#thankfully my brain just shut this out entirely

[eldrtchmn]

...3, 2, 1 personal rant incoming

(it's depressing I'm sorry)

[cupid-styles]

silk and rope

the long awaited ddlg harry and yn pairing has finally arrived!!!

some general disclaimers: I've never been in a relationship like this myself nor have I experimented too much with proper bdsm techniques, so there may be some things that are wrong in this!!!! I did research and tried my best to make it as accurate as possible but pls don't come for me if something isn't right ok thank yoooouuuuuu!!!!!!!

word count: 10.6k

content warnings: daddy dom and sub/little yn relationship, big ol’ daddy kink, basically just a lot of smut (bondage, overstimulation, use of toys, dirty talk, f oral, penetration), discussions of subspace and crappy sexual experiences (nothing forced), yn in little/sub space

"Y/N, I just don't think this is working out anymore."

Normally, Y/N is able to see this coming.

In the past, she's had 20/20 hindsight, predicted when whatever man she was seeing — or rather, submitting to — had finally gotten bored of her, and been able to paste a smile on her face when it finally happened. She could bite her tongue hard enough to prevent the flush that would eventually warm her entire body with embarrassment, mumble out some nonsense response ("okay, that's fine, I appreciate the time we spent together", which was usually a lie anyway), give them a halfhearted hug and let them go.

Todd, however? The world's worst dominant? She seriously can't believe that Todd of all people is ending things.

Realistically, Y/N doesn't really care that Todd isn't interested in dominating her anymore. He was shit at aftercare and only paid attention to maintaining a sexual relationship, as opposed to an emotional one, too. (Y/N's profile specifically said that she was looking for a dominant inside and outside of the bedroom.) So, when it comes down to it, it's fine that Todd is putting a stop to their rather lackluster relationship, but Y/N is unprepared.

Typically, at this point, she already has a date with another dominant lined up for 24 hours from now. She's already talking to other people, listing out her hard limits and what she's looking for, maybe even switching her photos around to change things up after being on this god forsaken website for a year and a half.

And maybe she, too, was so unsatisfied with Todd that she wasn't paying enough attention to realize the end was coming. 

But with her slightly squinted eyes and half-open jaw, it must seem that she's in some sort of immediate stage of heartbreak (she's not, she's just surprised), because Todd goes to sling his arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss to the side of her head.

"It's not you, babe, it's me," he says, and it makes Y/N want to elbow him in the ribs, "Really, you were great. Fantastic every time. Just think I'm looking for someone a little bit more... emotionally stable, y'know?"

That's what breaks Y/N out of her trance, so she quickly rises from her couch and wordlessly opens the front door. 

"Thanks. You can go now."

With furrowed eyebrows, Todd stands up, as if he was expecting her to get down on her knees and grovel at his feet, begging him to stay.

"See, this is what I'm talking about, babe— one second you're all quiet and mousey, and the next you're trying to boss me around like I'm the submissive," he feens offense as he pulls his sneakers on, "I think you should probably get your brain together before you start seeing someone else, it's a real mindfuck."

"Okay," Y/N smiles tightly, gesturing outside to the chilly evening. "See you around, Todd."

The confused expression remains on Todd's face but thankfully, he leaves without another word. Y/N lets out a deep sigh as she shuts the door behind him and locks it up. She grabs one of the leftover muffins she made at work today, plops down on the couch, and turns on the TV to find a show to fall asleep to.

. . .

If Harry's being honest, the bar is the last place he wants to be right now.

And he would be at home if he hadn't blown his friends off for the past three weeks, and Claire hadn't stopped by his desk while he was packing his things up, threatening to kidnap him if he wasn't planning on attending this evening. 

He feels bad, especially because he knows he has the tendency to prioritize work over his friends, so he shoots her a tight smile and tells her to lead the way. 

So now he's at their usual booth in the corner, slowly nursing a lukewarm beer that he'd ordered an hour ago when they arrived. He's halfway listening to a story Lea is telling about her shitty on-again, off-again boyfriend, occasionally suppressing the urge to yawn. He glances down at the watch on his wrist to read the time and promises himself that he'll stay another 30 minutes before ducking out. 

Truthfully, he's bored, and he's tired, and his bed is calling to him in a way that's almost painful. He occupies himself by people-watching, trying to guess who's on first dates or, like him and his friends, getting together for weekly drinks. It's only then that he zeroes in on her — Y/N, that is — sitting alone at the bar top, slightly hunched over as she taps on her phone, a glass of wine in the other hand. 

Harry doesn't know Y/N that well. He knows that she went to college with Naomi, who started inviting her to things around a year ago, and now she's always just around. He's unsure if she actually likes any of them besides Naomi, though — she's quiet and introverted, which Harry respects and understands, but the one-on-one conversations they've had are few and far between. 

But that's why his interest is piqued in the first place. He's never witnessed her sitting alone at the bar, and a twinge of concern fires through him as he watches her. He clears his throat and turns back to the table, unintentionally cutting Lea off. 

"Is Y/N okay?" he asks, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the bar.

"What? I didn't even know she was here," Lea says as she peers over with a shrug, "Seems fine to me."

She continues on with her story and Harry rolls his eyes, grabbing his pint and striding over to where Y/N is sitting. He props himself up on the stool next to her and waves the bartender down, pointing to his glass. 

"Hey, Y/N," Harry greets easily as his glass gets refilled. She looks up from her phone and immediately locks it, as if he's tearing her from some deep thinking, surprised that anyone would come to bother her in a busy pub. "How are you?"

With slightly parted lips, she looks a bit bewildered. "Um... I'm fine. How are you, Harry?"

He swallows, glancing down at the half-full glass of white wine she's drinking. He's never actually seen her drunk, despite near-weekly meetups at this pub. She seems tipsy, not fully under water, though decently buzzed. 

"I'm good, thanks," he forces a smile onto his lips as an effort to seem as though he's not concerned for her wellbeing. "I saw you over here and realized I didn't even say hi to you."

Y/N shrugs. "I didn't really feel like socializing tonight. Naomi kind of dragged me here."

"Ah, Claire did the same to me," Harry replies understandingly, nodding his head, "Said she'd kidnap me if I didn't come out."

She scoffs at that before tilting the glass back towards her lips, taking another hearty gulp. He doesn't miss the thin wince she makes as the liquid touches her tongue, swallowing it down quickly. 

"Is it 'cos you got broken up with, too?" 

Harry's eyes widen at her question, but she's already looked past him, zoning out with a bleary look. 

"Oh... I'm sorry, Y/N. Do you want to talk about it?" 

He's not great at emotional conversations, especially with people he barely knows, but he supposes it's a decent explanation for why she's in this state. He's content with lending a shoulder to cry on, he decides, because he doubts Naomi had done the same.

"It wasn't really a breakup, it's fine," she mutters with a dismissive wave of her hand. "We weren't dating, is what I mean."

Although she attempts at some sort of explanation, Harry's still confused, but he nods as if he understands. 

"Was it like a friends with benefits situation?" he guesses, and she shrugs noncommittally. 

"Kind of."

"So it was complicated, then," Harry murmurs. He gets that — he's been there a thousand times over, and he understands the pain associated with those types of situations.

"It wasn't," she shakes her head, and now Harry knows she's just spewing out drunken nonsense, "He was my... dominant. Or tried to be. He was really fucking shitty at it."

Dominant?

The familiar word echoes through the chambers of Harry's mind. He's certainly not unacquainted with dominant and submissive dynamics, but he's shocked — more than, really — that Y/N refers to a typically taboo word in such a casual way. He chalks it up to the alcohol, but he's still surprised that Y/N even had a dominant to begin with.

"I met him on one of those stupid seeking arrangements websites, which honestly never produces good results," Y/N continues, making Harry's eyes widen even more. He's sure that she would never reveal this information to any of their mutual friends, let alone him of all people. "Every dom I've had from there has been... whatever. But he was particularly awful, and he just ended things out of nowhere. Normally I like to have someone else lined up, but... yeah."

Even in her alcohol-fueled state, Y/N realizes that she's rambling, providing far too many personal details to Harry, who she rarely talks to. She knows she'll be ridiculously embarrassed by the entire evening as soon as the wine drunk haze wears off, but for now, Harry's on the receiving end of her secrets.

Harry clears his throat and straightens his posture, sitting up a little taller. "Well, you said it yourself. Those sites are shitty, the dominants on there are usually just looking to experiment for the first time and they don't know what they're doing. The local BDSM community is your best bet... clubs and gatherings and such."

Y/N wrinkles her eyebrows and peers at Harry beside her. He's looking straight ahead and nibbling on his bottom lip, his hand firmly grasped around his glass. She doesn't know much about Harry besides the fact that he works at some large company with a relatively well-off position. He's gorgeous, of course, and has flings with people here and there but otherwise, her knowledge of what him is... well, almost non-existent. 

It wasn't totally impossible — the likelihood that Harry, like Y/N, was involved in similar sexual dynamics. She wouldn't classify herself as part of the BDSM community, but perhaps it was because she'd never dove headfirst into learning about it outside of what she's interested in. She felt that what she looked for in a dominant was rather... specific. 

"Do you... are you...?" Y/N doesn't quite know how to phrase the question, "are you a dom?" without sounding like a total creep, so she allows him to fill in the blanks. His throat bobs as he takes a sip of his beer, shrugging his shoulders tersely. 

"Yeah," he finally answers. "Not very consistently, I guess, but I'll take on a sub a few times year. Usually for a few months."

She nods slowly, squinting her eyes a bit as she tries to picture it. She's not sure what type of dominant Harry is — whether he's sweet and soft, or tough and enjoys pushing his subs to their limit each and every time — but regardless, the mere thought of it is enough to make her squeeze her thighs.

"What about you?" he asks, shifting his position to face her. "It sounds like you go through doms kind of... quickly."

Y/N hums, "Kind of, I guess. I think I have kind of... like, particular needs, and not everyone is interested in it."

It's the most they've ever spoken to one another, and Harry doesn't even think before he's asking her what exactly she looks for in a dominant. He's immediately embarrassed — he doesn't know what made him question her so openly, but he can't help his curiosity. 

She waves his slight exasperation off, clearly not offended by his press for details.

"Can I just ask that you don't tell anyone?" Y/N says, looking at the man sitting next to her. "It's like, a little embarrassing, and I've never told our friends about it. Not even Naomi."

"Of course," Harry quips. He's always been good at keeping those types of things under wraps — he didn't believe anyone had anything to gain by learning about someone's sexual interests.

"I... I guess I have some trauma stemming from childhood that I've worked through in recent years. It's not important to this, but I tend to look for dominants who fulfill more of a caretaker role. I like to be... taken care of. In certain ways."

Her cheeks flush as the words leave her mouth as he listens to her closely. He's not sure if he's reading between the lines, looking too far into her explanation, but he gets it. He thinks. 

"So... a daddy dom?" Harry asks softly. Y/N rolls her lips into her mouth and nods curtly. 

"That's nothing to be embarrassed about," he murmurs once he receives confirmation, "A lot of people like that type of relationship. I can understand why you'd be interested in it, especially if you have trauma."

She shrugs. "A lot of people think it's weird, too."

"Sure, but those aren't the people you should be seeking relationships out with," Harry replies easily, "What do you look for specifically? I'm sure we could find someone for you in the community."

Y/N lets a deep breath out, rolling her neck to each of her shoulders. She can't believe they're having this conversation in public, but she'd be lying if she said Harry wasn't easy to talk to. Plus, at the night went on, more people filed out of the bar considering it was a weekday. 

"It's not necessarily age play I'm after, which I think a lot of people think is what I want," she explains, "Just like... a caregiver, I guess, that's there for me both in and out of the bedroom. I, um... on bad days, fall into a... headspace, and it's very difficult to navigate that on my own. If that makes sense."

"Makes perfect sense," Harry nods. "Are you looking for punishments and such?"

"Yeah." she breathes, nibbling at her lip as she crosses her legs, attempting to mitigate the dull throbbing in her core. 

"Y/N, do you have my number?"

She swallows as she peers up at him through her eyelashes, shaking her head. He puts his hand out and she grabs her phone, placing it in his palm. He taps at the screen and she assumes he's putting his information in her contacts.

"Claire drove me here so I can't give you a ride home, but I'm gonna order you an Uber so you can head home," he murmurs lowly, handing her phone back to her. "Text me tomorrow. Can we get together after work?"

Y/N nods with slightly rounded eyes, making him smile gently. He realizes she must be more depraved than he thought if she's already slipping into her little space from an act as simple from that.

"Keep it together 'til you get home," Harry says with a quirked eyebrow, though embarrassment quickly washes over Y/N's body. He chuckles as she blushes, patting her thigh lightly. "I'll walk you out." 

She grabs her bag and follows him out of the bar, welcoming the autumnal chill as it pimples her skin. 

"Are you gonna slip on the way back?"

Y/N looks up to see Harry towering over her, a concerned expression on his face. 

"N-no. I'm fine."

He continues analyzing her for a moment or two more before he finally nods once. "Okay. If you feel yourself getting there, call me."

"I won't. I promise." 

Harry hums as a black sedan rolls up to the curb. He checks to make sure it's the correct license plate before guiding her to the car and holding the door open for her. She gets in the backseat and he nods at the driver, murmuring down at her, "seatbelt on."

She complies readily and he smiles, patting her head softly. "Message me when you get home. We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Thank you, Harry."

20 minutes later when he receives a text from her stating that she's made it home safely, he already knows he'll do anything to be her dominant.

. . .

Harry half expects Y/N to pretend like last night ever happened. 

He would understand it if she did. She was tipsy, revealing intimate details about her sexual preferences pertaining to BDSM. No one else from their friend group knew. It just ended up coming out for both of them — Harry doesn't parade his dominant role in the bedroom all around town, but if someone he knows asks, he's happy to admit to it and talk more about it. He's not ashamed by any means, but he can tell that Y/N is. She prefaced her explanation by stating that she has trauma — and really, who doesn't? — and hinted that dominants in the past have found her requests to be weird. 

Harry doesn't think the whole daddy dom thing is strange. He understands it, especially pertaining to a psychological, healing level. He's never engaged in that sort of dynamic before, typically sticking to scratching the itch his submissives usually had, whether it be getting tossed around a little, orgasm denial, or being tied up. He was happy to do what made them happy, but he usually kept it in the bedroom. 

The thought of taking up a caregiver role in Y/N's life made his spine tingle. 

He's always been interested in her — not even in a romantic or sexual way, he's always just found her fascinating. She's quiet and shy, beautiful, and the definition of a wallflower. Naomi brought her in one day and she just never left. It's been a year since then and Harry doesn't think she's spoken more than 15 words to the others.

And so, with all of this knowledge under his belt, he spends his day at work worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and constantly unlocking his phone. When he gets home that evening, narrowly avoiding Claire's proposal at more social interaction, he's lost all hope, even though he did tell her to text him when she was finished with work. He's properly pouting as he sits on his couch, knees to his chest, when his phone lights up on the coffee table in front of him.

From: Y/N Y/L/N

hey harry:) first of all, im so sorry about last night. i was clearly having a tough day and i definitely took advantage of u being willing to chat with me, so im sorry if i revealed too much or took you away from everyone else.. i know u don't go out often and im really sorry if i ruined it 

im also not sure if you still have interest in what we talked about last night w helping me find someone... its totally ok if you've changed ur mind or you were just drunk or whatever. again, i know i was being a lot so no worries!! sorry! just lmk :)

Harry's heart squeezes as he reads over her repeated apologies. In two texts, she said variations of "I'm sorry" four times. She thought she had ruined his night in some way when it was the complete opposite. 

His thumbs hover over the screen as he thinks of a response. He's over the moon that she still decided to text him and that she'd avoiding the path of pretending nothing happened. In all honesty, he's unsure if he could live with himself when he had all those images and thoughts of her in his head, knowing that they'd just moved on from it.

Hey Y/N. Please don't apologize for last night, I had a really nice time talking to you. I'm definitely still interested. Are you available tonight?

She's quick in her reply, which makes him smile. He can imagine the way she's probably alternating between biting her lip and picking at the skin around her fingernails, both of which he assumed were nervous habits that he picked up on last night.

ok if you say so.. and yes im free! i was planning on ordering some takeout if ur interested, i don't really have any food here that isn't a baked good lol

Harry chuckles at that. Claire mentioned once that Y/N works at the bakery close to the park he does his morning jogs through. When he passes by at early sunrise, the windows are often illuminated with a warm glow, and he wonders if it's coming from her.

That's okay, I was planning on cooking if you'd like me to bring you some. I have ingredients for a stir fry. Would that be okay?

She replies with what he can only describe as a bashful but affirmative answer (only if you're sure!! but that sounds great!) and sends a second message with her address. He's beaming as he chops up vegetables and sautes them up rice noodles and homemade peanut sauce, indulging in the simple act of cooking for Y/N. 

Last night, after he'd gotten home from the bar, he'd done some research on daddy dom relationships. He knew of them, but if he was going to offer being Y/N's, he wanted to ensure that he was knowledgable on anything she could want. He learned that there were many different facets of that type of dynamic, some of which he was comfortable with and some of which he wasn't. Like any other dominant and submissive relationship, hard and soft limits would be discussed, but this one, Harry realized, wouldn't just consist of kinks he had no interest in engaging in. 

As he spoons the finished stir fry into a plastic container to take to Y/N's, his stomach brews with butterflies. He's never expressed interest in dominating someone he already knows in real life. Those relationships existed purely in the confides of the bedroom. It's a commitment, he understands, to engage in such an agreement with her. 

So why isn't he scared?

. . .

"This is delicious, Harry," Y/N all but moans over her serving of stir fry, chopsticks in hand. He smiles before biting into a piece of broccoli coated in peanut sauce.

"I'm glad you like it. It's a go-to dish for me, especially on weekdays when I'm exhausted from work."

She hums, nodding thoughtfully as she chews. A temporary silence takes over as they eat, ended by Harry eventually clearing his throat and gently placing his bowl on the table. 

"So, about finding you a dom," he says, and her eyes perk up slightly, as if she's an over-excited puppy. "I have a proposition."

"Oh, you found someone already?"

"Sort of," Harry answers vaguely, "I think— well, no, I know. I would be interested in taking that place."

Y/N raises her eyebrows. She sets her own bowl of food on the table and purses her lips as she chews the rest of the contents in her mouth. 

"I don't think you want that." she says gently. 

"Why?" he shoots back, a near immediate response, "I spent all night and day thinking about it. I do."

Y/N sighs, "Because it's more than just spanking me when I have an attitude with you or cooking me a meal. I can be a lot, Harry, and it's the reason why I've gone through so many dominants already."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you go through so many because they're the problem?" Harry asks. "You lay it all out on the table, right? You tell them exactly what you're looking for. Everything you told me last night."

She nods.

"And they still agree. You tell them you want a dominant outside of the bedroom, too, that the 'daddy' role you're looking for is a caretaker," Harry continues, "So how does that make you the issue?"

"Because what I'm looking for is... unconventional," she fights back, convinced in her stance. "Guys think the whole daddy thing is hot until... until I actually need them."

"It's not unconventional, Y/N. I did a ton of research last night. There are a million sites explaining what a DDLG relationship is and what it can consist of. The things that go into it on both sides, but especially on the dominant's. I'm not saying I know everything about being one, but I've at least cared to learn."

Y/N sighs and rolls her lips into mouth. She'll admit, she's impressed. She's not sure any guy she's ever been with has done that.

"So... what would you want, then?" Y/N asks, her voice softened. 

