeing you as you did a happy little wiggle when you took a bite of the cheesecake ice cream you’d found earlier in the week. Your eyes found his, all doe-like, and your nose wrinkled because of how the pet name flustered you. 

He’d been trying those out too, and while getting you to do the same had been slow-going because of your nerves, you loved when he used them for you. 

You’d put down your spoon and hummed. “Yeah?”

He stepped closer to you. “Can I hug you, love?”

Your breath had caught, and at the same time that you were feeling immensely nervous and flustered, you were so excited. So excited to be hugged properly and by someone you were over the moon for. 

“Please?” 

You smiled and he laughed boyishly, moving in until your chests were almost touching. Your pulse hammered against your wrist. 

Sirius bent slightly, allowing you to rise up on your toes. He wrapped his arms around your waist, locking them snuggly against your back. Yours went around his neck, squeezing his shoulders. The entirety of his front pressed to yours, and he was so warm. 

Your fingers tentatively moved into the hair at the base of his neck, and you tucked your face into his neck, where he immediately felt your smile against his skin. 

Suddenly, Sirius had secured his arms tightly around you and lifted you up into the air, hoping to make you laugh. To show how giddy he was feeling. Because in truth, holding you like this, having you be his, filled a void in him he wasn’t even aware of. You were quickly becoming the air he breathed and everything in between. 

You kicked your feet and chuckled into his shoulder. He set you back down on the floor, and you hugged him for a bit longer. His were all-embracing, and in his arms, somehow all of your thoughts were immediately shut off, as if this was all the world consisted of. For Sirius, your hug made him feel as though this was the safest place he could ever be, and he knew it would be where he should go when he needed security. And you had this way of getting him to focus, to calm down and be present. 

Needless to say, you were both falling for each other. Though it should be mentioned that he’d already started before your relationship furthered, and you had suppressed your heart-eyes for him only because you never thought this kind of feeling was real. That it would be impossible for a boy to treat you this way. You try to let the little girl in you who always hoped for a fairytale romance celebrate every now and then.

There hasn’t been a label put on your relationship, but one night before you got there to hang out with everyone, Sirius calmly told the boys (and girls) that things between you had escalated to more-than-friends. And while they know you, it still felt right to make sure they wouldn’t pester you. 

In fact, they were overjoyed to see the both of you act so sweetly towards one another. James whispered in Lily’s ear more than once about how Sirius could not seem to take his eyes off you. Remus helped you in the kitchen and told you how nice it was seeing you so happy. So light. He’d given you a quick hug and wished you the best.

You have never felt so at ease.

Sirius has taken you on a number of dates at this point, some quaint and intimate, some more outgoing. You’ve held hands, hugged. You even got to cuddle with him on the couch. 

But you haven’t kissed. 

And you want to kiss him, so very bad.

But that is terrifying. 

All of your fears revolving that form of affection rush to the surface each time you contemplate when would be best to kiss him, if he wants to kiss you. What if you’re broken and you don’t feel anything? What if there’s no spark? What if, after all this time of hoping kissing would be enjoyable, after craving that intimacy, it just doesn’t work?

Every time you’re around him, all you want is to kiss him. You want that beautiful, sarcastic mouth on yours. You want to know what his plush lips feel like and learn how to kiss properly. You want to fluster him, and you want to be flustered. You want this. 

If you asked Sirius, you’d know he wants the same thing. Truthfully, he wants to pin you to the wall and kiss you silly. Until you forget every worry and anything that’s made you sad. Until all you feel is him. He wants to smother your pretty face in kisses. He wants to kiss every inch of you. 

Tonight, you’re going to Sirius’ place for a sleepover. And you are going to be brave and kiss him.  

————

Your socked feet are in Sirius’ lap, where he’s pushed your pajama pants up your calves so that he can rub his hands across the soft skin there.

Every once in a while, he’ll tickle the underside of your knee just to get you to giggle.

You’ve stopped paying any attention to the movie, and instead are looking at him. The only light in his small living room comes from the television and the array of eclectic lamps scattered around any surface he could fit one on. 

It casts shadows on his face, elongating that beautiful nose and the hollows of his cheekbones. His gray eyes look so dark, like storm clouds right before they let out all the rain they’ve been holding in. 

“Love?”

Sirius’ voice snaps you and your pounding heart out of your reverie. Your eyes lock with his, and you feel yourself heat up all over. He’s smiling at you. 

“Can you tell me what’s happening in the movie?” he asks you, crossing his arms in that oh so cocky way. 

Your thumb finds your bottom lip, picking at the skin there and trying to disguise the smile pulling at the corners of your lips. You shake your head, shyly. 

He straightens and leans in closer to you. “And why’s that, sweetheart?”

He has a hunch, but he wants you to say what’s on your mind, and you know that’s exactly what he’s waiting for. You know he could sit here all night until you spill your guts. 

“‘Cause I’ve been thinking about how bad I wanna kiss you.”

Sirius blushes, but he turns on the charm just as quickly. “Yeah? What’s stopping you?”

He places his hands on your knees. “I’m nervous,” you tell him. “You know I’ll be bad at it, and it might suck because of me, and even if all I want to do is kiss your sweet face, I just…want it to be good.”

He lifts his hand to cup your cheek. “Well, you know if it’s bad, that just means we get to practice.” You snort, and he rests his forehead against yours in an effort to console you and your nerves. 

You pull back and put your hands on his chest. It takes everything in you not to grin at how hard his heart is beating, especially with the swell of pride you feel knowing you’re the cause of that. 

“I really want to kiss you, Sirius.”

“I really want you to kiss me, darling.”

You inhale, scrunching your nose at him. At this point, you’ve got heart palpitations that are only going to get worse if you don’t act on this. 

“Meet me halfway?” you ask, tentatively. 

Sirius cups your face, leaning in slightly, but leaving you room to initiate. “Of course,” he breathes. 

You take hold of his wrists, fingers trembling. The feeling of his pulse both calms you and makes you sweat. 

You move forward, tilting your head to the side a little so you don’t smack noses. You can infer that much, at least. He inches closer each time you do, matching your pace. It almost makes you want to laugh at how slow and careful this is. You could also cry. 

When you’re close enough to feel his breath against your lips, you let your eyes close fully, as they’d been helping you find your mark so far. He meets you that last inch, and you are so grateful. 

Your lips finally touch in a short, but firm peck. You pull away, smiling, reveling in how soft his lips are. 

But now that Sirius has had a little taste of you, he can’t help but want more. He guides you back to him, helping you find a rhythm together. He slots your bottom lip between his, kissing you so brilliantly your brain empties of all thought. You do your best to kiss him back, albeit a little clumsily. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

You catch on when he takes turns paying attention to each of your lips, and you try and press all of the passion you feel right back into his. 

Every worry you previously had is gone.

You do feel that spark. It feels so magical, so all-encompassing, to be kissed like this. To have Sirius kiss you. 

You’re breathless. 

When Sirius finally pulls back for air, he presses kisses to your jaw and down your throat. The affection is so close to drawing a whimper from your throat. You know immediately that you could get drunk off of him. 

You pull him back up to you by his hair for one more short kiss and he grins boyishly into it. 

He starts to laugh. 

“Shit,” you start. “If I thought I was spoiled before, I really had no idea what was coming to me.”

Sirius tosses his head back, completely infatuated with you and so fucking gleeful at being yours. Because he is. Yours. 

“You’re gonna get sick of me,” you say. “Now I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Oh, love,” Sirius exhales. “What makes you think you’ll have a moment where I’m not the one addicted to you?”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

[kokusfluffyhair]

I'll Teach You 🔥

Rengoku Kyojuro x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are Rengoku Shinjuro's student and he gave you the task to teach his eldest son how to make love. The only problem is that it's your first time, too, and you've got your own reservations.

Warnings: virginity loss, ejaculation into reader, mother kink, father to son manhandling, teacher to student manhandling

NSFW content! 18+ only!

A/N: I wrote this with a different father/son duo in mind and then "translated" it into being with the Rengokus. Apologies if they are a bit OOC

"Y/n?"

"What?"

"What are we supposed to do here?"

Your teacher, Rengoku Shinjuro had his mind set on a mission to turn his eldest into a man. Without warning, he summoned you and Kyojuro and shut you both in a room together. The two of you were not to come out until Kyojuro had learnt how to use his manhood. Unfortunately for you, you weren't sure yourself how this was all done and had no experience in such intimacy.

"For fuck's sake, Kyojuro ..."

Kyojuro had still not gotten used to your use of colourful language and stared at you.

"Kyojuro," your voice became more gentle. "Do you still find me beautiful? You told me that I am that day you gifted me with flowers after one of my training sessions."

His mouth opened a bit, drawing attention to his moist, soft lips. He then cleared his throat. "Y-Yes." He blushed. "But, you're my father's student, and so it's wrong ... isn't it?"

"I guess so. But, maybe it's okay. Shinjuro-sensei gave me a task and so, I guess we are encouraged to ... explore." You scratched your head. "To be honest, I'm not fond of this kind of task but ..." You looked at Kyojuro, your eyes softening. "You were so sweet to me."

Kyojuro blushed some more.

You smiled. You started to blush a little, too. "You made me ... feel things ... you know? When you were such a gentleman towards me. I ... I never thought a man would treat me that way."

"You ... you deserve to be treated like a princess, y/n." His blush spread to his ears.

"Kyojuro." You came over to him and put your hand to his soft cheek. "I really want to --"

The pink hue spreading on your cheeks was too much for Kyojuro to bear. He put his hands to your face and kissed you on the lips. It was his first time, so he was a bit rough. As he pulled away from you, he was sweating.

You stared at him, almost in shock. You put two fingers to where you were kissed and then touched them to Kyojuro's lips.

Kyojuro took your hand and gently started to kiss it. His hot breath puffed on your skin as he explored his way around your fingers.

A creeping moist sensation slid from your sex. You first wondered if you were peeing but then remembered that it meant you were aroused.

"Kyojuro?"

"Yes?"

"May I undress you?"

He stopped kissing your hand. He shyly placed his cheek into your palm. His heart was racing in his chest. "I ... I'm a little fleshy. I don't have the best body. I don't know if I want to."

"Hey." You took his face in your hands and leant closer to him. "You're very handsome. Don't be ashamed of yourself." You kissed his lips. "It's okay. I accept you."

Kyojuro licked your saliva from his lips and agreed.

You slowly removed his kimono, layer by layer, until he stood in front of you bare-chested. He was a fleshy young man, but not fat, and you could feel along his shoulders and arms how fit he was from all his kenjutsu practice. There was no hair on his body except a small, light, patch in the middle of his chest that bore a slight reddish colour.

Kyojuro looked shyly towards the ground.

"You look amazing," you said. You then knelt before him and untied his obi. You could hear Kyojuro's breathing grow heavier as you began to remove his hakama. Underneath was a hard bundle crammed into a fundoshi. You kissed Kyojuro on his stomach under his belly button before you slid the fundoshi off. You were nearly hit in the face by his thick and large length.

"S-Sorry," Kyojuro said.

You giggled a little. "It's fine." You eyed his length curiously, almost as if hungry for it. You pushed your feelings aside and stood up. "Now it's your turn. Undress me."

Breathing through his mouth, Kyojuro removed your kimono. He was met with your slender and muscular upper body. Your small, but perky breasts were secured with a tight wrap. "Ehm ... what do I ...?"

"Just take it off." You gave him a head pat.

"Y-Yes." His lower half twitched as he removed the wrap from your chest. He was soon met with your breasts and stared at them with a gleam in his eyes. He gently put his hands to them and touched their softness before bending down to stick his face in them. He started to groan as he explored your breasts with his face, his lower half growing harder and more unbearable.

Noticing that he was in a very happy place, you removed your hakama and fundoshi on your own. You put your hands on Kyojuro's waist as he kissed and sucked on your breasts. The moisture leaking from your sex started to trickle down your thigh.

"Okaa-san ..." Kyojuro whimpered as he continued. "Okaa-san ..." His voice grew desperate.

"Eh?" you said. "Wait, Kyo, I'm not Ruka"

He moaned. "You can be my mama right now ..."

You looked down and saw some white liquid oozing out of Kyojuro's sex. "I think we're supposed to get in the futon now."

Kyojuro started to suck on your nipple.

"Ah --" It felt very good. "Kyo ..." You put your hands to his soft cheeks and removed his face from your chest. "Be good and come with me. We need to go to the futon." You took his hand and led him over.

Kyojuro kissed your hand and helped you sit down. His gesture made you blush more. He smiled and lowered himself onto the futon.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"I think we lay down."

You two laid down next to each other. You started to caress Kyojuro's shoulders and chest. He groaned and rolled his shoulders from the touch.

"Y/n ..." He put his hand to her waist and started to feel around your body. He let out a heavy sigh as his hand made its way to your ass. "So nice ... but ..." He rolled closer to you and found his face back to your breasts. "I can do this forever ..." He drooled as he slowly sucked on your nipple again.

"Ahh ..." Your back arched a little. "Kyojuro ..." You held him at his ribcage. Your hands travelled to his back where you started to massage him. You soon felt the warm, thick liquid coming from his sex spilling out onto your leg. His length twitched mercilessly the more he sucked at your breasts.

They continued like this until your nipples were sore and Kyojuro's jaw was tired from all the sucking. You pulled away from each other, covered in each other's juices, and looked at each other.

"Was that it?" Kyojuro asked.

"No. I don't think so."

"What else were we supposed to do?"

"Ehm ..." You looked down to his length. "I think you stick that --" you pointed to it. "In here." You pointed to your opening.

"W-What?" Kyojuro's face turned red.

"Yes. And then we make some movements." You pumped your hips.

"Y/n? You want to devour my penis?" He seemed mortified by the idea.

"I don't know. I kind of don't want to do it. It's like ... your penis would be stabbing into me through the middle. Like harakiri."

"Harakiri?" Kyojuro's voice grew louder. "No! I'd never do such a thing! But ... but ... what if I stick it in you and that hole of yours eats it?"

"What?" Your voice also grew louder. "Why would I eat it? And I don't think that's possible!"

"I don't know! But it's so dark in there!" He bent down to get a closer look at your opening. "It's like a neverending hole!"

You pointed to his twitching length. "Your thing is alive! It moves on its own!"

"It itches! That's why!" He put a finger to your opening. "Y/n, you're leaking with something!"

"So are you and it's all over us!"

"It's normal! This happens when I sleep sometimes!"

The door suddenly roughly slid open. Rengoku Shinjuro stood in the doorway, holding a bottle of sake in his hand and glaring at you both.

You felt like you were about to die from embarrassment of your teacher seeing you completely naked.

"O-Otou-san?" Kyojuro asked, also petrified.

"How dense can you two be!?" Shinjuro said in an authoritarian tone.

"W-What?" you both said.

Shinjuro started to storm over.

"Hey! What are you doing, Shinjuro-sensei? Get out of here!" you exclaimed.

"Otou-san were you listening at the door!?" Kyojuro turned pale.

Shinjuro took a long gulp out of the sake bottle and carelessly tossed it to the floor. It cracked and spilled all over. He then thew off his kimono, flashing his upper body to the two of you. To your favour, he spared you of the sight of him removing his lower garments.

You stared at him. "You're way past your prime, Shinjuro-sensei."

"Quiet," he hissed at you. "You two are pathetic." Without warning, he grabbed Kyojuro's manhood and pulled it to the beginning of your opening.

Kyojuro screamed out of horror.

"You stick it in and pump, Kyojuro!" Shinjuro yelled. "She's more than well-lubricated and can take it!"

Kyojuro's face was now growing purple at this point and he was hardly breathing.

You looked at your teacher in horror. "You are going way too far with this! This is unnecessary!"

Shinjuro pushed the tip of his son's manhood into the shallowest part of your entrance. "Y/n, slide onto him." He released Kyojuro and then whacked him on the head. "How stupid are you, boy!?"

Kyojuro looked like he was holding back tears. You slid herself onto him, gritting your teeth as you felt a pop inside of you.

"That's how you do it, y/n," Shinjuro said in a proud voice. "No tears, no screaming. That's my future Hashira!"

Kyojuro was completely petrified as you straddled him.

"Grab her bottom, Kyojuro! Do something!"

Kyojuro breathed heavily as he clamped his hands on your ass. He squeezed into your flesh as if pretending that they were your breasts.

"Now go!" Shinjuro commanded. "Show him how it's done, y/n!"

You gave your teacher a dead-pan look. "We're in the right position so will you give us some privacy ...?"

Shinjuro folded his arms over his chest. "Yes, but get going. You don't have all day." He gave you a whack to your ass.

You cringed out of disgust.

"Fucking hell ..." you snarled after you were left in private again. You started to grind Kyojuro. "Fucking hell ... I'll get that old man, just you wait ... just you wait ... damn it all ..." You grinding became rougher and faster.

Kyojuro started to moan. "Y/n ..."

You no longer heard him. "Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him! FUCK HIM!" You rode Kyojuro mercilessly, taking out all of your frustration.

Kyojuro squealled. He was feeling the most intense pleasure he ever had before. His eyes almost started to roll back into his head as he pushed you even deeper onto him.

"Ah--!" You were penetrated so deeply. "Kyo --!" You flopped on top of him and continued to pump your hips. Your faces were right in front of each other. "It's so good! Just a little more!"

"Y/n ... I think I'm ..."

Just as you were about to hit your climax, Kyojuro's seed exploded into you. Your walls pulsated around his length, milking out every last bit that was inside of him. The two of you both moaned and sighed out of relief as the sensations of pleasure rippled throughout your bodies.

Kyojuro's manhood grew comfortably limp and slipped out of you on its own from the moment you started to position yourself off of him.

You two lay on their backs next to each other. Kyojuro moved to his side and snuggled closer. He put his hand gently on the small bloating in your lower abdomen and caressed you.

"Do you need anything?" he asked.

You shook your head. You were smiling.

"This was so good ..." Kyojuro giggled quietly and placed his head next to yours. As he felt your arm wrap itself around him and pull him closer, he purred.

You kissed his forehead.

"Hey, y/n ... do you think we can ... ehm ... do it again ...?" Kyojuro asked shyly.

"Definitely," you answered without hesitation. "But next time ..."

"We go to a room where the door can be locked."

"Exactly."

[makehydrafictionagain]

Public Relations (MCU x Reader)- Ch. 2 Pt. 5 (Chapter Finale)

Summary: You meet the Maximoffs and Vision is born. The team leaves for Sokovia to fight Ultron once and for all.

Notes: I just spent the last 5 hours writing this after having only intended to prepare the canon timeline to work on it tomorrow. I'm quite satisfied with myself.

Here is the whole thing!!

Thursday, May 6th, 2015

Steve exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “_____, Maria- this is Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. They helped us in Seoul, and they’re here to help us now.”

“Maximoff?” You questioned pointedly. “Help us?” It was like the name was a trigger that set off an anger you couldn’t suppress. “You mean the one who tore you apart from the inside? The one who-”

“_____.” Steve’s voice was firm and calm, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet, grounding authority. “They were on Ultron’s side, yes. But they’ve seen what he’s really planning. They’re with us now.”

Your eyes darted to Wanda, and you saw her flinch. Not in fear, though, it seemed more like… shame. “I’m supposed to trust her? She’s the reason you were in so much pain. She’s not our ally, Steve. She’s Ultron’s. She is Ultron.”

Wanda stepped forward, her palms facing forward showing her human instinct to convey trustworthiness, vulnerability- a gesture that you saw straight through. “I understand your criticism, and I accept it. What I did… it hurt you.” She looked over to Steve who was looking down, jaw clenched. “All of you. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” you snapped, your voice cracking with anger. “You don’t get to play the victim when you caused so much-”

“I promise you,” Wanda interrupted, her eyes meeting yours with an earnestness that took you off-guard. “I am here to help. Ultron manipulated us- he used our grief, our hatred for Stark, to get what he wanted. We were wrong. We want to fix it.”

There was a moment of heavy silence as your eyes flicked to hers, one at a time; left, right, left, right, and, to your surprise, you felt empathy, not anger. 

“_____-” Steve began, his tone edged with defensiveness.

Pietro, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his tone indicating he was done listening to you attack his sister. “We didn’t come here for forgiveness. We came to fight.”

Maria raised an eyebrow, her skepticism quickly turned into barely subdued hostility. She glanced at you, still peering into Wanda’s soul. 

Steve said firmly, breaking you out of your trance in her eyes, “I trust them.”

Before you could form a response to Wanda’s promise- or even decide whether you believed her- she froze. Her head tilted slightly, her brow furrowing, as though hearing something none of you could perceive.

