#i obsess over the most ridiculous thing but how could they let that slip?

[thisghosts-obsessions-again]

Of all the potential Victorian words of endearment, they had to use "girlfriend" 🙃

[mydarlingclaudia]

you wanna guess the color of my underwear

note : divider is from @/anitalenia. I wrote this because I listened to that Charli and Billie song on loop and couldn’t get it out of my head AND I ONLY FOUND IT THIS MORNING UGHHH this is literally just smut. I also kinda already wrote something like this but I love pussy eater Leon he’s real in my head. mdni

wc : 1k

tags : @lottiies

desc : Leon just loves eating you out. smut!! - oral (f receiving), not proofread, fem!reader, ID!Leon

Leon always paid the utmost attention to you when the two of you were alone. It didn’t even stop there, he’d send you gifts if he could when he was away, always adding a note to let you know how badly he missed you. Other times just finding a way to call you and let you know how badly he wanted to come back home.

And he was eager, too. Even better.

You and Leon must’ve been dating for two years by now, he knows he’s handsome, you couldn’t help but feed his ego day by day. Although, when he’d come home from a mission he’d be stuck in his own head and a lot of the time it was your job to get him out of it. It never took long, you’re pretty sure he’d do anything for you, especially when it comes to making you happy.

Leon’s always ready to get on his knees for you, too. Once again, even better.

You didn’t even have to ask for him to eat you out most of the time. It’s like it was the first thing in his mind when it came to making you feel good, or proving how badly he missed you, maybe even just doing it because he loved having his head buried between your legs.

He’s quick to work happy to please you for as long as you’re willing to let him. The achey jaw and sore knees come with the job.

He doesn’t even wait to get you inside the house today, he’s got you laid out in the backseat of his car, kneeling down o the floor between your legs. The angles odd, but he makes it work.

Leon hasn’t really even done anything yet, just holding your thighs in place atop of his shoulders as he licks over the center of your panties, the skirt you previously wore tossed aside somewhere in the car, he’s still in the suit he wore to work today. This has been going on for five minutes, not that you minded, he bought you these panties for a reason. You’ve been a bit of a tease since before the two of you even slept together, this problems only grown since you found out he’s obsessed with you.

Leon looks up at you through his eyelids all the while, stopping for a plot second to shoot you a smirk.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” You ask him, moving your thighs to adjust the position you’re laying in, only for his grip to tighten.

“No, ma’am.” Leon licks over the wet patch on your panties one more time before he lets go of your thighs and leans back. He takes his left hand, pulling your panties to the side. Leon’s other hand pushes your thighs a bit further apart, then trailing down to let his thumb rub against your slit. His thumb slips between your folds to gently pull them apart, you study his face carefully, letting out a shaky breath as his thumb rubs over your clit.

Leon swallows before he spits onto your already wet cunt, continuing to use his thumb to tease your clit and rub his spit around.

“Don’t take too long,” You mumble, following it with a small giggle. Leon smiles at you, his movements stopping so he can move his hands to help angle your hips up a bit.

“You know I always take care of you.” He whispers, his mouth is on you not even a second later, dragging his tongue through your folds and sucking greedily. The moan you let out is almost embarrassing, your hands go up to dig your palms in your eyes as he continues to lap up your arousal.

Leon’s gotten better at eating you out over the years, you never complained much, previous boyfriends you had had refused to even do this, Leon found that ridiculous. But having his face stuffed between your legs at least once a week was an amazing feeling.

You whine when Leon pulls off of you the tiniest bit, letting your arms fall to the sides of your head as he peppers kisses up and down your slit.

“Taste so good,” He murmurs against your heat, his kisses becoming a bit sloppier as his tongue slips out once again. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Your voice is all breathy when you say it. You gasp when his thumbs push your folds apart again, pressing his face further into your cunt as he sucks and licks at your entrance, his nose bumping against your clit.

This time, one of your hands makes its way into his hair, holding him against you. Leon’s chuckle is muffled against your pussy, you can feel his drool and your juices coating your sensitive flesh, your back arches as his tongue probes against your hole. His movements only get more aggressive after that.

You whine out his name, he hums against your skin and turns his attention to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and running over it with his tongue.

“Jesus, L-Leon- fuck-!” You moan, your grip on his hair tightens and you hear him groan, but he doesn’t let off.

“I know,” His voice is still muffled, “C’mon.”

Leon continues to urge you on, you can’t find any words to respond with, the only noises coming from your throat being moans and whimpers. You cum into his waiting mouth not even two minutes later, he still doesn’t pull away from you.

After he’s sure you’re all cleaned up, he presses one more kiss to your cunt before he pulls your panties back over, giving your clothed heat a soft slap. Leon rests his arms over your thighs and looks up at you as you sit yourself up, his face is all wet, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re my favorite girl.” His voice is a bit rough, you love it.

“I better be.” You pant softly, bringing one of your hands up to run over his tousled hair. Leon’s hands move to run up and down your sides, giving you a soft squeeze.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah,”

“I’ll help you up. Let’s go, pretty girl.”

[yesimwriting]

hii 💗

so im currently obsessed with best friend!felix and wanted to request that perhaps their relationship evolves to a point where they’re practically dating but they’re both unaware of it

thank youu

a/n omg you understand them so well

----

There are certain expectations attached to Felix's name, weaved into each syllable like delicate stitches in a tapestry that depicts a family crest. You're not unaware of what the world associates with him, not oblivious enough to lack a general idea of what most assume when they think of being close to someone like him.

People would never guess that the best part of being best friends with Felix are the little things, the small gestures that show how careful he can be when he cares.

The girls you usually sit with in your last class changed so drastically when they saw him on the bench outside of your lecture hall. They whispered and giggled and twirled silky hair around their fingers. It made something in your stomach turn to stone... and you still can't figure out why. You'd be hypocritical to fault them for gossip.

They eventually started chatting about the type of girls someone like him must like. That only made things more awkward when Felix finally spotted you and waved you over. They gaped at you, and with Felix waiting, you weren't given the space needed to stumble through an explanation. The only thing you could manage was a shy 'it's not like that' and a sentence you barely remember that used the word 'friend' way too many times to be structurally sound. It didn't stop them from begging you for details next class before you finally walked away.

Now, in Felix's room, his hand on your shoulder, firm enough to be anchoring, you can't help but compare reality with what they must be imagining. The only details you can offer them are mundane. A fact that only makes you more protective of these moments. They wouldn't get it.

You're convinced no one can, so why take their comments to heart? Even Farleigh, who actually does know Felix tries to twist your friendship into something salacious, something worth gossiping about.

"You're tense." His voice comes out so low you're not sure if you're meant to respond. Felix's thumb traces circles against the top of your shoulder. "You said you had a good day today."

Felix reads your mood with a talent that'd make you uneasy if he was anyone else. "I did." The words feel flat, tired, even though your day was objectively good. You had time to stop for a coffee before class, a TA handed back graded exams and you did better than expected, and you finally finished your essay. "Just Tuesday and Thursday classes."

He nods once empathetically, thumb pressing into your skin. "Tired?"

"Yeah."

The two of you are quiet for a moment. Lulls in conversation have a tendency to make you feel the need to compensate. With Felix, the silence never asks to be rushed through. "Want to rest your eyes for a little?"

This wouldn't be the first time you took a nap in Felix's room. It's not exactly a habit--yet--but it's circling that territory. Sometimes he'll go to sleep with you, other times he'll stay up reading to you.

The offer is irritatingly perfect. You want to say yes, but you--ugh. This is what you get for talking to Farleigh. This is ridiculous. There isn't anything unusual or potentially romantic about your friendship with Felix. You're close, and when it comes to Felix, close is all consuming.

You briefly let your eyes shut. "Sounds nice, but I--I have a lot of homework."

In one movement, he lets his hand slip down your arm and his head fall against your shoulder. "C'mon," his breath is warm against your neck, "I'm tired, too."

The weakness in your resolve makes you like yourself a little less. You swallow, mentally preparing yourself to fight against your fondness. "Out late partying?"

He sighs against you, the sound more amused than it wants to be. "Oh, yeah, Oliver and I were out until the ungodly hour of 11:30." You move your arm, nails brushing a few strands of his hair back into place. "I sleep better when you're here."

Felix is always so warm, it's nearly impossible to not get caught up in it. You almost told him that he could have come over. That the movie you went to see with your roommate had ended around 10:30 and that the only reason you were dismissive when he called is because of what Farleigh had said in the library.

Instead, you settle for running your fingers through his hair. "I told you, Nadia and I went to the movies."

He sighs again, the sound a little sharper this time, almost a huff. A smile tugs at your lips. Felix looks up, half-glaring-half-pouting. "You think it's funny?"

"No," you try, extending the syllable in an attempt to prove your innocence.

Something shifts, you feel it before Felix moves. He straightens, taking his weight off you, likely in an attempt to lull you into a false sense of insecurity. You lean back, resting your weight on one hand. The bit of space you're quick enough to create isn't enough to save you.

Felix leans forward, hand finding the shoulder farthest from him. It's instinct to lean back further in an attempt to duck out from beneath his arm. The move paired with a laugh that makes you lose balance proves to be a mistake. Felix is too tall, too inescapable. His other hand finds your side and you have no choice but to let your back hit the mattress.

He's not pinning you down, but he is hovering in a way that makes you think twice about moving. "Felix." It's meant to come off as threatening, but you're still giggling and it only makes him grin.

"What?" You bravely lift an arm, placing your palm flat on his chest. You will yourself to push him away. He pulls a hand back, giving up trapping you in favor of covering the back of your palm with the front of his. "You started it."

"Doesn't sound like me."

His smile widens. "No?"

He pulls your hand away from him, and for a second, you think he might be ready to release you, but then he presses a kiss to the side of your hand. The warmth of the gesture would normally make you dizzy, but with Farleigh's words ringing in your ears...it's impossible to fully relax.

His eyebrows pinch together, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you hum, "Just tired. Like you said."

He gently sets your hand down. "Y'sure you don't want a nap?"

"No." You're only human. "A nap sounds nice. Just need to use the bathroom first."

Felix squeezes your hand once before shifting onto his back. His absence leaches all the heat from your body. Suddenly, it does feel like a damp autumn day.

You sit up, sock clad feet instinctually slipping into Felix's discarded slippers. They're too large, and you always have to remember to watch your step when you steal them, but they're so plush it's worth the caution.

There's a familiar bundle of fabric thrown over the back of the desk chair. You unzip your jacket. The cold air bites at you as you slip off the thin fabric. You grab Felix's jumper, instinctually pulling it over your head. The material engulfs you in his essence.

You shut the door behind you as you step into his bathroom. Why is something so small getting to you so much? And something that Farleigh, of all people, planted in your head. He likes to twist things until they resemble something entertaining or beneficial. We're just friends. Are you sure?

What kind of a question even is that? Obviously, you'd know if you were dating someone. Obviously, you'd know if you were dating Felix. So of course your answer was a little forced and awkward. Farleigh should have teased you about it. Instead, he looked at you oddly, eyebrows pulled together almost sympathetically, and told you he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen anyone be that close with their friends. Not even Felix.

Okay--don't think about it. What does Farleigh know about genuine, platonic friendships?

You turn on the sink. Splashing some water on your face will he--a bottle of moisturizer and face wash. Spares that you had picked up for Felix to try, go to's for you during impromptu sleepovers.

You force yourself to look up. Your reflection stares back at you, Felix's jumper sliding off your shoulder, exposing the sleeve of your shirt.

You dab water against your face before shutting off the sink. Maybe some sleep will help. You'll take your nap, and then you and Felix will wake up, and you'll see that everything's the same.

Felix is already beneath the sheets when you step out of the bathroom. You walk to the edge of the bed, sliding off his slippers before climbing into bed.

"Darling?" You hum in response before craning your neck to look at him. Felix's gaze is fixed on the ceiling. "Are y--Did something happen?" You freeze. Has Farleigh been telling other people what he told you? Did all of it circle back to Felix in some embarrassing way? "With us, I mean?"

The clarification is too small, too uncertain to fit him. You lift your head. "What?" His attention is still on what's above. "No." With a sigh, you lean forward until your chin's resting on his stomach. "Of course we're fine." He tilts his head slightly, eyes finally landing on yours. Felix is quiet for a moment, taking in your expression. Treating him differently isn't fair. "Do you think we're too close?"

His expression falters, the slight concern behind his eyes morphing into something more closed off. "You--you think we're too close?"

"No." You don't even have to think about it. Maybe that's what bothered you about what Farleigh said. You don't want to think about what should be different because you know you don't want to feel less close to him.

He doesn't ease, and you can't blame him. You place a hand on his side, smoothing your thumb up and down the fabric of his shirt. "I--just--the other day, Farleigh ran into me in the library, and we started talking and he made some comments...." Felix groans. "About how close we were, and at first, it just felt like Farleigh, and then he said a lot of people assume things and--I--"

"Who cares what other people think?" Felix shifts, his fingers tracing patterns against your back. "We're happy with how we are."

You smile, "Yeah." It's probably easy to dismiss opinions and rumors when you're someone like Felix. You decide that it's okay to borrow his worldview. "I am happy."

Felix grins, available hand moving to grab yours. He kisses your palm before placing your hand back on his side. He squeezes your hand against the space between his ribs and hip. "I'm happy, too."

You grin, angling your head downwards to press a kiss against his chest before laying down fully. Felix's knuckles run up and down your back. It's soothing, making everything else disappear long enough to let you fall asleep.

----

taglist; @vader-is-hot @spiritofbuddha @getosangie @freyafriggafrey @ilovehyperfixating @aryiannarae

i love how much you guys seem to like bestfriend!felix 😭 i have some more requests/fics for him coming,, someone in one of my asks said they weren't sure if i was still taking requests for him and i definitely am,, he's so fun to write for

[nectardaddy]

full throttle | sakusa kiyoomi

chapter thirteen | parking garage | 🏎️

masterlist

The air was silent, a void of sound, the engine turned off from parking only twenty minutes ago - one could hear a pin drop if they wanted. Parking his car in the open space of a garage lot, one he frequently went to just to get away; and one he absentmindedly took her to now because he simply couldn't clear his mind.

Picking her up only to be found breathless, and lost yet again - so he took her here. The, almost to a T, script he made in his mind vanishing within a second as she looked at him. He was absolutely doomed - he couldn't speak, couldn't think, and most certainly, didn't know how to act.

"I really like you." He didn't realize his own words, not noticing they slipped past his lips until they were already in the air. Hanging by a dangerously thin thread, floating, until she finally took them with caution. Her lips parted to speak at the sudden words but closed abruptly as she let the phrase simmer in her subconscious.

"You do?" A gentle, but prodding question asked by her; one that made him feel silly all over again. A question to which he couldn't find words anymore and simply nodded, ridiculing himself within his mind. But thoughts drew a complete blank when a smile peaked at the corners of her lips, a ghost of one, one that made him swallow hard at what was yet to come. "I really like you too, Kiyoomi."

"Damn," he breathed out hopelessly. To which she couldn't help but chuckle, the outburst causing her small smile to grow as she laughed.

"You say it like it's a bad thing," she mused. Wrapping her mind around the singular word forgivingly, tenderly holding as she wanted him to say more. To say what he meant; to not skirt around the thought with sand paper words.

"No," he corrected quickly. "No, not at all. Actually far from it." Finally finding the confidence within himself to look at her, he found himself with lack of oxygen once more. The dim light of the parking garage hid her features well, but he was hopeless all the same. "I'm an idiot for not talking to you, I'm sorry."

"You'd only be an idiot if you stopped talking to me all together." She was teasing him, prodding at the situation with a silly smile on her lips. A phrase he couldn't help but allow a breathy laugh to leave his lips from; one that finally made the tension in the air subside and his shoulders drop.

"I'm not that much of an idiot." A small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, looking to her like he finally managed to reach for something glorious. Fuck, she's beautiful, I am an idiot. "I won't fuck it up like a did in high school."

"What?" You asked in a chuckle, "you liked me in high school?"

"Oh, I was obsessed with you in high school," spoken in an exasperated breath, smile still pulling at his cheeks.

"You're not obsessed now?"

"You're the whole reason I won last week. If that's what obsessed then I don't know what to call it."

a cutesy chapter is coming after this one!

she was actively still in the car with him while sending those texts lmao

he was driving though so it's ok

he can flirt - just a little

kicking my feet at this chapter, it's happening FINALLY

the boy's gc is going to lose their minds over this when omi tells them

taglist under cut (I'M SORRY FOR THE WAIT ILY)

@wyrcan @hilichurl-lover @neuviloved @mayariviolet @wqnsho

@chosugarplum @dontmindtheevie @ilyless @phoenix-eclipses @kitnootkat

@azuremyst99 @wolffmaiden @localgaytrainwreck @eggyrocks @plutosalwayslost

@yuminako @aliensstolemyheart @msameikanevaeh @chizunata @cherrypieyourface

@gra-eae @punkhazardlaw @iheartamora @whoislesiless @whosmarjj

@chemiru @whosmarjj

[lewkwoodnco]

but daddy, I love him! - lockwood x reader

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

a/n - vfvhkefrhu woooo this took a little more time than I anticipated heheh but here it is! <3

warnings/tropes - lockwood x socialite!reader, lil bit of angst, mostly fluff/humour!

word count - 3.8k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Right here, on this plush velvet couch, was where they were going to find her body. They were going to have to scrape her off bit by bit.

