#only to discover them curled up together on the couch sweet and innocent as all hell

[hello-kuni]

𝚸𝐋𝚬𝚨𝐒𝐔𝐑𝚬 𝐑𝚬𝚨𝐃𝚰𝚴𝐆

ft. alhaitham, diluc, thoma, kazuha

syn: they take an interest in the book you've been reading recently

cw: suggestive, mentions of erotic novels, gn!reader

a/n: i'm iffy on diluc's, but v proud of alhaitham's

❁ alhaitham

in all the time you'd been together, he'd never seen you so engrossed in a book before. he'd seen you read many times, but not with such an intense look in your eyes, like you were devouring whatever lay within those pages. it piqued his curiosity, to say the least.

the most interesting part of it all was the fact you never left it unattended. almost as if you didn't want him to look at it. he'd tried to peek over shoulder at point only for you to shift your position on the couch so he couldn't see the pages. that annoyed him. but made him all the more determined to find out what the books was.

his moment finally arose when he noticed the book laying peacefully on your nightstand. he'd come home ready for a nap but that initially plan was forgotten the moment he laid eyes on that little tome. he carried it to the living room and made himself comfortable as he opened to the first page, pleasantly surprised by the contents within.

hours later you found him lounging on the couch, nose tucked into a book. it was far from an unusual sight. until you took a second glance at the book in his hands. it dawned on you then that you had forgotten to tuck it into the drawer of your nightstand before you fell asleep last night, and in your rush to leave on time that morning it remained in plain sight. heat rose to your cheeks as you took him in. he was completely unfazed as he turned the page.

"alhaitham," you said, voice weak. he didn't acknowledge your presence. "what are you reading?"

"it's your book, you should know. don't bother asking a question you know the answer to, it's a waste of breath." his eyes trailed the words printed on the paper as he spoke, still not looking at you.

you tried to take the book from his hands but he moved it out of your reach with one hand and caught your wrist with the other. "haitham, please," you whined, tugging weakly against his grip. he let you go without a fight. "put the book down."

"why? i'm almost finished with it."

with a pathetic groan, you threw yourself on the couch next to him, waiting in agony until he finally snapped the book shut with one hand. you peeked at him from the corner of your eye, but his expression gave nothing away.

"you have an interesting taste in literature," he said, finally, "but i can't fault you, it's well written and the plot is captivating."

"that's all?" you asked, expecting more from him. mostly something chastising.

he held the book out to you. "don't suggest recreating the kitchen scene. there were too many utensils involved."

❁ diluc

he found the sight of you curled up on the couch with a book rather endearing. you always looked so happy in those moments. and you'd always tell him about them over dinner or on walks around vineyard. he absolutely adored these moments. so much so that he wanted to be able to have an in depth conversation about one these books you loved so much. he figured the one you had just finished, one he'd often seen you with, and still had yet to tell him anything about would be a good place to start. a nice little surprise. since there must be something about it if you’re keeping it to yourself.

what he hadn't expected was to be met with a very detailed sex scene halfway through. it had started off so innocent and sweet, exactly the way he'd expect a romance to go. and then all of a sudden the scene took quite a turn. yet he couldn't pull his eyes away from the pages. he kept wondering why you would read something like this.

maybe he wasn't satisfying you well enough? and you needed this to make up for his shortcomings. his thoughts kept spiraling as he turned page after page. he'd read his share of romances--even ones similar to this--but discovering this in your possession, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd disappointed you. which may be wrong, but he couldn't stave off the thoughts.

this could end up being his worst decision, but he felt he had no other choice if he wished to quell his worries. the first chance he got, he sat opposite you at the dining room table and slid the book across the table and asked, "am i not performing well enough for you?"

you were at a complete loss for words, staring in disbelief at the book in front of you. "what?"

"in the bedroom. am i not satisfying you enough? it's the only reason i can think of that you'd read this book so many times. and so often."

despite your best efforts, you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. you folded your hands over his, squeezing tightly as you composed yourself. "i assure you it is just the romance that i'm reading it for. and even if i did use it for my personal reasons, it'd be you i'm thinking about, diluc. honestly, how could i ever imagine myself with another man when i have you."

he mulled over your words for a moment. "do you have more books like this?"

there was silence for a long moment. then you said, "so many."

"is this one your favorite?" because whether it be or not, he still wanted to talk to you about what you enjoyed, even if it almost gave him whiplash the first time. he was prepared now. after quite possibly making a fool of himself. nor could he deny that, feelings of insecurity aside, he rather enjoyed the book.

❁ thoma

he'd never seen you with the book before. but he found it on a table in your shared home, your favorite bookmark tucked within the pages. it was partially hidden under some decorative books, which he found strange. curiosity got the better of him and he opened to the marked page.

you hadn't left off on a noteworthy scene, so he flipped back and skimmed the text. his brows rose at what he read, a sly grin curving his lips. this little discovery was by far the highlight of his week. he made himself comfortable on the couch and read through a few chapters, making mental notes of his favorite scenes for later.

the cover and first chapter were entirely misleading, having one believe it was just an innocent romance. by the end of the second chapter the two lead characters were already falling into bed together. the main plot was obviously overshadowed by the many sex scenes. if it wasn't for the detailed yet flowy writing style, he would have put it down immediately. honestly, he could see why you were enjoying it. and why you might want to keep it hidden from him.

as if to further his enjoyment, you walked through the front door, a bag of groceries slung over one shoulder. he drew your attention to him as he spoke from his place on the couch.

"i knew yae publishing was going to venture into new genres, but this wasn't what i expected. nor did i think you'd be into this sort of story. it is interesting, though, in it's own way. these positions are what's most intriguing. should we try them sometime?"

the bag on your shoulder dropped to the floor, a few vegetables rolling out and away. you marched over to him with a blush burning your face.

"give it back," you said, reaching for the book. he held it held it away with one hand and held you back with the other, laughing as you pouted.

eyes shining, he said, "not so fast. answer me this: who do you think is better in bed, me or him?" he waved the book for emphasis.

you huffed. "he wouldn't be so cruel."

"a few scenes say otherwise."

❁ kazuha

anytime the crux fleet docked, you made it your mission to stock up with a stack of new books. reading was one of the few ways to not lose your mind at sea. it was peaceful, but there was such a thing as too much peace, even with a crew as rowdy as the one on the ship.

kazuha rarely touched your haphazard stacks, but while you were out of the room, he found himself picking up the nearest one. there were little scraps of paper marking pages throughout the book, but didn't let his curiosity allow him to spoil anything. he opened it to the first page and began reading. he was only a quarter of the way through when the first explicit scene came up. it just so happened to be one of the marked scenes.

it wasn't what he'd normally expect of a scene like this. there was care put into its writing. a sensuality that drew him further in. it ignited feelings of familiar moments. it captured perfectly, in his opinion, what that moment felt like. or what it should feel like. what he knew it to be.

as he read on, he made note of certain parts that he wanted to try out later. nothing too crazy or experimental, but things he thought you might like. he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of some of these things before.

the door to the cramped room opened and he gave a little "hello".

"of all the ones to read, you chose that one?" you said by way of greeting. he closed the book over finger to mark his place, though he was close to the end, and looked your way.

"something led me to this one. and for good reason. i can see why you would enjoy this."

"is that so?" you asked, raising a brow. you made your way to sit beside him on the small bed. it was truly a feat to both fit on it sometimes, but for the most part it was cozy.

"mhm. do you read this when i'm not around? i only ask because of the many bookmarks."

"does it bother you that i do?" there wasn't a hint of guilt or shame in your response. you had needs, and there were time he wasn't around to help.

he didn't hesitate, "no. as long as you're enjoying yourself, i see no problem at all. however, it has given me some ideas."

[hollywoodxwhore]

Mine | Chapter 14

Colson x Original Female Character

Synopsis: Presley may look sinful on the outside, but deep down, she's innocent, guarded, and terrified of intimacy. Colson, on the other hand, is living up to his womanizer reputation as a way to cope with heartbreak. When his new guitarist invites his twin sister to join them on tour, Colson discovers that he's actually capable of feeling. Will Presley and Colson be able to push past all of the barriers trying to prevent them from happening?

Warnings/Content: Smut (18+), angst, sad col & presley, cash being lovable again, emotions & crying, makeup sex, swearing

Tags: Let me know if you want to be added/removed from being tagged :) @triplexdoublex @jaxbreaker @mgklove99xx @jinx-on-mars-19xx @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @missamericanaxx @anonymousme86 @whiteleoqueen

Presley

I’m lost. 

A big part of me misses Colson so much that it physically hurts. It’s even worse having to be around him all the time. But another part of me is so shaken from him leaving. I haven’t felt ready to go back to him. What if he does it again? What if he abandons me?

I learned something when Colson left: I’m terrifyingly attached to him.

They say you become attached when you lose your virginity, but I think it’s more than that. I’m attached to our emotional connection. The sex is amazing, yes, but we connected so deeply before that. Colson was the first person who got me to open up about my fear of intimacy. He’s the first person who’s ever taken the time to really look into me, to give me a chance to explain myself. And he loved me for it anyway. 

I know he still loves me. He’s been patient and sweet, but I can tell this is hurting him, too. He only has a few shows left, and the thought of this ruining the end of his tour makes me sick. He doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve the radio silence I’ve given him. I don’t know if he and Cash have talked, but all I know is I’m miserable. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to talk to him. 

I’m curled around a pillow in my hotel room when a knock at the door startles me. Quietly, I tiptoe over to the door and peek out the peephole, relaxing when I see that it’s Cash. I open the door and he slides in. I grimace. “You smell like cigarettes,” I say.

“I know, sorry,” he says, walking past me to sit on the couch in my hotel room. 

“Can I help you?” I ask.

Cash looks me up and down disapprovingly. “Jesus. You sick?” he asks.

“Fuck you,” I mutter, plopping onto the bed. Sure, I’ve looked better. Sweatpants, giant t-shirt, greasy hair in a bun isn’t my best look. Paired with the mascara that’s probably streaked on my face from crying, I’m sure I look downright scary. But he doesn’t have to be a dick. “Why are you even here?”

“Good to see you, too, dear sister,” he says dryly.

I stare at him. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

Cash shrugs, pushing back his curls. “Kells and I made up,” he explains. The sound of Colson’s name is like a knife to my gut, but at the mention of their making up, my heart rises a little. 

“Oh,” I say. 

“Pres,” he says. “You know I approve of you two together, right?”

I lift my head, looking at him warily. “I mean, I know you feel bad, but you mean that?” I ask. “You actually approve?”

Cash nods. “I’ve never seen you so happy,” he says. “Well, not right now.” I flip him off. “But I mean it. Since you’ve been here with us, you’ve been so happy, and now I know why.”

I bite my lip hard, throat tightening. “He makes me really happy, Cash,” I say tightly, trying not to cry but tears well up in my eyes. I swallow hard. “I’m so scared.”

Cash frowns and gets up, coming over to sit next to me. He wraps an arm around me and pulls my head to his shoulder. “Of what?” he asks softly. 

I sniff, tears starting to fall. “Our lives are so different,” I sob. 

“Not really,” Cash says.

“Oh really?” I ask, lifting my head to look at him. “I’m a piercer. A homebody. Colson travels the world and makes music and goes to award shows and parties and shit.”

“So why can’t you do all those things, too?” Cash asks, pulling my head back to his shoulder.

I sigh. “I don’t know,” I mutter. “I can’t just…not work.”

“Who says you wouldn’t work?” Cash asks. “I’m sure we could find something for you.”

“Cash, I don’t even know if Colson wants that,” I say, but I know it’s a lie, deep down. Colson wants me with him, no matter how that looks. “Fuck,” I mutter.

“You guys need to talk,” he says. “He was scared, too, Pres. That's why he ran. Aren’t you doing the same thing to him?”

I consider this for a second, and then I groan. “I hate when you’re right,” I mutter unhappily.

Cash actually giggles. “I love when I’m right,” he says. I shove him away from me but my tears are slowing. I wipe off my face and stand up. 

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.”

Cash winces. “Pres?”

“What?”

“You should probably shower first.”

“Yeah. On it.” My tone is flat and I flip him off once more before turning to head towards the bathroom. I pause, glancing back at him. “Cash?” He looks up at me. “Thanks.”

Cash grins crookedly. “Love you. Good luck,” he says, getting up to leave. “Just don’t give me any mini Machine Gun nieces or nephews yet.”

“Bye, Cash,” I say firmly, and the sounds of his laughter follow him down the hall. 

XX

My shower is long, luxurious, and much needed.

I shave. I deep condition my hair. I slather on sweet smelling lotion after, brush my teeth, and run a blow dryer through my hair until it’s not soaking wet. I don’t bother with makeup, opting for moisturizer only. Colson likes me with or without makeup. Loves me with or without it. 

From my suitcase, I pull out a simple pair of black panties, then slip on a pair of sweats over them. I put on a tank, check my appearance one more time, then text Colson with shaky hands to come to my room. I’m half convinced that he’ll ignore me, that this is it for us, and when he doesn’t respond, my heart sinks. 

Until I hear a knock on my door. 

I try not to sprint to the peephole, and when I see Colson outside, my heart could just about burst with affection. I open the door and look right up into those gorgeous blue eyes. He looks a little surprised when I open the door and he gives me a crooked little smile.

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” I say, smiling softly. “Come in?”

He nods and walks in as I step aside. I let the door close behind us and watch him as he lopes into my room, hands in the pockets of his sweats. He looks so cozy in his sweats and hoodie, slippers on his feet. He turns around and looks at me.

“Were you about to go to bed?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I guess,” he says. He finally takes a second to look me up and down and he swallows. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, biting my lip. 

“Look–” “Pres–”

We speak in unison and we both laugh nervously. “Colson,” I say. 

“Pres, I’m so fucking sorry for leaving,” he interrupts. He takes a tentative step closer to me, and it’s then that I really see just how red his eyes are. It breaks me. “I got scared. I thought you’d pick Cash over me and we’d be done and that was too much for me to handle, I guess,” he explains.

I nod. “I was scared, too,” I say. “I still am.” I shake my head. “But I did the same thing to you. I ran.”

“I understand,” he says, but his voice is so full of pain and my fingers twitch at my sides, desperate to touch him. 

“Colson, I’m so sorry,” I say thickly. His jaw clenches and his eyes look a little wet when they meet mine. 

“Pres,” he says tightly. “Please. Just. Come here?” 

I look up at him and stare for a second, and finally, I nod. I walk closer to him and I can tell he wants to embrace me as much as I want to do the same to him, but he’s scared. Guarded. I did that. This is my fault. My face crumples and I hang my head, but then Colson is pulling me into his arms and I completely shatter. 

It’s ugly. These aren’t delicate tears that stream seamlessly down my cheeks. No, this is snot-filled, swollen eyed, full-body sobbing that makes it hard to breathe. But if Colson can’t handle me like this, then he isn’t the one for me. 

But of course he can handle it. Because he’s Colson. He’s the man I fell in love with, the best friend I made in such a short time. The person I trust most in this world, who made me love myself. And I almost lost him. Colson scoops me up effortlessly and sits on the bed, placing me on his lap. I curl in on myself and let it all out, the feeling of his arms around me a comfort that I so desperately need. 

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my forehead. “Let it out, Pres, I’m not going anywhere.”

“M-m-me neither,” I manage wetly. “I’m s-sorry I left.”

“Me too,” Colson whispers, squeezing me a little tighter. “Pres…” He’s quiet but I can hear his heart racing. I don’t move a muscle. “Presley, I love you,” he says finally, and the pieces of heart start to fuse back together. 

Slowly, my sobs start to subside into just tears, and I catch my breath. “I love you, too, Colson,” I tell him, reaching up to touch his cheek. It’s slightly scruffy and I scrape my nails lightly over the scruff. Colson shivers. “Cols…”

“Hm?”

“We have a lot to figure out,” I say quietly. As I unwind myself from his arms, Colson lets me go, and he’s silent and stiff as I sit on the bed beside him, folding my legs. He turns to face me and his expression is one of so much worry and anxiety. I put my hand on his knee and squeeze gently. “Relax.”

His throat bobs and he studies my face. “Talk to me,” he croaks.

I wet my lips. “We need to talk about what this is going to look like,” I say finally. “The tour ends soon.”

Colson nods, pushing a hand through his fluffy hair. “I know,” he mutters. He looks into my eyes. “Pres, don’t go home.” He sits up a little straighter, as if this is the most important thing he’s ever had to say. “Please. Stay with me,” he pleads, taking both my hands. “I’ll take care of you. We can find you a piercing job here or you can be a stay-at-home girlfriend slash go-on-tour girlfriend. I don’t care. I just want you here with me.” Icy blue eyes wander my face desperately.

I let out a shaky breath. “What if–”

“We could ask that question until we die,” he interrupts, and hesitantly, I nod. “If it doesn’t work out,” he says, “then we cross that bridge when we come to it. You know who else lives in LA and is a part of this band? Your brother.”

“I could always move in with him if I had to,” I say, and he nods.

“Exactly.” He lifts a big hand to cup my cheek, and I feel so vulnerable and raw and exhausted and scared and elated. I could move to LA and be with Colson. Who says I can’t? It’s not like I’m leaving all that much behind in Michigan. 

“Okay,” I say finally, nodding.

Colson’s eyes light up and that beautiful smile, the one I love so much, lights up his face. “Okay?” he asks. “You’ll move to LA?”

“Yes,” I say, and I can’t hold back from beaming. 

Colson laughs and hauls me back into his arms, hugging my waist so tightly that it nearly takes my breath away. I breathe him in, clinging to the man I love, my legs wrapping around his waist. Our foreheads are pressed together and we’re laughing, so full of joy and excitement, and then we’re no longer laughing because we’re kissing, and time stands still. 

God, I missed this mouth. 

Nothing melts me quite like a kiss from Colson. His lips are so gentle and warm and soft and he tastes so good and smells even better. I hold his face so he can’t pull back, but I don’t think there was ever a risk of that. He kisses me desperately, hands splaying across my back, and within seconds, I’m turned on. 

Colson sighs into my mouth, and shit, I missed his sounds. I push a hand into his hair and tug, drawing a moan from his throat. I do it again, seeking the same sound, and he moans louder, sliding his hands up under my tank. 

“Colson,” I whimper softly, my heart pattering in my chest. 

“Pres?” he asks, his eyes on mine, and his pupils are blown with arousal. 

“Please,” I say, touching his lips. “Make love to me?”

Colson makes a helpless little sound and leans in again, kissing me hard. I moan as his teeth sink into my lip and tug. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You know I will, baby.”

Moments later, I’m on my back and Colson is on top of me, his sweatshirt and t-shirt discarded onto the floor. One of his big hands is creeping up under my tank top, warm fingertips skimming my stomach, and I shiver, arching at the sensation. I’ve read about makeup sex, seen it in many movies and shows, but nothing compares to it actually happening. Colson and I are going to reconnect, and I have a feeling we’ll be even closer when it’s over. 

I lift my arms as he removes my tank top, and then his eyes are on my chest, rememorizing. I bite my lip as he eyes me, and he slides an arm beneath my back, which pushes my chest up. Then, my nipple is in his hot mouth, and the wet roughness of his tongue has me moaning, my head falling back. My panties dampen immediately. I’m so reactive to him and I think I always will be. 

He takes his time on my chest, and when he pulls back, going up onto his knees, I practically salivate at the sight of his rigid cock through his sweats. He reaches down to adjust himself and I swear I could start panting.  I’ve never wanted anything as badly as I want Colson right now. He catches my expression and smirks, squeezing his cock for me again. “Shit,” I squeak out. “Take them off.”

Colson’s smirk grows and he hops off the bed, letting his sweats pool around his ankles. He steps out of them and grips himself again, this time the only barrier between his hand and his dick a pair of thin boxer briefs. And I can’t help myself. I roll off the bed and sink to my knees.

“Fuck,” Colson says lowly as I slide my hands up his thighs. He looks so dominant and sexy above me, and I admire as much of his body as I can see. He removes his hand, placing it in my hair instead, and I lean in to rest my head against his thigh, my own trembling hand coming up to take the place of where his had just been. Colson grunts softly as I squeeze, finding the shape of him through the black material, and pleasure zips through me at the thought of having him inside me again. 

Hastily, I tug down his boxers and he kicks out of them, but I’m so impatient that he’s in my mouth before the boxers are even fully off. His moan is loud and tortured and his hips jerk, which presses him to the back of my throat. I gag and I start to pull off, embarrassed, but a gentle hand falls to the back of my head. “Oh shit,” he whimpers. “Baby…do that again?”

I look up at him, surprised, and blink before moving forward again, taking him all the way to the back of my throat once more. I gag again, and drool leaks from my mouth, but Colson seems to love it. He’s moaning like I’ve never heard before, and even though gagging isn’t the most pleasant feeling, I’d do it for the rest of my life to keep hearing him moan like that. After a moment, he gently starts to thrust his hips, pushing his cock deep every single time, and my eyes water, nails digging into his thighs, but I love it. 

“Ohhhh god,” Colson moans shakily, head falling back. “Baby, give me your hand.” I do as I’m told and he bends slightly, urging me to wrap my fingers gently around his balls. “Yeah, fuck, just like that. Squeeze ‘em, baby, lightly.” I follow his direction and I feel them tighten in my hand. His moan is shaky and his thighs tremble. As he continues thrusting, I keep applying gentle pressure, and as his moans grow higher and more needy, his balls tighten up so hard that it seems like it must hurt, but then he’s pulling his hips back as hot cum spills from his cock. 

It bursts onto my tongue and chin, immediately dripping down onto my breasts and I sit back on my heels, watching Colson. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open when he watches his release trickle onto arguably his favorite part of my body, and I don’t know what comes over me, but suddenly, I’m rubbing his cum into my chest, bringing it down to my nipples. “Holy fuck,” he rasps, hand still curled around his dick. “That’s a good fucking girl.” 

Finally, he pants, sinking to his knees in front of me. I watch as he swipes two fingers through his cum and brings them to my mouth. I open up, allowing his fingers entrance, and suck his release off his thick fingers. He moans again, brow furrowing, and I love the power I have over him right now. He does it again until I’m all clean, and by the time he’s done, he’s either hard again or he never went soft in the first place. 

“Clothes off. On the bed,” he demands, and I do as I’m told, settling with my head on the pillows. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. He lays down and pulls me on top of him. “Get that pussy in my mouth. Now,” he says firmly, and he’s being so direct and bossy and it makes me ache. 

“Wh-what?” I ask.

“Come ride my face,” he insists, pulling my waist. I let him pull me up over his face, and it feels so weird but so hot at the same time. I steady myself on the headboard with my thighs on either side of his head, and when his big hands go to my ass and pull my pussy to his mouth, the moan I release is unfamiliar to my own ears. Pleasure shoots through me and my thighs automatically clench around his head. He moans, digging his fingertips into my ass, keeping me there. 

I can physically feel my body react: my nipples stiffening, my spine going rigid, my hands clenching on the headboard. I give into the pleasure, and after a moment, I can’t help but roll my hips. Colson moans again and lets go of my ass with one hand to reach down and squeeze his dick. He loves this, and that turns me on even more, to the point where I can feel my own desire on my thighs and on his cheeks. But I’m not embarrassed. Not with Colson.

His hand returns to my ass, and I gasp, entire body stiffening when his middle fingers grazes between my cheeks. “Cols,” I manage, confused but not mad about it. He just hums against me and lets his finger circle a part of me that I never associated with sexual pleasure. But something about it is erotic and I give into the pleasure, arching my back to open myself up more for him. His finger moves down, gathering some of my slick, and uses it as lubricant to gently ease a finger inside my ass. 

My cheeks are beet red, and I take back what I said about not being embarrassed. This is scary, but it feels good, and I’m embarrassed by how much I’m enjoying it, embarrassed at the fact that with one simple motion, I’m all of a sudden hovering on the threshold of coming. Colson teases me, his tongue working wonders against my clit as his finger moves slowly, and with a broken cry, my hips jerk and I come hard. 

I whine and roll and circle my hips through my peak, my eyes squeezing so tightly shut that I see stars. Finally, I slump, and he eases his finger out of me, gently pulling my hips back so he can breathe. He pants and smirks up at me, licking his lips. Shakily, I climb off him and lie beside him, panting. “Shit, Cols,” I manage, and he chuckles. 

“Was that okay?” he asks, resting a hand on my belly. 

I look at him and nod. He grins and kisses me softly, and I should hate that I can taste myself, but I don’t. Colson kisses me for a long few minutes, and then his hand is back between my legs. “Need to be inside of you,” he murmurs, and I moan, nodding quickly. “Can we try something new?” he asks. 

“Of course,” I say. He rolls onto his back again and pulls me on top of him. I raise a brow. “Y-you want me to ride you?” I ask.

Colson smirks. “Fuck yeah, baby. That okay?”

I nod and swallow hard, nervous that I’ll be bad, but I trust Colson. He maneuvers me right where I need to be and lifts my hips so I hover over him. With one hand on my hip and the other holding his cock, he guides me down on him, and my jaw drops at the way he feels sliding through my walls until he’s home. I gasp at the depth, at the way the head of his cock rests right against my spot, and my legs tremble on either side of him.

“Want you to move your hips just like you did on my face, okay?” he says tightly, cheeks flushed with pleasure. I nod and wet my lips, placing my hands on his chest before rolling my hips experimentally. Pleasure explodes when his cock rubs perfectly against my spot, and the stuttered moan that leaves me surprises both of us. “Good?” Colson asks, blue eyes dancing in the low light. 

“Good,” I whimper, doing it again. This time, Colson moans, too, and his sounds encourage me to keep moving, to keep rolling my hips forward so he can grind against the spot that makes my skin tingle. “H-holy shit, baby,” I whine.

Colson’s hands go to my ass and he helps me move faster, harder. I just came, and it’s not going to take long for it to happen again. “Fuck, come here,” he begs, pulling me down so we’re chest to chest and kissing. I kiss him hard, bitingly, and he moans into my mouth, his hands caressing my ass and hips and waist. He starts to lift his hips in time with mine, and my spot is so deliciously abused that the whines and whimpers that leave me are almost constant and totally uncontrollable. 