Steve noticed it immediately. “What is it?”

Wanda’s expression darkened. “Something’s happening. The energy… it’s changing.”

Her words came out in a rush, her tone urgent. She turned toward the direction of the lab, as though drawn by an invisible force.

Steve straightened, his instincts on high alert. “What kind of energy?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda replied, her voice tight with concern. “But it’s powerful. We have to go.”

“Now?” You asked, incredulous, but Wanda was already moving toward the door. Pietro followed without hesitation, and Steve motioned for them to go ahead before turning back to you and Maria.

“Stay here,” Steve ordered, his voice firm. “Both of you.”

“Wait-” you said, stepping forward. He was gone before you could say anything more.

The door to the common area had barely closed behind Steve, Wanda, and Pietro when you moved. Without a second thought, you turned on your heel and headed straight for your room, not able to hear Maria’s questioning over the sound of your heart in your ears.

Within seconds you were in. Pulling open your safe, you retrieved your holster and sidearm. The familiar cold metal of the firearm grounded you, even as your thoughts raced.

Sliding the holster over your casual clothes, you adjusted the strap to sit snugly across your chest. With a practiced motion, you secured the firearm and checked the safety before straightening up, catching your reflection in the mirror. After mere seconds you slipped on your jacket and left the room.

Maria was waiting for you when you re-entered the common area, both hands on her tablet as she scrolled through God knows what. When she looked up at you her expression turned a mix of exasperation and disbelief, her brow arching as her gaze dropped to the weapon strapped to you under your jacket.

“You’re following them?” She asked.

“You’re not?” You shot back without hesitation.

Maria stepped closer to you. “Steve told us to stay,” she said, laced with irritation and concern.

“And you know I can’t,” you replied, sharp. “I’m not just sitting here while they walk headfirst into- into whatever’s happening up there. If something goes wrong-”

“Then what?” Maria interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You’re going to waltz in there and fix it with a gun?” She gestured bitterly to your holsters. “This isn’t a fight you’re ready for.”

Your jaw clenched and you zipped up your jacket. “Maybe not, but I’m not ready to sit here and do nothing, either.”

Maria stared at you for a long moment, her silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. You took that as a surrender on her part.

-

You arrived quietly, slipping through the doors unnoticed, your steps measured as you kept to the edge of the room. Your eyes darted between the echoing argument that led you there, taking in the tension and trying to make sense of the chaos. You lingered near the back, your presence obscured by the shadow of lab equipment, listening intently to the heated exchange.

Steve’s voice was steady, laced with frustration. Tony’s was sharp and defensive, a man with a plan and no patience for interference. Bruce was simmering, his anger barely held in check. 

Wanda looked uneasy, her eyes darting nervously between them all.

Stark was hunched over, his fingers flying across the keyboard, while Bruce stood nearby, his face a mask of barely concealed rage.

Steve wasted no time, his voice cutting through their work. “I’m gonna say this once.”

Without looking up, Tony responded dryly, “How about ‘nonce’?”

“Shut it down!” Steve’s tone was sharp, brooking no argument.

Tony straightened, his expression defiant as he turned to face Steve. “Nope, not gonna happen.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Steve pressed, stepping closer.

Bruce’s voice broke through, thick with anger. “And you do?” He pointed toward his own temple. “She’s not in your head?”

Wanda, standing behind Steve, raised her hands cautiously, her voice soft and steady. “I know you’re angry.”

“Oh, we’re way past that,” he snapped, his voice low and dangerous, directed entirely toward Wanda. “I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade.”

Steve stepped forward, his voice desperately imploring. “Banner, after everything that’s happened-”

Tony’s voice rose, cutting him off. “That’s nothing compared to what’s coming!”

You stepped forward, having heard enough. “He’s right!” You declared, your words cutting through the noise like a blade. “Stark is right!” 

All heads turned to you. The room fell silent as the others registered your sudden presence.

Tony blinked, momentarily surprised, before his lips curled into a tiny smirk. “See? Even the PR girl gets it.”

Steve's eyes widened with disbelief. “What?”

You stepped further into the room, voice shaking but firm. “We’re watching the Earth get destroyed in real time! We need a solution, NOW.”

Steve’s face burned, his voice rising with anger. “More AI is NOT a solution!”

Your frustration boiled over and you returned the flame. “It’s the only solution we have LEFT!”

Wanda stepped in, her voice cutting through the argument like a plea. “We don’t know what’s in there-”

“This isn’t a game-” Steve said sharply, directed at Tony now.

“It’s not!” You interjected, your desperation evident. “We need to do SOMETHING-”

Wanda, her voice trembling, spoke again. “This creature, we don’t know-”

Before Wanda could finish, Pietro darted forward in a dizzying blur, slamming his fist into the console and destroying the equipment before stopping in the middle of his destruction. 

“No, no. Go on. You were saying?” He quipped, his tone mocking as he leaned triumphantly on the ruined work they had been doing.

You heard the sharp twang of a bullet, followed by the sound of shattering glass. The floor beneath Pietro gave way, and he fell through with a grunt.

The sudden burst of violence threw you back a few steps, your breath catching in your throat. Steve moved instantly, grabbing your arm with one hand and your waist with the other, pulling you to the side and behind a console

“Do NOT move,” he ordered, his voice stern, before turning back to the fray.

Tony returned to his equipment instantly. “I’m rerouting the upload.”

Nearby, Bruce grabbed Wanda from behind, his grip firm as he leaned close. “Go ahead,” he growled menacingly. “Piss me off.”

The sight snapped something in you. Without thinking, you stood, your movements quick and precise as you unholstered your gun. You leveled it directly at Bruce. 

“BANNER! LET. HER. GO.”

Bruce froze, his head snapping toward you. His expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. 

Wanda turned too, her eyes wide in surprise. She raised her hands, and a burst of red energy sent Bruce flying backward, freeing herself without your help.

You stood there, gun hanging loosely in your hand, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The chaos around you felt like a storm you couldn’t control, way over your head and much stronger than you.

“_____! GET DOWN!” Steve’s voice rang out from across the room, sharp and filled with urgency.

Before you could even look in his direction, a blast of energy from Tony’s suit sent him flying through the glass wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed in your ears.

Your heart lurched. “STEVE!”

And then Thor entered.

The thunder God strode in with purpose, Mjolnir gripped tightly in his hand.

“Thor, what are you-” Steve began, but his words were drowned out as Thor raised his hammer, summoning the raw power of lightning.

Time seemed to slow as Mjolnir came down, slamming into the Cradle with a deafening crack. The room exploded with light, the blinding energy consuming everything in its path. You instinctively stepped back, your arms raising to shield your eyes, but the sheer force of it sent you stumbling. The heat of the energy radiated against your skin as you fell backward, hitting the floor hard.

The room erupted in stunned silence, the only sound the faint hum of the Cradle as the lightning faded. Blinking rapidly, you struggled to clear your vision. Your chest heaved as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

"What was that?" You whispered, your voice barely audible over the ringing in your ears.

For a moment, the Cradle sat motionless, as did the rest of the room, the air thick with anticipation. 

Then, with a sudden burst of movement, the synthetic body that would have housed Ultron launched upward. The force sent everyone staggering backward with arms raised in defense. You, already on the ground, instinctively curled into yourself, shielding your face as the wave of energy and shards of glass flew over you.

When the ringing subsided, you looked up. The being hovered mid-air, its presence both mesmerizing and terrifying. Its golden-red body gleamed under the harsh lights, its movements unnervingly fluid. A faint glow radiated from the yellow stone embedded in its forehead, casting a soft light across its sharp, angular features.

Its gaze was piercing, though not hostile, as it scanned the room with an unnerving sense of awareness. Its eyes lingered on each person briefly, as if assessing them, before landing on Thor.

Thor wasted no time. He charged forward, and the being reacted instantly, its movements almost impossibly fast. The two collided with a clash of strength, and for a moment, it was unclear who would overpower the other.

Then, with a calculated move, Thor hurled it toward the large lab window. You winced, watching as the synthetic being hurtled toward the glass. But just before impact, it halted itself, hovering gracefully mere inches from the shattering point.

You crawled forward from your position on the glass covered floor, needing to see- needing to understand what this thing was. Your fingers curled around the edge of a nearby console as you lifted yourself slightly, your wide eyes locking onto it.

It hovered at the window, staring out at the city below, its expression contemplative in the reflection of the glass. For a moment, it looked almost… human. A human kind of introspection, a thoughtful sadness.

Slowly, the Avengers regrouped, gathering around the ground floor with skepticism on each of their faces. You stayed low, your breath shallow as you watched the being turn away from the window and hover your direction.

Steve appeared beside you, offering his hand. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking it, letting him pull you to your feet. Your eyes never left the being landing in the middle of the room you stood in.

Its movements were deliberate, calculated, yet beautifully elegant. The glow from the stone illuminated its face- his face, giving him an almost ethereal aura.

You glanced sideways at Steve, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t the type to fear easily, but you could see the concern in his expression. This wasn’t something he could fight with physical strength, and he knew that. So did you. 

As he began to speak, his voice calm, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing at the edge of something monumental- something that would change everything.

This is what Tony meant.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shockingly calm. “That was… odd.” His gaze shifted to Thor, and he gave a slight nod. “Thank you.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, breaking the uneasy stillness. “Thor,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You helped create this?”

Thor turned to Steve, his expression unwavering. “I’ve had a vision,” he began, his tone grave. “A whirlpool that sucks in all hope of life, and at its center is that.” He raised Mjolnir slightly, gesturing toward the gem embedded in his Vision’s forehead.

Your breath caught at the weight of his words, and your attention darted to Vision, the golden gem glowing softly against his crimson skin. Your heart pounded as you tried to process the implications of what Thor was saying.

Bruce, standing a few steps away, spoke up with a hesitant question. “What, the gem?” 

Thor nodded. “It’s the Mind Stone,” he explained. “One of the six Infinity Stones. The greatest power in the universe, unparalleled in its destructive capabilities.”

The room seemed to darken with the weight of his words. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, the realization sinking in like lead. You felt your stomach churn, your hand unconsciously putting pressure against the edge of the console you were leaning on for support.

Steve’s voice cut through the growing tension. “Then why,” he asked, his tone sharp, “would you bring it to-”

Thor interrupted, his voice firm. “Because Stark is right.”

The room fell silent again, the words echoing in the charged air. Steve’s jaw tightened as he turned to look at Thor, his frustration evident. Then his gaze shifted, almost instinctively, to you.

His eyes softened slightly as they landed on you, a hint of an apology flickering across his face. But his body remained tense, the weight of the decision still pressing on him.

You felt the heat of his gaze, but you refused to meet it. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Oh, it’s definitely the end times.” Bruce said, his head in his hand.

Thor nodded solemnly. “The Avengers cannot defeat Ultron.”

A pause hung heavy in the room before Vision spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Not alone.”

Steve’s brows knit together as he addressed Thor with skepticism. “Why does your ‘vision’ sound like JARVIS?”

Tony stepped forward, arms crossed, his posture defensive, as if preparing the team to hear him out. “We… reconfigured JARVIS’ matrix to create something new,” he explained.

Steve scoffed, shaking his head. “I think I’ve had my fill of new.”

Vision’s gaze swept over Steve, his expression unreadable but unwavering. “You think I’m a child of Ultron?” His voice was calm and direct.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his stance rigid. “You’re not?”

“I’m not Ultron,” Vision said, his tone measured, patient. “I’m not JARVIS. I am…” He hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “I am.”

Wanda, who had been silent until now, stepped forward slightly, her gaze locked on Vision. “I looked in your head,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she searched his expression. “I saw annihilation.”

He looked at her steadily, his expression neither defensive nor aggressive. “Look again.”

The tension in the room thickened as the team waited, the uncertainty almost suffocating.

Clint broke the silence with a scoff. “Yeah,” he said dryly, his arms crossed. “Her seal of approval means jack to me.”

Thor stepped forward, his presence commanding, as he addressed the room. “Their powers,” he began, gesturing toward Wanda and Pietro, “the horrors in our heads, Ultron himself- they all came from the Mind Stone.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over the team. “And they are nothing compared to what it can unleash. But with it on our side…”

Steve interrupted, his voice sharp with skepticism. “Is it?” He directed the question to Thor, then to Vision, his tone demanding an answer. “Are you? On our side?”

Vision’s gaze met Steve’s, steady and unflinching. “I don’t think it’s that simple,” he said, his tone merely informing.

Clint, still leaning nearby, shook his head, his voice tinged with irritation. “Well, it better get real simple real soon.”

Vision turned his gaze to the rest of the team, his expression softening slightly. “I am on the side of life,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet conviction that made the room still. “Ultron isn’t. He will end it all.”

Tony stepped forward, his arms crossed as he tilted his head. “What’s he waiting for?” 

Vision looked at him. “You.”

A chill rippled through the room, and Bruce broke the uneasy silence with a single word. “Where?”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sokovia. He’s got Nat there too.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “If we’re wrong about you,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “if you’re the monster that Ultron made you to be…”

Vision’s gaze swept over the team, taking in each member one by one. His calm demeanor didn’t waver, but the weight of his words was palpable as he asked, “What will you do?”

The question struck like a lightning bolt. The room seemed to freeze as Vision’s words lingered, almost like a challenge. The weight of the unspoken threat- the understanding that they couldn’t stop him if he turned- settled over the team like a shroud.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, your chest tightening. It wasn’t just his words; it was the way he looked at you all, calm but... knowing. It was as though he was calling Bruce’s bluff- the team’s bluff, and it made you feel utterly powerless. The room felt too small, the walls too close, your own body was caving in on itself and you wouldn’t allow your breath to release for fear of being noticed.

Steve, standing just ahead of you, didn’t look back. His focus remained on Vision, his shoulders squared and tense. But, as if hearing your spiraling thoughts, his hand reached out, finding your arm behind him with a light touch. His fingers brushed against your sleeve, pressing the fabric against the skin of your arm.

The touch was enough. You exhaled shakily, your eyes darted to Steve for a moment, but he didn’t look back. Instead, he stood firm, his hand falling back to his side as he faced Vision.

“I don’t want to kill Ultron,” he began. “He’s… unique, and he’s in pain.” His gaze shifted, scanning the faces of those around him, each one reflecting their own turmoil. “But that pain will roll over the earth, so he must be destroyed.”

Vision continued, his tone unflinching. “Every form he’s built, every trace of his presence on the net- we have to act now.” He paused, letting the gravity of his statement settle over the room. “And not one of us can do it without the others.”

The team exchanged glances, some skeptical, others resigned.

“Maybe I am a monster,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “I don’t think I’d know if I were one. I’m not what you are, and not what you intended.”

Not what you intended.

Vision finished, his gaze steady as he addressed them all with finality. “So there may be no way to make you trust me. But we need to go.”

The room remained still, the weight of his words sinking in. And then, without warning, Vision bent slightly, his hand closing around the handle of Mjolnir. 

The sound of collective shock was almost audible as the team froze, their eyes locked on the hammer in Vision’s hand. Thor’s expression shifted, replaced with pure awe.

Vision turned, extending Mjolnir to Thor, who took it without a word. As Vision walked off, Thor finally broke the silence, patting Tony on the shoulder. “Right,” he said simply. “Well done.”

Tony smirked at the others, not needing to say anything to get his point across.

Steve’s voice broke through the haze of stunned silence, his tone sharp and authoritative. “Three minutes,” he said, glancing at the team. “Get what you need.”

-

The lab buzzed with movement as the Avengers prepared to leave. The urgency of the mission loomed over the room like a storm cloud. Gear was being secured, weapons were checked, and strategies were whispered in hurried exchanges. The faint hum of technology filled the air as Tony loaded FRIDAY into his Iron Man suit.

The AI’s voice was crisp and calm as it greeted him. “Good evening, boss.”

Tony gave a wry smile, his fingers tapping against the suit. “No way we all get through this,” he said, his voice quieter but still carrying his trademark confidence. “If even one tin soldier is left standing, we’ve lost. It’s gonna be blood on the floor.”

Steve, strapping his shield to his back, looked up and responded with a calm certainty. “I got no plans tomorrow night.”

Tony snorted, shaking his head as he adjusted the gauntlets on his suit. “I get first crack at the big guy. Iron Man’s the one he’s waiting for.”

As if on cue, Vision walked past, his presence as composed as ever. Without looking, he remarked, “That’s true. He hates you the most.”

-

Your chest tightened as you realized how quickly things were escalating- how easily you were being left behind. You stepped forward, your voice louder than you intended.

“Wait!” You called, drawing several sets of eyes. “I- I need to get dressed.”

Steve turned to you, his expression serious. “No.”

The single word hit you like a wall, the force of it stopping you in your tracks. “What?” You asked, your voice laced with disbelief.

“You’re staying here,” Steve said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate. 

Tony glanced up, his tone light with mischief. “Ah, let her come,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment.

Steve turned to Tony, his face hardening. “No,” he said firmly before his gaze returned to you. His expression softened slightly, his voice lowering to something almost gentle as he took several steps toward you. “Please,” he said, his tone bordering on pleading. “Stay here. It’s too risky. You could-”

You clenched your fists, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can help! I can shoot- my hand- it’s healed, it’s-”

“No,” Steve interrupted, his tone turning firm again, cutting through your pleas like a blade. His jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply, his frustration clear. “No.”

Your lips parted to argue, but Steve turned away, addressing the team instead, his dismissal of you painfully obvious.

“Ultron knows we’re coming,” he said, his voice steady, commanding. “Odds are we’ll be riding into heavy fire, and that’s what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn’t. So our priority is getting them out.”

His words hung in the air as the team nodded in agreement, their focus shifting back to the mission. But you stood there, rooted in place, feeling the heat of rejection and frustration simmering inside you.

Your hands clenched tight at your sides as you looked down, the sting of being dismissed burning behind your eyes. The room seemed to move around you, the team preparing for battle, while you felt stuck, left behind. You turned on your heel and left.

-

The door to your room hissed open, and you stepped inside quickly, giving yourself no time to think as you threw open your suitcase and pulled out your combat gear.

Each motion was precise, almost ritualistic, as you pulled on your boots, strapped on your holster, and checked your firearm. Within minutes, you were leaving your room, running.

-

The wind hit you hard as soon as you stepped onto the rooftop, the blast of air being sent from the Quinjet’s departure. The jet hovered above for a moment before shooting forward, disappearing into the sky with an incredible burst of speed. The sound of it leaving lingered in the air, a sharp contrast to the sudden stillness that followed.

Your arms hung limply at your sides, the strength in them drained away by the crushing weight of disappointment.

A soft sound behind you drew your attention. You turned your head to see Maria standing a few steps away, her arms crossed as she watched you. Her expression was pained, her lips pressed together as she took in the dejection written across your face.

She didn’t say anything at first, her gaze shifting to the empty sky where the Quinjet had disappeared. “Come on,” she said, gesturing toward the stairwell behind you. “We gotta meet someone.”

[pearlywritings]

The little chaser

synopsis: your son likes chasing and catching crystal flies now, and giving their cores as gifts brings him joy.

pairing and characters: Diluc x fem!reader, your twin sons

tw: pure fluff, domestic moment

word count: 2k+ words

author’s note: just a small something my brain came up with when I was thinking of Rufus loving bringing different trinkets from his outings to his parents, whenever one of them or both stay home.

Family AU masterlist

"Ma, ma! Do you think dad will like it?" Rufus appears next to you almost as if out of thin air and extends an open palm to show you a crystal fly core. "I caught a big one!"

"Oh, firefly,” you smile and brush your fingers through the thick mane of crimson hair, which somehow always manages to look decent, “I am sure he'll love it." 

“Yeah??” Red eyes widen and stare at you in a hardly contained excitement, to which you hum in confirmation, giving him a firm nod. Giggling, your son plops on the grass near you and, holding the gleaming piece tightly to his chest, falls head first on your thigh, disturbing his twin, who's been peacefully napping on your other hip.

The little boy lifts his head and starts owlishly blinking, which, paired with his hair messily hanging from a ponytail, creates such a cute image that you can't help but laugh softly. How can you not, when your baby looks like a little owlet with ruffled feathers? His father looks the same almost every morning and the fond reminder makes your heart swell with adoration.

"Wha- wha's happenin'?" He reaches to rub on his eyes, ridding of the remnants of his nap. Your fingers gently tug on his shirt, that rearranged itself on his shoulders, smoothing the fabric and running knuckles against his rosy cheek.

