#unexpected cluster

[impure-as-a-lamb]

ain’t no way i was blaming myself for something and then i just said “but it literally isn’t my fault…” y’all am i finally in my healing era?? that’s so crazy tbh.

[shining-gem34]

Bastard (Good): You're a bastard. A wet cat, if you will. And we love you for it. You're a little shit, but in the good way. You are the baddest babygirl. You killed a man, but you looked good doing it. You flirted with the hero and the enemy. All of Tumblr is madly in love with you. Congrats, I guess?

> picrew || uquiz

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

i’ve never made a request before so sorry if this is bad but if you could write something about matt murdock with a fake dating trope like that would be so cute, especially if there’s feelings realized during/after it :)

a/n: i swear, i tried to just keep this short and sweet like how i usually keep requests, but then the fantasy i came up with was just too fun and too much like a fucking romcom not to just let myself go ham and turn it into a full-on long fic

word count: 3778

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Leaning your weight against the bar, you waited for Josie to return with another round of beers for you and your friends, who still remained exactly where you’d left them, all clustered around the pool table further into the space. 

Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the ring so often glued to your fingers, passing the heirloom from each digit and sliding it onto the next. It had been your grandmother’s, and ever since her passing, the simple golden circle with a little jade embedded at the cusp of it, rarely stayed in your jewellery box as the act of simply glancing down at it on your finger somehow offered you a drop of comfort in moments of mundane gloom. 

As the heirloom arrived at your left ring finger and slid down over the knuckle, a familiar voice suddenly emanated like an echo after the bar’s front door had swung open. 

“Y/n?” your whole body froze up at the unexpected timbre. 

Slowly, you twisted around to discover none other than your ex, wide eyes trained on you as he clutched the hand of a leggy blonde. 

“Henry!” you gasped, hoping they mistook the horrified look on your face for innocent shock, “oh my god…” 

Without any warning, the next thing you knew, he’d yanked your stunned form into a hug, “how the hell are you?” he clapped your shoulder as if you were old school chums, “it’s been so long.”

“I’m–, uhm, fine,” you managed to reply. 

“Yeah?” he smiled, the insincerity in your tone completely flying over his head, “that’s great.” 

Simply to be polite, you awkwardly asked, “…how are you?” even though you truly didn’t wish to know the answer.  

“I’m good, yeah, life’s been kinda crazy lately because–, oh,” he suddenly paused to glance back at the girl by his side, “Y/n, you remember Rebecca, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed and offered her a glance, fearing steam might billow out of your ears at any moment, “hi.”

“Hey,” she smiled brightly as she tossed her luscious locks over her shoulder, “and please don’t mind him,” she clapped a palm over Henry’s chest, “he’s just freaking out, you know, usual guy stuff before finally getting tied down.”

“I’m sorry,” you blinked, nearly pinching yourself to test if this was a nightmare or not, “before what?”

Rebecca then held up her left hand to flash you the massive rock nestled on her fourth finger. 

“I finally popped the question!” Henry grinned and draped an arm around his fiancé.

“Wow, oh wow, that’s–…” you sputtered as the blonde promptly shoved her hand in your face for you to get a better look, “that’s a really big rock, right there, on your finger…” your touch floated up and tilted her palm slightly, the light from the neon sign close by glinting in the diamond, “congratulations…”

“Thanks!” she smiled down at the ring herself before her fingers suddenly captured your own and twisted your hand around, “oh wait, congrats to you too!” 

“What?” you still simply tried to keep breathing through this agonising gut-punch of an encounter. 

“I know they say that size doesn’t matter,” Rebecca eyed the tiny green stone that adorned your grandmother’s ring, “and it doesn’t! I mean, that’s so pretty,” she uttered in a sugary sweet and insincere tone that made you feel as if you were back in high school again, “understated, simple.” 

“Ah, no way,” Henry peeked down at your hand, “you’re engaged too?”

“Uh…” you let out a shaky breath, “yep,” the lie then suddenly flew out past your lips before you had a chance to stop it, “that’s me! I’m getting married.” 

“That’s amazing,” your ex let out an airy chuckle, “who’s the lucky guy?”

But before your lips could part and let out another lie, Josie returned, “here you go, hon,” and slid four beer bottles across the bar to you before adding, “and would you tell Foggy to stop sitting on the edge of the pool table? It’s old and I can’t be responsible if it breaks on him.”

“Sure thing,” you promised and snatched up the drinks. 

“Is that your man?” Henry cast a glance to the lawyer Josie had gestured to, “Foggy, was it?”

“Foggy?” a soft giggle couldn’t help but bubble out of your lungs, “no! Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but no, sadly, he’s already taken.” 

“Then who is it?” 

“Is it the other guy over there?” Rebecca chimed in as they both sent their glances towards your friends, “the one in the light blue shirt and tinted glasses?”

“Uh, yeah…” you squeaked as you slowly turned to look at Matt as well, “that’s–, uh, that’s him,” you watched as he readjusted his grip on the cue stick in his hand, “that’s my future husband…”

“Hm,” a sliver of judgment slipped out of Henry, “wouldn’t have pegged him to be your type.”

“Well, maybe my type has changed,” you stated, letting your lingering resentment show before you noticed how harsh it had come out and your stomach immediately began to twist and knot in regret, “I–…” you swiftly winched, “sorry,” and averted your gaze, “have a nice evening, uh–, I’m gonna go back to my friends,” you stumbled as you tried to escape. 

Though as you turned to walk away, Henry’s voice found your ears one last time, “bye!” before you heard his fiancé turn to him. 

“Pookie? Would you order me a cosmo?” her voice began to fade into the background, “I’ll go find us a table…” 

You simultaneously felt as if a truck had just run you over as your feet carried you back towards your friends, yet also completely numb, as if you’d been turned into a floating ghost of the person you used to be. 

“Who the hell was that and why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” Foggy asked cautiously as he grabbed two of the bottles in your grasp and handed one off to Matt. 

Passing one of the remaining drinks off to Karen, you then lifted your own up to your lips before tipping it back and downing around half of its contents. Once you tilted the dark green bottle back down, you were out of breath as you began to explain, “that,” you wiped your bottom lip with one of your knuckles, “was my ex,” you used that same finger to hazily point back over your shoulder, “and his fiancé,” your eyes stayed fuzzy as you added, “who happen to be the girl that he cheated on me with for a year before I one day finally caught them together.”

“Oh my god…” Karen breathed, her bottle frozen halfway on its journey up towards her lips. 

“It was on easter,” you shared, “he thought I had gone back home to see my family, but I’d actually decided to secretly do this whole big surprise, like I thought I was in fucking rom-com or something,” you sighed at your past self, “but then when he got home from work, and I was all decked out, waiting on the bed, in bunny ears and everything,” you heatedly gestured to the top of your own head, “he wasn’t alone.”

“Wow…” Foggy stared. 

“Yep…” you exhaled heavily, taking another swig before you made the mistake of glancing back over your shoulder just as Rebecca shrugged off her coat and slinked onto a stool at one of the small tables, “fuck!” you exclaimed as if you’d just stubbed your toe, “she’s even hotter than I remembered. How is that possible?” 

“Oh, she’s not that pretty,” Karen tried, but you swiftly cut her off. 

“You shut your face, she’s basically a human-sized Barbie,” your glare roamed one last time from the top of her platinum locks to the bottoms of her high stilettos, “god…” you sighed as you finally averted your gaze and lifted your bottle to drown your sorrows, “I was such an idiot back there. It was like my brain just stopped working and–, oh my god!” your palm shot up to cover your mouth as you then suddenly recalled the lie that had slipped out. Slowly, your wide eyes drifted to Matt, who still remained silent, “oh no…” 

“What is it?” Foggy chimed in. 

“Matt…” you uttered tensely, knowing your friend well enough to be aware of just how much of the interaction with your ex he had overheard, “I am so sorry…”

“What?” Karen’s glance darted between you both, “what’s going on?”

Paralysing embarrassment churned your stomach and choked out any attempt you made to share the truth. But luckily, as your erratic heartbeat thumped and found Matt’s sharp ears, he eventually filled in instead, “…they thought that she was engaged as well and then assumed that I was the guy.” 

“I am so, so sorry,” you gasped, “I don’t know why I didn’t correct them.”

But to your amazement, Matthew simply shrugged and offered you a reassuring smile, “it’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“I was just fiddling with my ring and then they just–…” you then snuffed out your frantic explanation and instead repeated once again, “I’m sorry…”

Saddling up beside you, Karen planted a palm on your shoulder, “hey, if that was my ex, then I’d wanna give him some of his own medicine as well,” she stated, “if not just straight up cut off his balls, which is what he really deserves.” 

A faint smile then began to soften your expression as you glanced around at your supportive friends, Foggy briefly reaching out to pat your other shoulder. 

But as you averted your eyes to the nearly empty bottle in your grasp, a thought suddenly struck you like a bolt of lightning, “wait, I have an idea…” your gaze slowly lifted to lock on Matt, “I mean, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I totally get it, but would you mind, just while they are here, to–, uhm…”

Cocking his eyebrow, he finished your sentence, “…to pretend to be your fiancé?” 

“I know, it’s stupid, and I should probably just go home right now instead of playing some weird and immature game of revenge or whatever,” you uttered as you made the decision to lie in the grave you’d dug for yourself, “but I would forever be in your debt, I'm serious.” 

Sucking in a breath, he barely had to think about it before he murmured, “sure.”

“Really?” you gasped, your brows shooting up, “you’ll do it?” 

“Yeah, why not?” Matt shrugged, “it’s the very least he deserves for treating you like that.”

“Oh,” you crossed the short distance between you two and threw your arms around him. It took a second before you felt him hug you back, but when the alcohol got to your head and made you mutter, “I love you,” into his shoulder, a low chuckle rumbled in the lawyer's chest before you parted ways. 

“So,” Karen then began to fish out the colourful spheres and roll them back into the green felt, “do we still wanna play another game?”

“Hell yeah,” Foggy picked a cue stick back up before adding a playful threat, “you’re not beating me again this time, Page.”

Once the table was set up for another round of pool and you were a few turns in, your gaze couldn’t help but wander back towards the other end of the bar too often to keep track of. Though, soon on one of the fleeting looks, your eyes grew wide as you discovered you weren’t the only one sneaking glances.

Discreetly, you shifted closer to Matthew and leaned in to whisper, “he’s looking over,” however, when he then draped an arm around your frame, you couldn’t help but stiffen up, as you hadn’t thought that far in the plan yet, “what are you–”

“Shh,” Matt hushed your squeak, “just lean into me,” he shifted to stand tall behind you, arms enveloped around your form as he slowly drew you back against his chest, “smile,” his low voice tickled the shell of your ear and caused goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “and don’t look at him.” 

Redirecting your vision back towards the game before you, you narrowly managed to catch sight of the silent slut-shaming the other lawyer flashed his friend with but a glance, before he went back to the mischievous mission he was on. 

“Foggy, would you quit it?” Karen grumbled at the man beside her as he wildly waved both of his hands in her periphery, successfully knocking off her concentration as she tried to line up her shot. 

“No way,” he kept up his flapping, even causing Karen’s golden locks to get picked up by the breeze he produced. 

“You’re cheating.”

“Nope, I am not touching you nor the table,” he stated as if he was in court, “distracting you doesn’t break any rules.”

And as she finally made her attempt, the ball didn’t go in, causing her to explode in a roar, “damn it, Fog!”

“Ha, ha, yes!” he jumped as she straightened back up, “you know, I taste something right now, what could that be? Oh yeah, victory. And it tastes sweet as candy store.” 

“Urgh,” Karen rolled her eyes at him before her glare landed upon the both of you, “Matt, your turn. Would you please set him in his place?”

“Gladly,” Matt chuckled, and as he shifted closer to the pool table, he nudged your side and asked, “hey, would you give me a hand?”

Swallowing a chuckle as you already knew he very much didn’t need it, you cocked an eyebrow, “you want my help?”  

“Yeah,” he uttered clearly and let his real message seep through his tone, guiding your gaze to flicker back toward Henry, who’s stare was still locked upon you both, “so come help me.” 

“Oh!” it finally clicked in your brain, “right,” and you swiftly slid in beside him. 

With bated breath, you grabbed Matt’s hand that wasn’t clutching the pole, and guided it over the ivory ball that rested close to one of the corners. As you began to map out and tell him where each of the other spheres were, your eyes flicked over to notice just how close you now stood, as your nose nearly grazed against his stubbly cheek as you murmured guidingly. When you retracted your touch, you barely noticed how a few of Matt’s fingers reacted, faintly following your fading palm for but a second before it floated back down to the white orb below it. 

Once he’d made his shot, you lingered in the proximity and whispered, “do you think they’re buying it?” 

“Hm?” 

“This,” your eyes momentarily flickered back towards your ex across the bar, “us.”

Matthew’s brows then floated up as you reeled him back in to the matter at hand, “oh, I–, probably.” 

“Or should we do something else?” your mind kept on spinning, “I don’t know, I feel like I’ve completely forgotten how all of that works,” you shared, “kinda just numbed and cut off that part of myself after he broke my heart, it was just how I had to get through it, shut down a little bit because suddenly romance was terrifying…”

“...can I ask you something?” he asked quietly after a breath, and when you offered him a hum in confirmation, he uttered, “are you still in love with him?” 

Time stretched out before you finally replied, “I was, for a very long time…” your voice stayed small, “…but no, not anymore… I kind of thought I was, but then seeing him again cleared it all up. All I feel when I look at him now is rage,” you exhaled, “and pity, just because I know him too well, know everything that’s messed up about him…” silence encumbered you both for a moment before you then opened your mouth once more and said, “so, should we hold hands or something?” you asked plainly, though when a genuine laugh then began to billow out of Matthew, your eyes blinked up at him as your brows swiftly knit together, “what?”

“You know,” he tried to snuff out his chuckle, “if I was actually your fiancé, I wouldn’t just stand around and hold your hand all night,” he then leaned in the short distance till his lips nearly tickled the shell of your ear, “I would have dragged you into the bathroom by now and forced the whole bar to hear us fuck.” 

“I–, u-uhm,” you flusteredly stammered as your face began to heat up, “y-yeah, yeah, that’s good too,” you barely registered your own words as they slipped out past your lips, “if that’s what you wanna do–, I mean! Shut up!” you squeezed your eyes shut as soon as you regained your own senses, “just hold my hand, you dick,” you cursed over his laughter as he swiftly slipped his palm into your own.

“Cut it out, Karen,” Foggy’s voice cut through your haze and caught your attention. 

Glancing over, you spotted as Karen was giving him some of his own medicine, pettily leaning into his eye line, “what? You were the one saying that distractions weren’t against the rules,” she continued to glare in hopes of throwing him off his game, “why? Is this not working? Do you need me to scream directly in your ear instead?”

“Oh, would you?” he sarcastically looked to her, his pitch climbing up high at his words, “going deaf in one ear is exactly what I need to beat you.”

As your wandering gaze then flickered back towards the opposite end of the bar, your eyes grew wide as you spotted only Rebecca still seated at the small table, pink cocktail in her grasp. 

“Shit,” you spotted Henry as he crossed the room, confidently walking precisely in your direction, “he’s coming over,” you hissed, and in your muppet-like panic, your hands clasped each side of Matt’s face and yanked him in for a kiss. 

At first, he froze up as you continued to freak out, but then, as his broad palms slowly slid over your waist, all of your alarm began to melt away. It felt as if you were drifting off to sleep as you relaxed into the kiss. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that kissing Matt would feel like this, not that such a fantasy was something you pondered often or even at all, but as you felt his tongue flicker out to dance softly against your own, your knees beneath you wobbled as you lost yourself completely. How long the peck drew out remained a mystery, as when you eventually parted, the reasoning behind it wouldn’t emerge in your memory no matter how hard you tried. 

Though as you stood there, blinking back at Matt, still utterly spellbound by the unexpected feelings currently bubbling and bursting inside of you, the man now standing off to the side cleared his throat and brought you back down to earth. 

“Bunny–, I mean, Y/n,” you whipped your head around to catch sight of your ex, “just thought it would have been awkward if I didn’t come over here to introduce myself before me and Becca took off,” he muttered before his gaze fell to Matt, his arms slowly fading from your form, “I'm Henry, nice to meet you,” your ex then offered his hand, though the lawyer by your side didn’t grasp it, even if his heightened senses had lent him to pick up on the gesture. 

“Matt Murdock,” he uttered on a cold exhale. 

Stuffing his rejected palm into his pocket, Henry then asked, “what do you do?” 

“Matthew’s a lawyer,” you took over, slotting yourself into Matt’s side before you dramatically clasped a hand over his chest, “saves people for a living. That’s actually why we’re out celebrating tonight, he just won yet another case.” 

“Oh, well congratulations then,” Henry offered in well-forged petty politeness. 

“Yeah, I was there, watching him do his thing,” you uttered as some bitter goblin of resentment then took over your soul and caused you to say, “and oh boy, I tell you, if only it would have been socially acceptable for me to interrupt the trial just to rip his clothes off, because wow.”

A scoff then rippled in Henry’s chest, “okay, sure,” his stare upon you narrowed as he then grumbled, “we both know you’re not exactly the groupie type of girlfriend.” 

“Well, maybe your sorry ass was never worth her supporting you in that way,” Matt suddenly cut in, “maybe because you never bothered treated her that way in return,” his guess hit the bullseye, “and maybe that has a little something to do with why I was the one to put a ring on her finger and not you,” your heart thumped in your chest as Matt’s touch returned to the small of your back, protectively sliding over your waist as he continued to speak in a low and chillingly stern tone, “that or you really are as terrible of a lay as she told me you were, during those very first nights when she finally learned what it was like to be with someone who wasn’t a complete fucking idiot.” 

Utterly stunned, you watched Henry’s expression as he scrambled his brain for a way to crawl back from that, but eventually, when no suitable words came to his pea-sized brain, his feet slowly began to shuffle back till his hand had snatched up his fiancé’s and he’d yanked her with him out of the bar. 

As the door swung closed behind the pair, a celebratory squeal burst from your lungs, “oh my god! Matt, that was incredible!” you jumped in place before throwing your arms around him, “I don’t know how to thank you.” 

Tangling his own arms around you, he uttered, “I’m sure we’ll come up with some way you can make it up to me.” 

And as you withdrew, just enough to smile back at him, your gaze began to drift back down towards his lip just before Foggy’s voice cut through the palpable tension.

“Do I need to remind you guys that you’re not actually engaged?” 

“No,” Matt then murmured as the two of you parted ways, quietly enough for his words to be completely inaudible, “but we could be...” 

“What?” you glanced over at him. 

“What?” he echoed in return, though a bit too quickly. 

“Did you say something?”

“Me? No,” he tried to conceal his lie with a cough, “I-I, uh, think it’s your turn,” he then changed the subject, gesturing to the pool table behind you. 

  © 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[seumyo]

people thinking that sakusa’s being maltreated because of the bruises on his forearm, but the truth is . .

Sakusa is known to always wear his compression sleeves on and off the court for post-game press conferences. It completed his signature look. His overall flair.

Everything seemed normal at first, but it wasn’t long before murmurs surfaced through the room. Reporters exchanged glances, some scrolling through their phones, others whispering among themselves.

The reason? For the first time in a long while, Sakusa wasn’t wearing his compression sleeves.

His toned forearms were exposed for everyone to see, and to the media’s surprise, they weren’t completely unblemished. Faint bruises and clusters of reddish dots speckled his skin—nothing severe, but noticeable enough to raise eyebrows. Some looked older, fading into his skin, while others were more recent.

The questions were bound to come.

“Sakusa-san, many fans have noticed that you’re not wearing your usual sleeves today. And, well…” she hesitated, gesturing vaguely at his arms.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about the marks on your skin. Is everything alright?”

Sakusa blinked once, his expression unreadable. He glanced down at his arms, clearly catching onto what she meant. A moment of silence passed before he let out a slow exhale through his nose.

He knew this would happen eventually.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Then, into the mic, he deadpanned, “I’m fine.”

The room remained unconvinced.

Sakusa could already imagine what the internet was saying. Rumors were probably spreading like wildfire—was he getting into fights? Had he been injured in training? Worse, was something happening at home?

“If I may, are those from mosquitos? With the recent outbreak of mosquitos due to the warm weather, could it be from those?”

“No.”

“Allergies, perhaps?”

“None.”

A few more reporters shuffled in their seats, hesitant but clearly eager to dig deeper.

Then, another one asked, “Just to clarify, you’re saying these marks aren’t from… any sort of external conflict?”

Sakusa’s brow twitched. He leaned forward slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask as he adjusted the mic, and let out another small sigh. “I’m not being abused, if that’s what people are implying.”