“Cols,” I manage, and that’s all I can do before I break. Pleasure explodes deep inside of me, rushing down to my curling toes and bringing goosebumps to every inch of my flesh. My hips jerk and roll and rut and Colson holds me tightly, his face buried in my neck. 

“Fuck,” he gasps against my skin, and he tries to lift my hips but I force them back down, tightening my muscles to stay on him. Colson curses and his hips jerk as he comes, too, and the sensation is strange and new but nice. He pulses inside me, and his release is warm against where I’m still throbbing. Our hips jerk against one another’s and our noises mingle in the room, and at the same time, we finally go still. 

Colson’s face is still buried against my neck and he’s gone quiet, his body trembling. I hold him close, tracing my nails gently up and down his arm as I come down, but then, my neck is wet. I freeze when I realize what’s happening.

Colson is crying.

It isn’t just teary eyes this time. It’s real, and his breath is shaky and his hands tremble against my back. “Cols,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Baby, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps crying silently, and I think I should probably be startled, but for some reason, it makes sense to me. I cried the first night he touched me. Emotional release, he called it. Now it’s his turn. 

We’re still locked together, as close as two people can be, and though I can feel that he’s not as hard anymore, I don’t move. I can’t move. The thought of being away from him makes me feel a little sick. But finally, he starts to calm down, his breathing evening out. He presses a kiss to my neck. “You need to go clean up,” he rasps.

“It’s okay, baby,” I insist. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

“Nah, baby,” he says. “Go pee. Clean up and come back to me.”

I nod and he helps me to lift my hips, both of us hissing as we disconnect. I grimace as I feel his cum dripping down my thighs, and I shove my hand between my legs to try and catch it while I waddle into the bathroom. After peeing and cleaning up like I was told, I return to find Colson tucked under the blanket, his bare, colorful chest on display, and the sight of his slightly swollen eyes breaks me. 

I hurry back into bed, snuggling right up to him, our legs tangling as strong arms envelop me. We’re quiet for a beat, my head on his warm chest, and all of a sudden, I’m drowsy. I haven’t been sleeping well without him, and I’m sure he’s in the same boat. He reaches over and turns off the light.

“Hey,” I whisper. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Colson hums and finds my lips in the dark. “I love you, Pres,” he murmurs. “I won’t leave again. I promise.”

“Me neither,” I assure him. “You tired?” “Fucking exhausted,” he admits. “You?”

“Yes,” I agree. “Let’s go to sleep, baby.”

With that, we snuggle closer, our limbs intertwined, and we fall into oblivion quickly, finally feeling safe again.

[ladyartemesia]

TEASER: Kim Seokjin and the Mean Omega

Pairing: Nerd Alpha Kim Seokjin x Popular Omega Reader

Genre: A/B/O • Enemies to Lovers • (Sorta) College AU • Best Friend's Brother AU (Who is surprised? No one?)

Teaser Word Count: 3.6K

Teaser Warnings: A/B/O sexual dynamics • suggestive content

Rating: Explicit (18+) (Teaser is PG-13)

Summary: In the modern world, alphas are almost unheard of so why even bother learning about them? After all, as a spoiled (but reasonably kind-hearted) omega who is used to getting whatever she wants, you have better things to do. However, when unexpected circumstances throw you in the path of (extremely) nerdy and (probably?) shy Kim Seokjin, you're shocked to discover that he won't be wrapped around your little finger as easily as all the rest. Bringing that infuriating geek to his knees quickly becomes your personal mission in life... But it turns out that Kim Seokjin is not what he appears to be and the mean omega who eats beta boys for breakfast is about to get way more than she bargained for...

Author’s Note: This story would not be here without the love, support and friendship of my incredible support system. You talk with me, you laugh with me, you listen when I’m crying, and you read my chaotic drafts when I am ready to pull my hair out of my head in frustration. I love you all. @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @lemonjoonah. ALSO thank you to each and every one of you who encouraged me to post this story. This fic is dedicated to all of you as a token of my love and appreciation. Your support keeps me writing. Never doubt that for a second.

“...due to discriminatory anti-alpha policies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, alphas were nearly eliminated from the general population…”

You heaved a weary sigh and rolled your shoulders—stretching the buttons of your high-end Oxford shirt to their limit. The beta sophomore to your right whined audibly and you smirked.

“...despite efforts to restore the genetic balance of designations, alphas currently comprise less than one percent of the population…”

Your back arched slightly as you crossed your legs, letting the absurdly short hem of your skirt ride up even higher. The poor boy you were tormenting shifted miserably in his seat.

How was he supposed to focus on a Human Biology and Designation Studies lecture when the living breathing embodiment of every sweaty undergrad’s fantasies was twisting her fingers in her hair and wrapping her pretty pink tongue around a strawberry lollipop right there in the middle of class?

“...unlike betas and omegas, alphas possess enhanced strength and the ability to compel other designations with their voice. Unmated alphas especially were often baselessly feared and distrusted...”

You knew exactly how you affected boys like him. You were a shameless tease who relished their attention and the power it brought you. Who needed drugs when driving a man mad with desire was a rush more potent than any high?

“...and that’s all for today so please read pages 450-466 in the text over break and remember to turn in your essay on scent and consent in intimacy—”

That poor sophomore looked like he had finally worked up the courage to speak to you, but you were already out the door and tearing down the hall toward your beautiful (and entirely platonic) counterpart, Kim Taehyung.

“Do you think Professor Moore is unaware that class is over at 3:25 or is he just torturing us for science?”

Taehyung shrugged, falling into step beside you with practiced ease.

“I mean I would torture you for free so it’s hard to say.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his characteristic dry humor, but the irritation at being held in that sweltering lecture hall for an extra ten minutes had frayed your temper.

“It’s the last class before spring break, I’m sure he was on some sort of twisted power trip.” You dug around in your purse for some chapstick, ignoring Tae’s amused snorting, “Alphas barely exist anymore and none of us are likely to meet one. Why bother learning what they can do?”

Taehyung tilted his head in amusement.

“You might be surprised.”

The final party before the beginning of spring break was always a laid back affair.

Many people had already caught planes to their various destinations, but your flight was scheduled for early tomorrow morning—leaving you with some time to kill.

Taehyung pressed his newest experimental concoction into your hand within minutes of entering the house (a surprisingly neat bachelor pad owned by two seniors, Jung Hoseok and Min Yoongi) and then darted back to the kitchen to craft more questionable alcohol potions like a deranged party warlock.

You had just found a comfortable place on the couch and were contemplating whether sampling your best friend’s mad scientist elixir would be worth the probable damage to your body when—

“H-Hello...”

It was that sophomore from your Designations Studies class. What was his name again? Jungwoo? Jinwook?

“Jungkook,” you smiled, delighted to have remembered before it became awkward. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You motioned to the empty cushion next to you and the man in question scrambled over like he’d won the lottery.

“I—I know we don’t know each other well, but I noticed you were absent during Professor Moore’s lecture on intimacy and scent consent so I—” he blushed deeply, “I wrote the essay for you—and I brought a copy on my flash drive if-if you want it.”

Your heart melted immediately.

“Oh my gosh Jungkook, that is so sweet of you!”

Your gaze darted over his muscular form and thick brown curls.

Sweet indeed.

“I don’t want to miss out on the learning though,” you pouted, placing a hand on his tattooed bicep. “Can you explain it to me?”

Jungkook nodded vigorously even as his wide eyes fell to where your fingers were sliding slowly over his chest.

Scent consent was a pretty basic and universally known concept, but you really were touched by the handsome sophomore's consideration.

Why not give him (and yourself) a little reward?

“Um so basically if two people are involved in...intimate activities—”

You leaned forward to nip his ear lightly and he whimpered.

“Like this?” you asked innocently.

“Y-Yes. Like that.” He gulped. “In an intimate situation consent or refusal can be smelled. The scent of refusal or reluctance in intimacy is strong, unmistakable, and has a high chemical potency.”

“Is that so?” you drawled, sliding over onto his lap. Jungkook’s eyes rolled back into his head and you bit back a grin.

He was adorable.

“Uh-huh—it—oh my gawd,” (you were nibbling on his ear again) “it can immediately block sexual arousal and performance in the other partner. Meaning, if consent is not present, then it becomes difficult or—ahh” (his voice began to waver under your continued attention) “—or even impossible to continue with intimate acts.”

Your hand slid up to his cheek, bringing him closer till your lips were almost touching.

“Then what does it mean if I’m still so turned on right now?”

“It means,” Jungkook shuddered—nearly delirious with your scent, “that I really really want you.”

Across the room, Park Jimin chuckled as he watched you seduce his enthusiastic friend.

Jeon Jungkook was such a sweet kid.

Hopefully he wouldn’t get too attached.

“Wow... Some people are genuinely born blessed I suppose.”

Jimin turned to see Jung Hoseok eyeing the dimly lit corner where you and the eager young sophomore were exploring each other.

It was a rather...provocative spectacle. Not quite raunchy (you weren’t truly an exhibitionist)—just insanely sexy.

Jimin’s gaze lingered on the smooth curve of your thigh where Jeon Jungkook was currently holding on for dear life.

Lucky bastard.

“Ah you know how she is,” he sighed. “That boy isn’t going to get any farther than anyone else.”

It was relatively common knowledge that you liked to mess around but rarely—if ever— fully hooked up with anyone.

Jimin asked you about it once during a drunken game of truth or dare and you had just shrugged, mumbling something along the lines of avoiding STDs (which—to be fair—was at least part of your motivation), but the truth was a little more complicated than that.

In terms of experience, you weren’t a virgin, but... you hadn’t actually had sex in years.

You loved the chase, the foreplay, the build-up—the game of cat-and-mouse between two people who were attracted to one another.

But the final consummation was always so…

Wildly unfulfilling.

Every encounter left you frustrated. Empty.

Grumpy—even.

So you stopped bothering with it all together. (That was what sex toys were for after all.)

At the end of the day you were perfectly content being labeled a tease—it meant that people tended to know what they were (or rather weren’t) getting into when they rolled the dice with you.

Besides…it hadn’t even put a dent in your throng of admirers.

You were sunny, spoiled, indulgent, almost universally adored—

And you loved every minute of it.

“You know…” Hoseok took a long sip of his drink. “I always thought she would end up with Taehyung, but it’s been three years.”

Like you, Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat and it was only natural that two beautiful and absurdly privileged people would gravitate to one another. You met at a freshman pledge party and had been an inseparable (and formidable) dynamic duo ever since.

The undisputed king and queen of campus.

Yes—maybe the two of you were a little self-absorbed at times, but it was hardly your fault that people tended to instinctively cater to the force of your combined looks, wealth, and charisma.

And it didn’t hurt that neither of you were ever intentionally cruel or unkind.

Just... habitually thoughtless.

(Though not when it came to each other. If anything your friendship was one area where you were both a little more human.)

Jimin shook his head.

“Nah that’s never gonna happen.” He tapped his nose. “They’re scent-crossed.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

Scent-crossed pairs didn’t smell sexually attractive to each other.

Like. At all.

No matter how physically or visually appealing an individual might be, it would be near impossible to form a sexual or romantic attachment to them if you were scent-crossed. Alphas, betas, and omegas were all subject to their noses first and foremost in the realm of attraction.

You and Taehyung smelled like comfort and home to one another...

But you were more turned on by a crisp cup of apple juice than you were his scent and the feeling was quite mutual.

He might as well have been your actual brother.

“That explains so much.” Hoseok snorted as he watched a drunken Taehyung do a flying leap on top of both you and Jungkook.

“Why is sunlight so offensive?” you croaked, dragging yourself and your luggage toward the boarding ramp next to an equally miserable Taehyung.

“The next time I book a flight before 9 AM, please shoot me,” he grunted.

Your parents were celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary with a month-long European cruise so your best friend had graciously invited you to spend two glorious weeks of spring vacation at his family estate.

The invitation had actually come as somewhat of a surprise because—for all your closeness—Taehyung was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his family.

Not that he was deliberately withholding information per se… It was just that he never really brought them up beyond an occasional passing comment.

The one time you did ask him about them directly he sighed and said—

“We’re very close, but… I suppose we’ve just gotten used to being very private.”

There was clearly more to the story, but you were confident that Tae would share it if and when he was ready.

“My parents are in Seoul opening a new branch of the company. They took my little sister with them and my older brother has his own house so it will be just us.” He snuggled deeper into the first class seat directly next to yours. “We’ll hang out by the pool and chill during the day, then hit up some of the new clubs or whatever at night.”

“So… No one from your family will be there?”

Perhaps the invitation was not so surprising after all.

“Nope. Just you and me and thirty acres of ocean front property.”

You grinned.

“Perfect.”

“Whose room is that?”

The two of you were lugging your bags down the main hall of Taehyung’s expansive mansion when a strange hint of...something caught you right by the nose.

Your friend turned to find you frozen and staring curiously at a familiar door near the balcony.

His eyes widened, but you were too preoccupied to notice his momentary concern.

“That’s just Jin’s room.”

A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and dragged you away, but your eyes stayed glued to the source of the mysterious scent until you were around the corner and out of sight.

Your suite for the next two weeks was right across the hall from Taehyung’s. There was a whirlpool, a full bath, a balcony, and an ocean view that would rival the cover spread of any travel magazine.

Tae headed for the shower (to ‘wash the airplane off’) immediately after showing you the room and you were thinking of doing the same except…

Your mind kept going back to that door and the hint of scent you detected.

There was something… different about it.

It was faint—and far from fresh (which made sense considering that one of the few things you did know about Kim Seokjin was that he hadn’t lived in this house for years).

But still…

The need to smell it again pressed insistently at the back of your mind.

Suddenly the sound of Taehyung singing raunchy lyrics in the shower carried over through the walls and you found your feet moving almost of their own accord.

What Tae doesn’t know won’t hurt him, you rationalized, making your way down the hall toward Jin’s door. Besides—it’s not as if I’m going to steal anything…

You just needed to find that scent again.

By the time your fingers closed over the knob every one of your nerves was strangely—acutely—alert but nothing could have prepared you for what was waiting behind the door.

Oh. My. Gosh.

“What a colossal nerd.”

The room was covered floor to ceiling in Nintendo memorabilia.

Bright primary colors assaulted your eyes from all directions in the form of action figures, posters, pillows, and every other conceivable merch variety known to man.

In the center of the suite stood a large king-sized bed covered in a custom black couture toile-style Mario-verse bed set (that looked every bit as expensive as it was geeky) and a mountain of high quality Nintendo character plush toys.

Everything was simultaneously luxe and nostalgic—a rare combination of sophisticated aesthetic balance and childlike indulgence.

And the scent was there.

It was faint and covered under layers of cleaner and air fresheners, but still lingering just below the surface—too weak for you to get a really good whiff, yet potent enough to torment you.

You moved forward unconsciously toward the strongest source of the hypnotic smell—the strangely inviting expanse of Kim Seokjin’s mattress.

Suddenly the urge to climb—no crawl—across the bed itself and roll around in it like a kitten in catnip gripped you out of nowhere.

“What the hell?” you muttered, rubbing absently over the mating gland at the base of your neck.

Something very odd was going on with your body.

Your restless gaze zeroed in on one of the stuffed toys piled atop his pillows. It was a cute little mushroom man your brain recognized as a Mario character named ‘Toad’.

Take it.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

You need it.

“Am I going insane?” you wondered aloud.

You have to take it.

Muscles in your hand began to twitch involuntarily. You bit your lip.

Bring it back with you.

Several minutes later a freshly washed Taehyung wandered over to your room and found you sitting perfectly still on your bed while staring off into space.

His head tilted in curious concern.

“Everything ok?”

You started a bit at the sound of his voice, but recovered quickly.

“Never better!” you chirped—almost too brightly. “Let’s go get some dinner, I’m starving.”

Then you grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall toward the kitchen—shutting the door before he could catch a glimpse of his brother’s stuffed Toad doll stashed underneath your pillow

“...a critical water main rupture in the city’s New Market district early this morning has forced several residents out of their homes as flood water swelled up to nearly two feet. The governor declared a state of emergency and ordered hotels around the city to accommodate the displaced citizens. Crews are still clearing the water and assessing damages. We expect—

“Hey!” you shouted through a mouthful of cereal, after Your best friend switched off the television, “I was watching that!”

“And what you should be doing is getting ready for the pool.” Tae snatched your cereal bowl and dragged you by your shirt collar toward the stairs. “It is the first morning of our vacation. I’m not trying to waste any time. Now go.” He shoved you forward, smacking your ass for good measure.

You swatted back at him half-heartedly as jogged back up to the room where you enjoyed a surprisingly restful sleep last night.

Kim Seokjin’s door glared at you accusingly as you shuffled past—unable to let you forget that you had kidnapped it’s little mushroom man in an unexplained fit of kleptomania, but that was a problem for your future self.

The you of right now was going to zen out in the Kim family's premium glass-enclosed indoor pool (it was still a little chilly for the outdoor pool) with her best friend and bask in the simple joys of good company and no responsibility.

...Or not.

A few minutes later you bounced into the living room wearing a simple black tankini with a cute floral cover only to find Taehyung on the phone with his head in his hands.

“Yes, sir. I understand… I...I know this is my responsibility...”

That didn’t sound good.

After a few more tense moments, Tae hung up and collapsed backward into the couch with a heavy sigh.

“That water main break you heard about on TV this morning was the last straw between the province and its current contractor. They called an emergency meeting for new bids.”

Your heart dropped as you sank down beside him.

“Your dad wants you to go...doesn’t he.”

Taehyung nodded miserably.

“He can’t leave the Seoul opening on such short notice and managing government construction contracts is part of what I’ve been training for. This could be huge for our company.”

“Well...why doesn’t your brother go?”

“Jin is the brains behind most of our patented gaming and tech innovations. He wouldn’t even know where to begin with this sort of thing. Besides,” his lips quirked up in a rueful grin, “my brother doesn’t have the patience to stroke entitled geriatric egos for hours on end—which is likely what I’m going to have to do.”

The two of you headed back to Taehyung’s room where you helped him pack some suits and toiletries for his trip.

Naturally you were disappointed but...this was a great opportunity for your best friend to prove himself in his chosen field and you both knew it. In fact, he was already starting to brighten a bit.

“The meeting is about a hundred miles north of here. My dad’s secretary already handled the flight and hotel room.” His eyes darted around the suite to see if he was forgetting anything.

It was clear he was nervous, though you were sure he didn’t need to be. Kim Taehyung was a trust fund brat, but he was also talented and deeply passionate about his family’s company.

Someday this would be the norm. The two of you were stealing time in college, determined to live a little before the expectations of your powerful families transferred fully onto your shoulders.

It was becoming more and more clear, however, that your carefree time was slowly running out.

Mother had already spoken to you about potential marriage alliances and your father expected you to intern with his Vice President this summer just as your elder sister had...

Taehyung’s voice suddenly interrupted your bittersweet introspection and you couldn’t help but smile at how grown-up he looked in his suit and briefcase ensemble.

Everything was going to change, but not quite yet.

“They estimate negotiations should take around a week or so…” He walked over and pulled you into a tight hug. “There should still be some vacation left for us when I get back.”

“Hurry back then,” you mumbled grumpily into his chest and he chuckled.

“I will.”

Taehyung had been gone for less than twenty minutes when you decided that the best use of your time would be to eat more snacks.

The last thing you expected when you skipped merrily into the kitchen was to find it occupied by a shaggy-haired homeless man in glasses.

Your first instinct was to scream which caused the homeless man to drop the apple he was biting right onto the floor where it rolled around for a small eternity before coming to rest at his ankles.

Your second instinct was to grab a butcher’s cleaver from the nearby knife block and wave it chaotically at the intruder while shouting something along the lines of—

“You’ve made a huge mistake! My boyfriend is the biggest, meanest mafia boss in Seoul! Leave now and he might let you live!”

The homeless man continued to stare at you with a mixture of confusion and shock, but made no move to run away in terror like you were hoping.

So you tried again.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! The last man who touched me drinks his steak through a straw now! Do the smart thing and leave before my boyfriend comes down those stairs and it’s too late!”

Infuriatingly, the homeless man was still not fleeing for his life and frankly you were starting to get frustrated. You drew in a deep cleansing breath and were prepared to issue another grandiose threat when he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, miss. I... think there’s been some sort of mistake. Who is your boyfriend?”

There was no rational explanation for what came out of your mouth next, but it rolled off your tongue so smoothly and you didn’t even flinch.

“Kim Seokjin.”

For the first time in your entire exchange, the intruder looked truly alarmed.

Now that’s more like it.

“You’ve heard of him I see. He’s a dangerous man and my body belongs to him.” You slammed the cleaver down onto the countertop with a (hopefully) menacing slash. “Kim Seokjin doesn’t like when other men put their hands on what belongs to him.”

There was a long, unpardonably tense moment of silence…Then the stranger slowly reached forward and picked up a mobile phone from the table in front of him.

His eyes remained locked with yours as he pressed a quick series of buttons, brought the phone to his ear, waited a few seconds and said—

“Taehyung… Would you mind telling me why there is a half-naked, knife-wielding omega in our kitchen claiming to be my girlfriend?”

Hello! Please comment on this post if you would like to be added to the taglist!

You guys were all so wonderful, and encouraging, and excited that I literally got this teaser out in three days! If you like what you read so far, please let me know! I cannot put into words how meaningful and valuable feedback is to me. I truly treasure it! It fuels my creativity and keeps me writing. I would love to hear from you!

[lacheri]

ship your moots!

GLADLY I WILL! 💕 (this is just a list of mootz off the top of my head! if I didn’t include you it’s not personal I promise 🥰 I just have a squirrel brain) ((I might do some matchups in the future this was a lot of fun to write!! and I know I missed a bunch of moots ): maybe next milestone I’ll do it ahhh))

@onwiings — I honestly cannot decide between Eren or Levi, so, I ship Len in a poly relationship with the both of them. the depth of Len’s soul is vast and never ending and such a perfect match for Levi, but her Aries childlike curiosity and humor is so Eren it’d be a crime to ignore their chemistry. Levi is so well equipped to take on the brat taming, (as is Len OOOOOH) and Eren is the biggest brat of them all.

I’m visualizing the three of them walking down a farmer’s market placed in the street in their favorite city to visit on vacation. Levi with his usual sour stoic expression acting like he’s not beaming with happiness while Eren and Len can’t stop giggling at pointing at stalls they want to visit. Len is immediately drawn into some stand selling homemade soaps, and Eren is utterly confused by the names. “What the fuck does watermelon lavender even smell like? THIS MAKES NO SENSE!” and Levi is like, “You’re an idiot. If she wants to buy it, let her.” “BUT IT MAKES NO SENSE—“ “LEN WILL BUY IT IF SHE PLEASES.” and Len is like 🧍🏻‍♀️ I just wanted to smell wtf

@ryukatters — I know you want me to pick Eren. you don’t even know I’m writing this and I can feel you screaming at me to pick Eren.

HOWEVER, I’M NOT GOING TO SHIP YOU WITH ANY EREN JUST WALKING DOWN THE STREET, I CARE ABOUT YOU TOO MUCH. so, SIMP EREN!!! wholesome SWEET Eren!!

I already wrote this, but Eren playing guitar by a bonfire on a beach with Kat. just the two of them as they goof around, utterly and completely in love with each other. Aries and Aries energy is so silly, so pure. (the fights I won’t get into but they’re stubborn af but just refer to feral on this one) just complete GOOFBALLS! Eren also buys matching hand cuff bracelets that say “partners in crime” because you’re really his best friend. he just loves you with his whole heart. BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE!!!

Eren is so sweet, but he’s especially sweet for you. he truly, utterly, and completely adores you. you’re his favorite girl, the only one in the world he sees. and he cannot wait to see you in that pretty white dress walking down the aisle one day. (he’s had the ring picked out from the second he met you)

@mochi-vulpine — my dear sweet Mochi. sweet, lovable, silly Mochi. evil laughter.

ONLY. and I mean ONLY, am I not shipping you with Erwin because I want to see you torture Levi. I want front row tickets to see you sabotage his tea stash, that toilet paper prank you told me about, EVERYTHING. enemies to lovers. I think you’d bring out the fun side of Levi, a playful innocence he was neglected of in his childhood. you’d make life fun, no matter how inconvenient your pranks would be. and he’ll never admit it, but he genuinely looks forward to see what you do next. if you skip a day, do absolutely no hi-jinx’s or shenanigans, Levi is so concerned and even disappointed. he’s checking everywhere — surely he had missed whatever you’d planned for him? when he discovers nothing, he’s high tailing it to come and find you. you’re just hanging out, in bed maybe drawing something.

“What’s wrong with you?” you’re so confused, “What are you talking about? I’m literally fine?” “Don’t lie to me.” “LEVI I’M LITERALLY JUST LAYING HERE WHAT’S YOUR DEAL?” and he gets all flustered, and he BLUSHES. “Nothing. Go back to what you were doing.”

“You missed me, didn’t you?” “Shut up.” “I hid your paperwork, you have 24 hours to find it, or else all the nails in your desk disappear.” “GOD FUCKING DAMMIT—“

@astridthevalkyrie — ngl, I’m really struggling to pick someone. just because you could fit so well with so many of the aot people. but, I just remembered you begging for a certain anon, and a few ideas popped into mind. so, I’m shipping you with Petra.

Astrid just genuinely cannot believe someone like Petra exists, you immediately fall in love with her courage, her innate glow of confidence. and the more you get to know her, you fall in love with her sweetness, she’s so nurturing and caring. her smile brightens her entire face, and you swoon. and she’s in the exact same state of mind.

because you are so SMART, so intelligent and have so many interests and hobbies. Petra will keep a list of them all, even if they don’t fancy her interest. she’ll ask questions, implore you to explain why exactly you love that color you do, why that’s your favorite animal. Petra will curl up in the couch with you, snuggle deep into the blankets, and watch whatever you have on the TV. even if it’s the 4th season of whatever, even if she’s never seen a single episode. she’ll gently poke your side, give you a confused look, and smile so big when you start explaining the backstory.

and while I think Petra is incredibly sweet and gentle, if someone ever dared to insinuate even a hint of disrespect towards you, they’d be laid out on the floor before they could even think about finishing their sentence.