"Nothing, Lu, I just caught a crystal fly, look!" Your older son reaches a hand back over your legs to show his brother a sparkling thing clasped tightly between his small fingers. Lucas finally blinks the sleep away and now stares at the core mesmerized. Rubies of his orbs twinkle with awe and mouth falls agape.

"Woooooow…so pretty! Did you really catch it!?"

"Yes, I did! Wanna one?"

"Yes, yes, I do!"

You watch your sons roll off of you and then some more on the ground and think of poor maids who are going to wash the grass stains from their white shirts later. Their little masters could care less though at the moment, getting back on their feet and, at least, dusting their shorts.

"Mama," Rufus turns to you with a serious expression and then reaches to hand the crystal core over, "please keep it while I get one for Lu. Oh! Do you want one?"

"Maybe another time," you smile, accepting the little treasure that'll soon adorn your husband's desk. "We are going back soon, so don't take too long, alright?" Just as the words leave your mouth two sets of identical eyes turn from gleaming with joy to sad.

"Alreaaaady?" They whine almost in one voice and you have a hard time resisting these cute pleading faces, with puffed up cheeks and puppy eyes. If it was Diluc here, he’d probably have a much harder time resisting his little balls of mischief. But mama owl in you knows better.

"We've been out the whole day. I bet papa misses you two already. Plus it's going to get dark soon, we better be on our way before sunset."

"Alright…" begrudgingly they eventually sigh in defeat and then, realizing they have little time, disappear almost as if whisked by the wind.

To think of it, the wind has been almost non-existent today. Thanks Barbatos, it hasn't been too sunny and heat hasn't really bothered any of you. But then again the summer days go by and autumn approaches, which means the evenings get chiller, so you hope the boys do hurry up with the elemental creature. It'd be great to get home without as much as even starting shivering.

Soon Lucas indeed returns back to your side and climbs into your lap with back facing you.

"Ma, hair almost got caught in a bush…" he quietly complains and you nearly give yourself a facepalm - letting your boy go running around with messy hair, how smart of you.

"Don't worry, baby, I'll fix it," the ribbon comes undone and the twin grips it in his tiny fingers - he knows you need both hands to deal with his hair. A brush appears in your grasp - with how active your sons are, having it with you is a must, - and start working on the nest, turning the bird's home into a flowing river of fire. Lucas doesn't even fidget, only humming something under his nose and looking ahead, to where his brother is slowly approaching three anemo crystal flies, floating in the air almost lazely. The height is perfect for Rufus to grab and there is only a couple of feet separating the little hunter and his prey. The redhead has such a concentrated look on his face, that he looks almost adult-serious, each step and movement is coordinated and measured - he has an important mission after all.

You lift your gaze when Lucas claps his hands with a giggle, watching a single crystal fly speeding away, desperate to save its life. His older brother lifts both hands in the air, grinning victoriously.

"Mom, I caught two!" With the triumphant cry the boy sprints to you, eager to present his trophies. Lucas holds his palms together when Rufus bends to drop one gleaming core to him. Absolutely stunned, he is now twirling the little treasure, watching how light is playing on its edges, completely forgetting about everything surrounding him. Meanwhile your oldest turns to you and offers you the second one, equally beautiful and shiny. With a wide smile he watches you put the brush aside and take the gift. A gleeful squeal then erupts from his mouth when you hug him and press to your side, kissing under his chin.

"Thank you, Ru," butterfly kisses against his skin are like caresses of the crystal fly wings, and the boy keeps giggling and squirming in your hold from the ticklish sensation, kicking his feet and holding onto your arm.

"You, hehe, like it? Ahaha, stooooop!"

"Of course I do. Maybe I'll make a necklace later," you stop your loving attack and hum in thought and the idea seems to catch Lucas' attention. Suddenly he turns around and extends his hands with the core and his ribbon.

"Make me one, please!"

"Oh, why not," you quickly agree, letting Rufus go, only for him to drop onto his knees to catch his breath and collect himself, "But I want you two to gather things back into the basket while I am doing so. And put my and dad's cores there too."

Boys nod and, after Lucas scrambles back to his feet and his twin follows him a couple of seconds later, begin cleaning up. You effortlessly loop the ribbon around the "horns", tying a knot just in case and then one on the ends, making a simple trinket.

Your youngest looks purely happy with it hanging around his neck as the three of you are making your way back to the Winery. Rufus is absolutely pleased with himself for making his brother this elated and is telling you all about his hunting techniques, promising to teach his twin everything next time. Lucas eagerly nods, staring at his brother like he is a hero from the books the boy loves Adelinde or his parents reading him.

The fond look doesn’t leave your eyes, as you watch your babies interact. So similar, yet so different, but most importantly being each other's best friends. Somehow you are convinced that these boys will forever be getting along and adore each other, no matter how many stories exist of siblings getting in serious fights. You only hope they’ll stay these little happy balls of vermillion joy for as long as it is possible, playing, learning, exploring the world through the childish fantasies of theirs.

This sentiment you share with their father, whose eyes lit up affectionately and proudly whenever he watches Rufus and Lucas doing whatever. Just like now, as you spot him outside, not taking his eyes off of his sons, who started chasing each other among the rows of the wineyard, laughing and squealing, drawing the attention of the workers that remained to finish some work.

Diluc, with a shawl wrapped around his shoulders, is standing in the main doorway of the winery, shoulder pressed to the doorframe and arms crossed on his chest. Probably having noticed you three out of the window he came down to be the first one to greet his family back.

The boys don’t notice him just yet, running around Tunner, making the old man helplessly smile and joke that they’re going to make him dizzy. You use this opportunity to approach your husband, putting the basket to one of the benches nearby, and stepping into his embrace right after.

“Hello, my flame,” his voice is hushed and a little bit hoarse, red strands tickle your cheek as his chin comfortably rests on top of your head.

"Hi, love," you softly murmur against his collarbone, snuggling to him with arms wrapped around his waist. "You good?"

"Mhm," the hum vibrates in his throat, arms squeezing you a little bit tighter. "You?"

"Couldn't be better. Are you cold?"

"...yes, a bit. It'll pass soon."

Being an owner of the Pyro vision your husband's body was far warmer than a normal person's should be. But that's only if he has his vision with him, and you don't notice it on his hip this time, meaning he left it somewhere within the house with his body heat returning to an adequate degree. When it happens it always makes him a bit receptive to the chill around if there is one, fortunately, it's just for a few moments.

"Well... It always can be helped by the snuggle session with me and our boys," you suggest and feel Diluc nod against the top of your head.

Turning in his embrace you search for two red heads and quickly spot them on the other end of the wineyard, observing a crystal fly, whose wings barely touch the green leaves of the grapes. You know what is going on inside their heads, but you'll have to ruin their fun. Sorry, boys, but that's enough hunting for today.

"Sounds good to me. By the way, I let the maids go earlier today. Tomorrow is going to be very busy," oh, your man is too kind and caring, and that's one of the reasons you love him dearly.

"This is perfectly fine, love. I'll cook dinner today, not a problem at all."

"Ru! Lu! Come home, babies!" Raising their heads the twins lock eyes with you and Diluc. Then they glance back at the elemental being and even from the distance you can see them sighing in disappointment before trotting to you.

"We could catch it!" Rufus complains, attaching himself to dad's leg almost immediately, hugging him in greeting.

“They became obsessed with these,” your words bring a small, but indescribably warm smile on Diluc’s face, who didn't miss the scene. No doubt he thought about the times he and Kaeya used to do the same, chasing crystal flies and bringing collected cores to Master Crepus so he could turn them into something beautiful.

“But they are pretty…” Lucas sighs, fidgeting with one around his neck. “Right, dad?” He even lifts it a little to show his father, which reminds Rufus of his present. He starts searching for the basket until you point to the bench and he runs to get it.

“Right, Lu,” Diluc nods, keeping one arm wrapped around your shoulders and bringing the other to run fingers through his son’s hair. “It’s so unusual to see him with hair down,” he quietly admits and you chuckle, understanding what he means.

“Bet Tunner couldn’t even guess who is who today.”

“Undoubtedly.”

"Pa!” Rufus finally returns, holding a core with both of his hands. “That's for you! I caught it myself."

“You did, didn’t you?" The softness in his gaze and the easily perceptible adoration in his voice makes you weak in the knees, but you manage to stay put. "Tell me all about it.” 

A swift movement and the twins are resting in their dad’s arms, who steps back into the winery, having decided that’s enough of standing outside. Quickly grabbing the basket you follow them inside, glancing at the third core resting among all the items you brought to the stroll.

You make a mental note to find a small chest for the twins to store these, because, if Diluc’s stories of his childhood are something to take into consideration, there are going to be dozens of cores in the near future. Well, it can’t be helped if the game is to their liking. Most importantly your crystal flies chasers have their fun.

taglist: @sleep-deprivedracoon

[finniestoncrane]

Lift the Veil

Arkham!Two Face x Female!Reader, word count: 2k commission: harvey x oc (changed to reader here) who have a love/hate, on/off relationship and are both equally weak for some angry sex with teasing as foreplay 💙 commission me here! request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: flirting, teasing, kissing, table sex i am sorry i am addicted

In a hushed tone, the one you had carried throughout the entire meeting as you sat towards the back of the room with Harvey, you leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“Do you think the reason you’re not at the front is because he knows all you’re going to do is ride around in your silly trucks and break into the banks?”

Harvey shifted against the table he was leaning by, making an effort to move out of your reach, but not wanting to admit that your mockery was bothering him.

“I mean, I’m at the back because I wanted to make sure you didn’t feel too lonely. But you’re here because you’re just a hyped up thief who was just pretty enough and just crazy enough to be branded a villain.”

“Sh!”

He hissed at you, shooting a furious scowl in your direction. For over an hour, Scarecrow had been detailing his plans for the Cloudburst, for anarchy in Gotham, the soon to ‘City of Fear’. And for the entirety of that hour, any crucial parts of the plan had been punctuated by your ever-present teasing. And as a result of that, Harvey was now irritated beyond belief, and aroused to boot.

“So, when everything goes down, do you wanna meet up? Or are you going to be too busy…”

You stifled a giggle as you struggled through the end of your insult.

“… causing corruption and mayhem through the innovative method of gasp stealing money. So original, Harv. Really.”

You patted his back, and he wished he had never said anything. For him, this was an excuse to bag money for grander schemes. He accepted that it sounded a lot less chaotic and creative than what everyone else had planned, but he was quietly confident and reserved in his methods. He knew what he wanted, he knew what he needed, and he wasn’t going to concoct some difficult and ludicrous scheme just to fit in with the rest of the insanity within the four walls he sat in.

It had been a while since he had seen you. He had almost forgotten what it was about you that drove him so mad, and so wild. Your constant pestering, the way you gnawed and chipped at every insecurity he had without even knowing that you were targeting them so directly, the playful, schoolyard teasing. It enraged him, but combined with how irritatingly attractive you were, it only served to leave him wanting more. Anything to have your attention. Although, while Harvey would only admit to the physical attraction playing a part in his deep arousal at the words you  viciously tossed to him with a smile, Two Face was entirely open about how much he liked being degraded a little bit. It left him plenty of excuses to be just as cruel back. A torrid, violent little affair. But what fun was sex and attraction without a little violence added to the mix?

As Harvey remembered what he was there for, he shook his head free of the thoughts and refocused in time to hear Jonathan’s conclusions, watching everyone breaking off into their separate little groups and leaving alone or with a ‘colleague’ to further discuss the events of the evening. And he had hoped to escape himself, without having to converse with anyone. But you were there to ensure that even this small request was unfulfilled.

“Hey, Harv! You’re not going to wait for me?”

“Of course not.”

“Aw, did I hurt your feelings? You know I was just kidding.”

You playfully punched his arm, but before you could pull away, he gripped your wrist and pushed you against the wall. He held you there, your wrist under the tight grip of his right palm, and leaned in close, nose to nose.

“Why are you like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

With a coy smile, you let your other hand trail up the front of Harvey’s shirt, settling on the top button and toying with it, fingers trying to unbutton it as his chest shifted with deep, heavy breaths.

“Treat them mean, keep them keen.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before settling his gaze on you again, briefly flitting down to take in your body. Even though it had been a while since he had even seen you, let alone had spent any time with you, he could still remember how you felt. The weight of you against him as he thrust up into you. How your fingers felt running through his hair, down his chest, stroking the up the length of his cock. The tingling sensation of your fingertips tracing the curve of his cock, before your sweet lips took him in.

Swallowing the saliva that had collected, he refocused his attention on you, praying that the blush on his cheek wasn’t visible, along with the steadily growing tent at the front of his white pants.

“You look good, Harvey. It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten why I ever dated you in the first place.”

“Dated is an interesting word for what it is that we do.”

“What is it that we do then?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

He was stuttering, neck growing tighter, his palm in a cold sweat against your skin.

“Why don’t you show me then?”

Your free hand moved from Harvey’s chest, reaching for his now entirely stiff cock, but he grabbed it with his left hand, pinning it to the wall with the other and growling, sneering at you.

“Watch it, missy. Guy could get the wrong idea.”

As you watched him winking, you felt yourself lose a bit of your composure. Harvey was fine, he was easy, and fun, to rile up. And of course, it didn’t hurt that he was a pretty face and a good lover to boot. But you had to admit, you had been waiting for this moment. The moment when Two Face showed up.

Dipping into where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth closed around a section of skin, sucking it into his mouth, tongue lapping along it as he increased the pressure, hearing your hiss of pain before you erupted into a breathy laugh.

“Mister Dent, you’re going to leave a mark. And I’m not going to be shy about telling people where I got it.”

He bit harder as he growled, your breath catching in her throat.

“Good, I would bite my name into you if I thought I had enough space.”

Harvey rolled his eyes, interrupting the lustful flirtations of you and Two Face.

“Listen, if we’re going to do this, can we cut the crap and get on with it? I’m far more likely to enthusiastically participate if we can stop pretending we’re all friends.”

“Think you can play a little rough, Harv?”

You smirked, another playful wink shot in his direction as he grinned, Two Face taking over again.

“Aren’t you worried about someone catching us here?”

“Oh, Harvey. Don’t you know me better than that? I would have had you in the middle of that meeting if you had asked. Besides, it’s not worth if there aren’t risks?”

“And the consequences?”

You leaned in, your nose touching his, lips grazing over his lightly as you spoke.

“The icing on the cake.”

It was impossible for Two Face to hide how much he wanted you, and Harvey himself would have struggled. With a sneer he lunged into you again, his hands around your waist, large and strong, holding you to the wall as he pushed his hips forward, grinding into you, his obvious, and impressive, erection pressed perfectly to where your thighs met.

With a soft moan, you jutted your own hips forward, meeting Harvey’s, your kiss deepening, becoming sloppier and messy as you strengthened the friction between you both, grinding and thrusting, until Harvey had had enough and needed more.

With two fingers stroking up your thigh and under your skirt, he smirked with a loud, pleasured groan as he met your lips, wet with slick and uncovered completely.

“Oh, god, no panties?”

“It’s quicker this way.”

“You were expecting something like this from me?”

“It would have been stupid not to…”

Your words trailed off into a mumble as he spread you open a little, teasing at the sensitive skin before pushing one finger, and then two, inside of you.

“Really, is that all I’m getting?”

“What, you can’t wait while we have a little foreplay, huh? A little tease too much for you?”

“Listen, I could go all night, big fella, but Aleksander is waiting outside for me. And I really, really want to get all of you, if you catch my drift.”

His hands slid behind your back, holding you, lifting you lightly, as he brought you close and dipped you slightly.

“Baby, I can give you exactly what you’re looking for.”

With his free hand, he scooped your leg up around him, lifting the other leg too as he walked back to the table he had been leaning on, kissing you fervently the whole walk over before he dropped you with a careless thud. Standing before you, as you watched him intensely, he unbuttoned his shirt, untucking it when he reached the last one, throwing it open to expose his chest, the hairs on one side lightly greying with age, his physique still as impressive as ever.

Spurred on by the look in your eyes, his hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his fly, shifting his pants down just enough to let his cock spring out, all six incredibly thick inches bobbing gently before he gripped it at the base and teased the head against your lips. You moaned, fingers clutching the edge of the table, hips jutting forward to try and take more of him in, but he pulled back with a cruel smile.

“If you’d needed me that bad, all you had to do was call.”

“I’d never admit to that, Harv. Besides, I don’t need you, I just want you. And only for the next ten minutes, so you better be quick.”

“God, I really don’t like you.”

He smirked at you, knowing that you were both very well aware of the barefaced lie he had just told.

“And I don’t like you either.”

The smile was knocked from both of your lips as they were pressed together, a violent kiss filled with tongue and teeth, as Harvey thrust himself in past your lips, up to the hilt, drawing a sweet, lewd groan from you as you braced herself, arms behind you on the table. With a grunt, he bucked harder, knocking you off balance and sending your arms up and around his neck as you held him close, cherishing these brief moments where you could be vulnerable together, when you could be close without the other one trying to play it to their advantage.

With his cock wet within you, Harvey was struggling to keep control over the situation, fighting to last as long as he could. But the time spent apart from you, and the sudden flood of sensations as he felt your body around him, clinging to him, fingernails clawing at him as your fingers settled on his warm and flushing skin, he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.

He could always blame you for putting a time limit on it. Wouldn’t want to outstay his welcome, and all the usual things he would say to cover up the true, but admittedly limited, feelings you both had for one another.

Letting his more aggressive side take over for the last few pumps, he rolled his hips forward brutally, your scream and sultry laughter ringing in his ears as he felt himself giving in to pleasure, clutching at your waist and holding you close as he filled you with his cum, warm, copious, spilling back out of you and over the table.

Harvey balanced his head on your shoulder as you stroked his cheek, before you lightly tapped it a couple of times and hopped off the table, kissing his cheek, and Harv’s, before walking off.

“Till next, time, Dent.”

As he watched you walk away, taking in every movement you made, Harvey made a mental note to ensure that it wouldn’t be as long between their dalliances in future.

[papuhater]

𝐇𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍, 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 pt. ii

𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘭𝘦

pt. i pt.iii pt.iv pt.v pt.vi pt.vii

a/n: i'm on an energy high, take this. if you want to be tagged, dm me.

pairing: riddler x gn!reader; bruce wayne x gn!reader

warnings: yandere riddler, obsession, inspired on the song; new magic wand by tyler, the creator, not healthy relationships on edward's part, healthy relationship on bruce's side. not really a love triangle but does it count?

summary: bruce fell in luv, y/n and alfred getting along, riddler kills the first target before bruce.

buy flowers for a marriage he was forced to attend and he wanted something... different, he didn't want the model bouquet for the bride, at least to say

'i'm sorry i couldn't be able to come, here's a different bouquet for the bride.'

alfred had given him a store address, he said it was 'underrated', he told him to go buy them himself, as respect.

and he thanks god for listening to alfred that one time.

when you had appeared behind the counter, with a warm smile, and beautiful eyes, he had wished to at least have dressed in more than just a cap, eyeshadow, jeans, and a hood. you looked unreal.

his world was filled with colors ever since,

you just didn't care for the money or it affected your way of treating him, you didn't see him only as a rich man, or a 'rich orphan', you saw him through the mask he would wear every day, you wouldn't see him as bruce wayne nor the batman.

you saw him as bruce, only bruce, no one else.

for reasons of destiny, y/n and bruce continued meeting regularly, the wayne manor's goth style found balance when a vase of hydrangeas started to decorate the main room.

just like the hydrangeas appeared in the gothic style of the manor, you did into his heart. he decided to ask you on a date, and you said yes, his chest began blooming with flowers of millions of colors every moment he shared with you, he stopped derealizing and started being present because;

you were present.

after dating for a long time, he asked for you to move in with him

you accepted.

his choices had led him into sharing a bed with you and tracing the palm of your hand slowly with his index finger. he liked feeling the texture of your skin, it felt so intimate, just to lay on the same bed and groom you, without you knowing, in the middle of the night.

he had combed your hair with his fingers, and with his nose, he traced every curve of your face and after that bruce just lay staring into your face. your body started to stir in sleep, you grumbled while waking up

"mhm.."

your eyes slowly fluttered open, when they opened fully, they concentrated on him

"hey, honey."

"good morning darling, how did you sleep?"

"good, what about you?"

bruce had insomnia, but tonight he had slept in peace, he had rested after years of 

"good."

your eyes just stared at each other in a comforting manner, and your hand brushed some stray hairs away from his face,

bruce had fallen in love and this time it was for real.

everything for him was turning perfect, you were with him and he would make that nothing would ever harm you. he adored you, you were his safe place in this rotten city.

"are you hungry? i kinda am." your raspy voice from sleep brought him out of his reflecting

"same.." he muttered

"want to go to the kitchen?" 