It was a dim Saturday morning, and Y/N was rotting in her courtyard living room with two of her friends. Sarah was preening in the full-length mirror, trying to decide if her nose was too small. Hannah was sipping a mimosa on the sofa opposite her, going on about this boy from two towns over who took her to the movies - not that she would ever be seeing him again, given that he was below her station. Y/N thought it was a shame; she couldn't remember Hannah ever showing this much of an interest in someone other than herself.

So there she sat, some unknown frustration distantly bubbling away as she was bored out of her skull. Maybe it was an ungrateful thing to say, but her fashionable lifestyle could feel glamorous for only so long. It was starting to grow stale - as stale as Sarah's obsession with her nose. She stifled a yawn, her eyes wandering to the higher floors, when something made her sit up. There it was again, a little flicker of light reflecting off of something. She mumbled something about a powder room and clumsily got to her feet, excusing herself from her inattentive guests.

It took her a while to figure out exactly where the flash was coming from, but she eventually located the corridor down where she could hear some noises. She heard a set of footsteps approaching her and turned, nearly running straight into a lanky clothes-hanger of a boy laden with all sorts of gizmos, wearing the most horribly ridiculous pair of goggles she had ever seen.

He let out a short scream and clung onto his goggles, and she reflexively caught the supplies that slipped from his arms.

"Who the hell are you?"

He owlishly blinked through his shiny, reflective goggles a few times, before reluctantly slipping them off. All thoughts about his strange attire flew from her head, replaced by one annoyingly nagging thought - he had kind eyes. Soft, trusting, kind eyes, the kind that momentarily knocked the breath out of you.

"I am so sorry..."

Don't be, she wanted to breathe out, transfixed on his eyes. He paused a little and awkwardly gestured to her arms. She glanced down and remembered where she was, hurriedly returning his supplies.

"That's some, um, interesting equipment you have."

He gave a brief smile. "Thank you. Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood & Co."

She frowned. "Lock-wood & Co. That sounds familiar."

"Well, we are a very up-and-coming psychical inv-"

"Oh! The agency that burned down Sheen Road!"

The boy's face took a faint tinge of red, and she immediately regretted putting her foot in her mouth.

"I mean - uh - you have some very interesting equipment."

He opened his mouth to respond when two more figures emerged from the shadows behind them, a girl guiding another flailing and mildly bruised boy, both of whom had donned matching goggles.

"Lockwood, I can't see shit without my glasses. How much longer do I have to make an arse out of myself? 

The girl looked at Lockwood with an injured expression. "And you said these came free from Satchell's."

Lockwood huffed irritatedly at the other boy. "Snitch."

"Boo-fucking-hoo. I told you these wouldn't work." He sucked in a breath to continue but stopped short as he finally registered Y/N. "Hang on-"

"She's alive."

"Damn."

Lockwood gestured carelessly towards the other two. "My associates, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim."

"So you're here about the third-floor Visitor?"

"Yes. We received a report about some footprints..?"

"Oh, right. Those are just below my room. Here." She led the trio to the landing at the foot of the flight of stairs leading up to her room, which was stained with a quickly disappearing smattering of bloody footprints. The other boy knelt and considered the substance.

"Ectoplasm."

Lockwood turned back to her. "How often does the Visitor make an appearance?"

"No clue; I'm blind as a bat to anything supernatural. But the footprints only show up every couple of days, so it might be a while before they show up again."

His associates started examining the scene, and he bid her farewell with a grateful smile. By the time she had returned to the courtyard, she had been gone a bit too long to have her absence go unnoticed by her friends.

"And where did you run off to?"

"Told you, the powder room." She picked up a stray magazine, keeping her tone light. "I ran into some agents on the way back."

"Ooh. From Rotwell's?"

"Lockwood & Co."

Sarah peeled herself away from the mirror, mystified. "Who?"

Her giddy glow faltered. "An agency. Mr. Lockwood was there too. I was just...having a small chat with them."

"What for? They're working class."

"Don't be rude, Sarah." Hannah turned back to Y/N, a pinched expression still lingering on her face. "But...she's not wrong."

Y/N bristled defensively. "I'll have you know they're perfectly respectable company." Better than you lot, she wanted to add.

"Why? They're...poor."

"Y/N, we only want what's best for you," Hannah added in a nauseatingly simpering voice. "And that's...not...with people like them."

She tossed her magazine aside flippantly.

"You know, I wonder how the two of you bear it."

"Bear what?"

"Walking around with your noses stuck in the air all the time."

With that, she exited the living room, fuming. Yes, she was being childish, and yes, it wasn't news that her friends were prone to arrogance, but for some reason, their attitudes were particularly grating today. They hadn't met Lockwood like she had, of course they wouldn't understand. She replayed the feeling of watching him remove his goggles for the first time - unexpectedly climactic, and somehow...familiar.

She was sure of it. They would never understand.

For the next few nights, there would be a Lockwood & Co. employee stationed at the landing, complete with iron chains, flares, and salt. They'd bring along something to occupy themselves, like a book or a 3D puzzle, but it still felt nice to have a short chat with them before she went up to her room. 

With Lockwood, the chats always lasted a little longer, and maybe she stayed up a little later than she ought to on those nights, but really, it wasn't anything special. Little by little, they pieced each other together. She's restoring her father's old radio. He likes his orange juice with pulp. She has an older brother she hasn't talked to in months. He visits his family's graves on the first Tuesday of every month.

The more time she spent with Lockwood, the more she realised how uninteresting she found everyone else. Somewhere between their stilted whispers and muffled laughter, she started to desire something...more. 

"Hey."

Lockwood looked up from his magazine from where he was sitting cross-legged, encircled by his iron chains. He glanced at his watch, startled.

"You're back early."

She wrinkled her nose. "Wasn't enjoying the fundraiser."

"What about your friends?"

"They wanted to stay."

"So they let you leave? All by yourself?"

She bit her tongue. "Nothing wrong in that."

"No, of course not." As he was on the first day they met, Lockwood was quick to be an agreeable companion. But this trait added weight to the few times he chose to disagree. "But...nothing right either."

"It's alright. I'd hate to spoil their night." She sank onto the carpeted steps. "How's the investigation going?"

Lockwood glanced at the temperature sensor placed slightly outside the iron circle. "Temperature's dropping more than usual. Could just be because it's chillier today, but you never know." He looked up, and the moonlight illuminated his starkly pale face. "Do you not have any Talent?"

She hesitated. "A little. Not much, mind, certainly not enough to be an agent. But it was never something I needed to consider. I know people have it bad out there, but I'm just..."

"...too rich."

She gave a wry smile. "What gave it away? Besides the skyscraper ceilings, of course." They laughed briefly, before quickly sinking into a jagged silence.

"What's your home like?"

"It's...it's hard to describe. I don't think I could do it justice. You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

"You should come see Portland Row sometime. Have dinner with m-us. Us. Once we're done with the job. If you'd like."

Lockwood was staring very hard at his sneakers. She found the whole thing highly amusing.

"Lockwood, I'd leave with you right now if I could. Really. It's just...my father..."

Her father would sooner have an aneurysm than let her 'play hooky,' as he would put it, especially with this less-than-glamorous ragtag team of misfits. While it had occasionally been a source of mild annoyance before, she never resented him as much as she did right then. And all that was without considering all the eyebrows that a guy like Lockwood would raise.

The faint moonlight was enough to make out the glimmer of his teeth, the curve of his face, the shadows settling around his deep-set eyes. She ached to know the look on his face, to know how he was feeling. The sprigs of lavender she had weaved into the hem of her dress were heavily perfuming the air, heady enough to make the evocative pull of his gaze strangely irresistible.

She peered at him through the railings, whose shadows marred his face, painfully reminiscent of a prison cell. She slid her hand along the bannister, gripping it firmly. It was moments like these when the rest of the house was quiet, too quiet, that she felt something flutter in her chest. Some compulsion flickering through her tendons to reach out through the railings, brush her fingers across his cheekbone, to have and to hold-

"It's getting late." Lockwood put his coat back on and started gathering some of his equipment. "I think I'll call it a night."

She hurriedly got to her feet too, suddenly embarrassed for some reason. "Yeah. No, me too. I should...I should get some rest."

Still, she lingered at the foot of the stairs long enough for Lockwood to pack away the chains. As he straightened, he turned to her as if he could feel that she was brimming with...something. She wanted to tell him how much she had enjoyed this night, and every night before. She wanted to tell him how happy he made her.

But she couldn't find the words.

"Good night," she said softly.

That was the last of their secret late-night rendezvous, as the Shade finally reappeared the following night and was safely put to rest by Lucy, along with any hopes of a budding romance. 

Five days after what Y/N had thought was the last time she'd lay eyes on Anthony Lockwood (not that she was keeping count), she was quite happily proven wrong. Lockwood and George had paid a visit to collect their payment from her father. 

She was not-so-casually lounging at the opposite end of the living room with her friends. The magazine she was holding upside down wouldn't have fooled anyone if they were paying attention, especially coupled with her relentlessly staring at Lockwood. She had been a little on edge when he had first walked in, hating how their last conversation had ended. But all it took was one of his easy, soothing smiles as he discreetly glanced at her to calm her down. She buried her nose deeper into the magazine as if she hadn't seen it, failing to hold her smile back.

When she had sufficiently composed herself, she peeked over the edge of the magazine to see the boys having some sort of disagreement as her father was writing out a cheque. Lockwood seemed to want to do something and George seemed to be holding him back until the cheque had been written.

As soon as her father had handed the cheque to them, George accepted it with a hurried thanks and a funny bow before practically running out. Lockwood took a deep breath before launching into some kind of monologue while occasionally glancing at her. Openly. Her father's face remained impassive. 

She put away her magazine, mystified as she tried to make out what he was saying, trying to keep the dread creeping into her at bay. Even her friends had picked up on something being amiss as they followed her line of sight.

Her stomach sank as she caught a glimpse of the hard look on her father's face. By now, it couldn't have been more obvious that Lockwood was asking him...about her. She wanted to shake him, yell at him to run away, but some kind of morbid fascination, or perhaps a deep-seated fear, had locked her limbs, forcing her to helplessly watch as the events cruelly unfolded. She knew her father, and she knew Lockwood would never be able to change his mind. At least, she was quite certain.

She snapped out of her haze and leapt to her feet, but it was too late. By the time she had reached the pair, her father was already bidding him a stern farewell.

"...and if you ever talk to my daughter again, I will personally make sure that you never find work another day in London."

Lockwood turned sharply and briskly walked out, his facial features carefully schooled, seemingly oblivious to her hurrying over, or her gasp of despair. He took long strides that made it difficult for her to keep up with him, and he didn't stop until he joined George outside, closing the wrought iron gate between her and him. She clutched one of the bars and he almost immediately wrapped his hand around her.

"Lockwood - "

"You should go back inside before your father sees us."

"Please, listen - I'm really sorry."

"It's alright. I understand."

"My father's never been the understanding type, far from it - "

"I know - I knew that."

"This is all my fault. I should have warned you."

"No, don't...you didn't know I was going to do this."

"We could have kept it a secret."

"And have you sneak around? Lie to your father? Y/N, I'm not above taking the easy route when the situation calls for it, but not in this case. I wanted to do right by you."

Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Lockwood looked as outwardly poised and calm as ever, but with the two of them this close, she could see the frustration simmering in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry - so mad - that he threatened you like that."

"To hell with my agency." He sighed and pressed his forehead against the gate, lowering his eyes to where their hands were clasped together in some pathetic pseudo-embrace. "I know how much his approval means to you. I just wish I could have gotten that."

They were silent for a moment. There was only a gentle breeze but no rustling leaves, and even George seemed sorry for his best friend. It was quiet enough to feel like they could hear each other's heartbeat but from opposite sides of the gate. 

"I'm still sorry."

Lockwood bowed his head. "So am I."

He brushed his lips against her knuckles before pulling his fingers out of her palm and walking out of her life. She watched the two of them walk away, unable to leave the gate and come to terms with what had happened. For a moment there, before her father's expression had shifted, she had felt a glimmer of hope for her happy ending.

But reality had struck, and now all she could do was go up to her room, walk through the empty landing, and sob into her pillow as her heart screamed for the life she ached for so desperately.

She allowed herself the day to grieve, but by nightfall, she had already started plotting her next steps. The next day, she decided to broach the topic at the breakfast table, where her friends were already seated, whispering furiously until she walked in. She sat opposite her father as usual, who was reading the day's newspaper.

"Dad. I want to talk about yesterday. With - with Lockwood."

He gave no indication of having heard her. She could feel her friends' hawk-eye stares boring into her skin. Against her better judgment, she pressed on.

"I think...you should give him a second chance."

She could practically hear her friends salivating in excitement, flinching as her father set the paper down. He had a bit of a temper, no more than her, but it was never unwarranted.

"And why is that?"

"He may not have much, but he's capable, hard-working, resilient-"

"I know exactly the type of person he is, and before yesterday I thought you did too. Or have you forgotten Sheen Road?"

She nervously fidgeted with the buttons on her dress, suddenly feeling trapped and suffocated. This was going to be an uphill battle, she could see that, now that her blaze of self-righteousness was beginning to fade. "That was a one-off," she mumbled.

"Not quite. I rang up DEPRAC afterwards, and they said in no uncertain terms that his agency was one good accident away from being shut down. He's known to behave recklessly and rarely per the law - "

"Have you stopped to think why he might act this way? You've spoken to him yourself - doesn't seem the irrational type, does he?"

He sighed irritatedly.

"Is this really the type of person you want to throw your whole life away for? To tarnish your reputation?"

"It's my life and it's my name. If I wish to burn my life to the ground or throw my name in the mud, that's my choice. You don't get a say in that."

"To do all this over a washed-up, good-for-nothing-"

"But Daddy, I love him!"

"I don't - "

"And I'm having his child."

Sarah shrieked and dropped her compact. Even Hannah was rendered speechless, nervously pulling at her braid. Her father's eyes looked as though they were about to fall out of his head. An uncomfortable, prickling silence followed.

"Okay, I'm not, but you should see your faces."

Sarah gave a dramatic sigh of relief as Hannah released her braid. "Oh my, what a mess-"

"Don't you start." She turned back to her father, fresh out of all the hope and ammunition she had walked into the room with. "Please, Daddy. Never...never once have I complained about any of your rules. Can't I-" her voice broke off as she struggled to hold back a sob. "Can't I please just have this one thing?"

Her father looked unmoved.

"You listen to me, Y/N - stay away from him."

She glanced around the room desperately, trying to figure one last way out. One last way out. That was all she needed.

She found it.

"Fine. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe...maybe he is bad news."

She stood up, wrenching her anxious fingers away from her buttons, poised to run out of the room.

"But I love him anyway."

Lucy and Lockwood were at Portland Row going over the floor plans of the house of their next case. Lucy was trying her best to keep Lockwood on task, but she had never seen him this disinterested in their work. 

She was struggling to hold his attention while he was fidgeting with a pen not very skillfully when they heard an insistent tapping on their kitchen window. They looked up to see Y/N waving at them frantically, gesturing towards the front door. Lockwood leapt up from their kitchen table, nearly stabbing himself with the pen, and joined her outside. There was something very nervous about Y/N's body language, especially since she started talking a mile a minute as soon as Lockwood stepped out.

"God, your eyebags look horrendous in the light. Do you ever-?"

The door shut behind the two of them. Lucy waited at the table for a minute or so, but once it became apparent they weren't about to finish anytime soon, she fetched a book and started to read. About ten minutes later, the front door opened again, but this time it was George returning from the Archives.

"Oh, George, can you tell Lockwood to come back inside?"

"What?"

"Lockwood."

"Where?"

"Outside."

"...outside where?"

"Outside, George. Don't be daft."

George stared at her cluelessly.

"He is still outside...?"

The realisation hit them both at once as they tripped over each other on their way to the front door. They looked out into the half-empty street, and the empty parking space in front of their house.

"George," Lucy asked, feeling majorly peeved by now. "Where is the car we rented for the weekend?"

Over the next month, neither Lucy nor George heard a word from Lockwood. After a particularly intense discussion that day, they decided not to alarm anyone by filing a missing person's report. But he had been absent from public view for a suspiciously long time, and Barnes was starting to find the story they concocted about Lockwood's debilitating illness less and less convincing.

Lucy and George had just arrived home after their latest case, which they were lucky enough to finish early. Lucy flicked on the kitchen light and there, sitting at the kitchen table, as he was nearly a month back, was Lockwood. He looked a little taller and a little less gaunt than they remembered. The three of them stared at each other for a moment, speechless, until the two of them launched themselves at him.