@bagsyy — like there’s any other answer but Jean. perfect boyfriend Jean. he loves Cass, so much it scares him sometimes. he feels so safe, so secure with you. Cass is his HOME. the only person in the world he trusts enough to completely open up to, share his darkest thoughts and deepest feelings.

manifesting you and Jean laying side by side in bed together, connected by your intertwined hands as you just talk. as soon as he closes his mouth, you crack a joke to lighten to mood, and he just laughs. laughs harder than he ever has before, because you get him. you understand him, you see him. he never ever doubts your loyalty, your intentions. and you never doubt his.

true love. soul mates. twin flames. the kind of love your childlike self imagined when you were young and innocent. Jean is your Prince Charming.

@liashideout — Armin. Armin Armin Armin. he would find you so completely fascinating. asks to hear about every opinion you could possibly have. plans extravagant dates, maybe not in price but in sentimental value. you want to go out shopping? he’s taking you to the biggest shopping center he can find, even if it’s like a 2 hour drive. you want to go to the museum? good because he already bought tickets and planned the entire day down to your snack breaks. you just want to hang out at home and watch movies? he was already on his way over with your favorite ice cream, your favorite snacks, and has a takeout delivery in route to your house.

Armin the sweetest boy, Armin who wears his heart on his sleeve. he will support you 1000% in any single thing you do, and will go out of his way to make sure you accomplish your goals. and he’s so attentive. can figure out your mood in a split second, you almost think he can read your mind. YOU GUYS NEVER FIGHT BECAUSE OF THIS! argue or disagree, yes, but full on fighting? he’s too empathetic for that, and harsh words never go anywhere. he’s there to protect you, to guide you. to bask in your warmth and your smile. there are no bad days with him, and he makes it his mission to spend every moment with you like it’s his last.

[bi-writes]

do you have any fix recs for tom or haz smut x innocent reader? high key into praise kink!

you know what. how about i just write one with mob!tom? caution below nsfw content ahead haha.

It was quiet tonight. You had a cup of tea steaming on the kitchen counter behind you, and you were sitting on the couch with your knees tucked underneath you, reading a book. You had the lights off, but candles on, and there was a soft, lovely glow around the room. This was your favorite way to end an evening. Tea, a good book, and the coziness of candlelight before you would start to get tired and ready for bed. 

It surprised Harrison when he found out about you. Tom was distracted from work recently, too distracted, and he was always leaving or on his way out or showing up late or not at all. He was worried something was going on, and when he found out about you, he couldn’t really believe it. You were not his type. You were quiet and reserved, gentle and delicate, and Harrison thought Tom might break you with his hard tones, his rough touch, and his inability to empathize with people. But he was wrong.

Tom was in love with you. He was infatuated with you. And he adored the innocent presence you gave off as soon as you came into a room. It made you so...responsive. Every touch, every word, every kiss, it made you blush and squeal and giggle, and he loved telling you the words you secretly wanted to hear. His confidence was so attractive to you, his inability to keep his thoughts to himself drove you wild, and even though you seemed calm and shy in front of others, Tom had discovered you blossomed like a flower behind closed doors, if he encouraged you enough. It was like a secret you kept from anyone else, as if something only Tom had the privilege of seeing, and he liked it that way. He didn’t want anyone else knowing how beautiful you were, truly.

There was a knock at the door. You were a bit annoyed, getting to a really good part in the novel. You bookmarked the page and put it down, fixing your sweater and your shorts before padding towards the door. You got up on your toes and peeked through to see who it was, and you smiled when you saw a head of lovely dark curls.

You unlocked the door, opening it, rocking back and forth on your heels in front of him.

“H-Hi, Tommy.”

He looked up from his phone, smirking, putting it into a pocket of his suit jacket. He looked so handsome, he must have just come from work. He was wearing a waistcoat even tonight, his tie tucked into it, and he had a lovely cashmere scarf and coat on. 

“Hello, darling,” he murmured. “Missed me?”

You nodded, cupping his cheeks and kissing him so gently, sighing into it.

“I-I missed you so much. I always miss you,” you said softly. “What are you doing here?”

“I just got off work, and I...” He wrapped an arm around your middle, shrugging, “I don’t know. I just had to see you.”

“A long day?” You asked, taking your glasses off, and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze growing distant as he looked away. “Yeah, it was long, alright.”

You bit your lip, pulling him inside and shutting the door. When Tom first admitted what he did during the day, you had freaked out. You kicked him out, blocked him, told him to leave you alone for the rest of your life. It was a shock to see you that way. He never anticipated ever seeing you in such a way. You were upset and angry and terrified, and he did leave you alone. He did exactly as you asked, but it had killed him inside to disappoint you so much. He wanted to be better for you, but he knew he never could be. He was in this business for life, and he’d only leave if was killed for it or died in it. 

And then you caved. One day, you just showed up at his place, and you didn’t let him speak until he heard your side of things, until he listened to how you felt. You were a good girl, you never did anything wrong or illegal in your life, but how could you stay away from Tom? You couldn’t. He was your vice, and he had latched onto you from the moment you began seeing each other. You were adamant that you would never let him go again, but he was to keep you and his business separate. Never intertwined, never together, and never even the chance for the two to cross. You had met Harrison and his brothers, but that was as far as you went. You made that clear.

You guided Tom to your couch, reaching into your cabinets for the liquor. You never drank hard liquor, but you always had some on handy now for him. You poured it into a glass and brought it to him on the couch. He took a few sips from it before he beckoned you close.

You neared him, and he grabbed you gently by the arm, tugging you into his lap. He sighed deeply, putting the drink down, taking the opportunity to touch your sides, his fingertips a bit rough and calloused but wonderful nonetheless.

“I see what you came for,” you said simply, and he shrugged.

“I won’t lie to you about my intentions. You know how I feel.”

“You know, if you’re just going to come over here to get laid, you might as well pay me.”

He tossed his head back and laughed at that. It sounded so strange coming from you. You were the sweetest human on the planet, and he rarely heard naughty or sexual innuendos coming from your sweet mouth. It took him months to coax you into his bed, and even now, he found it difficult to convince you at times. You loved it, of course you did, but you were shy. Tom had bed hundreds of women before you probably, and he was the only partner you ever opened up to like that.

Literally.

But Tom had his tricks. He had learned it after a few months, and it was his favorite thing to do with you. There was only one thing you responded to, only one thing that guaranteed you’d let him toss you onto the bed and have his way with you.

He stopped laughing, meeting your eyes for a moment before they trailed lower. They gazed at your lips, and he licked his own, bringing his gaze down further to look you up and down.

He leaned forward and gave you a kiss, one that had you giggling and blushing already. He chuckled into the kiss, running his hands down your sides and back up again, this time underneath your sweater so his touch was teasing your bare skin.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered between kisses. “The things you fucking do to me...”

You whined a bit, “Tom, I know what you’re doing.”

“Aye,” he tilted your head to the side as he tangled one hand into your hair and tugged, “but it works every time.”

“You make me sound pathetic, Tommy.”

“’s not pathetic, darling, it’s sweet,” he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, and you whimpered at that. “Just like you. My sweet angel...my good girl...”

His good girl.

You were done, you knew, right there. Any ounce of steel that you had in your body left you, and you knew you’d let Tom do anything he wanted to you. He knew you would let him do anything he wanted to you. 

“C’mere, baby,” he muttered, and you sunk into his lap, letting him take your sweater right off over your head. He whistled lowly as you did, making you go red all over, even more than you already were. “Jesus. Every fucking time, you just...get more beautiful than the last.”

“Tom, stop,” you breathed, whimpering again, and he shook his head.

“I’m never going to stop. Now take your clothes off, before I ruin them, love.”

You slid off of his lap for a moment, doing as you were told. He shed his clothes as well, popping the buttons on his waistcoat and dress shirt, throwing the tie to the side as he took most of his clothes off. You sat back in his lap when you had shed everything but your panties, and you helped him unbuckle his belt, undoing his trousers for him as you kissed gently. 

Nothing was ever rushed between the two of you. It was always sweet. But nothing was ever too sweet with Tom. He always made you feel...naughty. 

“Keep touching me like that, I’m gonna bloody finish in my pants,” he growled. You were having trouble with the zipper, and you laughed a bit, tilting your head to the side so he could kiss your neck.

“Sorry, sorry...”

He sighed, bringing you up higher on his lap, pressing a palm flat between your shoulder blades so he could kiss and lick around your collarbones, teasing you.

“God, y/n, you feel like fucking heaven,” he muttered. “And I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve a beautiful angel, but I’m too fucking selfish to let you go.”

“Oh, Tom—”

He shut you up with a kiss, and it was a bit rushed now. He whispered against your lips, promising to treat you afterwards, pushing your panties aside with a few fingers before you felt him bringing you down on top of him.

“Oh, God, Tom—!” You cried out. You were surprised that he was so desperate, but you couldn’t blame him. You were dripping wet, too eager, and you needed relief. 

“You’re so lovely,” he whispered in your ear, putting a hand on your hip to guide you on top of him. “Your cunt is so sweet, my darling.”

“T-Tom, I swear, y-you’re going to kill me,” you whined. The praise was too much for you, you adored it too much, and you were squeezing your eyes shut at the immense pleasure running up and down your body, all the way to your curling toes. 

He chuckled darkly, “not going to kill you, love, I’m going to fuck you.”

You collapsed onto his chest as he moved you, and you couldn’t breathe, you felt.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re so tight, darling...”

“Just like that, you know what I like, don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re so good for me, you always are, aren’t you?”

“God, fuck, you never disappoint.”

It was too much. In a few minutes, all you could see were stars, and you bit down on his shoulder as you rode out your high, desperate to feel relief. You whined when you came together, collapsing onto the couch with him, still tangled in his arms as you tried to calm down the panting breaths you were having.

“Tommy, you always know just what to say,” you whispered as he planted soft, soothing kisses to your shoulder.

He smirked, shaking his head.

“I know, baby. I know.”

[bopbopstyles]

6. Heartbeat

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.8k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK TO JOIN THE TAGLIST

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: welcome to the land of harry as a father aka the place of my death, i hope you enjoy your stay!

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N had told Harry she’d pick him up from the airport, but now that she was parking in the arrivals lot, she was wondering if that was the wrong choice. She’d managed to keep her news a secret since she had found out, not wanting to tell Harry over the phone when he was halfway across the world, but it had been horrible. They had never kept secrets from each other, at least, not ones like this, and it was eating away at Y/N from the inside. She didn’t even know how she was going to tell him yet. There were speeches she had practiced, about how it wasn’t necessary for him to be around if he wasn’t interested, that she would do it on her own—but she didn’t know if she wanted to do it on her own? None of them had felt right though, and all of them had ended with her in a pile of tears on her bedroom floor. Her hormones were out of control lately, emotions on a rollercoaster that she was permanently strapped in for.

But she had promised Harry, and despite her fears of telling him her news, she was truly excited to see him. It had been over a month and a half and she was desperate to see his face in person, to touch his body and confirm that yes, he was in fact, real. So she got a move on, not wanting to make Harry wait for her and risk being sighted in the airport.

She bounced up and down on her toes in the arrivals hall, keys jingling in her hand as she waited to see him. He’d probably have sunglasses and a hoodie on, a few suitcases rolling behind him that she’d have to somehow find space for in her trunk. The prospect of him turning the corner had her heart leaping in her chest.

And then there he was, a black hoodie and black sunglasses, two suitcases pulled behind him, curls peeking out from the edge of his hoodie. No one seemed to have caught on as to who he was, so Y/N went for it—she did what she had always wanted people to do when she arrived places. She ran through the arrivals hall, launching herself at Harry.

His eyes met hers when she was a few paces away and his face lit up, lips turning up in a smile, dropping both of his suitcases and opening his arms for her to fly into. Which she did, full throttle, tossing herself into his arms, chuckling at the way he staggered back dramatically. Their faces met immediately, lips on one another for an innocent kiss, desperation too much for the moment.

“Hi,” he said when they pulled away, eyes glinting under the florescents. “What a nice surprise.”

“Thought I’d give it a shot,” she replied, hopping down and taking one of his suitcases from his hand. “Have a good flight?”

Intertwining his fingers with hers, they walked through the arrivals hall. People may have recognized him, but maybe out of kindness they stayed away, perhaps noticing the two young lovers caught up in one another. “Long, but I slept most of the way. Wanted to be all rested up for my girl,” he said with a wink.

Y/N gave him a playful bump with her hip and led him to her car in the arrivals lot, listening to him jabber about the other passengers in first class and how terrible the food was. He was ready for a home cooked meal, he told her, one that he had prepared, and Y/N was fully prepared for that reality, having already gone to the grocery store earlier that day.

They managed to squeeze his suitcases into her trunk and she took the wheel, letting him put on some music as she pulled out of the spot and navigated traffic out of the airport. “Feeling any better?” His question was innocent enough, but for Y/N it set off alarm bells in her head. Had he found out somehow? And then the underlying question that had been keeping her up at night since she had found out: what would he say?

“Bit,” she told him. “What do you want to do now that you’re home?” She asked, quickly turning the topic of conversation back to him, but he didn’t notice. He just yammered on about wanting to go for some hikes, go to their favorite restaurants, spend time with her catching up on the movies he had missed. Jeff was mentioned, the idea of having some friends over, and the prospect of having Jeff anywhere near them right now was an anxiety attack that Y/N had managed to hold off and was perfectly ready not to have anytime soon.

The topic switched to music, which Y/N was perfectly happy with, and she played him the Phoebe Bridgers album that she’d recently discovered. He gave her his analysis, unpacking her favorite songs in the car. Then he shared his new favorite songs, a collection of indie songs she’d never heard and the Top 40s he was loving. They analyzed them together, unpacking the elements she had grown up attuned to—the synths and the perfection of a good bridge.

Before she knew it, she was swinging into the driveway of Harry’s house, punching the garage door opener clipped to her sun visor. As she turned off the car she heard Harry sigh next to her, a wide smile on his face.

“Home sweet home,” he said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Now let’s get these suitcases inside so I can get in the shower and get all these airplane germs off of me.”

Together they brought his cases inside, locking the garage door behind them and turning off the security system. Harry praised her plant maintenance skills as they crested the stairs, pulling the heavy bags into his bedroom. He flopped down on the bed, arms outstretched for her to crawl into, which she did gladly. Upon feeling his arms close around her, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, a weight lifted off of her shoulders from a month and a half of being separated.

“Missed you so much,” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to his body. “So happy to be home with you.”

She lifted her head from his chest and swept her fingers across his jaw. “It wasn’t the same without you,” she told him. “No one being annoying while I try to watch TV.”

“Hey!” He said, tickling at her sides. “I’m perfectly wonderful. I just like lovin’ on you.”

Y/N snuggled into him and tried to let her fears from earlier subside. She’d tell him after they made dinner, let him settle in a bit. “Go shower, you smell like plane,” she said, mumbling against his hoodie. “Want me to start anything downstairs?”

He shook his head, rolling out from under her. “Would you put my wash in though?” His eyes batted at her, as if he was a kid begging for a candy bar.

She rolled her eyes, sliding off the bed. “Yes. All of it?”

He nodded. He’d gone through a lot of clothes, obviously. So she unzipped his suitcases, unpacking his clothes and separating out the colors, making two tall piles of all his things. She made a separate pile for all the bits that needed to be dry cleaned for him to drop off tomorrow while she was at work, and took the darks into the laundry room downstairs, starting a load. Upstairs, she heard the sound of the shower and Harry singing one of his songs like the menace he was. Her eyes fell to a bottle of wine on the counter that she had pulled out for him earlier, and she remembered that she, now, couldn’t drink.

Fuck being pregnant, she thought. All she wanted was a nice big glass of wine.

But she left it be and instead lit one of his favorite candles and turned on their playlist in the speakers, letting the sound fill the house. Before long, Harry was coming down in the stairs in sweats, hair wet and floppy on his head in the way she thought made him look so young and sweet, utterly cuddly and lovable.

“Cravin’ a good bowl of pasta and some veg, how ‘bout you?” He said, making his way into the kitchen. A glass from the cabinet was pulled down, sat next to the bottle of wine she had glanced at earlier, and a question over his shoulder. “Want some?”

“No,” she said calmly. “I’m okay. And yes to dinner, sounds lovely.”

His eyebrows furrowed at her answer, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled some veggies from the fridge and grabbed a cutting board, musing to her about how he wanted to get some new towels while he prepared their dinner. As he cooked, the thought of Harry as a dad crossed her mind. An evening like this, but a baby in the mix. It wouldn’t be so bad, she decided. He’d actually be probably amazing, actually. The only problem was that the perfect moments wouldn’t be all of the moments.

Their conversation flowed easily over dinner, Y/N’s belly full from the food and the laughter from Harry’s terrible jokes. She cleared away the plates and together they washed up, Harry bumping his hip into hers as he dried the dishes. With every moment that passed, the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of having to tell him, of breaking his fantasy of what the next few years of his life might hold—of his entire life, really.

He refilled his glass of wine and together they made their way to the couch and when they sat, Harry pulled her into his arms, cuddling her close. This was the moment, she realized. It made her stumble, trying to find the right words to tell him this kind of earth-shattering news.

“Harry,” she said, voice cracking with nervousness. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Harry’s body tightened immediately—she could feel it happen against her. “What is it?”

She straightened up, pulling herself from his embrace. She needed space if she was going to do this, the ability to think properly, and being that close to Harry made it impossible. Did she just spit it out? No pretext, just tell him? This was the part she always stumbled on, how to phrase it. But, she thought, there probably wasn’t a handbook on how to tell your boyfriend this kind of news. Especially when it’s not planned.

“Love?” He prompted, worry written all over his face.

“I—fuck,” she said, stomach seizing in worry, “I’m…” She couldn’t get the words out, they were sticking in her throat and she couldn’t find them and she wanted to tell him but she was so fucking scared of what he would say.

Harry reached out, taking her hands in his, the hard calluses of his fingers brushing over her skin. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Whatever it is.”

Her eyes met his, and she just decided to go for it. No dancing around. “I’m pregnant.”

Harry’s eyes widened, whole body stilling. In his grip, her palms began to sweat, the nerves running through her body like a train. They just stared at each other, the news sinking in for Harry probably in the same way as it did for Y/N—the utter panic seizing him. The questions swirling around faster than he could process.

But he didn’t say anything. Just stared at her. And she didn’t know what the fuck that meant. “I know it’s a lot,” she said, the words rushing out, trying to fill the silence. “But we have options.” She used the same words as her doctor, she realized. “I’m still early enough to terminate if we wanted to, or we can do adoption, although I doubt Jeff would go for it, and I’m also happy to do it on my own.” The last one was the one that she’d given the most thought to, and she was actually okay with the idea. Having a child on her own, being a single mom. Wasn’t in the books, but it wasn’t a bad outcome. “I know you’re busy and just starting your solo career so a kid isn’t really great timing, so I can do it and you can like be in their life, I guess? Whatever you want—I’m not, I’m not expecting anything, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” The words came out like a freight train, barreling through the silence between them.

But Harry’s answer blew her straight out of the water. “You—on your own? Fuck no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that.”

“You—what?”

“Y/N,” he told her, squeezing her hands. “I’m not letting you raise my kid on your own.”

The words almost made it worse because she realized once he said them, she almost wanted him to say sure, raise it on your own. Because it would be easier. “Harry,” she said softly, slowly, trying to figure out how to say this, “I’m not sure if…I want you to do it with me.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” His words cut like ice, anger clear in his voice, hands wrenching from hers as if she was on fire.

“I don’t know if I want to raise a kid with you,” she said, trying to make it as plain as possible.

The hurt in his eyes burned her to her core. All the joy in his face gone, as if a cold wind had come by and slapped him in the face. And it pained her, but it was also the best thing for her. To be able to do it on her own terms, her own pace, her own place even. “Why?” When he spoke, it was broken, a whispered question.

She bit her lip, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “My dad’s a musician. I know what it’s like to be a musician’s daughter and it fucking sucks most of the time. I saw it destroy my parents’ marriage, saw it destroy the marriages of my dad’s friends. I don’t want to put my kid through that,” she told him, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I want to be a good mom, and I don’t know think that means having you in the picture.”

Harry launched himself off of the couch, standing up with his back to her. All of a sudden, Y/N saw his shoulders shaking, the raspy sound of his cries, and she realized he was crying. She’d made him cry. Made him sob, from the sound of it. And it broke her into a million pieces, the remaining bit of her heart that she hadn’t ripped out the moment she had to tell him that she didn’t want him around for their child.

“Harry—“

“No,” he said, whirling around so she finally saw his face, the tears streaming down his face like waterfalls, red and puffy eyes. “You do not get to sit there and try and comfort me right now. You just told me that you don’t want me to be in my kid’s life!” His voice had reached a scream, the sound echoing in the room.

Y/N tucked her knees up to her chest. She knew it was going to be hard, but she didn’t expect it to be like this. Did she expected him to accept it, maybe? Be relieved? But from looking at Harry now, she didn’t know how she could’ve ever thought that. He looked devastated, utterly destroyed, as if the rug had been ripped out from under him. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice soft. “I just…”

“Y/N,” he said, struggling to stay measured, “obviously this is ultimately your decision. But I am the father, and more than anything, I’m your boyfriend. This isn’t like some one night stand—I’m—“ His voice broke, tumbling over the words. “I’m in love with you. And you’re having our baby. And I feel like you’ve completely shut me out from making any kind of decision. Like you just decided without even considering what I might want.”

“I prioritized myself,” she said, voice stern. “Because I have to carry this child for nine months. I will be there, every single day, for the rest of my life, raising this child. It will be me, Harry, not you, who will be the parent at every school function, helping with homework and dealing with nightmares. Because you will be gone half of the time. So I’m sorry if I had to put myself first, if that feels like I shut you out. But trust me when I say that I did consider what you might want.”

“But you decided that what you want is more important.”

“Not what I want,” Y/N corrected, “but what I need. What my child needs.”

“Our,” he said, cutting her off. “Our child. ’S not your child, it’s our child.”

His words stopped her dead in her tracks. He was so insistent, staring her straight in the eyes, not moving from where he stood. “Yes. Our child.”

With an exhale, Harry ran a hand through his hair, his rings glinting under the soft lights of the living room. “I understand your fears. I want you to know that. I’m fucking terrified too,” he said, a soft chuckle falling through the tension, “but I don’t plan on fucking off around the world and leaving you here to care for our child. Y/N, I want a family more than anything in the whole entire world. More than my career, more than everything.”

They’d never really had this conversation, she thought when he said those words. She knew he wanted kids, but she never knew where they ranked in his ambitions. How high up they actually were. She had assumed, she realized, that he would act the way so many others did. But Harry, he was different.

“I want to raise our child with you,” he continued, voice straining as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. He brushed at them with the back of his hand and Y/N wished she could dry them for him. “I want to do this with you. If you don’t want me to, then I’ll respect that. But I’m not going to let you—our child—go without a fight.”

Y/N exhaled, his words hitting her like a ton of bricks. He wanted their child. He wanted to be a father, to raise a kid with her. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, no pause, intention clear in his tone. “Never been so sure in my life.”

“This isn’t something you get to go back on,” she reminded him. “Like, this is the rest of your life you’re committing to.”

“I know.” His voice was devoid of any doubt, just sureness, and it managed to chip away at the hard edge she’d been latching onto in an attempt to make the hardest choice of her life—pushing him away.

She looked down at her hands, the chipped blue nail polish there from Friday night when she’d been having a whole lot of deep thoughts about this conversation and the future. “Harry,” she said softly, “I’m terrified of this.”

A hand drifted through her hair and she looked up, seeing Harry crouching in front of her, eyes level with hers. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t know how to be a mom. I’m not ready.”

“Me either,” he said with a sad smile. “But we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

Slowly, she nodded and Harry exhaled, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, tears ripping through her again. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He gathered her in his arms without a second thought and Y/N folded into him, shame and regret leaking from her like a faucet. “I forgive you,” he said with a kiss to her temple. “Raising a kid with me is definitely not going to be the easiest thing in the world. That’s not your fault, and you wanting to do what’s best for our kid, even if it means me not being around? That shows how fierce of a mom you’re going to be.”

His words stirred something in her. Mom. She was going to be a mother. “You think so?”

“Going to be fucking incredible, baby.”

“You’re going to be a dad,” she whispered, looking into his green eyes, which were still red and puffy, but the sad look was replaced with one full of excitement, joy. “Gonna be a good one, too, I think.”

He smiled at her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “With you at my side, don’t know how I couldn’t be.”

Harry sat down in the pink plastic chairs, rubbing his hands on the his pants, and Y/N dropped into the seat next to him. Seeing Harry Styles in an OB/GYN clinic was quite possibly one of Y/N’s favorite things she’s ever seen. He was peeking at the women’s magazines, reading the articles about pregnancy intensely in a way that made her restrain from giggling. He even made conversation with the receptionist, asking her about her day and making sure that the appointment would be completely safe for the baby, which of course, it was.

When she made the appointment she asked to be scheduled at a time when no one else would be in the waiting room, and they managed to succeed, the seats completely empty when Harry and her walked in the door. They hadn’t decided how—or when—they wanted to announce her pregnancy or if they even wanted to. They were both deeply private people and the idea of blasting their personal lives on social media felt horrible, so they wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

They also hadn’t told Jeff and the rest of Harry’s team yet. Harry told her he wanted to wait until he heard his child’s heartbeat, felt the reality of having a child, before he launched into that conversation with his management because it wouldn’t be an easy one. So the last thing they wanted was Jeff finding out Y/N was pregnant through paparazzi photos of them going into an OB/GYN clinic.

“Have you ever been to an OB/GYN clinic?” She asked him, propping her elbow up on the arm rest between them.

He snorted. “Why would I?”

“Dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Thought that might explain why you seem not to be overwhelmed with the amount of modeled vaginas and uteri around you.”

“That what those are?” He asked in mock surprise, pointing at the one next to them. “Well fuck. Just thought it was art.”

Y/N had to hide her face in his shoulder to keep from laughing too loudly, and when she poked her head up, Harry was looking down at her with a grin. “Glad you’re here,” she said, chin resting on his shoulder.

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Me too, baby.”

“Gonna hear your other baby,” she said with a chuckle and Harry just looked like he had won the lottery. It was this reason that Y/N was becoming more and more okay with the idea of raising a child with Harry with every passing day. He was just so happy all the time—there was a new bounce in his step and he was utterly obsessed with picking out baby clothes. The morning after she had told him, she went downstairs to find him sat at the dining table, browsing some websites for baby clothes, selecting an entire wardrobe for his child to outfit them for their entire first year. Y/N had to physically hide his wallet and remove his computer from his vicinity to get him to stop.