"sure."

the couple sat up and pulled the covers off, y/n grabbed one of his hoodies and wore it, both of them walked hand in hand towards the kitchen, passing through the dark halls, y/n squeezed his hand, his attention left his mind and it focused on his lover

"i'm scared of the dark..." 

they shivered in fear, bruce felt his heartache and remembered that after his parents died he also felt terrified of the dark, but not any darkness, he was terrified of the alley's darkness. his grip on your hand tightened, and he got closer to your ear and whispered;

"then let's run from the darkness."

he looked for your validation, your eyes twinkled in the dim light of the room, and you nodded your head. he took a running stance and you copied

"one, two, and" he got ready "three!" and they ran away from the darkness, joyful laughter echoed through the dark halls, the carefree barefoot running was giving a burst of energy onto their hearts. 

when they arrived in the kitchen, their feet echoed through the empty room, bruce turned the lights on and walked to the fridge you sat on the island, messing around with the television controller.

"what is going on?!" you heard alfred holler from the door

"nothing, alfred, we are just eating something." bruce responded in a nonchalant voice while rummaging through the fridge's cabinets.

"then why are you doing such a ruckus?" he massaged his temples, while bruce ignored him 

"would you want a sandwich alfred?" you asked him

"don't worry miss/mister y/n."

"it's no worry, are you sure?" alfred kept silent for a minute before he responded

"a sandwich does seem nice right now." 

"darling, could you turn the tv on?"

"sure bruce." the sentence ended with a snore, the television turned on after you pressed the controller.

rural news played silently as the background music, alfred was chatting with you about how glad he was you moved in here

"i'm glad you moved in here, the manor needed some color and joy, i noticed the hydrangeas in the main room at first- it was very odd- after that, master bruce would buy every other day out of his style flowers." he took a sip of a glass of water "but the day he arrived with a small smile, i knew what it was, i watched him grow and since you are here, he's smiling even more than ever, in fa-"  

"alfred." bruce called 

"sorry master bruce." he coughed a bit going back into character

"here's the food." bruce placed three badly made sandwiches on the table

"bruce, honey, with all the love" he looks at you "you can't cook." you chuckled

alarm music from the tv caught you all off guard, your attention went towards the screen

'the candidate for mayor, don mitchell, was found dead on his apartment floor, many speculate the killer is going for more of the high class of gotham....'

the newscaster continued talking as the tension was thick in the air

"bruce...i'm scared."

┊┊┊┊☆┊*🌙*┊☆┊┊┊┊

don mitchell was pacing around his apartment unknowing of his horrible fate, edward was lurking from the entrance, a judging eye stalking his prey. don mitchell hanged up on the phone and it was the signal he needed, edward lunged towards him, and his arm raised naturally...

bam!

he had stricken him, and now another step of his plan of justice was now fulfilled. he straddled the body and gave it a few more strikes, then he inhaled the cold air through his mask and pulled the masking tape out, he held it towards the light, and it dimmed the light.

he could already see his bright happy ending, the one that was promised to him

and you were there by his side...

edward's breathing quickened at your thought, oh his love was the only true love that has ever existed. 

he was doing this for you, he felt a deja vu from the orphanage;   

you both were sharing a bed to keep warm from the unforgiving winter, you were shaking and your nose was so cold, he had his arms  wrapped around you, you had caught a coughing disease, and your lungs were too weak to deal with it

'eddie, i'm scared, i don't want to die."

"you won't, you won't" he kept repeating, not sure if it was for himself or for you. "you won't die, y/n."

you had almost died due to the corruption of gotham city, you, y/n l/n, the only person he had and would ever love.

he would never let that happen again to you again

"oh my y/n, i love you to death." he muttered

and the mayor's screams were muffled by tape as he cut his finger off

┊┊┊┊☆┊*🌙*┊☆┊┊┊┊

[thesolferino]

Favor

⤷ dream x f!reader.

⤷ genre: angst, fluff

⤷ word count: 8.4k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon!

— summary: dream asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a day. things only seem to go downhill from there.

It started as a favor.

On a quiet night in your apartment when you stared at your phone for way longer than your eyes could physically take and rolled around on the bed, talking to one of your best internet friends, Dream, he asked you for a favor. His voice was muffled through the mic on his phone, the one connected to his computer way cleaner, but neither of you could bother getting off FaceTime and call on Discord instead - yet you still heard him loud and clear, because you burst out laughing right after.

“What the hell did you just say?” you laughed, turning on your stomach and opening the call, now entirely focused on the timer that counted every second you spent talking to him instead of your Twitter timeline.

“It’s embarrassing, don’t make me repeat it!” And for that sole reason, you wanted him to repeat it, loud and clear.

“Is this why you were so insistent on me coming down to Florida? So I could pretend to be your girlfriend at your cousin’s wedding so your family doesn’t think you’re a loser?” you laughed, finding the situation entirely absurd as he sputtered, words mashing together, trying to defend himself.

“No! No, I wanted you to come here because we’re friends and I-I wanna meet you, this is just a… benefit, of sorts.” he replied, and you couldn’t help but laugh even harder at his poor attempt of trying to save face.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” you chuckle. “What’s in it for me?”

“Whatever you want.” he responded, much too quick. Your eyebrows raised.

“Whatever I want?” you parroted.

“Yes.” he confirmed. “I’ll buy you something, if you want; I’ll even pay you-”

“Pay me?! I’m not a whore, Dream!” 

“That is not AT ALL what I was saying!” he cut in, yelling as you burst into a new fit of laughter. “It’s just… I sort of already told them I have a girlfriend and I was just hoping you’d say yes ‘cause it’s gonna be very awkward if I show up without the girlfriend in question.” 

You put your head in your hands and he sort of dryly laughed at himself when he heard your palm hit your forehead. “What is wrong with you, man?” 

“Listen, it’s not gonna be so bad! Just stay by my side for a bit, look pretty, we’ll get some drinks, and then dip. That’s it, I promise.” he reasoned.

“And here I thought we were gonna make out in front of everyone. What’s a fake relationship if we don’t make a show out of it?” you sarcastically snickered, and could practically see his eyeroll from miles away.

“If that’s what you want, then we’ll do it, by all means.” he replied and you laughed, shaking your head in mild disbelief.

“Alright, well, if you already told them, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” you huffed, pretending to be way more bummed out about it than you really were. “I’ll do it.” 

“Thank you so much, oh my God.” he replied and you chuckled at the sheer relief in his voice.

A few seconds of silence pass. “What’s the catch?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“How do you want me to publicly embarrass myself in exchange for this favor?”

“Personally, I think that forcing you to tweet that tweet about pissing yourself in bed again and also tweeting that everyone should subscribe to me isn’t “publicly embarrassing” at all.” 

“Maybe I should’ve picked a different fake girlfriend.”

“Sucks to suck, pissbaby.”

The weeks leading up to your meetup felt like years, with every treacherous minute of you two talking over muffled mics and shitty webcams feeling longer than it should, your empty apartment feeling emptier and emptier by the day. Was it even possible to miss a person you hadn’t even met yet? 

It turns out that it very much was, because as soon as the painfully long weeks were up and you were finally metres away from him, you jumped in his arms like a woman finally seeing her soldier husband after the war, standing on your tiptoes while he bent down the best he could to hug you back. His chest rumbled with a warm laugh when you turned your head ever so slightly towards his ear.

“Hello, boyfriend.” And just like that, the warm turned into a groan of faux annoyance while you burst into laughter and he pulled away, scanning your face with an equally annoyed look.

“I should’ve never asked you for that. You’re never letting it go, are you?” Yeah, you were kind of annoying with the amount of corny boyfriend jokes you threw his way - you had to give him that. But then again, he crafted his own fate and now he must accept the consequences.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realise your majesty wasn’t appreciating the work I’m doing! I just won’t show up at that wedding, how about that?” you bit back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You’re such an idiot.” he laughed. “Give me those bags.”

A blissful week had passed, and he hadn’t pissed you off in real life nearly as much as you thought he would. It took a bit of getting used to to his family calling him Clay instead of his beloved internet username, and you did get a couple of suggestive looks from his mother the first few times she visited - you had a couple of “eye conversations” in which she never exactly asked if you were his girlfriend, and you never exactly denied it, but you knew both of you felt the weight of the unspoken words yet you had to keep everything secret and ambiguous. Or at least you thought you did, before he revealed to you that he told his mom the two of you were dating already. Seems like the glances were knowing and not questioning. Maybe you weren’t as good at eye conversation as previously thought.

Living with him was fine, mostly because he had godly air conditioning and a house that was probably way too big for him, and also a very cute cat that followed you everywhere and made living with a man for a full two weeks way more bearable. Finding out that he can’t cook was one of the most bizarre revelations about him that you’d had in the years of your friendship, and you demanded he watched as you made chicken wraps. You complained about how he was 21 and couldn’t cook for himself, he complained about how it’s 2021 and he can just order from Chipotle or something, dude.

A week of goofing around and trying to hide the fact the two of you temporarily lived together from the internet had passed quicker than it should’ve, and for the first time in seven days, Netflix was turned off and the two of you were dressing up for the wedding, ready to set off with his parents and younger sister. He spent ages trying to convince you to match with him, which was quite literally impossible because he wore a black suit and you brought a red dress, which resulted in the two of you roaming around a local mall at 10 am, half asleep, looking for a reasonably formal black dress, because of course Dream always got his way.

An hour of arguing and your fashion tastes clashing later, you picked an off shoulder black dress with a high slit, along with a pair of pumps, both of which you forced him to pay for, and went back home, ready to glam both of you up as much as humanly possible because you were not ready to let him show up in some horrendous pair of shoes and claim to be your boyfriend. 

“Is this okay?” you questioned, turning from the mirror to face him and let him be the judge of your shimmery black and white eyelids, spending way too much time on a makeup look for a wedding of someone whose name you didn’t even know. He blinked at you as his judging gaze washed over you like a wave, scanning you up and down while you nervously cocked your head, leg tapping in faux impatient annoyance to cover up the fact that you felt like prey under his eyes. 

“It’s… yeah, it is. You look good.” Dream confirmed, nodding his head at you in a movement that was way too quick and snappy and you turn back to the mirror with a huff, watching him stare right back at you. 

“Too much, right? I should try something else.” You say, grabbing your makeup remover wipes, but he cuts in before you can even wipe a single smudge.

“No, no, it looks good, I promise. Really good. Don’t touch it.” Something way too sincere in his voice makes the air tense, more tense than usual, but you drop it, deciding to just take the compliment with a tight lipped smile.

“Okay. You ready?” you ask, and he nods, nervously straightening out his suit before looking back at you with an anxious grin.

“Yeah, I think so. Do I look fine?” 

He did. He looked more than fine. You’d never seen him actually dress up for something and put proper care into his looks - he was practically forced into doing it by you this time as well - so seeing him in an actual black suit, all formal and expensive looking, messy dirty blond hair properly combed for the first time in ages, made you gulp and look away. You sort of never understood the argument that women and men can’t be friends because you were never attracted to one of your male friends, ever. Dream was born to be an exception to every rule, it seemed. 

Realising that you abruptly looked away, you attempted to awkwardly clear your throat and smile at him.

“Yeah, you do. Let’s go.”

During the ride there, his mother seemed to finally explode and the words that have clearly wanted to pour out of her mouth for ages finally came out. You supposed it was better for the poor woman, and did your best to suppress a laugh when Dream dramatically sighed and leaned against the window when she nosily spoke up. 

“So… since when have you and Clay been together? He’s told us absolutely nothing!” She spoke up from the passenger seat, shifting to look at you, excited smile plastered on her face and you politely smiled back, mentally noting that you’d have to bully the shit out of him for acting like his mom is embarrassing him in front of his 8th grade crush.

“Ah, we’ve been friends for a long while, but we only started dating a month or so ago, because it’s hard doing long distance and all that.” you said, hoping it would sound believable enough because the two of you rehearsed this a few days ago, writing out a whole backstory from how you started dating to what exact words he used when he asked you out. There were a couple of arguments here and there, such as the fact you refused to say you confessed you’ve been in love with him for years and he refused to say he admitted he’s been your “bottom bitch” for 3 years but in the end, you somehow managed to agree on a cohesive timeline of events.

“Oh, does that mean you’re going to move here?” she questioned, and that one didn’t surprise you either, Dream having prepared a full list of answers to questions that people might ask in your notes app. He was a perfectionist to the point it got on your nerves, but that had its own perks.

“No, but I’ll definitely visit more often, and if it goes well, I might as well move here.” you smiled back at her and she nodded, going back to staring through the windshield. You and Dream exchange a relieved glance that you hope his younger sister doesn’t notice.

“Let me tell you, I was waiting for you two to get together! He always talked about you, I was getting tired of him, you know that?” she giggled and you widened your eyes at Dream who, snapping out of somewhat of a daze, immediately jumped to protest, light blush adorning his pale cheeks. 

“No, I didn’t! I did not, mom, don’t lie to her.” he argued while all she did was laugh.

“Oh come on, it’s not embarrassing now that you’re together!” she kept going, and his younger sister joined in, to make it even worse.

“Yeah, you do talk about her a lot, not gonna lie.” she spoke up and his cold glare directed her way told you everything you needed to know, hanging on by a thread not to burst out laughing. He refused to even look your way, turning back to the window as his cheeks started heating up. You couldn’t help but let out at least a bit of a giggle, placing your hand on his arm in fake comfort.

“It’s okay, you can admit it now.” your tone borderlined on mocking and he knew you’d make fun of him for days to come so he stayed silent while the rest of the car burst into laughter.

The wedding was truly beautifully set up, set in a hotel wedding venue, walls painted in pure innocent white with hints of gold here and there, and you nudged Dream as the two of you observed in awe, asking what sort of money the groom had to be able to afford this sort of expensive venue. Nudging him proved to be way easier now, because you linked arms - you originally made fun of him for suggesting to walk like that instead of holding hands like normal people, telling him you’d look like you were at your high school prom, but he persisted, and you didn’t end up looking as goofy as you thought. 

“He’s a doctor or something, pretty sure.” he replied, quick feet trudging down the long hallways, your own struggling to keep up with him, especially in your heels. He seemed to be in a rush to sit and get it over with as soon as possible so he could avoid any nosy family members, but bad luck followed him everywhere, it seems, because as soon as you two entered the place where the bride and groom would unite, at least three different pairs of eyes locked on you, and you immediately saw a fairly elderly woman get up with open arms, staring at Dream with a grin on her face. You saw him immediately tense up, and almost laughed right then and there.

“There’s my boy! Oh, you’ve grown so much, come here!” The woman looked to be in her fifties and Dream let go of your arm to nervously laugh and fall into her hug, the two rocking from side to side as she kept going on about how it seemed that he grew taller and taller every time she saw him. 

When the two pulled away, her eyes fixed on you, judgingly scanning from head to toe and you suddenly realised why Dream tensed up the way he did - old white women sure had a way to make you anxious. Thankfully, he stepped in. 

“Aunt Bessie, this is Y/N, my girlfriend. Y/N, this is aunt Bessie, my mom’s older sister.” he generously offered the explanation you were so obviously lacking and you grinned, as if that information helped you in any way, and stuck out your hand in an offer of a handshake. However, she seemed to have different plans, because as soon as she heard the words “my girlfriend” her face lit up as if she won the lottery and her lips stretched into a smile, opening her arms for you the same way she did for him. 

“Oh my God, you finally got a girlfriend? Come here!” she said, shaking her head at your outstretched hand and gesturing you to return the hug which you quite hesitantly did, politely laughing as she hugged you tighter than you’d deem appropriate. Dream came from a family of huggers - that much was apparent from him, you guess, but you weren’t exactly prepared for this.

Aunt Bessie seemed to be way louder and screechier than expected, because the word “girlfriend” boomed through the room and off the snowy walls, and at least five other family members of his turned around to check who the lucky fellow that finally got a girlfriend was. Another one of his aunts seemed to notice the commotion and suddenly, another older woman with shoulder length, dyed blonde hair, along with her two younger kids, was hurling at you as well. 

“I always complained to him that it was about time he got a girlfriend! He’s a fine young man, no wonder you picked him, honey.” Aunt Bessie shot you a knowing look and you closed your mouth in a tight lipped smile in a feverish attempt to keep down the laugh that threatened to escape you. 

“Oh yeah, he definitely is.” you giggled, looking up at Dream again who looked like he wanted the earth below his feet to open and swallow him whole. Before you could nudge him in the ribs and tease him for hours to come, the other aunt suddenly spoke up.

“Clay! Oh my gosh, is that you?” she exclaimed, shocked grin on her face, and you briefly wondered if Dream ever even visited his family. He nervously smiled, obviously not really sure who this woman even is, but he hugged her back anyway, clearly walking the line between ‘happy to see his family’ and ‘insanely uncomfortable’.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, your dad hasn’t visited since we moved to Toronto! Look at how tall you are, you’re taller than my husband now! You used to be so tiny, whatever happened to you?” Upon hearing the word Toronto he seemed to realise who he was talking to as his eyes softened, and you wondered if he really was so expressive or you could just read him that well.

“I grew up, I guess.” He awkwardly laughed and she laughed harder than she should’ve before turning to you.

“Oh, and who is this?” She said, gaze periodically switching between him and you, a knowing smile on her face which told you she definitely knew who you were.

“Ah, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Y/N, this is… my dad’s cousin, Mabel.” He introduced, large hand landing on your back, and you felt like you were experiencing déjà vu at the way her face lit up at the mention of a girlfriend. 

“Wow, it’s so nice to meet you, Y/N!” She said, energetically shaking your hand, before turning back to Dream. “You never told us you got a girlfriend! You’re finally planning on settling down, huh?” 

Your head snapped in his direction at the speed of light when she mentioned settling down, and you could see him tense up as well as he nervously laughed.

“Yeah, we haven’t visited in a while, so nobody from the family really knew. And, uh… we haven’t really thought of that yet, we’re taking it slow and everything.” He said and you were almost in awe at how good he was at bullshitting. The woman did nothing but laugh.

“Ah, don’t lie to me, I see the way you two look at each other! It’s your wedding we’ll be attending next!” She winked, and just as Dream got ready to fake laugh once again, her family called her over and she excused herself, walking off.

The two of you hurried to your seats as well, sitting down next to his younger sister. 

“Your family is insane, man, holy shit.” You laughed in disbelief, staring at him as he shook his head, clearly as distressed as you were.

“Literally nobody in this family gives a single fuck if I’m single or not except the old aunties. And I seem to have a shit ton of those.” He muttered under his breath. “The way you look at each other - I literally didn’t even look at you properly that whole time!” 

You cackled at that one, hitting his arm. “She’s right, Clay. You’re one fine young man, eh?” You nudged him as he groaned in embarrassment, only turning your way to glare at you. 

You didn’t get to tease him for much longer, though, because the organ started playing and the bridesmaids and groomsmen lined up, the groom standing at his designated place. The bride walked in, arms locked with her father, thin white veil covering her face as she walked down the aisle, looking angelic in her puffy wedding gown. Silky brown hair fell down her shoulders, curled towards the ends, and you could see the hint of blood red lipstick beneath the veil. She looked beautiful - the groom seemed to think so as well, because you could see him tapping the corner of his eye lightly, wiping any stray tears.

She finally made it to the end and stepped to face her soon-to-be husband as her father moved away, sitting back in his chair. The wedding officiant stepped up, and held a speech much longer than it should be, which just led you to zone out. 

One day you’d be beneath that veil, wouldn’t you? One day, you’ll face your fiancé the same way she is, and you’ll let your hearts link with a string that nobody but the two of you could snap. Who would that be, though? Who could you even trust with your heart in their hands? And you’re not aware of how and why and when, but your eyes shot up at Dream, whose eyes also glinted in that way where you knew he wasn’t paying attention, and maybe he was thinking about the same thing as you. Maybe one day, you’ll be attending his wedding, forcing one of your friends to play a fake boyfriend as he wipes his tears, waiting for his bride to get to him. 

It was disheartening, the thought of being a bystander while he locks lips with somebody else. You supposed you just liked being the center of attention, so you let yourself pretend you were his bride in your daydreams. Separating daydreams from rational thoughts was mandatory, because you weren’t sure how you’d explain to yourself that you can’t stand seeing Dream marry someone else. 

Dream, the infamous hopeless romantic, still seemed out of it, maybe even a little emotional, despite not being that close with either of the two. He was probably thinking about his own wedding as well, thinking about his future, the face he’d see when he pulled back the veil.