The room went silent. His fellow players exchanged approving nods, letting their teammate handle the situation.

“My wife is in medical school,” Sakusa continued, his voice even, matter-of-fact. “She’s refreshing her phlebotomy skills, and I often volunteer to be her patient whenever she needs someone for a demo or assignment.”

The silence stretched for a moment before a few quiet chuckles broke through, some from relief, others from sheer amusement at the unexpected explanation. Well, it wasn’t often Sakusa talked about you.

“So… you’re saying these marks are from blood extractions?”

“Yes,” he answered, tilting his head slightly as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “She wants to practice, and I’d rather help her than have her struggle to find volunteers.”

Hinata whispered something to Bokuto, but even with the low volume of the mic, Sakusa still caught it.

“That’s kinda romantic.”

He turned his head slightly to glare at them, but Bokuto was already grinning. “No, but really! That’s, like, peak husband material. You’re not even fond of monthly checkups.”

Sakusa rolled his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Meian chuckled. “You’re literally letting someone practice on you repeatedly. That’s dedication.”

Reporters were already typing away, some clearly rewriting their headlines. What had started as a potentially scandalous story had turned into something else entirely.

The media had long known Sakusa to be a private person, almost aggressively so. He rarely spoke about his personal life, and to this day, many fans still couldn’t believe he was married. Out of all the MSBY Black Jackals players, Sakusa and your marriage are by far the most private.

It wouldn’t even have been known if it weren’t for Hinata’s post with the newly wedded couple a year ago!

And yet, here he was, casually revealing that he lets you practice medical procedures on him just to support your studies.

“Is she any good?” another reporter asked, grinning now. “At phlebotomy?”

His eyes narrowed briefly. “Her undergraduate course is medical laboratory science—so yes, she’s been doing this for years.”

“And you’ve never complained?”

He shrugged. That was the stupidest question he’s heard today.

“Why would I? She supports me in my career. The least I can do is support her in hers.”

The room was quiet for a second before a wave of approving murmurs spread across the lobby area. The tension had completely shifted.

Bokuto grinned. “Man, you’re really down bad for your wife, huh?”

Sakusa sighed, clearly regretting every life decision that led him to sitting next to Bokuto in this moment. “I don’t see how that’s relevant to volleyball.”

Hinata laughed. “It’s not, but it’s fun to watch you get all flustered as you tell them more about [Last Name], Omi!”

“I’m not flustered,” Sakusa muttered, tugging at his jersey sleeve slightly as if contemplating whether he should just start wearing them all the time again to avoid situations like this.

“Like hell ye aren’t,” Atsumu snorted.

By the time the conference ended, social media had already latched onto the revelation.

#SakusaBestHusband started trending almost immediately, with fans gushing over how unexpectedly sweet he was. Some joked that they wanted a “Sakusa-level” of support in their relationships.

-

You had been watching the press conference from your laptop at home, your face buried in your hands as your notifications blew up.

A few minutes later, Sakusa messaged you.

Kiyoomi: I hate the internet.

You: And they love you, actually.

Kiyoomi: They won’t shut up about me letting you stab me with needles.

You: You do let me stab you with needles.

Kiyoomi: It’s more than that. Ugh, people don’t educate themselves enough about your profession

Kiyoomi: And it sounds worse when you say it like that.

You laughed, shaking your head.

You: Well, you are the best husband in the whole world ever. You kind of brought this on yourself.

He didn’t reply right away, and you assumed he was on his way back home. But when your phone buzzed again, your heart warmed at the short but sincere message.

Kiyoomi: You’re worth it. Be home in 20 minutes

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[silkpagess]

Out of Office, into you

Summary: Y/N lands her dream job and definitely does not plan on falling for Harry Styles — her charming, too-handsome coworker with rolled-up sleeves and a knack for ruining her concentration. What starts as harmless flirtation over office coffee runs, late-night texts, and passive-aggressive Google Docs turns into romance and a very unexpected ending. She was just trying to survive her probation period. Now she’s wearing his sweater.

Content Warning: Light smut scene.

Word Count: 11,308

If Y/N had a pound for every time someone told her how “lucky” she was to land a job at Maven & Moore, she could’ve retired before even walking through the front doors.

Instead, she stood in the middle of their marble-tiled lobby—portfolio tucked under one arm, nerves simmering beneath a very carefully chosen cream blazer—reminding herself she belonged here.

The agency was sleek and modern, buzzing with creative chaos: voices bouncing off glass walls, interns speed-walking with coffee trays, and the faint smell of eucalyptus diffuser oil that was trying (and failing) to mask the scent of collective burnout.

She was five minutes early, but she liked to be early. People noticed that kind of thing. Especially in a place like this.

A receptionist with blunt bangs and effortless cool smiled at her. “Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me,” she replied, bright and breezy.

“HR will grab you in a sec. In the meantime, here’s your welcome kit—badge, laptop, schedule… and a company pen no one ever uses.”

Y/N laughed softly, slipping the folder under her arm. She didn’t care about the pen. She wanted her desk. Her first meeting. Her first opportunity to prove that she wasn’t just another hire—she was the hire.

And that’s when she noticed him.

Harry Styles. 

She’d heard about him in whispers during her interview rounds—strategist turned creative lead, impossible to hate, stupidly charming. But no one had mentioned he was hot.

Of course, she’d never admit that aloud.

Short brown curls, neatly trimmed. White T-shirt under a dark overshirt, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that looked too good for someone who probably spent most of his day typing. He was deep in conversation with someone, hands moving as he spoke, but he glanced over just long enough to meet her eyes—and smile.

It was subtle. Polite.

But curious.

“Hey,” said a soft voice behind her. HR had arrived. “Ready to see where the magic happens?”

Y/N gave one last glance at Harry and followed the woman toward the elevator.

⸻

The seventh floor was less sleek than the lobby and more chaotic—in a good way. Desks arranged in near-symmetrical clusters, walls pinned with half-finished campaigns and color palettes, the occasional potted plant trying to stay alive under industrial lighting.

They weaved past clusters of people already in meetings or arguing over font sizes.

“Your team lead is Harry,” HR said, motioning toward a desk near the windows. “You’ll be working closely with him. And—”

“I know who he is,” Y/N said, a little too quickly.

The woman smiled like she knew something Y/N didn’t. “He’s… sharp. But collaborative. And you’ve got quite the resume—everyone’s excited to see what you’ll do here.”

No pressure.

⸻

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as the HR rep left her with a cheery “Good luck!” and disappeared into the chaos. For a moment, she just stood there, blinking at her new desk.

It was… perfect. Sunlight pooled across the light wood surface, a sleek monitor already set up beside a few branded notebooks and—why not—a tiny succulent in a too-small pot. She sat down gingerly, unsure if she was allowed to, and traced the rim of her coffee cup just to keep her hands busy.

“Morning.”

Her stomach did a dumb little flip. She looked up—and there he was.

“Hi,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t come out weirdly high. “I’m Y/N.”

“I know,” he smiled. “I read your portfolio last week. You’re good.”

Oh. She tried not to beam. Tried even harder not to let that weird, fluttery warmth crawl up her neck.

“Thanks,” she replied. “I mean… thank you. I’m excited to be here.”

“You’ll fit in just fine.” Then he nodded toward his desk—adjacent to hers, naturally. “We’re seatmates, by the way. If I’m typing too loud or swearing at my inbox, just throw something.”

“Got it. Stapler or pen?”

He grinned. “Surprise me.”

⸻

The first week passed in a blur of logins, introductions, and cautiously making sense of company Slack channels with names like #meme-dump and #fontfights. But through all the buzz and buzzwords, Harry was there. Not hovering—never that—but orbiting close enough to feel like a safety net. An annoyingly good-looking, absurdly competent safety net.

He helped her navigate the folder system during her second morning, leaning over her shoulder with a half-eaten banana in one hand and pointing at her screen. She was hyper-aware of his cologne—clean, sharp, and vaguely citrusy—and the way his laugh rumbled low when he said, “Okay, no, ignore everything that says ‘Final_v3_Revised_REAL_FINAL’—those are all lies.”

By the end of the first week, they had a rhythm.

Harry was focused and fast—too fast sometimes, tossing out ideas that made her brain spin just to keep up. But he never made her feel behind. If anything, he seemed to enjoy her questions, even when she doubted herself. He’d tilt his head, lips tugging at the corner in that half-smile she was starting to recognize as his version of you’ve got this, and say, “Okay, walk me through what you’re thinking.”

He actually listened.

She learned his habits quickly. Mornings meant iced coffee—black, no sugar. He always stretched before meetings, standing up and doing a lazy twist at the waist that made his shirt ride up just enough to be distracting. His desk was somehow always clean, save for a few random objects that rotated weekly: a stress ball shaped like a brain, a tiny pink disco ball, once even a framed photo of a goose in sunglasses.

“Is that… your goose?” she asked.

“It’s aspirational,” he deadpanned. “His name’s Todd.”

The second week was when the teasing began.

Soft at first—little quips, exaggerated sighs when she disagreed with a design choice, mock horror when she said she’d never seen The Godfather. He’d roll his eyes dramatically and say, “You’re lucky you’re clever,” or “That’s borderline offensive, Y/N.”

One Thursday, she brought in homemade banana bread. He took a bite, closed his eyes, and moaned just loudly enough to make the nearby intern snort with laughter.

“Jesus,” she muttered, cheeks flaming.

“I’m expressing gratitude,” he said, mouth still full. “This is an emotional experience.”

The rest of the team adored him, of course. But there was something different about the way he was with her. It was subtle—no lines crossed—but it was there.

He saved her a seat during team huddles, even when others were scrambling. He remembered how she took her tea. He walked her out on late nights, hands in his pockets and easy smiles that lingered when they said goodbye at the corner.

There were moments.

Moments when their eyes held for just a second too long. When his fingers brushed hers while passing a printout. When she’d catch him watching her across the room with something unreadable in his gaze—like he was trying to solve her, piece by piece.

By the third week, her coworkers had started noticing.

“You and Harry,” Sarah from the art department said casually over lunch, stabbing a fork into her kale. “There’s a bit of a… vibe, huh?”

Y/N choked on her water. “What? No. No vibe. We just work well together.”

“Mmhmm.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Right. That’s what they always say.”

Y/N tried to brush it off, but her mind replayed the way Harry had leaned over her earlier that morning, hand braced on the back of her chair, murmuring about a slide change while her pulse decided to drum in her ears.

It didn’t help that they texted now. Mostly work stuff. Memes. Occasionally a “You see this shit?” followed by a screenshot of some client’s over-the-top email.

Okay, sometimes a good morning or don’t forget your umbrella—looks like rain.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything. That she was imagining things. That this wasn’t that kind of story.

But then came week four.

A Friday afternoon. Almost five. The office thinning out. She was finishing up a brief when Harry appeared beside her, chewing on a pen cap like he didn’t know how distracting that was.

“Wanna help me choose a playlist for the client dinner next week?” he asked. “They’re young, rich, and impossible to please.”

“Dangerous combination,” she said, standing to stretch.

He tilted his head. “You’re not doing anything, are you?”

“I’m working.”

“You’re scrolling through fonts.”

“Which is important.”

“Which is pointless. Come on.”

So they spent the next twenty minutes arguing over songs—her trying to convince him Phoebe Bridgers was dinner-friendly, him making a case for Sade. He queued up a slow R&B track, and as the music filled their corner of the office, something thickened in the air.

It was quiet. Just the two of them, dusk falling outside the windows.

And then he looked at her. Really looked at her. Not with a smirk. Not in that teasing way.

Something softer. Warmer.

“I like working with you,” he said.

Her breath hitched.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled. That real one—the one that crinkled at the corners.

If she hadn’t said what she said the following week… maybe things would’ve gone differently.

But she did. And everything changed.

⸻

It happened on a Tuesday.

Tuesdays were typically uneventful—somewhere between “still recovering from Monday” and “not yet caffeinated enough to look forward to Friday.” The kind of day you just endured. But this one, unfortunately, stood out.

Y/N had arrived ten minutes late, thanks to a torrential downpour and a very dramatic umbrella collapse in the middle of Lexington Avenue. Her shoes were soaked. Her hair was in that annoying state between damp and frizzy. She trudged into the office with the grace of a drowned squirrel.

Harry, of course, was already there. Dry. Perfect. Typing away like a storm hadn’t just swallowed half the city.

She dropped her bag, muttering under her breath. “You’d think someone who’s always five minutes early would at least pretend to be human on rainy days.”

He glanced over, smiled, and said, “You made it. That’s all that matters.”

She groaned. “How do you always look this pulled together? It’s very ‘main character in a bookshop who also solves crimes on the side.’”

Harry tilted his head, the grin tugging at his lips. “You think I solve crimes?”

“You’d have a trench coat. And a mysterious past.”

He smirked. “Don’t forget a tragic ex.”

“Oh, definitely,” she replied, already laughing.

The morning carried on as usual—meetings, edits, half-eaten breakfast bars. Their team had a major pitch scheduled for the afternoon, so nerves were high, but so was the energy. Harry, as the lead, carried the meeting effortlessly. He always did. Smooth, confident, completely in control of the room without being arrogant about it. Even the clients seemed charmed—leaning in, laughing, nodding too enthusiastically.

Y/N watched from beside him, impressed, as always. Maybe even a little too impressed.

⸻

Later that afternoon, the creative team gathered in the lounge for a quick regroup. Someone had brought muffins, there were soft drinks sweating on the table, and Harry—fresh from a meeting—was leaned back in a chair, sleeves rolled, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

Everyone was a little punch-drunk from the long hours. Conversation bounced around, people cracking jokes, poking fun at themselves.

Someone said, “You two are basically the dream team now. Give it a few more weeks and we’ll all be obsolete.”

Harry smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the robots treat you kindly.”

Y/N, flushed from the compliment and still riding a weird high from the day, laughed and said, a little too loudly, a little too easily:

“Please. People listen to you because you’ve got that voice that makes everything sound like it matters. I could say the same exact thing and no one would even blink—you say it and suddenly it’s strategy.”

She meant it playfully.

But as soon as it was out there—hanging in the middle of the room—she felt it.

The shift.

A few people laughed. A few looked down at their phones. But Harry’s face didn’t change right away. He smiled—sort of. But not the way he normally did.

There was something about the way he blinked once, slow and deliberate, before saying, “Wow. Thanks for that.”

He didn’t sound angry. But he didn’t sound amused, either.

She opened her mouth to respond, to explain, to soften it—but he was already standing, brushing muffin crumbs off his trousers.

“I’ve got a call,” he muttered, to no one in particular, and left the room.

⸻

The fallout was subtle.

Not immediate. Not dramatic.

But she felt it the next day.

He still greeted her. Still responded to questions. Still made notes in the shared doc they were editing. But it was all… different.

He didn’t nudge her coffee mug toward her like he used to. Didn’t ask what she was listening to when she wore headphones. Didn’t drop sarcastic commentary during team meetings just to make her laugh.

Everything was suddenly crisp. Clean. Professional.

It was like the light had dimmed between them.

She spent the rest of the week overanalyzing. Replaying the moment. Rewriting her words in her head until they no longer sounded like a jab.

It had been a compliment, in a way—she’d meant that he was compelling, that people gravitated toward him, that she noticed. But it had come out like an accusation. Like she was reducing his skill to tone and charisma instead of craft.

And Harry, for all his confidence, didn’t take kindly to being dismissed—even unintentionally.

⸻

By Friday, she’d all but given up on trying to fix it at work. Harry wasn’t cold, exactly—but the warmth was gone. The inside jokes, the easy rhythm, the small moments where he used to look at her like she was actually seen? Gone.

So naturally, she did what anyone does when they’re spiraling: She called her two best  friends and asked them to meet her at a bar.

They picked their usual place. Ava was already there when Y/N arrived, sipping something neon out of a glass shaped like a lightbulb.

“I got you the second-least sugary drink on the menu,” Ava said, holding up a glass. “The least sugary one looked like cough syrup.” 

Y/N took the drink and slumped into the seat. “I said something stupid.”

“That’s kind of your thing, though,” Ava said brightly. “Be more specific.”

Before Y/N could respond, Clara slid into the booth like a woman on a mission. She was already peeling off her scarf and dumping her massive tote onto the floor.

“Sorry, sorry—I got cornered by that guy from my gym who thinks we have a connection because we both own water bottles. What’s happening? Who’s dumb? Is it you?”

“It’s me,” Y/N said, taking a long sip. “And it’s bad.”

“Ohhh, good,” Clara said, cracking her knuckles. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N hesitated, then groaned. “I kind of… made a joke about Harry. In front of the team. Like, during a casual moment after a meeting.”

Clara raised a brow. “Define joke.”

“I said people only listen to him because of his voice.”

Ava blinked. “Like… his actual voice?”

“Yeah. Like, his vocal cords. The way he talks.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Oh, babe,” Clara said gently. “That’s a tiny bit brutal.”

“I know! I meant it in a compliment-y way! Like, ‘your voice is compelling, you're charismatic’—but it came out like I was saying he doesn't have to actually know anything because he sounds hot while talking.”

Ava winced. “That’s rough. Accurate… but rough.”

“It was a joke!” Y/N protested. “You know the kind of joke you make when you're tired and riding an adrenaline crash and your mouth decides to go rogue before your brain catches up?”

“Oh, like the time Clara told her cousin she had a ‘very confident nose’ at her wedding?” Ava offered.

Clara lifted her glass. “It was objectively bold.”

Y/N let her head fall onto the sticky table. “He looked at me like I kicked his childhood dog. And now he’s just… normal. Like painfully polite. It’s like I got demoted to coworker.”

“Well, you are coworkers,” Ava pointed out.

“Yeah, but I was, like, coworker-plus,” she mumbled into the wood. “There was banter. There was eye contact. He brought me coffee once and remembered I don’t like the syrupy stuff.”

“Damn,” Clara said, biting a fry. “That’s practically intimacy.”

“So now what?” Ava asked. “Are you gonna apologize or just emotionally decompose in front of him until retirement?”

Y/N groaned. “I don’t know. I keep thinking about how close we were to something. I could feel it. And now it’s like I slammed a door I didn’t mean to.”

Clara studied her for a moment. “Do you like him?”

Y/N paused. “I like working with him.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She sighed. “I don’t not like him.”

Ava leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Okay, so here’s what you do: you ask him out.”

“I cannot ask him out.”

“Why not?” Clara demanded.

“Because we work together! And I’ve already embarrassed myself!”

“Perfect,” Clara said. “Start from the bottom. Nowhere to go but up.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she said, dipping a fry in ketchup. 

Y/N stared at them both. “And if he says no?”

Ava shrugged. “Then he says no. It’s not a Greek tragedy. It’s just a guy.”

Clara leaned back in the booth and looked at her like she was tired of being gentle. “Y/N, come on. You’ve been tap-dancing around your feelings for a month. You clearly like him. And he liked you too—until you made him feel like he was some shiny toy with a good voice and nothing else.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Y/N muttered.

“No one ever does,” Clara said. “That’s why it sucks.”

They were quiet for a second, the music from the bar pulsing low around them. Someone at the next table was aggressively describing a break-up in full detail.

Then Ava leaned in, her tone softer this time. “Okay, listen. You made a dumb comment. It happens. You’re not a monster. You’re not doomed. But if you keep sitting in this guilt spiral like it’s a beanbag chair you refuse to get out of, you’re gonna waste something that could’ve actually been good.”

“I don’t even know what it was,” Y/N whispered. “I just knew it felt… different.”

“Then tell him that,” Clara said, matter-of-fact. “Tell him you said something dumb. Tell him it came out wrong. Tell him he matters to you—even if it’s just as a friend, or whatever the hell this is. But don’t just let it fade away because you’re scared of looking messy.”

“I hate looking messy,” Y/N said, frowning.

“I know,” Ava said. “You love the illusion of control. It’s very chic.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” Clara cut in. “No more ‘but.’ Just text him. Don’t plan a speech. Don’t write a script in your Notes app. Just be a human woman who said something weird and wants to make it right.”

Y/N slumped deeper into the booth and sighed dramatically. “God, I hate when you’re both right.”

“Drink up” Ava said, pushing the glass toward her. “And text him before you overthink it so hard your thumbs fall off.”

—

Back in her apartment, the night felt too quiet in that way city nights sometimes do — muffled cars passing outside, the low hum of a neighbor’s TV bleeding through the wall. Y/N stood in the doorway for a second, coat half on, bag sliding off her shoulder, feeling like her body had arrived home before her mind did.

She dropped everything on the floor. Didn’t bother turning on more than one lamp.