Harry pulled her into his body and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You know I’ve always dreamed of doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Hearing my baby’s heartbeat.”

She kissed the exposed skin at the top his shirt at the base of his neck, hoping it would encapsulate the feeling of love radiating through her body because she truly didn’t have the words.

“Y/N?” She looked up and her OB/GYN, Dr. Crawford, stood in the doorway. Harry stood up immediately, the excitement flowing through him obvious to anyone with eyes. He held her hand as they walked down the fall to the exam room, not minding that her hand got a sweaty from the nerves. There was something mildly uncomfortable about Harry being with her at an office where she usually went to get her birth control and yearly exams, but Harry didn’t seem to mind at all. He somehow fit in, made her feel at ease, lessened the nerves with his silly jokes and tickles to her sides when she looked too intense.

“So,” Dr. Crawford said once they were settled in the exam room, Y/N on the table and Harry sat in the chair closest to her, knee bouncing up and down so fast Y/N had to lean over and stop him. “I got your results from Dr. Terrell—seems like you’re eight weeks along, now more like nine. I estimate conception was in mid September by that approximation.”

Y/N looked over at Harry, his eyes crinkling up at the edges, his thoughts probably the same as hers. “When you were home,” she said, the memory of their reunion strong. Of course it was then—she was so caught up in Harry being home she wouldn’t been surprised if she had missed a day of her pill altogether.

“And are you the father?” Dr. Crawford asked, pointing her ballpoint at Harry, a questionnaire attached to her clipboard.

“Yes,” they both said at the same time, Dr. Crawford giving them a warm smile.

He reached out a hand to Dr. Crawford as if she probably didn’t know who he was. Although maybe it was better if her OB/GYN didn’t know that the father was an international popstar? Y/N couldn’t really decide. “Harry,” he introduced himself, leaving his last name conveniently out.

“Pleasure,” she answered, shaking his hand. “Now, I’m assuming we want to meet your baby today?” Harry reached his hand over to hers, fingers interlinking as they both nodded. “Wonderful. Y/N can you lift your shirt for me?”

She rucked up the edge of her oversized t-shirt and Dr. Crawford brought over the same device Y/N had seen on TV—a transducer, her OB/GYN informed her as she lathered a cold gel over a section of her stomach. “Okay,” she said, pressing some buttons on the machine, “give me a second to find your little one.”

Harry’s eyes drifted to the screen, squeezing her hand as they both listened closely to try and hear their child’s heartbeat. The screen was grainy, lines and pockets that Y/N tried her best not to trick into believing was her child. Dr. Crawford moved the transducer around on Y/N’s lower abdomen, searching for the right spot. Panic seized Y/N the longer they waited for the heartbeat, questions swirling in her head—was there something wrong? Was the test wrong—was she not pregnant after all? Or worse—was there something wrong with their child?

And then, a solid thudding sound echoed in Y/N’s ears, and her vision immediately swam as tears welled in her eyes. It was her child, her baby, the little being she was carrying inside of her. She looked over to Harry, and he was full-on crying, wiping his nose on the hem of his sweatshirt as he stared at Y/N in awe.

Dr. Crawford suddenly sighed, and Y/N tore her eyes away from Harry to look up at the screen, where she could see, faintly, the outline of a fetus. “That’s our little Peanut,” Harry whispered to her, bowing his head so it rested on her shoulder, them both looking at the screen. “They’re real,” he said, his tears wetting her shirt and Y/N was crying as hard as him now, the sight of her child up on the screen jerking at every fiber of her body.

Peanut, Y/N thought to herself. Harry already had a nickname for their child.

“That’s them?” She asked Dr. Crawford, barely able to see the screen because of the tears.

“Yes,” her doctor replied, “that’s your baby."

Y/N turned and tugged at Harry’s face, suddenly feeling the overwhelming desire to kiss him, needing him to anchor her to the world and remind her that yes, this was real. His hands cupped her chin delicately, lips meeting. Their foreheads rested against one another’s as their tears flowed, the fact that they were actually going to be parents settling in.

“Can I—can I take a video?” Harry asked Dr. Crawford, looking back up at the doctor, pulling Y/N from their personal moment. “Want to be able to let my mum hear the heartbeat.”

“Of course,” she replied. “Let me turn up the sound.” She pressed a few buttons, and suddenly the thud of her child’s heartbeat was all Y/N could hear. She closed her eyes to the sound, letting it take root in her brain. Her hands drifted to where the transducer rested on her belly, careful not to get too close as she cupped her stomach. Perhaps it had been the anxiety over telling Harry, but she hadn’t really touched where her child was growing yet. The concept hadn’t really settled in—in fact, she had tried to avoid thinking about it because it stressed her out so much.

But now it was a reflex.

“I’ll take some pictures for you to keep,” Dr. Crawford said, pressing a button and shifting the transducer slightly. “I’ll go grab these for you,” she told them, “and then we can talk about what the next few weeks will hold.” She pulled the transducer off of Y/N’s belly, wiping off the gel, and then stepped out of the room giving the two emotional parents a moment alone.

“How is it,” Harry said, voice raw with emotion, “that I’m already so in love with them?”

Y/N pushed a strand of his hair off his forehead and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I know what you mean,” she whispered. “It’s so visceral. I can’t even explain it.”

He bent his head to hers, sighing as he shut his eyes against her skin. “I love you. I know this wasn’t the plan, but I’m so happy I don’t even know what to say.”

Her fingers swept at his neck, massaging his skin, knowing he loved the feeling. “I love you too, H.”

That night, they laid in Y/N’s bed, Harry having decided to stay for a few days while they processed everything, and stared at the photos Dr. Crawford had given them in the office. Y/N was curled up on Harry’s chest and he thought that he had truly never experienced a more perfect moment. The mother of his child curled into him, head on his chest, while they looked at the photo of their unborn child.

“Due in June,” Harry whispered. “They’re going to be a summer baby.”

“Thank god,” Y/N mumbled into his skin. “Between me in January and you in February, I truly don’t think I could handle one more Winter birthday.”

Harry laughed, her head bouncing on his vibrating chest. She managed to make every moment a little bit brighter, and feature he loved so deeply about her. Neither of them could be serious for too long, and it kept them laughing all the time, much to the annoyance of their friends when no one got their inside jokes.

He gazed at the photo of his child, his brain barely able to wrap around the fact. He had known for days, and yet he still woke up in the morning and forgot. When he saw Y/N he always remembered, but there was this second in the morning where he forgot and he hated it. He was going to be a father and he wanted to soak up every single second, revel in the reality that he was starting a family. And maybe it didn’t happen the way he would’ve planned it, but that didn’t make it any less special or exciting. Plus, his child with Y/N was going to have insanely good music taste.

The thought that he couldn’t get out of the back of his head was the fact that he was supposed to be going on tour in March. A world tour longer than the one he had just finished, from March to July with basically no breaks. As of right now, he wouldn’t even be in town for the birth of his child. And he wasn’t going to have ten days off to visit Y/N or see his mum. When he looked at his schedule earlier in the day, he had only found one substantial break—ten days in May, nestled between Japan and Argentina. That wasn’t how he wanted to do fatherhood—he wanted to see Y/N for every single second of the day, to see her belly grow and her body change, to talk to his child every night before bed as he had done last night, Y/N giggling above him. He wanted to be present, mentally and physically. He wanted to be there for the birth, at the utter bare minimum, and with the schedule he was going to miss that too.

He also knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to put on the kinds of shows he wanted, do the press he usually did, with a pregnant Y/N back in LA waiting for him. It wasn’t the world tour he wanted to put on, the kind of show he wanted to bring to the fans. Harry was a go big or go home kind of guy, and half-assed shows wasn’t going to cut it.

But he had no idea how to balance the two. How did he be the kind of father he wanted to be, but also the kind of musician he loved being? As much as he wanted to ask Y/N, he was scared she’d be frustrated, pointing out that this was exactly what she was afraid of. He needed a game plan before he could really talk to her about it, but that involved talking to Jeff, and he wanted to do that with Y/N there. He wanted Jeff to know that they were a family, and decisions that affected Harry were decisions that affected Y/N and their child.

So who did he talk to, then?

He didn’t have all that many friends with kids. And those he did have, most of them weren’t musicians—they were like James, people who worked in the same city as their family but traveled for work some. Not people whose entire careers were based around being gone for extended periods of time.

But, he realized, he had Adam. Adam, with multiple kids. Adam, a musician who toured—and had toured with Harry. He knew how Harry was, what kind of shows he needed to deliver, the demands of his particular brand of fame.

He glanced down at Y/N and saw her eyes were shut, arm still resting over his abdomen. Soft sighs fluttered from her lips, a sweet smile on her face—even in sleep, she was beautiful. Even more so, somehow. Harry leaned over and flicked off his light, resting the photo of his little Peanut on the bedside table so when they woke up in the morning, it was the first thing they’d see.

In the morning, Harry made Y/N pancakes and gave her a kiss goodbye before grabbing his phone, desperate to talk to someone about the thoughts raging through his head. He could barely sleep last night, the questions and scenarios like a bad movie rolling through his brain—what if he missed the birth? What if he missed the first kick? What if Y/N hated him for it, and made good on her original request—for him to not be in the picture? What if he missed out on the opportunity to be a dad?

That thought had him scrambling for Adam’s contact in his phone.

“Hello?”

Adam’s voice rang through the line and it eased an anxiety Harry had had weighing on him for days. “Hey man,” he said, settling into Y/N’s couch where was set up. “Need your advice on something.”

He heard a rustling, probably Adam sitting down and settling in for what he knew would be a long conversation, as were anytime Harry asked Adam for advice. “What’s up?”

“I need you to keep this a secret. Like, tell no one about this—literally not a soul knows except for you, me, and Y/N. Not even Jeff or my mum.”

Adam exhaled, probably understanding the gravity of it if Harry hadn’t even told Anne. He told Anne everything, which he had been told on multiple occasions was not the type of behavior common in 20-somethings men, but it was how he was. Maybe it was a product of leaving home early, or of the fact that his mum was truly his best friend. “You’re kind of freaking me out, mate.”

“You swear?”

“Of course—swear I won’t tell anyone. Not even Emi.”

Harry breathed in, then out, and then he just spilled it: “Y/N’s pregnant.”

Adam was quiet for a beat, and then, “Wow. How do you feel?”

That was the one question Harry could answer confidently. “I’m so happy that Y/N keeps telling me too stop smiling or she’s going to get me checked out,” he said with a chuckle. “Did you feel like that with Silver and Spike?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, “like my heart was going to pop out of my chest.”

That was exactly the feeling Harry had right now and hadn’t seemed to dissipate. “So, I’m happy right? So happy. But I’m also losing it—I told you about Y/N’s rule, the stuff we’ve worked through, all that. And now we’re going to have a baby. When she told me, she said she didn’t know if she wanted to raise a kid with me—because of my job.”

“Fuck.”

“I talked her back from there,” Harry explained, standing and beginning to pace, bare feet hitting her wood floors. “I told her how I wanted to be present, how it was more important than my career. But, now I actually have to make the decision, because we’ve got a tour scheduled until July and the baby’s due in June. And,” he added, “if I had it my way I would be here the whole time. I want to be here for all of her pregnancy—it’s my first kid, Adam.” His voice broke as he said those words, the reality of what this could become hitting him. “I need to experience that. And I have no idea what to do.”

Adam didn’t say anything, but Harry knew he was still there because he heard Silver talking in the background, Emi’s voice telling her to give Papa some space, which pulled on Harry’s heart. He wanted that so badly—to have someone call him Papa and crawl up his legs, demanding attention. “You haven’t talked to Jeff, yet, right?” Adam finally asked.

“No.”

“Good. Wait until you’ve got a plan of attack—you want to be really clear about what you want to do.”

Harry nodded, leaning onto Y/N kitchen island, eyes studying a crack in the countertop he hadn’t noticed before. “That was my thought too. ’S why I called you.”

“Well,” Adam said, “I’m not going to pretend like my situation was anything like yours. Completely different can of worms. But, I’ll say this—I understanding your desire to be there. I missed bits of it with Silver but got it all with Spike and it made me wish I had been there for all of it.”

“I don’t want cancel tour though,” Harry said, words heavy in his heart. The idea had him heartbroken—all of the disappointed fans? He couldn’t do that.

“No you don’t,” Adam agreed. “But your baby is due in June, so you’re going to have to cancel the US leg at the very least. You’re going to have to tour, at least for part of it. You’ll miss stuff, but that’s the way it works. There’s no way you could be around Y/N all day anyways—she’s got work, you’ve got work, you would miss things either way. But it’s different to be completely gone and it’s going to be brutal for both of you.”

“You’re really not helping,” Harry muttered, the panic resurfacing in his chest.

“Sorry,” Adam said, “I’m trying. Would Y/N go on tour with you?”

The thought flickered through Harry’s brain. It was an idea. One Y/N would probably put up a fuss about, not wanting to leave her office and friends. “Maybe for bits of it. But she works full-time and bloody loves her job. It would be hard for her to do fully remote, I think, especially halfway around the world.” “So that’s an option. As for cancelling the US dates, you can just reschedule them shows for later—maybe beginning of 2019.”

“I’m supposed to be recording then.” He’s got another album to write, after all. An album that had a strong feeling was going to be very different than anything he had done before.

“I—fuck. I mean, maybe you’ll just have to fully cut them, just do refunds.”

Harry sighed. It was, perhaps, the best he could do. Not nearly enough, but it might be all he could do. “Fans will never forgive me.”

“You’ll have to explain,” Adam reminded him. “If they know why, I don’t think they’ll hate you too much.”

He hoped not. He loved his fans and in a normal situation he would never cancel shows like this. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. “I’ll have to talk to Jeff. He’s going to kill me.”

“Hey,” Adam said, voice softening, “he won’t. He’s going to be frustrated, sure, but not with you—more with all the people he’s going to have to call. But that’s his job, not yours. Your job is to be a great boyfriend, a great musician, and now, a great dad. Which you’re going to be. Promise.”

“Thank you,” he said, words catching in his throat. He didn’t even know he needed to hear someone other than Y/N say it until Adam did. “Needed to hear that.”

“Happy to remind you anytime,” Adam told him and Harry thought about how lucky he was to have friends like him around. “Now, I’ve got to go take Silver to a sleepover—call me if you want to talk more, though, okay? I’m around.”

“Thanks mate,” he said. “Say hi to everyone for me.”

“Harry says hi!” Adam called to his family, and Harry smiled at the yells of “HI HARRY!” that echoed through the phone. “They say hi. Talk later, man.”

“Bye,” Harry said, ending the call. He stood up straight, his hip resting against the island, and considered what Adam had said. She’d take some convincing, but Y/N might agree to go on tour with him. He didn’t know how good it would be for her to travel that much—he needed to get that checked out—but it was worth a shot. As far as canceling the shows, it would be painful, but he firmly believed it would be worth it.

He hadn’t lied to Y/N when he told her that her, their child, their life, was more important than anything. It was, which was why experiencing pregnancy with her was at the top of his list. He would do anything to be with her for it, whether he had to move tour dates or mountains—anything for her.

Motown was playing when she opened the door, the smell of something spicy hitting her nostrils immediately. Harry stood in her kitchen in her favorite apron, a towel over one shoulder and a glass of wine on the counter in front of him. He was cooking for her, dinner ready and waiting when she arrived home from work. The thought hit her like a ton of bricks: this was the life she had always dreamed of with her significant other. The simple moments of them making her dinner, of them taking care of her when she needed it most. And after today, she really needed it.

“Hi, baby,” Harry said, turning down the music so she could hear him. He wandered over to her as she slipped off her coat and shoes, arms winding around her. “How was your day?”

“Shitty,” she replied, pulling away from him. “Need to go change out of my clothes.”

“Sounds good. Dinner will be ready in ten.”

Y/N pulled off her clothes and replaced them with a soft sweatshirt and leggings, before making her way into the bathroom to take off her makeup. Eyes exhausted from staring at her computer all day, the words on the screen running together by the time she left her desk, she took out her contacts and slipped on her glasses instead, a sigh of relief leaving her body. Now she felt like she was home.

In the kitchen, Harry was plating up their food, a glass of water in a wine glass waiting for her that made her miss alcohol so much—not even in a way where she needed it, the concept of a nice glass of red wine just sounded utterly delectable.

“Made you salmon and a bunch of veg,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to her temple as she passed him in the narrow kitchen. “Was readin’ that book you have ‘bout pregnancy and saw how important it is to eat good.”

The thought of Harry sitting on her couch reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting brought a smile to her cheeks that she desperately needed after the day she had had. He had become a bit obsessed with fatherhood in the few days since she had told him the news, and each time he mentioned the new research he had been doing, it reminded her that the fears revolving through her brain all day might very well be misplaced. Maybe Harry would be able to be the kind of present father that she needed and Harry wanted to be.

“So,” he said, settling into the seat caddy-corner to her, their plates in front of them. “Tell me about this shitty day of yours.”

She took a bite of the salmon, giving him a thumbs up when he asked how it was. “Started with me having to run out of a meeting to vomit,” she began.

“Oh no,” he said, knowing full well how much she hated vomiting and how tired of it she was.

“Yep.” She cut into one of the roasted sweet potatoes, the question of how Harry learned to cook so well crossing her mind as she took a bite. “And then I got the call that the big deal I’ve been working on fell through—the company decided to go with another agency. I haven’t even presented our final plan yet—didn’t even have a chance to prove myself. I don’t even know how they made the choice, but to have done it without even seeing the final product sucks.”

Harry reached over and slipped his hand into her, giving it a tight squeeze. “’S not a reflection of your work, love.”

“I know,” she reassured him, “but it’s hard not to think it anyways.” She took a sip of her ice water, eyes falling to his red wine with longing. “But then one of the interns mentioned some trend on Instagram that I knew nothing about and it made me feel old. And then Jamie asked me if I wanted to get drinks after work and I had to make up an excuse and he looked so sad. So it was a shit day.”

The look on her face was so heartbreaking that Harry just wanted to squeeze it right out of her. So he took his hand and pressed his thumbs into her cheeks, squeezing them together, trying to make her giggle like she usually did when he did this. “You’re really, really fuckin’ cute, Y/N,” he told her and to his delight a blush fell over the tops of her cheeks. “And you’re also wicked brilliant. Anyone who thinks otherwise, or makes you feel like you’re not, is an idiot. And you are most definitely not old.” He turned his chair and pulled himself towards her so his knees were touching the side of her chair, allowing him to press a delicate kiss to the fabric covering her shoulder. “You hear me?”

She nodded, picking up her fork to resume her dinner. “Thank you, H.”

“For what?” He pushed a strand of her hair behind her shoulder so it didn’t get in her food when she took a bite.

“Picking me up,” she said, eyes meeting his. “You’re good at it.”

He pecks the tip of her nose, smiling when her face scrunches up at the action. “Easy to do when you’re so bloody wonderful.” With that, he scoots back to his place at the table, letting her eat in peace. He filled the conversation with jabber about his work for the day, his calls with his team and the interview he did for a radio station. When Y/N was like this, she wasn’t all that talkative, preferring instead to mull about in her head and process all of her thoughts, but when she was ready to chat she came out in full force.

That happened after dinner, when they were tucked up in her bed, both reading. Harry was working his way through a non-fiction book about World War II, doing Dunkirk having piqued an interest for him, and Y/N was reading a copy of the New Yorker that her dad had given her when she saw him last. Suddenly, she nudged his neck with her head, demanding his attention.

When he looked down at her, she was all doe-eyed and warm, her mind having finally gotten itself out of the spiral it was in. “Sorry I was in a mood,” she said. “Hormones are fucking with me.”

“S’okay, button,” he said, kissing her forehead gently. “Sorry I got you pregnant and got you hormonal in the first place.” He meant it as a joke, but Y/N stilled against him and he immediately knew that wasn’t how she heard it. “Joking, Y/N,” he told her. “I love that we’re havin’ a baby.”

She set down her magazine and propped herself up on her elbows, Harry dropping his book too so he could focus fully on her. “Are you sure, H? If you’re being serious, I understand, you know. You don’t have to pretend. I don’t want you to pretend just for my sake.”

Harry exhaled. “How many times do I have to tell you, baby? I’m so excited to be havin’ a family with you I can’t even contain it. Nearly blurted it out to Jeff today in excitement before I remembered what we agreed on.”

“You might need to tell me a couple more times,” she told him honestly. “For some reason, my brain is having trouble wrapping its head around the idea that you want to be doing this.”

“C’mere,” he said, opening his arms so she could fold into his body. “I’ll remind you whenever you need, okay? But please, Y/N, please believe the best in me. I love you, but sometimes the doubt you have in me breaks me.”

Her fingers crawl up his biceps, fingers trailing around the outline of the heart tattooed there. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her chin into his chest, a soft smile bringing him to his knees for her. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I’d like you to keep an open mind.”

Her fingers stopped tracing his tattoos and her eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

“I talked to Adam today,” he began. “I told him we were havin’ a baby.” Before she could berate him for breaking their promise, he forged on, because that wasn’t the part he wanted to talk to her about—he already knew she was frustrated with him for it. “I needed his advice on how to approach the 2018 tour. Whenever we talk to Jeff I need to have a plan before I walk into that room, and Adam’s my only friend who has kids and knows intimately how I tour.”

She considers his words before opening her mouth. “Was it helpful?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “He had a couple suggestions, some which aren’t possible, some which are. The main one was that you join me for part of the tour. I know that you have work and you probably can’t do it, but I already have to cancel the entire US leg because it’s in June when little Peanut is due, so I probably can’t ask for other breaks. And I have no fucking idea what to do, Y/N.”

Y/N scrambled up, swinging a leg over Harry’s waist to brush the tears that were spilling from his eyes. His heart was beating so fast, the fear of what she would say eating him alive. “Hey, hey, I’m here, okay? We’re going to figure this out.” She was so calm, collected, the opposite from what he expected. “Can you breathe for me? I want to have this conversation, but I can’t do it if you’re crying, H.”

Harry gulped, trying to get his breathing under control. “I—yes. Okay.” He listened to her breathing, the sound of her heartbeat, letting it anchor him.

“Better?” He nodded, and she smoothed his hair back before speaking again. “So. Me going on tour with you?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

She sighed, her fingers fiddling at the collar of his shirt. Without even thinking about it, Harry found himself curving his hands around her stomach, right where his baby was, the action having become an impulse in the recent days. “H, I can’t travel when I’m over 34 weeks pregnant.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, the frustration evident in the way he hung his head. “Fuck.”

“Maybe…Maybe I could take off a few weeks at the beginning? I’ve got the vacation time saved up.”

His head perked up at her proposal, eyes wide. “Really?”

She nodded, hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, her fingers massaging into the base of his skull. “I want to make this work and if that means taking some time off so we can be together, that’s what it means.”

The prospect of her on tour with him, her and their baby on tour with him made his heart flutter, the images of her, wildly pregnant, hanging out in his dressing room before shows, watching from the wings while he performed. Her hands carding through his hair while he took naps backstage, them shagging in his hotel rooms, cuddling on airplanes and tour buses. “I like that idea,” he said, bending down so he could press a soft kiss to her abdomen. “Quite a lot.”

“I kind of like it too,” She murmured, giggling when Harry left a lingering smooch to her belly button. “I’m sorry, baby about having to cancel tour. Know that isn’t what you want to do.”

“Rather be here than anywhere else,” he said, nudging at her cheek with his nose. “Y/N, I want you to know, I would never have picked to tour right now if I would have known.”

“I know,” she murmured against his skin. They were cuddled up in each other, her arms around his neck, his face buried in her shoulder. Harry didn’t think the desire to be close to her like this would ever leave him. He just desperately loved being as close as possible, holding her, petting her skin, feeling her breath on his skin. “I know I put a lot of pressure on you and that’s not necessarily fair of me, but—“ “Hush,” Harry said, lifting his head so he could look at her. “You’re right to, okay? I want to be the best dad I can be, but you know how easily I get caught up in my work. Don’t want to do that. Just as I need to remind you how much I care, sometimes you may have to remind me that you’re my world. Can you keep doing that?”

She nodded, a soft press of her lips to his eyebrow that had him gripping her hips, the tenderness like fireworks in his brain. “What do you think Anne is going to say when we tell her?”

Harry chuckled, the panic in her voice evident. “She’s going to be so happy I bet she’ll cry. Been wantin’ a grandchild for ages now. What about your mom?”

“She’s going to have a conniption fit,” Y/N said with a laugh of her own. “But then she’s going to cry too.”

“No wonder we’re such softies,” Harry said, tickling at Y/N’s sides, the sound of her giggles in his ears making him smile.

She leaned back, squirming away from his hands. “Speak for yourself. I’m serious, not a softie.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry lifted his hands, smushing her cheeks together and peppering kisses all over her. “Say that again, baby. Dare you.”

“Fine!” She pulled his lips into a kiss that left him breathless, his desire for her never waving. “Love you, my big softie.”

“Love you too. Now let’s go to bed, gotta make sure Peanut gets his beauty sleep.”

Y/N rolled off of him and let him pull the duvet cover over their bodies, cuddling up next to him. “What about me?”

“Don’t need it,” he said with a swift kiss to her forehead. “Beautiful no matter how much sleep you get.”

He feel asleep with Y/N’s head on his chest, arm slung over his torso, and Harry wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. The girl he loved, a baby on the way, and a career he adored. He ran his fingers up her spine, watching the smile flutter onto her lips in her sleep, and let his eyes wander to her belly. You couldn’t tell that she was pregnant yet, but to Harry, knowing that she was carrying their child inside of her, she had never been more beautiful to him.

TAGLIST:  

@smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019 @laula843 @afterstylesmadeit  @kait-brin @harrys-watermelons @groovybaybee @clumsywithlove93 @1142590m @erin0717 @ketchuplukehemmo  @detroitkiwis  @meetmeinfleetwood​ @kakaym @harrystyles-concepts @harrymoncheri @berrynarrybanana @samjo1986

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NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 22ND @ NOON CST

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Braid Braid

Summary: One day Mabel asks her Grunkle Ford to braid her hair, but ever since he went out to investigate an anomaly with Dipper instead, the fact he couldn’t deliver her simple request plagued him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, Ducktective, it seems you’ve quacked the case.”