Just then, his eyes darted to yours, and you realised you were caught staring, snapping your head back to the couple that started reading their vows by now. You started going red from the neck up, cheeks on fire as you could feel his gaze burning into you. He turned back after a few seconds, though, probably assuming you stared at him because you were bored, and neither of you spoke, even though you kind of wish you did. What even is there to say, though? 

By the time you snapped back, the “I do”s were already being said, and her veil was getting lifted, showing her beauty to everyone present, and as they kissed the whole room bursted into cheers and applause in support of the newlyweds. The two exit, teary eyed, their parents follow close behind, and that’s when Dream’s family rushes both of you to your feet, following the two into the reception hall where the actual party would take place. 

From then on, the wedding is the same as any other. The two have their first dance, they give a welcoming speech, and Dream lets you stuff your face with cake and repeatedly refills your wine glass as repayment for dragging you into this whole thing. At some point, he stretches his hand out to you and asks for a dance like a rom-com main character, and you’re not sure exactly why he did that because he’s mostly terrible at dancing, but you had fun letting him twirl you until you got dizzy anyway.

You also realised just how much he did actually need a fake girlfriend, because it seemed like every twenty minutes some sort of relative of his would walk up to the two of you and congratulate him on “finally getting a girlfriend”. You ended up bullying him for that as well, wondering just how long he’s been single for if they’re all this surprised that he’s got a girlfriend, to which he just downed the glass of water he’d been sipping for half an hour and asked you about the weather.

His family took a few pictures with the new couple - you even got to speak to the bride at some point, congratulating her and wishing the two of them well, but in the span of a few hours, the wedding was over and the newlyweds made a great exit, signifying the end of the party. The two of you were driven home by his parents, and you waved them goodbye as you stumbled to the front door, your heels insanely uncomfortable and the red wine in your stomach weighing down on you; you just wanted to get out of this dress and into a pair of pajamas and pass out on his couch in the living room. 

That’s sort of exactly what you did - you half-assed taking your makeup off, wiping down your face a couple of times, deciding that was enough before changing into some worn pajamas and plopping down on the couch next to Dream who already claimed his place and sunk into the cushion while a random movie played on the TV. The two of you basked in the comfortable silence that surrounded you, the exhausted, tired type. You both appreciated the quiet and fell asleep sitting next to each other, wedding already forgotten.

That night, he went from Dream to Clay.

The departure was bittersweet. You left two days after that, your hug at the airport tight, warm, filled with a sugary sweet feeling you couldn’t quite place and sour acid that ate away at you because you didn’t want to leave in the slightest. His arms were warm, inviting, whispering for you to stay but you left anyway, waving him goodbye, setting off to home. 

It seemed like all your problems came and went with him, because a week later, at 3 in the morning while you were up editing a video, you got an all caps message on your Discord from Sapnap.

“YOU’RE DATING DREAM?”

You blinked at your computer screen, white letters blinding you in the dark, brain trying to keep up with why he even thought that. Within 10 seconds, another message, this time from Dream.

“so i told george and sapnap that we’re dating”

“don’t kill me pls” 

Yeah, you weren’t going to kill him, per se, but he definitely made your life a lot harder than it should be. You opened Discord, Premiere Pro and the unedited video abandoned, typing back to Clay quickly.

“WHY”

He responded immediately, as one panicked man does.

“they’ve been making fun of me for being single for ages now :(“

“we already did this fake dating thing before and it went perfectly fine”

“just play along for a month or so”

“pls”

You audibly sighed. And as if he could hear you, he started typing again.

“i’ll promote you on my channel more”

“just pls do it”

“you love me, right” 

Another sigh fell from your lips before you could stop it. Of course you did, because if you didn’t, there’s no way you would be playing into this. You typed back.

“fine”

He messaged back immediately.

“THANK YOU”

“LOVE YOU <333”

With a shake of your head, you mumbled “idiot” with the ghost of a smile flashing on your face, switching back to your video, opting to ignore Sapnap for a little bit. He could wait. 

Fake dating seemed pretty damn easy during the first week - you thought you were killing it by sending corny tweets and staged selfies so he could screenshot them and send them to the groupchat, giggling on call about how oblivious they are and how you’re fooling them so good, both of you opting to ignore the parts where they claimed they knew the two of you were gonna get together eventually. It was fun, lighthearted, and an excuse to flirt with someone you had nothing official with.

As much as all your problems came and went with Clay, though, they came and went with his friends as well, especially that hopeless man Clay called his best friend. 

Because yeah, of course Sapnap was the one to accidentally spill to the public that the two of you were “dating”.

George was streaming at what was apparently a normal time in the UK, not so much for Florida, and Clay was sleeping while you were watching his stream while making some food for yourself. It was going fine, a bit of a chill stream, and you leaned against the fridge as your oven preheated, tired eyes following his Minecraft skin. 

“Sophie, thank you for the dono! ‘Hey George, I love your videos, just wanted to ask if you were speedrunning with Dream today?’” he read out, and you could faintly hear Sapnap join the stream through your headphones. 

“No I’m not, Dream’s… I don’t know what Dream’s doing right now, actually. He’s not responding to me, though. Probably talking to his girlfriend still.” he continued, exaggerating the last part mockingly, still playing into the whiny role of being upset that Clay was ditching the two of them for you. That majorly woke you up, though, as you stood straight on your feet immediately, because oh no, nobody was supposed to know.

You exited out of the Twitch app quickly, letting the stream play in the background as you tried to fish for Sapnap’s profile on Discord and text him as quick as possible, trying to warn him to not let anybody know, but before you could do it, you heard his laughter clear in the stream.

“Yeah, Y/N, his sweetie poo.” Sapnap said, causing George to laugh even louder, before moving onto the next topic, and your heartbeat picked up an insane amount, nails loud and probably damaging your phone screen as you typed as quickly as humanly possible to yell at him because this was not planned, at all.

You heard him go quiet after you shot him a couple of messages over Discord (“SAPNAP” “ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID” “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU” “NOBODY KNOWS YET” “IM GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU”), type something to George who then fell quiet as well for a few seconds, pure horror on his face, and then went back to streaming as if nothing happened while Sapnap profusely apologised to you on his and George’s behalf.

No apology could fix what had already been done, though, and you were left alone with the warzone that was Twitter who had already speculated the two of you were dating long before while Clay peacefully slept somewhere in his house at 4 am in Florida. You bombarded him with messages and waited until he woke up ‘cause what were you even supposed to do?! 

You chose to spend your time finishing the pizza you were originally supposed to make and almost burnt your whole apartment down because you forgot the oven was on for a whole hour while yelling at Clay’s idiotic best friends. You yelled at Sapnap, who kept apologising to you, you yelled at George, who yelled back that it’s not that big of a deal because people were bound to find out anyways, and you yelled at Clay, because he was the guilty one somehow for not being awake during your breakdown. 

He did eventually wake up though, to the shitshow that were his notifications with at least thirty messages from each of you, messages from his other YouTube friends who were fairly surprised, and his entire fanbase going ham on Twitter. He was surprisingly calm about it - calmer than you were, anyways, and sheepishly said over the phone that the fake dating thing may have to go on for a little longer since you couldn’t just date for a month and then break up, and you were sort of okay with that.

And of course, the business side of him awoke at that moment, and he giddily told you about the amount of views the two of you could pull if you did the same shit you do with George and Sapnap anyway, but on livestream. 

You rolled your eyes.

And then agreed anyway. 

And so, the charade began.

His Twitter statement was up shortly, telling the people that you’d been dating for a couple of weeks and weren’t planning to tell anybody yet until a certain someone spilled their guts live, and the fact Dream was dating someone, let alone another popular streamer, took the internet by storm. You expected hate, and you got quite a bit of that, but the people that had shipped the two of you before were certainly more than delighted and a lot of Clay’s fans were supportive. 

Now, both of you had excuses to do chill streams together and just hang out and you took the opportunity and ran with it. 

You’d sit and play Geoguessr or just try and speedrun Minecraft a bunch of times for hours on end, doing stupid bits and things you’d be doing offline anyways, with a little more flirting than usual, because that’s what made it interesting.

“Oh this is France, for sure.” you claimed one night, two or three weeks after the secret was officially out, chewing on the fries you bought for this specific occasion, streaming on his alt to a few thousand people. 

“You think so? It could be Belgium, too.” he responded, humming in thought as he looked around.

“I know so.” you responded.

“How?” 

“I just do. Gamer intuition, babe.” you said, and he wheezed at your response, repeating the words gamer intuition under his breath.

“No, seriously. It is France, I know it is, I’ve seen so many pictures of that place I know it like the back of my hand now. That’s Lyon, or something.” you continued, plopping another french fry into your mouth.

“You have? Why do you know so much about France, that’s so random.” he responded, opening the map and pointing to France, although he keeps looking around, unsure of his decision.

“I dunno, I like it there. I wish I could move there.” you replied.

“Why, though?” 

“It’s pretty and heavily romanticised! Just like me!” you joked and he laughed, before letting you continue. “I dunno, it’s the city of love. Be a little romantic.” 

“The… the city of love is whatever city the two of us are in.” he said, and it took a few seconds for you to process the joke before letting out a fake disappointed sigh.

“I can’t believe I’m dating someone as corny as you.” 

At that, he bursts into wheezes, and you follow along, enjoying the sound of his laughter coursing through your headphones more than you used to a few weeks back. It feels nice, feels right, acting like this. You like calling him your boyfriend more than you think you should. 

A few weeks go by, and it feels all too natural. It feels too natural, talking to him first thing in the morning when you’ve barely even had your coffee, calling him pet names, throwing sweet words at each other publicly like they mean nothing. It feels all too natural, and nice, and all too right, and you don’t even notice when the two of you cross the line between public and private, and you’re stuck making stupid jokes about making out when you first see each other when there’s nobody to witness them except the walls of your rooms, but you don’t like thinking about that, because you know it’ll bring nothing but confusion. The current this that the two of you have is perfect to you, perfectly lighthearted and funny and fun, and you intend on keeping it that way, refusing to think about it in any way past jokes.

That is, until you can’t anymore.

It’s late, again, and you’re staring at his contact name on your phone screen, lazily lying on the bed. It reminds you of a night from roughly 3 months ago, when your whole friendship seemed to change in the few seconds it took you to process what he’d asked of you, and it feels weird, but nice.

“My mom really likes you, you know?” Clay breaks the quiet that you’ve learned to appreciate in his presence, and you exhale through your nose, the noise just short of a chuckle.

“Yeah?” You laugh, and he does as well.

“Yeah.” He reaffirms. “She thinks you’re a great girlfriend. Apparently I seem brighter ever since we got together.”

You laugh again. “I am a great girlfriend, to be fair. She’s totally right.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t know that. If you’re as good of a girlfriend as you pretend to be, though, then you’re amazing.” He says, and words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. 

“Yeah? You wanna find out?” The flirty nature is nothing strange to the two of you, but this time it feels kinda different, it feels like you’re stepping into dangerous territory that there’s no coming back from. You feel like you’ve ruined everything, for some reason.

He laughs, like normal, though. He laughs like nothing happened at all, and you’re so, so grateful for that.

“Sure, let’s do it. You’re about to unpack the full Clay boyfriend experience.” He snickers and you laugh as well. 

“That means I just unlock the dick as well as the personality.” you respond, quick as always, and the wheeze that escapes him is so loud that it makes you laugh too.

“...Unlock the dick…” he repeats through another wheeze and you nod, laughing.

“Yeah! I mean I’m literally experiencing the boyfriend experience without actually having a boyfriend, it’s fuckin’ great.” you say and he hums.

“You could have one, though.” 

The implications are crazy, his words are crazy, he’s crazy and everything that he could mean and couldn’t mean by that is driving you crazy too, brain faltering and heart seeming way too big for your chest to contain it. It’s silent.

“I could, I guess.” 

You choose to say, and he switches the topic naturally, like he never said anything.

Things are never the same again.

It’s not in a bad way. Sure, it is kind of a bad way for the feelings you’re trying to push down inside you, a bad way for hot nights when the unbearable heat forces you to stay up even when you don’t want to and you have no choice but to think about why you feel the way you feel as you melt into the burning sheets below you, a bad way for when he jokes about finding somebody else and you feel your stomach churning. A bad way for realising that this fake dating thing is really getting to you, but not a bad way in general.

Maybe it’s in a good way. Maybe the underlying implications whenever he makes jokes about making the relationship real are good, maybe the way he calls you in the middle of the night when he’s anxious and freaking out and defends himself by saying: “You’re my girlfriend, you’re always there for me, I just figured I could call you.” and you end up wondering if it’s possible to say jokes in such a vulnerable state or if he’s serious is good, maybe the way it’s been a few months and he won’t tell his own best friends that it was a joke the whole time is good, maybe the way you confronted him about it and he said he likes having you as his girlfriend is good. 

Maybe the way the two of you are always walking the line between joking and being serious, between being friends and something more, between lies and pranks and emotional investment and fear of committing, and the way you’re always trying to push the other off, is good. 

The fans love it. The fanart is incredible (serves especially well for those hot nights when you can’t fall asleep and you scroll, watching yourself fall in love with Clay in every universe, tales told by people who observe your story and find it worthy enough to retell in their own words, to take the love you pretend to have and turn it into something real), people love to gush over the compliments he sprinkles in at random times during conversation and the general flirty dynamic is loved by many, pulling in more views and attraction for you. 

And you suppose that’s good too, but at some point, the good warps into bad, bad warps into terrible, and you wonder if this is all even worth the sleepless nights, wondering if he feels the same way.

Those thoughts haunt you more and more often every day. When you wake up, and text him first thing in the morning, your brain acknowledges that the camera is off - nobody’s around, people aren’t listening, so why are you still playing the role of a girlfriend and starting up a conversation with him when you haven’t even brushed your teeth properly? When you’re editing in the middle of the day and he calls to keep you company, making more stupid boyfriend jokes, your stomach flips in a weird way that makes you hate him, hate the way he can joke about these things so freely, like it doesn’t hurt him. Like it doesn’t affect him like it affects you. 

But, as much as you wish you could hate him, you couldn’t bring yourself to, and that was the worst part. Because, in reality, whenever he laughed you’d smile without realising you did, whenever anything exciting happened to you he was the first one you went to, whenever you wanted to laugh or cry or sit in silence for hours or complain you always went to him, the one person who you know would listen. In reality, whenever he made a joke about giving up on the fake dating and making it real, you wished so bad that he was serious this time, that this was what it took and he’d crack and all of your suffering would end.

It eventually happens.

It’s a pretty chilly morning, birds chirp outside and the sun that slowly rises is covering the kitchen floor in a golden hue as you pour milk into your cereal with one hand and hold your phone in the other, letting Clay ramble about whatever it was this time, when he brought it up.

“So, when do you wanna come down to Florida again?” he asks casually, and you almost drop the gallon of milk in your hand. 

“What?” 

“I said, when are you coming down to Florida again? Last time you came was pretty fun.” he says, and an empty silence follows. There’s an unsaid “I miss you” that you don’t hear, and he’s too afraid of saying it. 

“Florida wasn’t exactly on my schedule this month, man.” you say, placing your phone on the counter for a second. Clay sure knew how to surprise a person.

“Well put it down, then.” he jokes, and you hum.

“What, you got another wedding coming up?” you giggle and he groans - you never really stopped making fun of him for that wedding.

“No, I don’t. Can’t a man just miss seeing his beloved girlfriend?” It’s unbelievable how quickly dread can wash over you as soon as he makes one of those jokes. You were convinced the mix of anxiety and butterflies that appears in your stomach was gonna kill you sometime soon.

“He can, he’s just being weirdly insistent.” you argue nonetheless. “But sure, I’ll consider it.”

You do more than consider it - in a few weeks, you’re back at the airport, and falling into his arms has never given you such an adrenaline rush in your whole life. Something about having him wrapped around you, close to you, the warmth of his body radiating into yours sent you spiraling, head clouded with nothing but love and the fact that you wish you could stay there forever. You wished you could press pause and cherish the moment, let yourself bask in that feeling of pure love, pure adoration that you helplessly drowned in. But you couldn’t, and you left his arms feeling oddly empty. 

Hiding the fact that you were unapologetically head over heels for him proved to be a hundred times more difficult when you were right there, next to him, talking to him, when you could just kiss him any second, feel his lips on yours and nobody would stop you - the opportunity was right there, looming over you, the devil on your shoulder taunting you, telling you to do it. 

You got to wake up in the same house as him, watch his hair stick out in different directions and his raspy morning voice as he complained about the smell of your coffee, watch his eyes glint whenever he talked about something he liked and observe as he carried around Patches like a little baby. You got to experience every bit of domestic without the consequences of committing, and you wondered just how far this would go. For how much longer would the two of you blatantly ignore the fact that you were a couple that slapped the title “fake” on it because you were cowards who refused to admit what this truly was. 

Not for long, apparently, because you grew tired, and decided to put an end to everything on one random Thursday night - and if he hated you forever for it, then so be it. 

You were sitting on his couch, watching a random movie together, drowning in one of his Dream hoodies while you chewed the popcorn he made. It was dark outside, just past midnight, and you could see the branches of a tree swaying calmly through one of the nearby windows - the silence while he scrolled through his phone lazily was comforting too, everything was lazy and serene and it would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the constant anxiety that gripped you by the throat whenever you were in his close proximity, the nervousness that killed you, the upset feeling of wanting to cuddle up with him but knowing you can’t because you guys are just friends, and nothing more.

The couple on the screen kiss while a violin plays in the background - how fitting. Maybe that’s what pushes you to the edge, or maybe you were just that sick and tired.

You were exhausted, beyond exhausted. Your eyes were tired, the anxiety was morphing into annoyance and anger and you were ready to give up on it all. If this ended the friendship, at least you two had a good run. Your heart couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know, you still owe me a favor in return for pretending to be your girlfriend.” you say, and you sound gone, zoned out, more than you wish you were. You hear his phone turn off with a click.

“Yeah? What do you want?” Clay asks, and you blankly stare at the TV for a few seconds before turning to face him, eyes burning. 

“Kiss me.” 

It’s silent. The characters on screen are arguing. You hear the wind through one of his open windows.

“What?” he asks, voice cracking, and his expression falls. You’ve fucked it. Oh well.

“I want you to kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me like someone’s watching and you wanna make it believable.” you say, eyes boring into his, your words having nowhere near as much of an effect on yourself as they do on him. Your eyes sting like they’re being lit on fire, and your throat is sort of closing up, but it’s fine. “Let me have this before I go, because once I leave, I don’t wanna do this anymore, Clay. I can’t pretend like I don’t want you to introduce me as your girlfriend and fully mean it. I can’t lie to your face anymore.” 

Silence. Deafening silence, once again.

“I love you.” he blurts out, and you don’t even register it at first. “I don’t want this shit to be fake either. God, I really don’t. It hasn’t been fake for a while now, at least not on my part. I’m sorry, it’s just- it was easier to keep this bit going than it was to actually admit that I’m… into you.”

And once again, the room falls into silence, much like it always does whenever the two of you share moments like these.

And then, you burst into laughter.

“So… so you mean to tell me, that both of us have liked each other this whooooole fucking time, and just refused to admit it and ‘pretended to date’ instead?” you burst into giggles, and he looks sort of hesitant to laugh, but he does anyway.

“I mean… yeah? I was waiting for you to call me out for doing all that when nobody was watching! Why did you never call me out?! Don’t blame me, I made it so damn obvious that I wanted you!” he protests, and you almost can’t believe what you’re hearing.

“Excuse me? You should’ve just fucking told me instead of making a million and one jokes about how I’m your girlfriend! We’re not in middle school, Clay!” you argue.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d catch on and talk to me about it at some point! You never called me out for anything!”

“So what, I’m supposed to just read your mind now? You’re fucking unbelievable.” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and turning away in annoyance. As soon as a warm hand lands on your shoulder, though, the annoyance melts like wax under fire, leaving nothing behind.

“I still haven’t returned that favor, you know?” he whispers in your ear, breath fanning your neck, closer than he should be. The hairs on your neck stand up as you turn back to Clay, who wore a mischievous grin and a glint in his eyes that suggested no good. 

You suppose bad can be good, sometimes. 

As his lips press onto yours, that theory is proven true, because he sends a flicker of fire burning down your spine, spreading into your limbs, making your fingertips electric as you pulled him in closer, hand snaking up to grip at his hair - the everlasting grin against your own proves, once again, to be no good as his hands slip under your hoodie and grip your sides, but you think you enjoy this sort of bad. 