"Well, I definitely have limits, but it's mainly dependent on what you're interested in," Harry explains. She finds that he's far too nonchalant for his own good, and the casual nature of his tone makes her even more nervous. 

"If you did some research then I'm sure you learned about the extents it can go to," she says thoughtfully and he nods, resting his chin in his palm, "I don't have a desire for the more extreme things. Diapers and pacifiers and all that." 

"Okay." 

She's taken aback by his lack of response — part of her expected some sort of "oh, thank god" — but she's starting to wonder if Harry just simply exists in a nonjudgmental space. One that she's very much not used to. 

"I just want someone to take care of me," she eventually forced out, setting her gaze on her bare thighs, a pair of lavender sweatshorts hung around her hips. "I can be bratty both in bed and out. I like to be put in my place. I enjoy being teased and humiliated. I like punishments and being pushed to my limits, even if I give you a hard time about it. I've been described as a handful when I'm feeling... little."

Harry had read a decent amount about "little space" last night. He'd dominated some partners to the point of falling into subspace, but little space seemed to differ. With his base knowledge on submission, he was able to tell that she was slipping into hers last night, giving him the inkling that making decisions for her and taking away the guess work was something she liked. 

"I'm sure you're not, but all of those things are fine by me," Harry replies easily, "What do you like when you're feeling little?"

"It depends on what put me there. If I had a bad day at work, I like a bath and you cooking for me... I get really touchy. If it happens from a sexual scenario, it can be quite difficult to pull me out. But I get really quiet... I'll be more pliable, allow you to throw me around. I'll usually cry, but if you're doing things correctly, they won't be bad tears. Just from overwhelm."

"What sexual scenarios put you there?"

She clears her throat, her tongue thick in her mouth. Thinking about these things is enough to make her slip, but she won't disclose that. At least not right now. 

"A number of things... edging or orgasm denial, being tied up and gagged. Anal since it requires trust and prepping. Any type of punishment, but especially spanking."

Harry's nodding his head as she speaks, apparent that he's processing everything she's telling him. He's not surprised by anything, per se, considering he's open to different experiences and nothing seems undoable. It's as if he's making a mental list, adding a separate section to his brain with Y/N's name plastered over it, filing away the information.

"What about when you're not feeling little?" Harry proceeds with little befuddlement, "What does the ideal dominant look like for you then?"

"Um... still just loving and caring. I likely won't be as bratty. More... in control of myself, I suppose," Y/N murmurs in reflection. "I would still like to have scenes with you when I'm not in that headspace, if that's alright. I'm not sure if it would be crossing a boundary."

"Of course." he answers readily without a blink of doubt, "When I embark on a dominant and submissive relationship, I don't like to half-ass it. I don't think there's a point in only asking for me when you need me. You'll never find comfort in me when you're feeling small."

Her heart warms at that, flutters in her tummy making it difficult to hide the smile curling at her lips. She assumes that she should've guessed Harry would be good at this type of thing; she's witnessed how deeply he cares for people. Even when they barely knew each other, he always greeted Y/N like they'd known one another for years, asking about her job at the bakery (she doesn't even remember if she told him he worked at one) and what sweets they were creating nowadays. 

She thinks Harry just has a way of making people feel special. 

It's what makes her core tingle, squeezing her thighs together for a semblance of relief as she rolls her lips into her mouth. She can feel herself starting to dampen in her underwear and she glances down at Harry's lower half, peeking through her eyelashes to see if he has a growing bulge. 

"Do you think we can do a scene tonight, maybe?" Y/N asks softly, glancing back up at his eyes. 

Harry chuckles. "I take it you think I'd be a good fit for you then."

"Mhm." 

"You're cute," he smirks and pinches her thigh lightly, "No scenes tonight though. I can come over tomorrow, but I want to properly feed you and make sure you're hydrated before we do anything."

Y/N nods as she nibbles on her bottom lip. If she's being honest, she wants nothing more than to crawl into Harry's lap, parting her thighs and grinding into him while he babbles dirty words into her ear. She's always found him attractive, but knowing that he's willing to cater to her own sexual desires lights a fire deep in her stomach. 

"I'm gonna head home, but I'm looking forward to getting started with you," Harry says with a small smile, "Oh, one more thing — no touching yourself tonight."

Her eyes widen as he stands from the couch, ready to grovel; they haven't even begun doing anything yet and he's already telling her what to do—

"Y/N," Harry growls, reaching up to grab her face. He squishes her cheeks together and her pupils broaden, surprised by his sudden change in demeanor. "Nod if you understand."

She nods.

"Good girl. I'll text you when I'm coming over tomorrow. I'll bring you dinner again."

Again, she nods.

"Say 'thank you', Y/N."

"Thank you, daddy."

Harry's lips curl into a smirk, releasing his grasp. "Oh, we're gonna have fun together."

. . .

The next day, Y/N can't stop squirming. 

It's to the point where her co-workers notice that she's jumpier than normal, clumsy in her icing and piping when she's normally spot-on and nearly perfect in her efforts. She hears from Harry a few times throughout the day — he texts her in the morning and during his lunch break, checking in to see how she's doing, and it makes her entire body swarm with butterflies. He asks if she's eating a proper lunch (she's not), scolds her for it (which she secretly enjoys), and then tells her he'll make her something for her to take to work tomorrow.

Thankfully, she doesn't have a closing shift today, so she's done at a little past 6 pm. It's to her surprise, though, when she's peeling off her flour-coated apron, she spots Harry standing outside the bakery, a cozy cardigan and a graphic t-shirt covering his body. 

Y/N has to do a double take. He didn't say anything about meeting her at work this evening, but he has to be here for her, doesn't he? 

After sliding her jacket on and grabbing her tote bag, she exits the bakery, closing the glass door behind her gingerly. Harry turns, his eyes lighting up when he sees her.

"Hey," he greets with a grin, "Have a good day at work?"

"Um, yeah, it was alright. Sorry, did we say you would pick me up? I must've forgotten—"

"Oh, no," Harry shakes his head as he jerks his head in the direction of his car, reaching out to slide her bag off of her shoulder. He takes it into his hand, his fingers wrapping around the canvas strap as she shuffles to keep up. "I finished making dinner a little early, figured I'd meet you here. Is that alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's really nice of you, thank you."

Harry hums as they approach his car. He unlocks the doors and they both get in, but he leans over before she has a chance to buckle herself up, clicking her seatbelt in. It's a small act that makes the butterflies return, but she doesn't comment on it as he starts the engine and begins the short drive back to hers. 

"I made us some veggie pasta for dinner tonight. Does that sound good?" 

"Delicious," Y/N replies honestly as she watches blurs of warm-toned leaves go by. "Thank you again."

A soft smile appears on his lips as he pulls onto her road. "Of course. How are you feeling?" 

"I'm alright. A little tired. Nervous, to be honest."

Harry chuckles and briefly glances over at her, "Yeah? Nothing to be nervous about. We'll take it slow."

She shuffles in her seat and wedges her hands between her thighs. "Just don't want you to judge me, is all."

"I won't, but we did manage to forget to have the conversation on hard sexual limits. Do you mind listing yours?"

She nods. She's done this dance enough times to know the importance of discussing this subject matter, though she doubts there's much Harry could do that wouldn't be a turn-on for her.

"Um, any bathroom things, fisting, foot stuff... I'm fine with anal as long as we agree upon doing it beforehand. And if you're going to inflict physical pain on me, that's fine, but I'd prefer it if we built up to it — so, like, starting with spanking then the belt or a paddle." 

"Sure, that makes perfect sense. I like to have conversations with my subs after we do a scene, so we can see how you feel about what we did," he pulls into a parking spot outside of her home, yanking the key from the ignition, "And, just so you know — no anal tonight and no spanking unless you deserve it."

He taps her cheek gently with his spare hand and she flushes as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. She follows him up to her front door and fishes her keys from the pocket of her jacket, unlocking it and stepping inside.

"Are y'alright with the traffic light system?" Harry questions as he sets her bag down on the slim table placed in the entryway.

"Yeah. My safe word is yarn, just FYI."

He wrinkles his eyebrows and pulls a few to-go containers out from his own bag. He opens his mouth to question her but she puts her hand up to stop him. 

"I like to crochet. Don't make fun of me for it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry murmurs, traipsing in the direction of her kitchen, "Go change out of your work clothes and put something pretty on for me, angel girl."

She's happy to comply, immediately feeling giddy at Harry telling her what to do from the get-go. When she gets upstairs and to her bedroom, she meanders over to the drawer she has for evenings like this. It's filled with lacy bodysuits and ruffly underwear, knee high socks, and pastel lingerie. Eager to rid her body of the jeans and sweater she wore all day, she opts for a sheer pink bralette and matching shorts that barely cover her bum. It's a sweet set that she personally likes, but she can't help the slight worry that Harry won't enjoy it as much as she does.

She's already meandering into her little headspace as she heads back downstairs. Harry's already plated up their dinner, complete with small servings of a side salad. He looks up as soon as he hears her soft padding across the length of the living room, his jaw falling slack at her appearance.

"Look at you," he coos, standing from the couch and closing the distance between them, "You look beautiful."

Y/N licks her lips, keeping her gaze low. She feels herself slipping, but for once, she's not scared of letting it happen. 

"What's wrong, little one?" Harry asks gently, pressing his pointer finger and thumb to her chin, raising her head, "Are you feeling small already?"

She nods, her eyes round.

"Mm, that was quick. Just from daddy taking care of you and putting on these pretty little clothes, huh?"

Again, she nods.

"Alright. Let's get some food in your belly and then daddy can play with you a bit?" 

This time, she shakes her head.

"No? No scene tonight?" Harry guesses through furrowed brows. 

"Wanna play now, please."

"Ahhhh," he nods, understanding now that she's looking to skip out on dinner. "Gotta eat first, baby. Then we'll play."

Y/N pouts and he chuckles, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and tugging her towards the couch. 

"C'mon. You can sit in my lap, hm?" 

Still in the trousers he wore to work today, Harry settles back against the couch. He pulls her body into his, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"Is this good?" he asks softly, catching the shell of her ear. 

"Yes." she peeps, nibbling on her lip. 

"Alright baby, grab your food for me. Gotta eat at least half before we do anything." 

Wringing her hands in her lap, Y/N doesn't move. Harry runs his fingertips along the length of her arm, nosing at her shoulder. 

"Would you... daddy, I..."

Her voice trails off and his heart squeezes, eager to coax whatever she's trying to say out of her. 

"Ask, honey. Use your words." he encourages tenderly. 

She forces the words out, even if they feel humiliating despite her clouded head. "Can you feed me, please?" 

Harry hums. He won't say it in the moment because he can tell the request was difficult to muster out, but his entire body feels infinitely softer. He leans forward to grab her serving, scooping some pasta on the fork. 

"Y'gonna be good and eat for me now?" 

She nods, "I will. Thank you, daddy."

He murmurs out a you're welcome, continuing the quiet pattern of feeding her, watching her chew and swallow, and going back for more. He doesn't let her get off without eating a few bites of salad, chuckling gently at her quiet protests.

"Still feeling good?" Harry asks, setting her empty bowl back on the coffee table. 

"Mhm. Playtime now?" 

He smiles and nods, carefully shimmying her body off his lap. "Why don't you go upstairs and wait for me? Daddy needs to eat too."

Y/N shakes her head and sinks to the carpet, pressing her chin to his knee. "Wanna be close, please."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckles, grabbing his own bowl of pasta, "Okay, baby, you can sit there but no touching. I know you're nearly gagging for my cock."

He watches as she shivers, nibbling on her bottom lip and shifting her position slightly so her cheek is smushed against his thigh. He laughs quietly and threads his fingers through her hair, quickly eating his own portion. He can't deny that he's just as excited to get started — he, too, has been thinking about this all day, deciding what positions he'd fold her body into, if he'd edge her or overstimulate her with orgasm upon orgasm. He didn't want to fully push her limits so quickly — he wanted to create a foundation of trust between each other, but he couldn't help the inevitable daydreams that clouded his day. 

He finishes his food quickly, tapping her head playfully to alert her that he's done. She lifts her head and he takes in her moony gaze, his heart thumping quickly in his chest at how sweet she looks. 

"Upstairs, bunny. Hands and knees, bum in the air, okay?" He plucks at her bottom lip as he grants her guidance, her eyes fluttering shut, relieved to finally be getting instructions. She scurries up to her bedroom, listening to Harry putter around as he places their dirty dishes in the sink. As he asks, she lets her knees meld into the foamy texture of the mattress. With her cheek pressed against the pillow, she folds her legs and maneuvers her lower half into his requested position.

It feels like an eternity before Y/N hears Harry enter the room, shutting the door behind him. He doesn't move to remove any of his clothes, instead kneeling onto the bed behind her. 

"You've been doing so good for daddy, haven't you, baby?" 

She knows it's a rhetorical question but she nods into the plushy pillow, wiggling her butt. He chuckles and allows his palms to roam the expanse of her skin, from the bottoms of her thighs up to the swell of her ass. She keens at the feel of his touch, already obsessed with the way his large hands fit over her body.

"We won't be doing too much tonight, but I'll be asking for your color consistently. I want you to use your safe word at any point you deem necessary. Is that clear?"

Y/N nods her head and hums, though her answer is slightly muffled by the fluff of the pillow. 

He continues rubbing slow circles into the globes of her ass, intent on getting her to feel as relaxed as possible. He can tell she's excited — he is, too — but above anything, he wants her to be calm. 

"I brought some toys and things for us to play with," Harry continues, her ears perking up, "Can you tell me your color for each of them? It's perfectly okay if it changes at some point. I'd just like an idea of what you want."

Y/N has never had someone care this much — every time a dominant brought a toy to a session, he'd thrown it in there haphazardly. A vibrator turned up way too high, terribly knitted rope and, the worst by far, a butt plug that wasn't lubed whatsoever. 

So she's keening over the care Harry puts into his role, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as he shuffles off the bed for a moment and slings the tote bag onto the comforter. She still can't see a thing that he's doing, but as she floats into a comfortable cloudy mindset, she becomes more and more content with letting him make the rules. 

"Okay, baby. Know you want daddy to make the decisions but I need you to be good for me and tell me what you're comfortable with," Harry murmurs, his fingertips dancing along the soft material of her waistband. He doesn't dip below or tug them down; it more so feels like a reminder of what can come if she's good. "Tying your wrists with silk ties. Color?"

Her pussy pulsates at the immediate vision of her arms tied high above her head, unable to touch herself or him. "Mm. Green." 

"And what about your legs? Are you okay with rope, or would you prefer silk down there, too?"

"Either one, daddy. Green for both." 

Harry hums, dipping down to slowly press light kisses down the length of her spine. She shivers at the sensation of his soft lips making contact with her skin for the first time. "A vibrator for your cute little pussy?"

"Green," she whimpers as his hands find purchase on her hips.

"Can daddy use his mouth on you?" he asks, the low vibrations of his voice making her core leak with arousal. "On your pussy?" 

"Yes, yes," Y/N nearly pleads, bucking her hips up against his grasp. He tuts softly, and she can imagine the way his tongue flicks up against his two front bunny teeth, a look of disappointment painted over his face. 

"Be patient, bunny. Don't need you squirming around just 'cos you wanna be touched." 

She wants to groan out when he removes his hands from her skin but resists the urge, especially because he just told her to be patient (something Y/N has never been good at). She feels like it's a punishment in and of itself — he's barely done anything, but she can still feel the phantom kisses he placed down her back, and the skin stretching over her hips somehow feels lonely without his large palms pawing at it. 

"On your back." Harry suddenly instructs. She's quick to obey, rolling over onto the plush duvet. He's fast in his movements and already kneeling above her, wrapping her wrists together and fastening a bow with pink silk. "Have you used these before? Do you know how to get out of them if you need to?"

Y/N nods. She knows that she can simply pull her wrists apart to quickly dissolve the knot, instantly freeing herself. 

"Good girl. Daddy's gonna use rope for your legs, okay? Use your safe word or red if you need."

She has to admit, she's immediately impressed with Harry's apparent knowledge of bondage. She's been tied up many times before, but if she had to guess how many times someone's properly tied her hands, breasts, or legs with rope, it would likely only be once or twice. 

A wet gasp leaves her mouth when she realizes Harry isn't just tying her ankles down to the bed post. Instead, he's pressing her calves into the backs of her thighs, the slight burn of the rope pressing into her flesh in the most delicious way. Although she's able to close her legs, the knots still remove most of her mobility, especially with her arms tucked above her head.

After finishing with her legs, Harry stands from the bed, still in his tee-shirt and trousers. He admires his work from above with a devilish smirk on his face, making Y/N's skin warm.

"Aren't you just a wet dream?" he mocks lightly, trailing his fingertips up and along her knee, "All tied up and absolutely useless, hm? Can't even get out of bed, can you?"

Y/N shakes her head, her bottom lip beginning to wobble at his teasing. Everything about the scene is already so intense, the build-up so delicious and consuming and— fuck, he hasn't even touched her yet.

"You just need your daddy to do everything for you, don't you?" Harry continues, kneeling into the mattress. His hands find the insides of her thighs and he pushes them apart, but his eyes don't even fall to her core, instead keeping them square on her wide-eyed gaze. "Helpless little baby, aren't you? Say it. Say your daddy's helpless baby."

"I'm— I'm daddy's helpless baby." she stammers out, her tongue heavy in her mouth. 

"Are you gonna cry already, bunny?" he asks, his lips curling up into a wicked smirk, "Haven't even fuckin' done a thing and you're crying over being tied up. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Wanted daddy to make all your choices? Get all cock dumb and drunk on my cum?"

She nods futilely. She doesn't even realize the wetness pooling in the corners of her eyes, but she feels tears leaking steadily as soon as he mentions it. 

"P-please daddy. Wanna be touched."

"Ah, so you do have some thoughts going on up there."

It seems like maybe that's all it takes for Harry to finally cease his mocking, digging into the tote bag at the side of the bed to produce a silicone vibrator. It's light blue and long, with a bulbous head at the tip that she assumes is for stimulating the spongey spot deep inside of her.

He finds a spot between her thighs, kneeling back on his ankles. His hands move up her inner thighs and to the creases of where her legs meet her core, the sheer fabric of her pale pink shorts immediately giving way to the wetness seeping from her hole. Harry nearly groans out at that, the sight going straight to his rock hard cock being strained by layers of clothing. 

With a feather light touch, he thumbs over her clit through the material. She immediately jolts and he chuckles, moving his finger to gently stroke over her mound. 

"Desperate little thing. Begging for daddy's touch."

"Yes," Y/N mewls at the top of the bed, wiggling against the rough rope, "I need it daddy, please, touch me, I've been so good—"

"Have you?" he asks, retrieving his hand, "All you've done is do as I've asked. If anything, I'm the one that should get rewarded, don't you think? Picked you up from work, fed you, tied you up... sounds like you're just being greedy to me."

"I'm not— t-that is being good, daddy, I didn't touch myself like you said a-and I've earned it, please."

She's fully crying now, tears leaking from her eyes in steadfast streams that it actually makes Harry feel bad. She hasn't even stopped her begging by the time he's pulling her shorts down to reveal her weeping pussy, a soft tsk leaving his mouth.

"Stop pleading, bunny, I'll give you want you're so desperate for," Harry says, grabbing the vibrator. He'd initially planned to work her with his fingers before pressing the toy against her clit and pushing it inside, but he hasn't even spread her open and he can already see the creamy arousal coating her lips. He thinks that if he teases her for much longer, she may just disintegrate into the bed. 