“Quack, quack, quack.”

Mabel laughed as she continually brushed her hair; the show may have ended ten months ago, but she was convinced that Ducktective was real and would never die, so she happily watched reruns whenever she could. She sat in her grunkle’s chair with her case of hair things, having already finished her sweater for the day, and she planned to play with her long hair while she watched TV. She heard footsteps and casted her eyes to her left. Soon an old nerd came into view and she grinned. “Hey, Grunkle Ford!”

“Hello, my dear.” He smiled at her. “What are you up to?”

“Just watching TV.” She then lit up as a brilliant idea came to her and she held up her hairbrush and glittery bag full of hair clips and hairbows. “Wanna braid my hair?”

Ford held up a hand as he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Mabel, but I don’t know how to braid hair…”

“I can teach you if you want!” The girl offered happily. “I bet you’d be great at it!”

Just then, Dipper came down the stairs called, “Hey, Grunkle Ford! Ready for our mission?”

“Indeed!” Ford gave him a high-six and the boys headed for the door.

“Where are you two going?” Mabel asked.

“I convinced Ford that we should investigate the Hawktopus further.” Dipper answered. “No anomaly is too stupid to look into.”

“We’ll be back by dinner.” Ford promised as he opened the door. “If not, then assume the monster ate our flesh.”

“See ya later, sis!” Dipper called and the boys were gone.

“Bye!” Mabel yelled after them through the door happily, but her happiness slowly went away as sad thoughts occupied her brain. “Have fun. Without me.”

The teenager slumped in the chair, the sounds of the TV unable to penetrate her thoughts. She knew her grunkles loved her very much, but sometimes she wondered if Ford liked Dipper way better than he liked Mabel. She could understand Ford liking Dipper a little bit more than her, because they were so similar, but it sometimes felt like the Sweater Twins only had sweaters in common and that’s it.

The more Mabel thought about it, it was no wonder Ford liked Dipper way more than he liked Mabel. Stanford Pines was an experienced scientist who had been all over the Multiverse, traveling for thirty years, and was as tough as nails and as strong as an ox; no one like that would want to hang out with a girl who likes glitter and make-overs and other girly things. No wonder Ford would much rather hang out with Dipper than her. Mabel didn’t blame her uncle, but it still kinda hurt.

She wished there was something they could both do. Something Ford and Mabel liked to do. Something no one would only be doing to spend time with the other. Mabel loved adventure and weirdness and exploring, but maybe Grunkle Ford only wanted that to be a Dipper and him thing, which was fine! So Mabel racked her brain for anything he would want to do with her, but she couldn’t think of anything.

To get her mind off of it, she went into the kitchen to get a drink of Mabel Juice and then to maybe hang out with Grunkle Stan, play some cards or throw water balloons at each other. She didn’t really feel like playing with her hair anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hawtopus investigation proved to be more difficult and more enjoyable than Ford had predicted, so after dinner and the kids had gone to bed he yawned into his hand and ventured into his bedroom to take a shower and go to bed. He entered the clean space and slipped off his trenchcoat to hang it on the coat track, and as he did so his eye caught something bright purple and sparkly. He smiled as he saw a bundle messily wrapped with coloring paper and tied up with red ribbon, glitter added for some “pizzazz” as Mabel would have called it.

Ford gently picked up the package and sat on the couch with the gift on his lap. He couldn’t contain the huge smile on his face as he unwrapped the gift. There, cushioned in wrapping paper and on his lap, was a brand new sweater. Ford grinned and held it up for a better look at the new turtleneck. It was blue, his favorite color, and had a beaker with atoms swimming around it, something science-y for him to display proudly on his chest. Mabel had made him a sweater once before, a new red one with a golden six-fingered hand on it, and now he was honored with two sweaters.

He made a mental note to thank Mabel with hugs in the morning. As he stripped for his bath and turned on the shower, he wondered how in the world Mabel found time to do this, to make so many sweaters in such a short amount of time; she seemed to miraculously make a sweater every day! Then his mind toyed with the idea of her working on the sweater while watching TV, but then he remembered that Mabel had been doing her hair and had asked Ford to braid it.

Under the warm water, the old scientist felt like a rock had been dropped in his stomach. He realized he might have hurt her feelings to choose to bond with Dipper rather than her, considering the boys always seemed to be together. Ford was aware that he accidentally showed favoritism in one twin, something he completely didn’t intend to do, and not only had he done so, it had hurt Mabel’s feelings. He had hoped countless messages and phone calls and video chats between summers had assured Mabel that Ford cared about her, but it was very possible that she might need a reminder every so often.

To make it up to her and to reward her for her kindness and patience with a special treat, Ford racked his brain for what to do for her. The only thing that stuck out was the way she had innocently asked her grunkle to braid her hair. Taking into account that no one in the family seemed to do “girly” things with her, at least not nearly as much as she does “boyish” things with the men in the family, Ford made up his mind.

After the shower and dressing in his new sweater, dark pants, and trenchcoat, Ford snuck out of the house to do some research. The library was closed, but Ford had no problem sneaking in and settling in a desk at the dead of night, reading books on the History of Braids and the Origins of Dreadlocks and literally any hair-themed book and magazine the library had; he even read up on hair-dying techniques for whenever Mabel had the desire to try something new.

The books didn’t feel enough. After a quick cup of coffee at a gas station, Ford hurried up the hill for his best friend’s manor. He knocked on the door urgently and waited a minute or two for Old Man McGucket to come to the door, rubbing his eyes with a bathrobe over his green flannel pajamas. “St-Stanford? Whazza matter?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, buddy, but it’s very important.” Ford pressed, his arms full of books and magazines he had borrowed without permission from the library. “I need to learn how to braid hair for Mabel and I was hoping I could use your mobile computer.”

Fiddleford blinked through his thick green glasses and smiled a half-toothy smile. “This is an emergency. Anythang for Lil’ Sweet Tea! C’min, c’min. Want some coffee?”

“That would be great, thank you.”

Long into the night, the old researchers acted just as seriously as they did back in the day, except they weren’t unintentionally creating a gateway to Hell. McGucket dug up some more books from the Northwest’ private book collection in the lounge and Ford used the laptop to do some more recent, or “trendy”, findings. To he and McGucket’s amazement, the internet was full of videos showing exactly how to do all sorts of hairstyles. From coloring hair to cutting it to braids and ponytails, all kinds of hair from straight to messy curls to somewhere in between could be learned to tame with a few clicks on a computer.

“Bingo!” Ford said, readjusting his glasses, and he quickly got to work, just as enthusiastic as he was about earning another PhD or discovering a new anomaly. Fiddleford had a very hard time keeping the smiling eyes off his friend as he watched him get so excited about a feminine activity, one both men had been deprived of due to a lack of females in their lives but were eager to explore.

The next morning, Mabel yawned into her fist and skipped cheerfully down the stairs for a glass of orange juice to start the day. She heard the front door open and close and she was surprised to find Ford coming home. “Grunkle Ford, wh… Aw! You’re wearing your new sweater!”

Ford grinned and nodded. “Yes, I absolutely love it! It’s almost as beautiful as you, my dear. Thank you very much.”

Mabel blushed and drank some juice. “You’re welcome! So, where have you been? Out on a morning walk?”

“Something like that.” Ford said with a shrug. “So, would you still be interested in me braiding your hair?”

Mabel gasped and cried out, “OH, YES PLEASE! I’ll be right back!” And the young girl ran off to get her bag of hair things.

Ford sat himself in his brother’s chair and Mabel soon returned and plopped in his lap when he petted his right leg for her. Mabel gave him the hairbrush to detangle her bed-head and said, “Okay, so it’s easier to start by parting it into sections…”

“Oh, don’t worry, my dear.” Ford said calmly as he brushed her hair lovingly. “I’ve done my research.”

Mabel had on idea what he meant by that, but she shrugged and decided to let him do as he pleased. She had braced her skull for a bit of tugging as it was sometimes difficult to brush tangled hair, but Mabel was pleasantly surprised to find Ford being as gentle as a kitten and brushing her hair so gently she could hardly feel the pull on her scalp, and yet she could feel the knots becoming undone and progress being made. She grinned and said, “Wow, Grunkle Ford, you’re really really good!”

It was a good thing she couldn’t see how red his cheeks turned. “Well, thank you, sweetheart. You truly have very beautiful hair.”

“So do you! It’s so fluffy and cute! After you braid your hair can I braid yours?”

Now Ford’s whole face was as scarlet as a king’s robe. He knew his hair was a bit harder to manage than Stanley’s but he never considered it to be cute or fluffy. “I see no reason why not.”

“Yes! I’m so excited! You really are very beautiful, Grunkle Ford.”

Okay, who gave this young lady permission to be this adorable? There were several dimensions in which it was illegal. “Th-Thank you, Mabel, but really I’m not… B-Beautiful is a more suitable term for wom-”

“Nu, uh!” Mabel interrupted and shook her head only a little bit, trying to be still for her uncle as he brushed her hair. “Daddy says anyone and anything can be beautiful. If a flower or Christmas lights or an animal can be beautiful, then girls and boys can be beautiful. And also girls and boys can be handsome!” Mabel added to drive her point further home.

Ford chuckled and it made his niece’s chest feel warm. “That makes sense. Thank you, Mabel. So, did you feel well last night?”

“Yeah! I had a really funny dream!”

“Oh, what was it about?”

The conversation spilled into swapping stories of past dreams. While Ford’s dreams from the past mostly contained nightmares, he could recall a small handful of dreams that were positive spins on his imagination and he happily recalled them with Mabel. As their talk flowed so easily, like water, Ford detangled all of Mabel’s beautiful hair and then began to braid. He wanted to impress her with something big and elaborate, but he wasn’t confident in his skills yet and this was his first attempt, so he met in the middle and did something a bit more complicated than a simple braid but he wasn’t nearly ready for a boho wedding braid.

With his tongue between his teeth, Ford carefully tied the braid close and held his polydactyl hands away to inspect his work. “Okay, I think I’m done.”

“I wanna see, I wanna see!” Mabel squealed and pulled out a mirror to see her uncle’s work. She was silent with a hard-to-read expression on her face as her eyes fell on her reflection. She tilted her head and the mirror to see the back of her head to see the braid and remained silent.

The braid started as two side braids at the back of her head, but they trailed down and combined into one big, lush braid that hung loosely from the bottom of her skull and trailed down her back. There were one or two times the braid didn’t match the rest of the hair piece and Ford thought the big braid was too loose now that he took a second look at it.

His face fell a little as he was concerned that she didn’t like it and was trying to hide her disappointment. Ford knew he should have interviewed some hairdressers before attempting to do Mabel’s hair, but he had been so excited that he had become reckless, just like always. “I’m sorry, Mabel, I understand if you don’t like it…”

“I LOVE IT!” Mabel had finally conjured up the strength to grin, the wind had been knocked out of her from pure delighted shock, and her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled as she admired Ford’s work. “IloveitIloveitIloveitILOVEIT!!!” She squealed loudly and was bouncing in Ford’s lap. “Look, Grunkle Ford, look! You did SUCH a good job! I’m so pretty now! That’s the best braid I’ve ever seen! ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!” And she spun around to kiss his cheek and she hopped off of him. “I’m gonna go show Dipper! DIPPER! LOOK WHAT GRUNKLE FORD DID!” Mabel yelled as she ran as fast as she could.

Ford was as still as a statue as his niece’s kind words ringed in his ears like cheerful bells. He wanted to smile, but all he could manage was a tearful look as he used all his might to try not to try, his eyes wet and shiny and his lips pressed together. He chuckled at himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose and composed himself. Soon Mabel was skipping back to him and leaped back into his hold to hug him and nuzzle her face in his shoulder.

“Thank you, Grunkle Ford, I love it.” She repeated.

Ford hugged her back tightly and rubbed circles into her back. “You’re very welcome, my dear. Thank you for letting me braid your hair.”

After one last squeeze, Mabel climbed up the armchair to sit on the back so she was behind Ford’s head. She held out a hand for the hairbrush and said, “Your turn!”

Ford grinned and handed her the sparkly hairbrush and felt himself relax as his scalp was treated to the gentle sensation of his niece brushing and caring for his gray fluff.

[anon-e-miss]

Prompt type thing? Jazz and Prowl with a none standard(for you) character as their sparkling + a cat.

“What are you hiding, Springer?” Prowl asked. The sparkling held the box behind his back and tried to look innocent, Prowl did not buy it.

None of this was easy. In fact, raising Springer was proving to be the single most difficult task of Prowl’s life. The sparkling’s conception had not been Prowl’s choice. He had put the pieces of his psyche back together following the botnapping, the rapes, and the arrest of Mesothulas. There  had been no mention of the rape at the trial. Prowl had never report it. He had not given any mention of their past dealings to save his own reputation. Knowing Mesothulas would be in spark containment for millenia for his other crimes had been enough. The mega-cycle he had learned that Mesothulas had escaped had been the worst of his life and it had been a long time before he had found some semblance of peace again.

That peace had been shattered when, as part of an investigation, Prowl had stumbled upon the mad scientist’s new lair. Though they had both been surprised to so the other, Prowl had recovered from his shock first and had managed to dodge the spiderbot’s web and restrained him instead. As he had waiting for enforcers to come, Prowl had found a stranger CR chamber in the centre of the lab. In it, he had found a sparkling. That close his spark had known. It had taken everything in Prowl’s power not to purge. Mesothulas had revealed then the purpose of the botnapping, and the repeated rapes of his frame and his spark. The scientist had wanted to kindle a sparkling in him. Knowing Prowl would never allow it to come into existence he had stolen from his spark, and attached it to his own until he could put it in a synthetic growth chamber, and construct a frame.

Had Springer been allowed to develop remotely normally, he would not yet have even emerged but Mesothulas had adapted a CR chamber and had programmed it to act as something as a giant forge. Ostharos, as Mesothulas had dubbed his creation, would step out of the chamber when the process was complete and he was a grown mech. Mesothulas had called him his most perfect creation. Enforcers had come and had taken the freak away. Prowl had been left to decide what to do with the mechling in the CR chamber. Killing the sparkling had been out of the question, though Prowl most certainly would have aborted the mechling as a newspark if he had ever had the chance. He had concluded that the best thing he could do have the chamber hidden away and when the mechling was a mech grown Prowl could register him as a cold construct. No one, mechling included, would need to know of their relationship.

That had been his plan. It would have been his plan still if Jazz had not become involved. The clever operative had taken advantage of Prowl’s emotionally vulnerability to wheedle the truth from him and he had written his own plan. He had suggested Prowl open the chamber and to take his creation and raise him himself. Prowl had first laughed, and then crashed. Jazz had stayed with him, with them. When Prowl had come around Jazz had asked him if he would ever be able to stop thinking of the mechling? No. Would he not feel powerless when the mechling or mech was Primus only knows where with Primus only knows who? Yes.

With the seed planted, Prowl had been able to consider any other option. With Jazz standing with him, Prowl had opened the CR chamber. Large, light blue optics had little up the solid mechling’s round face. They had stared at each other, maybe for as long as a bream. Prowl had lifted the mechling up, startled a little by the weight of him. It made him wonder what frametype Mesothulas had once worn. The mechling did not take after Prowl at all. Then again, Mesothulas had built this frame from scratch. There was no knowing what he might have looked like if his frame had been naturally forged. Prowl had expected to feel some revulsion when he had held the mechling, but as Springer, as he would designate him, had wrapped his arms around his neck and their sparks had sinced to each others, Prowl had felt only love. Six quartexes in, Prowl still loved the clumsy little thing. That did not make learning to be his originator any less of a struggle.

“Springer...”

“Meow!”

“Oh no!” Springer exclaimed.

“Indeed,” Prowl chased after the sparkling as he chased after the cyber kitten. “Stop, Springer. You’ll scare it if you chase it.”

“I’m sorry, O’gin. I found it under the stairs. It was shivering and wet and I just wanted to help it get warm.”

“It’s alright,” First a sparkling and now a cat. “We’ll see to him.”

The kitten darted into Prowl’s office, and climbed up the back of his chair. It was easy for Prowl to pluck the frightened and fiesty little ball of teeth and claws from the warn mesh. He held it carefully, so to contain its claws, and examined it... She, at least Prowl thought it was a she, was skinny and dirty and shivering with cold. He stroked the kitten’s helm and she let out a sweet little pure. A kitten might be good for Springer. She would teach him responsibility and to mind his strength. It was as good an excuse as any. The reality was Prowl had a difficult time just telling the mechling no. Prowl felt better about his decision when his creation was happy.

“First we need to give her a bath, Springer.”

“But she’s already wet.”

“The residue from the acid rain could cause her to develop a rust infection. We’ll get her clean and then dry her off. We will need to get her toys, and a berth.”

“She can recharge with me!”

“She may well choose to. Come on, you can help me.”

Jazz found them a few joors later, sitting in the couch. The kitten was recharging in Springer’s lap, as the mechling was cuddled up into the crook of Prowl’s arm. Springer was petting the kitten he had designated Bolt and watching a cartoon while Prowl was going over a report from Tactics. He enjoyed this more than he had  ever imagined he would. Prowl was a cold construct himself, thus he had never known the concept of a family or close kinship. Cuddling with Springer might have been the best part of having the mechling in his life.

“I come bearin’ gifts,” Jazz said. “A scratchin’ post, some toys, ‘n fuel. How’d ya talk yer o’gin into gettin’ ya a cybercat, Springer?”

“I found her, Geni. We gave her a bath so she didn’t get rust and O’gin says she can recharge with me if she wants to.”

“I think she’ll be happy to share yer berth. I brought dinner, Prowl. I figured I’d save ya the trouble.”

“Thank you, Jazz.”

That was the other change that had come with Springer, Jazz. Prowl had been unable to handle the responsibility of making a home for his creation on his own. Jazz had offered to help. He had taught Springer to call Prowl o’gin instead of the more formal origin or originator. The sparkling had gotten to calling Jazz geni and neither mech saw cause to correct him. In every way that counted, Jazz was Springer’s progenitor. It was what Prowl wanted to be true. As Jazz walked around the couch to bring the toys to Springer, he paused to brush a kiss along the corner of Prowl’s mouth.

This was also new. Their arrangement had started out completely platonic. Jazz had offered his help because he had seen that Prowl was overwhelmed with his new responsibilities and Springer was a little lost. He had no memories of anything beyond waking up to see Prowl. Just as Prowl had needed to learn to be an originator, Springer had needed to learn to be a sparkling. Jazz had been integral throughout those early mega-cycles when he had spent his mega-cycles with Prowl and Springer as they had gotten a feel for each other, and then his dark-cycles in his own habsuite. Lately he had been spending most dark-cycles here as well, with Prowl, in his berth.

Springer was delighted by the bounty. Bolt woke up, no surprise given the commotion and swatted at the little fluffy want Springer waved for her. The toys were a hit, so was the cybercat. Prowl smiled as Springer tested each toy with the kitten, and proclaimed the wand her favourite. It might have been his favourite because he could use it to play with her, unlike the small toys she chewed or the balls she chased. As Prowl watched Springer and Bolt play, Jazz plucked the datapad from his digits and place a steaming mug of pressed energon into his servo.

“Rest that beautiful processor of yers,” Jazz said. He in the armchair, holding his own mug.

“Mmm, thank you,” Prowl said and he savoured the smell of the potent fuel. “Was your mega-cycle productive.”

“Ran some exercises wit the rookies. A couple might have potential for Ops.”

“You have a good optic for talent.”

“Thank ya, Prowler.”

Jazz would be moving in on the ornend. Springer would not likely notice any difference. His genitor had always left after he had sung him a lullaby, and returned early to ensure he had a good breakfast ready. Prowl had lived his entire life on rations. No cold construct had access to a kitchen in their barracks. Thanks to Jazz he had discovered fuel could be for more than just energy, it could be for pleasure as well. He was discovering favourite fuels. There was a jar of rust sticks on his desk that Jazz kept full because he knew Prowl liked them. He cared. There was no question that Jazz wanted him, and had had him a few times now, but Jazz’s desire for him was different than Prowl had experienced before. He did not desire to possess Prowl as others had but to honour and to love him. It continued to be a novelty.

As he did every dark-cycle, Jazz sang a lullaby to Springer after they read him a story together. Bolt curled up on the pillow next to Springer’s helm, just as he had hoped she would. Prowl pulled the blanket up over Springer’s shoulder and gingerly kissed his helm. As they slipped out into the hallway, Jazz pulled Prowl slowly into his arms and kissed him sweetly. He was so kind and so tender. Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz’s waist and returned the kiss. Slowly, they slipped apart, Jazz was holding, stroking Prowl’s palms with his thumbs. This was about the time when Jazz would return home.

“Stay the dark-cycle?” Prowl asked.

“I can’t think o’ anythin’ I’d rather do.”

[highsviolets]

the sweet secrets of loving

summary: Obi-wan returns from deployment with a sweet surprise

word count: 1.8k+ (what)

cw: brief mention of war/deployment 

A/N:  after discussing Obi-Wan’s culinary abilities with @thespareoom​ and @obitwo​, this little one-shot popped into my head last night and it wouldn’t leave me alone. this is so soft and i just -- if you need me i will be yearning // shout out to @afogocado for finding this gif (if it’s yours pls lmk so I can credit you!)

the sweet secrets of loving, a fic by corellians-only 

Silver keys seemed to dance in your hand as you fumbled with the lock, the metal glaring in your face as they reflected the merciless fluorescent lights bearing down on you with foreboding.

After several agonizing moments spent twisting the key, trying to locate the elusive sweet spot that would permit access to your apartment, the stubborn thing acquiesced and the door swung open.

He was already there. A feeling like a soft summer breeze swept over you at the sight his buzzed auburn hair, his pride and authority etched into his shoulders like the precise stitching of his combat uniform still clinging to his back. He was staring out the window, and you could tell from the way his thumb curled around the unit insignia on his left ring finger that he was anxious.

“Darling?” you called out, mustering the last dredges of your willpower to not sprint to his side.You simply waited by the door, setting down the cumbersome black box of files your boss had insisted you take home this evening, no, really, it would be most helpful if you could compare the spring and fall mockups tonight. The box of responsibility rebounded off the hardwood floor and skidded slightly, blending in with the muffled closing of the door behind you.

It was no matter, anyway. The box had barely escaped the protective gaze of your fingers when he was pulling you into him. His head bowed down to nestle in the crook of your neck and you laughed as his fine hair tickled your cheek. You pressed a kiss to his sheared locks. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” you whispered, as though speaking any louder would bring a curse upon you both, would take him away from you again.

At the sound of his name, Obi-Wan straightened and took your face in his hands. His thumb drew angels across your cheekbones. “Darling,” he breathed. Aquamarine eyes met yours. It felt like getting caught in the hail — confusion, wonder, a homecoming of understanding, a bite of pain.

When the two of you video chat during his deployments, his eyes are always darker. They’re steel and iron and the reflection of your keys in the hallway and the torment of a sea during the storm as it fights against the waves.

Every time he comes home, they change. They become lighter, the way his body does without the Kevlar bulletproof vest.

When he looks at you like that — like the world would burn and he would still go to war to fight for you alone — your resolve shatters, the way a window must when his bullet crashes through its pane, searching for the sniper.

Your fingers grasp his wrists and tug at the end of his sleeve. The pink of your painted nails contrasts horribly with his camouflage, and the absurd thought makes you laugh even as he dips his head in acquaintance to your nonverbal command.

The first kiss is simple, like the routine act of walking from the metro to you apartment. Routine, familiar, but not unexciting. A expression of the vibrancy of life. Your lips meet his, like an embrace, and stay there for several long moments.

A second kiss, the third, the fourth: these are more demanding. The way his hands slip under diaphanous emerald silk tells you that this is more like a carefully timed assault. His mouth is precise and exacting, his tongue pushes back against your claims to dominance, his fingers press into skin and yours clutch at the unforgiving fabric of his uniform.

You disconnect and he smiles, a steady, even thing that shows his teeth. Even so, it threatens to split his face in two, and the dust that seems to be shedding from his laugh lines makes you wonder the last time he was truly happy.

But you ascend to your tiptoes and kiss his cheek and banish all thoughts of his deployment, at least for tonight. “C’mon, Obi-Wan.” You take his hand and start dragging him to the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”

____

It is not until later that evening that you discover his secret. Padding into the kitchen, you open the fridge to retrieve a new bottle of sparkling water when something strange caught your eye.

“Obi?” you say. The hike in your tone matches the spike in your anxiety and unease. “You didn’t happen to pick up some tofu in miso when you went to store earlier, did you? There’s uh —“ you pause, staring at the blob in apprehension — “something…weird in the fridge.”

“Ah.” He follows your path into the kitchen and steps behind you to better see the object in question. “I see you’ve found dessert. I wondered how long it would take.” Amusement colors his tone, and you turn your head to see a smirk decorating his lips.

“Oh.” The unassuming expression is the only thing that enters your vacuous mind, consumed by the strangeness of the oval-shaped yellow-and-caramel colored mass. You run your fingers through your hair — now freed from its stuffy updo — in an attempt to wrest some meaning back into your existence. “What, um, what is it?”

Obi-Wan extends his arms and catches you in an embrace from behind. “It’s a flan, darling!” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Obi-Wan squeezes your waist in excitement and you lean back into his chest, comforted that its soft cotton of an old t-shirt that greets you, rather than his fatigues.

“Oh.” Emptiness returns, and now the exoticism of the strange food is coupled with curious revulsion that Obi-Wan is so interested in something that seems so…unappealing.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and gently scoots you out of his path and puts the platter on the counter. You watch him as he gathers plates, washes fresh utensils, and meticulously cuts the thing, taking care to add extra sauce to each slice. He thrusts a plate at you. “Try it,” he urges.

You don’t like dessert. Never have. You’d rather eat something savory than something sweet, and after years of failed attempts, Obi-Wan has largely given up. But here he is, staring at you with those aquamarine eyes, practically begging you to try this foreign sweet treat.

So you do. The custard is smooth, like the silk of your top, and flecked with spots of intense vanilla flavoring. Caramel oozes into every bite, rich in tone and balancing the tenderness of the egg and sugar.