They sneak up further, and you hear him chuckle into the kiss as your insides melt at his touch. The two of you silently agree that maybe he should ask for favors more often.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Baby Grammy - Harry Styles

a/n: yall have no idea how obsessed i am with this whole dadrry x grammy concept and i think it will take me a month to process everything but in the meanwhile, accept this painfully cute fluff which is kind of part 2 to Grammy Winning Husband, but it serves well as a stand alone fic too!

pairing: Husband!Harry / Dad!Harry x Pregnant!Reader

warning: just a little mentioning of some slight smut, nothing heavy or detailed

word count: 1.2k

masterlist

“You know, this makes a nice table décor,” you smirk, stuffing some more oatmeal into your mouth as the two of you sit at the dining table in the morning, Harry’s Grammy sitting in the middle of it, the morning sun making it sparkle right in front of your eyes.

“Yeah, but might be a little too flashy to keep it here,” he huffs with a grin as he finishes his breakfast. His eyes scan over the award, he still haven’t fully processed that he has won his first ever Grammy. “It’ll be fine in the study.”

“Wherever you want to keep it,” you smile at him, reaching over you squeeze his hand gently.

This morning has been peaceful but filled with wholesome moments. Waking up Harry’s hand was glued to your belly as he spooned you from behind, a tiny foot pushing right against his palm, wishing him a good morning in the best way possible. He kissed your shoulder and the back of your neck until you hummed and blinked your eyes open.

“Good morning, Mr. Grammy,” you teased him, puckering your lips for a sweet morning kiss.

“That makes you Mrs. Grammy,” he grinned and leaning down he captured your lips in a deeper, more passionate kiss as his hand wandered up to your swollen breast, his touch gentle, knowing well how sensitive you’ve been.

The kiss soon escalated, especially when his hand moved down between your legs and you moaned his name. He made sure you started the day satisfied and you wouldn’t have felt like a good wife if you didn’t returne the favor, using your hands to please him. When your belly started growing in the beginning of your pregnancy, you had quite a few concerns Harry wouldn’t find you attractive anymore, that seeing you grow so big would be a turn off, but he assured you it would never be the case.

“You have no idea how big of a turn on it is to know that it’s my baby in there,” he murmured when one evening you spoke your fears finally and he has proven it enough since then that those weren’t just empty words.

You had a quick shower together before making breakfast and now the two of you have a whole day of doing nothing ahead of you, just what you need.

“Still hungry?” Harry asks when you finish your breakfast, but you shake your head no leaning back in your chair.

“No, it was more than enough. Thank you,” you smile at him as he kisses your forehead, grabbing your plates to bring it over to the sink and quickly rinse them.

Sighing happily your eyes fall to the award on the table, smiling proudly at the thought that your husband finally got the recognition he always deserved. You take the little golden phonograph to take a closer look at it, setting it on top of your belly. It’s been a common thing since your belly has been the size of a watermelon, one time Harry came home to you eating Oreos off of it and he didn’t stop teasing you about it for days. But what can you say? You didn’t feel like having to wash a plate so you used what you had.

What you don’t realize is when Harry comes back from the kitchen and his heart flutters in his chest at the sight. The light is coming from behind you as you sit sideways to him, making you appear like a silhouette with your big belly and the award on top of it. Harry can’t stop himself from grabbing his phone and snapping a rather artsy photo of the moment, immediately setting it as his lockscreen.

Walking up to you he shows you the photo and you smile with a blush.

“Can I… Can I post this?” he asks shyly, sitting back next to you. His hand runs down your stomach as you place the award back to the table.

“Oh, you sure about that?” you ask. At the very beginning of your pregnancy he expressed how he wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. He felt like it’s something he would like to experience without worrying about the world watching every step of his and yours. So far, you’ve been quite successful in it, other than your closest friends and family, no one even suspects that the two of you are about to become parents in a few weeks. Posting the photo would be a major change in the plan, not that you are bothered by it. You would have been fine with whatever he wanted, making it public wouldn’t have bothered you that much, so it was really his call on the situation.

“Yeah. I have never felt happier in my life and I want to share it with the world,” he nods.

“It would be your first post since your win, I’m afraid it would take the shine away from your achievement,” you tell him. You’re happy he wants to share the news with his fans, but your bump would surely take a bigger chunk of the spotlight if he posted that exact photo and you’d hate to make it about you when the Grammy is such a huge thing, all about him.

“Baby,” he smiles softly. “My biggest achievement is this right here,” he softly tells, cupping your belly once again. “And I wouldn’t have won that if you weren’t by my side,” he adds, nodding towards the award. “I just want to show the world how proud I am of everything I have. If people focus on you instead of the award, I’m more than okay with that,” he chuckles sweetly and you can feel your eye tearing up already. “You deserve all the attention and love.”

“I hate that you can make me cry so easily,” you laugh through your tears as you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for a kiss. “You can post the picture if you want. Do whatever makes you happy.”

Smiling gratefully, he kisses you a few more times before he unlocks his phone and goes to Instagram. You rest your head on his shoulder as he edits the photo just a little, adding more contrast so it really is just your frame showing in the sunlight with the Grammy on top of your massive bump. He hesitates a little before typing in a capture for the post.

“Might convince her to make his second name Grammy.”

You start laughing as he grins at his hilarious joke, posting the picture, letting the world in on the happy news you’ve learned quite a few months before.

“Though it might be epic, we are not naming him Grammy,” you tell him, giving his arm a squeeze.

“Why not? We didn’t choose a second name, might sound interesting.”

“Theodore Grammy Styles? Nah-ah, don’t even think about it,” you shake your head, reaching for your juice on the table.

“No?” he smirks teasingly. “Just think about it, our little Baby Grammy! Aw!”

“Harry, I swear to God I’m leaving if you call our son Grammy again,” you warn him, but he sees the playful shine in your eyes, you both know it’s just a joke.

“Alright, we are sticking to our original plan,” he nods. Leaning over he presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek before your belly gets one too. “Can’t wait to meet you, buddy,” he hums with the cheesiest but most genuine smile on his face.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[its-deputy-caleb]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well, I really love your writing and I recently tried to come out to my family but it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I was wondering if you could do the four lords’ reactions to reader coming out as lesbian (it doesn’t have to be lesbian specific if you don’t want to) If you don’t feel comfortable writing this it’s totally fine, no pressure at all. And thank you for all of your work it really helps me just relax sometimes 😘

Hii, I’m so glad that my writing is able to make you feel happy! It honestly makes my day!! I’m so happy to write this for you and I feel so honoured to write this, I apologise that it’s late I wanted to write it sooner.

I’m sorry that all this has happened to you and if you ever need anything I will always be here for a listen if you need <3 just message x I also wrote this from some person experiences since I am bi and have also had bad experiences so this is just to make everyone feel loved and included!

Alcina Dimitrescu

You’re sitting on the lounge of one of the various sitting areas in Castle Dimitrescu, having tea with the Lady of the house one cold evening.

You were both enjoying each other’s company, having grown very fond of Alcina and her daughters. You’d become something like an aunt to the girls and Alcina had accepted you into her house with open arms.

The Lady Dimitrescu was currently speaking about another “man-thing” she had hidden in the dungeon when you told her about your own feelings towards women.

Your heart is practically beating in your throat as the nerves make you feel nauseous, anxiously awaiting a reaction from the Lady Dimitrescu. Your palms shaking slightly as she stopped speaking to glance at you.

Tears well in your eyes as you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, instantly going to apologise.

She takes two large steps towards you, kneeling down and takes your much smaller hands in her own. Her thumb moves in gentle circles along your knuckles as she soothes you.

“My darling, please do not cry… You’re too beautiful in your youth to be sad. Just know you will always be loved here in my castle both by my daughters and myself. No harm will come to you, I promise; I will protect you always.”

She brings her hand up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek, holding your chin up so you can look at her. Everything about her presence is calming and loving in that moment.

“All that matters in this world is your happiness, my darling, don’t let anybody take it away from you.”

She places a soft kiss to the back of your hand and uses it to bring you into a tight hug. Her arms wrap around you tightly and she holds you close, almost protecting you from the outside world.

“Come now; if you’re to be staying with us, you’ll be needing your own formal room. Besides if you stay with us you’ll find that you and I are not so different.”

You look up at her with wide eyes as she gives you a large smile and scoops you up in her arms. It’s there that she carries you to your new chambers just down the hall from her own and you continue to stay with the Lady Dimitrescu.

Each day and night she reminds you just how much you’re loved by her and her family, making sure you know just how much she cares for you no matter who you are.

Donna Beneviento

You’re standing on the porch with Donna, over looking the waterfall which her house sits next to. You notice Angie is not with her and she’s in lighter clothes than her usual layers which she wears to visit Mother Miranda.

It’s one thing you’re very happy about is Donna’s comfort around you. You two are very close and you’re the only person she feels like she can be herself even without her dolls. To her, you’re someone that makes her feel normal and safe in this crazy and chaotic world.

Much like Donna, you’ve kept to yourself, often hiding how you really feel inside but she’s someone who you’ve grown to trust with your life and who care for very deeply about.

That’s why you feel ready to finally tell her about your own feelings and who you are. Yet it doesn’t make it any less nerve racking, your friendship with Donna means everything to you and you don’t want to lose her.

She notices the way you tense up, how you focus more on the water falling to distract yourself, fiddling with your hands at the same time.

Donna leans over and rests her head on your shoulder which you relax into and place your head on hers as her arm wraps around you reassuringly.

“Angie and I still love you. No matter what, you’re still the only one who likes us. Just because you feel a certain way doesn’t change that.”

Donna’s hand squeezes every so often against your arm, a reminder that she means what she says. Her touch keeping you warm out in the cold as her words warm your heart.

Salvatore Moreau

You and Moreau have always found comfort in each other. The two of you feeling rejected by everyone in society, just wishing that someone would give you the opportunity to get to know you both better. To see the real you.

That’s what you were, inseparable and each other’s second chance to be yourselves. You were all you two had, telling each other everything and sticking by each other.

Hidden away in his reservoir was your own little world where no one could judge either of you and you could be yourselves.

That’s why with your hand in his, squeezing tightly, you decided to come out to him.

His hand squeezes back and matches your strength as he smiles at you, proud that you were able to say it.

“You’re my best friend, you know? And I will never view you any differently because you like girls, you’re braver than I could ever wish to be.”

Salvatore is captured by your ability to be yourself, especially around him. He feels honoured that you trust him with everything, even something as daunting as coming out and he makes you feel validated and respected all the time.

You’re something of a role model to him and the two of you work through all your troubles together, always relying on each other for support.

You never once had to face anything alone, no matter how hard it was for you to come out to everyone else, Salvatore was always there for you and was by your side.

Karl Heisenberg

You and Karl had an interesting friendship, something akin to the term “chalk and cheese”. He was the wild and crazy engineer, always tinkering in his workshops, working tirelessly for his revenge on Mother Miranda while you were the gentle and sweet soul who was once a member of the village.

No matter of your differences, you were both the only one you had left. You truly cared about each other. Although you both weren’t always great at saying it, you each had your moments.

After Karl told you about his childhood, the experiments he endured and the Cadou implant you both agreed to tell each other everything and he honest. Promising to be there for each other.

That’s why you knew you could come out to him and tell you how you felt deep down.

He instantly drops the hot piece of metal he was welding to draw his attention to you. Leaning in and listening to you as you told him all of what you had been hiding.

At the end of it you’re exhausted, teary eyed and in need of a hug which he gladly provides, practically crushing you as he holds you close.

“Hey now, you’re not broken like I am, there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Fuck what anyone has to say, if they want to hurt you I won’t let them okay? If they’ve got a problem with who you love they’re gonna have to deal with me. I mean it, if anyone gives you shit they’ll be fed to the lycans!”

You laugh at his little speech and he smiles when he sees you happy. Although apart of you knows he’s very serious and cares about you enough to rip anyone’s throat out for hurting you.

Karl Heisenberg was the last person you’d expect to find a friend in and yet he’d stop at nothing to make you feel loved and safe in his home.

i love all of you <3

[moon-light-jukebox]

Germs [Reid x Reader]

this gif isn’t mine

Summary: Reader is sure the resident BAU genius doesn’t like her, but she’s not sure why. But even if he did like her, he’s a germaphobe, so he wouldn’t be comfortable with the things she wants to do to him...would he?

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Rating: Mature 

Category: Fluff and Smut 

Content Warning: Brief mentions of torture and violence, usually criminal minds stuff, nothing explicit. Light choking, oral sex (female receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, language (maybe?) 

A/n: I have come out of fan fiction writing retirement for this one. Let me know what y’all think!  masterlist

y/n - your name

y/l/n - your last name

italicized text is Reader’s sassy inner thoughts

---

I’m not sure if I believe in hell, but if there is a hell, I’m sure it feels exactly like Louisiana in July. Every time I walked outside I felt like I was walking into soup. Gross. I couldn’t help but feel guilty over my sigh of relief when I walked back into the local precinct the team was currently working out of. Young women are dying, and I’m worried about a little bit of heat.

But, fuck, it was hot.

Speaking of heat, I thought as I threw open the door to the conference room only to run smack into the hottest thing I’d ever encountered.

“Shit,” I exclaimed before I thought better of it. “I’m so sorry.” I ran my eyes up, up, up, all the way up his body until I met his eyes; those beautiful honey brown eyes that threatened to have me acting like an idiot if I stared into them for too long.  

Dr. Spencer Reid’s cheeks were tinged pink, his posture stiff, his fingers clutching the file he was carrying for dear life. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n,” he sounded uncomfortable, which made my stomach drop. “My fault.” With that, he quickly maneuvered around me and headed off to complete whatever genius task he had to complete.

My eyes followed him until he was out of sight before I mentally shook myself. ‘C’mon, this is pointless,’ I thought. ‘He doesn’t even like you.’ Which I really thought was true, the good doctor went out of his way to avoid me whenever possible. ‘Plus, he’s a germaphobe.’ This thought was confirmed true. He didn’t shake people’s hands, the only people I’d seen him touch during my time at the BAU were members of the team that he’d known for years, and some of those even seemed reluctant.

Admittedly, I didn’t know a lot about germaphobia; since I couldn’t ask the only genius I knew, I did the next logical thing. I googled it. Every person I’d read about seemed to experience germaphobia differently. Some people could have sex, but others were grossed out by the very idea. Knowing my luck, Spencer Reid and his beautiful hands, and his soulful eyes, and his cheekbones that could cut glass was in the repulsed by sex category. Which is fine! Right, it is fine to not be interested in sex; the only problem was I was very interested in every part of him.  

Maybe he thinks I’m gross. Maybe I stink? Maybe he’s just repulsed by my very presence. Regardless, I couldn’t see Spencer Reid ever shoving me against a wall and fucking me senseless.

I sighed, making my way over to the conference table, pulling out a chair before I flopped into it. I could feel the exhaustion settling into my bones. We had been in Louisiana for almost a week now and we were still no closer to finding our unsub. He was a white man, he worked in a lower-paying job, and he hated women. Obviously, that didn’t narrow it down much.

The unsub was targeting women in clubs and bars, following them outside before he bashed them on the back of the head. After that, he threw the girls over his shoulder and took them to his car; he moved them to a secondary location before he tortured them. The first two victims had survived. They were traumatized, but they were fighters; they both said the same things, ‘he kept my eyes covered the entire time,’ “I never saw his face,’ ‘I did whatever he told me to do.’

We thought the killing of the third victim had been an accident, but that accident had excited our guy enough that he changed his ritual; the killing was crucial now. We had 4 bodies, 2 live victims that couldn’t tell us anything, and no leads.

Sighing, I leaned forward, bringing the heels of my hands to my eyes. I hated feeling helpless. The answer to who this fucker was is in this evidence somewhere and I will find it. If it’s the last thing I do.

The doors swung open again, pulling me from my thoughts. Hotch lead the parade of people, followed by Morgan, JJ, and Dr. Reid. Our unit chef looked gravely serious…not that that necessarily meant anything, in the 6 months I’d been with the behavioral analysis unit I hadn’t seen him have any other expression.

Morgan pulled out his phone, hitting what I suspected was speed dial number 1. “Hey baby girl,” he said, without his usual swagger; even he was tired. “You’re on speaker. You’ve got me, Hotch, JJ, Reid, and Y/l/n.”

“And I have the always wonderful Emily Prentiss, and the dashing David Rossi on the line, effectively putting my favorite people together again, as they should be,” Garcia quipped. I don’t think she meant to include me in her list of ‘favorite people,’ but it made me smile anyway. “Okay, crime fighters, what’s the play?”

“We’re still no closer to finding the unsub,” Hotch began. “He’s highly organized, methodical, and paranoid; but he hasn’t killed in 3 days, this is a break from his escalation pattern. He’s going to strike soon.” Hotch leaned over resting his palms on the shiny fake wood of the conference table. “Our best chance is to send an agent out there as bait.” There was a general murmur of agreement before he continued on. “Garcia, we need you to find all of the night clubs, bars, and whatever else you can think of in the updated comfort zone.”

The sound of keys clicking made its way through the speaker. “Assuming we’re excluding the places he’s already hit, that leaves us with 3 possibilities.”

“So far he hasn’t struck a place twice,” Prentiss chimed in. “Do we think he’s going to hold to that pattern?”

Reid moved over to the board where the map of the county was displayed. “I think so. This guy is too careful to risk going to a place where he’s been before. The chance of him being recognized is too great, especially when everyone is on high alert.” He gestured to the area he had circled on the map. “His pattern seems to be focusing in on this center point right here,” he said, placing a pin in the map. “This area means something. Garcia, what is the closest club or bar to the intersection of Washington Avenue and Harrison Street?”

“That would beeeeee…The Blue Fox.”

“That’s where he’ll be,” Dr. Reid said confidently, his eyes moving to Hotch’s face.

The older man nodded. “It’s our best lead so far, we have to run with it.”

“It’s Friday night,” Rossi pointed out. “We’ll have to act soon.”

Hotch nodded, seeming to be lost in thought. “We need to send agents in there tonight. We know the victims were all on dates or flirting with a man right before their abduction. He targets women that are happy with their companions then waits til he can separate them.”

“Who are you planning on sending in, Hotch?’ JJ questioned.

“Y/l/n is the youngest, she fits the build of the previous victims the best.” His heavy gaze rested on me. “What do you think?”

Like it was even a choice. “I’m in.”

Hotch nodded, accepting my answer. “Good. You’ll partner with Reid.”

“What?!” I squawked, much to my embarrassment. I cleared my throat before I continued. “But, Reid and I…I just thought Morgan would be the obvious choice.” Fuck, I’m just digging a bigger hole.

Morgan gave me an easy smile. “You’re just saying that because you wanna see my moves, little mama.”

Hotch cleared his throat, bringing our attention back. “Morgan is too intimidating; the unsub might not move in if he feels too threatened. You’ll go with Reid.” When he was met with silence he continued on, “alright, let’s get to work.”

-

And that is how I wound up in a club in Louisiana on a Friday night, in a tight black dress, with Spencer Reid beside me. After he walked into the club holding my hand. He doesn’t hold hands, I cringed internally at the thought. He must feel so uncomfortable.

He waved the bartender over, ordering a drink for me and a water for himself before turning to me. “I thought a drink would loosen you up a bit. You look nervous.”

I am nervous. “Right. Thanks.” I drummed my fingers on the bar, my gaze sweeping around the club for anyone who seemed out of place and especially creepy. Most lone men at clubs and bars were creepy, but we need especially creepy.

“Is that because you don’t think I can have your back?”

My head snapped back around. “What?”

Spencer paused to accept the drinks from the bartender, sliding him the money. “In the conference room. You seemed upset that Morgan wasn’t going to be your partner,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Is that because you think I wouldn’t have your back?”

Fuck. I blushed to the roots of my hair. “No, Spencer! God no! It’s not that, I know you’d have my back.” I took a sip of my drink before I said anything else. “It’s just that…you don’t seem to like me very much, and I know you have a thing about germs, and I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t like me.” I was babbling; I was absolutely babbling. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, that’s all. Morgan has never seemed uncomfortable around me, so…” I trailed off lamely.

The corners of his lips quirked up in amusement. “So, you didn’t want to partner with me on this because you didn’t want me to be uncomfortable?”

I nodded, fidgeting with the straw in my drink.

Spencer moved closer to me, his right hand coming to rest on the small of my back. He seemed as calm as he could be, meanwhile I suddenly had trouble breathing.

It’s for the case. He has to do this for the case. Calm down.

"What do my issues with germs have to do with this?" he wondered, leaning closer to me. I could feel his breath on my neck; my skin broke out in goosebumps.