So instead, because he's him and he's not a nice dom, he cranks it onto the medium setting and nudges it up against her clit. She instantly gasps out and jerks her hips up at the vibrations, a near-yell leaving her throat. He's aware that every person is different and it'll take him some time to learn her body, but with the way that her legs are already shaking as he uses more pressure to press the toy against the bundle of nerves, he thinks he he's getting somewhere.

"Are you gonna cum already?" Harry asks, his eyebrows knitted together as his eyes rake over her body. Her own eyes are scrunched up, her lips parted as small whimpers escape her throat, beads of sweat beginning to tumble down the slopes and curves of her skin — it's a sight, and he wishes to commit it to memory.

"Y-yes," she admits, nodding quickly, "Can I? Please?"

In response, he transfers the vibrator to his left hand and slowly pushes a finger into her pulsating hole. 

"Go ahead."

He strokes once or twice against her g-spot with his finger before she's crumbling, her chest concave with haphazard breaths and her back arched. Moans readily fall from her lips, her pussy squeezing his finger so tight it nearly makes him cum on the spot.

As Y/N comes down from her peak, she recalls Harry saying that they weren't doing anything too crazy today, so she wonders if that's it. If so, she supposes that's fine, but she thinks she'll over him a blowie, offering to let him fuck her face while she's still tied up with silk and rope.

Instead, he cranks the vibrator up another setting and pushes a second finger inside, eliciting a broken groan from her chest.

"Again." Harry instructs, curling his fingers deep inside of her.

"O-oh," Y/N whimpers with shaking thighs and a dizzy head, "Daddy, I—"

"Again, bunny." he repeats, quickening the pace of his fingers. "I want another one. Now."

She quickly realizes that she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to reject Harry, because it only takes a few more pumps of his digits until she's squeezing him again. She's never had two orgasms so close together and she finds that this one is more intense, her muscles not even fully relaxed as they contract around him once again.

Her eyes are still closed when he removes his fingers and she thinks she hears a faint sucking noise, though she can't be sure. He lowers the vibrator setting but keeps it flush against her clit, despite the way her pussy is all but begging for a break.

"Color." Harry demands, his hand finding the backside of her knee. 

"G-green," she hiccups through tear-stained cheeks, "Can keep going, daddy. Please."

He nods once, lowering so his stomach is pressed against the mattress now. He finally clicks the toy off and pushes it to the side, pausing his assault on her core before spreading her lips open with his fingers. 

"Jesus, you're fuckin' pretty," he mutters, watching as her hole pulsates from two back-to-back orgasms. He spits, the saliva landing on her spread slit, making her gasp. "Who owns this pussy, bunny?"

Y/N's chest is heaving, but she still manages his honorific through wet, splotchy cheeks.

"Say it again." he commands before leaning forward to lick a fat stripe from her hole to her clit. 

"It's yours, daddy." she whispers, her hands forming tight fists above her form.

"Good girl. That's what I want you to say when you cum next, okay?" 

She doesn't have a chance to question yet another orgasms as his tongue makes contact with her pussy, moaning deeply. He's already obsessed with her taste and she's sure she's never had someone go down on her with this much vigor. She's gulping for air when his tongue darts in and out of her hole before licking up to her clit, lips wrapped around the nub as he sucks harshly, whines sounding from her mouth at the sensitivity. 

Y/N has never understood the phrase "making out with her pussy" until this exact moment.

She doesn't even know if he's coming up for air much, but he's quick to figure out the pattern that makes her thighs shake. Messy sounds come from below as he slurps at the arousal leaking from her, using the width of his tongue to lick upwards to her clit over and over again. 

"Daddy!" Y/N squeals, jerking her hips involuntarily, only to be pressing her core even closer to his mouth, "Please, I— I think—"

"Cum." he mutters into her, suckling at her clit with such fervor that Y/N genuinely thinks she may pass out. 

She doesn't, though, but the intensity of her orgasm claws up her body rapidly, loud cries bubbling up her throat as she repeats clamors of, "it's yours daddy, your pussy, it's yours."

She feels him press chaste kisses against her mound as he gently begins to untie the ropes, slowly easing her legs out of their angled positions. Once they're free, he helps her stretch them outward, continuing his trail of kisses up her body until he's straddling her waist between his thighs.

"Color," Harry murmurs, reaching up to release his wrists from the silk. Her eyes are set on the bulge in his pants and he gently taps her cheek, "Bunny, tell me your color."

"Green, daddy. That looks like it hurts."

She uses her newly freed hands to point at his crotch and he chuckles, shaking his head. 

"I'm fine, lovebug. Are you sure you're still green? Looking quite floaty."

"I am," Y/N lulls her head to the side, leaning it against her shoulder as she circles her wrists, "Wanna keep going though. 'm okay."

"Do you remember your safe word?" he questions, grabbing one of her wrists and pressing soft kisses into the skin. 

"Mhm."

"What is it?"

"Yarn. 'cos I like to crochet."

Harry grins, relieved that she isn't too far off the deep end. He finds her to be especially adorable when she's in her little space, the moony gaze in her eyes removing any traces of stress from her day-to-day life.

"That's right, baby," he replies, pulling off his tee-shirt. "Daddy's gonna fuck you now. Is that alright?"

"Yes, please. But I don't think I wanna cum again."

He hums and nods, unbuckling his pants and kicking them off his legs, "That's perfectly fine, bunny. You got daddy so hard that I don't think it'll take much for me to cum."

Y/N giggles at that and makes grabby hands at him, making him chuckle. "Off, please," she says, pointing to the briefs straining his cock. 

"You're such a polite little girl, did you know that?" Harry asks as he pushes his underwear down, settling in between her legs.

"Daddy's polite girl." 

If his cock wasn't painfully hard right now, he might've laughed at her repeating his words. Unfortunately, an hour of overstimulating Y/N and watching her writhe beneath his grasp, all tied up with no choice but to just take it — he's shivering at the images of it, and he knows he needs to cum within the next five minutes or his dick will surely fall off. 

"Gonna push in, okay?" Harry asks softly, rubbing circles into her hip, "Remember, tell me if you need to stop. Daddy will always listen to you."

Y/N nods her head, blinking away the leftover moisture in her eyes from her bout of cries earlier. She knows that if she didn't feel so comfortable with him, there's no way she would be this far in her little space right now, where she just wants him to take and take until he's satisfied. It's maybe happened three or four times in the past with a dom she had that was actually pretty good, but she knows now doesn't even begin to measure up with Harry. 

When his cock pops through her tight walls, it's a bit of a stretch, but she's wet enough with arousal from three orgasms that it barely burns. Instead, she finds herself enjoying the way her core adapts to his shape — not to mention, he looks gorgeous above her with his eyes squeezed closed and his jaw dropped in a quiet groan. 

When she doesn't safe word, Harry starts to move. He takes it slow, knowing that if he immediately starts to pump the full of his length inside of her, it may cause her more pain than pleasure, regardless of how small she's feeling. Her plushy lips part as moans begin to fall from them, hooking her ankles behind his form to bring him closer. 

"You're so big, daddy," Y/N breathes out, a strangled whimper coming from Harry. "I love it, I love having you inside me."

"Yeah? My little girl wants her daddy's cock in her all the time?" He pushes through grit teeth, his jaw flexing as he begins to quicken his strokes, "Tell me, bunny. Tell me how much you want daddy."

"Oh—," she mewls as he begins to brush up against her g-spot, "I want it always daddy, I-I need it— oh, god— please daddy, please—"

"Sweet little girl sounds so pretty when she begs," He says as he takes one of his palms and presses it against her lower stomach, "This pretty pussy is mine now. You hear me? It's daddy's pussy."

"Yes, yes— fuck, it's yours daddy!"

Harry growls — actually growls — and shifts his hand down to smack against her clit, a throaty moan falling from Y/N's mouth. 

"Dumb little babies don't curse," he snaps, slapping her clit once more, "Or do you wanna be punished? Not get any of daddy's cum?"

She shakes her head quickly, her eyes nearly rolling back at the sting of pain radiating through her core. "I want it, please!"

"Yeah? Beg for it, bunny."

She does — she pleads and begs and all but grovels on her hands and knees until Harry pulls out and pumps his cock over her, ropes of warm cum painting the skin of her stomach all the way up to her chest. There's so much (like an impressive amount, Y/N thinks), and she wants to scoop it up and taste it, but Harry grabs her wrist and gives her a look before she can. 

"If you do that, you will have to call out of work tomorrow."

She giggles and nibbles on her bottom lip, the little headspace she's swimming in telling her to disobey him. He sighs and shakes his head, grabbing the tee-shirt he was wearing earlier and swiping it over her body, ridding her of his cum. 

"You're a naughty little thing," he mumbles, tossing the tee-shirt to the floor — he makes a mental note to throw her bedding and everything in the wash once she's out of her little space. "C'mon baby, up. Gonna take a bath now." 

"With you, right?" Y/N mumbles with heavy eyes. He nods as he leans down to scoop her up in his arms, guiding them to the bathroom. He sits her on the toilet and she frowns, making him roll his eyes. 

"You don't want a UTI. This isn't a sex thing, just pee while I run you a bath."

She does but only because he tells her to, and she knows she'll feel embarrassed about this tomorrow, but she's okay with it right now. He busies himself with turning the water and making sure it's warm before plugging the drain. 

"I brought some bubble bath and epsom salts with me but it's in my bag. Can I leave you while I go get those?" 

Again, Y/N nods wordlessly and he leans down to press a kiss to her hair. She flushed and wipes while he's gone, and he returns while she's washing her hands. 

Harry knows it feels oddly domestic of them to be naked and prepping to take a bath together after an intense scene, especially since this is the first time they've done this. In the back of his mind, he wonders if they should've talked through the implications of them beginning this type of relationship — a ruined friendship being one of them — and he knows it was selfish of him to forgo that conversation altogether. 

He ignores his worries and instead helps her into the bubble bath once it's ready, tucking his body in behind hers as soon as she's situated. It's silent between them for the first time in hours as he wraps his arms around her shoulders, lightly massaging her shoulders. 

"How are you feeling?" He finally asks after a few moments of quiet. 

"Tired," she mumbles, laying back against his broad chest. He can't tell if she's still floaty by her one-word response so he continues rubbing her back, allowing her to sink into the warmth of the bath.

They don’t speak again after that, not until the water goes cold and Y/N almost falls asleep in the comfort of his arms. In the meantime, he makes sure to gently swirl a clean washcloth over her skin, using his favorite lavender scented body wash, and wash her knotty hair. All the while he whispers how special she is, how she’ll never be too much, but especially not to him. He decides it’s okay if she doesn’t hear him because she’s too out of it, but hopes that his words at least seep into her subconscious so she believes the same. 

[ddejavvu]

HI!!! Please can i request an awkward!glasses reid oneshot where he’s like pining over the reader?? maybe with a bit of tension ;))) but he like slips up and says something like ‘god ur beautiful?’ THANK UUUU

The rain pouring down in massive, silvery sheets does nothing to dull your halo, Spencer thinks. Actually, it might make it shine brighter, a haze of mist clouding your form as you traipse through the downpour.

"Seattle sucks!" You gush, raising a hand to smear away the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face, "God, why can't Arizona have another murderer running around?"

"The rain is actually a good forensic countermeasure - it washes the blood away so that he can drag the body wherever he wants and we won't be able to follow his trail." Spencer has to shout to be heard over the splattering of water upon the sidewalk, and he tries not to cry as he feels water seeping into his boots. Rossi had treated the entire team to a pair of galoshes after his precious Italian leather shoes became mottled with mud, and though they're helpful for trekking through the storm, they're also fantastic at catching rainwater.

"I hate it when serial killers are smarter than us!" You plunge your hand into the pocket of your jacket, digging out the key fob for the car. You unlock it with a beep and the taillights shine in the storm. You're more than happy to throw the door open and slip out of your jacket, taking minimal rain damage to your outfit as you slide swiftly onto the driver's seat of the van.

Spencer hears you let out a groan as the car roars to life, and so does the heater. You throw your head back against the seat, hair stringy and soaked, face dripping with rain.

One droplet slides down your nose and dips between the curve of your lips, something you can't bring yourself to care about as the heater blasts the chill from your blood. He watches you melt into the seat, and only one thought comes to mind: "You're beautiful."

His voice is a quiet murmur, and he's also speaking over the torrential downpour outside, so you don't catch what he says, thankfully. He doesn't know why his brain had miscalculated his thought and sent it down through his mouth instead of just his head, but he fumbles to snatch the opportunity you give him to save himself.

"Hm?" You turn to look at him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.

"My boots are full!" He blurts, cheeks red but not from the heat as he reaches for one of his rain-soaked shoes, "I- I- There's rainwater in my- my boots, and I need to-" He tugs the rubber off of his foot and turns it upside-down outside of the car so that it splashes off of the pavement, and he jams it back over his soaked sock while furiously avoiding eye contact.

Your pants were looser than Spencer's own, and you'd been able to tuck them over the mouth of your boots. Yours aren't even remotely soggy inside, so you laugh incredulously as he releases his tsunami before you drive off.

"Spence, that's insane," You watch as he stuffs the second boot back onto his foot, "You poor thing, are your socks all wet?"

"Yeah," He breathes, finally shutting the car door and trying to relax his tensely-held muscles as he comes down from his embarrassment, "Uh- yeah it's fine, though. They'll dry out."

"Use the foot heater," You flick a button on the center console, and hot air seeps from a vent beneath the glove compartment, "That better?"

"Yeah," Spencer toes off his boots, letting the warmth aid his chilled skin and damp attire, "Thanks, Y/N."

"Thank you," You nod and turn your eyes to the road as you pull out of the parking lot.

"For what?" Spencer looks briefly over at you, glasses spattered with raindrops.

"For calling me beautiful," You grin.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Geto/gojo/reader “I can’t believe there’s only one bed” and HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY

THANK YOOUUU!! So, this one really sang to me, I went ahead and combined the two, mostly because they are very similar. Thank you both for the prompt!!

Now Presenting...

Starring: A flirty Satoru Gojo, and a tired Suguru Geto

Your body protested every step you took as you walked into the hotel, screaming at you to lay down and accept the sweet embrace of death. Okay, maybe death was a little extreme, but you could definitely have gone for a light coma in that moment. A yawn you had been suppressing came forward, and you tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Awe, well aren’t you cute when you’re sleepy.” Gojo teased with a smile, earning him a glare from you. 

“Shut up Satoru.” This entire trip he kept making note of how cute you were, and how you needed to be protected, and at this point, he was on the brink of losing vocal cord privileges.

“Flirt later you two, let’s just get checked in.” Suguru muttered as he ushered the two of you to the front desk. He tried to summon a friendly smile for the clerk, but it didn’t touch his tired eyes. “Hi! Uh, we should have two reservations under Masamichi Yaga.” He said, really hoping they didn’t ask for an id. He told his teacher that he should probably put the rooms under one of the three people going on the mission, but the man was more muscle than brain.

The young worker started typing on the computer, before confusion fell over her features. “Um, I found the reservations, but it says it’s only for one room?” She asked. You were a bit taken back by that, and you could tell from the looks on their faces the boys were too. You thought for sure you’d at least get your own room. But, then again, if getting a room with 3 beds was cheaper than getting 2 separate rooms, it did make sense for Yaga to take that route, the penny pinching bastard. 

“Uh, yea that should be fine, that’s us.” Suguru shrugged, too tired to really argue. Much to your relief (and concern) the woman nodded and happily gave over the room key, not bothering to ask for an ID. What a stand up place. The three of you dragged your tired worn bodies over to the elevator. Well, two of you did. Satoru felt fine, because of course he did. And because he had no problem filling the elevator with whatever came to his head. You shared a look with Suguru.

How do we shut him up? Your eyes asked.

Pillow over his face as he sleeps Sugurus eyes offered.

No, I want him to shut up now. 

Oh, that’s not gonna happen. For now, we just have to endure him.

You sighed, knowing he was right and hating that fact at the same time. Thankfully, the elevator door opened, and the room wasn’t far from it. Geto unlocked the door, and you and Gojo practically fell over him to get into it. You quickly went to grab your toothbrush, and Gojo went to fiddle with the tv. It was Suguru who noticed it first.

“Uh, guys? I don’t see another bed.” He said. You and Gojo stopped cold in your tracks, heads whipping to the center of the room and- yep. That was one bed, and only one bed. Not even so much as a pull out couch in sight. 

“OH ho ho!!” Satoru laughed, launching himself onto the bed and folding himself into what you think was meant to be a sexy pose. “I’ve read fan fiction before, I know what happens here!” He cackled, “Be gentle with me, I’m a virgin” He swooned, acting like a helpless flower. 

“I call sleeping in the bathtub.” Suguru said, checking out of this battle before it became a war.

“No, Don’t!” Gojo whined, reaching out to him, “The bathtub is cold and hard, I'm warm and soft. Unless you want me to be hard.” He winked. 

“I can’t believe there’s only one fucking bed, who sets this shit up?!” You snapped, aggressively waving your hands at the bed.

“God.” Gojo responded.

“Bad fan fiction writers.” Geto retorted, apparently salty about his characterization in my past fics. 

“Satoru get out of the bed.” You demanded, shaking your head. You did not just get out of a fight with ten, count em, ten first grade curses to sleep on the floor.

“How about you get in the bed?” He purred.

“I will, as soon as you get out of it.” you scoffed, fighting back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Why not get in it with me?” He grinned at you, opening his arms wide as an invitation. 

“I’d rather sleep in the bathtub.” You replied.

“Not an option, I already called it!” Suguru reminded you.

“Why don’t you sleep with him?” You accused more than asked, “He’s your man!”

“He is most definitely not my man!” Geto rebuffed the statement, shaking his head.

“He’s actually my man, we just haven’t taken our relationship to the next level yet.” Satoru purred with a cheeky wink to Geto to really seal the deal. Geto rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to bed, goodnight.” He said, going to grab a pillow from the bed, only for Satoru to grab his arm.

“Come on guys, don’t be silly! This bed is big enough for all of us!” He argued, “We all trust each other, right?!” Gojo paused long enough to look at both you and Geto, but not long enough for an answer. He already knew it. “We know no ones going to try any funny business, we trust each other with our lives there's no reason for any of us to be uncomfortable tonight!” you and Suguru shared more glances. Gojo may be annoying, but when he was right he was right. The only thing really keeping the three of you from sharing was standard social conventions. 

“Fine, but if any of you touch me I’m throwing you off the balcony.” You warned. Geto sighed and ran a hand through his hair, sitting on the bed.

“I just don’t get why we weren’t warned about this.”

“I mean, it kind of explains the weird look she gave us.” You noted, sitting on the other side of Gojo.

“Yay, sleepover!” Gojo cheered, grabbing onto Suguru because he was the one that didn’t threaten him, “Fair warning, I’m a cuddler.” He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis. 

“I knew I should have just slept in the tub.” Geto sighed.

🛏️🛏️🛏️

In the morning, you were a tangled mess of limbs and drool with your two best friends. Any warning against cuddling being tossed to the wind in exchange for the comfort human warmth brings. You hated to admit it, but it was the best sleep you had gotten in weeks. Gojo woke up not long after you, smiling softly, slowly coming back to life.

“Good morning,” He said. You shook your head and covered his face with a pillow.

“It was before you started talking.” You muttered.“It’s 6 am, go back to bed.” Suguru begged, not happy to have been woken up.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 7 - Family Dinner

Pray for Christian. He’s just realizing that he now has two kids, who race every weekend in dangerous cars, only for them to have no life outside said cars. Max might be a little OOC, but ya know – who cares. I know I said that I would post tomorrow but free practice doesn't even start until midnight where I am. So it's going to be pushed back to Friday night at the latest and then a definite post on Sunday. Anyway, enjoy and don’t forget to comment if you want to be added to the tag list.