“Oh my god.” You meet his eyes, and you can tell he’s valiantly staving off another grin. He never presses his lips together like that otherwise. “This is — Obi, this is amazing. Like, vintage Chanel kind of amazing.”

He laughs aloud at your comparison, taking the two plates and reassuming his previous position on the couch.

“I’m glad to hear you enjoy it, sweetheart.” He erupts into another round of chuckles when you moan around the next bite.

“What did you say this is?” you point to the concoction with you spoon.

“Flan, dearest,” he says mildly, taking a bite himself. “Ah, you’re right, it did turn out rather well today. My mother would be proud.”

The statement gives you pause, and you set down your spoon. “Your mother? Wait — did you make this?”

Obi-wan looks at you, surprise evident in his half-smile and narrowed eyes. “Of course I did! Where did you think I got it?”

“I didn’t know you could bake!” The statement is bald, and childish, but you don’t care.

“How did you think all the cookies and tray bakes appeared, then?” He raises an eyebrow mischievously. There’s nothing he loves more than poking holes in your logic, especially when you cling to it so resolutely.

“Oh, I don’t know!” you splutter. “I suppose I thought you bought them, or something!” You throw him a mock glare. “Not my fault you never told me that you bake.”

He launches himself forward and drops a conciliatory kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’m very sorry, darling,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eye so you shove him away from you. The gesture is playful and wondrous in its innocence, and for a moment you feel as though you are in university again, staying up late in the student lounge talking, long before uniforms and obligations and separations. You want to say something but the words get caught in your throat as you remember your promise to leave the boots behind. At least this one night.

“What is flan, anyway? When did you learn to make it?” you say instead, forcing the words out and taking another bite. The sweetness caresses the bitterness lingering in your mind.

“It’s a long story,” he says, shifting his gaze to the window.

You place an hand on his bare arm. “I want to hear it,” you say, and you do.

So he tells you. He tells you of his French mother spending her childhood summers across the Pyrenees in Spain, learning dishes like arroz con pollo and tortilla española and flan. The family cook become a grandmother to her, he says, and again he plays with the unit insignia on his ring and you know he misses his mother more than ever.

Flan became his mother’s speciality, he explains. He points to the sheen on the custard and talks about how his mother learned how to perfectly beat the eggs and how she favored the caramel sauce against the hard caramel on her native country’s creme brûlée and how the family cook in Spain gifted her with her very own flan pan when she was eighteen years old.

You ask him how he came to bake such things. He smiles again and despite its joy, your heart aches because you never knew. While his father was deployed, he would bake with his mother to keep her company, and she taught him tarte tatin alongside flan and the Bakewell tarts his father so enjoyed.

“It was how she told people she loved them,” he says with a shrug, finishing his portion. “She would bake for the other women whose husbands were deployed, or for the family next door, or for my best friend’s cousin’s birthday, or if I had a bad day at school there would be something sweet waiting for before I went to bed.” Obi-wan rests his head on his hand, considering. “I guess I’m the same way. I came home and I wanted to do something nice for you, to tell you I love you.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you, Obi.” The pun is bad and you both know it, but he laughs and kisses you anyway. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his mouth. “Will you bake me something tomorrow?”

“Darling,” he presses a kiss to the edge of your lips. “I will bake you something every single day if that is what makes you happy.”

And you say you want him to, because you want him to love you forever.

[scoundrels-in-love]

Did you slip in through open doors and sit down, just to look at me like that (every day)

Brienne doesn't mean to lie to her father. She just wants him to stop trying to set her up with men who aren't Jaime Lannister, whom she's secretly in love with. Unfortunately, that's exactly who eagerly inserts himself in the narrative as her fake boyfriend. And her father is coming to King's Landing in two weeks.

Truly, what could go wrong?

Also on AO3. Part of @jbmonthlymadness Mutual Pining challenge.

It starts like most lies and life changing avalanches - quite innocently.

Brienne is sitting on a couch in the living room, a sports game playing on the screen mutely while she chats with her father over a videocall. Jaime is puttering around in the kitchen, preparing snacks for the movie they’re planning to watch after the game ends and all things considered, it’s a lot like most of her Sunday nights.

Except her dad had left the matter of dating alone for a few good months and she definitely isn’t overjoyed by the theme's revival. “Brienne, he really likes your work and I think there’d be no harm meeting him for a coffee after the convention.”

“Dad, no. Thank you, but no.” She shifts uncomfortably, considers calling Jaime over because the movie is ‘starting’, so she can end the call early.

“I know you think you don’t need relationships and maybe you don’t need them, but I just think you deserve to have someone who loves and respects you, admires you and what you do,” her dad says and she can feel the well-intended love warming her all the way from Tarth. She longs for a huge beach umbrella to hide under. “And that’s exactly what my friends do,” she says, firmly, and the knowledge it’s true fills her chest. She cannot entirely blame her father’s worry - the girl that had left Tarth would not have been able to imagine or believe the group of people that surround her nowadays, either. The warmth, support and sometimes the absolute nonsense she has found with them still feels almost unreal at times.

Her dad sighs, brows furrowing with soft concern in a way that makes her feel guilty somehow. “You know what I mean, Starlight. You don’t have to keep seeing him, but won’t you consider at least one meeting?”

And this is when the most horrible, most escapist idea bounces off her tongue, bypassing her brain entirely. “It wouldn’t be fair to the man, because I just started seeing someone, dad.”

The silence following is no longer than a blink, but she feels as if it has turned into the time stretch she is going to need to hurriedly pack her bags, go to the airport and leave for Pentos, never to return again. She has lied to her father only a handful of times, and though he only found out once (when she had lied about why she had broken Connigton’s nose), this one is ancient parchment thin because she has no followup whatsoever.

“Really? Who is it?” Selwyn leans closer to the phone, an exact mix of disbelief and excitement such a statement would call for. Her stomach is both knotted up and rolling around, as if looking for an escape route.

“Yes,” she responds, turning to call for Jaime for some chips in a horrible attempt to bargain for time to use lost Asshai magics to summon a person who doesn’t exist.

Except her roommate is already standing behind the couch, plate of snacks in his hand and grin on his face. He swoops down, propping his chin on her shoulder and she can feel the heat radiating from his brilliant smile as he says: “It’s me.”

Her stomach finds a trap door and falls straight into the abyss.

Her dad’s eyebrows shoot up and this time, he leans back, as if to inspect the picture they both paint, squished in the tiny frame of her camera. She can feel he finds it unconvincing. So she does the only reasonable thing: turns her head and presses a brief kiss to the corner of Jaime’s mouth.

“Yes,” Brienne says for the second time that night and it feels just as condemning. Her lips are still burning.

“I finally gathered my courage and confessed to her recently, but I am still in the process of convincing her of the endless depth of my devotion, hence her hesitancy to mention it immediately, Mr. Tarth.”

He sounds so perfectly boy-next-door, sweet and respectful, all the things she knows he is not (at least the respectful part), but Jaime’s always liked her father and been an excellent actor. It’s rare when he uses the skill to look like anything else than an utter asshole, though, so in any other situation she’d marvel at the sight. But she can’t, her mind exists only to force her lips into, hopefully, a natural smile and a nod in the direction of her father.

“Well, that’s great news! I was wondering if you’d ever get to it,” her dad grins and she almost asks him to repeat it, because it makes no sense , but he isn’t done talking yet. “I will see you two after the convention, then? I look forward to your lecture, Starlight. And the whole story of how the two of you got together.”

She nods dumbly, exchanges good night wishes with her dad (accompanied by “Good night, Mr. Tarth!” in sing-song voice) and then ends the call. The relief doesn’t set in, like Brienne had hoped.

Jaime plops down next to her, looking completely unbothered as he turns the volume back up. The movie is about to start, but she has about a million questions, for herself and more importantly - for Jaime.

“Why did you do that?”

“Well, I couldn’t let your lie fall apart the minute you said it. That’s not what friends do.” He stresses the word strangely, with almost a brittle edge, but Brienne is not equipped to decipher it right now.

“But now we will have to pretend to be dating and if we fake a breakup, how will we explain you still live with me?”

“You haven’t been dating me for a month and already think about breaking up? I will do a better job now that I am aware of it,” he grins, easy and bright, like he has just discovered their favorite childhood cartoon Blue Knight is having a rerun on Saturday mornings, instead of making light of a new and nerve wrecking variable of their lives.

Instead of processing any of it, Brienne punches his shoulder slightly, at which he groans in an exaggerated manner. “I never agreed to being manhandled outside the bedroom.”

Her brain, thoroughly deep fried by the events of tonight, pulls itself together in that moment to create a vivid image of Jaime being manhandled in the bedroom. Briene inhales sharply, but somehow manages to turn exhale into something else than an eager noise.

Before her brain decides to cope by making the image into a clip, she focuses on the real matter at hand. “Jaime, this is serious . We just lied to my father and now we will have to pretend to be dating indefinitely, unless we have a faux amicable breakup, because I don’t want to pretend you’re not my friend for the rest of my life.” Somewhere in the abyss, her stomach convulses at the thought.

At this, he turns to face her, more serious, but with last remnants of playful grin gilding his words. “So, it was a little spontaneous, but you were about to invent a man who’d always be away on business trips and ask Sansa photoshop fake couple photos, weren’t you?” Brienne bristles, but can’t say no , when it had been one of the panicked thoughts running headfirst in the side of her skull.

He leans in, arm that has been resting on the back of couch coming to wrap around her shoulder and pull her closer and last vestiges of lighthearted grin turn into something she doesn’t quite have the words for, as his teeth sink in his bottom lip just so and his eyes look darker and wilder than any forest she’s ever known. “Believe me, I will be way more convincing .”

Brienne has to bite the inside of her cheek to not blurt out that’s one of the things I’m afraid of . How is she supposed to walk through this unscatched when his well-meant game and her own yearnings will cut her into like fine silver wire?

He seems to take her silence as agreement and backs off a little, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We will figure it out, B. War council tomorrow. But for now, let’s just watch the movie, okay?”

His gaze is warm now, like a lovely summer day in shade, and she is comforted by it enough to agree. But not enough to actually be able to focus on the movie instead of replaying tonight’s events in her mind, asking herself again and again why she had lied. Jaime chastises her for it a few times and seems to gradually grow tenser, too, until they call it a night earlier than they normally would.

“Don’t worry about it too much and just sleep,” he tells her for good night and his concern drops a ladder in the bottomless pit where her stomach still resides, while his smile sheds some light in it.

And when Brienne curls up in her bed a little later, she knows she lied because she does feel taken, if only in her heart. She’s in love with Jaime, has been for a long time now. It’s never been something to really think about, just a fact that sometimes fills her with glow and pinpricks of yearning when she wonders just how the lines of their friendship would blur into something more if it were possible.

Except now she will have to walk the line between pretense and her secret fantasy without revealing it.

She is so, so fucked.

[star-birthmark]

Hello! I love your blog! i kind of have a weird request but it interests me... what are you personal head canons for La Squadra s/os? Like, what how do you head canon that La Squadra met their s/os, what do you head canon that they look like?

Hello everyone, I’m sorry it’s been so long (I’m also sorry this isn’t something you voted on) but I swear I’m working on your requests and other stuff. College is just kicking my ass right now I’M SORRY

Anyway, here are my La Squadra S/O Headcanons

Meeting Their S/Os 

Risotto Nero

Risotto met his s/o after a failed mission. It was early in his career as an assassin with Passione, and he was too frightened to return to the hideout and face Sorbet and Gelato. 

Instead, he decided to hide out in a bar, which is when his s/o first caught sight of him

The two of them chatted over drinks, eventually ending up together in a nearby hotel room. 

All was going well until Risotto proceeded to take his shirt off (I headcanon he didn’t have the leather straps yet), and revealed a nasty cut he had gotten during the hit.

His now s/o, then stranger, immediately rushed to call an ambulance, but Risotto told them not to.

So instead, they rushed to a store to get supplies to bandage him.

As they were mending the cut, Risotto looked up at them and asked why they were helping even if he didn’t know them. 

His s/o replied, “I don’t know… there’s something about you.”

What started off as a normal night of drinks and flirting soon ended in a heartfelt connection between two lost souls. They two kept talking and eventually began dating. 

Prosciutto

Prosciutto met his s/o because they had been assigned to La Squadra.

He always knew he’d marry a mafioso/a, it’s what his parents had done, grandparents etc. Passione had been his whole life. 

He remembers the day he met them well. Illuso was spreading a rumor around the gang that a “total hottie” was taking Polpo’s test, and the men were excited to see where they would be assigned.

The day Risotto came into the hideout with s/o in tow, Prosciutto felt his whole world freeze. They were exactly what he had been looking for in a lover all his life, he could just tell. 

Since he was the one in charge of tutoring Pesci, Risotto put s/o under Prosciutto wing, but Grateful Dead’s user soon learned they were more than capable of mafia life without his teaching.

That only made him love them more. 

Formaggio

Formaggio grew up in the same town as his s/o. The two of them knew each other as kids. 

S/O would always follow Formaggio around, and the little boy decided to just bring them along - they were pretty cute anyway-

They spent their whole lives together, going to the same school, playing in each other’s back yards, slowly but surely falling in love. 

That is until he had to leave for Passione. 

When s/o first discovered that Formaggio was gone, their first thought was the mafia. Not that he had been abducted by the mafia, more like he left to go join the mafia. 

They both had gotten in their fair share of trouble with the police, so the mafia was the next logical step for the young man, and s/o knew that. 

So they left their normal life in their hometown and joined Passione after Formaggio, hoping to reunite with him. 

And they did, and they’ve been dating ever since. 

Illuso

Illuso met his s/o by approaching them at a bar. He was there with the gang, and Formaggio had challenged him to pick up the hottest person there. Before Melone could lecture about how beauty was in the eye of the beholder, Illuso was already on his way to his s/o

Striking up a conversation with them, it was clear that the two of them had a connection. 

He could tell they weren’t part of Passione, so he tried his best to conceal his profession from them, but one thing that the two of them shared was an inherent curiosity. They kept asking, he kept not answering.

He was able to keep it secret until the two of them were dating, and his s/o told him they’d stay with him as long as he was safe. 

That was when Illuso took them into the mirror world for the first time. He assured him that as long as he was in here, nothing could hurt him. That calmed his s/o’s nerves immensely.  

Pesci

Pesci met his s/o on vacation. Each member of La Squadra is allowed one week of no missions in order to maintain their sanities and every time it’s his turn, Pesci takes a trip to Portofino to enjoy the sea air and to go fishing. 

It was there that he met his s/o. He was calmly fishing by himself when the two of them literally bumped into each other. 

The collision caused s/o to break their rod as they trip over Pesci’s things, and Pesci offers to buy them a new one, knowing the sorrows of not being able to go fishing. 

They talk during the stroll to the supply store, both having effortless chemistry with the other. When they finally come back to Pesci’s seat at the dock, s/o decides to join them, and they spent a lovely evening together, and then a lovely week together. 

When Pesci reveals that he had to return to Naples, his s/o revealed that they lived nearby and that they would commute to see him, and the two of them have been in love ever since.   

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio met his s/o on a mission. He was supposed to kill a corrupt politician in a local restaurant. 

Right after he got the job done, he was about to make his escape with White Album, when he heard their voice yell out and ring through the whole building. They were complaining about their order and were throwing a perfectly normal tantrum (well, normal for Ghiaccio’s standards).

Ghiaccio was, to put it in a word, smitten. Finally, someone just as loud as him. He had to meet them. 

He rushed to defend s/o’s opinion and the two of them were promptly thrown out of the restaurant together. 

Having bonded from their shared experience and anger, the two of them soon spent time together in a nearby bar and a nearby hotel, having the angriest, hate-filled, passionate night either of them had ever had. 

Melone 

Melone met his s/o at a Passione ball. They were already someone else’s date, but we all know Melone has no shame. 

He immediately began to flirt with them, and since they were only hired by their date to be arm candy, they decided to indulge Melone on his flirting

The two of them spent the whole night talking to each other, and s/o soon forgot about how they were supposed to be someone’s date at that event. 

They were about to leave with Melone when their date ran after them in a rage that they were upholding their end of the bargain. But Melone turned to the man and personally gave him his money back for hiring s/o as his date. 

The two of them left their ballroom in order to ‘bond’ some more, and one trip with Baby Face later, Melone went to collect the money he had given that man. 

S/O Appearance Headcanons. These are my personal headcanons, so they’re under the cut if you don’t want to see them. 

Your f/o loves you no matter what you look like!

Risotto’s S/O (link to picture reference)

Risotto’s s/o is a short, curvy woman with dark curly hair running down to her upper back. 

She’s about the same skin tone as him and has these deep brown eyes that are almost as captivating as Risotto’s red ones. 

She has a dark brow that intensifies whenever she is concerned with him, and she often is considering how much danger he gets into on a daily basis. 

She’s often seen wearing baggy, black clothing to conceal her figure since she hates being objectified for her gorgeous body. 

Risotto is absolutely fine with this since he takes pride in knowing he’s the only one allowed to remove those clothes at the end of the day

Prosciutto’s S/O (reference)

I picture that Prosciutto likes longer and leaner women.

The two of them contrast between his more muscled physique and her lithe appearance. 

Her smaller curves also lead to an ego boost for the man, as it heightened the sense that he’s overpowering his s/o. Idk this man’s into power play. 

Proscuitto wants someone as well dressed as him, so he’s immediately attracted to his s/o when she comes to work at La Squadra in a suit.

He’s attracted to her straight, elegant hair and her calm yet professional demeanor, and respects her mix of traditional femininity and more masculine attire. 

Though he sometimes complains that her clothing is too impractical for their work, she proves herself by doing his job better than he ever could.

Formaggio’s S/O (reference) 

Formaggio loves as many curves as possible. 

He loves snuggling up to his girlfriend’s pillowy body and just relaxing with her together. 

I also picture Formaggio being into blonds. He loves their light coloring and how it contrasts with his dark reddish hair. 

He loves someone smaller than him and loves teasing her because of it. 

In terms of style, he loves when his s/o wears form-fitting clothing, so he can ogle her whenever he wants. 

He loves how his s/o is more serious than he is, it provides balance with how silly he is. 

The two of them grew up together, and still to this day, he can’t help but blush when he thinks about how gorgeous she’s always been even from the day they met. 

Illuso’s S/O (reference)

Illuso loves the contrast between his long hair and his s/o’s short hair.

The two of them are the same height. 

Like Prosciutto, he loves a more androgynous style on his s/o, he finds it very enticing and mysterious. 

He also loves her bright blue eyes, and how they bore into his soul. 

He loves curves just as much as Formaggio, loving the comparison between his toned body and his s/o’s curvy one.  

People often do not put the two of them together due to his S/Os inherent innocent look, but Illuso knows they aren’t that innocent behind closed doors. 

Pesci’s S/O (reference)

Pesci wants someone cute and sweet that he can fit in his arms for a warm and comfortable hug. 

He doesn’t mind what body type she has, but he does have a soft spot for someone with a soft tummy and cute round cheeks. 

Whenever the two of them are lounging on the couch together, Pesci loves to play with his s/o’s curls, even if she lectures him not to. 

Pesci prefers someone soft-spoken like him and someone patient who can help him through his self-doubt and anxiety. 

His favorite thing about his s/o is her sweet, shy smile, and how cute she looks in really feminine patterns and colors.  

Ghiaccio’s S/O (reference)

Ghiaccio loves someone who is as pale and wintery looking as he is, something hard to come by in the sunny land of Italy, but that only makes him more attracted to his S/O

He finds her large bright blue eyes mesmerizing, especially when they darken as her short temper takes over

He thinks she looks absolutely adorable when she’s angry, but seeing her so worked up really gets him going as well. 

He loves curves as well but prefers ass versus chest, so he’s happy his s/o has such a figure

In terms of style, he wants her to cover up as much as possible because he gets really jealous whenever she gets looks in public, but she never listens to him and wears whatever she wants. 

Really his favorite look on her is when she’s naked on their bed, hair in her face and her face bright red, but that’s for another time. 

Melone’s S/O (reference)

Melone always thinks about someone’s genetic makeup whenever thinking about potential s/os. Who’s going to make the best combination with him? Weird I know

This is why he finds his s/o’s red hair so fascinating, as it’s the rarest color population on Earth, and she has it naturally. 

He secretly adores that his s/o is taller than him. When the two of them cuddle, he feels safe as the little spoon. 

He also loves her soft features and dark eyes. They have such a different look from his sharp angles and bright eyes. 

He looks for someone most capable of supporting life. If he’s going to get married and have a family with someone, they better be ready. 

He’s obsessed with hips and chests and loves gripping them on her when the two of them are laying in bed absently.

[evengayerpanic]

Halloween Party [Spookstober]

Day 11 of 13 Days of Spookstober: Carmilla.

A Vampire, a Werewolf, a Mad Scientist, a Ghost and a Girl throw a party on Halloween Night in a Haunted Castle. It sounds like the start of a bad joke, but for Carmilla and Laura it's their yearly tradition with their friends.

_________________

“Do we have enough kale for the Kale-Apple-Banana smoothies that Perry drinks?” Laura goes down her list slowly, with a trained eye, crossing each item off with the most meticulous of pencil strokes.

Carmilla wants to tell her that they have enough kale to eat nothing but the leafy green for the next month and a half... However, Laura is in the zone, the do-something zone and Carmilla knows better than to tease her when she’s planning.

She’ll save all kale-related taunting for when Laura has put the pen down, and is no longer fretting all of the details of their little Halloween bash.

Laura gets nervous around planning, her head swarms with what ifs and what to dos that she can’t focus on anything for very long. So she makes the lists, she makes them elaborate and detail-oriented, leaving nothing unwritten. This way, she won’t forget anything or worry about the last minute details.

Carmilla is the exact opposite.

She doesn’t get phased in the same way that Laura does. If there’s a problem, if there’s anything at all that goes wrong, it can be fixed. And if it can’t be fixed? 

Well it could always be worse.

Still, Carm would never want to make Laura feel bad about her need for things to be perfect, if it makes Laura happy, Carmilla has no problem with it.

So she stays quiet, and she nods her head yes, listening as Laura goes through every thing on her list. She smiles, watches her girlfriend with amusement, and tries her hardest not to mention that it didn’t matter if they had enough Kale anyways, because Perry is the only one who drinks those smoothies... and as a ghost? She can’t drink them anyways.

Still she is quiet, and supportive, and respectful, and some would even say helpful... if only just slightly.

_________________

The party, like always, is a hit... Between Danny and Kirsch, there’s enough rivalry to fuel enough hijinks to last a week worth of laughs, much less an evening.

Perry, as usual, brings enough food to combat just how much Laura has already put out, and the two spend the first hour talking recipes and baking and what dish to try first and what pairs with what.

Mel has brought weapons, just this time it’s nothing terribly dangerous, only darts... something which is a lot of fun for a few rounds until Carmilla discovers how funny it is to ping the darts off of the back of Kirsch’s head, turning to LaFontaine and pretending to laugh at something they’ve said whenever Kirsch turns around to figure out what keeps hitting him.

LaFontaine, after thorough warning from Perry, has managed not to blow anything up in Laura and Carmilla’s little apartment, the first year they’ve accomplished not doing that since the two lovebirds first moved in... four years ago.

The first year was a microwave. The second, a television... and the third? Kirsch’s phone... while he was using it to order a pizza because “Kale is totally gross, man.” That one may have been intentional.

They manage to play an insane game of Cards Against Humanity, though it takes forever after the ‘sweet and innocent’ Perry keeps taking round after round and they start having to pick their jaws up off the floor after hearing some of the really raunchy things that leave her mouth.

They have a costume contest; Carmilla and Laura winning it for their well-crafted Gomez and Morticia Addams looks... though Danny has to remind them every few minutes that they aren’t the real Gomez and Morticia, and she didn’t come over only to watch them make out every three minutes.

(Danny came as a cute Cookie Monster but quickly became Oscar the Grouch after seeing that.)

They eat food, like a ridiculously large amount of food. It’s Perry’s Spinach Dip, and Laura’s Chocolate Chip Ghost Cookies, and a lot of assorted candy plus more... They eat until they all pass out on the couch, curled up so tightly that you can’t quite be sure where one friend starts and the other ends.

And then they watch a movie, usually something with a serial killer, or a zombie (they decided no vampires, werewolves or ghosts are allowed to be portrayed poorly during the party), until they fall asleep.

Carmilla is the last one awake, moving only enough to flick the television screen off, and glance around at her friends - no, her family around her.

LaFontaine and Perry are curled up on the loveseat, Perry resting between Laf’s legs, her head on their thigh and arms wrapped tightly around their hips.

Mel is on the floor with Kirsch, for all the fighting they do (it’s almost as bad as Danny and Kirsch), they always end up sprawled together, his legs crushing hers and her hand smacked across his face in a way that’ll be painful for both in the morning.

Danny is face down on the couch, the line of the couches seam already engraving itself into her face, her one hand reaches across to Kirsch almost lovingly, the brother she never had.

Carmilla is underneath Laura, the tiny blonde curled up in her lap as they spoon in their favourite chair, Carm’s face is tight against Laura’s neck, cheek pressed into her girlfriend’s shoulder as she holds her.

This, Carmilla thinks, is what it truly means to be alive... and she is so grateful that she got that chance.

Even if they all have to go their separate ways again the next day, even if life catches up to them hard and they get too busy to see each other until Christmas, this is still what it means to be alive.

Even more, it’s what it means to be loved.

Carmilla would give every bit of her immortality to continue to feel this for the rest of her human life.

[garlicbreakfast]

Carefully

https://garlicbreakfast.tumblr.com/post/612674808244748288/i-just-want-to-feel-his-chest-just-a-little-bit

OK, guys. By now it’s absolutely clear that I’m absolutely crazy, because I’m continuing on this throw-away idea of the completely innocent bangclaesbang (as per link above).

I cannot stress enough that ‘Claes’ in this story is as abstract as it’s possible, barely with any link to the real person. This ‘Claes’ is maybe a bit younger, UNMARRIED, having no (struggling with) meaningful relationships, basically an abstraction of one cashet of his personality, incidentally wearing that blue suit (above).