Her makeup was smudged, but she didn’t check. Her hair smelled like fried food from the bar, and her socks were damp at the heel. It had started to drizzle halfway through her walk home — of course it had.

She changed into her oldest sweatshirt — the oversized gray one that said “Property of No One” across the front — and sank onto the couch like her bones weighed more than usual.

Her phone was already in her hand. She didn’t remember picking it up.

She stared at Harry’s name.

For a while, she didn’t type anything. She just let the screen glow against her face while her thumb hovered, frozen, like maybe he’d magically know she was thinking about him. Or regretting every sentence she’d said to him all week.

Then, finally, she typed:

hey. i think i owe you a proper apology.

She paused. Watched the cursor blink. That didn’t feel like enough.

i didn’t mean what i said the other day to come out like that.it sounded flippant but it wasn’t. you’re actually…

She stopped. Groaned.

Deleted the whole thing.

Rewrote it:

hey. i’ve been thinking about what i said the other day. and i hate that it might’ve come off the wrong way. i know i made it sound like you get by on charm, but i hope you know i’ve never thought that.

That felt better. Maybe.

Then she deleted half of it again. Too long. Too heavy. Too much.

She let her phone fall to her chest and stared at the ceiling. There was a crack up there she kept meaning to patch. Or maybe it was just a shadow. Either way, she didn’t move.

Eventually, she sat back up and typed:

hey. i feel like i owe you a drink or an actual apology that isn’t in front of ten coworkers. if you’re around next week… maybe we could fix that.

She read it over three times.

Then hit send.

There was no dramatic sigh. No tossing the phone like it burned her. Just a long, slow exhale as she set it down on the coffee table and pulled her knees up to her chest.. She just sat there, heart heavy and fingers twitching, hoping he still saw her the way he used to.

Hoping it wasn’t too late.

—

Y/N woke up before her alarm.

She blinked at the ceiling for a few seconds, not quite ready to face the day but too alert to keep pretending to be asleep. Her mouth tasted like the drink from the night before and her back ached slightly from falling asleep on the couch again, curled into the same throw blanket she always used.

She reached for her phone out of habit, thumbing through the usual—news notifications, a calendar reminder she’d ignore, an unread email from a store she didn’t remember subscribing to.

And then, at the top of her messages:

Harry Styles 1:43 AM

Her thumb paused. She tapped it.

you don’t owe me anything but yeah I’d like that

A second message followed:

next week’s wide open. name a day.

She read it twice. Then again.

No dramatics. No “let’s talk” or “what you said hurt.” Just… neutral. Still, it didn’t feel cold. It felt like he was giving her the option to move things forward without making it a thing.

It was more than she expected. It was… actually kind of perfect.

She sat up, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm, and muttered, “Okay.”

The apartment was too quiet, so she turned on the kettle and stood barefoot on the cold kitchen tiles, scrolling through potential bars nearby. Not anywhere too fancy—that would look like she was trying too hard. Not the dive near work either. She’d run into someone from the office, and the whole point was not to make this a watercooler topic.

She made toast, added too much butter, and leaned her hip against the counter while typing her reply.

how do you feel about tuesday? somewhere low-key. i promise to behave this time.

She stared at the last line for a second. It felt light enough. Honest, but not clingy.

She hit send.

Then she took a bite of her toast, still slightly warm, and set her phone down on the counter without waiting for the little “read” checkmark.

She’d figure out the details later.

But Tuesday? That was something.

—

The weekend came and went, but Harry never really left her mind.

She kept it together. Ran errands. Cleaned her apartment like she was trying to wipe her brain clean, too. Pretended to be annoyed when Clara asked for updates every six hours, and avoided Ava’s “so have you planned your outfit yet” texts entirely.

She didn’t spiral. But she did think about him. Often. And especially when she didn’t want to.

By Monday morning, she’d half convinced herself it was fine. Normal. Just drinks. Just Harry. Nothing to freak out about.

Then she saw him.

—

She was walking toward the kitchen with her mug in hand—already mentally preparing herself for the weak office coffee—when she saw him rounding the corner.

He was wearing one of those outfits that somehow looked unintentional and perfect at the same time: navy trousers, a white t-shirt under a dark cardigan, and a lanyard he never actually needed but wore anyway. Hair slightly messier than usual, eyes sharp but calm.

They locked eyes for a second.

And then he smiled. A real one. Not the tight, clipped one from last week. Not forced, not tense.

Just… easy.

“Morning,” he said, stepping aside so she could pass.

“Morning,” she replied, matching his tone—cool, casual. No big deal.

He held the kitchen door open for her and followed her in. She was painfully aware of the two feet of space between them. Of how normal this was. And how not-normal it felt, knowing tomorrow night they’d be sitting in a bar alone and trying to be honest again.

“How was your weekend?” he asked, pouring himself a coffee.

She shrugged lightly. “Quiet. Tried to do laundry. Failed.”

Harry chuckled. “Strong effort, though.”

“What about you?”

“Visited my mum,” he said, stirring his coffee. “She made me take home leftovers like I hadn’t eaten in three weeks.”

Y/N smiled, distracted for a second by the image of him sitting in a kitchen somewhere warm, fending off Tupperware with a half-hearted protest.

“Big week?” she asked.

He looked at her then—really looked—and said, “Not until tomorrow.”

Her breath caught for just a split second. But she held steady.

“Right,” she said, soft. “Tomorrow.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just gave her the smallest nod, like he was confirming they were still good. Still on the same page.

And then he left the room. It made her stomach flip a little. Not in a bad way. Just in the okay-so-this-is-really-happening kind of way.

—

The next day, she found herself in front of her closet at 5:40 p.m., half-dressed and whispering curses under her breath. Nothing looked right. Everything felt too try-hard or not enough. She wasn’t trying to impress him, but she didn’t want to look like she’d come straight from work either.

Eventually, she landed on a black knit top, a leather jacket, and the jeans that actually fit her the way she liked. Comfortable. Sharp enough to feel put together, soft enough to feel like herself.

She didn’t overthink it.

Well—she did. But she still left the apartment on time.

—

Tuesday, 7:06 p.m.

Y/N got there first.

She always did, mostly because it gave her control. Over the setting, the nerves, the awkward hello. She chose a small table in the back near the window—far enough from the bar to hear each other, close enough to the door that she didn’t have to pretend she was doing something else while she waited.

Her phone stayed face-down on the table. Her drink—gin and tonic, no frills—sat half-finished when he walked in.

She looked up and felt that little jolt. The one that had started happening more often lately.

Harry had on a dark sweater, black coat draped over one arm, and that same kind of quiet confidence he wore so naturally, like he wasn’t trying at all. His hair looked freshly pushed back, a little messy at the ends, and the gold chain at his neck caught the warm bar lighting just enough to be annoying.

He spotted her immediately.

“Hey,” he said, smiling as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Hey.” She mirrored the smile, unsure what to do with her hands, so she adjusted her sleeves unnecessarily. “You found it okay?”

“Did a loop around the block like an idiot first, but yeah.”

There was a beat of quiet while he looked over the menu. She studied his face briefly while he wasn’t looking—he looked a little tired, but relaxed. Comfortable.

A server came by and he ordered a whisky neat. Simple.

“So,” he said once they were alone again, resting his forearms on the table. “No work talk, right?”

“Right. Fully banned.”

“Can I at least ask how your day was?”

She grinned. “Only if you want a very detailed play-by-play about me arguing with a printer.”

“Tempting.”

Conversation started slow—small things. What she was reading lately. A movie he watched twice in one weekend out of boredom. It wasn’t tense, but there was still a strange politeness between them. Like neither of them knew how far they could lean in just yet.

Eventually, she took a sip of her drink and leaned back, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me just get this part out of the way.”

Harry tilted his head. “The part where you apologize?”

She made a face. “Yeah.”

He nodded slowly. “Go on then.”

She smiled despite herself. “I really am sorry for what I said last week. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said, not looking away.

“It was a dumb thing to say.”

“You’ve said worse.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Have I?”

He shrugged, his mouth twitching. “You once called me ‘a walking Pinterest board for rich introverts.’”

She burst out laughing. “That was objectively accurate.”

“Still hurtful,” he said, mock serious.

“I thought you liked being called mysterious.”

“I like being called brilliant,” he replied, grinning now. “Or at the very least, devastatingly handsome.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, shaking her head. “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“That thing you do. Where you say something cocky but somehow get away with it because your delivery is so smooth.”

“Is it working now?”

She tried not to smile. Failed. “A little.”

Harry leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. “That’s good. Because I was actually kind of nervous about tonight.”

“You were?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Didn’t know if this would be weird. Or if you’d show up just to cross it off your list of regrets.”

She paused. “I thought you might not show.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I don’t know. You were… different last week.”

“You made a weird comment. I sulked about it. Then you texted me, and I realized I’d rather have one awkward drink with you than spend another week pretending like I don’t miss our conversations.”

Her heart skipped. Just once, but enough to notice.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Well. I missed them too.”

He smiled again—softer this time. “Good. Let’s not mess it up again.”

“No promises.”

He lifted his glass. “To a fresh start?”

She clinked hers against his. “To pretending we’re not both weird about feelings.”

He laughed into his drink.

And just like that, the tension finally cracked—melted under the ease they used to have, the banter slipping back into place like it had just been waiting for one of them to say the right thing.

—

The change didn’t happen all at once.

There was no grand declaration, no dramatic pause in the hallway while someone said I think I like you. It was slower than that—quieter. But it was real. And Y/N felt it.

Especially at work.

The morning after their not-date date, Harry walked into the office with two coffees in hand—hers already made exactly how she liked it—and dropped it on her desk without a word. Just a smirk. She looked up at him, slightly suspicious.

“Is this a peace offering or a bribe?”

He leaned against her desk, took a sip of his own coffee. “Neither. Just wanted to give you something that wouldn’t get me in trouble with HR.”

She laughed, cheeks warming. “Well. Thank you. I’ll only report you if it’s decaf.”

That became the pattern.

Little things. A muffin on her chair. A sticky note doodle left on his monitor. Her pulling his headphones off without warning, only to find him already smiling like he knew she was going to.

At meetings, he sat next to her every time. Sometimes too close. Once, she caught his foot nudging hers under the conference table. She glared at him. He winked.

They weren’t trying to hide it exactly. But they weren’t announcing anything either. Mostly because they didn’t know what this was. Not yet. But it felt like something.

And outside the office? That was changing too.

They texted now. All the time.

It started with casual stuff—TikToks, screenshots of unhinged client emails, memes with captions like you this morning in the kitchen. But then it shifted.

Late night: HARRY: still awake? Y/N: debating if eating cereal at 1am makes me a genius or a gremlin HARRY: i vote genius Y/N: you would. you love chaos disguised as charm. HARRY: that feels like a compliment Y/N: ...it wasn’t HARRY: still taking it

And then there were the lunches.

The first one was spontaneous—she’d had a horrible morning, and Harry had caught her glaring at her screen like it had personally betrayed her. Without a word, he grabbed her coat and said, “Come on. We’re getting real food.”

Now it was routine.

Sometimes they went to the café two blocks down where the barista knew their names. Other days, they grabbed takeout and ate it on a bench outside, their knees bumping lightly as they unwrapped sandwiches and talked about everything except work.

He asked questions—real ones. Not just polite filler. Stuff like what kind of kid were you?, what scares you the most but also secretly thrills you?, have you ever been in love?She dodged that last one.

But she asked things back. She wanted to know the small stuff. What his sister was like. Why he always smelled like cedar and oranges. How he got into this industry at all.

And now, they had another date planned.

Set for Friday.

Not just drinks. Dinner this time. Somewhere cozy, tucked away in the West Village, with low lights and too many candles.

He’d picked it. Told her it was “low-pressure.” Then followed it up with: but i might wear a proper shirt, just in case you bring up my tragic introvert wardrobe again.

She was nervous. But not in a bad way. In a something’s unfolding and I don’t want to mess it up kind of way.

At the office on Thursday afternoon, she caught him looking at her from across the room during a meeting. Not intense. Not dramatic. Just... there. Quietly steady.

And when the meeting ended and people began to file out, he stayed behind.

Walked up to her. Close enough to make her heart tick a little faster.

“Tomorrow,” he said, low and easy.

She raised a brow. “Still on?”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—

The place he picked was small, tucked into a quiet West Village block, glowing with warm light through the windows and smelling faintly of rosemary and wine. It felt relaxed, cozy. The kind of restaurant that didn’t need to be loud to be cool.

Y/N spotted him at a corner table near the back, nursing a drink and scrolling his phone. He looked comfortable there, legs stretched a little too far under the table, one hand resting on the rim of his glass.

He looked up before she could say anything. His smile appeared instantly—soft, a little crooked, and warm enough to make her stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, standing as she reached the table. “You made it.”

“You sound surprised.”

He shrugged. “I was half-convinced you’d flake just to maintain the mystery.”

“I’m not that unpredictable,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

“Mm. Jury’s out.”

There was a moment where his eyes lingered—not in a heavy way, but in a way that made it very obvious he noticed what she was wearing. The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

The waiter came and went. He let her choose the wine, teasing her about pretending to read the menu like she wasn’t going to pick based on the vibe of the label.

Conversation flowed easily—Harry had a way of keeping things light without letting them turn shallow. He asked about her week. She asked if he’d ever gotten around to fixing the broken drawer in his kitchen he’d been complaining about. He hadn’t.

But somewhere between the second glass of wine and the plate of shared pasta, something shifted.

He leaned in a little closer when she spoke. Not dramatically—just enough to make it feel like her words were meant only for him. When she reached across the table to grab the salt, he didn’t pull his hand away right away when their fingers brushed.

And once—just once—he let his hand rest on the side of the table, close enough that her knee grazed it.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

If she moved her leg slightly closer… well, he didn’t move his hand either.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said after a beat.

She looked up at him, surprised. “Am I?”

“A little. Thought maybe you were nervous.”

She smiled into her glass. “Why would I be nervous?”

He shrugged, mouth curving. “Because I’m very charming and slightly annoying. That combination tends to throw people off.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re more subtle than that.”

“I can be,” he said, tone a little lower now. “Sometimes.”

The air went still for a second, like the moment hovered somewhere between teasing and something else. But then the waiter returned with the check, and Harry leaned back again, letting the tension settle without pushing it.

When they left the restaurant, it was still early enough that the city wasn’t completely quiet. The streets were lit up, but calm. She walked beside him, hands in her pockets.

He didn’t grab her hand. He didn’t pull her close.

But his shoulder bumped hers once, gently. Then again, intentionally.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said after a while, voice quiet now.

“You’re welcome.”

They stopped at the corner, waiting for the light to change. He turned slightly toward her, looking at her fully now. His eyes were soft, but direct.

“I like this,” he said. “You and me, like this.”

Y/N felt something warm creep up her neck, but she didn���t look away. “I like it too.”

They stood there for a second too long.

Then he smiled again—smaller this time—and nodded toward the direction of the subway. “Can I walk you to the station?”

“You’re not trying to get me to come home with you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“The kind who flirts with his coworker for a month and finally asks her out?”

“I’ll have you know,” he said, gently bumping her arm with his, “I was professionally respectful for a solid three weeks.”

“Impressive,” she teased.

“I thought so.”

And as they kept walking, their arms brushed again. Neither of them moved.

—

Group Chat: “Chaos Committee 💅🔥🍷”

Clara: Sooo How’d it go last night?

Ava: Yeah don’t make us guess We were very respectfully trying not to text you during the entire dinner window 🙃

Y/N: Appreciate the restraint Also: it was nice Really nice, actually

Clara: Ugh You’re being vague You like him

Y/N: I do. I’m trying not to be annoying about it But yeah

Ava: Okay but give us something What was the vibe? Better than the first one?

Y/N: Yeah Way less awkward He was calm, funny, kind of... quiet but not in a bad way And he looked really good Wore that green shirt again

Clara: Oh. The shirt. The rolled sleeves shirt

Y/N: Yup Forearms out Rings on And the waiter definitely thought we were already together

Ava: As they should

Y/N: He was kind of extra warm last night Little touches here and there Like when I reached for my glass and his hand brushed mine Or how our knees kept bumping under the table and he didn’t move

Clara: So the tension was doing push-ups under the table Got it

Y/N: Basically He said “I like this. You and me, like this” Then immediately acted like he hadn’t just said something that made my brain stop functioning

Ava: That man is running a very calculated long game Respect

Clara: So… what happened after dinner?

Y/N: He walked me to the train Talked the whole way Lightly roasted my Spotify taste Then gave me this soft smile and told me to text when I got home

Clara: ...that’s it?

Y/N: Yup No kiss No lingering hand on the small of my back Just a really warm goodbye and the sense that he’s waiting for something

Ava: Waiting for you to make the next move maybe?

Y/N: I don’t know He’s so good at walking right up to the line and stopping Like he wants me to notice it but doesn’t want to cross it without me saying yes

Clara: Honestly I hate how respectful that is

Y/N: I know It’s actually making me lose my mind

Ava: Okay but you’re into it

Y/N: ...I’m very into it

Clara: So what now?

Y/N: I see him Monday And I’m pretending like it’s just another normal day And not like I’ve been thinking about his hand brushing my knee for 12 straight hours

Ava: Good plan That always works out great for people

Y/N: Shut up

—

Monday – Office, 10:42 a.m.

Work was work.

Emails. Edits. Slack notifications that piled up faster than she could read them. But Y/N couldn’t focus for more than fifteen minutes at a time without remembering the way Harry had looked at her Friday night. Or how he hadn’t kissed her. Or how she kind of loved that he hadn’t.

She was scrolling through a doc when she sensed him before she saw him—there was always something in the air when he walked by her desk, like her body clock recalibrated itself.

“Morning,” he said casually, appearing next to her chair with a cup of coffee and that effortlessly smug smile.

“Is this for me?” she asked, accepting it anyway.

“I figured you needed it,” he said, then leaned down slightly to whisper, “You were frowning at your screen like it owed you money.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling already. “Thanks.”

He didn’t leave right away. Just hovered at the edge of her desk for a few seconds, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something there.

“You want to eat together later?” he asked.

“Sure” she said “Meet you at the elevator later?”

“Sounds like a plan”.

—

Monday – Lunch Break

“Are you gonna judge me if I order two things off the specials menu?” Y/N asked, squinting at the little chalkboard propped up at the edge of their table.

Harry leaned back in his chair, half-smiling. “I’d only judge if you didn’t. What kind of monster comes to a place that smells like heaven and doesn’t over-order?”

She grinned, setting the menu down. “Alright, good. Just wanted to make sure we’re both mentally prepared for me to have a post-lunch food coma at my desk.”

“Can’t wait to watch you pretend to be productive while slowly falling asleep mid-email,” he said, stretching his legs out under the table until they accidentally brushed hers.

Neither of them moved.

They were tucked into a small two-person table by the window of the Italian place Harry had suggested—a quiet spot with sun spilling through the glass and just enough hum from other tables to feel private. The food smelled ridiculous. Garlic, butter, rosemary… 

When the waiter left with their orders, Harry glanced at her across the table. “You always get that serious when you read menus?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a high-stakes decision. This is lunch. I have to live with it for the rest of the afternoon.”

“That’s true. It does define your mood for at least three hours.”

“Exactly.”

“I respect that.”

She sipped her water and watched him tilt his head slightly, like he was studying her. “What?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nothing. I just like seeing you outside the office.”

She blinked. “We text constantly.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. In person you make these little faces when you’re thinking—like right now, you’re trying not to smile.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, failing miserably to hide it. “I hate that you notice stuff like that.”

“I’m very observant.”

“You’re very smug.”

He raised his glass to her. “Also true.”

The food arrived a few minutes later—her pasta, his risotto—and they both took their first bites at the same time. Harry made a soft sound, not dramatic, just satisfied.

“Okay, that’s a throwback,” he said, sitting back a little.

“What is?”

He gestured toward his plate. “Risotto. My mum used to make it almost exactly like this. Creamy, garlicky, winey. I haven’t had it like this in years.”

Y/N raised her brows. “What happened, did she stop loving you?”

Harry smiled. “No. I just haven’t had anyone make it since I moved out. It's not exactly the kind of dish people whip up on a whim.”

“I do.”

“You make risotto?”

“Mushroom risotto. With wine. Sometimes thyme, if I’m feeling fancy.”

He stared at her, amused. “That’s dangerously specific.”

She shrugged. “It’s one of my go-to ‘I swear I’m a real adult’ meals. Feels impressive but it’s mostly just stirring and committing to the bit.”

Harry looked at her, eyes narrowed slightly like he was considering something. Then he said, slowly, “So when are you making it for me?”

Y/N blinked once. Twice. Then gave a small smirk. “Wow. Not even a subtle lead-in. You just jumped right to the invite.”