The entire way to the restaurant, you were almost shaking with anxiety. You knew you would get there 15 minutes early, but would that be too much? Would you be the last one to show up? Vito had texted you that so far, it was only him, Christian and Geri, with Riggs and Lacy. But that couldn’t stop your brain with coming up with worst case scenarios. But, you couldn’t help it. You took a couple of deep breaths as the car pulled up to the restaurant. 

Around the entrance, there seemed to be thousands of reporters and photographers. That made you panic as well. You shot a quick text to Vito, letting him know that you had arrived. You waited in the car until he came out to get you. You noticed that Riggs had decided to come out as well. You only now notice the size difference between him and Vito. The man was massive. PR agent and personal body guard? You were set for life. 

Vito opened the door for you and helped you get out of the car. The moment you were two feet on the concrete, the flashes of the cameras started going off. You tried your best to smile, but it was difficult when you were being blinded by the lights. You mentally laughed at yourself at the Weekend joke. Thankfully, no one grabbed you or anything. It was probably because Riggs had placed his hand on your back and carefully led you inside. No one would get passed that man. 

The ambiance of the restaurant was a stark contrast to that of outside. The lights were dim and there was a live orchestra in the corner. Vito was able to catch up to you before you got to the table. 

“Quite a show that was,” you mentioned as you spotted Christian at a table in the corner. 

“Well, you are trending everywhere on social media kid,” Vito replied as Christian stood up to greet you. 

“Nice to see you again sir,” you said as you shook his hand. 

“And you as well kid. That was sure some entrance.” You let out a small laugh. 

“All I did was walk it. I think I might be blind for the rest of the night. I can still see all the flashes.” A woman, who you recognized as Geri, let out a laugh. You turned to her. 

You obviously wanted to shake her hands for the rest of your life. It wasn’t every day you got to meet Ginger Spice. But you forewent all of that, and settled on a light hug. “It’s an honor to meet you ma’am. I asked Vito if I could have brought something for you to sign, but he said I probably shouldn’t.” You heard a smack of a hand against a forehead. You continued, “But now seeing you in person, I should have brought my entire CD set.” 

Geri and Christian both laughed out loud at your statement. Geri was able to calm you down as she promised that the next time she attended a race, you could bring something. You were able to sit next to her at the table. 

You were definitely fan-girling the entire time. But who cared. Geri was a nice person to keep a conversation with. You were relieved to see some familiar faces already at the table. Mitch was seated across from you with Lacy at her right. Riggs had sat next to his wife while Vito found a seat on the other side of you. The rest of the table was left empty for Max, Checo, and whoever they were going to bring. 

One waiter came to the table and asked for everyone’s drink orders. Because you were only 20 and the drinking age in America is 21, you asked for a water. 

Vito had joked around with the waiter, “Can you bring that in a sippy cup for her? She tends to spill.” A slap to the arm had him shut up as the rest of the table fell into small laughs. 

You argued back, “It’s not my fault that you’re so old. Did you remember to drink your prune juice this morning? I know how grumpy you get if you don’t.” You flashed a wicked smile at him as you took a sip of your drink. 

The adults started to laugh a bit harder. 

The laughter only died down when Christian suddenly stood up and rounded the table. Your eyes followed him and landed on two figures. Your heart picked up as you came to the conclusion that they were Checo and Max. You didn’t know what to do. Should you stand to greet them? Or would that be weird? 

You got your answer when they both just decided to sit down. However, Max was seated directly across from you. There was nowhere for you to hide from his sight. As he got situated, you quickly looked down at your dress and pretended to wipe something from the fabric. But, when you looked up, you made direct eye contact with him. Not wanting to wait for him to do something and come off as rude, you leaned a bit forward and put out your hand. 

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” you shyly said as he took your hand in his to return the gesture. 

His accent was a little heavy, “Nice to meet you too. It’s Y/n right?” 

“Yes sir,” you responded, almost a little too quickly. But Max had a questioning look before huffing and waving his hands. 

“There’s no need for that, kid.” He picked up his drink and took a sip. “You shouldn’t be much younger than me, no?” 

“Uh, six years younger,” you muttered. A choked sound came from across the table, which got everyone’s attention. Your cheeks heated as everyone looked at the two of you. 

“Is everything all right Max?” Christian asked, a look of concern on his face. 

Max points at you, “Where’d you find this – this..” you thought he was about to insult you. You winced at the thought. Except he finally finished sputtering, “literal child. She called me sir.” He all but whined the last sentence. 

Christian spoke up, “Well that child beat your 7 year time record for the practice track.” He took a sip of his drink as everyone’s eyes fell on you. 

“Uh, I didn’t mean to?” You wanted to die, but you continued, “I think I could have done better but there’s was something off on Turn five, but we said it was the…”

“Balance,” Max finished your sentence, nodding his head. “I’ve been trying to tell them to fix that.” 

You shrugged, “It wasn’t bad though.” 

“Did you slow down on the curve?” 

“Yep, and accelerated coming out of the apex.” Max gave you a giant smile. Cars and racing he could talk about.

“How did you feel about the steering?” he questioned, hands coming above the table. You soon found yourself doing that as well. 

“Eh, it was ok, but it was a bit understeery?” you didn’t want to go insulting his car, but you had a preference. 

“Oh my gosh, I know. I had that problem the entire season.”   

Everyone around you two knew that the moment the hands went above the table and were being flung everywhere, there was no stopping the two of you. They practically had to tell you both to shut up so that the table could start talking of other things and order the food. Your cheeks heated up when they pointed out your rambling. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, going back to your drink. 

“It’s fine kid. I’ve had to deal with Max for years. I think I can deal with it again,” Christian said as the waiters brought out the food. The Dutchman across from you rolled his eyes at the statement, which caused you to laugh. 

He was actually a joy to talk to. You were able to finally greet Checo a little bit into the actual dinner. You didn’t know whether to say you were sorry he was retiring or to congratulate him. So you kind of did both. 

Oh well. 

Throughout the meal, discussions of next season came up along with the car. Christian was pleased to know that the both of you preferred an oversteer car. Yes, the car would still be more towards Max’s preferences, but you could work with it. You knew that you would be second driver. But you honestly didn’t care. 

“I know how to play the teammate. I’m not looking for a championship right now. I’m just glad to be here,” you told Max and Christian. “Of course, I’m going to fight for a win, because that’s what I know to do. But I’m not going to block if Max is going to be faster than me.” 

The two men nodded, thankful for a person like you. There weren’t many people who would willingly give up wanting to be first driver. But you understood this. 

As long as Max Verstappen was in a Red Bull, he will be driver number one. The rest of the dinner went smoothly. As everyone was standing to leave, Christian announced that everyone was welcome to join them at a club. All the adults seemed to cheer as if they forgot that you technically couldn’t go. 

You didn’t mean to show disappointment, but Max picked up on it. The math was mathing as he put two and two together. 

“I think I’m going to skip out tonight. Not really feeling it.” His accent was heavy as he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. 

You and Max somehow found yourself at the back of the group. He leaned down and semi-whispered to you. 

“Do you want to go get some ice cream?” 

You face must have lit up as he mirrored you with a smile. Max offered to drive you to the place. You quickly said goodbye to Vito, before promising that you’d text him when you got back to the hotel. You followed behind Max, trying to keep up with his long strides. The heels and long dress were making it difficult, but you managed.

When you got to his car, he popped the door open for you because you weren’t able to figure out the handle. You weren’t used to the expensive super-cars. Yes, the cars you drove were nice, but not millions of dollars nice. 

“You can play some music if you’d like to,” Max mentioned as he began to drive out of the parking garage. 

“Famous last words Max,” you said as you scrolled through your playlist. A familiar 33 caught you attention. You bit your lip trying not to smile. “I really like the thought and meaning behind this one. Super nice vibes. Very rememberable.” 

“Oh? Well then play it.” 

You snorted at his innocence. The moment the familiar beats came on, he looked at you with a face of betrayal. 

“You did not.” 

“I did too. It’s a very catchy tune Max.” He reached out and pressed the off button. 

“I’m revoking your DJ privileges.” Now it was your turn to look at him with a face of betrayal. 

“You did not.”  

“I did too. If you can’t play something nice, you won’t play anything at all.” 

“What would you play? Some oldie from 1953?” 

He snorted before putting his eyes back on the road. “I am not that old.” 

“Sure.” 

“We’re in the same generation Y/n.”

You argued back, “You’re on the fine line of millennial and gen z. You probably post memes on Facebook like an old lady.” 

The two of you fell in silence, before you busted out laughing. Max started to wheeze, which made you laugh even harder and clap your hands like a seal. By the end of the drive, you were wiping tears from your eyes. 

A bright ice cream cone lit up the sky at the car approached the store. You were able to get out of the car since the handle was much easier to figure out than the outside one. Max held the door of the shop for you and waited. He got curious when you didn’t directly come in. 

He found his answer when he saw you kneel next to a cat to pet it. He was surprised that it let you touch it. After you were done, you stood up and flashed a sheepish smile at him, muttering an apology for keeping him waiting. 

“I just love cats,” you sighed, looking at the kitty outside with heart eyes. 

Max fished his phone from his pocket. He quickly put in the password. His fingers quickly found the giant album just for his cats on the photos app. He handed his phone to you. 

“This is Jimmy and this is Sassy. What do you want and I’ll get it for you. You can keep looking.” You barely muttered a response, too enthralled with the gorgeous creatures on the screen. Max chucked as he went to get the ice cream. 

You were too busy swiping through all of the pictures. They were both so pretty. Max had to nudge you to hand you your cone. 

“Thank you for letting me see these,” you traded the phone for the cone. 

“No problem. If you ever find yourself in Monaco, you can come over to see them.” Your eyes seemed to twinkle at the thought of meeting his cats. “Do you have any?” 

You seemed to deflate at the topic of you being cat-less. “No, I’m away most of the year and I live by myself. My apartment is in Nice, but I think I’m going to move somewhere else.” 

Max’s eyebrows creased, “Does your family not live close?” 

You deflated even more. “No. To be honest, I don’t talk to my family. Like ever. I’m an only child as well so no siblings.” You kind of just shut up after that. Max felt awful. He knows that you probably know a lot about him. But he never thought to look up anything about you. 

He wanted to talk, but you continued, “But it’s fine. Racing is my life and takes up 100% of my time.” Max knew that it wasn’t fine. Racing was his life too, but he had friends and family to keep him company. He had Kelly and P, Christian, Lando, (maybe) Charles. He could try to convince you to find a small apartment in Monaco so he could keep an eye on you. 

He takes a moment to really see you. Right now, you weren’t a piece of art of you were almost face deep in your ice cream. This made you look younger than you were. And that hurt Max’s heart. His dad might be awful, but he still talked to him. 

He must have zone out because your talking brought him out of it. 

“Are you excited to race in Vegas?” you ice cream was almost gone.

Max shrugged, “It’s going to be difficult, since it’s cold. I’m worried about the grip of the tires.” 

You thought for a moment, “Well, if you get far enough ahead, you could always swerve to warm them up further. I know that would cut down on speed, but you’d be able to take the corners a bit better.” 

“How are you feeling about free practice one tomorrow.” Your eyes were now lit up once again, and Max is glad to see you perked up. 

“I am so excited. Did you hear that they’re going to do the walk up announcements again?” Max shook his head, (he actually did but wanted to hear you explain). “Well, they’re doing it and I have the perfect song, if I get announced.” You pouted. “Do ‘reserve drivers’ get announced?” 

“I don’t know. But I will make sure that you get one.” He put a hand on you shoulder. 

You squealed and thanked him. “I am a bit nervous about the lap times though.” 

Max suddenly hunched as to tell you a secret. “What you have to do is before you go into the flying lap, heat your tires to the max.” 

“Max, max, max, super max.” He deadpanned. “Sorry, continue.” 

“You have to push the throttle a couple of times right before you go to get the wheels spinning. The more they spin, the more friction they’ll have on the track, and the more they will heat.” (a.n. guys I don’t know if this is correct. I’m a writing major not engineering. But, more friction, more heat – I took one physics class so call me professor). 

“Aaahhhhh,” you had a far out look, contemplating the precious information you’ve been given. You wanted to talk about something other than racing. “How’s your family?” 

It was now Max’s turn for his eyes to light up. He brought out his cellphone again to show you more pictures. Some were of him and Kelly. Others of him and P. It was when he got to the drivers, you started to panic. 

“Do you think they’ll like me?” you mutter, suddenly finding you dress more interesting. Max looked at you with a confused face. 

“Kid, I’ve known you for,” he looked at his watch, “three hours now and I think I want you as my teammate for the rest of my carrier. Don’t worry, they will love you.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“I just, don’t want to make a fool out of myself.” 

“You won’t, kid. You won’t.” 

After the topic passed, and Max finally finished his mess of the remainders of his ice cream, the two of you made you way back to his car. He made sure that you had texted Vito that you were back at the hotel when he dropped you off. Thankfully, his hotel wasn’t that far away. 

“Good night Max. I will see you tomorrow teammate.” You winked. 

“See you tomorrow, teammate.” You started to walk away before you remembered something. 

You rushed back over to the car and knocked on the window. Max quickly rolled it down and leaned over the dash. “Is something wrong?” 

“Which song are you picking? For the announcements? Because I think you should totally go with Max 33 or Super Max, or to annoy more people, the Dutch anthem.” 

Max only chuckled and rolled the window up. Not giving you an answer. He could see you in the mirror flailing your arms as he left. He would see you tomorrow. 

The first thing Max did when he got to his hotel was get changed. After that, he needed to make a quick phone call. 

He clicked on the contact and waited for the person to pick up. The phone didn’t even ring twice before the sound of the call being accepted filled the quiet room. 

Kelly’s face filled the tiny screen. 

She was the first one to speak, “Hi baby.” Max gave her a sleepy smile. “How was dinner.” 

“Oh it was great. I got to meet the rookie.” Kelly leaned her head on her hand. 

“How did it go?” 

“It was great Kels. I see myself so much in this kid.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Yep. How do you think Penelope will feel about getting a sister? I’m already looking at how to adopt a teenager.” 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @lilypadlover

[thegoblinboy]

The Kings Hostage

i decided to listen to my brain and the people about writing a alternate meeting in season three with Steddie.

Eddie sat impatiently in one of the most uncomfortable chairs he has ever sat in. Afraid that if he stood up someone in the waiting room would quickly steal his seat. But his bladder was screaming at him. (Let's just say, anxiety was not the only thing racing through his body.) That being the reason why he started to decline any beverage offered to him.

Random staff members of the hospital had gone around with a pitcher of water and cups to hand out every other hour or so. Giving many cups to numerous children who were sitting with an older family member who were waiting for any news on someone who had been affected by the mall fire. That was the main story going around about so many people being there. Others on the other hand were there in hopes that some of the unidentified patients were their loved ones. Whom they haven't heard from and knew were going to be in the mall around the time it lit up into flames.

Thankfully Eddie wasn't in the same situation as them. His Uncle, Wayne Munson had been nowhere near the fire. In fact, he had been across town working an overnight shift at one of the numerous factories that lived on the outskirts of Hawkins. That had been a short relief for him before he found out from the front desk that the old man nearly cut his entire fucking finger off with one of the saws like an absolute dumbass.

The second Eddie gets a hold of him he was chewing the man's ear off, who by the way had just promised Eddie that he would stay away from the more dangerous equipment and let one of the younger guys handle it. Or literally anyone who was more qualified for the position.

Leaning forward a bit, placing his elbows on his knees he begins to rub his face feeling very stressed out. Thankfully nowhere close to some in the room currently, who were faintly crying on and off as the reality of the situation hit them. Soft little hiccups being heard through the silence that had settled in once midnight hit. Allowing a few of the younger kids to sleep in silence, and some of the old as well. A silent agreement amongst the whole room.

His stomach was growling, growing more upset as he lets a soft agitated sigh out as he stands up. Feeling his back and legs pop from sitting for so long. If he waits any longer, he was for sure going to piss himself. Sure, it would probably distract everyone from the situation at hand, but it wasn't something he wanted to do.

He moves across the floor, the first person to move within the past couple of hours. He gives a bittersweet smile to one of the front desk ladies when their eyes meet, mouthing a soft bathroom to her before the acknowledgement is quickly ignored again.

Moving through the doors, he heads to the bathroom that was a bit out of the way. The set up was weird but he wasn't going to complain if it means getting out of the waiting room and from the small crowd for a few minutes. Taking a right, he moves opening the door to the bathroom. Glancing at the numerous urinals placed across the wall as he doesn't waste time handling his business. Washing his hands before he begins to throw cold water against his face in hope of two things. Waking up, and to get rid of the sweat that was starting to cause his skin to go sticky.

His hands were currently bundling up a paper towel when the door flies open. Banging against the wall pretty hard as someone throws themselves inside like they were on a mission of some sort.

Eddies eyes open a bit more, this person waking him up more than what cold water could. Not missing the frantic way, the person, obviously a guy quickly shuts the door. Eddies exhausted, so it takes a moment for it to click that the same guy was currently in a blue gown. And if Eddie looked further down his back his ass was very much on full display. Eddie was so close in fact that he could see the slight heart shaped mole that was living on the right guy's ass cheek.

His mouth falls open and shut, about to protest something when the other turns around. Breathing heavily with messy hair and a even more messed up face. Eye lid nearly closed from being so swollen. It takes a longer time for Eddie to process that Steve Harrington was currently standing in front of him then processing the heart shaped mole on his ass.

The guy does not look like he's doing okay, that was at least the third observation he catches. Faintly hearing loud footsteps coming from the hall, as if someone were racing after him. Along with a radio cutting in with an even louder voice.

"Patient from room 420 is on the loose, repeat we have a running patient. Names Steven Amir Harrington -" How fitting, Steve Harringtons middle name literally meant prince. "Is 5'11, brunette with blonde highlights. Approach with caution, patient is showcasing signs of PTSD and unusually high levels of paranoia."

Hearing that, Eddie's eyes grow bigger as he opens his mouth to shout. Before he can though the other is quickly throwing himself forward after locking the door. Hand landing over his mouth, dropping the clothes he had been holding under his arm onto the ground. The light shuffle not causing enough noise to catch the attention of the security guard that literally just walked by. Responding to the call on his walkie, unable to be heard as the man in front of Eddie starts to plead like his life depended on it. And for all Eddie could know it does.

"Please, shh - don't. I just need a minute to get changed and then I'm out of your hair Munson. Please just - just don't say anything. Don't want them to find me." His whisper is low, and each word slurs a bit as Eddie takes a shaky breath from the palm of the others hand. Still not believing that he was being pinned up against the wall by Steve fucking Harrington. Who looks like he lost a bar fight against Andre the fucking giant. But there was something in the other's eyes. A sort of desperation that Eddie can't ignore.

Nodding his head carefully, he decides to do whatever the other wanted. there was no way he was winning a fight against the ex king of Hawkins high.

And holy shit, was the freak currently being held hostage by the ex-king of Hawkins high?

still unsure if I'm going to write more to this, but this is the scene that's been lost in my head a bit. I'm exhausted, but who knows I might add more lmao. If you want to see more just let me know.

[writethrough]

The Only Destination

(Billy Hargrove x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Sometimes you can’t stand all the noise and the people. You want to run and hide, but you don’t know where to go. Until you spot the one person who you’ll always run toward.