He’s NOT famous, most probably touring with one of his theatre productions and thusly having an after-party…and meeting a young woman…

Warnings: ? Danish kink, swearing kink (ha!), a bit of conflicted fingering…WICKER CHAIRS!

A FOLLOW-UP of the story in link above (you might want to read it first)

P.S. I apologize for my (google translate) Danish. But what ‘Claes’ says actually adds a bit to the story. You might want to know what he says:)

CAREFULLY

“We’ve done everything backwards,” he says, smiling and frowning. The frown is very cute, the underlying concern endears you immensely, but most of all because it’s so absurd and sweet that, of all things that you’ve done, he would find the most concerning that you’ve done everything backwards.

“I…didn’t know how to…I’ve never done it before,” you blurt out, knowing perfectly well he didn’t mean it like that (you ended up in a dark back hall after a round of intense alcohol-fuelled eye-fucking without having said a word to each other. You even skipped kissing. Till…afterwards.) You don’t remember much of how you both managed to stumble back to the lobby, find a table and order drinks, other than that it involved a lot of, well, stumbling and falling over each other in shrieks of laughter, unfocussed kissing, crawling around and gathering discarded pieces of (his) clothing and (your) dignity. Now you’re pretending to be normal people, as much as it is possible at a theatre awards after-party, and, despite the residual alcohol in your systems, it is awkward all over again.

You start to register the horror on his face and you stupidly find it so cute (because every expression on his face is cute) that only after a while you realize what may have horrified him so. You know you look younger than you are, but again, not that young – it’s him who looks positively boyish, ephemeral and glowing, despite the f..ng two meters or so, and the two decennia he’s got on you… You burst into giggles - for some reason you want to crawl over to his side and hug him, and soothe out the furrowing that is forming on his brow again…

“No, not that! You I only meant what we have just done…” You frantically wave a hand between the two of you. He catches your hand with his, pulls it down to the table, his long strong fingers stroking your ridiculously thin, pale ones, the dark sinews and veins on the broad back of his hand bulging up and flattening with the movement…It’s a wonder, whatever your hands are doing together, you think.

“Maybe that is why you were so inventive”, he remarks easily; you didn’t know it was possible to blush harder than you already had, and yet you do exactly that; feeling silly and very young, you extricate your fingers from his.

‘I guess I was so ‘inventive’, because I didn’t know how it’s supposed to be done!’ you retort with a weird laughter.

‘Hmm, that’s deep. Actually very true. I will remember that.’

You think over what you’ve just said, and you snort, and you giggle and giggle, it’s all the unease that’s been tickling at your insides. You’re a barrel of laughs, Y/N!

He scratches at the day old stubble, the dark, glittering eyes darting all over your face, probably connecting the dots, probably figuring out exactly what kind of idiot you are…. You blink at each other first alternately, then synchronically, and then he cusses and says, rather hopelessly, rubbing his stubbly cheek:

“Do you really think that I am so…”

He cuts himself off and asks:

“How you think it all happens?”

“I don’t know. What?”

‘I don’t know either…It’s just a woman and you, and then it just…, I…I don’t even remember every time it happened - please don’t think I somehow know how it is ‘supposed’ to be done!”

For a fraction of a second, you have this vision: women, a series of women, entering his life while he’s distracted and leaving unnoticed; women, giving him pleasure, a lot of pleasure, drunk, high, hands, mouth, entangled bodies on an anonymous couch, on his couch, occasional breakfast, against the wall of her shower, dinner, dinners, parties… a back hall at an after-party. The thought makes you sad, but also light-headed and tingly –

“So I was good?”

“What? Of course, you were.” He smiles,all his attention on you at once. “But I surely wasn’t. I did nothing for you.”

 He isn’t allowed to be like that. You’ve just found him sad, and otherworldly, and just a boy…He’s not allowed to look at you with those honest, serious eyes and make you feel empty and clench the insides of your thighs, all of your insides together just to get hold of …Damn.

“Hmm. I don’t know? You kind of did,”  you say innocently.

“Really?” His furry eyebrows will be hitting the ceiling any moment.

You look down. Yes, you’re rubbing your thighs together. Fortunately, the place has sensible wicker chairs, and your heated underside has an oddly pleasant feeling.

“I didn’t have what you had, but my panties, well, they’re ruined.” You look up at him very innocently. “They feel…”

He see him hold his breath in.

“…slick. Dirty.”

You have no idea when and how, but suddenly both of your hands are curling over the edge of the wicker chair – between your spread legs – and they anchor you while you’re sliding over the raised ridges of the seat back and forth. You’re at the very back of the small lobby bar, and, at this hour, what you’re doing is by far the most innocent thing going on at the place at the moment.

You look at him, rolling your hips.

He’s so beautiful, stubble, sweat beads, helpless pout on the perfect lips, his tongue licking them, an inky lock falling across the forehead, eyes wide open, the likeness of ultimate clarity in them.

Soon you discover the sideways motion, too, and whatever you’re doing to the unsuspecting piece of furniture, can finally be called its rightful name: you’re humping a wicker chair, and it feels so good to grind your hot slick pussy over the woven furrows and ripples of the fibre which remains blissfully cool. And smooth. And…hard. Tout. You need friction. Just there.  ‘Yes!’ You realize that you’ve been saying things out loud.

‘F.ck,’ he says, and then something else, in that other language. A long tirade, rough, coarse sounds. Friction. He grabs your hand on your thigh just above the knee. ‘Let’s go. Now.’

“Wait, you sigh, still moving. “Swear.”

“What?”

“In Danish. Swear in Danish. Jus talk in Danish.”

His lips move silently, then fold into a loop-sided smile. “You’re crazy. Your kink?” he asks silently.

“Had no idea till two minutes ago.” you whisper, raise yourself off the chair and pull his hand up your thigh. Without further beckoning, his hand slides underneath your dress till it finds the drenched underside of the damn panties. You shudder.

“There’s no hope for your panties,” he whispers, grinning, pushing his thumb inside. He needs to practically peel off the sticky fabric. You’re so raw and overstimulated that his finger feels cool. Soothing. Blissful.

“There’s no hope for me,” you sigh, suddenly completely overwhelmed by the depths of depravity you’re apparently capable of.

“What? I should hope that I will do better than a chair!” he exclaims with mock indignation. In the meantime, he is drawing careful circles around the beady peak he’s discovered first, gradually moving the circular motion to glide along the slick, nearly dripping slit. Then back, to slick up the clitoris, tap tap tap on the very tip. This is where you start to fall apart.

“Kusse,” he hisses. “For helvede!” You are both half-standing, that is, swaying and wobbling, on your respective chairs, forehead-to-forehead, partially shielded by a table from (unlikely) spectators, to whom you most likely would look like a wasted couple holding a particularly uncomfortable staring contest.

You’re not staring. You’re concentrating on his fingers, taking you apart shred by shred, and on his voice, eyes closed. He’s concentrating on the fluttering of your eyelashes. It follows the rhythm of his finger movements. This is what he’s told you in English. The rest is Danish.

“Beskidte pige. Jeg vil kneppe dig. Jeg vil kneppe dig så snart jeg kan. Jeg vil slikke dig. Jeg vil kysse dig.

Det er godt, at du ikke forstår mig. Du er smuk. Meget mærkelig. Jeg forstår dig ikke, og jeg vil kneppe dig..! Du forstår mig ikke, og jeg vil tage dig til paradis..”

“Nu!”

There are tears in your eyes, and he kisses them off. Very carefully.

[mikkomacko]

Wonderwall 4

"You're gonna be the one that saves me."

~

He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't stand watching her twirl around with Zayn, green dress that perfectly matched Harry's dress robes flowing out around her thighs. He couldn't stand to see her laugh and smile, hanging on Zayn's chest because her smile is beautiful and Harry should be the one making her laugh like that. It was risky to push his way through the crowd to her when Zayn disappeared to the drink table, hooking his fingers around y/n's wrist.

She jumps, yanking her arm from his grip as she spins around to him. Harry holds his hands up innocently, smiling to put her at ease.

"Sorry, I should've just said hi." He chuckles, dropping his hands when her shoulders deflate and she smiles back.

"No, it's OK. I just thought you were someone else."

"Um," Harry falters, shifting on his feet and trying to remember something, anything, he can say to make it seem like he didn't storm up to her out of jealousy. "A-are you having fun?"

Lily shrugs, the strap of her dress slipping down her arm with the movement. Harry's quick to catch it, warm fingers brushing her skin as he returns it to it's spot over her collarbones. Goosebumps rise on her skin and his veins buzz with some unfamiliar feeling. She eyes him curiously, perhaps feeling the same buzz he did, and Harry's heart thumps in his ears.

"Yeah, it's fun. M'not much of a dancer though." A nervous laugh leaves her pink lips, and she pushes a strand of dark hair out of her face. The crowd behind her shifts wildly with the song change, pushing her closer to him. She stumbles, his hands reaching out to steady her by her waist and the buzzing in him intensifies. He has to look down at his feet to make sure they're still on the ground.

"Funny," Harry mumbles, voice thick. "m'not either." Lily is close to him, closer than she's ever been. Her breath hits his cheeks, and he can feel every time she inhales because her abdomen presses into his. Knowing it's not long until Zayn will return, Harry takes his chance.

"Want to step outside with me for a moment?"

He doesn't know what exactly he was expecting from her, but it definitely wasn't an eager nod nor her hand slipping into his. Heart hammering, he leads her towards the doors of The Great Hall. The corridor is much colder than The Great Hall, and goosebumps rise on y/n's bare arms. Harry leads her further from the doors outside, stopping off to the side of the stairs and slipping off his coat.

"Here," Harry whispers, throwing it over her shoulders without a second thought. It falls around her easily, the sight making him a bit breathless.

"Thanks Harry."

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He feels like he’s got a million things bottled up in his heart for her, but now that he’s got her alone all he can do is look at her. She’s so beautiful. Harry sighs longingly, wishing he had had the guts to ask her to be his date tonight instead of Molly Witkins. He hasn’t seen her since they walked in together, not that he minds. She only agreed to be his date because she’s good friends with Louis’ girlfriend. 

“You look good in green.” Lily tells him quietly, dark eyes falling to look over his frame. It’s a deep green,practically Slytherin inspired, and he wonders if that’s why she likes it so much. “Matches your eyes.”

He simpers, tilting his head. “And your dress.”

She chuckles, nodding because they did somehow end up matching. Her soft hands come up to cup his face, finger tips cold as she smooths them over his cheekbones and jawline. “You’re eyes are prettier than the dress.”

A goofy, boyish grin splits across his face, so fondly that Lily’s pale cheeks tint pink, and a nervous titter leaves her mouth.

"You're sweet," Harry compliments, "but wrong. Wanna know what would be the prettiest?" He waits for her nod before continuing. "You on my arm tonight instead of Molly."

"That's not very Gryffindor of you to say." Lily immediately replies, but Harry's noticed the way she's flushed a deeper red and her eyes widened.

"M'Gryffindor lovie, not Hufflepuff."

"And yet you're acting like you could be Slytherin."

Harry's smirk widens. He didn't know how quick on her feet Lily is, and he can't help but find it attractive that she keeps up. "You're clever. If I didn't know better, I'd say you might be Ravenclaw."

"You can call me Ravenclaw," Lily shrugs. "but the response you'd get would definitely be Slytherin."

Harry quirks an eyebrow at her words, mouth gaping as if discovering some big secret. "Ravenclaw a touchy subject for you?" He asks teasingly. "Did one of them out wit you?" Lily rolls her eyes at him, but a tiny smile is trying to pull at her mouth. "That's okay lovie, you're still the smartest in my book."

His words pull a giggle from her, and she playfully shoves at his abdomen. Harry's quick to grab her hand, holding it to his chest as he laughs too. That buzzing spreads through him again and he can't help but step closer to her. "You know," y/n murmurs, stepping closer to him. "you don't look like you belong in Gryffindor either."

Head tilting, lips curled into a smirk, Harry asks, "No?"

"You're too dorky to be so brave." She flutters her eyelashes bashfully at him, his heart copying their action.

"M'brave enough to do this," Harry boasts, slipping his other arm around her waist and leaning into her until their foreheads touch. Y/n has froze in his hold, eyes wide as they look at his, but she doesn't look uncomfortable and she's not telling him to let go. So he takes his chance, fueled by her speechlessness, and slots his lips against hers. Sizzles like sparklers bud between them, rushing up his skin and seeping into his bones. Jittery, he parts her lips with the tip of his tongue, releasing the hand against his chest to cup her face. Little fingers trail up his shoulder and tangle in his hair, the pressure of them bringing him closer to her. Harry walks her a couple steps back until she's leaning against the wall, Harry pressing his hips into hers and groaning when that magic buzz floads through him again.

"And that." Harry smirks, panting against her mouth when they finally part. She chuckles, breathless, and her tongue swipes over her swollen lips. Her eyes travel over his face with a warmth he's never seen from her before, but before he can comment something stupid about her being at a loss for words after one kiss, she's kissing him again, and now it's him that's speechless.

~

The more snow that builds up outside the castle walls and in the windowsills, the more blankets Lily drags up to Harry's bed. He's not sure how many she happens to own, but she's already got four piled up on her side of the bed, as well as a little spot in his wardrobe for one of her uniforms to hang. After weeks of her trying and failing to sleep on her own, she's basically moved into his room. He doesn't mind, he sleeps better with her there and so does she. He's recently found out that when she's well rested, she's as sweet as a Hufflepuff, and he loves it. He loves that she looks like she'd belong in Gryffindor, and that she's as clever as a Ravenclaw, and as kind as Hufflepuff, and as tough as Slytherin. It's like he gets a little bit of everything in her.

The corridor is dark and empty, nothing but pitch blackness. All except for the pair of eyes that light up when the portrait swings open, peeking out from under the dark hood of a sweater. His lips curl upwards, fingers reaching out for her hand and leading her into the common room. The Fat Lady swings shut behind them with an indignant snort, and Lily shivers in delight at the warmth of the room.

"Shouldn't even bother going down there anymore," Harry murmurs, pulling her towards the fireplace that's still got small flames flickering in it. "just come up here."

They fall into the couch together, her legs curling up under her and laying her head on his shoulder. "I like to go with Zayn for a bit. It's the only time I really see him now."

Her words are innocently spoken, but guilt pricks at his chest. Perhaps he's been hogging her too long and he should tell her to go back to Zayn. Besides Potions (when they all sit together), Harry's taken over Zayn's seat in every class, and Lily sits with him for lunch almost every day.

"You should spend more time with him. I can handle being without you for a few.... minutes." Lily laughs at him, squeezing her fingers through his.

"It's okay, he knows about... me, and that I can control myself around you. He doesn't mind."

Liam's words spark into Harry's mind, remembering that he sat in this exact spot when Liam told him about Zayn's advice. It's been days of them waiting for Harry's agreement, and they won't get it unless Lily agrees to help him, but he's yet to ask her.

"Zayn had this idea," Harry mumbles, tilting his head to look at her. The fire dances over her heart shaped face, licking shadows across her soft cheeks, "about starting a secret club. We can teach others Defense Against the Dark Arts, you and me, to keep them protected."

A beat of silence passes, Lily's blank gaze locked on the fireplace in front of them. Harry angles his body towards her, free hand coming up to push her hood off her head. He cups her face, fingers threading through the soft strands of hair falling by her ear.

"Why me?" She finally asks, allowing Harry to nudge her chin towards him. He connects their foreheads, welcoming the buzz of magic that shoots through him.

"Because there's something special about us baby, and we can do something special with it."

Her eyelashes tickle his cheeks as they flutter shut, tilting her head as if she were going to kiss him. "Like what?"

"We can stop him, I know we can." Harry swears, and her eyes open to look up at him. "There's a reason I could see you in that graveyard, and there's a reason you've got my scar. Why don't we find it?"

Instinctively, her hand comes up to his left arm, brushing over the tortured patch of skin Wormtail cut into him last year. The same mark that etched itself into her arm, despite her being thousands of miles away at the time.

"There's a lot of things I have to tell you before we find it Harry, and I don't know if I can say them."

His chest seizes. He's always known there's things she keeps from him, secrets she refused to share. That's why she so actively avoided him for years up until last year. She's scared to tell them, and she was scared to be around him because she opens up with him, whether she wants to or not. The reminder that she doesn't want to, at least not entirely, still stings.

"You know you can tell me anything Lily, I think you've always known that."

She doesn't have to respond. He can tell by the way she slumps forward into him, lips ghosting together that he's right. When it comes to Lily, he knows just about everything.

~

At first, I thought it was adrenaline. The numbness in my fingertips, the nauseating swirling in my brain, the pressure against my sternum. How can I not be nervous? Harry just disappeared into a magic maze with nothing but a fleeting look back at me, and Fleur has already had to be pulled out from the maze, unconscious with bloody scratches across her skin.

It's been too long. I know Harry, he'd be out by now if he were okay. A throb buds in my temples, so strong I lean forward onto my knees, digging the palms of my hands into my forehead. The floor swoops beneath my feet, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Instead of being met with nothing, the blurriness of fog and smoke meet my eyes. Confused, I open them back up but the wooden stands have turned into soggy grass, and the seats around me are now grey tombstones.

My heart thunders in my chest, looking towards the maze only to find the last thing I expected. A dozen figures, covered in black robes and the masks of Death Eaters are standing in a circle, muffled laughter breaking through the fog. I squint, trying to see what they're laughing at and when the wisps clear, my heart lodges itself in my throat. Lord Voldemort is in the center of the circle, snake eyes glowing yellow as he points his wand forward. As he points his wand towards a familiar boy.

Harry is dropped from the arms of a tombstone, crumpling to the ground with a pained gasp. The pressure on my chest let's up, and Harry reaches up to rub his own sternum. I can't hear them, but Harry's speaking to Voldemort, nose flaring as he yells heatedly. A streak of blood is dripping down the side of his face, dropping to the grass below.

I move from behind the tombstone I'm tucked behind, circling the Death Eaters. I don't bother being discreet, they can't hear me, because there's no way this is real. I'm paranoid, I'm seeing things because I'm too anxious about Harry getting hurt. Voldemort isn't back, he couldn't be.

A choked gasp leaves my mouth as I get closer to Harry, finding the yellow shirt of Cedric Diggory on the grass. I don't have to get close to know what's happened, because I can see his lifeless eyes from here. If Cedric is dead, Harry's next...

"Harry!" I shout, spinning around to face him. He's locked in a duel with Voldemort, teeth gritting as he tries to fend off the impeding curse being thrown at him. "Harry!" I call out again, moving across the grass with numb legs towards him. My hands reach out to touch him, but instead of feeling him, I'm met with the cool feeling of touching wet glass. But he must feel me, because he turns to me, eyes widening. His arm sweeps me behind him, grunting when the blue jet coming out of Voldemort's wand inches closer.

"Lily?" Harry calls over his shoulder, blocking me with his arm when I try to step out from behind him. "What are you doing? How-"

"Harry you have to come back!" I cut him off, tears stinging in my eyes. This is becoming too real. The feel of his hands, the way he's looking at me over his shoulder. This can't be my imagination, because I've never seen Voldemort in the flesh, and I've never seen that spark in Harry's eyes.

"Lily, I can't-"

"Please Harry!" I reach for his elbow, but my fingers disappear through his skin and bones, as if made of smoke. He fades into wisps of fog, blending and swirling with the scenery until I'm squeezing my eyes shut to fight off the motion sickness. This time, when I open them, I'm looking at the maze, and the crowd of Hogwarts students are chatting away as they wait.

"He's in trouble." I say aloud, hands trembling and sweat tickling the back of my neck. My eyes frantically search the crowd for Dumbledore.

"What? Who is?" Zayn asks, but I don't answer him because I've spotted the headmaster. Practically leaping up from my seat, I dash down the stairs and onto the grassy field.

"Professor Dumbledore!" I call frantically, running towards him. He turns to me, eyes confused under his spectacles and brow furrowed.

"What is it Lily?"

"It's Harry! He's needs-he's in danger. Voldemort-" I'm cut off by another bout of dizziness, one that has me swaying on my feet. My legs seem to move on their own, carrying me away from Dumbledore. I stumble, vision blurry and fall to the grass just as a crack fills the air. The crowd screams, but it's all muffled as Harry tumbles into my lap. A flash of yellow fabric falls out of his arms, and I don't have to look to know it's the body of Cedric.

Harry's crying, calling out "He's back!" as he scrambles for something to hold onto. My arms wrap around his chest, his heavy body falling into me but I don't flinch, not even when his elbow digs into my hip. He grips my shirt in his fist, trembling and mumbling Voldemort's name as Dumbledore rushes forward with Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. I don't meet their eyes, instead threading my fingers through Harry's sweaty hair in attempt to soothe him.

"It's okay Harry." I mutter in his ear, echoing the words he's said to me before. "It's okay, I've got you."

He silences into whimpers, eventually turning his head away from Cedric when his father tumbles down the stairs and onto the grass, sobbing hysterically over his sons body. Harry's tears and blood soak into my "Styles is #1" shirt but I don't mind, because when I lift my left hand from his back to wipe the tears off my own cheeks, it's stained with my own blood, dripping from a deep cut I don't recall receiving.

Confused, I look around the grass for anything that might of cut me. Instead, I find Harry's arm around my thigh, his arm bleeding profusely from the same cut I have. I didn't cut myself on something, Harry did, and now I'm bleeding for him too.

~

They agreed to meet in the Hogshead. It's on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and typically empty so it should be safe to discuss their 'club.' Word got around Gryffindor house fairly quickly after Lily promised Harry she'd help, and then Louis' spread it around Hufflepuff, and Zhavia around Ravenclaw, and Zayn around Slytherin. Harry's not sure who from Slytherin would ever willingly learn from him, but if Zayn says he knows people, who is Harry to deny him?

The turnout was more than he ever expected, leaving him speechless as he sits in front of the room. Fred and George showed up of course, and Louis managed to get Penelope and Molly as well as a couple other Hufflepuff girls. Zhavia brought with her a handful of Ravenclaws, most of which are a couple years above her, but if anything, that's a bonus. It's easier to teach older students, Harry supposes. And to his surprise, four Slytherin girls trailed in, waving at Zayn and Lily with little smiles. Harry doesn't know them, but he's seen Lily hang out with them before. He thinks they might be her roommates.

Liam is the first to stand up, clearing his throat to gather the attention of everyone around him. Everyone falls silent, looking at him expectantly and Harry's so glad he took the reins for this.

"We all know why we're here," he announces, voice wavering nervously. Liam's never been a fan of public speaking. "we need to be able to protect ourselves-"

"From what?" A Hufflepuff boy calls out, rudely.

"From You-Know-Who, you jackass!" Niall grumbles, glaring at the boy. Lily snickers quietly, and Harry's shoulders sag with ease at the sound.

"How do we even know he's back? Styles has no proof!" All eyes flicker to him, and his stomach twists as he recalls the night Cedric died, not that he could ever really forget. It's haunted his dreams on more than a few occasions. Harry opens his mouth to answer, to let them know he's not here to talk about that night and if that's what they're here for, they should just leave.

"What proof would you like Evans?" Lily snaps, rising from her seat next to Harry and moving to stand next to Liam. "Want us to dig up Cedric? Show you that he was killed by the curse that's currently killing dozens of others? If you're here to make him talk about that or you get your rocks off to some twisted drama about Harry, you can leave before I make you."

Harry can't really see around Lily's figure, but he can perfectly picture the boy gaping at her, or maybe even puffing smoke out of his ears. Lily's always had a way of putting people in their places and he's always admired that.

When nothing else is said, she returns to her seat, hand finding Harry's under the table. He nudges his knee against hers in thanks, and she flashes him a smile.

"Listen," Zayn grumbles, ever the sourpuss. "say what you want, but you know why we're here and you showed up for a reason. We all know a storm's coming, and believe it or not, Harry and Lily are the only ones prepared for it."

Harry's face prickles with heat and by the way Lily turns her gaze to her lap, he knows she's flustered too. He doesn't know what makes Zayn believe this, but he supposes he is the one that knows the most about fighting Voldemort. He's still confused on how Lily fits into that, though.

"Alright then," Liam claps, drawing everyone back to him. "that being said, we've got an agreement to make. This is top secret, so we've all got to be careful."

The last part is mostly thrown over his shoulder at Harry and Lily, who are both notorious for their tempers. They share an innocent look, lips curving up into soft smiles as they mirror each other's actions. A sheet of paper is passed around, everyone's names written down and Harry knows that Liam's put a spell on it so anyone who exposes the group will break out in harsh boils. The idea had been Louis', as well as the name Dumbledore's Army. Like usual, he never disappoints.

Harry's watching the paper get passed around when Lily turns to him, knees against the side of his thigh. "You okay?"

He turns his head towards her, mulling over the question. It's not until he sees the determination in her eyes that he knows the answer. He leans closer, pecking between her eyebrows. "Perfect. You?"

She squeezes his hand. "I'm with you." She says with certainty, as if that alone is enough to ensure that she's fine. Harry smirks, because he'll always make sure she's okay, as long as she's with him.

~

The further down Harry swims, the warmer the water gets, and he's grateful considering it's the middle of winter and he's lake diving for a missing possession. He's not even sure what it is he's looking for, because he doesn't recall losing anything.

She wasn't with Zayn, his brain reminds him, and maybe it's got a point. Lily was the one to help him solve the clue and she had offered to help find a way for him to breathe under water. Until Professor McGonagall dragged her out of the library and Harry resorted to Louis' help. Which worked, he thinks as he runs his webbed fingers over the gills on his neck. But Lily should've been stood on the docks when the challenge started, she promised him she would be. It's not like her to break promises, so it'd make sense that she be the thing stolen from him. However, that would mean that someone knows about them or at least that she means something to him, and he promised her he'd keep his affection a secret until she's comfortable. So how did it get out? How did the ministry know she'd be worth driving into a freezing lake for?

Maybe it's not her, he thinks, but as the seaweed around him lessens and he can see into the clearing of the mermaid village, he knows it's her. He can tell from the dark hair that's floating up in the water and the Slytherin uniform she's wearing. It's the one she was wearing last night when McGonagall retrieved her.