George tipped Lockwood out of his chair with surprising ease while Lucy started yelling at him. The two boys twisted around in their scuffle until George finally pinned Lockwood down and raised a fist above his head.

"Give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't punch your pretty face right now."

Lockwood's scratched and mildly bruised face split into one of his winning smiles, his whimpering temporarily ceased.

"You think my face is pretty?"

George reared back for the punch and Lockwood started shrieking incomprehensibly while Lucy started telling them both off.

"Wait - WAIT - you'll crumple the invites!"

"What invites?"

"To a - uh - how do I put this..."

"Spit it OUT - "

"Wedding!"

"Whose?"

Lockwood brought his arms down from where he was shielding his face, smiling bashfully. The three of them exchanged looks ranging from congratulatory to homicidal.

"What about -"

"He came around. We had lunch with him earlier."

"Wow. That's...congratulations. I just can't believe..."

"I know, we can't either."

"...that you didn't come straight home?"

"Geo- look, George, I wanted to, believe me, I - not the face, NOT THE -"

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @ahead-fullofdreams @mitskiswift99 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @mohinithoughts @avdiobliss @snoopyluver20 @mischivana @dangelnleif

[beybaldes]

I know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand

summer sleepover masterlist

jamie tartt x gn!reader

summary : “am i supposed to just let you go?” / “for what it’s worth, i really am sorry”

content warning : technically a part 2 ‘I’d go back in time and change it but I can’t,’ can be read stand alone, more protective!roy and bestfriend!colin, Jamie’s past is held against him and it hurts his feelings because he has changed, two uses of yn, jamie being clueless, angstyish

an : can you tell I’m obsessed with Taylor’s music? Better man is one of the best vault tracks to exist fight me I listened to it the whole time writing this fic.

Christmas and New years come and go and when the first day back at the dog track comes around you’ve almost forgotten about Jamie entirely.

You haven’t spent a single minute of the holidays thinking of him, and yet, he’s spent every single minute of it thinking about you. In no more then 10 seconds, you’d shattered whatever hope he’d had left that maybe, just maybe, he could heal things over between the two of you. And even after that, you’d still wished him a merry Christmas. He was going to get fucking whiplash if things carried on like this.

It was exactly that which had brought him to Keeley’s doorstep at 6am on New Year’s Day. Roy answers the door and he’s still in what he assumes is lasts nights clothes. Even though Roy doesn’t particularly like Jamie, not after what he did to you, he knows Jamie wouldn’t show up here without reason, so he invites him in. He guides Jamie through to the living room and says he’s going to get Keeley but that they’ll be right back. Jamie knows he must look rough if Roy wants to sit in on the conversation too.

There’s glitter on the floor after the party Jamie wasn’t invited to. He’s knows you were here last night. You may still have him blocked on everything, but Colin doesn’t, and fuck, does Colin love posting you. Posting pictures of you all dressed up for the new year, looking perfect as ever, posting videos of the two of you on his story, taking shots together or dancing ridiculously around Keeley’s living room. Part of him knows that in another life, one where he had been a better man sooner, it would’ve been him in Colin’s place; dancing with you at a party, sharing drinks with you, and if he was really lucky, maybe even sharing a kiss at midnight.

“Jamie! Hi! Hey! What are- what are you doing here, babe?” Jamie can tell she’s just as surprised as Roy was to find him here, but that doesn’t deter him from why he came. He knows there’s only one way that he can become a better man, and that’s by trying. “Here, have a pillow.”

Keeley makes sure each of them have a bright, pink pillow in their laps before she encourages Jamie to talk, leaning forward across her own pillow to show Jamie she’s really listening. Even Roy seems open to hearing him out, stretching his arms out across the back of Keeley’s sofa.

“I need to know how I can make things better with yn.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Jamie’s barely got his words out when Roy’s growled at him and Keeley’s smacked Roy in his chest. He takes her hand gently in his and holds it in his lap and Jamie almost winces at the sweet nothingness of the action. “I mean, they’ve told you to leave them alone, so, leave them alone.” Jamie thinks Roy’s changed too, until a mere second later, he lets out the fakest cough known to mankind. “Prick.”

“Oi, I didn’t come here to get bullied by a pensioner, I came here for actual advice.” And just like that Jamie had slipped back into the shell of the person he’d been trying to leave behind. People like Roy made it all too easy, picking on his weak spots with the smallest of words, and causing all his progress to come crashing down.

“What Roy means…” Keeley interrupted, breaking up the bickering before it could ever even really begin. “Is that you made your bed Jamie, now you’ve got to lie in it. If they don’t want to forgive you, or most on from the past, then that’s their choice. You can’t force anyone to forgive you.”

“But everyone else has.” Jamie whined, head thrown back against one of Keeley’s many throw pillows as he took to lying on the settee instead. “I don’t understand why they won’t. I’m trying so…” Jamie paused, sucking in a long breath. He was trying so hard to be better and he couldn’t say that because strong men didn’t need to be better, strong men didn’t want to change for the people they loved. The smaller voice, the one that grew a little louder day in and day out, said the opposite; strong men do change for the people they love, they apologise and they acknowledge their mistakes (even when it hurts to do so). “I just don’t get why they won’t forgive me when almost everyone else has.”

“Did you happen to forget that, out of everyone, yn is the one you actually, literally, cheated on?” Silence fell over Keeley’s living room for the first time in almost 24 hours, and Jamie was sure he’d never heard something so loud in his life. “That maybe, more then anything, more then an apology, what they want is for you to explain why you did what you did?”

“No one wants to know why.” Jamie scoffed, thinking of the multiple apologies he’d make to partners in his lifetime. Each and everyone wanted an apology, he would give it to them, they’d fuck one last time, and then break up on ‘mutual’ terms claiming that it was ‘for the best’. Obviously, he didn’t want things to go like that with you, he wanted to really apologise and for you to really forgive him, and then for the two of you to work on building a friendship between the two of you. But that didn’t mean he’d ever have expect you to want to know why he did what he did. “They want an apology, and for you to seem sorry, and then that’s usually it.”

Keeley eyed him suspiciously, eyes like daggers in a way unusual and unnerving to Jamie. “You don’t know why you did it, do you?”

Jamie can feel Roy’s hand curl into a fist from across the room and he’s sure that if he was any closer he’d be able to hear his blood boiling. “No.” Jamie answers instantly and honestly. “No. I don’t. That’s just who I was then.”

“That’s bullshit.” Roy’s been speaking more then Keeley has and Jamie’s wishing he’d come over for the help at a different time. “You had a year? Two years? To come up with a reason, and that’s all you’ve got?”

Jamie wants to argue. It’s his instinct to argue. To get in some brutal back and forth debating which of them was right about the matter, ultimately say something he shouldn’t, and upset Keeley by upsetting Roy just so he can get out of the conversation. The smaller voice inside his head that’s getting louder tells him the right thing to do, the thing a good man would do, is be honest. So that’s what he does. “They really cared about me, more then anyone ever had, yeah?” Jamie sits up on the sofa, leans his elbows against his knees and hangs his joined hands between his open legs, pulling at his fingers. “Do you know how scary that is? Everyone who was supposed to care about me just ends up hurting me. So, I beat them to it. Hurt them before they can hurt me.”

Keeley and Roy try and get more out of Jamie but he decides he’s been vulnerable enough today and that he has a lot to think about. He spends the remainder of his time off before the season begins again hiding in his bedroom, and thinking about what he did wrong like a told off child.

He decides that on the first day back at the dog track, he’s going to explain everything to you. He’s going to fully embody the better man he’s been trying to become, the man he knows, that once upon a time you knew, he could be.

Thankfully, you have a very peaceful first day back at the dog track. Colin and Isaac come and eat lunch in your office with you, Will hangs around throughout the afternoon helping you with some errands, and Roy brings you coffee at 4 when he knows he’s heading out for the day but you’ve still got some work to do. You’ve barely taken a sip of the saving grace when Jamie enters your office and locks the door behind him. You simply ignore him, continuing to tap away on your laptop and blocking out the image of his puppy dog eyes from your brain.

“Look, can we just talk, yeah?” It seemed Jamie had a way of making you angry by even suggesting he had a right to your time; you stopped typing even though you didn’t mean to. “I want to apologise, and explain, and even if we can’t be friends again, I just don’t want things to be weird anymore.”

“And who’s fault is it that things are weird?” You asked, closing your laptop and leaning back in your chair, creating as much space between the two of you as possible.

“I know, mine, just let me talk, yeah?” Jamie knew he had to get the words out before you interrupted him again or he’d never say them, never give you the explanation Roy had explained, and Jamie had come to understand, you deserved. “I hurt you because I didn’t want you to hurt me. You know what my dads like, what the other people I’ve dated have been like, and every single one of them leaves. And you didn’t, and you didn’t look like you were going too either.” Jamie took a deep breath, holding his own hands to stop them from shaking. “That was so scary, to me, to have someone care about me like that. And, I don’t know, my brain made me think, like, that you were just waiting to hurt me sooner or later, so I should hurt you first.”

You’d fallen completely silent and it entirely unnerved Jamie. All of it made too much sense and a part of you felt so bad for the way you’d acted these past few months. However, you also knew that while Jamie’s insecurities was an explanation to why he did what he did, that it wasn’t an excuse.

“And I couldn’t just break up with you, because I didn’t want to, and I know my actions might not have show it, but I really loved you. And, yeah, I should’ve talked about it instead of sleeping with someone else and getting you to end things, but I didn’t know how to do that back then.” Jamie sucks in a shaky breath and a part of you yearns to hug him, to tell him to not get worked up about it, but you stay in your seat. “And it fucking sucked because I got what I wanted. And I felt so good about it, that you’d hurt me by breaking up with me and that I’d been right, and then I just felt sad.” For the first time since entering your office, Jamie looks at you. “And I just wanted to let you know, that it was never your fault that I did it, it was mine.”

A long silence took over the office, neither you nor Jamie speaking or even breathing as you took in the weight of the words just said to you. Everyone had been telling you for months now that Jamie had changed and you’d been so adamant it was a ruse, but here he was, pouring his heart out to you with the best apology you think he’s ever given, and proving he was a better man.

You stood from your chair, grabbed your bag and half drunk coffee, and tucked the chair under the desk. As you grabbed your laptop and notebook to take home with you, you finally spoke up. “Thank you for explaining Jamie, you don’t know how good it is to hear that after everything. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jamie brow creased and he moved to step closer to the door, stopping you from leaving immediately. “What? So, that’s it?” When you didn’t answer, Jamie took a step forward, reaching his hand out for yours and finding himself surprised when you didn’t push him away. “Am I supposed to just let you go?”

“You know, Jamie, I missed you every minute of every day for the first 8 months, and then I just wished you had been better.” You squeezed his hand gently and for a moment Jamie felt like he’d woken up from some bad dream and he was still where he was 2 years ago. “And then, I woke up one day, and I didn’t think of you at all.” Jamie knew he’d been a dick, he knew he’d hurt you in a way no one deserved to be hurt, he knew you loved him and he pushed that love away like you’d been offering him a loaded gun instead of the key to your heart. “You would’ve been the one if things had been different, but they weren’t different. And that’s okay, but that means you need to let me go.”

Jamie felt sick to his stomach, god, he couldn’t imagine anything worse to happen to him, and yet, he’d done it all to himself. “Im always going to love you, J.” For 2 years Jamie had imagined you saying those exact words to him, forgiving him for his mistakes and turning things back to how they used to be. It shouldn’t be breaking his heart to hear what he’d hoped, and dreamt, and spent sleepless nights praying for.

Jamie let you leave then, stepping away from the door with a downcast look across his face, and finally pulling himself away from your touch. What if he never got to touch you so softly again? What if this was the last time he ever heard you tell him you loved him? What if this was the last time you let him in your door? “For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

“I know Jamie, I am too.” You took a step forward, but not towards the door, wrapping your arms gently around Jamie, humming against his neck when his fingers clawed into your shirt and his lips trembled against your temple. “I am too.”

You left your office together and walked Jamie to his car, you said no when he offered you a lift home and he didn’t beg you to accept it. Even if you had said yes, you doubted he knew the drive from the dog track to your new place, and you didn’t want to hurt him more by letting him find out he didn’t know you like he knew the back of his hand anymore.

Tomorrow morning the team will be surprised by the fact you say good morning to everyone including Jamie, but for right now, alone in the empty Nelson Road car park, Jamie finally gets it, and he finally mourns the love he once lost.

[praline-elegy]

A small crumb of a Fence fic I’m working on :)

“Tell me about your relationship with Jesse.” Seiji asked, walking in step beside Nicholas.

“This again?” The other boy groaned as the two made their way back to their shared dorm.

“…I thought we made progress on how much you trust me.” Seiji grumbled, the edges of his mouth pressed into a familiar frown. 

“And you thought suddenly bringing this up wouldn’t affect your friendship points with me?” 

“Friendship points?” His nose scrunched in the most Seiji-esque of ways. 

Nicholas exhaled slowly, trying to smother the irritation skimming his nerves. “Yeah, Seiji. This is like, a level ten secret and you’re only at level two, maybe three,” he countered.

“Then how do I bring up these… ‘friendship points’ so to speak?”

“You can’t rush friendship.” Nicholas retorted, but there was something left unsaid that made Seiji look him in the eyes thoughtfully. Whether there was a glimmer of irritation or something else though, Nicholas didn’t hold that gaze long enough to see.

Seiji stared for a moment, before pulling out his dorm key and unlocking the door, oddly allowing Nicholas to swoop in the doorway as he pondered his next words.

“But?” He finally decided on—a single word—extending the conversation.

Nicholas dropped his bags, sweatshirt halfway pulled off his body with his hand on the bathroom doorknob. “But? I thought this conversation was over!” He turned around to look at Seiji, who just stood still in the middle of the room with an intense gaze in his eyes.

Seiji slipped his bag off of his shoulder, answering bluntly. “Yes Nicholas, ‘but’ is a conjunction used to combine two or more independent clauses together.”

“What’s with the sudden English lesson!” He cried in exasperation.

“It sounded like you had something more to say,” Seiji shrugged, taking off his shoes and pulling out clean clothes to change into. “I just thought I’d do it for you.”

Nicholas huffed, tugging his sweatshirt off all the way, tossing it on his desk as he considered Seiji’s comment. Instead of reaching for the doorknob, he turned around, crossing his arms as he slumped against the bathroom door. Seiji’s eyebrow raised, waiting expectantly for him to answer.

Nicholas thought for a moment, letting his head drop to the side as he gazed in the direction of his most prized possession, the little scrap of newspaper with his dad’s winning article on it encased in a protective sleeve under his mattress.

This wasn’t the kind of secret where you could say it and nothing would change, because it was life-altering to know; even if the facts didn’t change, Seiji definitely would. There was absolutely no way that this knowledge wouldn’t reshape the way he saw Nicholas—his worldview of the boy would be so utterly changed! Nicholas didn’t want that.

But…

It would be nice. He supposed, to have someone by his side, apart from his complicated relationship with his mom. 

But Seiji was… he swallowed, closing his eyes at the tiny flutter in his chest. Somebody he didn’t want to lose, not after they’d become rivals, and even more so as friends and… whatever that thing was that happened with the tennis ball in the salle. He opened his eyes and shifted his gaze to the other side, earnestly considering what to do. Seiji seemed so pleased that Nicholas was thinking hard about the suggestion, that he allowed him a moment of respite as he continued to get ready for his post-training routine, occasionally glancing at Nicholas’s face as he pondered and bit his dry chapped lips.

Why couldn’t Seiji just let it go? Why didn’t Nicholas do the sensible thing and put up a damn boundary? He lied when he said it was a level ten friendship secret—as arbitrary as that system was—it was a fucking nuclear S-tier secret and Nicholas just knew it’d break his heart if Seiji was let in on the one secret he had and let it intensify his obsession with finding Jesse in him. 

Seiji would never see, “Nicholas Cox, his ridiculously fast rival who almost got Seiji’s fourth”—No! Nicholas would be:

“The Coste bastard child and Jesse’s younger brother.”

He didn’t want that. Nicholas was his own person, and he’d really hoped Seiji would come around to see that. 

His chest hurt. 

But secrets changed people, the longer they were kept hidden. How long could he theoretically keep that up with no one in his lonely corner? It’d be nice to have someone, even with a bright blue and yellow ducky curtain hanging in the middle…

Groaning in frustration, Nicholas banged his head against the bathroom door, rubbing his hands over his face. “Why’d you have to say ‘but’! Now I’m actually thinking about it!”

“So you’ll tell me?” Seiji treaded carefully, as though one wrong word could end the conversation once and for all.

Nicholas should’ve just said ‘it’s complicated’ and ended it there. Maybe relenting and acknowledging the situation would quell Seiji’s interrogation for now.