“Gotta keep up with you somehow,” he said, smiling easily now. “I’m not above being fed.”

She paused, then: “Friday?”

His expression softened, surprised but not caught off guard. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

Y/N raised her brows as she twirled a bite of pasta. “No allergies? No weird food trauma I should know about before I commit to this dinner plan?”

Harry laughed, sitting back in his chair. “None. I eat everything. Except olives.”

She gasped. “What? Olives are elite.”

“They taste like brine and betrayal.”

“I’m still putting them in the salad,” she said. “You’ll deal.”

He pointed his fork at her. “You say that now, but you’re gonna be weirdly invested in whether I like it or not. I can already tell.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “I just don’t want to waste my good cooking on someone with broken taste buds.”

“Then you’ll have to find out if it’s worth the risk,” he said, voice low but playful, like there was a dare tucked into the words.

Her eyes held his for a beat too long. She looked away first—barely.

They both went back to eating, but the quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It was charged in that new way. Comfortable, but close to something else. Their legs brushed again under the table. Neither of them moved.

He went quiet for a beat, watching her as she gathered the last of her pasta onto her fork.

“I’m excited for Friday,” he said, almost offhand, but his eyes were too steady for it to be casual.

She looked up. “Who said it was a date?”

Harry smirked, didn’t miss a beat. “Me. I did. Mentally. While you were talking about thyme like it’s a love language.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard—and laughed. “Wow.”

“I stand by it,” he added, casually wiping his hand on a napkin. “You invite me over, cook for me, maybe pour me a glass of wine… that’s textbook date behavior. Page one.”

She tried to keep a straight face but failed miserably. “What if I burn it?”

“Then we order takeout,” he said, standing, grabbing both their receipts. “And it’s still a date. Just one with a fun plot twist.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she followed him toward the door. “You’re annoyingly sure of yourself.”

Harry glanced back at her, holding the door open. “No,” he said, voice low but smiling. “I’m just sure about you.”

She froze for half a second. Then stepped past him, heat blooming in her chest and creeping up her neck.

He walked beside her all the way back to the office, hands in his pockets, like he hadn’t just said something that would replay in her head for the next four days straight.

They stepped into the elevator together. Just the two of them.

It was quiet inside—soft hum of motion, the faintest trace of cologne in the air. Y/N stood beside him, arms folded, eyes on the glowing numbers overhead like she hadn’t just invited him over for a dinner she now absolutely could not mess up.

Harry, on the other hand, was perfectly relaxed. Leaned casually against the wall, side-glancing at her with a look she pretended not to notice.

“Friday,” he said softly, not looking away.

“Seven,” she replied.

“I’ll bring the wine.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s your only job.”

He tilted his head. “And yours?”

She raised a brow. “Cooking. Obviously.”

He smirked, slow. “No. I mean your real job.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes slightly. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s my ‘real’ job?”

Harry let the pause stretch just enough to feel it. Then said, low and playful, “Try not to make me fall for you over risotto.”

Her stomach dipped. Hard.

She opened her mouth—maybe to reply, maybe to deflect—but the elevator dinged before she could say a word.

He stepped out first, like he hadn’t just dropped that and walked away.

And she followed, entirely aware she was already failing at that job.

—

7:03 p.m.

Y/N wasn’t nervous.

That’s what she told herself as she adjusted the straps of her top for the third time, checked the risotto on the stove for the fifth, and glanced at her phone for no real reason at all.

She wasn’t nervous. She was… anticipatory. Which was worse.

The apartment smelled like sautéed garlic, wine, and rosemary. Her playlist was low, something warm and rhythmic playing in the background. She’d cleaned. Lit two candles—not too many. She was wearing jeans and a simple black tank top that looked casual from far away but a little dangerous up close.

At exactly 7:06, there was a knock.

She wiped her palms on her thighs, walked to the door, and opened it—

—and forgot how to speak for a second.

Harry stood in the hallway, wine bottle in hand, coat open over a navy button-down that was just fitted enough to hint at the lines underneath. Sleeves rolled once, casually. Hair pushed back. Rings on. Slight scruff on his jaw like he hadn’t bothered shaving for the occasion, and it somehow made him look better.

“Hey,” he said, smile already tugging at his mouth. His voice low and smooth and a little too warm.

Y/N opened the door wider, trying to look unaffected. “You’re late.”

“By three minutes,” he said, stepping in. “You gonna punish me for it?”

She turned to walk back to the kitchen before he could see her smile. “Don’t tempt me.”

Harry’s eyes followed her. “Already am.”

She ignored that. Barely. “Wine goes on the counter. Glasses are in the cabinet to your left.”

He slipped off his coat and hung it on the back of a chair, the motion unhurried. His sleeves shifted higher, showing the veins along his forearms, and it was ridiculous how aware she was of every single movement he made. Like her whole body had decided to tune into just him.

He found the glasses without asking, poured two, and brought hers over like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Smells incredible,” he said, glancing at the pot on the stove. “Didn’t realize this would be a full sensory experience.”

She took the glass from him, their fingers brushing. “Didn’t realize you’d show up looking like you belong in a perfume ad.”

He tilted his head. “Is that a compliment or a threat?”

“A little of both.”

He leaned against the counter, swirling his wine lazily. “You’re already nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can tell.”

She sipped her wine. “You’re very confident for someone about to eat food I made unsupervised.”

“Oh, I’m terrified,” he said, smile curling slowly. “But I’m also a risk-taker.”

“Really?” she asked, stepping just a little closer. “What kind of risks are we talking?”

Harry’s gaze dropped, briefly, to her mouth. “Ones that involve very pretty women in tank tops inviting me over and pretending it’s all casual.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered.

But she covered it with a dry, “You’re awfully chatty for someone who’s supposed to be quietly impressed.”

“I haven’t even tasted it yet,” he murmured, leaning in like he might say something else.

But he didn’t. He just reached around her—close enough to brush his chest against her shoulder—and stirred the risotto with one of the wooden spoons she’d left on the counter.

She didn’t move.

“You’re doing it right,” he said, still low, still close. “Good technique.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“I can tell.”

There was a pause. Just long enough to feel the space between them shrink.

Then he looked at her, and his voice dipped just slightly, deliberate now:

“You know this is a date, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is. And you’re doing dangerously well.”

Her throat went dry.

The spoon was still in his hand. The risotto still simmering. But everything between them had gone still—warm, weighted, suspended between polite flirtation and whatever the hell this was becoming.

“I haven’t even served it yet,” she said quietly.

Harry’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve already got me.”

Y/N held his gaze for a second too long, heat blooming low in her stomach. But she didn’t let it tip yet. She reached out and gently took the spoon from his hand, turning her focus back to the risotto.

“You’re lucky I like feeding people,” she said, stirring.

“Lucky’s one word for it.”

“You’re also distracting.”

“Also one word for it.”

He sat at the kitchen table while she plated the food, watching her with that unshakable calm, fingers tapping against the stem of his wine glass. When she finally set a bowl in front of him, he looked up and said, very simply:

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me until you’ve tried it.”

He took one bite, then another—no dramatic noises this time, just that slow nod of approval, the kind that made her chest tighten.

“I hate how good this is,” he said through a smile. “Now I can’t even fake critique you.”

“You weren’t going to anyway.”

“I was, just to keep you humble.”

She grinned, settling across from him, and they ate in a rhythm that felt natural. Familiar. They didn’t fill every silence. They didn’t rush the conversation. He asked how she got into cooking. She asked what kind of kid he was at school. He told her he was quiet. Kind of nerdy. Read more than he talked.

“But you’re so…” she paused, waving her fork at him, “you now.”

Harry smiled. “Still kind of nerdy. Just taller.”

They finished eating slowly, in no real rush. Conversation drifted, low and lazy. Harry told a story about getting lost on the Tube as a teenager and ending up an hour outside of London. She admitted she once cried in a grocery store because she couldn't find the right brand of olive oil.

When the food was gone and only half the wine left, Y/N stood with a stretch and started clearing plates.

“You cooked,” Harry said, getting up beside her. “Let me clean.”

“You can help,” she said, stacking dishes. “But don’t think you’re getting full dish duty just because I made risotto.”

“Worth a try,” he murmured, brushing against her as he took the plates to the sink.

The touch lingered—his hand grazing her hip on the way past. Not overt. Not rushed. But purposeful.

She handed him a glass, and their fingers met again. This time neither of them looked away.

“You’re quiet,” she said, filling the silence with something safe.

Harry tilted his head slightly. “I’m trying not to say something reckless.”

Her heart fluttered. “Like what?”

“Like how long I’ve been thinking about this. About you.” He turned slightly, drying a plate without breaking eye contact. “Since the first time I saw you that day in the office. You walked in like you belonged there. That little nervous smile. I was done for.”

She didn’t move, just held his gaze. “That’s not reckless.”

“It is if I tell you I wanted to kiss you before I knew your last name.”

Y/N blinked slowly.

Then she set the towel down, stepped closer, and looked up at him.

“You’re really going for it tonight.”

Harry’s smile was slow and sure. “Trying to make up for lost time.”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she kissed him.

Soft at first, but immediate. Like they’d both been holding it back all night and finally decided to stop pretending. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek, while his other arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against him.

She sighed against his mouth as his tongue brushed hers—slow and unhurried but thorough, like he meant every second of it. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt.

When they finally pulled apart, just slightly, she caught her breath and whispered, “We should take this to the bedroom.”

He blinked, lips parted, eyes dark.

“Yeah?” he said, low and rough now.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t ask twice. He just followed.

And the second they stepped into her room, everything changed.

—

The door clicked shut behind him, and the quiet deepened. The only light came from the hallway and the faint glow of the city through her windows. Harry stood there for a second, eyes on her like she’d just undone something in him.

Then he crossed the room and kissed her again—deeper now, slower, like they finally had permission to feel everything.

She let her hands roam, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, fingertips skimming over warm skin and firm muscle. He hissed softly through his teeth when she tugged the shirt over his head, dropping it somewhere behind them.

“God, you’re…” she breathed, letting her gaze fall over him, eyes hungry and soft all at once.

“Say it,” he murmured, thumb brushing her lower lip.

“You know exactly what I was going to say.”

He smirked. “I like hearing it anyway.”

She kissed down his neck, tongue brushing the curve where his shoulder met his collarbone, and smiled when she felt him shiver under her mouth.

He didn’t just touch her—he held her, his hands sliding over her back, her sides, her hips, like he couldn’t decide where he wanted her most. His fingers dipped under her waistband, pausing, waiting for her nod before easing her jeans down slowly.

Once she stepped out of them, she stood there in nothing but her tank top and underwear, heart pounding.

Harry looked at her like she was already undoing him.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, stepping closer, brushing his mouth over her jaw, “and now that I have it, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered.

He lifted her gently—just enough to lay her back on the bed—and followed, crawling over her with slow purpose. Her tank top came off next, tossed somewhere beside them, and when he looked down at her, he stilled.

His hands traced her bare skin like it was something delicate. Not hesitating—just taking his time.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice rough and low.

She nodded, eyes locked on his. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed her again, mouth moving over hers with quiet intensity, hips pressing against hers as his hand slid between her thighs, not rushed, just there, warm and solid and deliberate.

Every touch was a question, and every breath she gave him was an answer.

By the time he eased her back into the pillows, lips brushing her throat, her shoulder, her chest, she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. His name slipped out of her in a whisper, soft and urgent, as his mouth trailed lower—lips against her skin, tongue slow and teasing, every movement sending sparks through her like aftershocks.

He moved with patience. With purpose. With a kind of reverence she hadn’t expected, but felt all the way down to her ribs.

And when he finally pulled her into his arms afterward—bodies warm, tangled, skin still humming—he didn’t say anything right away.

Just ran his fingers up and down her spine, slow and steady, anchoring them both in the quiet.

Then, almost too softly to hear:

“I’m really not going to be able to stop thinking about you now.”

Y/N smiled into his chest.

“Good,” she whispered. “That makes two of us.”

—

​​The first thing Y/N noticed was warmth.

Not sunlight, not sound—just heat, steady and solid behind her, an arm draped heavy across her waist and breath moving slowly against the back of her neck.

She blinked her eyes open. Her bedroom was quiet, soft light filtering through the curtains. Everything smelled like skin and her lavender laundry soap and something distinctly him.

She shifted slightly and felt him move behind her—just the barest reaction, like his body didn’t want to lose the contact.

Then came the voice, low and sleep-rough.

“Morning.”

She smiled before turning. “Morning.”

Harry was already watching her, eyes soft, hair a total mess, the faintest smirk on his lips like he couldn’t believe this was real. He brushed a hand over her shoulder gently, fingers trailing up to her jaw like he needed to confirm she was still there.

“Didn’t dream that, did I?” he asked, voice still scratchy.

She shook her head. “You were definitely here. There was risotto. There was wine. There was…”

“A lot of things,” he offered, still grinning.

Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t look away. “You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Wasn’t planning on leaving.”

They lay there for a moment, quiet again. His thumb moved lazily over her hip under the covers. She could feel the way his legs tangled with hers, warm skin brushing everywhere.

She wanted to ask what this meant. If they were different now. If they were going to try to pretend it hadn’t happened at work on Monday morning—but then he leaned in and kissed her forehead, soft and slow, and said:

“You know I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen, right?”

Her eyes met his.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” she said.

That was it.

Not a relationship talk. Not labels. Just honesty.

Just this.

“Good,” he whispered, voice still sleep-warm. “Because I was already planning breakfast.”

She laughed. “You’re confident.”

He rolled onto his back dramatically. “I just gave the performance of my life and made sure you didn’t burn the risotto. Let me have my moment.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And charming.”

She leaned over him and kissed him again. It was slow, languid. The kind of kiss that didn’t go anywhere, but still promised everything.

Her hand slipped into his hair, and his arm curled back around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest again.

—

They stayed in bed longer than planned.

The risotto dishes were still in the sink. Her hair was a mess. His shirt was missing. They didn’t care.

Harry made coffee while Y/N stood barefoot in the kitchen, wearing one of his sweaters—something he must’ve tossed into his overnight bag, though she couldn’t remember when. It hung loose on her frame, sleeves too long, fabric soft from wear.

“You can’t just look like that and expect me to focus on pouring,” he muttered as he handed her a mug.

She took it without breaking eye contact. “I like how quickly you folded.”

He sipped his coffee with a lazy smirk. “Folded the moment I walked in your door last night.”

They ate toast over the sink. Talked about absolutely nothing. She told him her neighbor leaves passive-aggressive sticky notes in the laundry room. He told her he once accidentally wore mismatched shoes to a client meeting and no one noticed—still one of his proudest office wins.

And then, too soon, it was time for him to go.

He stood by the door, keys in one hand, the other still lingering at her hip like he hadn’t decided whether to pull her back in or let her breathe.

“I’ll see you Monday,” he said, voice low, unreadable.

She nodded. “We’ll pretend to be normal.”

He leaned down and kissed her once—soft, careful, like he didn’t want to wake whatever spell they’d slipped into.

But before he pulled away, he whispered, “Just so you know, I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Y/N smiled, her chest tight in that restless, breathless way that meant she already was too.

He left.

The apartment was quieter now. Still warm, still full of him, but quieter.

— 

After he left, the apartment was quiet.

Y/N wandered back to the kitchen, barefoot, still wearing his sweater. She poured herself a second cup of coffee even though it had already gone cold. Leaned against the counter, staring at nothing in particular.

There was a dish towel still hanging crooked off the oven handle. A candle burned too low on the windowsill. A wine glass tipped slightly in the sink.

All signs that last night had really happened.

Her neck was still warm where he’d kissed it. Her body ached in that good, quiet way. And every now and then, her mind would flash to the way he’d looked at her—right before, during, after. Like he knew something she didn’t.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled to herself.

It was funny.

She didn’t think this was how it would go. When she started the job, when she’d met him this wasn’t in the plan.

She didn’t think it would turn into late-night texts. Or pasta. Or him, standing barefoot in her kitchen like he belonged there.

She especially didn’t think it would turn into this quiet kind of happiness. This soft, steady warmth that hadn’t faded even after the door clicked shut behind him.

She shook her head to herself, grinning.

“I really didn’t see that coming,” she murmured into her mug.

But somehow, that made it better.

[pathologicalreid]

hi! i was wondering if i could request a spencer x fem kindergarten teacher! reader who has to be interviewed by the team when something happens to one of her students (they find him) and spencer sees her and is just like in love immediately. thank you so so much!

kindergarten crush | S.R.

when one of your students goes missing, the BAU sends the A-team to ask you some questions

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to child abuse/endangerment but nothing detailed, kindergarten teacher!reader, spencer is smitten, emily is such an older sister, average cm case stuff word count: 1.86k a/n: ugh if you know how much i love teachers then you know how much i loved writing this!!!! tysm for requesting!

“Don’t teachers leave school when it ends?” Emily asked, following the secretary through the elementary school hallways.

The secretary glanced behind her to make sure Spencer was still following, “Contract hours end at four in the afternoon, which is about twenty minutes after the last bell,” she responded. “Some teachers are in charge of after-school clubs or they’ll stay to grade or plan for the next day, but the rest head home at the end of the day,” she continued.

Emily nodded in understanding, “And when does Ms. Y/L/N usually leave for the day?”

For a moment, the secretary’s resigned expression faltered to one of concern, “Once all of her students leave for the day.”

“Is that usually at a different time every day?” Spencer asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as they turned another corner, the walls were coated in colorful flowers with the names of what he could only assume were the kindergarteners scrawled on them.

There was nothing but a sigh from the secretary as she considered her answers, “That might just be a better question for you to ask her.” She continued leading the way until she stopped in front of a door that was being held open by a doorstop, knocking on the door, she peeked her head in, “Y/N?”

From where he was standing, Spencer could see your head peek out from beneath a desk, but once you recognized that you had unexpected guests, you stood up straight, “Oh, hi,” you greeted, hastily walking around the clusters of tables as you made your way to the door.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” Emily asked, pulling her credentials out when you confirmed your name, Spencer followed suit, “We’re Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit, do you have the time to answer a few questions about a case we’re working on?”

The bright smile that had initially been on your face quickly fell as you eyed the FBI credentials in front of you, “Oh, Cody,” you murmured. Stepping to the side, you gave the two federal agents space to enter your classroom.

Prentiss thanked the secretary before stepping into your space, “Oh, it’s colorful in here,” she said.

“It’s a kindergarten classroom,” Spencer responded quickly, “Studies show that there’s a link between bright colors and brain development, so these colors are probably conducive to a productive learning environment.”

He went over to the side of your classroom, watching you as you nervously wrapped your arms around yourself, “Thank you?” You said quizzically, not sure if you should take what he was saying as a compliment, “You are here about Cody, right? Cody Jenkins?”

Spencer nodded, “We are, you knew immediately, though.”

You moved your hand to cover your heart as if it was racing, “I was worried when he wasn’t here yesterday, but I knew when I didn’t see him today that something was wrong.” Your eyes flickered between Emily and himself, waiting for either one of them to say something, “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Why were you so worried when Cody didn’t come to school for two days?” Emily asked, tilting her head to the side, raven black hair catching in the fluorescent school lighting.

Sitting down at your desk, you sighed, “Cody loves school. He’d never miss a day unless it was absolutely necessary – I’m the one who brought the first concern to the administration that there might be problems at home, but…”

Raising her dark eyebrows in curiosity, Emily shared a look with Spencer, “But what?”

Watching you, Spencer noticed the way you nervously fiddled with a beaded bracelet on your wrist, although he couldn’t quite make out what the lettered beads spelled, he was able to deduce that the bracelet was important to you. “What’s on your bracelet?” He asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees, he craned his head to try and read it on his own.

“Oh,” you said, looking down at the bracelet as if you needed reassurance that it was still there, “A student made it for me a long time ago. When I was still a student teacher,” you looked at the beaded creation fondly, “The mascot was the dolphins, so it just says ‘dolphin’. Spelled with an F, of course, because she was four.”

Once he knew what the bracelet said, he was able to make out the words, even noting the dolphin charm at the end of the word, “You care a lot about your students,” he said, stating the obvious, but the words seemed to put you at ease. “What do you know about Cody’s home life?”

Your eyes widened as you looked back up at Spencer and he tried to make himself seem as friendly as possible. “I know his parents have had some trouble – his dad has a bad history, as I’m sure you know, but his mom is a good person,” you said, reaching your hand up and scratching the back of your neck.

“But she never left Cody’s father,” Emily said questioningly, seeking confirmation more than anything else.

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you shrugged, “I’ve never been in that situation before, I don’t get to speak on the difficulty of leaving, but I can tell you that she’s a good person – she loves her son.”