Warnings: Language, overstimulated/sound-sensitive Reader

Word Count: 1638

A/N: So, I definitely did not mean to go over a month without posting a fic, but the creative juices have been sparse. Thankfully, I think they're slowly coming back.

This started as a Shy!Reader fic and turned into this. And I didn't use pronouns (I think), but I use the word "perfume." Just an FYI. Hope you enjoy it! (Also, I can't remember what gifs I've used already, so I'm just going with my heart from now on.)

Rubbing your chest, you force yourself to keep your hand there and not travel to your throat. There are too many people around. They’d think you’re trying to hurt yourself instead of self-soothe.

You’re mostly on autopilot as you down the remainder of your drink. It seemed the normal thing to do as you search for somewhere with fewer people—less noise.

Someone walks past you a little too close, and you want nothing more than to scrape your nails down your arms to stop the breeze.

It’s so fucking crowded. As if everyone is placed in just the wrong spot. You have no privacy, no space where you can go and breathe.

The kids splashing in the pool, the grill sizzling, the laughter and talking, it’s too much.

Your last saving grace is to go inside and find a bathroom, flee to a confined space, and hope you don’t feel caged—until you spot Billy. And your feet move before your mind can fully process what you’re doing.

He’s sitting on the edge of a lounger, watching the kids even though they all know how to swim.

You’re squeezing your fingers, scratching the back of your hand unconsciously as you walk toward him.

He glances your way, looks back to the kids, then returns to you when he realizes who you are. His brow pinches once he sees your face and the shift in your eyes.

He doesn’t move, only waits for you to get to him. You stand there, lifting your lips into what you hope is a smile, but when he doesn't return it, you know it isn’t.

You're unsure what you want to do but know Billy’s where you need to be.

But he knows.

He slowly places a hand over yours, tilting his head to the lounger in a silent “sit.”

You do, grateful to not stand there, feeling like all eyes are on you.

You slide your fingers through his absentmindedly and tuck yourself into his side, just behind his back.

He tightens his grip, scanning you.

“You wanna go?” he asks quietly, ever so slightly hunching toward you, hiding you from the others.

You don’t know.

You don't know what you want, and you don’t know what to do. And it makes you wish you could shut your brain off, but it keeps going. And the only thing that you know is that Billy makes you feel a little better. Like you don’t wanna crawl out of your skin.

You put your other hand on your intertwined ones and press your mouth into his shoulder, needing to feel as much contact as possible.

“Okay,” he whispers into your temple. “I’m right here.”

His thumb grazes your knuckles.

You concentrate on it—the warmth of his skin and the remanence of smoke. You hate the smell, but right now, it’s entirely him. It pushes your frayed nerves aside and ironically lets you breathe easier.

After a few moments, you open your eyes—not realizing you closed them—and meet Billy’s.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, slightly embarrassed by how you pushed yourself onto him.

You inhale deeply and let it out before sitting up, still close enough that your hips touch.

“What do you need?” He keeps his voice low. You can't express how much that means to you.

You're not as on edge as you were, the shouts and laughs don’t make you tense as much, but you know if you move it'll get worse. You just need a minute…

“Can we go somewhere? Just for a bit?” It finally feels right to speak, like the words won’t get stuck in your throat and hurt your ears.

“You good to move?”

You like how he doesn’t say “yes.” He gets to the point—listens to your words and body language. And when you nod, he leads you to the side of the house surrounded by trees. 

When you can’t see anyone and the voices are muffled enough, you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his neck. His arms encircling your shoulders feel like a barrier between you and everything else.

You search for the dip of his spine, and your fingers twitch along it. The press of his cheek on your head comforts you.

He doesn’t sway or shift, only holds you with the steadiness you crave. 

And when you lift your head, he waits for your arms to loosen so his can, too.

You’re still touching each other as your eyes meet. Billy's hands are under your shoulder blades, yours on his ribs.

He waits, knowing too many questions will throw you back into that state. All you have to do is say the word, and he’d drive you home. He’d fill everyone in later and collect your stuff while you got in his car. He’d stay with you if you wanted, sit in your living room while you lay in bed, or stand together in your kitchen the rest of the day if it kept you grounded. Whatever you need.

You’re tracing the tattoo on his side without realizing it, and his chest clenches a little at how he's the one you sought out.

“Can we sit on the swing?” Your voice is slightly hoarse like you’re forcing it to stay hidden.

He glances toward the bench swing and nods when he knows no one’s there.

Again, he leads you, holding the swing steady so you can settle into the cushion first. As soon as he sits, you pull your legs underneath you and lean into his side.

You’re far enough away from everyone that they’d have to walk over to talk to you but close enough to watch as Will pushes Jonathan into the pool.

Billy’s arm is around your waist, hand secured on your hip. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he tilts his chin to whisper in your ear.

“Okay if I swing us?”

Slowly, you nod. And Billy gently rocks you both, waiting a few moments to see if you want him to stop. When you don’t say anything, he relaxes, kissing your head and keeping his lips there for a few moments longer.

It’s a gesture that makes you want to cry. You can feel the tears welling. If you focus on them, you know they’ll fall.

“Thank you.” Your meek tone makes him squeeze your hip.

“I’ve got you.”

—

You stayed there for almost an hour before you asked Billy if he could drive you home.

When you arrive, the thought of him leaving feels like one of your limbs is being ripped off. You want to hold yourself so you can try to keep your body intact.

But you don’t know how to ask him to stay. It’s like the words are stuck in your throat. So, you sit in his car for a moment. You can feel him looking at you. And you’re trying to force air into your lungs when he breaks the silence.

“Can I stay tonight?”

You nod, eyes soft in a way that tells him you’re still feeling like an exposed nerve.

Once you’re inside your apartment, you head straight into the shower. You’re not sure if you despise yourself or everyone at the party more, and you need to wash it all away.

Billy’s in your kitchen brewing you tea. Whether you drink it or not, holding the warm mug will comfort you.

He sets it on your nightstand. Then, strips himself of his shirt and shorts, climbing into your bed.

Yours is softer than his, and it smells like you. Whatever perfume you use always makes him a little dizzy—in the best way. 

There are photos scattered around. Some on your dresser and desk, one on each nightstand, and one peeking out of the top of the book you’re reading.

He opens it and smiles almost immediately.

It’s you and him at his birthday party. The first one he had since his mom left. You threw it for him. Surprised him and everything—cake, streamers, presents, the whole nine.

Jonathan took this one—among many others. You’re in Steve’s kitchen facing each other. Your hands are in mid-motion as you tell him a story, smile wide and eyes bright. And he’s grinning.

It’s obvious how he’s leaning closer to you—like you’re in your own bubble. And he’s happy he didn’t catch Jonathan taking the picture, or he’d have moved away. He would’ve pretended he wasn't enthralled by you. At that point, he didn’t realize what he felt for you.

You walk into the bedroom then. The smell of your shampoo drifting over.

Wordlessly, you settle into your side and sip your tea. You close your eyes for a moment. Breathe. Then place the mug back.

He’s about to ask you if it’s okay when you slip down and press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pushing your face into his side.

He almost blushes. You’re so damn cute.

“Can you read to me?” you ask.

“I don’t read smut for free,” he teases.

You bury your nose in his side. “It’s not that.”

He chuckles, resting his arm around your shoulders and propping the book on his lap.

He reads five pages before you’re out.

When he realizes you’re asleep, he puts the book down and looks at you.

You’re so relaxed, eyelashes fluttering as you sink deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust. By some miracle, you feel safe with him.

Maybe…Maybe he doesn’t have to turn out like Neil.

Carefully, he lays down, pulls you onto his chest, and buries his nose in your hair.

He could stay like this forever.

The longer he breathes you in, the more sure he becomes.

You’re it for him. And it’s time he tells you.

Taglist: @moonlightfountain, @steph-speaks, @bookshelf-dust, @nix-rose-q

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

[tosuckmyweenis]

Slow Down

Seen posts about Leon being an absolute menace to society, and now my brain goes brr for Mean!Leon driving way too fast while you beg him to slow down. So I decided to try my hand at writing something what was supposed to be small turned into a novel oop. My digital footprint is ruined already. Poor format. Loss of italics when uploading and too lazy to fix

TW, mean!Leon, patronizing nicknames, unprotected sex, creampie, dub-con/coercion/non-con, threats of tree wrapping in the beginning, outdoor sex, AFAB anatomy, not totally yan! But definitely a little sus. praising is involved(Russ's song gave me an earworm)

"Leon, please slow down; you're going too fast!" you grabbed the handle above the door, trying to brace yourself against it.

"Aw, is this too fast for you, Baby? I thought you liked it fast." He teased, stepping on the gas just a little more

"You're going to get us killed!" you shrieked. Breathing coming in short and sharp, you could hear your racing heartbeat in your ears. Squeezing your eyes closed.

"nonsense, I know how to drive. If we crash, it's because you didn't listen. So what are you going to do?"

You heard the thunk of the mirror being pulled down. You have no idea how fast he was going, but it was way above what's safe and would be fatal should anything happen.

"Lift your dress and spread your legs for me. Then, I'll slow down." Leon pressed down on the gas to prove his point. 

"I- I'm scared," your voice cracking and coming out pathetically.

"clock is ticking; we're running out of road. You wouldn't want to take turns at this speed, would you?" You could hear the click of his tongue. 

Opening your eyes and taking in a shaky breath, you spread your legs as far as they would go, accidentally knocking on the door with your knee. Blue eyes flick to the mirror, licking his lips while taking in your thighs and lacy panties.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it? Wearing my favourite pair too."

He let off the gas letting it coast down

"You know it's only a little fun, and I'd never do anything to hurt you."

reaching over and placing his hand on your thigh, giving it a few squeezes before rubbing circles, making his way to your inner thigh, pinky brushing along your clothed slit, making you shudder

"You're going to do what I say, right, Sweetheart?"

nodding your head, like you even had a choice, willing to do anything to get home in one piece.

"move them to the side so I can see what I can do to your pretty little cunt" his eyes spent more time looking into the mirror than on the road. Thankfully, there was barely anyone travelling it

No wonder he crashes so often

the vulgar words leaving his mouth, making heat rise to your cheeks, a dizzying feeling flooding your body, making you lightheaded.

Fingers gently ghosted over his hand while they continued the ministrations on your thigh, moving his pinky out of the way temporarily so you could hook your two fingers into the band of your dampening panties pulling them to the side and exposing yourself to him.

Moving his hand entirely off your thigh, moving to stroke his middle and ring finger up and down your cunt, gathering arousal and spreading it before sliding down and slowly pushing into your entrance to the first knuckle, curling them to find your sweet spot, massaging walls until he found it

"Aah, right there...please,"  your whimpered words edging him on as he fucked his fingers into you faster, grinding the top of his palm against your clit; "mmh," lowering your head, lips parted, letting out puffs of air, feeling the heat build in your gut, you grind your hips into his hand,

"you're being such a good girl," he cooed

removing his hand

"Hold on, sweet thing; I'll give you something better in a minute."

pulling over to the side of the road and shutting the car off,

"Take those off now." 

leaning over, unbuckling your seatbelt and his, lifting your hips, you dragged the silky lace down and off.

"get out of the car and put your hands on the hood, face forward."

"Yes, Sir"

getting out of the car and following his instructions placing your hands on the cool metal of the car, leaning over, you watched as he climbed out and shut the door with a slam. You watched him take a significant stride toward you until he was out of your vision and directly behind you. Roughly gripping your hips, pulling them back to meet his own, hard cock grinding against you.

"Do you see what you do to me, Baby?"

Leaning his body over yours, placing light kisses on your shoulder, and tearing out a breathy moan.

"Beg for it." hiking, your dress up, wandering hands groped and kneaded your ass.

"Please, please fuck me; I need you," pleading, trying to push back against him.

"Next time, you'll be on your knees."

you could hear him shuffle, tugging his pants down just enough to free himself before sinking himself in, starting a fast pace snapping his hips into yours, pressing a hand into the middle of your back, forcing your chest to the hood with a thud, feeling the weight of him on top of you, making sure you couldn't get up

"You're so wet for me, baby; you like this, yeah? You like being fucked on the side of the road where anyone could drive by and see how good you take me? How good I make you feel; oh Fuck..yeah, that's it, God..You were made for me." 

Clenching around him, moaning at the mix of praises spilling from his heavenly lips, edging you on. His cock hitting all the right places to make you see stars and feel the heat start to build in your lower abdomen again.

"Leon...Ahh...m'not gunna last much longer." 

"That's ok, baby, cum for me; I want you to. You deserve it for being such a good girl for me," he purred in your ear, hips rutting into you.

Letting out a loud moan as heat spreads to the rest of your body, legs shaking 

"You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. Just a little longer, and I'll fill you up." 

He pounded at your over-sensitive cunt, desperately trying to reach his peak. After a few more thrusts, his hips stuttered before thrusting himself as deep as he could go, feeling the pulsing as he came, pushing down on you a little harder while he recovered. Stepping back to savor the sinful sight dripping out of you.

[thezombieprostitute]

Panic Attack

Summary: A panic attack leads to a conversation with a handsome Detective and he helps you feel better in a few ways.

A/N: Reader is plus sized. No other descriptors used. Thank you @peyton-warren for the idea!

Warnings: Abusive ex - Fat shaming; Food denial. Panic attack. Let me know if I missed any!

The scent hits you and brings back all of the memories. You can control for so many triggers but not scent. It’s the sense with the strongest ties to your memories and you can’t avoid it. You can’t get your brain past it. There’s no talking yourself down when all you feel you can do is shut down completely. You sit on the sidewalk and wait for the pain your brain and body know is coming. 

“Give them some space,” a voice says. It catches your attention because the accent seems out of place. 

Thinking you’ve finally fully snapped you start gently rocking. Suddenly a face comes into view. Curly hair, beard and deep blue eyes etched with concern. It’s enough to get you to stop rocking.

“Hi there,” he says. “I’m Detective Walter Marshall. You look like you’re having a panic attack?” His words take a little time to register in your brain. When they do, you nod. “Do you know what triggered this? Is it still here?” His voice is calm and caring without being condescending. 

“Smell…” you whisper. “Someone’s cologne. It’s gone now. Can’t…I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” his voice soothes. “Do you need to go inside or do you need the open space?”

“Umm…” your brain keeps trying to work but it’s stalling out. Every time you try to look away his eyes follow yours, keeping your focus on him. “Inside, please. If only so I’m not sitting on the sidewalk?”

“Okay. Can I help you up?” He stands and holds out his hand. You’re taken aback at just how tall and thick he is. You’re almost too shy to take the help but you do need to get off of the ground. You take your hand and pull yourself up. You’re a little scared you’ll hurt him with your weight but he barely seems to register it. When you’re on your feet he gestures to a nearby restaurant, “if it's a smell that got you worked up maybe a bunch of different ones will help you? My treat.”

The two of you walk the few steps to the front door and he holds the door open for you. Your movements are slow but he doesn’t comment, letting you set the pace. You find a table in the corner and sit there. You need to be able to see the entire (thankfully empty) room, can’t risk someone sneaking up on you. He sits next to you, close enough to hear you talk but far enough to respect your personal space. 

“Is there anything I can get you,” he asks. “Any comfort food or drink? Maybe even a YouTube video to help you out?”

Your brain gives a few false starts before you’re able to say, “chocolate? Chocolate flavor means he’s not here. Means I’m okay.”

He nods and gestures to one of the staff who quickly comes over. He orders a couple pieces of chocolate cake and the waiter goes to quickly grab them. 

“While we’re waiting,” he looks at you, “can you tell me your name?” You’re happy with how quickly you’re able to tell him, like maybe your brain can do something right. He nods, “when is your birthday?” That one takes a few seconds longer but you’re able to tell him. “Are you able to take a deep breath?” Almost involuntarily you find yourself slowly breathing deep. By the time you exhale you’re feeling a smidge better.

The slices of cake get to the table and he puts one in front of you, taking the other for himself. When you hesitate he starts eating his as if telling you it’s okay to eat. You take a small bite and the chemicals in your brain start adjusting and letting go of the terror that cologne had inspired. He never let you eat chocolate, sweets in general. He’d always said you needed to stop embarrassing him and lose some weight so he cut you off from your favorites. But you’re eating chocolate cake now so he can’t be here. 

After a couple of bites your panicked state eases up, leaving you feeling weak and exhausted. You start crying and apologizing. He’s quick to console you, holding your hand in his, speaking in a soothing tone about how you can’t always control when these things will hit. How trauma of any kind isn’t something that can just be pushed down and forgotten. How you’re a lot stronger than you think because you’ve survived this and more.

When you’ve cried yourself out you switch to thanking him for his help and the cake. He smiles softly and goes back to eating his slice, encouraging you to continue eating yours. You do so with gusto, smiling, and comment on how tasty it really is. 

“It goes really well with coffee,” Walter comments. “But I didn’t want to order any in case that was another trigger.”

“No,” you softly shake your head, “that sounds really nice. Decaf, though. I don’t think my nerves could handle caffeine at the moment.” Walter turns and orders the coffee which is quickly brought out. You heartily agree that the flavor of the cake is enhanced when paired with the coffee and his smile grows. 

The two of you start conversing in general small talk, leading to talking about your various interests. It’s a very restorative conversation as you let yourself feel excited to explain some of your hobbies and recent fixations. He listens and adds some of his own commentary about your shared interests. Turns out you have quite a few of them. 

After the cake and coffee has been consumed, your nerves are still raw but not as sensitive. You thank Walter for helping you out and ask if you can repay him. 

“It’s not a problem,” he smiles. “I’m genuinely happy to help. In fact, can I take you home? You look like you could use some rest.” You smile and nod. 

He leads you to his truck and you tell him your building’s address. He makes sure to walk you to the building’s front door and gives you his card in case you want to talk some more. You give him a big hug before heading inside. 

Between your name, birthday and building address, Walter is able to look up your history in the department records. He finds the restraining order with your ex-boyfriends name and address on it. He can’t do anything yet but it’s good information to have in case something happens. In the meantime, he really hopes you call or text him. 

[paperweight91]

Like I’m Gonna Lose You

Part 2

Summary: After “ending” things with Andy your life takes an unexpected turn at a work function.

Warnings: fluff, Ransom being completely OOC

A/N: here is part 2. I’m letting the story take me where it goes. Feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

Characters: Andy Barber, Ransom Drysdale, mentions of Laurie Barber

Before you knew it it was February and your work was hosting a Gala in hopes of wooing some of Boston's most elite. The girls in the office were gossiping about who they were going to bring with them, when the spotlight suddenly shined on you.

“Are you bringing anyone to the gala tonight?” Tammy asked with a coy look. Did she know something?

“Uhh nope, we’re all working anyways, doesn’t seem right to drag someone there and not be able to see them.” It was true you were supposed to be “wooing” all night.

The other girls seem miffed at your lack of gossip contribution, and move on to their owns dates and what they are wearing. Effectively cutting you out of the conversation.

You were starting to look forward to the event, even if you were the only one from your office going alone. A night to get dressed up and rub elbows with some of the most influential people on the east coast was exciting. You rushed home from the office and made quick work of getting ready in your emerald green dress. It was a little prom-like, but cute and more importantly easy to move around in.

Arriving early, you greeted your boss Levi and his wife and started to make the rounds of the guests beginning to arrive.

What you didn’t realize was the entire DAs office had been invited as well. Seeing Andy laughing and talking with Laurie you knew. He was never going to leave his wife, and definitely not for you.

It was too much, you went to the bar and ordered a tequila shot. Your drink of choice when you wanted to get absolutely shitfaced.