But no, his dumbass heart decided to dig a hole deeper than that, pulling from somewhere deep inside his chest with the slightest sliver of hope and profound conviction that Seiji would certainly refuse.

“Only if you’d go on a date with me,” Nicholas huffed softly, shaking his head as he got off the bathroom door, ready to dose himself in a nice hot shower and leave this conversation in the past. 

“Okay.”

“Wait—what?” Nicholas whipped his head around, surprised to find Seiji standing right behind him, much closer than he’d expected him to be in their tiny dorm room.

“I’ll take you on a date.” He said simply. He left off the part that said, "The price would be so easy;” that Nicholas would so easily bend for a sliver of Seiji’s attention. He’d be right though, which was why Nicholas tried so hard to resist that. To be as absolutely volatile as possible around him.

But his resolution was wavering around the undeniable pull of Seiji’s presence. Nicholas could still feel the light touch and hot hot burning of where the dark haired boy adjusted his stance over a week ago.

Feelings are dumb. 

But this kind of dumb made him feel good. 

He was weak to that.

“I—what are you saying?”

“Friday,” Seiji decided, in a voice that Nicholas pretended was just for him; the rasp in that single word caressing his ear. The taller boy smirked, leaning around him to put a hand against the door. “Friday I’ll take you out for dinner.”

Nicholas’s mouth parted slightly, speechless, as a blush spread across his face. 

Seiji’s eyes flickered down for a moment before looking up again. “And wear something nice.”

He turned the doorknob and walked past Nicholas, clicking the bathroom door shut.

Nicholas stuttered, frozen at the sudden turn of events. Before finally realizing—

“Hey! I was gonna shower first!”

[anxious-witch]

I have this mental image in my head of Bojan meeting someone who he hates (who most likely hurt one of his friends (an ex or something)) and ends up being protective as fuck annnnddd starting a fist fight.

Or some Jance but its Bojan who's exposing their feelings to one another in a goofy cocky way (and later he's probably being chased by Kris with a newspaper, because he as getting entertained by looking at the two lovebirds being shy and awkward)

Or bottom Bojan with Kris... There's something wrong with me these days

Basically Bojan's stupid cocky shenanigans

Okay so I did the first prompt (and kind of implied the last at the very end), and I apologize, this was written on the phone and nit proofread so. Make of it what you will. I still hope you like it!

TW for fatphobia(from an OC not one of the boys) violence, slight description of blood and alcohol

Bojan was admittedly, a little tipsy. Which meant he had a little less control over his emotions than he'd usually have.

Which in turn, meant that when he saw a man invade Nace's space, despite Nace clearly being uncomfortable, he felt anger immediately shimmer under the surface.

He faintly heard a snippet of their conversation.

"Oh, Nacko, you change so much since we went to school together! Finally lost that weight, huh?"

Oh, no he did not. Bojan saw Nace flinch slightly at the comment. He grit his teeth and made sure to push through the crowd in the club until he was at Nace's side.

"Hello," he said, flashing his teeth in something resembling to a smile, "and who might you be?"

The man looked at Bojan suspiciously. He slightly towered over him, but then again, most men did. It particualrly didn't concern him. He looked skinny. And dumb.

"I am Nace's friend from high school!"

Right. Judging by Nace's face, friend was a generous title. Bojan narrowed his eyes.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Marko. Yours?"

"Bojan."

Marko. Wasn't that the guy Nace mentioned bullying him in high school? Bojan wanted to seethe.

"Right, Bojan, of course! You are the main vocalist. I remember now. Guess you guys got pretty famous, huh?"

Bojan crossed his arms over his chest and stepped forward, making sure to insert himself between Nace and the bully.

"Bojan. Don't," Nace whispered softly, quiet enough for only Bojan to hear.

Which did make him hesitate. He didn't want Nace to be more uncomfortable, after all. So he swallowed his rage and tried to put up a charming facade.

"I guess we did."

"Never thought Nace would be a part of something like that. Do you know what we called him in high school?"

He felt Nace tense behind him. Rage hit Bojan square in the chest, and he forgot about not wanting to make a scene.

"I would recommend not saying it. Ever."

Marko didn't seem to have gotten a message, or detected his tone. He laughed, making a dismissing gesture with his hand.

"Oh, com'on now. It was all in good fun. You seem like you were popular, even back in high school. You know how things work."

What kind of piece of shit would-Bojan took a deep breath. He let his hands fall from where he was crossing them over his chest to his sides. Then he clenched them into fists.

"I do," he said, very calmly, "would you like to see how I dealt with people talking shit about my friends?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He swung at him, as hard as he could, and heard as his fist collided with his nose in a satisfying crack.

Then all hell broke loose.

Nace tried to pull him back, but Marko managed to punch him in the jaw, and Bojan taste blood from a slip lip. He attempted to push against Nace to give another punch, but Nace didn't budge.

Just in time for the bouncers to arrive and very firmly escort them out. Marko swore at them, saying he didn't even start the fight. Which looked ridiculous with their heigh difference. And Bojan did ocassionly use the influence he had to get his way.

"A bit of an obsessive fan, that one. Sorry for the trouble," he whispered to the closest bouncer.

He got a nod of understanding in response and they actually let him go, while they continue escorting Marko out. Bojan made sure to flash a quick grin in his directon.  Which prompted  new wave of swearing, before it got drowned out by the the music.

"What did you do now?" Kris asked sharply just behind him.

Bojan turned around to face his very annoyed boyfriend.

"He was mean to Nace!"

Kris raised an eyebrow. He didn't look very impressed. Bojan did his best not to pout.

"He is telling the truth," Nace said, making Bojan jump.

When did he come around? Hmm. Maybe Bojan was a bit more tipsy than he thought.

Well. That was a thought for later. For now...Bojan threw his hands around Nace, pulling him into a hug.

"I will fight all the bullies for you!"

Nace chuckled and returned the hug. Bojan leaned his head on his chest. He really did give the best hugs.

"As much as I appreciate that, I'd prefer you in one peace. He did get you good with that punch. That's probably gonna bruise."

"Where?"

Bojan groaned at Kris' question and lightly slapped Nace's shoulder.

"Look what you did! He is going to go all mom friend on me now!"

Nace simply rolled his eyes and withdrew from the hug.

"Perhaps that would stop you from getting into fights more often."

Bojan pouted and was about to say something about how much Nace actually appreciated being defended, when Jure yelled Nace's name.

"Nace! Jan is arguing with someone over math problems again!"

Nace sighed.

"I better go, before that turns into a fist fight, too."

Then he left, leaving Bojan at Kris' mercy. Kris, who pulled him to the quieter corner, where there weren't so many people.

"Let me see that bruise."

Kris gently raised his chin so he could look at it. If he could see anything with the club's flashing lights.

"Tehnically, it's unlikely the bruise already formed-"

"Just be quiet for a minute, for the love of god."

Bojan closed his mouth with a click. He knew it was due to the alcohol that his emotions were this unstable, but he suddenly became aware of just how much Kris must be annoyed with him.

"Hey," Kris said, his voice softer, "I didn't mean-you just worried me, that's all. How about we go to my place so I can take a proper look at that?"

Not everyone understood his and Kris' relationship, saying they always bickered. What they didn't understand was that, as much as they bickered, it was never intentionally hurtful. And sure, sometimes some lines were crossed, but they always apologized for it.

Bojan looked up at him and smiled. Colorful lights reflected in Kris' blue eyes and Bojan felt as starstruck as he did everytime he gave himself time to think "Holy shit, this guy is my boyfriend".

"Did I ever tell you that you have very pretty eyes?"

Kris rolled his pretty eyes at him. Rude.

"Yes. On an almost regular basis. Now let's get you home, okay?"

Bojan pouted.

"Don't I at least get a kiss for that?"

Kris shot him a glare, but Bojan could see the softness underneath it. So he got on his tiptoes and wrapped his arms around Kris' neck, reaching for his lips. Kris met him halfway.

The kiss started soft and sweet, but quickly turned more passionate as Kris pressed on the cut on his lip. Bojan moaned and pulled him closer.

It was only when Bojan pulled on Kris' hair that the younger broke the kiss and stepped back.

"Let's try not to give everyone a show in the club."

Bojan grinned.

"Does that mean I get a reward for being a good friend when we do get home?"

Kris pressed his lips together and walked towards the door without an answer. Bojan laughed as he ran after him.

Perhaps tonight was a complete waste, after all.

[croc-odette]

The famous poster in Mulder’s basement office does not say “I believe,” but “I want to believe.” A two word distinction that is imperative not only to Mulder’s character but to the progression of the show. Asked by a therapist in season one about the voice in his head that says his abducted sister will return unharmed, “Do you believe the voice?”, Mulder answers in voice-over as the episode ends with him crying in a church, “I want to believe.” For Mulder, belief in aliens, witchcraft, and other ‘spooky’ things is not for fun or without doubts; it is a willful choice that he throws himself behind. Belief in aliens, and therefore in the idea that his sister was not just kidnapped and murdered, is a modern proxy for belief in an afterlife. A recent real-life example is how people like to think there is a 'simulation' operating everyday life, a scifi-fantasy alternative to believing in divine will, rather than a series of random events on a rock in space. Mulder's interest in the paranormal is a bandage over a deep wound, originating from a childhood trauma and becoming an adult identity. 

“I want to” shows the doubt, however. Not the straightforward “I believe” of a churchgoer, but the “I want to believe” of a priest looking for answers. Much like clergy who struggle with their faith, Mulder has researched and archived various supernatural instances, across histories, cultures and the Americas. It is so ingrained into his life that his interest in the supernatural acts as his career, friend group, and hobby. But the “want to” means he does not believe, or at least that he does not do so in the complete way one would “believe” in gravity or breathing. It takes effort and a deliberate choice to believe in the paranormal, and he does so not because he can’t imagine being a gullible so-and-so who thinks there aren’t such things as shapeshifters and bigfoots, but because he prefers a life where he believes, even at the cost of (pun incoming) alienation. Mulder, even though he wants to believe, and has reason to, still has a contrary part of him that wants reassurance and real evidence. The X-files are in part fueled by his belief there is something out there but also that he needs proof, and when opportunities to find “the truth” slip from his fingers it becomes clear how exhausting the chase is becoming over the years. Mulder breaks the rule of faith, by refusing to let his belief go unproven. 

Mulder’s belief in aliens finally weakens, to the point that he casually says that he’s “not sure if he even believes in that stuff anymore”, after Scully’s brush with terminal cancer. The cancer, the result of Scully’s “abduction,” is revealed to be connected to the US government. The connection is double-edged; if Mulder accepts that the US government has been faking abductions to an absurd degree, it also means they could have a way of curing Scully’s cancer. It is one outlandish hope for another, and when an agent implies the government has answers “to the thing he wants most,” Mulder’s immediate thought is not the location of his sister, but of a way to save Scully. The desire to go back and undo his childhood trauma by finding a way to make it unfinished is overcome by the desire to save his best friend in the present. Decades of research and accepting social ridicule give way to simple, human connection. 

I want then has nothing to do with belief-- it suddenly has everything to do with wanting, flat out. Wanting a cure. Wanting a friend to live. Wanting to avoid grief in the first place rather than finding a dogma that creates a Daedalian maze around it. I want skips straight past all the crying-in-churches and searching-for-answers that faith requires.

Mulder’s obsession with the cosmic and unreachable isn’t pointless; it just can’t replace the earthly and human. The supernatural does not answer back; the earthly does, in the form of a frowning and comfortably morbid woman playing at being the straight man. The supernatural does not provide any kind of lasting relief. Scully does.

-a google doc that's been sitting in my drive for like 4 years

[echoalyssa]

Through His Window | Marcus Baker

Authors Note: Marcus is 18 in this and will be for every time that I write for him! Plus look at the boy, as if he’s 15 😒 I love this boy with all my heart, and could not write about anyone younger than 18 ever. Oral sex! Female receiving.

Y’all get yourself a man (or a woman) like this. I never KNEW until i experienced it. Don’t settle for less!

It’s late at night when you scurry across the street and into the Bakers’ yard. Normally it was your boyfriend climbing through your window, but today, or rather tonight, you decided that you wanted to switch it up.

You reach for the lowest branch of the tree below Marcus’ window, hauling yourself up and wedging your foot into the crevice before reaching for the next branch.

Its really not the most comfortable, stray leaves and twigs hit you in the face and if you weren't wearing leggings you'd certainly have some very scratched up legs.

Thank god it wasn’t a fern tree, that would be utter hell. How Marcus climbed up so gracefully was beyond you.

You finally reach his windowsill and with a might haul, you manage to pull yourself up. You wiggle so that a butt cheek and a thigh rests on the ledge, your other leg still on the tree branch and then you push the window up.

Luckily he hasn’t locked it, otherwise this whole thing would be ruined. Plus, stairs were boring.

You focus more on climbing into the room safely than looking for him. And when you’re seated on the floor, gasping slightly because it sure was a workout, you look up.

Marcus is standing by his dresser just staring at you, looking downright shocked. He blinks, his jaw opening and closing like a fish. His eyebrows rise and then fall again.

“Hey baby!” You say with a giggle.

He blinks another confused blink and then his face lights up. Your boyfriend crosses the room to you and then hauls you up so he can kiss you.

You melt into him, the ever so present fact that the two of you fit together like puzzle pieces looming over you.

“What are you doing here?” He asks with a chuckle of disbelief after he’s pulled away.

You stroke your jaw and grab your crotch, like teenage boys did for their instagram pics. “I’m Marcus Baker. I crawl through windows at night.”

He eyes you, and then simultaneously the two of you break into laughter.

Your fingers find the hem of his tshirt and you tug lightly, before backing away from him to slide off your shirt (one of his old ones, though it unfortunately didn’t smell like him) leaving you in those black nike running shorts that you loved.

He obliges, not because he enjoys being shirtless but because he likes you in his clothes. Or nothing at all. He wasn’t picky.

You slip it over your head and then dart for his bed, you fling yourself onto the mattress and your body bounces back up after impact.

He darts after you, jumping on top of you and pinning you to the mattress. His fingers go to your sides and he begins to tickle you, knowing all the right places.

You squirm, all giggly and thrashing. You can feel the lack of air and you smack at his shoulders playfully, trying to escape his wrath.

He pulls back, knowing you need to breathe. “Give me one good reason as to why I should stop.”

You gasp, and gasp again, sucking that precious air back into your lungs. “I-I-“ You suck in more air, a stray giggle following. “I’m horny!”

At that his eyebrows raise and he peers down at you. “Horny eh?”

You nod curtly and then for extra effect add a little army salute.

“I’ve got a spectacular solution for that problem then miss. Will you allow me to assist you?”

“Yessir!”

He rolls over to the right of his bed so that he’s no longer on top of you and then pats the space between the sides of his head.

You give him a blank look.

“Ride my face babe!”

You feel your eyes blow out wide. Oh. OH. “Isn’t that dangerous? What if you can’t breathe?”

“Death by thick thighs, I would not complain!”

“No death Mar!” You exclaim.

He pats the mattress again. “Bless me with the glorious juices of your body.”

This kid. This kid would be the end of you.

Reluctantly you tug the shorts off, and because of the built in underwear you didn’t need to wear underwear. You straddle his chest first and look down at him.

“Are you sure?”

You knew he loved eating you out, loved cleaning you up and he loved giving. But you’d never sat ON his face before.

Slowly you scoot up, seeing his face disappear between your thighs. Though you hover over his face, reluctant to put too much weight on him.

His arms wrap around your thighs from the back, his palms resting on your hips, and then abruptly he pulls you down onto him.

His lips land on your clit and you gasp, trying to rocket back up but he holds you there, his grip firm but not tight.

He drags his tongue through your lips and you whimper. It’s always so good when he does this, but the fact that you’re on his face is ridiculously enticing even if you’re still worried. His tongue then flicks upward and- he catches your clit and your hand shoots downwards, wrapping in his hair.

“Oh god-“

He groans from underneath you and you know it’s because he loves the way you taste. The vibration of the groan rockets through you and your legs shake.

His tongue picks a steady rhythm on your clit and you find your hips rolling forward ever so slightly.

“Is that o-okay?” You gasp out, worried you’ll hurt him.

He lets out a ragged moan in response and tugs you further into him.

Something about this angle, about this position, it was stirring a fire in your belly already. If only there was a mirror, if you ever did this again (and you had a feeling you would) you’d definitely be adding a mirror to the equation.

Your body is succumbing to him, you fall forward, grabbing the headboard for support, fisting his hair.

His tongue stays steady and when he needs a slight break for air he’ll pull you off just slightly before tugging you back onto his face.

Your eyes are glued to his face between your thighs, the source of all the pleasure coursing through your body. At the way just his eyes and forehead are visible below you. His gaze flickers to you occasionally, watching your reactions every time he changes the angle and alters the pressure.

He drags his tongue down to your opening, plays with you there for a bit and then returns full force to your clit.

It’s enough to make you keen out his name.

“M-mar-marcus b-babe p-please” You beg.