“You care a lot about your students,” Spencer noted aloud, he looked around at the clusters of tables – each table was stocked with the same supplies. You even had a snack station at the back of your classroom.

Quickly, you nodded, “I don’t believe in kids getting a lesser education just because they don’t have the money or the support system at home. I do what I can,” you admitted. “Do you… do you think Cody’s dad did something to him?”

Sadly, Emily affirmed your question, “He’s a person of interest in the case.”

Pressing your lips in a thin, white line, you slouched back into your office chair, “Sometimes I wonder if there’s more to do. The state requires me to teach these kids about stranger danger, but last year a majority of AMBER Alerts that went out were for family abduction.”

“I’m sorry that you know that, Ms. Y/L/N,” Spencer told you.

You brushed off his apology, “For eight hours a day, five days a week, it’s my job to keep these kids safe – even if that means knowing things that I don’t like.”

Both Spencer and Emily accepted this, and they continued to ask you a few questions about what you knew about Cody. From your point of view, he was just a kid trapped in a bad situation, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it ever hurt you to send him home at the end of the day.

As the two of them left the elementary school, he shook his head in disbelief, “She made three reports on the father, and none of them were taken seriously by the school.”

“I know, Reid,” Emily commiserated, “So, the teacher?”

Her question came when the two of them piled into the SUV, giving her a bewildered look, Spencer furrowed his brows, “What about her?”

Emily scoffed, “’You care so much about your students,’” She said in a mocking voice, taking one hand off the wheel and placing it on her chest, “’Oh, I’m so sorry that you have to know that information’. What was that about the colors in her classroom?”

Rolling his eyes, Spencer sat back in the passenger seat, “Okay, first of all, I do not sound like that. Second of all, I was building rapport – you should try it sometime.”

She chuckled from the driver’s seat, tossing a piece of paper in his general direction before placing her hands near the bottom of the steering wheel, “Here, this is for you.”

“What is it?” He asked as he took the paper and unfolded it.

Humming, Emily didn’t even look as she responded, “I wrote down her room number for you, so you can go ask her out once this case is over.”

Your door was closed when he got there and he wasn’t quite sure if he should knock or just give up. It wasn’t a far drive to get to your school from Quantico, and if he could ever work up the courage to make the drive again, he could always try then.

Lifting his hand to knock, he hesitated again, opening his palm and letting his hand drop to his side. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself, taking the sticky note that Emily had ‘gifted’ him and triple-checking the room number as if his memory and your name on the door weren’t enough confirmation.

Giving up, he turned around, stuffing the paper in his pocket as he did so, and almost running into you in the process, “Oh!” You said, stumbling back and taking a moment to reorient yourself before meeting his eyes. “Oh,” you repeated, softer this time, “Dr. Reid, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Spencer,” he corrected and immediately cringed. “I mean, I’m not here in any professional capacity, so… you can just call me Spencer.”

Flashing him a bright smile, you grinned in response, “It’s nice to see you again, Spencer.” You proceeded to tell him he could call you by your first name before inviting him into your classroom.

Looking around the room, the colors of the space once again made him feel welcome, “You’re here late,” he observed, looking up at the clock and noticing that it had passed your contract hours while he stood outside your door.

You nodded, “It’s the first of the month tomorrow, so I need to switch over my calendars and everything.” You went to pick up a dry-erase marker from the whiteboard, “Um, have you… did you find Cody?”

“Yes,” he responded immediately, remembering the excuse he had given the team when he told them he was going back to visit you. Morgan and Emily weren’t likely to let him forget. “He’s safe, and it looks like he’ll be able to stay with his mom,” he informed you, relishing the way his words put you at ease.

Any remaining stiffness in your stature faded, and the weight of your missing student was officially off of your shoulders. “Thank you – and thank you for coming back to let me know,” you said, putting your hands behind your back, the two of you seemingly at an impasse.

Taking a deep breath Spencer braced himself, “I actually didn’t come back for that. No, I mean, I did. I wanted to let you know that Cody was safe because you were worried and he’s a kid so obviously that was something that I thought you deserved to know since-“

“Spencer?” You said quizzically, smiling at him as he rambled on about your previously missing student, “What else was there?”

His eyes widened as you smiled at him, “Would you want to go out? With me?”

Your smile dropped from your face, and he began to emotionally prepare himself to lay face down on his couch tonight, but what you said next surprised him, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

[melanchoire]

THE MIDNIGHT DETOUR ──── yu jimin

── ( 🌸 ) the constant jabs and petty games with your nemesis karina reach a boiling point at a party, culminating in a bathroom encounter where heated arguments give way to an even hotter, forbidden connection you never saw coming.

pairing. dom!popular girl!karina x sub!riival!fem reader

warning(s). bitting, degradation, fingering, hate sex???, making out, thigh riding.

word count. 4,8k

the fluorescent lights of the school hallway hummed, a monotonous soundtrack to the daily drama unfolding around you. you gripped your textbooks tighter, the worn covers offering a small comfort as you navigated the crowded space. ot wasn't just the sheer volume of bodies that made it feel like a minefield; it was them. the “ae-girls” as the student body had so aptly nicknamed karina's group. they moved through the corridors like royalty, their beauty a blinding force field that seemed to repel anyone who dared to stray too close.

you'd seen it happen with other groups before, the casual cruelty of popularity. but with karina and her crew, it felt different. more personal, more... calculated. you were no stranger to loud, boisterous friend groups. your own friends were certainly a handful, their humor sometimes landing with a thud outside your inner circle. but karina's group was something else entirely. it was a finely tuned symphony of subtle jabs, barely concealed snickers, and outright antagonism.

the “ae-girls” were a constant, irritating hum in your otherwise relatively quiet existence. you knew, rationally, that cliques and social dynamics were the lifeblood of high school, but you couldn't shake the feeling that they were deliberately, maliciously, targeting you.

ever since the day you'd first bumped into karina —literally, colliding mid-hallway, sending textbooks scattering across the floor— there had been a palpable tension, a current of electricity charged with something you couldn't quite name. it wasn’t just the typical high school drama. it felt as though they were actively trying to burrow under your skin, to find that one loose thread that would unravel you entirely.

the whispers were the first thing you noticed. walking past the ae-girls, you’d catch snippets of conversation, their eyes darting in your direction, their lips twitching with suppressed laughter. it was a performance of complicity, a silent communication that excluded you, that made you feel like the butt of some private joke you could never understand.

then there was winter. her method was more physical, a jarring disruption to your daily routine. you remember the chill of that particular day; the fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed as you walked, heading to math class, minding your own business, reviewing quadratic formulas in your head. she walked with a deliberate swagger, her blonde hair swinging around her face like a halo of mischief and suddenly, a sharp, unexpected impact sent you staggering. winter, all sleek lines and effortless cool, had deliberately slammed her shoulder into yours, a calculated, almost predatory move. you flinched, the force of the blow rattling your teeth.

“watch it.” you’d muttered, more surprised than angered.

winter just smirked, a tiny, almost petulant curve of her lips. “maybe you should be more aware of your surroundings.” her voice was a low, velvety purr, that made you shiver and not in a good way. she barely glanced back as she continued walking, her laughter mingling with giselle and ningning who were on her side.

and then there were giselle and ningning, the twin guardians of silent judgment, their gazes like a brand. you’d learned to recognize their looks, the heavy scrutiny that followed you down the hallway, the air thick with unspoken criticism. it felt like being dissected under a microscope, every movement, every imperfection magnified and analyzed.

you always see them in the mornings when students enter school, clustered near the lockers, bathed in the cold light.

giselle and ningning, their dark eyes flitting over the crowd, scanning for… what? targets? you swallowed, feeling the familiar pinprick of unease as their gazes landed on you, lingered, and then, with a barely perceptible smirk, moved on. it was always like this. they never said anything, but their looks spoke volumes, dissecting you, judging you with a silent, almost telepathic precision that made you want to crawl out of your own skin.

you remember one time, you were heading to the library. your footsteps echoed on the polished floor; the heavy silence was interrupted as you noticed them, they were in the corner talking with their heads down. when you passed by they raised their heads at the same time and stared, giving you a look that would curdle milk.

“what are you staring at?” you’d asked, your voice a little sharper than you’d intended. you stopped right in front of them.

giselle and ningning exchanged a look, a silent conversation that seemed to happen before your very eyes. they said nothing, their expression unchanging, a mask of detached disapproval. then, without another word, they simply turned and walked away, leaving you feeling exposed and foolish.

but karina... she was the epicenter of it all. you saw her, leaning against the lockers, her expression unreadable. she was breathtakingly beautiful, her features sharp and elegant, framed by the dark curtain of her hair. it was an unfair level of beauty, the kind that stopped you in your tracks, that made you forget everything else for a fleeting, agonizing moment. her beauty was a weapon, you thought, sharper and more dangerous than any of the subtle jabs her friends threw your way.

and it wasn't just her looks. it was the way she carried herself, the confidence that radiated from her like a heat wave. it was her voice, low and melodic, with a subtle rasp that sent a shiver down your spine despite yourself. you hated that voice. you hated the way it could draw you in, even as it was dripping with sarcasm and disdain. you hated the way it made you feel.

she was the one who always escalated, who threw herself into the fray, whether it was a confrontation with winter’s casual cruelty or an argument about giselle and ningning's incessant staring. she wasn't just a bystander; she was an active participant, a conductor of the symphony of your discomfort. you had plenty of fights with her, both verbal and physical, though they never quite got violent.

you remembered the first time you had spoken to her. it had been over a misplaced library book, a clumsy misunderstanding that had felt utterly catastrophic at the time. you had tried, stammering and flustered, to explain the situation, but karina had interrupted, her voice cool and laced with barely concealed amusement. “you always make such a mess.” she had said, looking at you with those piercing, dark eyes. “it's almost impressive.” you had been mortified, your cheeks burning with shame and anger. it wasn't just the words, but the way she said them, with a hint of something… else. something that you couldn’t quite place but that made your stomach churn in a way that felt both awful and exhilarating.

or the time when winter bumped into you, you'd been about to yell at winter but karina was there, stepping in front of winter. but instead of offering you a kind look of concern, she followed it with a sharp glance at you, a small, almost imperceptible curve to her lips that made you wonder if she was secretly mocking you even as she appeared to defend you. “you need to watch where you're going, clumsy.” she’d said, her voice laced with a kind of mocking amusement. her gaze was intense, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to the rich depths of her dark eyes.

“i wasn't the one who bumped into someone!” you retorted, your hands balling into fists.

karina leaned closer, her breath fanning against your cheek. “maybe if you weren't so busy daydreaming, you would have seen her coming.” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. the way she talked to you was so infuriating, but her voice... it was like a melody, a song that somehow wrapped around you and made it difficult for you to think. you could have listened to her speak for hours.

when giselle and ningning’s silent stares became unbearable, and you dared to call them out, it was karina again, her voice cutting through the tension. “leave her alone, girls. don’t waste your time on her.” and again, that look, that strange mix of disdain and something… unreadable.

it was infuriating. it was mesmerizing. and it was, you had to admit, utterly confusing. you hated the way karina's presence could disrupt your carefully constructed world, the way she could make your heart pound in your chest with a mix of anger and... something else you didn't quite understand. it wasn't just that she was beautiful, it was the way she seemed to see you, to pierce through your carefully constructed facade and to see something hidden beneath the surface.

today, as you walked past her, you kept your gaze fixed ahead, trying to pretend she wasn't there, yet you could feel her eyes on you, heavy and intense. you could feel the faint warmth rising to your cheeks, and you hated it. you hated the way she could make you feel like a teenager again, all awkward and flustered. and yet, deep down, nestled within the layers of frustration and anger, there was a different feeling stirring, a confusing flutter that felt dangerously close to... not hate.

you wanted to scream at her, to demand an explanation, to ask her why she treated you this way. but the words caught in your throat, swallowed by the strange ache that pulsated beneath your skin. you wanted to hate her. you wanted to erase her from your mind. but you knew, with a certainty that both terrified and excited you, that was impossible. because, beneath the layers of annoyance and antagonism, a strange and unnerving tension had begun to simmer, a tension that felt like a tightrope walk between loathing and something else entirely - something that felt incredibly dangerous. and incredibly, impossibly, alluring.

you wanted to hate her. but you were starting to wonder if you were already too far gone. the way those dark eyes held yours just a little too long, the way her voice wrapped around your name with a subtle rasp… it was starting to feel personal. and that, more than anything else, was terrifying.

the bass thrummed through the floor, vibrating up your legs and into your chest. it was the kind of party where the music was loud enough to drown out thought, where the air hung thick with sweat and the scent of cheap beer. around you, your friends were a cacophony of boisterous laughter and half-finished stories, their words washing over you like meaningless static. you nodded along, offered the occasional ‘yeah’ or ‘no way’ but your attention was elsewhere, a magnetic pull you couldn't quite ignore.

karina.

there she was, across the crowded living room, tucked away in a shadowed corner like a stray star. alone. it was a sight so incongruous with the image you had built of her – surrounded by her ‘ae-girls,’ her loyal pack – that it almost made you stop breathing. she was leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed on something beyond the party, a melancholic air clinging to her like the smoke from a forgotten cigarette.

a smirk played on your lips. this was it. an opportunity, maybe even an invitation, to finally cut through the layers of manufactured arrogance she wore like expensive perfume. you hadn't come here tonight expecting anything more than the usual awkward small talk and forced laughter, but the universe, in its twisted sense of humor, had presented you with this.

you excused yourself from your group, their chatter fading into the background as you navigated the sea of bodies. each step you took felt deliberate, a purposeful march towards a confrontation that you knew, deep down, you craved. when you finally reached her, the space between you felt charged, the air crackling with the unspoken history you shared.

“the queen bee without her hive. playing bad all by yourself, are you?” the words were out of your mouth before you could bite them back, a challenge laced with the bitterness you’d come to associate with her. you stood a few feet away, arms crossed, trying to look unaffected by the way her eyes snapped up and locked with yours. those eyes, you were sure, could freeze hell itself.

karina turned her head slowly, her eyes, sharp and obsidian, locking onto yours. a flicker of something – was it a surprise? – crossed her face before her usual mask of indifference slid back into place. “and you…” she drawled, her voice a low, velvety purr that sent a shiver down your spine despite your best efforts to remain stoic.

a slow, predatory smile bloomed on her face, the kind that promised trouble and the thrill of a dangerous game. “and you’re here, i see. did you forget everyone else, or were you always this obsessed with me?” her voice, the honeyed velvet you secretly adored, sent shivers down your spine, a sensation you would vehemently deny if asked.

"obsessed? please. i just thought you looked a little lonely without your little band of tormentors around to back you up.” you retorted, leaning closer, the scent of her perfume, a heady mix of sandalwood and something dangerously floral, filling your senses. “i just didn’t expect to find you all alone, stripped of your little lapdogs. It’s almost…disarming.” it was a weak jab, you knew it, but it was enough to elicit a low, throaty laugh from her.

her lips curled into a smirk, a flash of white teeth that made your stomach clench. “disarming? honey, you have no idea what kind of power i hold, with or without those girls behind me.” she took a step closer, narrowing the distance between you, the heat rolling off her body like a tangible thing.

“and sweetheart,” she purred, taking a step closer, the gap between you closing, the air crackling between you, “we’re just having a little fun here. you, on the other hand, seem a little… preoccupied.”

the heat in your cheeks had nothing to do with the stifling air. your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. “preoccupied? i’m… i'm just stating facts.”

“are you?” she whispered, moving closer, her breath ghosting over your ear, “or are you just looking for a little attention from someone who can actually handle you?”

a strange, dizzying sensation twisted in your stomach. it wasn't a question, it was a declaration, a challenge thrown down like a gauntlet. “handle me? you think you can handle me? you're all bark and no bite. without giselle's death stares, winter's shoulder bumps, and ningning's silent judgments, you're nothing.”

she didn't answer. instead, she reached out, her fingers brushing against your arm, a touch that sent a surge of electricity through your veins. “come with me.” she murmured, her voice a low command that you found yourself strangely compelled to obey.

and just like that, you were following her, weaving through the crowd, away from the music and the noise, towards the back of the house, a place you knew was usually empty, and a strange sense of dread and anticipation began to bubble inside of you.

you found yourselves in a small, dimly lit bathroom. the music was muffled here, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. you leaned against the cold tile wall, the back of your head thudding softly as you tried to catch your breath, and karina stepped inside; she turned and locked the door.

she didn't speak, didn’t even look at you directly for a moment. she just stood there, a few feet away, her eyes watching you like a predator sizing up its prey. you tried to hold her gaze, but the intensity was too much, and your eyes drifted to her lips, the curve of them, the hint of a smirk playing on the corners.

“so…” she drawled, her voice low and husky, “what exactly did you want from me?”

your mind was a blank slate, your carefully constructed arguments dissolving into nothingness. “i— i don't know…” you stammered, hating the way you suddenly felt, small and unsure, completely at her mercy.

karina laughed, a short, sharp sound that was more taunt than amusement. “that’s what i thought.” she moved without warning, closing the distance between you in two quick strides. her hand shot out to grab your chin, tilting your head up so that you were forced to meet her gaze. “ypu're not so tough when it comes to me, are you?”

before you could form a coherent thought, her lips were on yours, a bruising, demanding kiss that stole your breath away. it was everything you had wanted, everything you had never dared to dream of, all wrapped up in one intoxicating moment. you instinctively kissed back, your body responding to hers with a desperate need that shocked you.

her hands roamed, tracing the curve of your jaw, delving into your hair, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. you could feel every inch of her, the heat of her skin pressing against yours, the hard muscle beneath her soft curves.

“you like this, don't you?" she murmured against your lips, her voice laced with a smugness that both infuriated and aroused you. “you like that i’m the one in control. you like that i decide when to kiss you, what to do with you.” she punctuated her words with sharp little bites on your bottom lip, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

her hands began to roam, tracing the curves of your body, sending sparks of desire through your veins. she explored your waist, the curve of your hip, and the small of your back with a boldness that made you breathless. her fingers brushed the edges of your clothes, teasing and taunting you with their delicate touch.

her hands pushed at your shirt, sliding beneath the hem, her cool fingers sending jolts of electricity through you. you whimpered, a mix of protest and surrender. she chuckled, a low rumble against your ear.

her hand slid down lower, finding the waistband of your pants, her fingers teasing you, sending sparks of sensation through your core. “tell me,” she breathed into your ear. “tell me you want this.”

you wanted to deny it, to pull away, to reassert some semblance of control. but the words caught in your throat, replaced by a soft moan as her fingers found their mark, slick heat blooming between your legs. “karina please—”

“you're so easy,” she murmured against your lips, her breath hot and intoxicating. “i could do anything to you right now and you wouldn't stop me.” the words were degrading, a calculated humiliation, but instead of anger, you felt a strange thrill course through you, a sense of surrender that was both terrifying and irresistible.

you pulled back slightly, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “you’re so mean.” you whispered, your voice trembling, the truth of her words hitting home with full force.

she laughed, a low, throaty sound that reverberated through your body. “and you love it.” she said, her eyes sparkling with a dangerous glint, pulling you closer once more, the dance of dominance and submission continuing. the kiss was deeper, more passionate, her tongue exploring your mouth with a confident, practiced ease. you were lost in her, drowning in the force of her touch and the intoxicating pull of her personality, the feeling of a strange mix of fear and a longing that you never knew you possessed.

you, completely overtaken with sensation, didn't even realize how long you were in there, or how much her words both insulted and intoxicated you, but as the kiss deepened, and her hands roamed more, the reality that your friends were probably looking for you, and just the whole situation in general, slowly began to cloud the haze of lust.

she takes you out of your thoughts when her deft fingers made quick work of the button on your jeans. karina smirked as she slowly slid her hand into your unzipped jeans, teasingly tracing the lace of your panties. she rubbed your clothed slit with the heel of her palm, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm.

karina's voice was a low, urgent growl in your ear. "fuck, you're so wet already… is all this because of those stupid kisses i just gave you a few moments ago? or have you been this wet all night since you got here because your little head has been thinking about me touching you? dirty slut… getting this turned on in public. i bet you want my fingers buried inside your tight little cunt, don't you?”

karina's nimble fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing along your clothed slit. she rubbed slow, maddening circles over your clothed clit, applying just enough pressure to make your toes curl in your shoes. “that's why you always give attitude, isn't it? is giving dirty looks and a bitchy attitude your way of saying you want me to fuck you silly?” her other hand slid under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your tummy before cupping your breast, kneading the supple flesh.