“May want to slow down there Kitten, you’ll drink the whole bar at that pace.” You looked over at the smug stranger. Surprised at his boyish good looks. He was clearly arrogant, but there was a glint in his eye. Was it concern? He doesn’t even know you, it’s definitely not that.

You give him a confused look. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You ask.

“Hugh Drysdale, but you Kitten can call me Ramsom. I’m here in hopes of being, what was the term ‘woo’d’” you start giggling right away. “And what’s so funny about that Kitten?”

You introduce yourself as well, “well I’m supposed to be ‘wooing’ but too busy drinking I guess.” Ransom laughs at your half hearted joke.

“So what are we drinking about?” He looks at the bartender to ask for two more shots, “tequila?” You nod with a smile, “definitely about a guy. Want me to take your mind off him? You are supposed to be ‘wooing’ me after all.”

You playfully slap at his arm. Wow, are all men this muscular? Between Andy and Ransom they both seem ridiculously built for the lines of work they were in. Stop thinking about Andy! Your brain screams at you, “Wooing Ransom not flirting!” He laughs with you.

“Then at least let me have you on my arm tonight. It would be a waste for such a pretty girl to be here all alone.” Your face heats at his words, and you glance over at Andy. He’s dancing with Laurie. His wife. With that image burned in your mind you take Ransom's hand and let him lead you around the room.

Ransom true to his word keeps you on his arm all night. You don’t even notice the stolen glances Andy repeatedly sends your way. After your fourth time around the room you excuse yourself to the restroom.

“Don’t keep me waiting long kitten.” He winks at you as he watches you walk away.

You feel giddy as you reach the thankfully empty washroom. You select a stall to quickly do your business. Going over all the wonderful moments you’ve had with Ransom and all you’ve learned about him so far.

You hear the door open and shut - was that a lock clicking? Probably your imagination. You flush and open the stall door just to come face-to-face with Andy.

“Andy? What are you doing in here it’s the ladies room.” He locked the door, you’re trapped.

“Sweetheart, I’ve missed you. I just want to talk it will be quick I promise.”

You huff as you walk past him to wash your hands. Surveying your appearance in the mirror.

“Fine. Speak fast.” You cross your arms across your chest.

Andy runs his hands through his fluffy hair before he starts, “I’m sorry, I was an ass. You said…you said that you love me. And it scared me. And now I see you here with that trash Drysdale. Do you know anything about him by the way?”

You hum, you’re not going to dignify that with a response.

“Fine okay, I shouldn’t say anything with who I’m here with. But Sweetheart, I can’t say that to you yet. Not until I leave Laurie.” He’s giving you hope. You realize now you have to make a decision.

You open your mouth and are shocked with the response you come up with. “I’ll believe it when I see it Andy. For now you’re keeping me from working, and spending the evening with a man who is single. Good night”

You storm past Andy to the door to unlock it and leave. You’re so lost in your own head your walk face first into the person you were looking for.

“Woah there Kitten. Something happen?” He glances behind you and spies Andy leaving the ladies room. “Barber bothering you?”

You look up at Ransom, his blue green eyes staring straight at you. Not sure how to respond, you shrug.

He wraps both arms tightly around you, and you sigh at the warm safe feeling encapsulating you. “Why don’t we go somewhere more relaxed and talk. No funny business.”

Searching his eyes you see nothing but warmth and care. “Please Ransom.” Your voice is just above a whisper. But with those two words Ransom becomes a man on a mission. Grabbing both your coats from coat check and ordering an Uber on his phone.

The next thing you know you’re pulling up to Ransom's home. He gets a bit pink high in his cheeks and rubs the back of his neck, “I wasn’t sure where else to take you.”

You give him a warm smile and follow him to the front door. He takes your coat and offers to get you some clothes to change into. You gratefully accept and wander around his living room. You stop only at the floor to ceiling windows looking out into the woods. Eery, but strangely calming as well. The freshly fallen snow makes the trees look like something out of a fairy tale.

“I don’t have any girls clothes, I hope this will be okay?” He’s rubbing the back of his neck as he hands you one of his college hoodies and a pair of basketball shorts.

“It’s perfect, thank you Ransom. Where can I…?”

“Down the hall first door on your left.” He points.

You change quickly in the guest room, loving the scent of Ransom all around you. When you return Ransom is sitting on the couch with his foot propped against the coffee table. You admire him for a few moments, taking in his long legs, and perfectly placed hair. His large hands, one gripping what appears to be a scotch keep grabbing your attention. Before you can make a fool of yourself you head into the room.

Ransom’s face lights up as he sees you, and he gestures you to sit beside him. “So tell me about you and ADA Barber.”

He couldn’t start small could he?

“Ugh, where do I start?” He gives you an encouraging smile and it’s like it word vomits out if you. Your embarrassing crush, the too perfect ‘first date’, all the sex and finally your love confession.

“Huh,” Ransoms response leaves a lot to be desired.

“‘Huh?’ What do you mean?”

“Nothing! It’s just, it sounds like he has one foot in both relationships.” Ransom scowls. This isn’t at all what you expect from him. Of course you had heard about Ransom and his playboy lifestyle. But those rumours didn’t seem to match the man sitting beside you.

“I don’t know what I thought our relationship would be,” you look down as you play with the ties of his shorts that you wear. “I felt like, at first it was a harmless crush, but I knew I wanted more and when it seemed like he did too…”

“You got swept up.” He states, taking a long sip from his drink while he thinks. “I think I know a way to help you get over him.”

“I’m not sleeping with you Ransom.”

He gives a full bellied laugh at that. “That’s not at all what I was suggesting.”

“What then?” You have no idea where he’s going with this.

“Go on a date with me. Like a proper date, we had fun tonight before Barber came in and ruined everything, didn’t we?” He looks a little nervous now.

You’re shocked. The only thing you can think to say comes out before you can stop it, “Why?” At Ransom's pout you quickly follow up with, “Why me?”

He lets out a puff of air before he speaks. Clearly contemplating each word before he says them. “I think you’re pretty, you seem smart, funny and you have spent an entire evening with me without throwing a drink in my face.”

You feel yourself getting giddy at his words. Would it be the worst thing in the world? To go on a date with Ransom?

“That…that sounds lovely Ransom. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I-“ you huff. Why is it so hard to put your thoughts into words sometimes? “I want to take things slow, I don’t want to lose myself in someone else again.”

The smile that spreads across his face lights up the room. It’s like his eyes start to sparkle. “I expect nothing less Kitten. Now you have two options, you can grab your clothes and go home, or…”

“Or what?” You ask not wanting to leave Ransoms presence quite yet.

“Or I can get changed we can watch a movie, you can sleep in my guest room and tomorrow we’ll go on a breakfast date.” His eyes are full of mischief, but also something tender.

Meekly, you look up at him through your lashes and giggle as you say, “can I take option number 2 please?”

Ransom gives you another one of those warm smiles, and stands to cross to the TV stand. “Pick something while I go change. Please know I will be judging your choice.” He winks as he leaves you flustered on the couch.

You settle on a romantic comedy you’ve seen about a hundred times, but never fails to make you smile.

He snorts as he walks back into the room in a white t-shirt and flannel pants. “I did tell you I was judging you right?”

You laugh as you playfully push at his arm as he sits beside you. “This is a classic!” You say with mock outrage.

By the end of the movie your cuddled up against Ransom's side. Loving the feel and scent of him.

“C’mon Kitten,” he whispers to the top of your head. “Time for bed if we want that breakfast date to actually be breakfast.”

You both walk along the hall to your respective rooms. “Thanks Ransom - for everything tonight. Really.”

He smiles as he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “The pleasure is all mine Kitten.”

As you enter the guest room you smile softly to yourself. Are you already falling for Ransom? You push the thought out of your head and climb into the bed. Drifting off quickly.

You wake later than normal, feeling well rested. Disoriented by your surroundings, it takes you a moment to realize where you are. Suddenly, last night rushes back to you. The gala, Ransom, Andy cornering you. Ugh, what were you doing?

You get up and listen at the door to see if you hear movement. Nothing. Probably safe to go freshen up in the bathroom. You find Ransom has left you a spare toothbrush out and a fresh pair of joggers and sweatshirt in case you want to shower.

After freshening up, you walk out to the main living area to see it empty. Listening closely, you don’t hear any movement around the house. Should you look for him?

Before you can make a decision Ransom appears from down the hall. Dressed in slacks with a white sweatshirt he looks like he stepped right off of a photo shoot.

He sidles up beside you where you stand by the floor to ceiling windows. “Like the view Kitten?”

You give him a small smile and look back out towards the woods. “I love it.” You say, “It’s beautiful, but haunting at the same time. I didn’t know views like this existed outside of books, and maybe my imagination.”

Ransom just watches you intently while you speak, taking in all the small ticks in your facial expressions. He realizes then why Andy was able to lure you in. All of your feelings are bare on your face, even if you try and hide them, it’s still obvious how you are feeling.

“Yeah I like this view too.” He whispers, only looking straight at you. “Come on, let’s get over to your place so you can get dressed and I can take you for the most wonderful breakfast.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small, but you take the hand that Ransom offers and follow him out to his Beemer.

Ransom drops you at your apartment with a promise to be back in no more than 30 minutes. Once you get upstairs you breathe for a moment. Realizing your phone is almost dead you throw it on the charger, and go to look for an outfit for your breakfast date.

You realize that the feeling leading up to this date is so different from your “first date” with Andy. Ransom has clearly shown he’s interested in you, he’s not married, so why are you still thinking about Andy?

You pick out your favourite winter outfit, a brown wool skirt, black panty hose and black turtleneck. You do some light makeup, and feel happy with your look. Simple, but definitely date worthy. You decide to take your phone off of do not disturb and check the time. When you do you see there are a dozen notifications. All from Andy.

You decide to ignore them. He didn’t want you when you were available to him, then why would you want him now.

You grab your purse and stuff your phone in, before going downstairs to meet Ransom. Smiling as you see the Beemer parked right in front of your building waiting for you.

“You ready to go?” You ask as you slip into the passenger side of his car. He shoots you a cocky smirk and throws the car in gear.

“You look beautiful, Kitten.” He winks before pulling into traffic.

The ride to the restaurant is spent getting to know each other. Most of the things Ransom told you about himself you knew: his grandfathers empire, his mothers real estate business. What you didn’t know was he had been writing under a pen name for years, but of course wouldn’t tell you any of the books yet.

As Ransom guides you in, you realize this is one of the most expensive restaurants in town, and you stop short.

“Ransom, this is too much, I uh..” you trail off not quite sure how to tell him this is way out of your budget.

“Don’t worry Kitten, I chose the place so I’ll pay. Besides, I have been craving their French omelette.” He guides you over to your table where the hostess is waiting. She takes your drink orders, coffee for you, tea for Ransom, and leaves you two.

“So Kitten, tell me that movie you put on last night is not your favourite. Because if that’s the case I’m going to have to seriously re-evaluate you as dating material.” He gives you a sly wink as he puts his tea together.

The laugh that bubbles out of your throat is one of pure joy. “Of course not! But it’s definitely my go to if I just need to chill out, or do some house work.”

The date with Ransom is completely different from your date with Andy. There is a connection, beyond his good looks. Something inside is telling you to take this slow and see where it goes.

After you both finish your meals you decide to take a walk in the nearby park. Ransom surprises you by grabbing your hand as you both walk and talk. Once the silence settles between you both, you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder and just enjoying his presence. After a couple rounds of the park Ransom leads you back to his car.

“As much as I hate to say this Kitten, I have to take you home. Because if I don’t, I may just bring you back to my place and keep you forever.”

You smile as you drop into the passenger side. “Thank you Ransom, this has been the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

Once back at your apartment Ransom walks you to your door. “I know you want to take things slow, but how about a kiss to end our first date?”

You nod up at him and he slowly moves closer. You let your eyes flutter shut as he presses your lips together. There’s heat there, but something sweet and almost tender about the way his lips move against yours. By the time he draws away, you’re left breathless. He slowly slides his hands up and down your arms, “Please say we can do this again Kitten…”

The answer for you is simple, and you don’t have to think twice before you’re responding.

“Yes Ransom, I can’t wait to do this again.”

[love-toxin]

Hell yeah I'd let Stevie be my boyfriend! But then... what about Eddie? He's still a perv, and he hasn't gotten the hint yet....

But maybe... one day a week or two later, when you and Steve are streaming together, Steve fucking into you with blissful moans and the squish of flesh on flesh, there's a small tap on the window that neither of you hear.

Then a second or two later, there's another, louder, tap.

And the window opens, and in tumbles a leather jacket wearing, long curly haired, Male.

And that is where the fun begins.

HRRMRMRHHRHRHHGGGGHHH......imagine....i will set the scene for u......

(cws: yandere, perv!steddie, kinda stalkery)

imagine spending an evening together with your new boyfriend, barely a week into what you would tentatively call a serious relationship. Steve's held himself to his word without any need for intervention from you, and he's actually pretty nice, once you get over the whole "virgin incel living in his basement apartment" vibe. you can clean him up pretty well, and you're even teaching him how to kiss properly on this particular night--the night when you have a day off from streaming, thankfully, because you don't hear the pebbles hitting your window until it's being slid open and someone's tumbling in. Steve's still on top of you, mouth open against your neck, pants unbuttoned as you shriek and he jumps as he thinks he did something wrong, but then his eyes cast over the curly-haired man slumped over your bedroom floor and he gasps softly.

"Eddie?" he whispers, and the lithe, boyish-looking guy in his leather jacket stumbles up to his feet, his stare fixated entirely on you before he goes a little pink and turns to shut your window behind him. with a few more whispers exchanged, your boyfriend hastily explains that he's a friend! they met online on a forum about you but never in person, but only when Eddie mumbles out his username does it click in your brain and you realize that you do know him. he's the other one you extended an invitation to, having completely forgotten about it once Steve had shown up and stayed. poor guy was so nervous about meeting you in real life he couldn't bring himself to be as bold as Steve....but after seeing you two on stream, he's too jealous not to come remind you that he's also your biggest fan.

and he's a little rougher than Steve. he gropes you harder, kisses you with more tongue, he bites--but he's got that natural, animalistic instinct that makes him touching you feel like a dream. they're both so malleable that it's a little dizzying, having two men absolutely feral for you to the point that they just can never get enough of your presence. poor Steve's afraid at first, even though he likes Eddie--will you move on? he doesn't want you to move on, please say you won't leave him, please? but they're both surprisingly reassured by the idea of sharing when you teasingly bring it up. they're a little too into it, in fact, and when they sneak off after fucking you raw and start planning between themselves while you sleep, you're gonna be hit with the fact that inviting them in might have been a mistake. because you won't be able to take it back if you end up changing your mind--the two of them absolutely refuse to let you go once their idol is in their grasp.

[ctitan98official]

Anonymous: OK OK HEAR ME OUT; What if in your most recent post of Alcina lost child Au, both Alcina and Miranda encounter Y/N again but... plot twist they where adopted by a corporation that experimented in childs to become them in the perfect soldier, completely loyal and emotionless, they are in the village for a mision to see if the residents in there are dangerous to the outside world and in case of so, they have the order to kill them all. Imagine the guility and heartbroken they might feel since their little child became just another weapon...

Alright, so this was requested a loooong time ago. I finally got around to it XD This was inspired by my Alcina’s long lost child AU.

You were taken and experimented on relentlessly by Umbrella as a baby. The corporation had found your file and knew your origin. The product of two powerful bioweapons… It was too good of an opportunity for them to pass up.

You didn’t even know who your parents were and yet… You hated them. It was their fault that you were being tortured. Your every waking moment for the first few years of your life was excruciating. Needles, imaging, testing. Was this truly all you were meant to be? Some… Lab rat?

You grew up with no affection. Just sterile and generic questions. “How have you felt since we did the last test? Any symptoms?”

You tried to reach out to other people. To talk to them and ask them questions. To build some semblance of a human connection… But it was useless.

Nobody gave a shit.

So… You started shutting down.

No tears, no smiles. What was the point? People didn’t care. You learned to shut off that part of yourself fairly quickly.

Thankfully, once it was clear that you did not possess the powers that your parents did (Or any, for that matter), The experiments began to lessen and eventually stopped.

Shortly before Umbrella began to crumble from the inside out, the B.S.A.A. liberated you and put you into protective custody within the confines of their organization. You knew a lot about the inner machinations of Umbrella and were a vital source of information for them.

While the people with B.S.A.A. were largely nicer than the scientists at Umbrella, it was soon clear that they also wanted to use you.

Thankfully, a kind agent decided to take you under his wing. His name was Chris Redfield. He was appalled at everything you had been through and made a silent vow to protect you from then on.

While you were still closely monitored by B.S.A.A., Chris raised you at his house alongside his little sister, Claire. She was a few years older than you, but she always tried to include you in whatever she was doing. She was sweet.

However… It was too late to save you from the psychological damage you sustained.

You have no compassion, no empathy. Your brain just doesn’t work like that anymore. It’s been programmed to survive that way.

You actually hate being around other people. They’re weak. Their self-centered and petty little lives are a joke. They pretend that their existence has some higher meaning. That they are worthy of respect, admiration… Love.

It’s ridiculous.

Other people may have been fed bullshit their entire lives, but not you. For as sucky as your childhood was, it opened your eyes to the truth. You understand firsthand that greed is how the world actually works. Everyone is in it for themselves.

Money. Power. Influence. That’s what people secretly desire. However, nobody seems to have the balls to come out and say it so plainly. They want to hide behind their beliefs and “Morals”.

That’s okay. You couldn’t give less of a shit. Let them delude themselves.

Your only true loyalty lies with Chris and Claire. Even though you are unable to form any real attachment to them, they are the only people you would even consider helping if they needed it. Chris got you out of the shitty situation you were living in and you would spend the rest of your life trying to repay that favor.

Chris knew that you wanted to do what he did for a living. He would have much preferred to protect you from the horrors of bioterrorism, but… Well, you’re pretty much the embodiment of it. So, he reluctantly agreed. If you wanted something this badly, then he was going to do his best to make it happen. He started training you in marksmanship.

You became skilled. Very skilled. You devoted all of your time to it. Only taking necessary breaks to eat or sleep. Then, it was back to training.

Chris pretty much molded you into the perfect agent… And now, here you are. On your first mission together.

You and Chris are being flown to a rural area in Romania. There is intel suggesting the possible presence of B.O.W.s and it’s on you to determine if they are a threat… Or might become one.

Hound Wolf Squad were flown in a few hours earlier and are currently in a holding position, waiting for you and Chris.

Chris, never one to bullshit you, sits down next to you on the helicopter. “Looks like there might be some big action, kid. Rolando’s been scoping out the area and… It’s pretty hot with B.O.W.s,” He says quietly. “I just want you to know that it’s… Okay to be worried, Y/N. Many experienced agents still have jitters before a mission.”

You’re currently cleaning one of your guns. “Obliterate the target or die trying. It’s all the same to me, Redfield,” You tell him, not even turning to look at him.

Chris breathes out a laugh at this. You’re truly one of a kind. He pats your arm before standing up again. “Good talk, Y/N,” He says.

It’s true, though. So what if you die? It can’t be much different than living. You finish up before the pilot announces that you’ve arrived.

The helicopter lands in an abandoned field and you and Chris hop out.

“Alright, you and me will head into the village and Hound Wolf Squad will be tailing us,” Chris instructs.

You nod silently at this.

“We want to be able to get information out of them, so we’ll try the, uh, non-violent path first,” He says. “Who knows… Maybe it’ll be as simple as sitting down and having some coffee with them?” He smiles.

You almost feel a small fondness tugging your heart at Chris’s statement. After all he’s been through, he always tries to see the good in people.