The sound of your voice, racked with your impending orgasm and the taste of you does him in and his tongue speeds up, his lips curl around your clit, he sucks on it, like a cherry.

“Oh I-“

Your legs are shaking and you knew that if you wanted to pull off of him you wouldn’t be able to. You hoped he was doing okay on oxygen down there.

It hits you like a truck. Like the first time you vape but have no idea what it’s like. But harder. Your entire body seizes up and then… heaven. Euphoric bliss.

You release onto his face, into his mouth and he laps it all up, urging you through your orgasm and then further. He’s obsessed. His arms keep you pressed onto him.

Your hips jerk, reaching over sensitivity but he doesn’t stop. Instead Marcus keeps going, showing your body how it’s down. What a real orgasm is. You’re seizing above him and the pleasure just won’t stop.

Eventually his pace slows and he slowly pulls off. He helps you lay down next to him, where your entire body is shaking, especially your legs. Who knew post orgasm shakes were really a thing?

He grins at you, mouth and chin glistening with your liquids and then as you watch him, he uses a finger to collect and literally cleans himself.

It’s about one of the sexiest things ever and you don’t think you’ll ever recover from this. Not that that would be such a bad thing.

[lovelybarnes]

scars- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: heavy mentions of insecurity, focus on scars, injuries, blood, wounds, canon violence about: requested! (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc. + (PF26) person a wiping person b’s tears away a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! i hope this is what you wanted and that you liked it!!

[ @tylard-blog1 ]

you’re aware that everyone on the team has them; natasha romanoff, even steve rogers, with his unbreakable milk skin, and bruce banner, with the green that tinges the hue of his temples when a scar is made. they’re reminders of what you do, some symbols of the lives that you’ve saved-- and others the lives that you’ve taken.

yes, everyone has them, but that doesn’t make you like the ones that litter your own body very much. nor does it stop you from looking away from them when you catch a glimpse of the scars that peek out of the clothing you specifically choose to hide them away from the curious eyes of the public. it doesn’t stop the frustrated tears that ebb in your eyes when you run the tips of your fingers over the raised tissue.

sometimes you realize how unfair it is of you to hate the scars that splay on your collarbone, and the ones that run across your hips and thighs, when you press your lips against the ones on bucky’s shoulder, pleading for him to believe you when you say you think he’s beautiful. the thought lingers when you playfully roll your eyes at natasha on the rare moment when she narrows her eyes at the healed bullet wound that sits above her hip, genuine words assuring her she looks great no matter what slipping out of the same mouth that utters ugly words at the mirror. you ignore it even as it guilts you when you touch the scars on bruce’s arms with featherlight fingers, pressing that they don’t make him a monster, or any of the hideous words with which he describes himself.

you try to tell yourself the reassurances apply to you, too, because they’re true-- the scars don’t diminish the beauty of your smile, or the glow that you carry, and they shouldn’t hinder the upwards pull of your lips when you catch a glimpse of them in the mirror-- but even as you try to convince yourself of that, your eyes always flit away, hand positioning itself in front of the scars as you examine the way you’d love yourself without them.

you were never aware of the blue eyes that caught your moments of dislike for yourself, missing the bead of worry that embedded itself in the cerulean of bucky’s irises.

-

it was on a particularly bad day of yours that one of your relatively smaller missions was scheduled. listed underneath your name was bucky’s, although he was only on there because he had demanded you never to go on a mission to an active hydra base alone, even though he knew you could handle it; you didn’t mind, always enjoying the quiet moments you got on the quinjet with bucky-- and the pilot, usually clint or steve, who bit their tongue, unlike sam or tony.

it would’ve been fine on any other day, but your day hadn’t started on the best note. the scars underneath your clothing seemed to burn every time you moved in the way they had when you first received them. you had stared at them for far too long, wishing you had the super-healing of the asgardian gods or the super soldiers you surrounded yourself with, who would never get permanent scars from the things you had experienced. they felt especially ugly sitting on your skin, making you want to lay in bed all day, pretending they didn’t exist.

your mission cut off your day of wallowing in your bed, forcing you to shove on your suit and sit in the quinjet to arrive at the mission you could’ve easily handled by yourself had it been another day and you had felt any other way.

you were from the same black widow program natasha was from; you were probably impossibly better, more ruthless and uncaring because from the moment you were born, you had nothing to lose, no family to protect, no memories of a childhood--even a fake one-- to hang onto. your movements were always calculated and perfect, like they had been forced to be, and your emotions were never supposed to cloud your anything-- they never did, except for when you had the days that knocked you off your feet, just like these.

nevertheless, you were distracted in the base with bucky, although you shouldn’t have been, considering the delicate information you were handling. you flawlessly did the routine of knocking guards unconscious, ignoring the way a harsh heat flashed in your hip when bucky’s hand touched the place where one of your more brutal scars was. it felt nearly as if he could feel it under his fingers, even though it was a ridiculous thought considering the material of your tac suit.

it was still going relatively fine; you had recovered the usb file you had been assigned to secure, and most of the guards were dead, fallen in a trail that created a clear pathway for bucky to find you, usb drive clutched tightly in your hand as you bled out on the floor, a knife thrown next to the pool of blood quickly forming underneath you and the person who had done it lying dead a few feet away. your gun was in your other hand, one of its bullets embedded in the hydra agents’ chest. bucky could hear the strangled gurgles of breathing coming from the agent, but he paid no attention to him as he rushed to your side, eyebrows furrowing as his hands reached the stab wound. you hissed sharply when you felt the cold of his vibranium fingers meet the burning hot of the injury, pressing down hard as lightly as he could while he mumbled something into the comms you never used. you were suddenly gathered into his arms, cringing when you heard a scream you didn’t realize was yours until you felt bucky’s lips moving in reassuring sentences next to your ear, a string of apologies falling from his lips. you never let go of the drive, desperate to keep hold of something that connected you to the real world, not wanting to focus on your other alternative: it was irrelevant when compared to everything else, but through the blinding red of pain, the only thing you could focus on was obsessing over the fact that a new scar would inevitably heal in place of the stab wound-- one you knew you would survive because you’d survived a hell of a lot worse than it, but the next ugly thing to form in your abdomen might just make you never want to see yourself again.

warm tears rolled down your cheeks as bucky carried you back into the quinjet, one of your hands tiredly fisted at bucky’s shirt, trying your best to stay awake but ultimately failing from the loss of blood and will.

-

it’s stupid. you’re aware, but your first thought when you open your eyes again is how there is yet another scar that will form on your abdomen, making tears rush to your eyes in frustration because it was your fault it was there anyways. had you just paid attention-- just not concentrated so on the wretched things, a new one would not be forming right now. the collection of ugly tissue that littered your skin was already too large.

the frustration you felt overpowered the painful numbness that settled over the wound in your abdomen, making dried tears spring back to life and dribble down your apple cheeks, alerting your boyfriend of your state. “doll? what’s wrong?” he asks, and at the sign he’s there, listening to your whimpers and audible disdain, the dam breaks loose, your hands reaching up to your face and tugging at the gash.

bucky’s up on his feet, tender hands circling around your wrists to pull them back down, “y/n, what’s wrong, doll?” he repeats, gentle blue eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. you squeeze your eyes shut, another salty trail making its way onto the bow of your lips. bucky’s warm fingers wipe away the wetness, his fingertips light.

“baby, please tell me what hurts,” he begs, his vibranium hand making its way into yours. you shake your head, squeezing his cold fingers. “i hate them,” you mumble, feeling his palm cupping your jaw, “i hate them so much.”

“hate what, honey?” he questions gently, brows furrowing further when he sees your hand curling into a loose fist above the place where his hands have lovingly settled: right on your scars. “i’m sorry,” you cry quietly, nose scrunching up when his fingers trace over the tissue he’s memorized the location of, “i hate them. they’re ugly and i hate them.”

“these?” bucky inquires, surprised. he lifts your shirt-- really, his-- to see the object of your tears, catching when you shut your eyes again and more tears drip off your jaw.

“bucky, no--”

bucky looks up at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “y/n…” he starts sadly, pulling away to get you to look at him. “they’re not... “ his eyes flick down to one of the scars, and he taps on it gently, “d’you remember this one? it was a couple years ago when i barely joined the team.” you can feel a lump growing in your throat, perfectly able to recall where you got it.

“you barely knew me back then, but you did know i was a super soldier, and you jumped in front of that bullet anyways. god, i knew i had to ask you out before someone knocked sense into anyone else.”

you sniffle, biting your lip, “this one,” he touches another one, “you saved nat and a little girl from a madman. her parents were so thankful they stayed with you until you woke up to thank you.” his finger wipes away another tear, “she invited me to her birthday party this year,” you snivel, and bucky smiles.

“these are not ugly-- you are not ugly, i promise.” he tells you. “i love you, every part of you--” his head suddenly ducks down, and you can feel his lips softly pressing against the scars, careful to avoid your newly forming one. your hand reaches his jaw, running your nail along his stubble as more thankful tears slip from your eyes. “i love you,” he repeats, kissing your lips.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips, sniffling as you feel the burn on the scars slowly begin to disappear with the coolness of bucky’s vibranium fingertips.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[tetsunormous]

Reencounters

pairing: Matsukawa Issei x f!reader

genre: college au, friends to lovers, smut (18+), fluff

word count: 6.5K

warnings: cunnilingus, fingering, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampie, swearing, nipple play, pinning

A/N: This is for Ria's @bakugohoex's rich boy collab 💜 Congrat's on 3k!! thank you to @ohno-otome and @armins-futon for reading this for me. I love matsukawa but I don't write for him often so this has been really fun :)

Walking into your new dorm room, you weren’t sure what to expect. Sure, you’ve seen the pictures online, but there’s nothing like the slightly dusty window letting in a hazy ray of light shining down onto the slight dip in the middle of the mattress you now call your own. Your desk almost touched the corner of your twin-sized bed, and your new bookshelf barely has enough room to fit half of the books you brought, but this was your new life. It didn’t dawn on you just how different university would be until you arrived this morning, but here you were, unpacking all your clothes into the cramped closet in the corner. Luckily, you’re in the building where you had a single room. Privacy was something you were worried about, and the communal washrooms will be something to get used to, but either way, this was a new start, and no matter how nervous you are, you’re grateful for it.

High school wasn’t terrible, but it definitely wasn’t what you expected it to be. Going into it, you obviously knew that it would be nothing like how the movies depicted, but you were excited. How bad could those four years really be if you had your best friend right by your side? He was incredible. He understood you better than anybody else, would be able to tell how you were feeling without the exchange of words, but most of all, he was your person, and you were his.

There was no doubting that in all your years of friendship.

But alas, like all good things in life, they must come to an end.

The summer going into the twelfth grade, he was longer your best friend. The boy that would go to the farmers market with you and your mom every other Sunday was now lining up for the newest sneaker drop. The boy that would rather spend the night at home and binge-watch your shared comfort show for the seventh time is now out with the boys sneaking into shisha bars and doing donuts in the community centre parking lots with their new cars. You watched as he slowly forgot about you, getting caught up in his new friendships and obsessing over material items that he never cared about before. It’s not that you were upset he found new friends. It’s that the only time he would reach out was to randomly drop off something he had bought you in hopes it would make up for him blowing you off again.

They started small, simple sweaters he knew you would like, but the gifts became almost ridiculous as time passed. He would never let you return them either, so now you have designer shoes for imaginary banquets. Of course, you were always grateful, but you would trade all his gifts just to spend time with him again. His family has always been wealthy, they always went on lavish vacations and drove the nicest cars, but you never really cared about what he spends his money on or just how much his parents make. You cared that he saw you as a person he wanted to be with rather than just someone he could shove gifts towards to make up for the quality time he’d miss.

But now you’re here. You were arriving three hours before the suggested move-in time because you didn’t want to be rushed to unpack before orientation starts later. You’ve seen a few people walking around on your floor, but neither of your neighbours have arrived, and honestly, you don’t mind because that means you’re able to blast your music without worry. As The 1975 fills your room, you stand still for a second, really taking in where you are. You’re now attending one of the best schools in the country, living on your own with a floor of people you don’t know yet. It starts to sink in that you are starting anew. The people who end up in the rooms next to you might just end up being your lifelong friends. As the song comes to an end, you decide it’s time to try to make yourself look a little more presentable since it’s almost time for people to start rolling in.

...

It’s almost five in the afternoon, and everyone on your floor is meeting outside on the field for a quick introduction before group dinner. You’re sitting with your knees pressed to your chest as the girl next to you tries to make small talk. To be fair, she’s incredibly sweet, but you can’t focus on her because somewhere behind you, there is a voice you think you recognize. There’s no way he would be here. Sure, you have no idea what school he ended up choosing, but if he ended up here, he would’ve at least texted you. Right? Before you can confirm your suspicions, orientation starts, and your group leader is already talking with more energy than you can handle.

The group of guys settle down close by, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over, wondering if you’ll see the head of brown curls. Instead, you’re met with a bunch of frat boy looking wannabes that instantly make your eyes roll. To say you’re disappointed that you didn’t see him was so stupid. It’s been over a year, yet here you were, hoping to magically bump into him as if this was some cliche movie. If anything, it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating that even though he stopped caring for you, you still longed to see him, to hear him laugh at one of your cheesy jokes. It’s even more frustrating that this new start you’ve been looking forward to, makes you miss him even more.

There are only sixteen people on your floor, but introductions take a lifetime because someone didn’t come on time. When they finally do show up, you almost laugh at this whole situation because, of course, it was him. Of course, he was strutting down the courtyard in some brand new Gucci sneakers and the same Balenciaga sweater he had bought for you a few months ago. Of course, the annoying group of boys behind you gesture for him as he quickly apologizes to the group leaders. And, of course, when you make eye contact, he’s the one looking at you with a mixture of shock and annoyance.

Quickly rushing back to your room after the meeting, you decide you’re ordering in tonight so that you don’t have to see him for at least another day. This is all so fucked up. You wrack your brain trying to understand how probable this whole situation is because, frankly, it feels like a sick joke, and on top of it, he’s the one annoyed?

Naturally, you spend the rest of the night unpacking the rest of your things before ordering your comfort food to wash down all the feelings you’re experiencing. Putting on your favourite show, you begin your tenth rerun as you bury yourself in your blankets. Part of you feels so stupid for completely ignoring your initial dinner plans, but you knew with the mindset you had at the moment, there was no way you would have enjoyed yourself. It’s a bit silly you haven’t left your room since picking up your takeout, you don’t even know who lives beside you, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.

Slipping into your slides, you head towards the washroom with your little toiletry bag. You pass by the girl you were sitting with earlier, and she sends you a smile. After apologizing for disappearing all night she just laughs and assures you nothing happened. She even points out where her room is if you were up to hang out tomorrow during frosh activities.

Just this interaction makes you feel better, and you quietly hum along to the familiar tune coming from the shower stall.

He used to play this song all the time, claiming it spoke to him the first time he heard it. Since then, it became the song he would play anytime he’d come to pick you up, explaining how this song is special because the ending always reminded him of you. It didn’t matter how long it’s been since the two of you hung out. Every time you heard ‘Pluto Projector,’ it would always bring a smile to your face. You even tried to show the song to your ex-boyfriend, but he never paid attention to your suggestions. He always claimed that his music taste was better. Thankfully that relationship only lasted a couple of months, but still, the regret of not waiting for someone worthy lingers in your mind.

While applying your moisturizer, you hear the water shut, the person pausing the song right as the orchestra starts to come in. Worried about who you may run into, you quickly pack up your stuff. You hear the click of the lock, and as you turn around, you’re met with him, with his curly hair all damp and his obnoxious teal blue robe wrapped loosely around his waist.

Rushing past him, you briskly walk towards your room, but before you can close the door, his foot jams between the doorframe. He pushes his way in and quietly closes the door, only to be met with the unimpressed look on your face. He circles around your room, eyes searching for any trace of your past friendship before standing back at the door.

“What do you want, Matsukawa?” you ask impatiently. It’s bad enough you run into the one person you wanted to forget, but now he’s standing in your room with a matching frown.

Something indescribable flashes across his eyes, and you can visibly see his frown deepen at your question. Leaning against your door, his arms come up to rub over his face, peeking at you through his fingers before letting out a long sigh. “When did I become Matsukawa? I thought I was Issei.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips, and you realize how childish your grudge might be, but he has changed, and the man standing in front of you isn’t the same man you once called your best friend. “When you changed, Matsukawa. Issei was my best friend, and YOU are not.”

His eyes filled with confusion as his eyebrows furrow, taking a step forward towards you. “I’m sorry? I tried to stay in touch with you. You’re the one that stopped talking to me, so I’d try to send you things instead. How was I the one who changed?”

You stand there, staring at him for a second before shaking your head. “I can’t do this right now; I want to have a good day tomorrow, so I need to go to sleep. Please, leave my room.”