“poor little thing... you must be really desperate, aren't you? karina purred, feeling the dampness seeping through the fabric. she slipped a finger under the waistband and pulled your panties aside, exposing your bare, glistening folds.

karina dragged a single fingertip along your slit, barely grazing your sensitive flesh, from your entrance up to your clit. she circled the throbbing bud with maddening slowness, not quite touching it directly.

“please—”

karina chuckled darkly at your needy plea, relishing the power she held over you. she continued her torturous teasing, now running two fingers slowly up and down your dripping slit, spreading your wetness throughout all your folds and then slipping her finger just barely inside your tight entrance, only to pull it out and circle your clit again.

“please what, baby? say it.” karina demanded, her hot breath washing over your neck. she nipped at your earlobe, tugging it between her teeth. “beg for my fingers like a good little slut.”

“please no, this is embarrassing, i—”

"but you're so wet… i can feel it dripping down your thighs. you want my fingers so badly, don't you slut?” she circled your clit once more, drawing a needy whimper from your lips before finally, mercifully, pressing down on the sensitive nub. “c’mon, baby. tell me how badly you need my fingers buried deep in this hungry cunt. i want to hear you say it.” she rasped, her voice thick with lust and dominance.

karina smirked as she felt your body tremble against hers, your breathing growing ragged. she loved reducing you to this desperate, aching mess. her finger traced maddening circles around your entrance, dipping just the tiniest bit inside before retreating, over and over.

“please, karina... please fuck me.” you gasped out, too far gone to hold back your plea. “i need your fingers so badly. i'm so fucking wet and empty... please fill me up.”

karina let out a low, wicked laugh. “mmmh, good girl. i love when you beg for it.” she purred approvingly. without warning, she plunged two fingers deep into your soaked, clenching heat, pumping them in and out at a brutal pace.

“that's it, take my fingers like the greedy little slut you are.” karina growled, her thumb grinding against your clit. her other hand shoved your bra up and out of the way, allowing her to roughly palm and squeeze your bare breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak.

the bathroom filled with the obscene sound of your wetness, the slap of karina's palm against your pussy, and your desperate, wanton moans.

karina's fingers curled inside you, stroking your g-spot with ruthless precision as she finger-fucked you mercilessly. her thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, the stimulation overwhelming your senses.

“fuck, baby, your cunt is gripping my fingers so tightly. i can feel you getting close.” karina rasped, her voice heavy with lust. she leaned in, biting and sucking at your neck, determined to leave her mark on your skin.

suddenly, she pulled her fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. before you could protest, she slammed you against the bathroom wall. her lips crashed against yours in a bruising, demanding kiss, her tongue invading your mouth.

karina grabbed your wrists, pinning your hands above your head as she kissed you deeply, swallowing your whimpers and moans. her knee pressed between your thighs, rubbing against your dripping, throbbing clit. she broke the kiss, both of you panting heavily.

she smirked wickedly as she felt you grinding your hips against her thigh, desperate for any friction. karina grabbed your ass, squeezing the firm cheeks as she encouraged your movements.

“that's it, ride my thigh like the needy little slut you are.” karina purred, her voice dripping with dark amusement. she could feel your wetness soaking through her jeans, staining the denim. the bathroom echoed with the obscene sound of your pussy rubbing against her thigh, your panting breaths, and karina's approving moans.

keeping your wrists pinned above you, karina leaned in to attack your neck, biting and sucking at the tender skin. she wanted to mark you, to leave you with bruises and hickies that would remind you of this moment every time you looked in the mirror.

karina roughly palmed your bare breast, rolling and pinching the stiff peak between her fingers. she tugged and plucked at your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core.

karina could feel your movements growing erratic, your desperation reaching a fever pitch as you rutted against her thigh. she could tell you were teetering on the edge, your body tensing and shaking.

“c’mon baby, cum for me.” karina purred, her voice a sinful whisper against your ear. “i want to feel you gush all over my thigh. go ahead, let go and cum like the dirty girl you are.”

to push you over the precipice, karina pinched your nipple hard, twisting it as she bit down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, breaking the skin. at the same time, she pressed her thigh harder against your clit, grinding against it with ruthless intensity.

the combination of intense sensations overwhelmed you, and you shattered, coming undone against her. your vision went white as your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing and shaking uncontrollably. karina held you tight, not letting you fall as your pussy clenched and spasmed, gushing your release onto her thigh as a scream of ecstasy ripped from your throat.

ehe continued to grind her thigh against your spasming sex, drawing out your climax and making you ride out the waves of pleasure.

when your orgasm finally began to subside, karina captured your lips in a searing, dominating kiss. she plundered your mouth, her tongue stroking and caressing every inch of you, swallowing your whimpers and moans. her hands roamed your body, squeezing and groping your curves possessively.

finally, she pulled back, leaving you gasping and boneless against the wall, your chest heaving. “mmmh, look at the mess you made, you naughty girl…” karina teased, trailing her fingers through the damp patch before bringing them to her mouth. she made a show of licking your juices off, her eyes never leaving yours. “delicious. i knew you'd taste as good as you look.”

her hand slid around your hip, squeezing the curve of your ass as she pressed closer, pinning you neatly between her body and the wall. karina's lips found your neck once more, her mouth hot and open against your skin.

karina pulled back slightly, her dark eyes glinting with mischief and unquenched desire. she glanced at her phone, a smirk playing on her lips. "shit, look at the time. i gotta jet…”

karina cursed under her breath but quickly composed herself, stepping back from you. she smirked as she glanced down at your disheveled appearance; your jeans still unbuttoned, your shirt rumpled, and your hair mussed. the satisfied flush on your cheeks was unmistakable.

“we'll definitely do this again.” she said casually, as if finger-fucking you senseless in a bathroom was an everyday occurrence for her. “but don't think this is over. i'm not done with you yet, not by a long shot."

karina leaned in close, her lips brushing yours teasingly as she whispered. “i'll find you later. maybe tonight, i'll sneak into your dorm room and finish what we started here. wear something easy to take off.” she purred, before stealing a quick, hard kiss and pulling away.

with a final wink, karina turned and sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving you dazed, aroused, and eagerly anticipating her promised nighttime visit. you knew this was only the beginning of your adventures with the infamous queen bee, karina.

[ozzgin]

Why is it so hard to start writing these messages? I swear, I spend so much time every time thinking about how to start and greet ;(( So, what I decided to write for: we already have a yandere who entered Darling Academy to find a darling, so what about a darling who enters a yandere school undercover? (I apologize if something like this has already been done, but it is unlikely that I could have missed even one post on this topic, considering how many times I reread each one-shot). Maybe because they want to find the perfect yandere themselves, maybe one of the yandere students killed/hurted their loved one, so they are entering because they want to find out who the killer is. In general, there can be a huge number of reasons, I would really like to read such a concept in your performance! But of course, you do not have to write something full-scale and detailed, I will be glad to just read your thoughts on this matter!! Have a nice day ^^

I feel like we've already covered the case of an undercover Darling who is adored by the entire school - even if it happened unwillingly. So I went for a different approach; no idea if it works or not.

Undercover!Darling Reader applied to Yandere School in hopes of finding their very own yandere. To their great dismay, what they received was utter indifference. The classmates are nice, but cordial. They are mainly focused on succeeding, not building intimacy with their peers.

An unbearable situation. Reader is stuck listening to the daydreams and hopes of the fellow students while having to remain silent. "I wish I could find a Darling one day", someone laments during break. Reader is beyond themselves. They wish they could scream at the top of their lungs that they're a Darling, right there, right then, ready to be claimed. Yet, that would expose them and potentially land them in trouble. All they can do is smile and not empathetically.

Perhaps as a way to rub salt into the wound, fate has brought another challenge: Reader has been asked to participate in an exchange program with Darling Academy. They agree to it monotonously.

Thus, Reader is now walking down the Darling halls with a defeated expression. Maybe they shouldn't have gotten so greedy. Maybe they should've applied here instead. What was the point of forfeiting their future? None of the yandere students seem to realize they have a Darling right under their nose. Sigh.

Reader is so engulfed in despair that they don't even notice the ardent stares coming from the Darling students. They're scattered in clusters, eyeing you cheekily and whispering among themselves.

"Did you place it? The love letter, I mean", one student inquires.

"I couldn't", their classmate responds, deflated. "(Y/N)'s locker seems to be stuffed to the brim with love letters already. Three of them flew out when I tried to put mine in."

In an unexpected turn of events, Reader has gotten the entire Darling Academy crushing on them. Does that...does that count for something?

[Yandere School Masterlist] | [More yandere stories]

[jinniejjam]

Lonely Wine

✎ Mean Neighbor!Lee Know x Lonely Afab!Reader

✎ Christmas AU, Emotional, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, 18+ MDNI! NSFW, Mutual Pining, Smut, Mistletoe Trope, Romantic Ending.

✎ 3.4k

✎ Synopsis: you find yourself feeling alone and distant, lost in your own thoughts. Your annoying neighbor, Lee Minho, crosses your path, and the exchange between you is far from pleasant. But then, to your surprise, he apologizes. As the holiday season continues, the walls between you begin to crumble, and you start to realize that even the most unexpected neighbors can bring warmth and connection when you least expect it.

A/n : hii y'all! I bring the christmas fanfic for today, hope you enjoy the story and also Merry Christmas! I hope warmth found u^^

—Bae

The air was cold, sharp against your skin as you leaned on the edge of your window, a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. Christmas Eve had always been a hollow affair for you, a reminder of what you didn’t have.

Your family wasn’t just complicated—it was fractured, splintered beyond repair. Your parents had divorced years ago, both quickly moving on to build new families, leaving you somewhere in the middle. No one outright abandoned you, but no one fought for you either. Holidays became a game of polite invitations and shallow smiles, and eventually, you stopped trying to belong anywhere.

You finished the wine faster than you intended, the warmth in your chest doing little to ease the ache. The sound of distant laughter and carols drifted in through the window, each note a cruel reminder of what this night was supposed to be.

When you realized your stock of wine was gone, you sighed and grabbed your coat. A trip to the store would be better than sitting alone with your thoughts.

The grocery store was mostly empty, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly. You wandered the aisles, the sight of festive decorations and holiday discounts doing nothing to lift your spirits. Three bottles of wine went into your basket—too much for one night, maybe, but you didn’t care.

By the time you returned to your building, your arms were aching from the weight of the bottles. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a breath as the doors closed.

But they didn’t close fast enough.

“Hold it!” a familiar voice called, and your stomach dropped as Lee Minho slid in just before the doors shut.

Of course. Out of all the people in this building, it had to be him.

Lee Minho, your annoying salty neighbor who had been a thorn of your peacefull life in this building, you're not sure how and when it started, but every encounter with him always feels like a war somehow, well its maybe begin from the very first you moved in to this building.

Flashback

The new apartment smelled like fresh paint and floor polish. You sat on your worn couch, staring at the boxes still stacked in chaotic clusters, a sigh escaping your lips. Starting over wasn’t easy. The stress of work and the pressures of life had already begun weighing down on you, but you were determined to make this new chapter as bright as possible.

After a long debate, you decided to bake cookies for your neighbors as a peace offering—a way to establish yourself in the building. A sense of community might help ease the loneliness. Armed with a plate of warm cookies, you stepped out of your door, knocking at the unit beside yours.

It swung open sharply.

The man who stood before you was breathtakingly gorgeous, but his expression was nothing short of murderous. His dark, sharp eyes narrowed in annoyance, his jawline so sharp you could swear it could cut glass.

“Yes?” His voice was flat, unwelcoming.

“Oh, hi! I just moved in next door. I made cookies and thought I’d introduce myself!” you said, holding the plate out with a smile.

He stared at the cookies like they were contaminated.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” His tone was curt. Without another word, he shut the door.

You blinked, stunned. What the hell was that?

Or that one time when he complained, saying that you're being loud just 3 days right after you moved in.

The next few days after moving in filled with unpacking, arranging furniture, and trying to settle into your new place. It was exhausting, and by the weekend, you decided to reward yourself with a relaxing night—some wine, your favorite playlist, and a bubble bath.

The music was soft, barely above a whisper, but as you swayed along while unpacking some remaining boxes, a sudden knock startled you. It wasn’t just a polite tap; it was loud, deliberate, and aggressive.

You frowned as you opened the door, only to find yourself face-to-face with your grumpy neighbor. Lee Minho stood there, arms crossed, his dark eyes glaring down at you like you were the source of all his problems.

“Seriously?” he snapped.

“What?” you asked, taken aback.

“The music,” he said. “Some of us are trying to sleep, and your constant noise is making it impossible.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely 9 PM.”

“And? Some people have early mornings,” he replied. “Unlike you, apparently.”

You folded your arms. “Excuse me, but I’m not exactly throwing a party over here. The music is quiet enough that I can barely hear it myself. Maybe the problem isn’t me; maybe it’s you.”

His jaw tightened. “Oh, so now I’m the problem?”

“Kind of, yeah,” you shot back. “Maybe you should consider moving to a remote cabin in the woods if you hate hearing other people so much.”

The tension between you crackled like static. He exhaled sharply, clearly deciding you weren’t worth more of his time.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just keep it down.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his apartment, leaving you fuming in the doorway.

You think that was the moment the gloves came off. From then on, the two of you clashed at every opportunity—snarky comments in the elevator, icy glares in the hallway, and a mounting frustration that turned into outright hostility.

Back to present time, he leaned casually against the cold wall of the elevator, his sharp eyes scanning the bottles in your arms. His smirk was almost immediate.

“Three bottles?” he quipped, tilting his head. “For one person? What is this, a pity party?”

You didn’t respond, staring straight ahead and hoping he’d shut up.

But Minho wasn’t done. “What? Are you that lonely? Not even a family to spend Christmas with?”

His words hit like a gut punch, sharp and uncalled for. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles as you turned to glare at him.

“Yeah, keep talking, Lee. I’m sure your perfect little life makes all of this just so much better,” you shot back, your voice trembling but laced with bitterness.

Minho blinked, taken aback. He had expected you to snap back, to fight him with the same sarcastic edge you always did. Instead, he saw the hurt in your eyes, the raw emotion you’d been trying so hard to hide. His stomach twisted in regret, realizing too late that he had pushed the wrong button this time. The smug expression he wore faltered, guilt creeping in as he watched you turn away right after the elevator door opened.

Once inside your apartment, the weight of his words finally crashed down on you. You set the bottles on the counter, your hands trembling.

Not even a family.

It wasn’t just an insult—it was the truth. Your parents had their own lives, their own families, and you were nothing more than a reminder of their failed marriage. Christmas had become a painful routine: fake smiles, awkward dinners, and feeling like an outsider in both of their homes. This year, you hadn’t even bothered to show up.

Tears welled in your eyes as you uncorked one of the bottles. The first sip burned your throat, but you didn’t stop. With each gulp, you tried to drown the ache, to silence the doubts and regrets swirling in your mind.

But the wine didn’t help. Instead, it magnified everything.

The tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as the weight of the night pressed harder on you. You sank onto the couch, clutching the bottle like it was your lifeline. The sound of distant carols and laughter seeped in through the thin walls, each note a cruel reminder of what you didn’t have.

A knock at the door made you freeze.

“Who’s there?” you called, your voice hoarse.

“It’s me.”

Minho.

Your chest tightened. The last person you wanted to see right now was him.

“Go away!” you shouted, wiping at your tear-streaked face.

But he didn’t leave.

“I need to apologize,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

You clenched your jaw, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t need your pity, Minho. Just leave me alone.”

But his voice came again, insistent. “Please. I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line.”

Something about the raw sincerity in his tone gave you pause. Slowly, you stood and walked to the door, hesitating before unlocking it.

When you opened it, Minho was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk replaced by something almost apologetic. His eyes flickered to your puffy, tear-streaked face, and his jaw tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why do you care?”

Minho hesitated, his gaze softening. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas.”

The admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.

“I’m serious,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was being an ass, and—"

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Before you knew it, you were crying again, the weight of the evening too much to hold back.

Minho stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “—Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly. The warmth of his embrace broke something inside you, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you afloat.

Minho held you close, his arms steady and sure, like he was the only anchor keeping you from falling apart. The quiet between you was heavy but not uncomfortable; his presence alone was enough to steady your trembling breaths. His hand moved gently up and down your back, offering a kind of comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, your voice muffled.

“For what?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“For being a mess.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes softened as they searched yours, and for the first time, you saw something other than irritation or smugness—something tender.

“You’re not a mess,” he murmured. “You’re human.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten, and before you could think twice, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands steadying you as he guided you toward the couch. “Sit down. Let me help.”

He left briefly, and you heard the soft clink of glasses. When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and a blanket, sitting beside you with a closeness that felt intentional.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice still fragile.

“I wanted to.” His reply was simple, but his tone carried weight.

The room was quiet as you sipped the water, his eyes never leaving you. The soft glow of the Christmas lights from your small tree cast warm shadows across his face, making him look softer, more vulnerable.

“You’re different tonight,” you said softly, daring to glance at him.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners. “So are you.”

The silence stretched again, but this time it was charged, buzzing with something unspoken.

“Minho,” you began, your voice hesitant, but he interrupted you by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long, making heat creeping to your cheeks, redish hue appear within a second.

“You deserve better than this,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at your apartment, the wine bottles on the counter, the loneliness hanging in the air. “Being alone on Christmas. Feeling like you don’t have anyone. You deserve someone who cares.”

The vulnerability in his voice stunned you.

“Do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Care, I mean?”

His eyes darkened slightly as they locked onto yours. “More than I should.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you seemed to shrink as the tension thickened. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering to your lips.

But you didn’t want him to stop.

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as you both gave in to the pull that had been simmering between you for weeks.

Minho’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as you shifted onto his lap. His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a passion that sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, eliciting a low sound from him that made your stomach flip.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yes.”

He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. He stood, carrying you effortlessly toward your bedroom, his movements careful and intentional.

Once inside, he laid you gently on the bed, his hands brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every inch of you. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious—made your chest tighten.

His touch was both tender and consuming, each kiss and caress unraveling the stress and pain that had been weighing you down for so long. The intimacy of it all made your heart ache in the best way.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like it was sacred, the way he made you feel seen, cherished.

His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You shivered, your body responding to his touch even before you could think. Minho’s hands caressed the curves of your body, each movement slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting something inside of you that had been dormant for far too long.

"Minho..." You whispered his name, your voice trembling as your fingers slid to the waistband of his pants, grabing his clothed cock making him groan from the contact.

"Fuck, Princess."

He kissed you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your pulse spike. You felt his body pressing against yours, his muscles flexing as he leaned into you. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer to him until you could feel the heat of his body, hands trailing to tug on your sweater, getting rid of it in a swift motion, leaving you in your black lacy bra.

When he pulled away for just a second, his dark eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "You're so beautiful” he said, his voice low and raspy, full of an almost dangerous edge.

He squeze your tits from outside of your bra, your body aching for him in a way you couldn’t deny. "Minh, please.”

With a growl, he kissed you again, his hands rough as they worked quickly to remove the last remnants of your clothes. You felt the heat of his skin against yours, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine before they slid to your hips, pulling you closer as his mouth moved over your collarbone, his kisses becoming more desperate.

Every kiss he gave, every movement of his hands, felt like it was igniting something inside of you, a need that you hadn’t realized had been building up for so long. You moaned softly, your hands running over his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips.

He responded with a groan of his own, his mouth returning to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The air between you grew thick with desire, the tension so palpable you could hardly breathe. His hands moved to your back, gently pushing you back onto the bed, his body following you, never breaking the connection.

As he hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, “I want you, all of you.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as his words sank in, the meaning behind them making your heart race even faster. “Then take me,” you responded, your voice low and demanding, feeling a surge of confidence you hadn’t known you had.

Without another word, Minho moved over you, his hands and lips tracing the line of your body with a sense of urgency, like he couldn’t wait any longer. He drag his waist band You felt the pressure of his body against yours, he run his heavy cock along your folds, squelching sound coming from the contact signing how wet you are already, "Holly fuck baby, do you hear that? Mmh all wet for me" he said, still teasing your drench cunt. The heat between you both becoming almost unbearable.

Minho finally align his tip to your enterance, pushing it in to your clenching hole, earning a trail of moan from both of you.

"Ahh minhh," Your fingers dug into his back, urging him on as you kissed him with the same urgency, your body moving against his in rhythm.

His movements grew faster, more desperate, as he sought to claim you in the way that only he could. You could feel every inch of him as he slid deeper, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp with pleasure. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your body trembled beneath him.

"Minho mmh," his name slipped from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, and the sound of it seemed to drive him wild. He growled low in his throat, his hips snapping against yours with a relentless intensity. You met him with every thrust, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control, the pleasure building, escalating with each movement.