You two make the trek into the village and Chris is able to get in contact with Hound Wolf Squad. They’ll be here to offer backup if you need it. All seems to be going according to plan.

However… The closer you both get to the center of the village… The more you get this weird… Sensation. It’s like your very being is thrumming.

Something about this place… Is drawing you in. Wanting you to be here.

For the first time in years you feel… A stab of panic. What is happening to you? This isn’t normal.

But… You don’t say anything. Whatever this feeling is, it’s your problem to deal with. You’re not going to drag Chris down with you.

You two look around at the ramshackle buildings in town.

Chris whistles. “What a shit hole,” He murmurs.

You try to shake off the warm pulse that is flowing through you. “It looks completely deserted,” You remark.

Chris nods in agreement. “You’re right,” He says. He looks off in the distance and spots the castle. A gentle light is emanating from the windows and smoke is billowing out of its chimney. “I think that may be our best bet, kid. Let’s go check it out,” He says, pointing at the ornate building.

You nod silently and the two of you begin the journey up the side of the mountain. It’s rather uneventful, and that’s a welcome change. This place is kind of freaking you out, a feat you didn’t even know was possible.

But… What awaits you is about to change your life forever. You’re about to learn the story of where you came from.

Whether you want to or not.

Note: Cliffhanger! Let me know what you thought and thanks for reading!

Masterlist

[chaichaiiskai]

i need smth cute with retsu. idgaf what you write i just wanna smooch him so badly you have no idea 😭😭 y'all dont understand that man has me in a chokehold

sigh. I don't know too much about retsu but like....

Could you imagine participating in a wash day for him??? Now, okay, I know some people find it weird that certain people have days especially dedicated to haircare but whatever, let's talk about it because I have a strange obsession with hair and—

Retsu was a bit apprehensive at first when you offered to help him with his hair, not that he didn't trust you, no, in fact, he trusted you with his entire life.and then some. It's just that he's never had such an experience before. He was just barely becoming accustomed to affection and getting used to your love language as well as finding what his was. You'd been dating for a couple months now but you were patient with him and he was patient with you. And when you brought up washing and doing his hair for him, you swore you saw the beefy man's brain buffering in real-time, even going as far to say that you'd saw smoke coming out of his ears, but luckily, he obliged.

And here you were, using the kitchen sink to wash his hair, taking on the role of hairstylist for the day, eager to test your hair washing skills. Retsu sat in a chair in front of the sink, head tilted back with a rolled up towel used to protect his neck from the metal bowl. Retsu had undone his braid and you laid out his hair in the sink, that you'd thoroughly cleaned beforehand and put in a special drainer for hair, while you turned the water on to let the temperature heat up.

While doing that, you opened a bottle of the shampoo he often used and squeezed a hefty amount in your palms before warming it up in your hands. And then you began to wash his hair, carefully massaging his scalp while hearing your boyfriend sigh in relaxation. You scrubbed and bunched and scrunched— all the fix-ins, and maybe about three minutes later you could hear Retsu snoring. Did you have the magic touch?

The thought was enough to make you snicker to yourself as continued to wash his hair, being extra careful with the silky locks. If there was one thing that Retsu cared about almost as equally as he cared about his fighting craft, it was his hair. You were somewhat aware of the importance to it in his culture, but you didn't know too much about the deeper meanings. Even so, you were glad that he'd trusted you enough and felt safe enough to nap while you tangled your fingers in his hair.

And by the time you finished shampooing, you moved onto conditioning his hair, deciding to let it sit for a bit before you'd rinse it. As you waited, you stepped back and watched your lover sleep, looking peaceful and unbothered. You took the time to study his face a little more than usual, taking note of his handsome face. He seemed to have a permanent scowl, but you couldn't help but to notice that while he slept, the lines in his face seemed to relax a little.

"Do you usually stare at your customers while washing their hair?"

His voice startled you out of your self-induced trance and you nearly stumbled back but quickly caught yourself, trying to play it off as he peeked an eye open, eyeing you with a bit of a cocky smirk.

"Oh shut it. You're my first and only customer. Consider yourself lucky."

You then huffed, deciding to wash the conditioner out of his hair before you both started bickering.

Once you'd washed his hair, you applied one of the hair masks he'd use to keep his hair shiny and sleek and then it was time for a movie, letting the mask sit for a bit. And when the thirty minute mark hit, you were rinsing out his hair yet again, pulling out the special drying towel he'd often use to dry his hair with minimal tears and such.

Now, with you on the couch, Retsu sat between your legs on the floor in front of the couch while you were brushing his hair like the crazy bitch in Rapunzel, thankfully you weren't singing. It was obvious that this was the best part for Retsu, you could practically hear him purring as you brushed through his hair, the bristles caressing his scalp with each stroke. And by the time you were done brushing through his locks, you could have sworn you heard him whine when you stopped and started to braid his hair, just how he liked to usually style it.

And once you were truly done, you tugged on your work, pulling his head back by his pigtail and he tilted his head back to look up at you with a grunt. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead before patting one of his cheeks.

"I take payment through Cash App, Venmo, PayPal, or through kisses. Take your pick."

[angelsanarchy]

Glass Houses: Jack Thurlow x Y/N Series CH 05 -> CH 06

"Didn't you say you had already befriended your neighbors daughter?" "I'd hardly call us friends. She doesn't know I'm crazy yet."

Tagging: @roryculkinluvr @thatsthewrongwallcraig @icarus-star @cc-luvr @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @quicksilversg1rl

"How is your sleep? Is it leveling out or are you still experiencing fatigue?" Jack stretched out in front of the computer screen and yawned.

"It's still weird. Some days I'm too exhausted to function. Other days I work my ass off to clear out the house but when I finally lay down, I just can't shut my mind off." Jack explained.

"What goes through your mind when you find yourself unable to sleep?" Jack rolled his eyes.

"Everything...nothing at all...I think about what I might do the next day or working on the book but then I'm too exhausted to even sit in the chair." Jack was growing annoyed with how his meds made him like a zombie. His brain was far too developed to not be able to use it during the day time.

"How about your appetite? Are you eating regularly?" Jack hated having to explain that he was miserable because his body required these meds to stay sane.

"Not as often as I should. Most of that is because I haven't done the grocery shopping yet. I have to put in an order." Jack listened to the hum come from the doctor.

"Have you thought about maybe going to the grocery store? Getting out among the people just to explore." Jack laughed.

"Yeah I'm not sure I have the energy for that. Maybe if I go late at night but I don't want to mingle just yet." Jack couldn't imagine having to walk through the grocery store having people stare at him or offer condolences that are empty and way too late. He wouldn't mind running into Y/n but that's a different story.

"Didn't you say you had already befriended your neighbors daughter?" Dr. Carty questioned making notes.

"I'd hardly call us friends. She doesn't know I'm crazy yet." Jack explained with a self deprecating laugh.

"You aren't crazy Jack. People live completely normal lives with mental illness. It's like any other illness and you are taking the steps towards a bit more normalcy." Dr. Carty had been with Jack since he checked into the facility. He felt like Jack absolutely needed to be hospitalized for the time he was in order to not only get to the root of his trauma but to allow his brain time to come to terms with it. He recognized all the progress he's made and wanted him to feel proud of that.

"Well how does it feel to interact with someone your own age who isn't a doctor?" Jack shrugged.

"She's fine. I mean we have a really cohesive sense of humor. I think if we did hang out, it wouldn't be awful but I'm pretty sure she's a nurse or something. She wears scrubs whenever she's not in regular clothes and when she's in regular clothes she's usually care-giving for her mom." Dr. Carty laughed making Jack tilt his head.

"You like her." He said confidently.

"What? No! We've had two conversations. That's hardly enough time to develop a liking to anyone." Jack defended.

"Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight?" Now Jack knew the doc was fucking with him.

"Yeah, thankfully I live in the real world. Plus everyone knows it's more like lust at first sight. No one can fall in love just seeing someone. That's based entirely on physical attraction." Jack was more of a pessimist when it came to love and attraction. Plenty of people could be attractive but love is few and far between. Jack can count on one hand how many people he's genuinely loved in his entire life.

"Well is she attractive?" Dr. Carty pressed.

"She's conventionally attractive, yes. I mean she hasn't cured my lack of sex drive but again, we've only spoken twice. I don't think I could fuck even if I wanted to." Jack had known the Doc for long enough that his random bouts of vulgarity didn't make him flinch.

"So you have decent conversation with a pretty woman who can match your intellect and has a dog you enjoy spending time with...She doesn't sound like an awful friend to make. Maybe you should work on that." Jack pushed away from the computer and ran his hands down his face.

"Why? I don't want to ruin anyone else's life. She's clearly a much better person than I am and she's already agreed to let me take the dog for walks on occasion so why risk ruining that with her getting to know me?" Jack genuinely feared letting anyone close at this point. Shanda had been with him since day one and the only person who has gotten a pass is the Doc and that wasn't something Jack asked for but has gotten used to.

"She's not Cleo, Jack." The mention of Cleo knocked the wind out of his chest.

"I know that." Jack whispered timidly before standing from his chair to move to the window.

"Just because you never received closure from her doesn't mean you can't move forward. You have done your part in taking accountability. We knew going into that you might not received the absolution of forgiveness." Dr. Carty himself had reached out to Cleo and was told she didn't care if Jack had dropped dead, she refused to talk to him after having their child cremated alone. Jack had sent a twenty page letter without any sort of response and when he sent a follow up, it was returned to sender.

The few times he dared to check social media, she had erased him from her entire existence. She had a memorial post for the baby but she didn't use his last name. When he accidentally liked one of her posts, he was met with a block on all outlets. Shanda had assured him that she had moved on and was doing better but he held onto that guilt for abandoning her after such a sudden miscarriage.

"What are you thinking Jack?" Doc's voice broke through his thoughts as he stood at the window. He could see Y/n down in her mother's garden watering the flowers and talking to her mom who was sitting in a wheelchair on the porch with Ace in her lap. He didn't need to know Y/n well to see she was a good person.

"The best thing she could do is to stay away from me. I'm just...I don't deserve that again. I wasted it the first time and ruined someone's life. What would I even do if I allowed myself to find that with someone else after Cleo? How do I explain to someone what I did to someone I loved enough to want to marry and start a family with?" Jack's ranting started to make his chest hurt.

"Jack, I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath." Jack became annoyed but did as he was told counting in his head as he took a few deep breaths.

"You need to remember that we are not our mistakes. We all have flaws and blemishes but it's how we right our wrongs that define us. You are not a bad person." Jack opened his eyes feeling a slight burn from squeezing them so tightly. Jack let out a breath before digging in his pocket for a lighter, picking up a cigarette and opening the window abruptly. The daylight made it hard for his eyes to adjust at first but he didn't realize the sound of the window would draw any attention towards him. He was met with Y/n's gaze as he took a deep drag of his cigarette.

"You have to forgive yourself Jack. If you don't let go of that weight, it will drown you." Jack kept his eyes on Y/n as she smiled at him and waved. Jack returned a weak smile, biting his lip.

"I want to...I really do but I just don't think I can." Jack admitted out loud glancing over at the screen to see Dr. Carty was frowning. He hated ending his sessions on a such a negative feeling but he knew he was out of time today. He knew that Doc didn't want to leave him alone with these thoughts so he gave him self work to do over the weekend so it would keep him occupied. Self work always made him roll his eyes because he could knock assignments out easily but whenever he sat down to work on his writing, his mind would be blank. All he wanted to do was figure out how to feel normal again.

[zer0pm]

Trigger

Luis Serra x GN!Reader

A/N: Here it is. A one-shot to this imagine prompt I posted. Wanted to see if I could pull off a serious Luis and… may have gone overboard lol, but hope you enjoy nonetheless.

Warnings: character death (maybe ¯\_(ツ)_/¯), cursing/swearing

“Run, Luis!” you plead. “Run before I shoot you!”

The man chuckles under his breath, “Think you can get rid of me that easily?”

How did it come to this?

One moment, you and the team are making your way to Luis Serra’s laboratory to remove the parasites inside of you, your partner Leon S. Kennedy, and the US President’s daughter Ashley Graham, and the next, well…

“Condor Two, put down the gun! That’s an order.”

“I’m fucking trying!”

It happened so quickly. Luis’ suppressants wore off much sooner than any of you had anticipated and you keeled over suddenly, overwhelmed by scalding pain so intense that you were certain you were going to pass out. Luis was the first to rush to your side, he asked a series of questions with a tone uncharacteristic from his usual easy-going demeanor. However, his concerned inquiries were nothing but muffled noise as a deafening ring gnawed at every corner of your brain and your body grew so intensely hot it was as if you were being burned from the inside out.

It felt like torture.

It felt like you were dying.

Give in.

The moment you regained your senses, the situation only got worse. And here you are now…

Ashley is cowering behind Leon.

Luis is a ways in front of you with both of his hands up in the air.

Leon has his gun pointed towards you.

You have your gun aimed at Luis.

You try to lower your weapon, but your muscles wouldn’t relax. You try to step back, face away from everyone- from him, but your feet refuse to move an inch. The grip of the pistol in your hand tightens and you had to summon everything you had not to squeeze the trigger even though your fingers were violently twitching to do just so. Everything was hurting so much.

Give in, little lamb.

Leon barks at you to put down your firearm and you spit back that you were trying. You are trying, trying so hard. And you are failing. Something, or rather, someone else was hijacking you.

Do not resist, child.

“Shut up!” You snap. “Get the fuck out of my head!”

A flash of understanding appears across Luis’ face who has been carefully watching you this entire time. “It’s Saddler,” he says out loud. “He’s using the plaga to gain control.”

Your ears pick up Ashley’s frantic sobs and you remember that she experienced the same thing, she knows all too well what was happening to you at this moment. Saddler is trying to turn you against your companions. More specifically, he wants you to-

Kill Luis Serra.

At just the thought alone, your fingers threaten to take the shot. You manage to wrestle control back to your other hand, swiftly bringing your free hand over your disobedient one and slotting your finger behind the pin without a second thought. The pin pushes against the skin of your digit so hard that it was beginning to break skin, but you endure. Your whole body is shaking.

Poor child. You are only prolonging the inevitable.

“Run, Luis!” you warn through gritted teeth, grateful that you still have your voice. “Run before I shoot you!”

At your words, the Spaniard grimaces, his lips turn into a thin line, his grey eyes darken. Never before have you seen such an expression on him. Then, he chuckles under his breath, “Think you can get rid of me that easily?”

The nerve of this guy, you swear…. Thankfully, Leon became the voice of reason.

“Move out of the line of fire, Luis,” he ordered. But the other man didn’t budge and you can feel the palpable urgency in Leon’s voice. “Come on! We gotta get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving,” Luis spoke up, his eyes directed towards you. “I’m not leaving you.”

Any other time this would have been touching. You and him have been stuck together throughout this entire horrifying adventure so of course you would forge a bond. While there were countless times where you wanted to punch him in the face, there were more times where the man’s ever present smile and unparalleled flair stopped you from doing so. You became fond of Luis and his antics, especially of all the times that he tried to charm you with that Spanish bravado unique only to him (not that you would ever admit any of this to him nor admit that he had affected you in any way). And it was because of your fondness that you knew you had to throw all sentimentality away the moment you were losing yourself to the voice in your head.

“This is no time to act all chivalrous, Luis Serra!” You shout desperately. “Saddler is going to make me kill you if you don’t beat it.”

“No. You haven’t lost. Saddler hasn’t taken over completely. Otherwise, we would be hearing him speak right now. Pero no,” the Spaniard counters, his stubbornness matching yours. “You can fight this.”

His bull-headed faith stirred something within you. A desire to do as he says and resist the virus consuming you. He was giving you hope. Spreading it from himself to you. Like an infection.

Kill him.

You snap back to reality. “We’re not doing this. You have to run. You have to get away!”

Leon interjects once again on your behalf, “Ashley needs to get to the lab fast, Luis. If your equipment can cure us both, I can come back and fix this. But we have to move. Now.” Despite his rationality even you can tell that the blond agent was threatening to go over the edge off the tension between you all in his attempts to sway your mutual ally with reason. “We still have a chance.”

Unfortunately, Luis being Luis, a man of honor and integrity, he refuses. “No,” he says firmly. “I won’t take that risk. If we don’t beat this now, it’s over.”

Before you can fully register the weight of his words, his actions portray his intentions clearly. The dark-haired man began closing the gap between you two. Panic pours over you like a bucket of ice water and you are practically screaming inside for your body to listen to you. To lower the damn gun and get away from him. To keep him away from you. To keep him safe. It was no use.

Like cattle up for the slaughter. Kill him now. Take the Amber.

“Stay back!” To your terror, your hands involuntarily lift the gun so that it was pointing straight at his face. The stubborn man didn’t flinch and he did not heed your warning.

“The last time someone sent me away,” he speaks calmly, “I lost them forever.”

He continues walking straight until he was well within the sights of your pistol. If you shoot now, no matter how fast you moved your hand away, it wouldn’t matter. It would be fatal.

And yet, there still isn’t an ounce of fear in Luis’ eyes.

What the hell is he doing? Is he actually trying to get himself killed?

Yes. Kill him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head wildly in the futile hopes that whatever gripped its hold over you would finally relent and disappear. Luis must have sensed the agonizing conflict within you as you hear him gently call you out, effectively pulling your focus back to the surface. Your name upon your lips felt like a soothing caress upon your raging mind. When you open your eyes, he had a smile across his lips. It was different from the coy, teasing ones he usually wears around you. It felt sincere and comforting, like he was silently assuring you that everything will be okay. His grey eyes captures you, the look in his gaze is intense and unwavering. The way he’s staring at you now makes it feel like you are the only thing in the room to him.

“Otra vez no. Not again.”

He grabs the barrel of your pistol and you thanked whatever gods there were that you still had the strength to stop yourself from firing your gun. But when you thought the man would help you move the gun off his person, he shocks you even further. With a slow push, he lowers your aim until the gun was positioned right over his chest where his heart beats.

This guy really wants to die!?

Leon shouts out before you, “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

The man looks over his shoulder slightly, he seems to ponder over Leon’s words and after a moment, he sighs with a somber nod.

“Puede que tengas razón. I must be.” He smiles sadly. “The most insane man on this whole island.”

Luis returns his attention to you, his expression relaxes ever so slightly at the sight of you despite the terrified, confused look upon your face.

“Escúchame,” he began, his voice low in an almost intimate whisper. “When I took the plaga out of my body, I did it out of a sense of duty. Not out of a desire for self-preservation. I’ve already led a pretty shitty life, you know? The world would be better off without me in it. Pero, I first wanted to correct my mistakes. Set things right. That way, uh, when I finally died, I’d have left doing some real good for once.”

His words were shaky and you come to the conclusion then that he was nervous. Yet amidst his evident anxiousness, Luis seemed like he was genuinely speaking from the chest for once with none of the dodgy, playful attitude he usually wears like a tattoo upon his skin. He was a completely different person before your eyes. Knowing this, knowing he is showing this side of himself to you, made each word out of his mouth weigh heavily on your heart.

“But then we met. Chained together by some sick twist of fate. And from that moment on, we’ve been stuck together, fighting alongside each other, protecting one another. Sure, I may have abused my charm to get you to accept my services and I’m fairly certain that you despise me now for being the cause of all of this suffering but….” he pauses, it was first time you’ve ever seen the man like this. As if his life depended on every word he was giving you and he needed to get it down right.

After another moment passes, Luis chuckles lowly like he just remembered a sad joke before catching your gaze again. “Being by your side, it felt like I was finally breathing for the first time in years. Breathing like a man who wants to live for something worthwhile. And it’s all because of you.”