His eyes soften a little, and you can see a faint glimpse of his infamous lazy smile, “We both know you’re not going to be sleeping anytime soon,” he stalks over and kicks his slides off before sitting at the end of your bed. “Let’s talk about this because, frankly, I’m tired of watching you decide if you hate me every time you see me.”

The nerve of this man. The fact that he invites himself into your room, declares his stay, and then sits on your bed without permission. You don’t even know if he’s wearing anything under that robe as his hair is literally dripping onto your comforter. Regardless of what the situation is, this action alone has you seething. Turning towards your desk chair, you harshly pull out the slightly imbalanced piece of wood and sit down, silently questioning why he isn’t the one on the chair.

He watches you stomp around, and he kinda chuckles at your little tantrum, missing how easy it was to rile you up. Your glare at him would be a little scary if he didn’t see the way your lips mumbled to yourself. It’s honestly a little cute to watch you all frustrated with him even though he saw one of the shoes he bought you in your closet. Sure, they look brand new, but the fact that you brought them here with you must mean something.

The year you two spent apart has been really stressful on Matsukawa. He thought that you’d be happy that he could give you everything you wanted. He knew he wasn’t spending as much time with you as he used to, but he thought the gifts he spent hours lining up for would make up for it.

When you stopped returning his calls and texts, he was crushed. Everyone could see how he felt about you, but then he watched you get close to another man. Within two weeks, you were dating him, and he was left watching from a distance. Neither of you ever confirmed your feelings for each other, but he could tell that man wasn’t making you happy. He didn’t understand your different facial expressions, he didn’t care about what you had to say, but all he could do was watch the girl he wanted from the sidelines.

Sure, as time went on, Matsukawa also started talking to other girls. None of them ever became his girlfriend, he didn’t think it was fair to get with someone when he was set on you, but he had his fair share of hookups. He has money, a shit ton of it, but he never let that get to his head. It wasn’t his fault that he gained popularity when he started to get into name brands and upgraded his car, but none of that ever changed who he was — at least not to the degree you had him pinned.

He watches you carefully, your leg bouncing impatiently as your eyes glare daggers in his direction. He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a sigh, “what did I do wrong? You didn’t even give me a chance to fix whatever I did (y/n).”

The lamp in the corner of your room shines a dim yellow hue onto his features. His brows are knitted in concern as he leans forwards on his knees, his robe showing off a deep v down his chest. You can feel yourself freeze up at his question, goosebumps covering your skin, while your eyes pour into his. “You changed Matsukawa. You stopped making an effort to be there. I’m not some girl you can just buy with all your money. I have never cared about how much you have or what you can afford -- you know that! It doesn’t matter what. I always split things with you because I never wanted you to feel like I was there for your money. But then suddenly, you just stop showing up. You wouldn’t even tell me you made other plans, and I would just open my door to find some package you dropped off.”

His eyes search your face before letting out a deep sigh. “I tried! You wouldn’t answer any of my calls, I know I stopped explaining myself, but can you blame me? Don’t you think I want to take you around and introduce you to all my friends? Don’t you think I miss going on late-night drives with you to 7-11? Every time I would drive past there, you’re all I thought about. You and your stupid obsession with cheese taquitos and Arizona tea. Did you even think about how I felt when you decided to act like I don’t exist?” He hastily stands up and paces around in the confined space of your dorm room. He never raises his voice, so hearing him talk at a slightly louder volume was enough to let you know he was dead serious. “You know, I never stopped talking highly about you because as selfish as it is, those boys have an important family. They have the connections you dream about (y/n), so even when you started to ignore me to go out with that fucking ex-boyfriend of yours, I never said anything.”

He looks at you with pleading eyes before going to sit back down, his elbows now resting against his thighs. “I know you don’t care about my money, but I didn’t know how else to tell you I was still thinking about you. I tried to get you things that you’d like, things that you’d wear. But no, I had to watch you put on a fake smile and laugh at that asshole’s jokes while you stubbornly ignored me to the point I thought you had me blocked.”

Looking up at you through his curls, his hooded eyes looked darker before. His lips curled into a forced smile as he let out a breathy chuckle, “he didn’t deserve you. But what do I know, right?”

You sat there quietly, taking in what he had just said. You didn’t realize how hurt he was. To be frank, up till now, you were so consumed by your feelings, and you failed to consider his own. His head is hanging between his hands, and the silence in your room right now is insufferable. He’s just explained himself, yet all you can do is scoff at yourself. While you were obsessing over the fact that Matsukawa wasn’t coming over to watch another rerun of your favourite show, he was out picking out different gifts he thought you’d like. You didn’t even open the last few because your own emotions so blinded you. Hearing him take a deep breath, he stands up and smiles sadly at you, “nice talk, (y/n). Thanks for listening.”

“I’m sorry, Issei.”

He lifts his head to meet your gaze, and you can visibly watch as his shoulders relax. It’s been too long since he’s heard you call him by his first name.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve just gotten out of the car to talk to you.”

You look at him with a small smile. Walking towards your bed, you sit down and pat the spot beside you, pulling him in for a hug. His robe is probably the softest thing you’ve ever felt in your life, your fingers sinking into the fabric as you hold him close. His arms are immediately wrapping around you, and you both stay like that for a minute before you pull back, a faint blush blooming on your cheeks.

“No, you have nothing to apologize for. You tried reaching out to me, you tried explaining yourself, but I didn’t even give you a chance. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was so caught up I didn’t even think about what you were feeling. The fact that you still wanted to introduce me to your friends, even after all the stuff I did to you….I’m so sorry, Issei.”

He gives you a playful smile and lightly nudges your shoulder with his, “yea, that was kinda unfair, but good thing we talked it out, huh?”

You flash him a sheepish smile, but your eyes glimmer with happiness, “yea, it’s good you barged into my room at two in the morning. Just like old times.”

His smile instantly grows at your playfulness, and he gives you a mock scoff. “I’m sorry, but if I remember correctly, you’d beg for me to stay over at two am cause you decided you wanted to watch a scary movie. Have you gotten better with horror movies this year, or are you still as jumpy as I remember?”

The tip of your ears growing warm while you mutter out a quick “shut up.”

His laughter makes your heart beat against your chest because you missed it so much. It’s been a while since you got to hear him laugh with you, and without even thinking, you go in for another hug.

His arms easily hold you close, and one of his massive hands reaches up to pet your hair. “Missed me, didn’t you?” he asks, and you can feel him smirking, so you just nod, your fingers playing with the damp, short curls at the base of his nape.

“Issei?” you ask with a little murmur against his neck.

“Hmmm?”

You smile to yourself and pull back a little, so you can see his face, “so other than hanging out with your friends and keeping up with my relationship, what else have you been doing?”

His face drops as he looks at you with a deadpan stare, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smile as you giggle at his reaction. He pushes you back, so you end up falling onto your mattress, his long limbs effortlessly straddling your legs. Before you can think about the position you’re in, his fingers start to poke all-around your torso, causing you both to laugh as he starts to tickle you. “You think you’re funny, huh?” His hands go to tickle your worst spot as he starts to talk, but you can’t hear him over your own laughter. His fingers slow down, but you keep giggling when you’re met with his lazy smirk, “I’m trying to talk, you know. It’s rude you’re laughing when I’m trying to speak to you.”

He leans forwards and has both hands resting at the side of your head. Your faces now inches apart, the faint smell of sandalwood from his body wash now becoming more apparent. You stare into his brown eyes, and it almost feels as if everything stopped for a few seconds. The lamp in your room doesn’t do him justice as the shadows of his face wash over his features, but even then, his eyes stare back at you with a slight twinkle as you catch your breath.

Reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and you tug him close, crashing his lips onto yours. The sweet hints from his beloved Burt’s bee’s lip balm make his lips even softer than you imagined. The kiss is short, but as you both pull away, he’s staring at you with a goofy smile.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that, (y/n).”

“Me too, Issei,” you whisper back before his lips capture yours again, this time with more confidence. This kiss is much more passionate than the last, holding onto each other in hopes of deepening it. One of his hands travels down to grab your waist, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip, asking for permission. Your lips part and your tongues swirl together effortlessly while your hands play with his hair, pulling him closer into your body.

His hand feels a little rougher than before against your bare skin because of how often he trains, running down the length of your leg. The light touch of his fingertips admires how smooth your skin is before they trail back up, stopping just before the edge of your pyjama shorts. Hooking your leg around his hip, he leans into your body even further and even nips at your bottom lip.

Matsukawa smirks and whispers against your lips, “did he ever kiss you like that?”

Slightly surprised at the question, you shake your head, answering honestly. “He never made me feel the way you do.”

You watch as his eyes dilate, flickering into a deep brown you’ve never seen on him. The hand that was previously on your leg is now cupping your cheek, stroking your face softly, while his own face blooms into a rare shade of pink. Still, his words are clear, “please...give me a chance? He never treated you right. Let me take care of you?”

Words can’t describe how his question made you feel. You spent years learning about Matsukawa, understanding him to the point where words weren’t necessary to see what was happening in his head. Not once did you think he reciprocated your feelings, let alone want to be with you. Yet, here you are, caged beneath his arms as his hopeful eyes pour into yours.

Turning your head slightly, you press a kiss onto his hand and smile. “Please?”

His face breaks into a smile. His cheeks are tinted rose as the corners of his mouth reach up to his eyes. Leaning down, he peppers kisses onto your face, the loose curls on his head tickling your cheeks as he giggles with you. The kisses trail down to your jaw, and he follows the natural curve of your jawline to your ear. “Is this okay?” he whispers softly, only continuing down this path when you give him a curt nod.

Your legs tighten around his waist when he begins to press open mouth kisses down your neck, gently nipping at the spots that make you let out shy little sounds. His tongue leaves kitten licks against your skin after he’s sucked on it, littering faint marks. Seeing you with light hickeys on the base of your neck and collarbones is completely self-indulgent for him. Thinking about waking up in the morning and seeing the marks he knows he gave you makes him inexplicably happy as he sucks particularly hard, causing you to wince.

Immediately he stops and turns to you, “I’m sorry, did I hurt you? D’you wanna stop?”

His concern for you is truly a breath of fresh air compared to what you had before. Shaking your head, you guide his hands to the edge of your sweater. “You bought this for me… it’s only fair I let you take it off.”

He studies your face for a second before his lips curl into a lazy smirk, quickly pulling the overpriced sweater off your body. He takes a sharp inhale when you reveal you aren’t wearing anything underneath as he’s met with your beautiful tits, nipples hard and pointed. “You let me in here knowing you weren’t wearing a bra? And here I thought you were a good girl.”

Noticing how your legs tighten around him, he smirks even wider. Leaning back down, his kisses trail down to your chest, and his lips feel soft and warm against your skin. His fingers take hold of your chin and force you to look down on him while his lips wrap around your nipple, the tip of his tongue flicking gently at the hardened bud. His hand palms against the fatty flesh of your other tit; his fingers are rolling your nipple before tugging on it experimentally.

Suddenly feeling shy, your arms come up to cover your face slightly just to have him lace his fingers with yours, pulling your arms away. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see how pretty you look. Let me hear how good I make you feel, okay?”

“I’ve never had someone play with my tits like this…”

He just stares at you, brows knitted as his smirk turns into a slight pout. “You’re with me now; that means every part of your body will be pleasured. I wanna hear and see all of you, okay?”

With a shy nod, you gently roll your hips against him, inviting more of his attention.

He kisses you once more, murmuring against your lips, “you’re so beautiful. Let me know if I’m going too fast, okay?”

His lips follow down your body once more, lightly biting your tit before using the flat part of his tongue to feel the valley between your chest. Matsukawa lets out a low moan as you arch upwards, pushing yourself closer to his touches. Letting go of your hands, he begins to massage the soft flesh of your tits and kiss down your stomach, the tip of his tongue trailing against the waistband of your shorts.

“Let me hear you ask for it; I don’t wanna do something you don’t want.”

“Isseiiii, please?” you whine out, the tip of your ears turning hot at the thought of asking for his tongue.

He smirks at you, looking up through his hooded eyes and tsks. “Be a good girl for me. Use your words.”

His words go straight to your pussy, and you can’t help the doe eyes look in your eyes when you whimper out, “please, Issei? Wanna feel your mouth on me.”

You watch as he takes in a sharp breath, the hunger in his eyes shining through despite the dim lighting in your room. He tugs at the end of your shorts until they’re completely off, repositioning himself lower until your legs are resting around his biceps. His eyes zone in on the way a sheer layer of slick coats your lips, happy that the attention he’s been giving you has pleased you. As he shimmies down on your bed, his legs now supporting himself on the floor, he nestles himself between your legs, easily spreading your things open with his arms. Sending you a knowing smile, he blows cool air directly onto your clit, loving how your walls flutter for him.

“You’re so sensitive, baby.”

“No one’s ever made me feel like this before...want more, please?”

You look down at him with pleading eyes, your hands cupping his face when you speak. Pressing a quick peck to your hand, he hips his head down and traces your pussy lips with his tongue, savouring how you taste.

The gasp that you let out once you felt his touch was adorable. It suddenly became the sound Matsukawa will chase after the more he gets to know your body and what it likes. He takes one long lap up your pussy, stopping just before your clit and using his fingers, he spreads your lips even more. Once your clit is all exposed, he flicks it gently with the tip of his tongue, looking up at you with all the confidence in the world. Hearing your little moans make him greedy for more, for more desperate and needy sounds, so he goes to press a kiss onto your bundle of nerves. Feeling you twitch beneath him, he gently places his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks earnestly, relishing in the way you buck your hips and call out his name. After a while of pure clitoral stimulation, he leans back up to watch your eyes blink back into focus on his face, a silly dazed smile on your face.

He winks at you and sticks his tongue into your drooling hole, swirling it around to feel the walls of your pussy clench around him. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he nuzzles his nose against your clit, his cock getting unbearably hard at the way you pant our pleas.

“I-issei! Please….need you inside, please!”

Coming back up for air, his hand leaves your thigh as his fingers start to tease around your hole, loving how your pussy clenches around nothing. So needy for his touches when he’s barely even started. He knows your orgasm was building, but he wants to take his time with you. You mean the world to him, and seeing you like this already makes him feel like the luckiest man at the moment.

Taking two of his fingers, he coats them in all your slick before slowly pushing them inside you. His eyes squeeze shut when he feels how tight you are, his mind immediately thinking about how you’d feel wrapped around his cock. When he’s finally inside, he pulls out slowly before sliding them back in, loving how you beg for more.

“Need more, please, Issei! Go faster, please.”

Your hands pull his head up to kiss you while his fingers begin to speed up. With the lewd sound of his hand slapping against your sopping wet pussy, his palm is applying pressure to your clit. Your moans are lost in your kisses, his other hand going back to playing with your sensitive nipple.

“I have to stretch you out, babygirl. I don’t want my cock to hurt you.”

All you’re able to do is nod as his fingers start to scissor your hole, stretching you out even more. His fingers, now knuckle deep, curl against your sweet spot, making you grip onto his hair as he swallows all your cries, suddenly remembering that the walls in this dorm probably aren’t that thick.

His fingers curl into you more, whispering sweet praises as his hand teases and tugs on your swollen nipple. Everything happened so quick, and you’re cumming all over his hand, your sweet sticky arousal covering his fingers as he slows down. Matsukawa is smiling down at you, “you did so well, baby. Bet that felt really good, huh?”

Maybe you’re needy or just horny, but even after your orgasm, you start tugging the tie that keeps his robe up. Your legs are sore, sorer than they’ve ever been, but all you can think about is how full you would feel with him inside of you. He smirks at you as he pops his fingers into his mouth, sucking off all your juices before letting his robe fall and chucking it to the ground. He’s wearing his briefs, but you can see how hard his cock is under the thin cotton material. Before you’re able to pull his underwear down, he stops you and lets out a small chuckle. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a condom. We don’t have to do anything.”

You giggle and shake your head, “don’t need one; we’re in university, baby. What’s a little fun without risks?”

He lets you pull his underwear down, and his massive throbbing cock instantly slaps against his stomach as he laughs at your reaction. “Had to make sure you were stretched out enough.”

You bite your lips and stare at how big his cock actually is. It’s hard to imagine how you’ll fit that inside of you, but you’re determined to give it a try.

“You ready, pretty girl?” he asks as he taps the tip of cock against your clit, loving how you squirm under him.

“mmhmm, Issei.”

He lets go of his cock and leans up, and pulls you into a deep kiss, completely in awe of you.

“Tell me if you wanna stop, kay?”

Replying with a small hum, he gathers up the remaining slick that’s leaking out of your pussy and strokes his cock slowly, also letting his spit drip down to help lubricate himself. He lines himself up with your pretty pussy and starts to push the head in, studying your face to make sure you’re doing alright. When he sees you smiling back at him, despite the grip you have on his arms, he pushes another two inches inside of you.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. We’re almost halfway,” he whispers into your ear as he kisses your neck softly, sucking on the spot by the base of your lobe. “Such a good girl for me,” he coaxes as his cock slides another inch into your sweet cunt.