"Minho... fuckh you're gonna make me cumhh," you gasped, the heat of your bodies colliding with an intensity that took your breath away.

He groaned, his name slipping from your lips in a way that made his pulse quicken. The sound of your voice, the way you were calling out for him, drove him to the edge. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, his tongue claiming yours in a dance that matched the rhythm of your bodies.

"Cum for me kitten, cum" he said, hips pistoning to hit the certain spot that makes you see the stars.

As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you felt the tension inside of you snap, "Minhh ahh FUCK," your body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.

"Fuck, fuck fuck shit baby s'goodh mmhh" Minho followed you over the edge, his body trembling as he gave in to the moment, his own release consuming him.

You both lay there, breathless and tangled in each other's arms, your bodies still pressed together, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Minho’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, the softness of the kiss in stark contrast to the fiery intensity of what had just happened.

“I care about you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours once more. “More than you know.”

You looked up at him, the vulnerability in your chest now replaced with something deeper, something stronger. You smiled softly, your hands running over his back, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

"I care about you too," you whispered, your voice full of quiet certainty.

And as the two of you lay together, tangled in the aftermath, you realized that this wasn’t just a night of passion. It was a turning point—one that would change everything between you. It was the beginning of something real, something lasting, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.

Make a brief synopsis for this story

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I��m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky takes you off the counter. You yelp again. His strength is as terrifying as that gleam in his eye. He is the very wolf he claims to be.

He carries you through the door and down the hall. You reach out to catch the frame as he kicks through your bedroom door. He grunts and yanks you just enough to bend your fingers back. You grasp onto his shoulders and writhe, whining as he marches across the room.

He drops you on your back and your chest bounces. You roll over and flail for the far side of the mattress. You push your knees into the bed only for him to grab your ankles and haul you back. He flips you around and straddles you. You bat at him as he easily swats away your hands. He catches your wrists and pins them next to your head.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he snarls as he bends over you.

"But you are," you hiss and jerk your body, trying to get him off. "Bucky, don't do this. Please."

"I'm not..." he blinks and tilts his head back and forth. Frustration lines his face. "Doll, I'm not hurting you."

He drags your arms straight and clutches your wrists in his metal hand. His other traces down the length of your arm and tickles your torso. Once more, he fondles your chest, humming as he raises himself slightly, his pelvis rocking subtly over yours. His chest tautens as the softer flesh above his belt bulges over.

He purrs and tickles down your stomach. You whimper and wriggle helplessly. He squeezes your wrists until you're still, the metal plates pinching your flesh. You look down at his touch as it crawls closer to your pants. 

He tugs free the drawstring of your linen pants. He angles his hand as he dips his fingers under the fabric. He slides back as he crawls down your pelvis. He pets the tuft of coiled hair there. You heave and quiver as you clamp your thighs tight.

He forces down between your legs, scratching you as he pushes between your folds. You gasp and spasm as he flicks along your clit. You bite down as your eyes fill with tears. He rolls around your cluster of nerves and your horror trickles down your cheek as you lock up in futility. You can only watch how he takes you over.

His chest rises and falls as his eyes focus on the movement of his hand. He rises on his knees just a little and bites his lip. The muscles in his arms move beneath his skin as he teases you.

Your thighs tremble as the pressure furls around his touch, trapped in your core as you try to breathe through you, try to blow it away. You turn your head back and forth as your resistance falters with each swirl of his fingertips. He purrs as he urges you on.

"That's it, doll, relax." He coaxes you in a grizzly timbre. "You been so good to me, let me be good to you."

"Bucky..." you quaver and gulp. "Please..."

"You're almost there," he cooes.

"No," you close your eyes and push your head down into the mattress. 

Your back arches and you tilt your pelvis against his hand. You quake as you're overcome by the swell, lost in the tides of pleasure that dampen your fear. Your voice drifts from between panting breaths. Your cum smears down his fingers as they glide lower and poke around your entrance.

He slips inside of you and you groan. He moves off of you, kneeling beside you as he rocks his hand. He pushes against your clit as you shudder and moan. He curls his fingers and pushes until you feel a heat blooming in you, mingling with the twisting in your pelvis. You spasm as you cum again, urged through by his steady rhythm.

He doesn't relent. You peek out from beneath your heavy lashes. He watches his hand between your legs. He builds a tempo again; slowly, slowly, slowly, Your thighs clench, your walls you. You throw your arm over your face to hide as your back arches. The ripples of your next climax crash over you and strangle your voice from your lungs.

He rolls his thumb over your clit as you groan. You reach down and weakly try to push his hand away. "Please," you croak.

He hushes you as he flicks your bud one last time. You twitch. He drags his fingers out of you and smears them down your thighs. He inhales and it gristles in his throat. He stands and pushes down his jeans.

Dizzily, you flip yourself again. You stretch your arm to the edge but can't move yourself away from him. The bed dips behind you and he grabs above your elbow. He puts you on your back again. You go rigid as he brings himself over you. He pets your face as he bends to hover just above your lips.

He nuzzles you as he frames your face. His thumb strokes your cheekbone and his breath plume around you. His nose brushes up the bridge of yours as he inhales your scent. He places a firm kiss on your forehead. You shiver.

He puts his lips above your brow and presses with a hum. He lays a trail of kisses all around as the tension strengthens his hands. He dabbles along your cheekbones, your jaw, and back to your lips. The last, he pushes his tongue through and smothers you.

When at last he parts, he leans his forehead on yours. He sighs. "I need you, doll."

You gulp and feel blindly across the bed. You trail up his sides and to his shoulders. You follow his arms down to his grip on your jaw. You squeeze his wrists and bat your lashes.

"Bucky," you murmur. "Please, if you stop now..."

He closes his eyes as he looms over you. He lets out a long breath as his thumbs pet your cheekbones. He growls.

"You don't get it," he breathes, "I can't stop."

He trembles as he shifts to straddle you further down. He peels one hand away from your jaw and plants it on the mattress. His other, he slips down to your throat. You lock up and stare up at him helplessly.

He lifts one knee as he leans on his other. He pushes against your legs until they part. You whine as an icy flow runs up to your core. He brings his other knee inside of yours and urges them wide. He dips his pelvis down until his hard length is against you. He rocks his hips slowly, rubbing against you as he snarls.

He falls to his elbow and drops his head to watch himself. He chokes out tight groans as he teases you and himself. You bring a hand to his bulging metal bicep and the other to his shoulder. You whimper.

"Bucky," you rasp as he slides back and angles down so his tip prods at you.

"Shhhh," he keeps himself above you on the strength of his metal arm and his other hand drifts down to your chest.

He gropes your tits as he watches himself, tilting his pelvis as he pokes you still. He feels along your soft stomach and traces from your hip to pelvis. He turns his hand and curls two fingers down to frame your cunt. He pushes your folds apart and snags his tip between his knuckles. You pull your hand from his shoulder and slp his chest in a panic.

Before you can issue his name, he sinks into you. Just his tip. Stretching you to a whine. You bite down on your lip as his hair tickles your face. He growls as slowly lets his weight down, inching into you as he watches the intrusion. He quakes as you dig your nails into his flesh and hiss.

Deeper and deeper, until you're light-headed and raw. He bottoms out and gasps. Your walls are tight around him, ragged and radiating. He lowers himself completely, smothering you with his body. He stays buried to his limit, not moving as he pants like a wild animal. You can't move, you can only squirm around him.

[chososcamgirl]

(SHE’S) JUST A PHASE CHAPTER SIXTEEN: maybe a phase?

masterlist

“Didn’t expect this many people to show up,” Megumi mumbled to the pink-haired boy beside him.

“I like it! It’s like our very own cult!” Yuji exclaimed; his eyes sparkling as he licked his lips in anticipation.

The raven rolled his eyes at the remark. He wasn’t wrong though. With the turnout of the event, you could start a small religion. 

Fans gathered in eager clusters; their faces lit with anticipation as they waited for their moment with the band. Laughter echoed around him, a stark contrast to the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. Megumi felt like a marionette, expertly performing his role while his heart remained tethered to unspoken thoughts.

“Megumi, can you finish the heart?” 

He suppresses a mental groan at yet another familiar request, but he obliges, nonetheless. 

That definitely must have been the hundredth one. With a practised smile, he lifts his hand, expertly completing the heart shape as the girl beams through the screen. The phone obscures her face, leaving him with only a sense of her enthusiasm.

Around him, the atmosphere of the fan meet-and-greet buzzes with energy. His bandmates are in their element, laughing and joking with fans, their easy conviviality filling the air with warmth. They engage with their admirers, sharing stories and creating moments that spark joy, their carefree spirits a stark contrast to his mood - enjoying themselves. 

Having fun.

As he stands there, a twinge of envy bubbles beneath the surface. Here he is, moping over a girl who seems not to want anything to do with him. Well, anything but his dick. While everyone else is immersed in genuine interaction, he can’t shake the feeling of being sidelined and lost in his thoughts while the world around him pulses with life and laughter.

why would i care?

His heart panging as he replayed the text message he had received days ago, each word lingering like a haunting refrain. Was it wrong to feel this way? To sense that everything he had shared was merely a facade, a carefully crafted performance for someone who never truly saw him. 

He couldn’t shake the unsettling realization that he felt like nothing more than a fleeting moment in her life—a one-night stand disguised as something deeper. The weight of this realization pressed down on him, an oppressive reminder that his emotions felt tossed aside as if he were just an afterthought in a narrative that didn’t include him. 

The feeling of being used gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Every time he revisited that moment, a tight knot formed in his stomach, an ache that echoed his longing for something genuine. He craved a connection that resonated beyond the surface and spoke to his heart and soul rather than just his body. As the days passed, that yearning only deepened, leaving him in a cycle of doubt and self-reflection, questioning what it truly meant to be seen and valued.

Whatever. Fuck Yn. She can go fuck herself. I don’t fucking need her. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck her. Fuck-

“Oh my god! I’m such a huge fan!” The enthusiastic voice sliced through his thoughts, yanking him back to the chaotic reality of the event.

He quickly summoned his best faux smile, a mask he had perfected through countless encounters.

“Hey! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” he replied, glancing down at the array of items sliding his way to autograph—each one a reminder of the crushing expectations he felt.

The fan leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I just have one question for you.”

“Shoot,” he said, keeping his voice steady, though a flicker of tension danced beneath the surface.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

He chuckled at the unexpected question, shaking his head. “I do not.”

“Then who’s that girl you’re always with?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” he said, trying to keep his composure as he continues signing.

“Yes, you do!” she insisted, her voice rising with excitement as she grips the edge of the table.

As she continued to speculate about this so-called girlfriend, Megumi felt something inside him unravel. Maybe it was the sting of her silence in their last conversation, the way she had left him on read, leaving him feeling a little shattered. Or perhaps it was the sheer exhaustion of the endless meet-and-greet, where each interaction felt like a rehearsed line in a play he no longer wished to perform. The walls felt as if they were closing in, the air thick with unspoken feelings and unresolved questions.

Something snapped.

“She’s not my girlfriend, she’s just some random bitch who sluts herself out and calls it fun.”

The words escaped him before he could rein them in.

A heavy silence settles between them; the fan was stunned into stillness by his choice of words — and profanity. His eyes dropped to the phone in her hands, and dread washed over him as he realises she was recording.

Fuck.

backstage!

• hey siri play she’s just a phase by puma blue

• cue the megumi fumble arc

• megumi crash out video: 2 minutes long

• poor gojo had a heart attack when he got that pop bae notification (he hates dealing with the press)

• he put on notifs ever since they posted a pic of him and suguru walking out of a hotel together hand in hand LMFAO

• yn was standing in one spot just furiously tapping at her phone and panda asked if she was playing fruit ninja

• he got sent to his room after that

• nobara saw the video first (mainly bc she was on twitter at the time. who’s surprised?)

• told yn to brace herself and showed her it

• yn made 7 hate accounts during the uber to sukuna’s

• that girl mad as hell😂😂🤣🤦‍♀️

• i hope they don’t hook up!!

• side eye dog meme

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @ichcocat @laughingfcx @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @starantulas @1l-ynn @sluttkuna @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[evermoreness]

meeting the family | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x reader!

summary: your boyfriend invites you to be his plus one in the wedding of his cousin, Narcissa, and now you have to meet the whole family.

obs: reader is james potter's sister!

masterlist

Meeting everyone

The day of the wedding arrived, and as you stood beside Regulus at the entrance to the sprawling Malfoy estate, your heart raced. The grandeur of the event was overwhelming. The massive, immaculately manicured yard stretched endlessly before them, lined with silk-draped tables, gold accents, and enchanted chandeliers floating in midair. Peacocks roamed the grounds, their iridescent feathers gleaming in the sunlight. It was ostentatious to a fault—just as one would expect from the Blacks and Malfoys.

Regulus, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit with a silver trim, placed a reassuring hand on the small of your back. You glanced up at him, your nervousness clear despite your polished exterior. You wore an elegant dark green gown, subtly matching his attire, with your hair styled neatly to showcase the delicate silver necklace he had gifted you months ago.

“You look breathtaking, ma chérie,” Regulus whispered as he leaned down slightly, his lips brushing your ear. “They’ll all be jealous.”

You managed a small smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “Reggie, they’ll all be judging. I’m a Potter, remember?”

Regulus smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Let them. None of them could ever dream of being as remarkable as you.”

His words steadied your nerves, and you straightened your posture, slipping your hand into his. Together, you walked onto the grounds, where the most elite members of the wizarding world mingled in clusters. Heads turned as you approached.

The first to notice them was Bellatrix Lestrange, her piercing dark eyes narrowing at the sight of you. She was clad in a flowing black gown, her wild curls framing her pale face like a chaotic halo. “Well, well,” she drawled, stepping closer. “Regulus, darling, I didn’t know you’d be bringing… company.”

“Bellatrix,” Regulus said coolly, his tone polite but distant. “This is y/n Potter, my girlfriend.”

You extended your hand, forcing yourself to smile despite the intensity of Bellatrix’s gaze. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Bellatrix didn’t take the hand. Instead, she smirked, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. “A Potter? How… unexpected. Tell me, Regulus, how did you manage to… tame one?”

Regulus’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. “She is unlike anyone you’ve ever met,” he said simply. “And she’s far from tame.”

You bit back a laugh at his subtle jab, and Bellatrix’s smirk faltered for a moment before she let out a low chuckle. “Interesting. Let’s hope she doesn’t disappoint.”

Before Bellatrix could say more, Narcissa Malfoy appeared, radiant in her bridal gown. Her platinum blonde hair was pinned up in an elegant twist, and her expression was far warmer than Bellatrix’s. “Regulus,” she greeted warmly, her sharp blue eyes flicking to you. “And you must be y/n. Lucius told me you’d be attending.”

You exhaled in relief, extending your hand again. This time, it was taken. “It’s lovely to meet you. Congratulations on your wedding, Narcissa.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa said, smiling faintly. “I must say, it’s… refreshing to see someone new among us. You carry yourself well.”

“She carries herself better than most,” Regulus said softly, his pride evident.

You continued to make their way around, meeting the extended Black family and their associates. You kept your composure, maintaining a perfect balance of politeness and confidence, though inside, your nerves were on fire. You were not being yourself, you knew that you had to maintain certain posture around the Black family. Each encounter was another test, another judgment, but Regulus stayed firmly by your side, his hand never leaving yours.

When you finally reached Lucius Malfoy, you were greeted with a calculating smile. Lucius, with his long blond hair and tailored silver robes, exuded the air of someone who always got what he wanted.

“Regulus,” Lucius said smoothly. “And Miss Potter. It’s an honor to meet you.”

You nodded, returning his smile with one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “The honor is mine.”

“Tell me,” Lucius continued, his tone laced with curiosity, “what’s it like, being a Potter in such… unique company?”

“It’s an adjustment,” You replied evenly. “But I’m fortunate to have someone like Regulus to guide me.”

Lucius glanced at Regulus, who met his gaze without flinching. “You’ve chosen well, cousin,” Lucius said finally.

As the conversation dwindled and the ceremony neared, Regulus led you to a quieter corner of the yard. He turned to you, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

“You’re incredible, mon amour,” he said, his voice low and full of admiration.

You sighed, leaning into him. “I was terrified. Did I pass their tests?”

“You didn’t just pass—you outshone them all,” he replied, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You smiled, your confidence returning. “Well, I do have an excellent coach.”

Regulus chuckled. “That you do, ma chérie.”

As you stood there, a moment of calm amidst the chaos, you realized just how much you loved him—not just for his quiet strength, but for the way he made you feel like you could conquer anything. And for Regulus, seeing you hold your own in the lion’s den of his family only deepened his admiration for you.

Regulus and you had just found a moment to yourselves, tucked in a quieter corner of the Malfoy’s grand yard, when the sound of familiar, measured footsteps made you both turn. Walburga and Orion Black approached, their presence immediately commanding attention. Both carried an air of stern elegance: Walburga in a dark green gown adorned with intricate silver embroidery, her expression sharp and calculating, and Orion in his traditional black robes, his face as impassive as stone.

Regulus subtly straightened his posture, his usual cool demeanor firmly in place, though you could feel the slight tension in the way his hand pressed against your back.

“Regulus,” Walburga greeted curtly, her piercing gaze sweeping over him before settling on you. “And this must be… the Potter girl.”

“Mother. Father,” Regulus said, his tone polite but distant. “This is y/n Potter. My girlfriend.”

You stepped forward, your heart racing but her expression composed. You extended your hand to Walburga first, offering a poised smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Black.”

Walburga’s lips curled into a faint, approving smile as she accepted the handshake, her grip surprisingly firm. “Hmm. You carry yourself well,” she remarked, her tone laced with curiosity. “Not what I expected from a Potter.”

Your smile didn’t falter. “I can imagine my family has quite the reputation, but I assure you, I value decorum and tradition as much as anyone here.”

Orion’s deep, gravelly voice cut in as he extended his hand to you. “And what of your brother? James Potter is hardly known for his… restraint.”

You shook his hand with the same composed grace. “James and I are quite different, Mr. Black. He’s bold and extroverted, whereas I’ve always preferred a quieter, more thoughtful approach. Perhaps that’s why Regulus and I understand each other so well.”

Orion’s dark eyes flicked to Regulus, who met his father’s gaze with a steady calm. “Indeed,” Orion said after a moment, his voice betraying a hint of approval.

Walburga tilted her head, her sharp eyes studying you as if searching for flaws. “And you both are from different houses. An unconventional match.”

You inclined your head slightly, your smile unwavering. “Perhaps, but I believe intelligence and ambition aren’t confined to any one house. Regulus and I complement each other.”

Regulus’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, his pride in her unmistakable. “She excels in everything she does,” he added, his tone carrying just enough warmth to soften his usual stoicism. “She’s the most brilliant person I know.”

You shot him a subtle, grateful glance before turning back to his parents. “Regulus has always spoken highly of you both,” she said smoothly. “He values his family deeply, and it’s clear where his refinement and discipline come from.” You never lied so much in such little time, but you were doing this for Regulus. He wanted his parents to approve you.

Walburga’s expression shifted, a hint of pride creeping into her features. “You’ve been taught well,” she said, almost grudgingly. “And you’re perceptive. A valuable trait.”

You inclined your head again, your smile just the right mix of humility and confidence. “Thank you, Mrs. Black.”

Orion nodded thoughtfully, his gaze shifting between you and Regulus. “It’s clear you’ve chosen wisely, Regulus. A woman who understands the importance of poise and intellect.”

Regulus’s voice was steady, but there was an underlying warmth as he responded, “I wouldn’t be with anyone less.”

Walburga regarded you for another long moment before finally saying, “Well, Miss Potter, I trust you’ll conduct yourself appropriately during tonight’s events. The Black family values appearances, and as someone… associated with us, your behavior reflects on Regulus.”

“Of course,” You replied smoothly, your tone respectful but firm. “I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

Walburga gave a curt nod, seemingly satisfied. “Very well.”

Orion’s expression softened ever so slightly as he looked at you. “Enjoy the evening. And... welcome.”

As they walked away, Regulus exhaled quietly, his shoulders relaxing for the first time since the encounter began.

“You were perfect, mon amour,” he murmured, turning to you with a small, genuine smile.

You let out a soft laugh, relief flooding you. “I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest.”

Regulus chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You handled them better than most people ever could. I’ve never seen my mother warm up to someone so quickly.”

“Well,” You teased, leaning closer, “I had to impress them. You’re worth it.”

Regulus’s eyes softened, and he cupped your cheek gently. “You don’t have to try to impress anyone, ma chérie. You’re already more than enough.”