Tied to the statues below, Fleur's sister floats like a porcelain doll, her white hair making a ying-yang next to Lily's. Molly is next to her, obviously being the possession stolen from Cedric and Harry feels a bit guilty that she keeps getting tied up with Triwizard contestants. He'd ditched her at the ball and now Cedric's got her tied up under water. The next is a girl Harry doesn't know, but he's positive she's from Durmstrang because she's been seen around Victor Krum a lot.

He's too busy examining the four stolen students to realize Victor and Cedric have appeared until the head of a shark is biting the rope tied to the Durmstrang girl, and the legs of Victor propel her towards the surface. Cedric taps his wrist at Harry, letting him know time's almost up, and then he's using his wand to rid Molly of her rope and taking off towards the surface as well.

Harry quickly unties the rope around Lily's ankle and her unconscious body bobbles by him as he swims up to match her height. The blonde girl stays tied, and while nerves prickle at his neck, he ignores it because Fleur is coming. She's perfectly capable of saving her sister, that's why she's a contestant. He wraps his arm around Lily's waist, kicking his legs up and up until the water turns cold again and he's reaching the surface. He can't breathe with the gillyweed still in his system, so he pauses for a moment because it should wear off in a few minutes. Eventually, the same stinging that had prickled his neck when he ate the plant returns and he watches the webs between his fingers fade away and he's choking on water.

Finally breaking the surface, him and Lily suck in harsh gulps of air. The crowd cheers and arms lock around his neck, legs furiously kicking into his as Lily realizes she's in water. Harry holds her waist tighter, shushing her when he sees her fearful gaze.

"Its okay Lily," he mururms, starting to haul them towards the docks with his free arm, "you're okay. You're with me."

"Wha- are we in the fucking lake?" Lily breathes, looking around in confusion. She seems to find her bearings though, because she starts paddling with him.

"Yeah," Harry chuckles nervously. "funny thing, turns out you're the stolen item I had to find."

"Oh," Lily answers, dumfounded, "who else?"

Harry suddenly remembers the last girl still tied down below, and he immediately looks up towards the crowd. To his horror he finds Fleur wrapped in a towel, shivering and crying as she stares back at him. "She's still down there." Harry mumbles to himself, pushing Lily towards safety. "Go! I'll be right back!"

The last thing he sees is her confused face before he's driving back into the freezing water, cheeks puffed with the breath he's holding. It doesn't take him long to find the girl again, easily spotting her bright hair from above. He paddles down as quick as he can, needing to hurry now that he hasn't gotten magic gills. He reaches the girl, digging his wand out of the band strapped to his leg and using it to rid her of the rope. He shoves at her feet, lungs starting to burn uncomfortably as she floats up. Harry goes to push himself up when soft fingers wrap around his ankle, tugging him down. As if touching an eel, his skin prickles and burns, and he immediately flinches, bubbles of much needed air leaving his mouth.

His vision blurs the more the fingers touch him, body falling slack and lungs emptying. His heart thunders in his chest and temples, panicking but he can't bring himself to lift his wand. Just when he thinks he'll pass out, when he'll actually die and Lily will be left floating in the lake with Fleur's sister, an unseen force pulls him up and up. He kicks and flails, coughing up water when his head breaks the surface. This time two arms wrap around him, Lily breathing a relieved laugh into his ear. He blinks, focusing on her in front of him. She's warm against him, and water droplets dip off of her eyelashes and nose, cheeks pink in the cold. With hundreds of people watching them, and his body aching like he'd been lit on fire, Harry thinks he could kiss her again and again, for as long as she'll let him.

~

Harry's always hated being in the castle corridors in the winter. It's always freezing, no matter how many torches they light along the walls, and the air gets this musty, wet aroma that makes him congested. But he'll gladly roam them for hours and hours, up and down stairs, around dark corners, if that's what Lily wants. She seems to like mindlessly walking, because she's the most at ease he's ever seen her when they're not hiding in his bed or the library corner.

Her fingers are loosely hooked through his, hands swinging back and forth between them with each step. Lily's dressed down today, a pair of skinny jeans that Harry knows always leaves marks on her legs for being too tight, and a big green sweater he thinks might have been pulled from his wardrobe. Her hair's ruffled and messy, and he's learned that in the winter it gets frizzy, but he still thinks she looks nice. She looks more simple, more human like this, and not like a perfect girl that must have come from a cauldron of potions considering she's got no flaws.

Well she's got a couple, Harry thinks fondly, because he still likes her flaws. He likes that she keeps secrets, because when he wiggles one out of her, he feels accomplished. He likes that her nose flares and her eyes turn black when she's mad. He thinks that darker side of her is hot, and it makes her so much sweeter when she goes soft for him. As if sensing his thoughts she looks over at him, lips curling into a shy smile when she sees the fascination in his gaze.

"Stop looking at me like that, you dork."

Harry chuckles at her words, grin growing and shrugging. "Like looking at you like this." His free hand reaches out to lightly pinch her cheek. "and I think you like it too, lovie."

Her eyes roll and she's scoffs, but her grin doesn't falter for a second. In fact, she steps closer to him, enough so that their shoulders brush with each little step. "Do you think it'll work?" Lily asks, suddenly somber. "Dumbledore's Army? That we'll actually get away with it?"

Harry stops walking, pausing her too and pulling her closer to him. "It has to," he breathes, looking over her face with a serious glare. He thinks of all the nightmares he's had with her, all the times he's seen Voldemort twist and torment her, and he knows it's going to work. He's going to make it work. "because I refuse to let him take anyone else from me."

Lily gets that closed off gloss in her eyes, lips falling into a tiny frown, and Harry wonders what she's thinking of, why she's looking at him like that. Finally, she gives him a nod. "If you're sure, than I am too."

It's then that Harry begins to see what Zayn sees. Lily, notorious for being gloomy and closed off and even selfish, is none of those things at all. She's strong, and she's protective, and she'll do anything for those around her. Her determination to keep people safe is what got her in Slytherin house.

His lips pull up, thankful and proud to know Lily the way he does. "We're going to need a practice place," Harry says, eyes falling to her mouth because he suddenly wants to kiss her breathless. "somewhere we won't be found."

That light sparks back up in her eyes, and that little proud smirk he usually sees in potions class takes over her space. "I know a place," she whispers, excitedly. "the Room of Requirement."

Harry doesn't know where the hell is room at because it's never shown up on the Mauraders Map, but he smiles too. "Brilliant," he compliments, and then he's kissing her in the dark corner of the corridor until he's sure she can feel his heart pounding against hers.

[feminarrie]

basic instincts [c.e]

a/n: this is my first real public venture into A/B/O dynamics. thank you again to @pastelshawns for lending me this concept! also thank you to chris evans for having uhh the best thighs! 

18+ below the cut!

Two months she’s been away from him. A total of ninety-three days since she met him at the airport when he quite literally bumped into her as he rushed to catch his flight after his gate had changed. When she felt the electricity surge through her when his palms had pressed to her bicep and fingers curled to keep her steady. A furrow of his brow that melted when he locked eyes with her; his eyes flashing a golden honey with confusion, understanding, and then pain. If she thinks about the day for too long—which she does, routinely—she can still feel the ghost of his lips along her knuckles as he urged her to let him know when she lands. The scrunch of his nose when he looks back as he boards, the shadow of sadness fading with the light of hope of their bright future.

Even as his omega, she thinks he’s been more generous than need be. This is her second trip to see Chris in a span of three months and again, he had funded it fully. He’s spoiled her with a seat in first class and worked his schedule around so that it’s him that picks her up from the airport.

Turkish blue eyes scan the crowd for her, but he scents her before he sees her. A low rumble in his chest that can only be likened to a purr emits from his chest when he sees her. She’s swimming in a sweatshirt that he had bought for her during her last visit. He had kept it nearby, his scent weaving itself into the cotton and fleece blend. When she’s wrapped up in his arms, he tucks his nose into her shoulder and all he can smell is her. It’s overwhelming and comforting all at once. Captivating, sweet, and warm and Chris is happy he’s been able to take the next three days off to do nothing more than nose at her mark and let her command all of his senses.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” Chris murmurs into her neck before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to her shoulder. She hums at the pillowy kisses at the sliver of exposed skin, eyes glittering with flecks of gold that only Chris can conjure up. Her fingers search out his hand, cupping it in her much smaller hand so that she can run a thumb over his knuckles. Her thumb undulates across them, the pad of it gliding easily over soft skin. Briefly does she contemplate asking to use whatever expensive hand cream he must use. The thought flitters away with ease, replaced with the idea of curling up next to her alpha and existing solely in that pocket of safety and comfort for the next week.

. . . . . .

For the first three days, they both exist in that pocket. In being newly mated, the two of them hardly know each other. She knows that he’s relinquished his title as the current Captain America and gets a little pouty when he’s hungry. Chris knows that she is a blanket hog and that Dodger much preferred her snuggles over his when he had invited her to his home the first time. They spent the vast majority of those days filling in the gaps, giving and taking as much information as they feel comfortable, while holed up in Chris’ apartment.

Day four is when she wakes up with a subtle ache in her lower tummy and the lack of warmth that is usually provided by Chris’ sleeping form. She is quick to recognize that she is in the early stages of her heat and for a moment, she’s grateful that Chris is filming for the next sixteen or so hours. It gives her the chance to rid herself of the slowly warming coil in her tummy without the embarrassment she would feel for keening at the simple, innocent touches her alpha spoils her with. Even though she knows it’s natural, instinctual, she and Chris have hardly been that type of intimate. Physical touches only turning sinful when Chris traps her bottom lip between his teeth and presses a palm to the mark on her neck.

She ignores the dull ache between her thighs until she’s in the shower. The remnants of Chris’ time in the spacious glass shower consume all of her senses in the few seconds it takes for the water to heat up. His scent is still thick despite the fact that he’s been gone nearly six hours already. It’s heady and woody—all sandalwood and smoke—when the steam further amplifies it. Her eyes drift shut as she inhales deeply and the ache within her becomes far more noticeable.

She cums once, twice, three times in the shower before the water runs cold. Her fingers and toes are pruned, but she feels satiated and content in the post glow of her orgasms. Enough so that fatigue sets in her bones and leaves her with just enough energy to pull a black, baggy shirt over her head and some pretty baby blue boyshorts over the swell of her ass. She thinks there no sense in doing much more than that when she has every plan to take a short nap before cooking dinner for Chris to come home to after a long day of filming.

Her feet only leave the floor when she’s crawling onto the California king mattress where she plops herself right in the middle. She reaches for Chris’ pillow without hesitation, pulling it to her chest with one hand while the other pushes the comforter toward her legs. Sinking into the warmth of the comforter is easy with the bed still unmade; it lulls her to sleep in no time at all. The smell of her alpha just under her nose as she cradles the downy pillow to her chest.

She swears she only meant to sleep for an hour or two. Yet, she wakes hours later with the press of Chris’ lips at her forehead, cheeks, and then her Cupid’s bow when she blinks up at him. He’s half sitting up, most of his weight is held up by his forearm as he rolls to his left side. It allows him enough mobility to reach his right hand up to stroke at her cheek with his thumb, large palm cupping her jaw. She returns his kind gestures with a warm smile and long tired blinks before she presses a kiss to the heel of his palm.

“You’re back.” Her voice is soft and slow as molasses as she blinks up at him. Chris nods with a quiet laugh as to not pop the quiet of the dark room. Her face is washed in the golden rays of the setting sun, catching the flecks and swirls of gold in her eyes that never really seem to go away when she’s with him. The distinct sound of sheets rustling render Chris’ attempts useless, but he doesn’t mind when she leans forward to press their lips together. Even chapped, he’s content to know that he’ll be privileged to her kisses in this life and the many thereafter—mated and destined to find one another until the end of time. “I’ve missed you.” He says, pressing another chaste to her lips. The admission warms her and tugs at the corners of her lips in a tired smile. She repeats the sentiment with a soft sigh that is timed perfectly with a low growling in her stomach.

“S’late and you’re hungry, bug. You want to order in?” He asks and drops the hand at her cheek to place it at her hip beneath the comforter. He croons when he realizes she’s in nothing more than a shirt and underwear. The fatigue that has darkened the skin beneath his eyes and her pliancy does more to soften him than arouse him. Her rubs the skin just above the waistband, tilting his head slightly in question. She hums her affirmation and content, nodding her head ever so slightly.

They decide on some Korean place just ten minutes away that Chris discovered his first week of filming. He leaves her to wake up some more, pulling a baseball cap over lengthy brown hair and kissing her half a dozen times before he steps out the door. Chris isn’t time for too long, but long enough that she’s able to shuffle out into the living room and queue up something for something to watch. She settles on reruns of Criminal Minds, knowing it’ll hold their attention if they choose, but at a volume that allows it to fade into background noise.

It starts out as background noise as they eat, Chris talking about his day between mouthfuls of food. She prompts him with more questions about his day which warms something in Chris’ chest, spreads to his fingers and toes in waves of heat and electricity. It hums within him as he asks about her day though she answers with how mundane it had been. She also conveniently omits the fact that her heat is just around the corner because it simply doesn’t seem pertinent to their conversation.

(Really, she thinks mentioning how she’d been so wound up that she got off to his scent alone doesn’t exactly fit the picture of domesticity they exist in currently).

Eventually, the conversation dies down and with it, her energy wanes until Chris is beckoning her to lay her head down in his lap. An offer that she accepts willingly, shuffling down the couch to rest her head on his left thigh. His leg hair tickles her cheek as she pushes the fabric of his grey jogger shorts up so that she may feel the warmth of his body without barriers. His arm comes down to rest on a sliver of skin between her boyshorts and shirt, once again stroking at the expanse of warm skin. It lulls her into a safe, happy space that has her eyelids feeling heavy as she watches the television. 

It’s the picture of honeymoon phase bliss and innocence until it’s not. 

She’s never felt the ache quite this deep or robust. It feels red hot and more animalistic than anything she has ever felt before. If her thoughts weren’t so preoccupied with the way Chris’ thighs feel beneath her cheek, she would’ve made the connection between her impending heat and the presence of her alpha. Instead, she’s turning her head before she even thinks to stop herself and presses a lingering kiss just above his knee. Then another just above that and a trail of them before her lips ghost over the fraying hem of his shorts. 

“Omega.” 

She stills in her movements, but not out of fear or embarrassment. The deep, rumbly tone is something she has never heard from Chris. It’s authoritative and questioning all at once, and has her insides scrambling in anticipation. Eagerly does she look up at him beneath her lashes when she lifts her head. A mistake on her part, really. Chris’ lips are parted and his eyes a deep golden yellow. His nostrils flaring as he gets the first trace of her arousal. She smells of the earth after rain and something sweet that he can’t quite place, but it’s uniquely her—his omega. 

He doesn’t stop her when she nips along the top of his thigh, peppering his pale skin with tints of red and pink. He simply tucks his lower lip between his teeth and grips her hip, thumb pressing into her Adonis belt. A low growl of her name stops the worrying of his lower lip for just a moment, but does little to stop her from kissing at his inner thigh once she’s shifted to gain better access. Her left hand reaches across to rub at his other thigh, squeezing when she sucks and bites a mark into the smooth skin of the innermost part of his thigh. The flat of her tongue soothes over it before she does the same just diagonal of the previous mark that has begun to blossom with pretty shades of red and tinges of purple. It earns her a deep, warning growl from somewhere in Chris’ chest and she halts her movements. Something about the noise above her has her backing down into submission. 

“M’sorry, alpha.” The title rolls off her tongue with ease and it only serves to make Chris that much more aroused. He is painfully hard and straining even in the looser fabric of his shorts. Something that she is obviously aware of, tongue swiping over her bottom lip when she glances down between them. “Don’t apologize. Come here.” He says, patting his lap with one hand and she all, but scrambles to fit herself in his lap; fits her knee between his thighs and straddles his right one. It’s undoubtedly to relieve some of the pressure that is building in her core, but Chris doesn’t say a word about it. He only pushes up the hem of her shirt so that his hands can rest on the warm, bare skin of her hips. 

“I want you so bad, sweetheart. I really do, but m’tired.” He watches as her look down, lips quivering around an apology. “I just don’t feel it’d be right for me to do that to you, hm? You’re close to your heat and deserve all that I can give, don’t you think?” Chris continues and feels the way her body heats up with his words. From the way her body feels as though it’s buzzing above him, he thinks she had no plans to tell him of her impending heat. Yet, it was obvious the moment her lips met the spot just above his knee. In fact, she was damn near nuzzling at him and that was his first hint that she was likely approaching her heat. “I just want to take care of you, little omega.”

She ruts against his thigh at his words, a low whine and apology following soon after. It’s then that Chris realizes how wet she really is. She has already soaked through her boyshorts and feels slick against his thigh. His eyes fall shut, his nose scrunching as if he is in pain. Which is not so far from the truth because fuck, he really wishes that he had enough energy in him to give her exactly what she wants—what they both want. But, a long day of action sequences on set has generated an unmistakeable ache in his muscles. 

Chris feels terrible, he really does. It’s that unsatisfied desire and guilt that have him tilting his head at her in thought. Her own eyes, clouded with desperation and lust, scan his face as he thinks. An eyebrow quirks at him when he leans forward to press a kiss at the corner of her lips and comes away with a mischievous glint in his eye that glitters in the light of the television. She doesn’t have to question what he is thinking about for long because his grip on her hips tighten, moving her forward and then back again. 

“Oh.” She whispers when Chris does it again, her clit pressed to his thigh. His hands never leave her hips even when she begins to ride his thigh on her own, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. Nails dig into his back despite the layer of fabric between them as if she’s attempting to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes are closed as she fucks herself on Chris’ thighs, her hip muscles straining just slightly as she shifts to balance herself better. 

“Look so pretty for me, little omega.” Chris praises her as she glides across his thigh. She moans, soft and breathy, in response. He thinks it’s quite possibly the most beautiful and sensual sounds he’s ever heard, if he’s honest. Her next words, however, are by far the filthiest. “Want your knot, alpha. Need it.” She mewls, hips stuttering as she nears the edge. He can feel the way her body winds up tight—muscles taut, jaw clenched—and smell how close she is. A predatory, animalistic growl rips from Chris’ chest as the strings holding her together begin to snap. 

“Gonna fill you up with it tomorrow, sweetheart. Promise.” It’s the sweet, but sinful admission that is her undoing. Her head falls forward, forehead pressed against his shoulder as her orgasm runs through her; makes her shiver and quake above him as he squeezes at her hips, helping her ride through her high. He presses kisses into her temple and along her cheekbones all while listening to the way her heart works to calm itself. Though, he notices the telltale sound of a skipped beat when he pulls back to press a kiss to her lips. Smiles up at her with a sated, content look that holds something just a little bit more. Though, Chris thinks he’ll wait to tell her that, that “little bit more” is the beginnings of love that have started to take root in his chest. 

[bubbleteatae]

Puppy Love - Part 2

Read previous parts here

pairing: idol!Taehyung x female reader

warnings: none.

I tried not to think too much about the handsome man and his dog that stumbled their way into my morning, but that was easier said than done.

I didn’t want to text him right away, maybe I’ll just wait and let him text me first? However that didn’t stop me from glancing at my phone every chance I could through out the day, to see if he had messaged.

It was later on in the evening, the day I had met Taehyung, that my phone pinged. I reached forward from the couch grabbing it off my coffee table so fast that Kanna jolted up in alarm, only to lay her head back down in front of the heater when she realised it was nothing, as if rolling her eyes.

His name read across my screen, the subject of the message only reading Attached: 1 Image. I unlocked my phone and immediately laughed when I saw what he had sent.

Y/N: Awww 😍 what perfect company 😊

T: He’s not much for conversation though!

Y/N: Hahah more of a listener?

T: When he feels like it 😂 he knows all my darkest secrets though.. 😳

Before I had the chance to flirt back, I noticed Taehyung was typing again.

T: It was really nice meeting you today, I’m sorry I had to run off so suddenly 😔

Y/N: Don’t be! It was lovely to meet you too 😊 I hope you weren’t late for anything..

T: No, all good! But I did mean what I said about catching up again. I know this really nice park, that’s not too far from that cafe. Kanna and Tannie could have a proper play!

Y/N: That sounds great! I would love to 😊

T: How does tomorrow sound?

Y/N: I don’t work Sundays, so tomorrow sounds perfect!

T: Great! Shall we meet at the same spot? 11?

Y/N: 11 it is 👍🏻

T: I gotta run 😔 but I’m really looking forward to tomorrow, Y/N

T: 😘

Even as a grown adult, I could help smile to myself as butterflies formed in my stomach at the sight of the emoji he had sent.

Y/N: Me too, Taehyung x

                                                        ***

I woke up early the next morning to give myself plenty of time to stress about what I would wear. I spent at least an hour in front of my mirror trying to match tops with boots, and dresses with hats. I didn’t want to look over the top dressed, we were going to a park after all, but I still wanted to look eye catching.

And was this even a date?

Thankfully, the sun was out for today, so I decided to go for a floral dress and denim jacket, and a pair of sandals. After applying a light amount of make up, I clipped Kana’s lead on and began the walk to the cafe.

I couldn’t ignore the nerves in my stomach that seemed to became more aggressive the closer we got to the cafe. We turned the corner and there he was, sitting on an outdoor bench teasing Yeontan as he sat on his lap.

He looked up innocently with big doe eyes only for them to crinkle at the corners when he smiled, realising we were here.

“Y/N” he beamed, allowing his dog to hop off his lap and greet mine.

“Hi Taehyung” I smiled.

“You look lovely, by the way”

“Oh, thank you. It’s nice that the suns out today!”

He dressed a lot more relaxed than he did the previous day. He wore a loosely fit white shirt, tucked into a belted pair of beige pants.

Taehyung nodded “shall we start walking?” He asked

“I must say” I added as we made our way to the park “you certainly know how to dress well”

He looked down at his ensemble “Thank you! I guess I’ve always found fashion to be a great form of self expression” he seemed shy at his statement.

“That’s wonderful! I’m not very brave when it comes to fashion, you’ll have to help me out there” I laughed.

I felt his eyes land on me, making me meet them as he smiled.

After walking for around five minutes Taehyung enthusiastically announced we had arrived. He let Yeontan off his leash, promoting me to do the same. Leading me over to a wooden bench under a tree, we watched our dogs play and investigate the area.

“They get on so well” Taehyung laughed.

“They do! I guess it would be awkward if they didn’t” I laughed in reply.

“Well, I’d have to have a stern word to my dog. Cause I’d still want to see you.” 

I looked up to meet his eyes, his pink lips were curved into a soft smile. For the first time in my life, I actually felt comfortable with this lingering eye contact. He made me feel.. safe.

“So Y/N?” His voice would have startled me if it wasn’t so calming “what brings you all the way to Seoul?”

Taehyung was so easy to talk to, and was such a good listener. He looked deeply into my eyes, listening intently to everything I told him. The only time we broke conversation was to look out in front of us, making sure our dogs were okay.

I told him about my job working with animals, which made him very excited as he told me how much he loved animals himself. I learnt he was only a year younger than me, which was surprising as he presented himself with such confidence and maturity. I even found myself telling him (this still kind of a stranger) how I just needed to leave Y/Country and start a life for myself. 

“I think that’s wonderful. I’m sure it was a scary thing for you to do, but you needed to! And look where you are now” he grinned. 

I laughed at his enthusiasm, but noticed the wisdom behind his words.

“What about you? Are you working?” I asked “Or studying”

He didn’t answer right away, his brows slightly furrowed together as if deciding how to answer. He then quickly looked back up and smiled, and simply said “I sing.”

“Wow, really? That’s really cool!”

I couldn’t help but notice the faint shade of pink appearing on his sun-kissed cheeks.

“How long have you done that for?” I asked. For some reason, I felt he didn’t want to go into too much detail.

“I guess you could say it’s been my job for about 7 years. But I’ve always sung”

I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so I simply smiled “well.. I hope I can hear you sing one day.”

There was that cheeky grin again!

My eyes averted to the ground behind Taehyung to see Kana and Yeontan curled up together, clearly exhausted form running around.

Taehyung chucked as he followed my eyesight “looks like they’ve worn themselves out!”

“We should probably get them home” I suggested, as much as I didn’t want to leave we had been out for a fair few hours now.

“Come on, I’ll walk you home” he offered as he stood up, holding his hand out towards me.

                                                       ***

I had never felt so disappointed to see my apartment building. I slowed my walking to stop in front of the buildings entrance, causing Taehyung to do the same.

“This is me” I smiled “thanks for walking us home, even though you didn’t have to.”

“It was our pleasure, wasn’t it Tan!” He bounced the little dog in his arm, before putting him down on the footpath.

I shuffled awkwardly between my feet.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I really enjoyed taking our dogs out today - “

I nodded in agreement, smiling.

“- But if you’ll let me, I’d like to take you out for a really nice meal. Just the two of us this time!” he laughed, and I couldn’t help but notice the nerves his voice carried.

“I would really like that!”

His boxy smile appeared once again, highlighting how cute he was. “Okay! Um.. I’ll have to check my schedule for next week, so text me what day suits you and we’ll organise something.”

“I will” I nodded.

Taehyung then glanced behind him, before turning back towards me shyly. “You have a good night, okay.”

“Thanks, you too. And thank you for today, we had a wonderful time” I said glancing down at my dog patiently waiting next to me.

I then felt myself enveloped in Taehyung’s hug. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, my head only just reaching his shoulders. My arms came to rest around his waist, as I took in his delicate scent. His hug was sincere, and ended far too quickly for my liking.

                                                      ***

As I laid down in bed that night, I unlocked my phone and opened up the internet. Curiosity had got the best of me.

He said singing was his job for a while now. Surely he was a little well known then.

I typed in Kim Taehyung, shocked at the search that came up.

BTS? I've definitely heard that around the internet before?

The more I searched, the more I discovered how popular he was, going by the stage name, V. I could tell by the way he was dressed when we first met that he wasn’t short on money, but I could never imagine he would be a world famous performer..

And yet, he never mentioned it? 

I closed my phone, feeling guilty. Maybe I shouldn’t have searched? There was obviously a reason why he didn’t want to tell me straight away. He probably wanted to tell me in his own time.

And I would let him.

I placed my phone on charge and rolled over onto my pillow, letting my mind replay the lovely day I had. Not with V, a member of a famous South Korean boy band.

But with Taehyung. The sweet, handsome boy with the cheeky smile, who’s hand fit in mind perfectly.