Incredibly, he’s only halfway down because you’ve never felt this full before. Still, your fingers dig into his arms when you ask for more. “Just want all of you in me, please?”

Hearing you ask for more even though you already looked fucked out sparks something inside him. He lets out a low growl and quickly pushes the rest of his length inside you, mumbling sweet nothings against your skin. He moans out with you when he feels how warm and tight you are, your pussy stretching more than it ever has to accommodate his size.

“Feel s’good, Issei.”

With a breathy chuckle, he peppers kisses all over your neck, loving the sound of your soft giggles as he pulls back three-quarters of the way, slowly pushing his way back into you. The gasp you let out is different than before, much more surprised but sensual.

He continues this motion a few more times before he picks up the pace, his hips slamming against you while your tits bounce. Each thrust knocks the air out of your chest cause he’s brushing against your spot every time. Matsukawa leans down and presses his forehead against the crook of your neck, muttering how good you feel.

“F-faster...need you faster, is’o good, please.”

Obliging to your pleas, he starts to rut his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your skin with each movement. He looks up to see your dreamy eyes and smiles. He knows there’s not a thought behind those eyes right now as his cock slams against your walls with each thrust. He goes to kiss you again, silencing your cries as your nails drag down his arms, trying to ground yourself in the midst of all the pleasure.

“You’re s-tight baby I- fuuuuuck, I can barely move.”

You can’t help it. Your walls are naturally squeezing him because he’s fucking straight into your sweet spot with each snap of his hips. You look at him with hazy eyes, entirely in a trance as you moan out his name. He can tell you want to cum, so his hand reaches down to rub your clit as his cock continues to pound into you.

“C’mon baby, cum all over my cock. You can do it...ah shit, yea, just like that.”

He’s been trying so hard not to cum but watching your back arch into him as your nails drab down his back, his name falling out from your lips in a loud erotic moan, is making it really hard. He looks down in surprise when he sees a creamy white rim around his cock, proud of himself for making you cream.

“Good girl...that’s my fuckin girl.”

Satisfied he made you finish, his head falls back onto your shoulder, his hips just rutting into you as he chases his own orgasm. Not even a minute later, he’s calling out for you as he quickly pulls out, cumming all over your tits. His chest heaves along with yours, his hair sticking to his forehead slightly as he empties his load all over your chest.

Once you’ve both calmed down a little bit, he smiles down at you and goes to stroke your cheek. “Had you creaming on my cock, was it fun? Did you have a good time?”

“S’good...thank you, baby,” you say before pulling him down for a kiss.

He gets up and reaches for his robe, “you did so good, took me like a champ heh. I’ll be back with a rag to clean you up, okay? Don’t move.”

As he leaves your room, you stare up at the ceiling and let out a laugh. Not even twelve hours ago, you were cursing the fact that he was here with you, and now you have his cum all over your tiddies as he goes to get stuff to clean you up.

You watch as he comes back into your room, fully changed with a rag in his hand. He kneels beside you and pets your hair as he starts to wipe his mess.

“Why’re you changed?”

“Oh! We’re going to 7-11 once I get you cleaned up.”

“.....it’s like three-thirty in the morning.”

“I’ll get you taquitos and Arizona,” he says as he goes to wipe around your pussy, mindful not to put too much pressure cause you’re still sensitive.

“And skittles?”

He snorts and kisses your shaking thigh, “yea, I’ll get you skittles, brat.”

© tetsunormous 2021

taglist: @plutowrites @armins-futon @arte-misa @strawbari21 @matsusimp @bokutomessy @mentaly-ill @arumiee @kvrooschibichan lmk if you want to be added to my tag list

[kkusuka]

Haikyuu poly headcannons!! <33

 Pairs: Kageyama & Hinata, Oikawa & Iwaizumi, Ushijima & Tendo, Sakusa & Atsumu, Kurro & Kenma, and finally Bokuto & Akaashi. 

part 2

Sfw AND Nsfw 

Slight time skip spoilers!!!

let me know what you want to see next

word count: 2.6K I got a bit carried away. lol

FEMALE READER

Kageyama Tobio  and Hinata Shoyo

Sfw

It's a constant fight for attention

They are polar opposites, Hinata is warm and energetic while Kageyama is confused and awkward, but  they both love you so much it hurts.

How you got together was kind of a funny story, you and Hinata knew each other from middle school and reconnected when you met at a local mall in tokyo. So when you and Hinata started hanging out more he couldn't help but brag to Kageyama about it, which led to him wanting to meet you and thus began the year long fight for your love. 

You couldn't choose between them so they came to the decision that they would just share you!

Your dynamics are pretty simple, you spend as much time with whoever is not at practice at the time, lucky they have two completely different practice schedules, Hinata in the morning and Kageyama in the afternoon.

That meant cuddling with Kags in the morning and cooking lunch with Hinata in the afternoon. 

You guys also have a weekly date night! You have a rotation of who gets to choose what they want to do. 

Unsurprisingly Hinata likes volleyball inspired dates, but he also likes the movie and picnic dates!

Kageyama is a bit more romantic, shockingly (he read a dating book), like romantic dinners and late night walks , shopping, anything to see you happy.

They also love anything you want to do, stay in? They make popcorn for movies. Dinner? Where, what and when should they make a reservation. 

They are literally so whipped for you.

Nsfw

Oh~ ho ho~

I am a firm believer that these two are switches. 

Hinata is a bit more submissive than Kags (for the most part), but he has his moments. 

And i have this thing where Kags makes you and Hinata fuck while he watches biut votgh of you are power bottoms.

Toys toys toys

I'm talking double ended dildos and vibrators galore.

Punishments are usually for Hinata and consist of you riding Kags while he watches, and its absolute torture.

They also have nights where they have you alone and those are sweet and romantic, rose petals and candles. 

It's never boring <33

“Tobio, doesn't she look so pretty?” 

“God Shoyo you’ll cum in your pants if you grind like that” 

“ go fuck yourself on the fucking dldo like a slut” 

Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime 

Sfw

There are two ways that this happened

1. You grew up with them and slowly fell in love through your life, and you all got together in highschool

Or 

2. You met Oikawa in Argentina, literally fell in love at first sight, stars in your eyes. This led to him bringing you back to Japan, which led to you meeting “Iwa-chan” (who looked much more beautiful in person). After hanging out everyday for about 3 weeks Oikawa bright up the idea of sharing

And here you are! 

You guys are all similar but you share personal things with each boy

With oikawa you have the obsession with aliens and you too even have a beauty routine that you do every night before bed.

With Iwaizumi you, of course, make fun of Oikawa at every waking moment. But! You also do all different kinds of exercise with him. You have a monthly yoga class and a swim aerobics program every other tuesday! 

These two spoil you so much it's ridiculous.

Perfumes, jewelry, clothes and even gaming things.

They will get you anything even if you don't want it (and they are rolling in cash so it doesn't really matter.) 

Nsfw

Iwaizumi rules the bedroom.

And as much as Oikawa pretends to be the top, he falls apart the second you kiss him neck. 

Favorite position?

Simple. It can go two ways.

Oikawa laying on his back, Iwa fuking him into heaven and you sitting on his face OR you on your stomach ass up with Iwa between your legs and Oikawa's dick in your mouth. 

The only real times Oikawa is in you is when Iwazumi wants to see both of you be pathetic sluts, or when Oikawa is being punished, mostly cockwarming while he is tied and not able to thrust in you.

 Double penetration?

 Your punishment.

Whine and cry all you want neither of them are slowing down, this is really the only time Oikawa is dominant in the bedroom

“Aw, Tooru, look at her! So pathetic!”

“You look like two whores trying to fuck, Harder brats” 

“Oh! Iwa her throat gets tighter when you do that!” 

Ushijima Wakatoshi and Tendo Satori

Sfw

Oh bby how did you get so lucky?

You have the best of both worlds!

Tendo, who you can joke around and cook with.

And Ushijima, your pillar and voice of reason. 

This relationship was 100% started by Tendo. No question. He saw you and decided right then and there that you were his, and what kind of best friend would he be if he didn't share with Wakatoshi! 

Thank god you were willing to do this, it would have Broken Satori AND Wakatoshis heart :((

This WAS the best decision of your life. 

Your first date as a threesome was so cute, it started with walking around tokyo and you stopped and ate in a small cafe. You begged them to pay and they didn't let you so this became a game to see if you could ever find a way to pay before them.(you're still failing to this day) 

After the cafe they took you to a small beach that had a little volleyball net set up. Insert uwus here

They taught you how to play, the basics if you didn't already know, and you guys played around until it was 2am 

All of your dates are different but they either end like that or cuddling on the couch wachting movies. OR you know ;))

Nsfw

UHHH there are two ways this could go. 

You being absolutely ruined by these two. Both being pretty big, they easily overpower you. 

Tendo also has the obsession with being in your ass while ushijima rips your poor pussy apart. 

Sadist tendo also makes a slight appearance, not letting yu cum for hours then making you cum over and over and over again

Or 

Mr. Tendo controls what you and Toshi do! 

Trust me Wakatoshi is still controlling you every waking second, but having Tendo tell him what to do (being slightly unaware of what to do anyway) gets him off just as much as you. 

And when he’s feeling more adventurous, Tendo has kept you and Ushijima on literal leashes at his feet while he just chilled out. (i literally love this so much-)

You guys do a lot of exploring!

“Harder Toshi, the slut can take it”

“” we don't have enough dicks to fill all your holes” 

“Satori! Please!” “Shhh, floor whores don't get to talk” 

Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu

My #2 pair 

DAMN, i can't even put how whipped they are for you in words. 

You defiantly knew Sakusa first. 

You two met in the supermarket, much to his displeasure he had to shop for himself, it was the classic strangers to lovers trope 

You both reached for the same countertop cleaner! 

To both of your shock you touched his hand and immediately started to apologize to him (he couldn't even reply because he was so stunned by your beauty) 

He snapped back and started to interrogate you about what cleaning products you use, you both didn't even realize how much time passed with you just talking about how you clean.

Eventually you exchanged numbers and texted almost all day.  

This led to him texting you back every chance he had during practice breaks, but he never told you he was a professional volleyball players AND happened to be on one of the top teams in the country, (you found out when he randomly followed you on instagram)

Eventually he got sloppy and Atsumu looked at his phone and found your number! Aren't you lucky ;) almost immediately after he started to question Sakusa about you

Who is she?

Where did you meet?

Is she pretty?

Gimmie her number Omi, i wanna know her too!

Eventually Atsumu just stole his phone and started to non-stop call you. 

“Uh Kiyo? This guy keeps calling me and asking me questions about you.”

“Ignore it” 

It got so bad that when you officially met atsumu he had followed Sakusa to your meeting spot, and you hit it off! (much to Kiyoomi’s disdain) 

After a few months, and a lot of talks, all three of you entered a relationship!

Your dynamic was great! You were clean like Sakusa and fun like Atsumu!

Perfect!

Another spoiling group, it's like they just know what you want. It doesn't even matter what you think :// no take backs :))

Plus you have girl time when they are at practice, a good time to plan surprises ;)

You even got Atsumu into skin and hair care (kiyoomi approves) 

You are literally perfect (and the hottest couple in the planet) 

Nsfw

Sakusa is in control.

No question.

He wants ti fuck you? Done.

He wants to watch you play with yourself. Already rubbing circles on your clit. 

He wants you to ride Atsumu until you squirt? You're bouncing on Atsumu Cumming and cumming. 

Believe it or not Sakusa AND Atsumu love messy blowjobs, seeing you slobber all over yourself and their cocks is the most beautiful thing to them. 

Atsumu also has the dirtiest most vulgar mouth on earth, will not spare your feelings one bit. 

But that doesn't even measure up to how Kiyoomi speaks to you. He has no shame is telling you that they are going to let everyone on the team fuck you senseless. 

Sakusa also loves to punish you and Atsumu for literally anything, he will tie you to each other and put vibrators in your holes and just watch you  two desperately grind on each other to get relief that just won't come. 

(they both love to ruin your orgasm too) 

“Go Whore i know you can bounce faster than that” 

“Look at her Omi! Isnt she the best little cumdump? Yes you are! Yes you are!” (pls he treats you like a pet) 

“Hey Miya. Wouldn't shugo just love to have her on her knees for him? I think we should let her sometime” 

I would do anything for these two- 

Kuroo Tetsuro and Kozume Kenma

Oh? You're the most spoiled pet in the world?

You definitely grew up together, aka you've had both of them wrapped around your finger since you were 8.

 You guys probably started dating after you accidentally let it slip that you were in love with the both of them. 

After you all confessed and talked for hours, you were officially dating!

Not much has changed, but they were more affectionate and loving and more physical with you. 

Your dates are really random, all the varying schedule and all. 

They take you to anime cafes and gaming cafes and ALL the different cafes. 

They always tell you you don't have to work but you feel bad so you started a makeup channel on youtube! And of course you were a sensation! 

You and Kenma make little collab videos and were voted as the cutest couple of the year! 

But that doesn't1 mean you aren't involved in Kuroos life just as much! 

You help him get ready every morning, he just “can't” tie his tie even after doing it since highschool. 

You make him a unique bento everyday! 

You even buy him little chemistry sets whenever you see that a new model was released!

Plus living with two cuddle bugs is a dream for any girl ;)

Nsfw 

The way that both of them are into cockwarming- 

Whenever Kenma is not streaming he wants you to sit on his cock, just be a good kitten and do it. 

No worries! Between rounds he'll start to pound you for as long as he can, but it's never enough  for you to cum :// too bad you'll just have to wait until he’s done, or when Kuroo some home. 

With Kuroo it's usually when he is doing more work in his home office. This is pure torture.

He won’t even pay attention to you until HE wants to cum. 

To add on to that neither of them are afraid of fucking you infront of people. 

Kenma has no fear of keeping you at his feet while he streams so you can suck him off whenever he wants. 

One time he was on a zoom call with his PR team and they had no idea you were deepthroating his cock under where the camera could see. 

Kuroo is the worst with this too, he’ll start fucking you when he knows he ahs a work call in a few minutes, so in the middle of fucking he’ll just answer the phone and make you shut up :((

Both of them together? You’re fucked. (literally haha) 

Kenma a bottom , 100%, just not as much as you.

Sex mostly means kuroo fucking you and sucking kenma off. 

“I wonder if everyone would still follow you if they  knew what a slut you are” 

“Kitten you have to be quiet for Daddy now, this call is important” 

“Look at that kenma, she’s cumming all over the place while drooling all over you!” 

Bokuto Kotaro and Akaashi Keji

The owl nest?  Yes Ma’am.

You were akaashis girlfriend first, but that meant you were practically dating Bokuto anyway. 

Akaashi? He loved it, you were just so cute when you tled to Kotaro! 

When he got excited, you got excited and you were just the cutest two babies in the world!

 The way you would talk for hours about nonsense and laugh about the stupidest things. 

Slowly but surely Akaashi braugh Bokuto into the relationship, and you had no objections! 

It started with small things like movie nights that turned into sleepovers that became full dates! 

Dates? Oh man you go on one almost every night! 

The movies! Bookstores! Restaurants! 

Even to the volleyball gym.

Sometimes Akaashi takes you to Bokuto’s games and you two just Cheer your lungs out!

This seems crazy but one time on your anniversary that took you to an owl farm! 

It was probably the funnest night of your life, and that was it all three of you knew that this was how you wanted to spend the rest of your lives. 

Nsfw 

Bokuto might be the driving force but Akaashi is the real mastermind behind the bedroom life. 

Sex mostly includs being railed by Bokuto for hours while Akaashi whispers sweet praises in your ears, telling you how good your gtaking Bokuto. 

Akaashi is also a firm believer in punishing people with toys,aka Bokuto getting ahead of himself and ignoring Akaashis commands which lands him tied up and a vibrator pressed to his sild until his orgass are dry :)

 Of course you are no better, cumming before your told or vene worse masterbating without permission. 

That lands you with a bunny vibrator, unable to move and just watching as Akasshi fucks Bokuto with your favorite dildo :( 

But if you'd just listen this would have never happened, just promise not to do it again! 

“Keji please, pease, wanna cum s-so bad” 

“Gee, you're just sucking him in huh? After all this time you still want more!” 

“You are just the prettiest little thing huh.” 

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 119: Hope

Harry was always alone.

It sounded a bit dramatic, a little pitiable, and more than a little untrue.

Because he was always out with friends. He had pub nights with large groups of people, he went and took those wine and paint classes with Luna and Ginny every other week, and a cooking class with Ron and Pansy on the off week. He met George, Ron, and Seamus for lunch on Thursday afternoons. Hermione dragged him to a book club with Draco once a month. He met Hermione for breakfast on Tuesdays and had dinner with Ron and Hermione every Monday (and often Fridays, too). Neville invited him for tea every Sunday and there was always someone different there with them.

Still, there was something that always separated him from his friends. All of his friends were buying houses, getting married, having babies, getting pets (or in Neville’s case carnivorous plants). And he was just... stuck.