Your eyes widen at his raw confession.

Luis continues, not waiting for you to respond, “You are the light that pulled me from the darkness. My light. Mi luz. And if it makes me crazy to want to stay with you to fight this virus when I’m just a trigger pull away from death, then so be it. I’m crazy. But I’m not leaving your side. No hay manera.”

No way. He’s being completely real right now and you swear your heart bursted out of your chest. Again, he doesn’t wait for you to speak.

“¿Comprende?”, he moves his free hand to your neck, not to wrap around your throat, rather to cradle your cheek in his palm. His touch felt warm and his eyes reflect his burning resolve. “I’m not going anywhere without you. So you have to fight. Fight against the darkness, mi luz. Fight, and let’s get out of here together.”

When he finished, you were crying. You don’t know when the tears started flowing but you know you must be quite a sight with the heavy wet streaks down your face. Luis didn’t seem to mind though, nothing but pure adoration on his dashing face.

“You are the worst, you know that?” you finally say after what seemed like an eternity, reigning in your sobs, deeply moved by Luis’ heartfelt declaration and faith in you. He laughs at your half-hearted snark. “For the record, I don’t despise you. Not even a little.”

Soft smiles and lingering looks exchange between you two. In his eyes, you saw deep longing and hopeful promises that needn’t be said aloud. You returned them with a silent nod, acknowledgment that his affection was not one-sided and the man graces you with that radiant smile you have grown to adore.

Luis really does have a beautiful smile.

It almost made you forget for a moment that the infection was taking over you.

Do it.

“Leon,” you croaked, straining to get your words out, but remained firm in your conviction. Your fellow agent meets your eyes and a mutually understanding was made. “Do it.”

Confusion furrows Luis’ brow and the sound of Leon cocking his gun made the man tense.

Poor little lamb.

“I’m sorry, Luis.”

“¡NO!”

Shot fired.

[cainnleacghlovers]

History Class - CP

Pairing: Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N is new to Hershey High School. What happens when the boy she sits beside in history really likes her?

Part 1/3

Read part 2 here

Sitting in the car with your mum, you wanted to open the door. But you also wanted to just melt into the seat. Your hand lingered on the door.

“I know we’re a smart bunch, but we haven’t invented doors that magically open yet.” Your mum said.

“Maybe I’ll invent that. But that can only be done at home. We’ll have to back.” You said, looking at her. Please let me stay off, you thought.

“Y/N Y/SN open that door now, or by god, i’ll open it for you.” Your mum warned, obviously sick of that fact you’d been sat here, how long? 20 minutes. The pit in the bottom of your stomach not leaving.

You were new to America, living in Ireland your whole life. Your dad was a lawyer, and had a case here, so the whole family were packed up and moved. It’s not that you didn’t like it, you did. But, god, the food here really was processed.

Groaning, you opened the door, your hand slipping from the metal as your rubbed your sweaty hands on your brother in the back seat.

“You shite! Mum! She rubbed her sweaty paws all over me!” Your brother complained. Your mum, who was used to your bickering, gave you the look, and you got out.

“Be good! Learn lots! Darragh be nice, and Y/N you also be nice! Love you!” Your mum shouted out the window, as you and your brother mumbled a ‘love you’ back.

“I actually despise you.” Your brother said, as he made his way into the building.

“Feeling is more than mutual.” You said, rolling your eyes, as you too, made your way into the building. This better be like high school musical.

—

This was not like high school musical. As you sat in reception, the accent of the receptionist going through you. She handed you your timetable, and half expecting someone to show you around, she threatened you with a detention if you didn’t shut your mouth, and get going.

Looking down at the timetable, you tried to understand it. What on earth was homeroom? Well, you knew it’s were they all got detention in the first high school musical. Wondering aimlessly around the corridors, you somehow managed to find your class. Thankfully the door didn’t have a window, so you hyped yourself up, trying to mark your hand open the door. The pit in the bottom of your stomach making you physically fold over to ease it, and as your heart was about to break through your ribs with how fast it was beating.

You moved your hand onto the handle of the door, and it instantly slid off from how sweaty your palms were. What if you had to shake the teachers hand? And her hand started dripping from your sweat? Did Americans shake hands? You were overthinking.

“Stop this bull crap Y/N, and open the bloody door!” You chastised yourself, as you pushed the handle down and pulled the door.

Why wasn’t the door opening? Was it looked? Your heart raced, as you tried to open the door, your eyes frantically scanning it, looking for a lock. As you found the lock, you noticed a sign.

‘Pull’

Shit. The door was a pull door. Absolutely mortified, you pulled the door, and the entire class turned to look at you. Blushing, you stepped in, closing the door behind you. Suddenly aware of every detail of yourself, you tucked your hair behind your ear, and then untucked it.

You’ll be okay Y/N, your brain said.

The teacher gave you a warm smile, calming your nerves as she directed your over to the middle of the class.

“Y/N. How are you my dear? I’m Mrs Jackson.”

“Good thanks. How are you?” You said. Your voice a little shaky.

“Just fine. Everyone sit down. And by that I mean Christian. Sit down.” Her voice became firm, and you looked for the boy she told to be quiet. Oh god, he was really cute. Like really cute.

He must’ve saw you looking, and he flashed you a wink. So that’s what type of boy he was. Furrowing your eyebrows, you stuck your tongue out at him, earning a silent chuckle from him, as he sat down.

“Christian, shush.” The teacher said again, giving him a firm look. You were familiar with the look, your mum an absolute master at it. You knew when you got it, you better shout your mouth.

“This is Y/N. And she’ll be joining us this year. Why don’t you tell the class about yourself dear,?” She said.

You knew this question would come up, so you and your brother had rehearsed it the night before. He’s never admit that though.

“Uhm, hi. I’m Y/N.” Should you wave? No that would be weird.

“Where are your from Y/N?” Mrs Jackson asked.

“Ireland. Born and raised.” You replied.

“Well i’m sure you all make Y/N feel very welcome. Now, everyone up. Seating plan.”

The entire class groaned and you suspected the teacher did it so you wouldn’t have to do the awkward ‘is anyone sitting here’ either way, you were grateful.

As the whole class stood, and eagerly waited for their name, a boy came up to you. He was tall, and had mousy brown hair, with bright blue eyes. He was definitely cute.

“Hi, Im Noah Campbell.” The American accent made you cringe, not because it was ugly, but because you weren’t used to it yet.

“Y/N S/N.”

The two of you chatted away, before he asked for your number. Which you gladly give him. Eager to have someone to talk to here, even if it was just a friend.

“I know this is kinda forward, but i’d love to hang out?” ‘Hang out’ eww.

“Yeah! That sounds fun.” You said. It wasn’t a lie. You did wanna make friends.

“I’ll text you about it.” As he grabbed his bag, to head over to the seat he’d been given.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Y/N. Beside Christian there.”

No. No. No. This could not be happening. You had to sit beside Christian? For a whole year. You loved your life!

A few of his friends blew on their fingers, making a whistling noise. Christian slapped one, as he gave them the finger behind the teachers back.

You sat beside him, and you both waited for the other person to speak first.

“Just my luck I get stuck beside the class clown who isn’t even funny. Just wonderful!” You remarked. You’d dealt with those boys back home, looks like America was the exact same.

“Someone’s known me 2 seconds and thinks she had me figure out.” He said, his eyes rolling at your sarcastic tone.

If you could build a metaphorical wall between the both of you, you would. Where’s the nearest place that sells concrete?

“Oh I know I’ve figured you out. You’re probably a football boy, sorry soccer boy. Don’t even get me started on the word soccer. You probably make out with girls in the car your daddy bought you, but you can’t give them anything serious because ‘sport commitments’.” You made quotation marks with your fingers on the last bit, as you took a breath to continue. “You pretend you don’t try in school, but you get upset if you get below like 80%. Your best subject is English, but you tell everyone it’s PE, sorry gym. Don’t get me started on that either. How’d I do?”

You wouldn’t of had the guts to say that to a boy back home, but he didn’t know you, so you could technically say whatever the hell you wanted. You liked this new confidence.

“Do you wanna be one of the girls in my car at lunch? Because I think I can make it happen.” He said. You rolled your eyes. Ass hole.

“I’ll leave that for someone else. Thanks for the offer though.” You said, already done with him. And you had to do this for a whole year? Not fair.

“You’ll warm up to me.” He said, his hands resting on his head as he stretched out on the chair. You couldn’t lie, he was really hot. Like really.

“I’m sure we’ll be best buddy’s by the end of the year.”

—

Taking notes, as Mrs Jackson talked about the cold war, you felt a bringer prod your arm. Ignoring it, you continued writing, before the tapping became more constant. You smacked his arm away, and tried to focus on the board, and not on him. That was a challenge.

Giving up on talking to you, he scribbled something down in his book, ripped the corner off, and folded it over. Why he did that when he could’ve just gave it to you? You didn’t know.

You didn’t want to open the note, but your curiosity got the better of you as you began the gruelling process of unwrapping the note. You eventually did, and scoffed as you read it.

‘I see you looking at me and you think I don’t notice. You know you wanna give into the Pulisic’

Crumbling the note up, you put it into your pocket. You had to update your best friend back home. She was convinced you’d find the love of your life here. Pretty unlikely.

“Croatian surname.” You guessed. You weren’t entirely sure, but it looked Croatian. You hoped you were right. How embarrassing would it be if you weren’t? God, the thought almost made you sick.

“Yep. How’d you know?” He popped the ‘ep’ sound on the yep.

Thank goodness you were right.

“Listen.” You told him. You didn’t actually know, so you couldn’t tell him. He probably thought you were in love with him or something.

Laughing, the teacher turned to face you.

“What’s so funny Christian and Y/N?” She questioned, hands on her hips.

“The Irish are a funny bunch Miss.” He said, you rolled your eyes as the rest of the class laughed at his joke.

“I’m sure they’re hilarious. Now be quiet.”

—

Christian hadn’t had enough of tormenting you yet. He kept kicking your foot lightly, or stealing your pencil case off of your desk.

“You’re an annoying bastard!” You said.

“My feelings are hurt.” He replied, hand on his heart.

“Aww, i’m devastated for-”

Turning back around, the teacher was clearly annoyed at Christian.

“Christian when was the Battle of Waterloo.” He blushed, as he clearly didn’t know the answer.

“Don’t know Miss.”

“Maybe that’s a sign to listen then. Y/N what about you?” She asked, clearly thinking you didn’t know the answer. She was in for a surprise.

“June 18th 1815.” You said, clearly shocking her. “On a Sunday.” You added, making the class laugh.

“When was the Bastille broken into?” She challenged.

“July 14th 1789.”

She was impressed.

“How long was Nero emperor of Rome?” Thank goodness for Horrible Histories.

“54 AD till 68 AD.”

She thought for a moment, before challenging you again.

“What’s the oldest monarchy still ruling?”

“The Japanese.” You said, as you watched her shake her head.

“It’s the Danish.” She argued, clearly pleased that she’d caught you out. She wasn’t right though, but was it rude to say something? But your ego couldn’t let her win.

Don’t say it Y/N. Don’t say it.

“That’s a common misconception.” And you said it.

“The exact date isn’t known of when the Danish monarchy was establish, but it’s speculated by historians that it was around the 10th century, some even saying as early as the 8th. So roughly, that makes it what? 1200 years old. The Japanese monarchy dates back to 11th February 660AD, being ruled by Emperor Jimmu. So that makes it the 6th century. So that makes it older.”

You finished your sentence. You were so going to be known as the nerd now. You ran your tongue over your teeth as you waited for what the teacher was going to say. The whole class erupted in a chorus of ‘oohs’ as the teacher was challenged.

You tilted her head, typing obnoxiously loud. Nice to see all teacher did that, not matter the nationality.

“I stand corrected. Maybe you should teach the glass.” She was clearly impressed, and with all eyes on you, you blushed. She chuckled lightly as she ci tuned the lesson. The embarrassment sent best through you, and you took your jumper, sorry, sweatshirt off.

“Pretty and smart. Lethal combo. If you were one of them action game characters, you’d be the one everyone would want.” He explained, as his eyes watched you take your jumper off.

“Aww you think i’m pretty.” You countered.

Clearly flustered, his cheeks tinted red, as he suddenly became interested in The French Revolution.

The bell rang, making you jump slightly. Man it was loud.

As everyone began to pack away, Mrs Jackson shouted over the class.

“Make sure you revise that. Pop quiz next class.” So Americans actually did pop quizzes. Hmm. You got your knowledge from Gilmore Girls, so you weren’t sure how accurate that was, but so far so good.

—

Leaving the class, you chatted to one of the girls in your class. Running up to you, Christian pulled the back of your bag, pulling you back towards him.

“What’d you do that for you ass!” You stated angry, pulling your bag away from his grasp.

“Can I get your number. I’m shit at history, and you’re clearly not shit, so? I need help.” Dragging out the ‘o’ sound in ‘so’ he put his hands in his pockets.

“Only for history reasons though. Not because i’m pretty.” You challenged, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yep.” He said, distracted by the boy who threw a slap against the back of his head. One he gladly returned. Ugh, boys.

“Can I type it in your phone?” You asked. Handing you his phone, one that looked tiny in his hands. Your hands brushed his, and your eyes met. He looked away after a second, clearly embarrassed.

Christian wasn’t as bad ass as he let on.

“History only.” You replied, handing his phone back to him.

“Totally.”

Giving him a final nod, you began to walk to your next class. Well, you pretended to walk to your next class. There’s no way you were gonna let him know you had no idea where you were going.

Hearing a commotion behind you, you seen his friends pushing him around, clearly teasing him. His eyes met yours across the hall way.

“Very funny.” He mouthed to you. You returned the laugh, and took a left. Science halls. Completely wrong subject.

I guess he didn’t like the message on his phone, instead of your number.

‘I’m not giving into the Pulisic x’

—

Eventually finding your English class, you sat down on the only free seat. Grateful the teacher wasn’t into introductions.

“I’m Olivia.” The girl said, giving you a warm smile.

“I’m Y/N.” You said, returning her warm smile.

—

As the bell went, Olivia caught up to you.

“Do you do cheer?” She asked, steering you in the right direction.

“I dance, if that’s the same thing.” You said. You’d always wanted to be a cheer leader. It was part and parcel with the typical American high school experience.

“It’s basically the same thing. You should come. I can tell you’re good.” She told you, making your heart warm. It was nice to have a girl to talk to.

“Embarrassed to admit this, but ever since I’ve watched glee, I was like ‘I need pom-poms.” She laughed.

“I love glee! You’ve got taste.” She said. As you took out your phone to message your mum.

You: Can you pick my up at like 5ish. There’s cheer tryouts and i’m gonna go

Putting your phone away, you looked back up.

“Oh, and you’re totally sitting beside us at lunch.”

—

Checking your phone, you seen your mum has replied.

mum💗: Sounds fun. Pull out your backflip to impress them. Glad to know you’re getting stuck in. Good luck darling - mum x

Laughing to yourself, you put your phone away. Why did parents always sign their name?

Walking into the ‘gym’ hall, arm and arm with Olivia, you were a bit shocked at how many people were here, and you were incredibly taken back by the spectators.

None other than the boys ‘soccer’ team.

And who happened to be bang in the middle, stuffing grapes in his mouth.

Christian Pulisic.

“Don’t worry, they watch every year. Claim it’s to ‘see if the people cheering for them are actually any good’ bunch of jerks the lot of them.” Olivia clearly thought like you.

Walking over to the sign up table, the girl behind the table gave you a sweet smile.

“Olivia.” She nodded, recognising the girl.

“Hi i’m April. So basically how this works is; we hit shuffle on a playlist that’s been pre-made. The girls know the songs on it, and they kinda know what to expect for their improv. Obviously, you don’t have the playlist, so you can chose a song if you want.”

Expecting the songs to be popular hits of that year, you didn’t worry. You also didn’t want the other girls to hate you when you got to chose and they didn’t.

“Oh it’s grand. Hit shuffle. Wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t.”

“You sure?”

You nodded to her.

“This is just a dance segment. So no tricks.”

“Sound.” You replied.

—

Heading into the changing rooms with Olivia, you didn’t have anything to change into.

“Here.” She said, sending your nerves to ask her, as she threw a pair of shorts and a top at you. Your shoes would do.

Quickly getting changed, you waited your turn. Seeing people perform before you. They were good. Far better than you expected.

“Y/N S/N.” They announced, and the boys erupted in cheers, as they all pulled Christian up. He gave you a sheepish smile, with a weak thumbs up. You smiled back at him.

Waiting for the song to come on, your previous prediction was right as you heard ‘sorry’ by Justin Bieber spill from the speakers. You’d done a group dance to this the year previously.

Smirking, you took your starting pose, hand on your hip, and one hand covering your eye, Lady Gaga style. You started your dance.

—

Finishing your 2 minutes of improv. You got back up, pushing your hair out of your face, as everyone applauded. You thought about bowing, but that would be really cringey. So you stuck to a smile, as you sheepishly ran back to the bleachers.

“Girl! You did not tell me you could do that!” Olivia exclaimed. Obviously impressed.

“Says the girl who has legs for days.” You we’re jealous of her legs. Every dancers dream.

“Oh stop you’re making me blush.” She smiled, as you put some deodorant on.

“Here i’ll wash this and then give it to you. I’d knock you out with the smell. You joked, as she laughed.

“That’s okay.”

Taking your bag, and thanking a few girls who complimented you, you made your way out of the school and seen you mum parked.

“That’s my mum there. I’ll see you later.”

“Yep. Catch you later.” She said, making her way over to a car. You forgot Americans could drive so young here. You thought about asking your mum, but you already hear her response.

‘For no love or money are you taking driving lessons.’

As you walked over, you heard feet hitting the pavement behind you, turning around to see Christian coming over to you.

“Didn’t think you’d be able to do that now.” He said, walking beside you, as if you were going in the same direction.

“I’m full of surprises.” You countered. You looked over, and seen your mum smiling to herself in the car. She was going to bring this up at dinner. Ugh.

You stopped walking, and Christian kept walking. Realising, he walked backwards to stand beside you, Making you laugh.

“Offers still open if you wanna be one of those girls in my car.” He said.

“Go tell my mum that. I’m sure she’d love to hear how quickly i’m making friends.”

He looked over, and seen your mum in the car. Flashing her a grin, he waved at her, and she waved back. Your mum was definitely going to call him ‘polite’ and say ‘if he’s your boyfriend, i won’t be mad.’

“I’ll leave that till at least the second date.” He smirked. God, he was confident.

“You can’t even get my number. Never mind get a date. Never mind bloody two dates!” You exclaimed, making him laugh.

“Hm, well i’m confident that me and you will be pretty close soon.” He prompted.

“Uh huh.” You replied.

You stood in silence for a few seconds, and them seconds felt like hours. Week. Months. Years.

“Bad time to ask for your number then?”

“Very bad time.”

“Well, I love a challenge.” He replied, clapping his hands together.

“See you tomorrow then Y/N. Be up bright and early for history.”

“Right Christian. See you later.” He gave you a final grin, and walked away. Giving your mum another wave.

Walking over to the car, you opened the door and looked straight ahead.

“He seems like a polite boy.” You knew she’d say that.

“Yeah he’s nice enough.”

“It’s fine if he’s your boyfriend.” And you knew he’d say that.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Righto.” She said, before driving off.

You think you’re falling for Christin Pulisic.

Eehh! This is definitely going to be a part 2. Wait till you see what i’ve got planned…🤭 Thanks for reading! :)