Double fuck. “Well, we’re supposed to be…together. And you think I’m gross. What if you have to kiss me?” TRIPLE FUCK. “Not that we’d have to kiss,” I tried to backpedal. “But we might, you never know. And I just didn’t…I don’t want you to dislike me more than you do.”

The teasing smile slipped from his face, the fingers on my lower back flexing slightly. He regarded me with a tilt of his head. "You're serious?" At my shaky nod, he continued. "Y/n, I don't think you're gross."

“You don’t?” I squeaked.

He lifted his hand from my back then, sliding it up to my shoulder, his free hand moving from the bar to rest on my hip. Spencer brushed my hair back before he leaned forward. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I felt his lips touch the tender skin of my neck. My eyes fluttered shut, unable to suppress a gasp at the contact. Spencer Reid’s beautiful lips slid down to the place where my neck and shoulder met, then I felt his teeth nip the skin before he placed another kiss there. He worked his way back up towards my ear, the hand on my hip moving slightly so he was almost grabbing my ass. “I don’t think you’re gross,” he breathed, causing me to shudder. I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Germs don’t bother me in that way, especially around people I know. I wouldn’t have a problem kissing you, baby.”

I was going to need new panties after this. Spencer Reid, awkward, sweet, Dr. Spencer Reid just called me Baby.

“…Oh.” Really, y/n. Oh; you went with oh?

The good doctor pulled back, his face close enough to mine that I could see that he had freckles under his eyes and that those beautiful eyes got more golden towards the center. "Oh."

-

Michael Watkins was the name of our unsub. He was a short white man with a receding hairline and a bad temper. His last relationship had ended 3 months before the first attack; Spencer was right to pick this bar. Shortly after he tried to make my pussy combust with his neck kisses, Reid suggested I walk to the bathroom, assuring me he’d be watching if anyone followed.

Watkins’ hand was in my hair, dragging me outside before I made it to the ladies’ room. I felt a jolt of fear as I struggled to escape, strands of hair being ripped from my head. I shouldn’t have worried, because no sooner had the outside door opened than I heard the velvety voice of Derek Morgan. “FBI! Put your hands where we can see them.”

He attempted to run. Why would anyone try to run from Derek Morgan?  

After the medics confirmed I was okay, I was sent back to the hotel while the rest of the team went with the local police to book Watkins and try to get a full confession.

“Good work,” Hotch said, his hand clapping down on my shoulder.

The highest praise I’ll ever need.

I hopped into the shower right when I got back to my room, not wanting Watkins’ touch on me for a moment longer.

Spencer’s touch, however,…That was a touch I wouldn’t mind having on me. But he’d barely looked at me once he made it outside. I knew he was being affectionate in there because of the case, we were playing a role. I knew that. I still couldn’t stop the twinge of hurt I felt.

But he doesn’t think I’m gross. That had to count for something.

I had just got done blow drying my hair enough so that it wouldn’t look too crazy when I woke up when there was a knock on my door. Figuring it was Emily, I didn't consider the fact that I was in my pajamas, and my face was scrubbed free of makeup.  

It wasn’t Emily. Spencer Reid stood on the other side of my door, his eyes running down my body before he met my bewildered stare again. “You look comfy,” he commented with that damn little smile on his lips again.

“Oh. Yeah. I took a shower.” Way to go, y/n, you’re really killing it tonight.

“I see that,” he said, his cheeks going a little bit pink. “Can I come in? I thought we should talk.” Was he nervous? Why would he be nervous?

I ushered him in, shutting the door behind him. He sat on the bottom edge of my bed; his body angled towards the headboard. I briefly debated about where to sit before I joined him. Don’t make it weird, y/n.

He cleared his throat before he began. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight. I just wanted to make sure we got the guy.”

Right. “Oh, it’s okay, Spencer. I get it. I wasn’t uncomfortable.” I picked at the frayed edge of my sleep shorts, my eyes dropping so he didn’t see anything on my face that betrayed how I was feeling; you can’t be too careful around profilers.

His hand reached out to cover my own fidgeting hands, one of his hands covering both of mine. His hands were so big. His fingers were so long, the veins in his hands were so pronounced. I bet those fingers would feel really – FOCUS.

“I’m also sorry you thought I didn’t like you.” His thumb had started to move slowly over the back of my hand. “I do like you. I like you a lot, actually. I just…” I brought my gaze back up to meet his eyes. “I just get nervous sometimes.”

“You didn’t seem nervous in the club.”

“No,” he chuckled. “I wasn’t nervous then because it was my job. I wasn’t worried about misreading a signal…doing the wrong thing…I’m not the best with social cues.” I had noticed that about him before. “But I am a really good profiler.” And he’s humble too, apparently.

“I know that you couldn’t fake your reaction to me in the club. Your breathing became quicker, I felt your pulse jump under my lips when they were on your neck. I saw how blown your pupils got." He shifted closer to me then, bringing his other hand up to push my hair behind my shoulder like he did earlier in the night. "Just like they are now."

He leaned closer to me, his voice was lower, and it made my stomach flutter. "You're clenching your thighs together, Y/n. Your shirt may be baggy, but I can see how hard your nipples are too." His tongue ran out to wet his lips. "If I'm wrong, just tell me now. If I've misread this, I will leave right now, and we can pretend this never happened." Spencer brought both his hands up to cradle my face; despite how wet my panties were, how tight my nipples are, how badly I wanted him to touch me, this gesture made me feel special. He was holding me like he actually cared about me like I was precious. "But, if I'm not wrong, and you want this too, Y/n, tell me. Tell me you want this too and I won't stop touching you until you scream my name."

I let out a soft whimper then. Like it’s a choice. “I want this,” I leaned into his touch. “Please, Spencer.”

His thumb brushed over my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine. “Please, what, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

No sooner had the words left my mouth than his lips were on mine. His lips were softer than I imagined, they were firm and almost…questioning. When I nipped at his bottom lip, something seemed to break free inside of him. His lips slanted over mine with a hunger I had never felt. His tongue ran over my bottom lip before I opened for him. Spencer’s tongue moved into my mouth while his hands moved; one hand moved back to grip my hair at the base of my skull, tugging firmly, the other moved down to my neck, not applying any pressure, just resting it there in a gesture that felt possessive.

The need for oxygen broke us apart, his lips moving across my cheek to my jaw, then down to my neck. “How could you think I didn’t like you?” he mumbled into my skin. “You have no idea what you do to me. None.”

I threw my head back when he sucked on my pulse point, a moan ripping from my throat. “W-what…what do I do?”

Pulling back from me, he gripped the bottom of my shirt, looking at me for consent before he pulled it over my head. His eyes were firmly on my chest, his lips parted, his breathing heavy. He pushed me down slowly on the bed; I was on my back and he was hovering over me. I felt his mouth place hot, wet, kisses from my collarbone down towards my breasts. His right hand landed on my breast, his thumb brushing back and forth over my nipple while his lips moved closer and closer to my left. I tangled my hands in his hair, urging him forward.

“You want to know what you do to me?” he raised his head slightly, making sure my eyes were on him when he flicked his tongue over my nipple, causing me to gasp. “What do you do to me in your little skirts, with your little smiles, and your little laughs?” He gave my nipple a sharp pinch. “You’re all I fucking think about, y/n.” With a growl, he finally took my nipple in his mouth, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. He switched to the other breast while he adjusted himself over me, bringing his pelvis down to rest at the seam of my body between my thighs. I shifted restlessly under him, trying to grind my pussy against him. He was so fucking hard.

With a groan, he lifted his head and started kissing his way towards the middle of my chest, moving down to the curve of my stomach. “Do you know how many times I came back to my hotel room after spending all day with you and was so hard I had to cum before I could think of anything else?” he peppered kisses down my body as he spoke.

My eyes shot open at this confession that he seemed to think was no big deal. “What?” I couldn’t believe this. “You…you touched yourself and thought of…”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts and panties, taking my raised hips as an invitation to remove both from my body. "You. I thought of you." He threw my clothes on the floor, pulling my legs open. His eyes moved over all of me, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed hard. “I thought about kissing you. About making you squirm for me.” He ran his fingers up and down my thighs, his mouth running slowly over my inner thighs. Spencer’s hands hooked around my upper thighs, moving me to where he wanted me. “But, most of all, I thought about this pretty pussy.” He placed a kiss on my clit, chuckling at the wanton moan that came from me and how my fingers tangled in his soft brown curls. “I thought about all the different ways I could make this pretty pussy cum all over me.” With that, he ran his tongue up my slit before flicking it over my clit.

Dr. Spencer Reid was good at everything, so of course, he was good at this too. His mouth moved over me, watching my reaction to see what I liked best. His tongue moved in circles around my clit before slipping down to my opening. His tongue plunged inside me, fucking me, while his thumb came over to rub my clit.

“Spence- fuck- Spencer, please.” My hips tried to shift restlessly, but his arms were iron bars holding me still. He slowly moved his left forearm to rest across my hips, bringing his right hand down to my throbbing pussy. He pulled his mouth away from me, much to my dismay. He pushed one finger, then another into me. My head thrashed wildly, and my thighs started to shake. “Spencer!”

He just smirked and curled his fingers, hitting the spot inside me that made everything in my body pulse. “What, baby?”

My breaths were coming in gasps, my voice was a needy whimper. “Make me cum, Spencer. Please, please make me cum.”

He needed no other encouragement. His fingers continued their steady thrust in and out of me while his mouth covered my clit again. He alternated between flicking my clit with his tongue, then circling it before pulling it into his mouth, sucking lightly.

“Spencer.” I felt my orgasm rising. “Spencer don’t- don’t stop. I’m gonna cum, please make me cum.”

He kept his pace steady, sucking on my clit, moaning at my words. His eyes had been closed, but at that moment they opened and met mine. Then I felt his teeth ghost over my clit, I saw the want in his eyes. That was my undoing. My back arched, my mouth hung open in a silent scream. I heard myself say his name over and over again. Spencer pushed his fingers inside me, massaging me through the most powerful orgasm I had ever had. With one final kiss on my oversensitive clit, he withdrew his fingers, putting them into his mouth to suck my orgasm off of them.

He kissed back up my body, and I tried to respond, but I was still so shattered. I had never felt anything so powerful before. He cupped my face in one hand and kissed me slowly. I returned the kiss, moving my hands to the buttons of his shirt.

Spencer broke the kiss, pulling back to look at me again. “Hang on, baby.” His hand came up to still my own. “We can take a second. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

This beautiful man smiled at me then. I felt my heart flutter when he leaned down to pepper soft kisses along my jaw, his thumb coming up to wipe a tear that fell from the corner of my eye that I hadn’t even noticed.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. He shifted to lay beside me, whispering reassurances to me while I came back down. This was just one of the ways that Spencer was so different from every other man. I didn't feel rushed, or pressured. I could feel how hard he still was, I could feel the tension in his body, but he simply kissed me while he cupped my jaw.

He made me feel…cherished.

I moved my hands to tangle in his hair again, deepening our kiss. He didn’t move my hands away when I started to work on the buttons of his shirt. The fire that I thought had been calmed by my orgasm had come roaring back. Spencer moved his hands to his belt while I finished with his shirt. His shirt came off, tossed in the same direction as my clothes. I pulled his pants and boxers down his legs, watching his cock spring free.

Everything about him was painfully beautiful. His angular cheekbones, the jaw that looked like it was carved from granite, even the toned muscles of his body. He had a small trail of hair that went down from his belly button to his groin. His cock laid against his stomach, the head glistening with precum.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, kneeling beside him, running my eyes over his body.

His soft hand came to grab mine, pulling it to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand, smiling softly at me.

I moved to straddle him, lower on his thighs. I took him in my hand, moving up and down, twisting my wrist as I neared the tip, swiping my thumb over his head.

“Baby,” he groaned. “Y/n, as much as I want you to do…whatever the fuck you want with me, I’m so close. I feel like I’m going to explode.” I bit into my bottom lip, unable to totally stop the smile spreading over my face. “Please, I need to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock.” He moved his hands to my hips, urging my body forward.

I raised up on my knees, taking him in my hand again, lining him up with my entrance. The tendons in his neck were strained, his fingers gripped my hips so hard I knew I was going to have bruises tomorrow. As I slowly started to sink down on his cock, Spencer let out the sexiest groan I had ever heard. His eyes were fixed where our bodies were joined, watching his dick slid deeper inside of me.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good. Just a little bit more.”

He was so long, he wasn't overly thick, but just thick enough to cause a pleasurable stretching when he breached me that was almost painful. I gasped out a sound that might have been his name when he bottomed out inside me. I slowly circled my hips, adjusting to him. Spencer’s nails dug into my hips as he forced himself to stay still.

“Please move, y/n. Please. You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned as my walls fluttered around him. “Do you like it when I talk to you? Does that make your pretty pussy wetter?” He smirked at my whimper as I tightened around him.

I began at a slower pace, trying to tease him. Spencer quickly lost patience with that; he thrust his hips upwards, meeting my movements, his hands pushing me down onto him. I leaned forward, bracing on hand on his shoulder, the other on the bed. He pounded into me while I tried to match his pace. Spencer’s hand moved from my hip up to wrap around my throat. I nodded, forcing my eyes to stay open as he moved inside me.

His fingers squeezed slightly, pulling my face closer to his. Our lips met in a sloppy kiss. My thighs burned from matching his movements. “You feel so fucking good, y/n.” His grip on my neck tightened ever so slightly, which only heightened my arousal. “I want to feel you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”

He flipped us over quickly, never pulling completely out of me. Spencer moved to push my legs further apart, the change in angle allowing him to fill me deeper than I thought possible. His hair was sticking to his brow, his cheeks were flushed, his breathing erratic. He was the most fucking beautiful thing I had ever seen.

One hand held my leg, the other went down to my pussy, his thumb moving over my clit at a rapid pace. “Tell me what you need, Pretty Girl. Tell me how to make this pretty pussy cum all over me.”

I whined at his words. “Spencer, I-“ my voice broke off. I was so fucking close. "I need you." He seemed to understand my broken plea. He brought his body down, his chest flush against mine. He rocked into me at such a fast and hard pace. His hand still in between us rubbing circles around my clit.  

I felt his lips ghost over my ear. “I want to fucking hear you, y/n.” His speed increased, his thrust getting choppier. He was close. “I want this whole fucking town to hear what you sound like when I make you cum. When you cream all over my dick, I want you to scream my name.” With that, he moved his mouth down my neck. He bit the same tender area he had kissed in the club, where my neck met my shoulder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck yes, Spencer!" I felt myself begin to splinter apart. “Please make me cum, fuck please.” My babbling finally broke as my orgasm tore through me. I couldn’t hear his deep groan when I came, my scream was too loud. I felt the vibration against my neck. It was only as I started to float down that I realized my nails were dug into his back. With a few last thrust and my name on his lips, I felt Spencer pulse, cumming inside me.

We lay there for a few minutes, just breathing before he rolled off of me. I felt overwhelmed, so I was relieved when he tugged me over to him. He wrapped his arm around me when I laid my head on his chest. I felt his lips on my forehead. “It’s very important for women to urinate after sexual intercourse to avoid UTIs, but you have another minute or so before that becomes more urgent.”

I couldn’t control my laugh at his comment. "Thanks, Doc." I kissed his chest. "Only you could make me cum so hard I almost blackout, then go back to being…you." I slowly untangled myself from him, going to the bathroom to handle business. When I returned, I found Spencer where I left him, his eyes were fixed on the ceiling, one hand resting behind his head, the other over his heart. He looked so lost in that moment.

“Spencer?” I asked, crawling on to the bed. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t pretend that something wasn’t bothering him. “When you said that I just go back to being me…Do you not like that?”

My heart broke a tiny bit at the question. “Spencer, no! I love that! I love your little facts and statistics!” How did he not know that? “The best part of my day is listening to you talk. Just being with you is wonderful.” I cupped his face, bringing his gaze to mine. “Sure, I like what we just did; but I liked you before that. I want both.” Fuck. “Assuming you want me,” I rambled quickly. “This doesn’t have to mean anything, I know that it doesn’t always-“

He cut me off by pressing his lips to mine in the sweetest kiss I had ever felt. It was filled with hope and promise and…Spencer.

“It means everything to me, Y/n.”

-

I didn’t see the rest of the team until the next morning when we all boarded the jet; I was so ready to go home. I personally didn’t think anything appeared that different. Spencer sat beside me on the couch, but that wasn’t weird…right? We were just co-workers, sitting beside each other super casually. Had we spent most of last night and a little bit of this morning screwing each other’s brains out? Certainly. But you couldn’t see that…right?

Morgan’s chuckle is what confirmed I was so wrong. “Hey, y/l/n,” he called, smiling so hard it looked like his face would split from his amusement. “You missed a spot.” He pointed towards his own neck.

There was a beat of silence before Hotch snorted. SSA Aaron Hotchner, the man who never found anything funny was laughing at me.

I felt myself turn tomato red, angling my body towards Spencer’s, burying my head against his shoulder, away from the rest of the team.

“I bet you’re glad pretty boy was your partner now, huh?”

I may have wanted to melt into the floor in embarrassment, but it was sort of worth it to see the blush on Spencer’s cheeks.

--

[thebadboyfanclub]

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

-

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her  through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

[beyondspaceandstars]

The Military Dog Tag Dilemma

Relationship: Stucky x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluff Summary: You just want to wear the military tags of both your men but Steve seems to run into some issues. A/N: I am also always a sucker for Stucky writing ok and this was my first personal attempt at it and i thought it came out well <3

masterlist

Bucky gave you his dog togs within weeks of establishing your relationship with him and Steve.

You loved to mindlessly play with them as the three of you cuddled up in bed, enjoying some pillow talk after, particularly long days. Steve spooning you from behind as you laid on Bucky’s chest, his arm thrown around you, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. Your fingers would fumble with the shiny tags, turning them over in your hand, watching the minimal moonlight hit them every now and then.

You didn’t know what it was about the tags that had you so captivated nearly every night. It felt so simple yet so intimate as you stared at your lover’s name and information engraved in them. While you weren’t exactly an expert on wartime, you knew the tags could serve as gifts to partners, assuring your heart to one another. The concept definitely drifted through your mind from time to time, but you never brought it up.

Bucky, however, seemed to be thinking the same thing. Wordlessly, one night, he slipped off the silver chain, tags clinking together musically, and slid them over your head. The coolness of them tickled your neck as the tags fell to the valley between your breasts.

You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was pounding as you ran your fingers around the necklace. Even Steve seemed a little shocked by the actions. But Bucky was fully pleased as evident by the cocky grin he wore watching you ogle at the gift. He had to admit — knowing you were walking around with his name dangling from your neck did something for him.

"Where are your tags, Steve?" You had asked after placing a loving, appreciative kiss on Bucky’s lips. Now that you obtained Bucky’s tags, it only seemed fitting you wore Steve’s as well.

Steve shifted. You looked up at him only to find him watching the wall across from the bed, seemingly lost in thought. "I-I’m not really sure, honey."

You let out a sad hum at the response. "Well, if you find them, let me know," you yawned, shuffling down in the bed to get comfier. "I’d like both of my men close to me all the time."

Since then, Steve had been on a mission to find dog tags. Going through archives, chain of custody notes, discarded boxes… Everything. There was just something about the entire thing that was driving Steve mad. He was honored you wanted to show off the claim your two lovers had on you but he was also deeply concerned about the fact that currently you only had Bucky’s to wear.

While Steve wouldn’t exactly call himself jealous in this situation, knowing you didn’t love him any less, the relationship was established the way it was and he felt you should still have something of his to truly show for it.

This led Steve on what felt like a manhunt for the "damn dog tags," as he kept referring to them when Bucky would check-in asking if all was okay. Nothing was really okay. He had looked high and low for them, going through every potential record in the database trying to at least confirm there was something to even look for.

He pounded his fist against the desk late one night. Steve had pushed you and Bucky to get some sleep, claiming he had some reports to look over before bed. You two had looked at him suspiciously but eventually agreed, planting loving kisses on his cheeks, and telling him not to stay up too late.

"I get cold without both of you there," you had mumbled with a sleepy yawn following. Your words almost made Steve give up for the night but then he caught a glimpse of the silver chain on your neck. Seeing you like that, using your tired, loving voice, he remembered what he was doing this for. It was you. It was all about you and your love for sentimental things.

He grudgingly agreed to be there in an hour and that seemed to please his two lovers. Except — it was way past an hour. The sky was close to daybreak when he hit the desk in frustration.