“Well, well,” a smooth baritone voice said behind him, interrupting his sulk at the bar of the Leaky, and a smile tilted up the corner of Harry’s mouth against his will. “If it isn’t the savior himself.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Are you going to sit down?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the other man.

Silver eyes gleamed in amusement, “that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you’re going to buy me dinner. It has been a long day.”

(Read more below the cut)

“Oh?” Harry said, nudging the chair next to him back with his toe. “Well it’s a good thing I ordered the shepherd’s pie, then. You and I both know that’s always big enough for two.”

“Were you expecting me then?” Draco asked with a pleased grin as he plopped down in the chair next to him.

“Nope,” Harry said. Strictly speaking, this was true, he’d been hoping the other man might show up but not expecting him to. “I just like to have leftovers.”

Draco laughed at Harry as the bartender slid an old fashioned across the counter to him, “thank you,” Draco said, nodding to the man who all but ignored him.

Harry inhaled to say something about the man’s rudeness (an action he knew was futile since he’d done it several times) but Draco put a hand on his arm and took a sip of his drink. “Not worth it,” he said.

Harry sighed at him, “Tell me about work.”

Draco grinned, it was a sort of grin that Harry used to hate when they were younger. It was a grin that meant Draco had been particularly vicious in the courtroom today. With relish he began telling Harry about the woman and her child whom he had defended against a powerful, abusive husband. How he’d eviscerated the man on the stand and freed the two of them from his grasp.

“It was brilliant,” he finished with a sigh.

“Sounds like it,” Harry replied, resting his cheek in his hand.

Draco gave him a little smile. It had taken a long time to get here, even a year ago Draco would have been looking at him, trying to work out if Harry had meant it sincerely. “Tell me about your day,” he said.

“Oh, you know how it is,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sitting around in board meetings, trying to make sure that the people who actually know something get heard. Watching people who only want what’s best for themselves trying to make people believe they want what’s best for everyone.”

He laughed and took a sip of his drink, “I don’t understand how or why you do it.”

“Well someone’s got to, don’t they?” he asked. “Might as well use my fame to some advantage. Help people. You know,” he said, shrugging one shoulder and picking at the label on his beer.

“Come away with me,” Draco said suddenly.

“Sorry?”

The other man grinned at him, “I’m going on vacation. I’m leaving tomorrow for a week on the beach on an island. Come with me.”

“What? Why?”

The smile that had been so bright a moment ago started to dim, “Nevermind. It’s a stupid idea. Forget I said anyth-”

“Draco,” Harry said, realizing he’d misunderstood. He put his hand on his forearm. “I’d love to. Seriously, I would love nothing more than to go and spend a week on the beach with you. I just,” he trailed off, “why would you want me to?”

“Because you’re always moping. And you’re always doing things for everyone else. And you’re bloody lonely.” He shook his head, “And no one sees it.”

“Except you, apparently,” Harry huffed.

The corner of Draco’s mouth tipped up, “Except me. Come on,” he said.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, Potter. Fucking seriously.”

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

The beach was fantastic.

Harry had never been to the beach for a vacation and he enjoyed every sun soaked minute.

Draco watched him with an expression that Harry couldn't entirely parse out. It was amused, and fond, and exasperated, and something else entirely all at once. "I don't get you," Draco said eventually, after they'd spent half the day by the ocean; lounging, swimming, drinking, and laughing.

"What do you mean?"

Draco shrugged and took a sip of his sangria before he continued, "You're wealthy, you have time, you obviously enjoy it here; why haven't you done this before?"

He frowned, "Well who wants to go on a vacation alone?"

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I'd planned to go alone. I have actually taken several vacations alone."

"Sorry, I didn't mean-"

Draco waved him off, "It's fine. I'm not offended I just," he shrugged helplessly, "I find you fascinating."

"You find me fascinating?" he asked incredulously.

"Haven't I always?" he replied wryly.

He huffed but couldn't argue considering that he'd been equally obsessed with the other man for most of their lives at this point.

"You could have done anything," Draco said, "There's nothing that the wizarding world wouldn't have given you. If you'd wanted to go on vacation and not be alone you could have had your pick of witches or wizards who would have gladly gone with you. If you wanted to be married with half a dozen children all you would have needed to do was pick the person." He shook his head, "You could have done anything you wanted, been anything you wanted, had anything you wanted but you've chosen a career that makes you miserable and you've chosen to be alone which makes you miserable." He shook his head again, "I don't get it."

"But how can I know if I'm actually good enough?" Harry asked. "How can I know if I'm good at my job or if it was just given to me because I'm Harry Potter? How can I know if the person who agrees to marry me is with me because I'm me or because I'm Harry Potter?"

"All this time I thought that you weren't on to me," he teased.

He rolled his eyes, "You know what I mean."

"You know what I think?" Draco asked as he leaned back in his beach chair and slipped his sunglasses back in place.

"I couldn't possibly guess," he replied.

The corner of Draco's mouth tipped up, "I think you're just scared."

He frowned at the other man even though Draco wasn't looking at him, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me perfectly," he replied, "You're scared."

"Of what?" he asked incredulously.

"Of being loved," he said simply. "Afraid that if you let someone love you, you'll have to let them in. You'll have to let them see all the dark, broken, twisty bits because it's not love if it's not honest."

"Oh and I suppose you're so much better at that," he snapped.

Draco snorted, "Hardly. I'm just willing to live my life until I've found someone who I'll be able to share those jagged pieces with."

He glared at the leg of the other man's chair, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Alright," Draco replied agreeably.

"I'm going for a walk."

He nodded and yawned, "I think I'm going to take a nap, the sun feels nice."

Harry got up and trudged away without another word, trying to decide if Draco Malfoy was full of shit or if he might just know what he was talking about.

The longer he walked and the more he turned what Draco had said over and over in his head, the more he knew that the only person whom he would trust to see his dark bits was Draco Malfoy.

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

When he got back from his walk Draco was reading a book.

"You might be right," Harry said.

He hummed, "Not to brag but I usually make a point of being right."

Harry collapsed into the sand and stared out at the waves rolling in. "Can I ask you something?"

"Nothing has stopped you so far."

He huffed, "Have you ever been in love."

"Yes," the other man replied.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

Draco hummed thoughtfully, "I woke up one day and realized that I loved his imperfections more than I loved the perfect image I'd created of him," he said. "I realized that I'm happiest when I'm with him, that he makes me feel brave in my fear and strong in my vulnerability."

"He sounds pretty great," Harry said, swallowing down the bitterness.

"He's also completely oblivious," Draco added. "And normally that would irritate me but his humility is part of his charm."

His heart beat a little quicker, "Is that so?"

Draco grinned, "Yes. And he's not too bad on the eyes, either," he added. "He's got a lovely complexion, fantastic long, dark hair. And his eyes," he let out a low whistle, "A bloke could get lost in those eyes and he wouldn't mind staying in the lovely green of summer."

Harry's mouth went dry and he couldn't quite find any words or summon any courage. Hope blossomed dangerously inside of his chest, expanding and expanding until Harry feared there wasn't room for a shred of doubt.

"He's rather fit, too," Draco continued, giving Harry a once over that even he wasn't oblivious enough to have missed. "And you wouldn't believe his arse," he added, "exquisite."

Harry laughed at that, "You're ridiculous," he said as he bent toward the other man. "I like you, too," he whispered.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," Draco teased.

He reached up and pulled Draco's sunglasses off his face, "I'm going to kiss you," he murmured.

"Took you long enough," he repeated before reaching up to cup Harry's cheek in his palm and draw Harry in.

With a sigh, Harry happily gave himself over to the kiss, over to Draco; knowing that his heart was finally in good hands.

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

Day 118: Glass | Day 120: Tough

[noteguk]

a little while | kth | m

↳ inspired by the song “a little while” by yellow days. 

— summary; in which Taehyung realizes that he was wrong in thinking that being friends with benefits with you wouldn’t backfire. 

— contents and warnings; angsty smut!!, pretty much pwp, taehyung is emotional, fwb au, Taehyung x reader, protected sex, dirty talk (honestly like one sentence), unrequited feelings, kind of soft sex :( taehyung is whipped and sad about it 

— words; 2k

— author’s note; I’ve been feeling kind of stuck with my other wips so I wrote this drabble to unwind :) idk if I plan to write more of it but who knows!!! My two functioning neurons are very unpredictable. 

That was supposed to be easy. 

That was all that Taehyung could think about: you two, whatever you had going on; that was supposed to be easy. It was the whole point of even starting something like that in the first place. It was the entire motive behind why anyone would ever accept a friend with benefits — no strings attached, no clingy calls, no emotional baggage. It was supposed to be a quick situation, convenient; Taehyung was supposed to see you every once in a while, maybe even forget about you, until he decided that he wanted to get his dick wet again. 

It was supposed to be easy. 

“Is this okay for you?” Taehyung asked, leaning a bit closer to your face. He loved staring at you like that: with your hair sprawled on the pillow and your pouty lips inviting him into a kiss. He had grown used to having you under him, and it had quickly become one of his favorite pastimes. “Want me to go faster?” 

You shifted around under him, your hands moving up to rest on his shoulders. “It’s alright, I like it slow too.” 

And he could only nod, because his mind was thinking too many things that he could not say. It was supposed to be fucking easy, but somewhere along the way, Taehyung had ruined everything. It was just a matter of time before the whole situation went up in flames and he managed to lose both his friend and what might just be the love of his life in one go. 

Because Taehyung had broken the first and most important rule of having a friend with benefits: whatever you do, don’t catch feelings. 

And now he was rocking into you slowly, sensually, actually making love to you instead of the way he usually fucked — fast, rough, with your loud moans filling his lungs until he found his high. It was ridiculous. He felt nauseous. 

Worst part was that he was almost sure you didn’t feel the same — and the “almost” was because there was a small fragment of hope inside his chest that really tried to convince him that he had a shot. That maybe the way you looked at him showed something beyond hunger and lust. Maybe you actually cared for him. Maybe you wanted more and you weren’t brave enough to tell him. 

“Actually, could you go a bit faster?” 

Your voice shot him straight back down into reality. Taehyung only nodded, mumbling something that not even he understood before burying his face on the crook of your neck and raising the speed of his thrusts. The world around him felt suffocating and confusing, not even your honeyed moans against his ear could raise his spirit. 

Still he tried to ground himself, his hands digging to your hips as he closed his eyes, focusing on the drag of your walls against his cock. The feeling was overwhelming, dizzying, earned a low groan from him as he continued to fuck you like you deserved to be fucked. Taehyung managed to pretend that everything was alright for exactly two minutes before you spoke up again. 

“God, that feels so good,” you cried out. His cock throbbed inside you at your words, his mind spinning at the sensation of you growing tighter. Taehyung was obsessed with you in every way, completely enthralled by how your body reacted to his, so eager to feel more. “Want you to kiss me, Tae.” 

You always asked that when you were getting close and Taehyung was always fast to do it. His lips were on yours before he could even think about it, his tongue crawling inside your mouth as he groaned against the kiss. God, he could make out with you forever, it wasn’t even a joke. 

Taehyung was absolutely whipped and that was a problem. 

He removed one hand from your hips and trailed it down your arm slowly, reaching your hand and intertwining his fingers in yours. He moaned against your mouth, feeling his orgasm building up on the base of his spine, and pressed your hand down on the mattress as he continued to bury himself inside you. 

“Tae,” you sobbed his name so beautifully that he swore he could cum right at that instant. “I’m so close.” 

“It’s okay, baby, you can let it go,” he said, his voice so deep that you felt it vibrating inside your chest. “I got you. Cum on my cock for me. Wanna feel you.”

And you did, because it was like the universe was mocking him about how perfect you could be. Taehyung groaned — both in pleasure and in frustration — as your pussy clenched around his aching cock, your thighs trembling on either side of his body while you cried out his name. It was a flawless melody composed just for him: your voice dancing in the air, the lewd sounds of your wetness as he continued to thrust in and out of you. 

Taehyung, just to top it all off, committed the huge mistake of actually making eye contact with you as you came down from your high. It suddenly was too much: your hooded eyes, your parted lips, the blissful expression that covered your features. You were too much. 

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung cursed. He closed his eyes, paying full attention to his growing pleasure. “You’re so beautiful.” 

He didn’t really mean to confess that out loud, but you didn’t seem to mind. You smiled, that gorgeous, drowsy smile you always gave him after he had made you cum, and Taehyung swore he was in heaven. “Are you gonna cum?” You asked, earning an eager nod in return. His hair was a mess over his eyes, sweaty and disorganized, covering his gaze as he looked down to see where the two of you met. You were made for him, your pussy was made for him, and he couldn’t take that idea out of his mind. “It’s okay, Tae, you can cum.” 

Again, the universe was mocking him, because within a few seconds he was doing just that. Taehyung pressed his forehead against your shoulder and spilled himself inside the condom, wishing profusely — pretending, almost — that the latex barrier wasn’t there, and that he was filling you up with his cum instead, making you his. And that was enough to prolong his high a little further, his cock throbbing as he dove into that fantasy. 

But, eventually, it had to end. 

The silence that followed was thick and overbearing, but comfortable regardless. Most of the time it went like that: with the two of you basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, drowning in the heat of one another without saying a word. Taehyung did not know what went on inside your head, but he knew that he needed those few seconds of silence to reset his thoughts, to try and bury the emotions that ever so gradually started to build up. 

Basically, he had to take a moment to remind himself that he had absolutely no chance with you. 

You sighed deeply, your fingers diving into Taehyung’s soft locks. He had collapsed against your chest, trying to regain his breath and, at the gentle caresses of your fingers, you felt his heart leap inside his chest, pounding against your skin. 

“That was nice,” you said daintily. He only hummed in agreement, worried he would slip and say something he didn’t mean to. “I have to go, though.” 

Just like that, Taehyung felt like he just got stabbed in the fucking jugular. He whipped his head away from your chest faster than he could think (after all, he should’ve enjoyed a few extra seconds of boob time if he had the chance) and his mouth fell open for a moment before his words finally came out. “Don’t— Don’t you wanna stay the night?” 

If you thought that his plea was desperate, which it was, you didn’t let it show. You smiled, leaning back to you could shift into a seating position on the bed. The two of you were facing each other then, so close and yet miles apart. “I don’t think I have the energy for round three,” you answered playfully. 

Taehyung had two conflicting answers fighting in his head. The first one was that it wasn’t for sex, something along the lines of “actually, I might be in love with you and I don’t want you to go”; the second one was the one that you wanted to hear: “it’s okay, I’ll do all the work anyways”. And, yet, as the brave battle continued inside his mind, he was left to stare in silence as you jumped out of the bed and started seeking for your clothes.

“Besides,” you continued, “I have that research presentation tomorrow.” 

Oh yeah, that stupid research thing. The reason why you had to schedule that Emergency Unwinding Session with Taehyung in the first place. His initial bliss, but his final demise. How poetic. 

“It’s fine, I get it.” Taehyung watched your little wiggling dance as you placed your pants back on. He would’ve teased you about it if his heart wasn’t in absolute shambles. “Can I see you later tomorrow, then?” 

You didn’t even hesitate to twist the blade. “Won’t happen. It’s Yongsun’s birthday and we are going to this fancy sushi bar downtown,” you said. The universe truly hated Taehyung and you were completely dressed by the time you leaned in to place a kiss against his forehead. “But we’ll figure something out. I owe you a third round.” 

Taehyung forced out a laugh, trying to brush away the storm cloud over his head. However, he couldn’t even convince himself that he was fine. “Sure. We can figure it out.” 

You hummed and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to make it a bit more presentable. “I have the copy of the keys that Jimin gave me, so you don’t have to worry about locking the door. Just go to sleep and I’ll lock it on my way out.” 

Taehyung simply nodded because he seriously didn’t think he could say anything without completely confessing his emotions. They were so bottled up that he felt them building up in his throat, like a shaken bottle of soda about to explode. 

“See you, Tae. Thanks for tonight,” you said on your way out of his room. 

He responded with a timid, “See you,” that he was a hundred percent sure you didn’t even hear. A few seconds later, the sound of his front door closing was like thunder echoing around his empty room. 

Taehyung sighed and threw himself back against the mattress, covering his eyes with the palm of his hand. He was so fucked. So fucking whipped. He just wanted to scream against his pillow until it all went away, but he knew that it wouldn’t. He couldn’t confess to you because he was sure that you didn’t feel the same, and he couldn’t let you go because he was selfish: he wanted you one way or another, even if he had to disguise his emotions and pretend that everything was fine. 

He removed his hand from his face and stared up at the white ceiling, at the slices of moonlight that came from his open window. Taehyung decided that he would just continue faking that he was fine with the idea of being friends with benefits with you. But could he do it? Could he keep it up? For how long? Taehyung had endured those acting sessions for a bit too long then, and he didn’t know how much he could take before he reached his breaking point. 

He groaned and rolled around on the bed. He just wanted to sleep. 

That was supposed to be easy.