Pushing the folders away, Steve leaned back in the chair, sighing. Within seconds, footsteps came from the hall and Bucky appeared in the doorway, watching a frustrated Steve.

"Everything okay in here?" Bucky asked, leaning against the door frame.

"Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine," Steve nodded. "Go back to bed, I’ll be there in a bit."

But Bucky didn’t look the slightest bit convinced. He had a knowing look in his eyes which Steve tried to avoid by looking down at the now splintered desk.

"How are those reports going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, letting out an annoyed groan. Deep down he knew he couldn’t hide anything from Bucky but still, worth a shot.

He pushed all the folders away this time, leaving them at the very edge of the desk. "I did have dog tags, right?"

"That’s still bothering you, huh?" Bucky crossed the threshold into the office and made his way to one of the chairs in front of Steve’s desk. He took one of the folders and sat directly across from Steve. Casually, he thumbed through it, waiting for his partner to start talking.

Steve didn’t really want to get into it again as he had probably hounded Bucky about it all last week but acting like it wasn’t bothering him was getting him nowhere — obviously.

"Yes," Steve sighed. "I just want her to have something from each of us. It’s- It’s hard watching our girl…"

Bucky frowned, "I’m sorry, Steve. I should’ve waited to give them to her."

"No, Buck," Steve leaned forward, reaching his hand out. Bucky took the signal and leaned, placing his own hand in Steve’s. "You wanted her to have them. That’s your call. I just feel disappointed I have nothing to give."

"Well…" Bucky hummed, tilting his head in thought. Steve’s eyes furrowed, trying to get his partner to spit out whatever he was thinking. "What if we ordered you new ones?"

"Can you do that?"

"I honestly don’t know," Bucky chuckled. "But I don’t understand half of what you can do these days, so, I’d imagine there’s a way to get dog tags made."

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair, disconnecting their touch. It seemed reasonable and would do the job except for the fact— "But they wouldn’t be in combat or- or from the actual military."

Bucky just shook his head. With an annoyed scoff, he said, "Do you think that really matters to her?"

"I guess not…"

"Steve, honey, I promise. It’s about the presentation, the show of it. Our girl is just looking for something personal from you to keep close to her," Bucky assured him. "Plus, I think we can get it updated and personalized. Maybe even write something nice just for her on the back."

Steve had to admit, his heart was jumping happily at the idea. He really couldn’t argue with anything and agreed to the plan. The only issue was — they were a bit out of touch with ordering anything online. You had always been the one to assure online packages and food deliveries arrived but now they had to take you out of the equation. While excited to surprise you, they were slightly unsure about ordering and had to enlist the help of the team who all turned out to be more than happy to assist once they explained their idea.

A few weeks later, you were laying in your shared bed, back against the headboard, body cozied up under the duvet. You were engrossed in a cheesy romance novel, waiting for Steve and Bucky to join you for the night. Eventually, the two came in, but they were still in their work attire.

You frowned at their appearance. "Aren’t you guys coming to bed?"

As you asked your question, you couldn’t help but note their unusual stance. The two men were side-by-side, standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at you. Bucky had his hands in his pockets while Steve appeared to be hiding something behind his back. You eyed them suspiciously.

"We will in a bit, doll," Bucky said. You watched him as he came around to the side of the bed. He sat down and leaned against the headboard, shifting right next to you, sneakily taking the book out of your grip. "But first, Steve has something for you."

"For- For me?" You asked, whipping your head around to face Steve. He had a bit of nervousness to him as he nodded, making his way over to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Silently, he handed you a small box. You eagerly accepted the item, turning it over and over in your hands. Giving it a light shake, the box made a jangling noise. "What is it?" You asked, wide-eyed looking between the two men.

Steve and Bucky both let out soft chuckles at your excitement. "You have to open it to find out," Steve said. He still had an air of anxiousness, running his hands up and down his jean-covered thighs, fidgeting.

To put your poor boyfriend out of his misery, you opened the box. At first, all you noticed was something slim and shiny. Eyes furrowed in confusion, you pulled out what appeared to be a chain. You could feel a slight heaviness to it — and then you saw it. Your jaw dropped as you tossed the box next to you. In your hands was another set of dog tags nearly identical to the ones you already had adorned on your neck — only this pair were inscribed with the name Steven Grant Rogers.

"Steve-," you gasped, staring at the tags laying in the palm of your hands. You were at a loss for words as you read the tag.

"Are- Are they okay?" Steve asked, his nervous hand came up to rest on your thigh, pulling your attention back to him.

"Are you kidding me?" You let out a breathy laugh. "They’re wonderful, honey, thank you so much."

"You’re sure?" He asked again. Bucky gave him a pointed look for his ridiculousness but that didn’t stop Steve from rambling. "I-I couldn’t find mine so, I got a new pair made. I know they’re maybe not as authentic or something but I still wanted-,"

"You had these made?" You cut in. "For me?"

Steve nodded, "You had Bucky’s, so, it was only fair you had something of mine, too."

You couldn’t hold your emotions back at his word. Tears began forming as you looked at your soft, loving partner. You let out little sniffles as you turned back to the tags, still soaking in their meaning. Bucky placed a light touch on your arm as Steve scooted closer, probably suddenly scared by your tears.

"They’re perfect, honey," you whispered as you looked back at him and leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on Steve’s lips. He eagerly accepted, practically sighing from relief under your touch. "They’re going to go perfect with the tags from my other man." You mumbled and turned to now give Bucky a kiss, who felt very pleased to get a turn to lock lips with you.

Facing Steve again, you handed him the chain. He looked down at it, confused.

"Well, soldier, are you going to put them on me?"

Both of the men chuckled at your actions but Steve happily slid the silver chain over your neck, watching as the tags fell to your chest. Once they landed, they clang nicely with Bucky’s. It sounded like music to your ears.

"I love you both so much," you said, your hand mindlessly running over the pair of tags. "Thank you."

"We love you too, doll," Bucky said. Steve nodded in agreement.

Smiling, you gave them both quick pecks and said, "Now, are you guys coming to bed?"

Bucky scoffed, "How could we ever deny you?"

You giggled. "I don’t think you can seeing as last time I checked I was a special girl."

At your words, both their gazes dropped once again to the tags hanging between your breasts, seeming so at place there.

"You sure are, honey," Steve mumbled, placing a kiss on your cheek.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

join my taglist

[bubblyhoney]

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

-

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

[zodiyack]

A Work Proposition

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Nothing really

Words: 1,370

Summary: The female detective Lestrade has introduced is compelling, and upon seeing her and Sherlock interact, Enola’s cupid skills subtly kick in.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @maan24, @beck07990​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

The woman often hired to work with Lestrade, who was a common friend with Sherlock, had been at her job for a few years now. Lestrade thought highly of his new detective friend, so much so that he introduced her to the well known, Sherlock. His plan was to have them crack some cases they’d been stuck on, two mighty detectives better than one, but he had to get them to agree without scaring them off with the idea of meeting and working with a complete stranger.

Y/n agreed quickly, Sherlock taking some convincing, but the thing was, he didn’t tell either of them that they’d be working with another person. Both, however, showed up with mild confusion. It was his fault, he admitted. Confusion had to have been expected with his letters. The letters he’d sent out for his plea of summoning them went as this;

“Dear Detective,

You’re receiving this letter because I am of urgent need. I would like to request your assistance in a case that has us rather stumped. If it isn’t too much trouble, of course.

Though I will not explain too much of the case at hand, I will give you some convincing, hopefully, reassurance. Fear not for your life nor safety, you will be far from death’s doorstep on this mission.

The rest of the details of the case will be provided upon your arrival. Once informed, you may still have the choice of rejecting or accepting my beseechment. I ask you to at least hear out what I would like to solve before any denial of this matter.

Nothing is required except you and a healthy amount of sleep, for both you and your extraordinary intelligence. Bring your tools, or supplies if you prefer that name more, if you wish.

We shall supply you with any and all information you need, as well as a meal in apology for dragging you away from your personal life. I do hope you take my imploration into consideration.

Sincerely, Inspector G. Lestrade.”

It wasn’t the most specific of information, nor the longest letter he could write, but it would do. He sent it off in the mail then went home and slept peacefully. Early the next morning, Y/n was at his door, up and ready without a trace of sleep lingering on her face, whereas Lestrade had bags under his eyes and was yawning ever few seconds.

“Sorry to disturb your sleep, Inspector. Your letter lacked any instructions for when I do indeed accept...which would be now.” She waited by the door politely as Lestrade walked to his kitchen.

“Come in, Y/n, I would hate to make you stand outside.” He called from the other room. Y/n obliged happily, stepping in and closing the door behind her. A few seconds later and Lestrade was scurrying back to her with another piece of parchment. “My apologies, I knew something felt left out.” He chuckled nervously.

“Oh, it’s no worries, Inspector!” She put the note in her satchel, then faced him again. “I hope you get some rest. Again, I’m ever so sorry to have woken you-”

He held out a hand, quieting her instantly. “Y/n, you’ve done no wrong, there’s no need to be distressed.”

Y/n nodded, approaching the door again but stopping with her hand upon the handle, “Perhaps you should go back to sleep whilst you still can. I’ll see you then, Inspector.” A warm smile was thrown his way before she carefully opened the door and left.

They awaited Y/n’s arrival. Enola had tagged along with her older brother, hoping to be granted permission by both men, more hopeful with Lestrade’s words of guaranteed safety. Both Holmes siblings and Lestrade were sat patiently in his office. Well, in truth, only Lestrade dawned patience.

“Excuse my impoliteness, Lestrade, but why exactly are we yet to begin?” His brows were knitted, blue eyes holding great confusion.

“It’ll be only a few more minutes now.” He commented rather casually as he fished out his pocket watch, inspecting it for a second before placing it back in his waistcoat pocket. “My sincerest apologies for the hold up.”

Like he had promised, a few minutes went by and then- Just as Enola and Sherlock were about to rise, thank Lestrade for the job offer, turn it down and then return home for a quiet reading in the library, knocks sounded from the glass of the door.

Y/n stood on the other side, rapping her knuckles against the door, her eyes trained on Lestrade. He rose from his seat, her hand dropping and the knocking ceasing. Enola and Sherlock looked over, suddenly intrigued with the surprise guest as she stepped into the office.

“Please, detective, have a seat.” He smiled and gestured his hand to the large leather couch against the wall.

Enola scooted to the end, resting her palm and the arm of the sofa, Sherlock scooting slightly to make room for the detective despite there are already being enough that no one would be forced to move. It was only polite, plus, they were still strangers.

“I’m very sorry for my lateness, I got rather sidetracked with the anticipation for this case.” Y/n explained with a sheepish chuckle, sitting down and turning to face the others on the leather seating. She extended her hand to Sherlock, “I know you. You’re Detective Sherlock Holmes...and that must be your sister, Enola, I’ve read fantastic things of you two, marvelous work by the way. I’m Y/n L/n.”

“Detective Y/n L/n.” Lestrade corrected before either Holmes could respond.

“Ah, yes. I am indeed a detective, as Lestrade has mentioned, however, I see no need for either of you two to reference me with such formalities. My work pales in comparison to the Holmes cases.”

“I’m honored you think that, but you mustn’t put yourself down,” Sherlock drawled, a small grin upon his lips.

This peculiar, new woman aroused his curiosity just as much as he did hers. If she were a case, he’d be at work on her for hours at a time and still have towers to unravel. A mystery, complex but something he was determined to solve, shrouded her.

Sherlock had his eyes trained on her, the world becoming silent around him as he took in her face, mind creating a mental photograph he could hold onto as long as he pleased. The details of her features were like a rare piece of art, but not one he could find in the museum. No, she was far too unique, far too rare to be held up in a marble building with works nowhere near as beautiful, as desired as her.

“Now that you’ve made acquaintances, we shall speak about the case! I called you both here without knowledge of each other’s appearances, and I am deeply sorry for tricking you, but I wanted to introduce the two...” his eyes drifted to Enola, “three greatest detectives I’ve ever met. I originally intended on having Y/n and Sherlock work on the case, but I assume Enola would enjoy helping out?”

The older Holmes opened his mouth, ready to confirm his sister would be joining the two, but Enola was much faster. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll be the one to decline your invitation for this case. Nonetheless, I don’t doubt that my brother, or detective L/n, would be up for the task.”

She stood up and left the office. Lestrade was ready to begin his explanation on the case before Sherlock rose suddenly and started after his little sister. He pushed past the people working at the station until he reached her, grabbing ahold of her arm and giving her a perplexed look.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“I thought you said you wanted to help?”

She smiled softly at her brother, “I saw the way you looked at detective L/n the second she walked in. You should work with her, get to know her. Worry not, brother, she isn’t here to usurp your name, only provide whatever assistance she can.” Then, she left the station, her words racing through Sherlock’s conscious the entirety of the day.

Maybe Y/n really would usurp his name...without the illegality of it obviously.

[miekasa]

homecoming (levi ackerman)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: college au, how many ways can i fit levi’s captain status into the modern world, fluff

↯ notes: i love levi :// and i’m out of gifs to put at the top of these, so when i learn how to make headers i’ll let you guys know. also this isn’t proofread rip in peace 

↯ summary: there’s a pretty well known homecoming tradition, and levi’s hoping you’re willing to partake in it. 

“So,” you hum, wiping away any crumbs from your mouth, “Are you going to tell me exactly why you wanted to have a picnic at 2:30 in the afternoon on a random Thursday, or am I supposed to wait for a grand reveal?”

Levi rolls his eyes, and sips on his wine, ignoring your incoming giggles. “Can’t I want to take you on a date?” he clicks his tongue, setting his, now empty, plastic wine cup onto the picnic blanket, “Ungrateful brat.”

You smack him on the arm, mouth open in offense; but Levi’s chuckling, shoulder’s shaking at your reaction. “I am a very grateful brat,” you correct him, “But I am also very suspicious one.”

Levi hums, not bothering to reply. Instead, he separates the two halves of his sandwich, wraps one half around a napkin, and hands it to you. You accept it, albeit a little hesitantly, and watch as Levi pays you no mind, biting into his half neatly.

If it were any normal situation, you’d probably try to snap a picture of him—you have somewhat of an ongoing collection of sneaky pictures of Levi on your dates, particularly when he looks cute munching on his food, much to his disdain—but this was not a normal situation.

Levi is acting strange. It’s not just the nature of this date itself—it may be out of character for Levi to want to go on a picnic of all things, but could be quite the romantic at heart, and often planned very quaint dates for the both of you. It was everything that happened since you set up your picnic that was truly out of the ordinary.

Like the way he seemed distracted, getting lost in thought in a way you hadn’t seen before; and how he kept sweeping his hair out of his eyes, and readjusting his small silver earring. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s nervous about something.

“Seriously,” you say lightly, carefully setting your half-eaten portion of the sandwich back onto the blanket, “What’s this all about?”

Levi looks at you for a beat, once again using his free hand to brush his dark hair behind his ear, then with suspecting eyes, “You don’t like it?”

Your eyebrows draw together at his questioning, confused by the lack of sarcasm, or even hurt in his tone; like he was genuinely surprised.

“What? No, Levi, that’s not what I meant,” you assure him, “I just mean that this isn’t really us. You hate eating outside—you always make us wait for indoor seating—and, if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen a couple go on a picnic in real life.”

Levi reaches to pour more cheap wine into your faux glasses, “I guess romance really is dead.”

You squint your eyes, carefully tracking his movements as he hands you a plastic cup before refilling his own. Levi isn’t one to dodge questions, or any kind of confrontation. Now you know for sure that something’s up.

“Levi,” you call gently, feeling like you finally have his full focus when his eyes meet yours, “What’s going on?”

His gaze softens at your question this time, and you finally see a hint of the Levi you know behind his expression. He sighs, carefully closing the boxed wine, and taking his cup into his hand. With a slight head nod, he motions for you to come closer, and you obiiently shuffle closer to him, until you’re sitting side by side.

You take the liberty of resting your head on his shoulder, cheek soft against his coat. You can hear him take a deep breath, feel his exhale deflate his shoulders, before he speaks.

“Homecoming is next weekend,” he starts, “You’re going, yeah?”

You hum in affirmation, watching as he takes a careful sip from his cup before continuing.

“There’s this tradition. It’s stupid as shit, if you ask me, so you don’t have to say yes,” he mumbles, lips barely off of the plastic, before he takes another sip. “But, if you’re dating someone, they’re supposed to show up to the game in your jersey.”

You snap your head up from his shoulder, blinking at Levi and the implications of his words, as you begin to piece together the mystery of his actions from this afternoon. Levi—your Levi—took you on a picnic, complete with homemade sandwiches and cheap wine, to ask you to be his date to his homecoming game.

Your stunned silence is filled with light breeze that brushes past your hair, and makes Levi return to brushing his away again. He drinks in your expression, grey eyes growing cloudy as he assumes the worst of your silence.

“Like I said, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he explains cooly, bringing his cup to his mouth again for a bitter sip, “I didn’t know if you were going to stick around for the whole day anyways, you’ve probably got other shit to—”

You kiss him quiet. Levi is surprised at first, jolts a little bit when your actions cause him to spill some of his drink, but he kisses you back, a small wave of relief washing over him. At least he didn’t make a complete fool of himself just now.

“Of course I’ll wear your jersey, Levi.”

Most parents and alumni stuck around for the traditional football game, but the boys’ soccer team was always popular amongst students, and for good reason.

Not only did the university’s team have an exceptional record, but they had no shortage of eye-candy playing for them, either. Even the team’s managers were pretty cute. You were certain players like Armin Arlert and Eren Jaeger were not plastered all over the university website solely for their soccer skills.

Though, good looks aside, they were undeniably good, and made a damn impressive pair on the field. However, most of the crowd would agree that Jaeger, Arlert, and the entire team, could thank their captain for their win today.

You step onto the field with a wide grin as you watch Levi’s team wrangle him into the middle of their circle and toss him up in the air unceremoniously. You almost want to capture the moment for yourself, but to your left, Hange is already recording a video you’re certain Levi would threaten to have deleted.

Most of the mob had fizzled away after the exciting win, leaving behind the team themselves, and a couple of students—likely friends or family of the athletes. After their final huddle, the boys begin to dissipate, greet the remaining crowd. Hange leaves you to badger Erwin, who had been sitting out due to an injury.

You spot Levi carefully picking up his duffel bag, and take the opportunity to run up to him, encase in a sudden and warm hug. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Levi has but a moment’s notice to secure his hands around your back and steady your bodies, lest you both fall to the ground from your uncoordinated momentum.

“You played so well!” you exclaim, pulling back from your hug, but keeping your palms on his shoulders, bouncing excitedly, “I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good! You’ve never played like that before!”

Levi admits to tuning out your praise in favor of drinking in your appearance. The green of his away jersey looks good against your skin, the fabric somewhat loose on your frame. His eyes trail down to the sleeve, a minuscule smirk growing on his lips as he reads his last name in all capital letters underneath his number.

“Come on, Hange and I are taking you guys out for lunch!” your words snap him back to reality, “Anything you want, it’s on me, Captain.”

Levi rolls his tongue against his inner cheek. That’s a promise he’d have to take you up on later. For now, he plays along with your childlike enthusiasm, agreeing to your plans.

He motions for the two of you to get going, but his stride is blocked when you refuse to move from in front of him. Instead, you let your hands crawl from his shoulder to his neck, fingers tickling the hairs at his nape, before you pull him forward into a gentle kiss.

“You really were great, Levi,” you tell him again, pressing another kiss to his lips sweetly.

Levi hums, indulging you one more time, before he hears gasps and not-so-subtle exclamations of “Captain has a girlfriend?!” coming from his annoying teammates. He scoffs when he pulls back to see Jaeger looking at him with his mouth open so wide he could catch flies.

“You’re kind of ruining my reputation,” Levi tells you, but there’s no real bark to his tone.

It’s your turn to scoff, slowly trailing your hands down his arms, and eventually back to your side. You turn and the both of you begin to walk, not before you note, “You ruined your own reputation when you invited me and Hange here.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Hey!” you whine, frown deepening as Levi chuckles at you, “You’re not supposed to agree, asshole.” 

Levi doesn’t stop laughing, but gently wraps his arms around your shoulder as the both of you follow behind Hange and Erwin, and back to your car. 

“Don’t think your unusual displays of affection are going to make me forgive you,” you pout, but reach your hand to wrap your fingers around his anyways; Levi doesn’t even bother to hide his smirk, “I don’t care if you scored the winning goal or not, just for that, I’m only buying you one appetizer.”

Levi hums noncommittally. That’s fine, he could think of at least three other things he would rather you do for him instead when you both got home. With and without that jersey on.