You smiled up at him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. “Thank you, love. But let’s just say I’m glad that’s over.”

“For now,” Regulus said, his voice laced with dry humor. “The rest of the night will likely be filled with more questions and judgmental stares.”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “As long as you’re by my side, I can handle anything.”

“And I’ll always be by your side,” he promised softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The two lingered for a moment, savoring the quiet victory of the encounter before returning to the bustling crowd, ready to face whatever the evening held—together.

After the ceremony

The grand dining hall of the Malfoy mansion was nothing short of spectacular. Long tables adorned with shimmering silver tablecloths stretched across the room, illuminated by floating crystal chandeliers. Plates were intricately decorated, and the posh food ranged from delicate appetizers to decadent main courses. Despite the grandeur, you felt at ease as long as you were with Regulus. You sat at a small table near the edge of the room, away from the center of attention, which suited you both perfectly.

Regulus, as usual, maintained his calm, composed demeanor, though you could sense his subtle pride as he glanced at you every now and then. You two were deeply engrossed in conversation, your quiet laughter and shared smiles creating a little bubble that seemed impenetrable.

“Regulus, you’re not going to try the duck confit?” You teased, pointing at the untouched dish on his plate. “It’s delicious.”

He smirked faintly, his fork idly pushing at the food. “I’ll take your word for it, mon amour. I’m more interested in hearing about the new book you started.”

Before you could respond, the sound of chairs shifting nearby caught their attention. Regulus’s cousins, Bellatrix and Andromeda, approached your table, their contrasting energies immediately filling the space. Bellatrix’s dark, piercing eyes locked onto yours with curiosity, while Andromeda’s softer gaze held a friendly warmth.

“Regulus,” Bellatrix drawled, her voice sharp and commanding as she took a seat uninvited. “And the infamous Potter.”

“Andromeda,” Regulus greeted coolly, his tone polite but distant. “Bellatrix.”

Thaís straightened in her seat, offering a poised smile. “It’s lovely to meet you both.”

Bellatrix tilted her head, her dark curls framing her intense expression. “A Potter at a Black family event. Now that’s a sight I never thought I’d see.”

Andromeda smiled kindly. “Don’t mind Bella; she’s always dramatic. Y/n, I’ve been curious about you. Reg speaks highly of you.”

You glanced at Regulus, whose expression remained unreadable, though you caught the faintest twitch of smile at the corner of his lips. “Well, I hope I live up to the expectations,” you said lightly, your tone disarming.

Bellatrix leaned forward, her sharp gaze fixed on you. “So, tell me, little Potter, what is it about my dear cousin that caught your attention? Surely you’ve noticed he’s not the most… forthcoming person.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened, but you placed a reassuring hand on his arm before responding with a gentle smile. “Regulus doesn’t need to be forthcoming. His actions speak volumes. He’s kind, intelligent, and steadfast, and I admire that deeply.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You’re quite eloquent. I imagine that comes in handy with your family.”

You nodded, your smile never faltering. “It does. Growing up with James taught me how to handle strong personalities.”

Bellatrix smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You’re sharp, I’ll give you that. But tell me, how do you feel about the Black family’s… reputation?”

You met Bellatrix’s gaze head-on, your voice steady. “Reputations are just that—reputations. I believe in judging people based on my interactions with them. So far, I’ve found that Regulus and I share values that matter to us both.”

Bellatrix’s smirk softened into something almost approving. “Hmph. You’ve got nerve. I like that.”

Andromeda’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. Regulus, I think you’ve found someone who can keep up with you.”

Regulus’s voice was calm as he responded, trying to hide a little smile “She is the only one who can, i think."

You looked at Regulus with a smile, Bellatrix rolled her eyes and just walked away. Bellatrix didn't have time for those romantic things.

Andromeda rolled her eyes but smiled at you. “It was lovely meeting you. If you ever tire of Bella’s dramatics, find me. I’d love to chat more.”

“Thank you, Andromeda,” you replied warmly, watching as she walked away.

As soon as they were out of earshot, you turned to Regulus, your expression a mix of amusement and relief. “Your family certainly knows how to put someone through their paces.”

Regulus smirked, his hand brushing yours under the table. “You handled them flawlessly, ma chérie. I’m proud of you.”

You leaned closer, your voice soft and teasing. “You know, love, if I can survive Bellatrix’s interrogation, I think I can handle anything.”

Regulus chuckled, his cold exterior melting away as he looked at you with pure affection. “I have no doubt, mon cœur. You’re extraordinary.”

You sat there for a moment longer, your little bubble intact once again, oblivious to the curious glances from the rest of the room. It didn’t matter what anyone thought—as long as you had each other, they were unstoppable.

The first dance

The grand hall transformed into a scene of elegance as the newlyweds took to the center of the floor. Narcissa and Lucius moved gracefully, their movements perfectly synchronized, and all eyes were on them. The orchestra played a soft waltz that echoed through the room, and soon the floor was open for the other guests to join in.

Regulus turned to you, his expression softening as the music filled the air. With a slight bow, he extended his hand to you, his movements impossibly graceful and refined. “Mon amour,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “May I have this dance?”

You blinked in surprise, glancing around nervously at the other couples already gliding across the floor. “Reggie, I don’t know how to—”

“I’ll teach you,” he interrupted, a rare, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Trust me, ma chérie. You’ll be perfect.”

You hesitated for a moment before slipping your hand into his, his warmth immediately soothing your nerves. “Alright,” you said with a small laugh. “Just don’t let me step on your toes.”

“Even if you do, I’d gladly endure it,” he teased, guiding you onto the dance floor.

As you found a spot among the other couples, Regulus positioned your hands carefully—one resting on his shoulder, the other clasped gently in his. His own hand settled lightly on your waist, and he looked down at you with an expression of calm assurance.

“Now,” he said softly, his voice low enough for only you to hear, “follow my lead. It’s all about trusting the rhythm and letting me guide you.”

You laughed nervously, glancing at your feet. “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably been doing this since you could walk.”

Regulus chuckled, his breath warm against your temple. “True, but that just means you’re learning from the best.”

With that, he began to move, taking slow, deliberate steps to match the music’s rhythm. You stumbled slightly at first, your movements awkward and uncertain, but Regulus steadied you each time with a firm yet gentle hold.

“You’re doing wonderfully, mon cœur,” he said, his tone encouraging.

“You’re just saying that because you love me,” you replied with a mock pout, though your cheeks were flushed with both effort and delight.

He smirked, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “That’s true. But it doesn’t make it any less genuine.”

As the song continued, you began to find your footing, your movements becoming more fluid with each step. Regulus’s guidance was unwavering, his focus entirely on you.

“You’re a natural,” he said after a moment, his voice filled with quiet pride.

You laughed, your eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I’ll take the compliment.”

He spun you gently, your laughter ringing out as you twirled back into his arms. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“I might be,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “You’re not a bad teacher, Reggie.”

He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Not bad? I’ll have you know, I’m the best dance partner you’ll ever have.”

You grinned, leaning in closer as you swayed. “You might be right about that.”

You two moved in perfect harmony now, your steps light and effortless. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as you focused entirely on each other. You felt as though you were floating, your earlier nervousness replaced by a sense of pure joy.

As the song came to an end, Regulus dipped you gracefully, his dark eyes locking with yours. “See?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I told you you’d be perfect.”

Your heart swelled at the tenderness in his gaze, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Only because I have you.”

Straightening you up, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “And you’ll always have me,” he promised.

The next song began, but neither of you noticed. You remained in their little bubble, completely absorbed in each other. Around you, members of the Black family exchanged glances, their curiosity and surprise evident. But Regulus didn’t care about anyone else. He had you, and that was all that mattered.

After the dance

Regulus and you sat on a small stone bench tucked away in the corner of the vast Malfoy estate gardens. The soft hum of the wedding festivities filled the air, but you were blissfully removed from the noise, your world narrowed down to just the two of you. You leaned back against the bench, a soft smile playing on your lips as you nudged Regulus playfully with your elbow.

"Two dances, Reggie. I’m impressed. I didn’t know you had such stamina," you teased, your brown eyes twinkling.

Regulus smirked, leaning slightly closer to you. “If you behave, I’ll let you see more of them.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Behave? Have you met me?”

“Good point,” he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’re lucky I adore your rebellious streak.”

Before you could respond, a soft voice interrupted you. “Well, don’t you two look cozy?”

You turned to see Narcissa standing before you, her elegant figure framed by the soft glow of the lanterns dotting the garden. Her silvery-blonde hair was styled to perfection, and her pale blue gown shimmered in the evening light. She smiled warmly at you, though there was an unmistakable glint of curiosity in her sharp eyes.

“Cissy,” Regulus greeted her politely, rising to his feet out of habit. He offered a slight nod before gesturing to the bench. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’d love to,” she said gracefully, taking the spot next to you. Her gaze flicked between the two of you, her expression thoughtful. “I wanted to thank you both for coming tonight. It means a great deal to me.”

You smiled, sitting up straighter. “Thank you for inviting us. It’s a beautiful wedding, truly.”

Narcissa’s lips curved into a small smile, though her eyes lingered on Regulus. “You know, tonight is the first time I’ve ever seen my dear cousin smile.”

You blinked in surprise, glancing at Regulus, whose expression remained unreadable. “Really?”

“Really,” Narcissa confirmed, her tone light but sincere. “In all his sixteen years, not once have I seen him look as content as he does tonight.” She tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze softening as it landed on you. “And I think I know why.”

You felt your cheeks warm under the compliment, but you managed a small laugh. “Well, he doesn’t make it easy. I have to work for those smiles.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Don’t let her fool you, Cissy. She’s the one who’s impossible to resist.”

Narcissa’s smile widened, and she reached over to lightly squeeze your hand. “You’ve done something remarkable, y/n. Regulus has always been so...serious. And cold.” She paused, glancing at her cousin. “You’re still serious and cold, but not with her. She’s your exception, isn’t she?”

You glanced at Regulus, your heart swelling at the way he looked at you—soft and unguarded, his icy exterior melting in your presence.

“She is,” Regulus admitted quietly, his voice low but firm.

Narcissa’s expression softened, and she leaned back slightly. “I’m glad. You deserve someone like her, Regulus. Someone who makes you happy.”

There was a beat of silence before Narcissa added, her tone light and teasing, “I suppose I should start preparing for another wedding in a few years.”

You and Regulus both froze, exchanging a wide-eyed glance. You quickly recovered, laughing nervously. “That’s a bit ahead of schedule, don’t you think?”

Narcissa shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. “Perhaps. But it’s clear to everyone here that you two are something special.”

Regulus cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “We’re taking things one step at a time, Cissy.”

Sensing his unease, you quickly shifted the conversation. “So, Cissy, do you want to have kids someday?”

Narcissa’s expression softened, and she smiled. “Yes, very much. I’ve always dreamed of having a family. Lucius and I are both excited about the idea.”

You nodded, your curiosity genuine. “I think you’d be a wonderful mother.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa said, her voice warm. She glanced at Regulus, her expression turning thoughtful. “You’ll make a wonderful father someday, too.”

Regulus stiffened slightly, but you reached over to squeeze his hand, grounding him. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” you said lightly, giving him a reassuring smile.

Narcissa chuckled, rising gracefully from the bench. “Fair enough. I’ll leave you two to enjoy the rest of the evening.” She gave them one last smile before walking away, her elegant figure disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as she was gone, you turned to Regulus, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, that was...unexpected.”

Regulus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Cissy means well, but sometimes she has a knack for making things uncomfortable.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You handled it perfectly, Love.”

He glanced down at you, his expression softening. “You’re the only one who makes any of this bearable, mon amour.”

You smiled, your heart full as she looked up at him. “And you’re the only one who makes me feel this way, Reggie.”

For a moment, you sat in silence, your connection stronger than ever. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you would face them together.

Regulus and you remained on the stone bench, the distant hum of the wedding festivities growing faint around you as you slipped deeper into their little world. You rested your head on Regulus’s shoulder, your fingers interlocked with his, and the peace of the moment wrapped around you like a warm blanket.

After a few moments of silence, you tilted your head up to look at him, your voice soft. “So...marriage and kids, huh? That’s a big topic for a wedding night.”

Regulus chuckled, a rare, quiet sound that made your heart flutter. “Blame Narcissa for bringing it up.” He turned to face you, his green eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. “Although...if it were up to me, I’d marry you right now.”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in surprise. “Regulus!”

“I mean it,” he said, his tone unwavering. “If I could, I’d marry you tonight. Right here, right now.”

You stared at him, your heart racing. “You’re serious.”

“Completely.” He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight. "I can’t imagine a future without you in it. It doesn’t matter where we are, what’s happening around us...you’re the only constant I need.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, and you blinked rapidly to keep your tears at bay. “Reggie, I...I feel the same way. I can’t picture my life without you. But…” you hesitated, biting your lip. “Your family, this name—being a Black. It’s a lot to think about.”

Regulus’s gaze softened, and he cupped your cheek with one hand. “I know it’s overwhelming, mon cœur. But you’re not just marrying the name. You’d be marrying me.”

You leaned into his touch, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s the only part I care about.”

A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “Good. Because I don’t care about anything else, either.”

You chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, if your family’s anything to go by, I suppose we only have two years to prepare. Isn’t that the Black tradition? Get married as soon as you graduate?”

Regulus smirked, his hand slipping down to take yours again. “Probably. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already planning the guest list.”

You laughed, though a nervous edge crept into your voice. “It’s a little terrifying, honestly. But also…” you glanced at him, your cheeks warming. “Kind of exciting?”

His smirk softened into a gentle smile. “I’ll make sure it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, y/n. I promise.”

You grinned, nudging him playfully. “Alright, future husband. Let’s talk about the other part of this—kids.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, a trace of amusement in his expression. “Kids, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” You said, your tone teasing. “How many are we having, Reggie? Ten?”

He laughed softly, the sound rare and warm. “Ten? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

You shrugged, your eyes glinting with mischief. “I think we’d be great parents. Why not a big family?”

Regulus played along, leaning back slightly. “Fine. Ten it is. Whatever you want, ma chérie.”

You burst out laughing, swatting his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned, tilting his head to the side. “Alright, since we’re apparently having a brood, we’ll need names. Black family tradition dictates celestial names, of course.”

You giggled. “Of course. Can’t break tradition, can we?”

Regulus pretended to think deeply, his fingers drumming against his knee. “How about Cygnus? Or Lyra? Or Cassiopeia?”

You wrinkled your nose playfully. “Lyra's nice. Cassiopeia’s a bit much, though. What about something softer? Like Nova?”

Regulus nodded, his eyes lighting up. “Nova’s beautiful. What about Vega? Or Altair?”

You smiled, leaning closer to him. “I like Vega. Altair’s nice, too. You’re pretty good at this.”

He smirked, his gray eyes twinkling. “I’ll let you pick the names, mon cœur. As long as they make you happy, I’ll be happy.”

Your heart swelled, and you squeezed his hand. “Reggie...I never thought I’d be sitting here talking about baby names with you, but I love it. I love that you care about this, about us.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you, y/n. And I’ll do whatever it takes to give us the future we deserve.”

You turned your head to look at him, your smile radiant. “I love you too, Reggie. More than anything.”

For the rest of the evening, you stayed in your little corner of the garden, dreaming about the future you would build together. Despite the challenges that lay ahead, you knew you could face anything as long as you had each other.

[hederasgarden]

On the Horizon (1/?)

Summary: You've been pining over your coworker for a while now. He might not have realized but someone has.  Pairing:Tyler Owens x F!Reader (with minor Scott x F!Reader) Word Count: 2.5K  Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Angst, flirting, and asshole!Scott. Future chapters will be smutty. Not all themes are tagged. A/N: Thanks to @writercole for the summary and @ryebecca @mermaidxatxhear @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for their beta help. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ Glen Powell Character Masterlist

It’s sweltering in the midday sun and you wipe the sweat from your brow as you surreptitiously watch Scott work beside you. He doesn't seem bothered by the heat, typing away on his computer despite the stagnant air. It makes you yearn for the cool, controlled environment of the labs you used to work in before Javi recruited you. Although he'd likely tell you this weather was perfect for a storm, you're miserable. Meteorology isn’t even your specialty; you’re here for your engineering skills to manage the specialized equipment the team relies on for their data collection.

Perched on the tailgate of the Storm Par truck, you have a clear view of the other storm chasers clustering around Tyler Owens' red truck. The man in question emerges with a brilliant smile, and beside you, Scott scoffs, annoyed. He hates Tyler, and you're pretty sure the feeling is mutual. 

"Ass," Scott mutters, returning his attention to his computer.

When you look up again, you catch Tyler watching the two of you. You know he’s more than likely looking for a chance to provoke Scott, but to your surprise, he offers you a wink and pulls down the brim of his hat in acknowledgment. Before you can react, he's turned to speak to one of the young women on his team, giving her his full attention. A hand rests casually on her shoulder.

You wish Scott would acknowledge you like that. You thought things would be different after the night you shared weeks ago, but he quickly dashed those hopes the next morning, ignoring you completely. He only seemed to look at you when he needed your tech skills or when you made a mistake. Your cheeks still burn from his last reprimand in front of the team, the sting of his criticism lingering.

Clearing your throat, Scott’s eyes briefly land on you before returning to the computer screen. 

"What?" he demands.

"I was going to get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

"Yeah, you know what I like," he says dismissively. 

When it's clear that's all you're getting from him, you push off the truck onto the dusty road with a soft exhale and head into the gas station. The air conditioning inside practically makes you groan with relief, and you take a moment to appreciate the cool air. 

"You're not melting on us, are you, city girl?" You jump at the unexpected voice, surprised to see it belongs to Tyler. "MIT got you all wound up, huh?” He questions, amused. 

"What?"

"Your boss," he clarifies. 

"Oh, he's um...he's not my boss. Javi is."

"No?" he asks, brows raised. "Well, he certainly barks at you like he is."

Heat rushes to your face as you realize Tyler must have overheard Scott reprimand you yesterday after you miscalibrated one of the sensors.

"If you worked with my team, I'd be a lot nicer," he says.

You stare at him, unsure how to react to his comment and the suggestive tone. Before today, you’d barely spoken to him, although you get the impression that his flirtatious nature is just a normal part of his outgoing personality. Thankfully, you’re spared from having to figure out how to respond when the doorbell jingles and someone calls your name.

It’s Scott. 

"Owens," he bites out. 

Your lips part in a surprised inhale as he places a hand on your shoulder and stands so close that you can feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against your arm. Tyler's gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your face with a knowing smile. 

 "Well, I enjoyed our chat," he tells you, not bothering to acknowledge Scott. "We should do this again, sweetheart."

Once he’s gone, Scott moves to stand in front of you "What did he want?" he demands.

"Oh, nothing. Just...saying hi."

Scott tenses, and he steps into your space, cupping your elbow. "You shouldn't talk to him," he advises.

When he tilts his head to stare down at you, something flickers in his blue eyes that looks an awful lot like jealousy. You glance over your shoulder at Tyler, only to have Scott say your name again, more forcefully. Turning back, you find his intense dark blue eyes locked onto yours. For the first time since that night in the hotel room, you realize you have Scott’s full attention and that sends a thrill of excitement through you.

You bite your lip, the beginning of an idea coming together.

An opportunity arises to put your plan into motion later that night. Nearly everyone has descended on the only motel in town, but no one seems interested in staying in their rooms. Music pumps from Tyler’s red truck and another group grill burgers nearby. Alcohol is flowing freely as different teams mingle.

You spot Scott busy inside the Storm Par command van, completely absorbed in his work. From experience, you know any attempt to pull him away would be pointless, but spending time with Tyler just might. You linger at the edge of the parking lot, trying to muster the courage to approach the Tornado Wrangler crew. They’re sharing beers and laughing, but when you look closer you realize a lot of them are still working in some way or another. Lily has the inner workings of her drone exposed, tinkering while Dani and Tyler look like they’re securing something to the side of his truck.

Suddenly what felt like a great idea earlier now seems silly. So does your sundress and the time you spent making yourself look nice. Any attempt to enact your plan would mean intruding on their little bubble. Besides, you’re not even sure this hairbrained idea would even work on Scott a second time. 

You turn to head back to your room when Tyler calls out, “Hey city girl, you want a beer?”

You freeze, eyes closing briefly as you realize there’s no turning back now. You’ve been spotted. When you face him again Tyler is watching you with a casual, expectant smile. He leans against the hood of his truck with one arm draped over it.

“Come on, we don’t bite,” he encourages. 

“Not unless you ask us to,” Boone chimes in, earning a collective groan and playful slap to the back of his head from Dani.

Someone tosses you a beer, and you fumble to catch it. It’s icy and slippery. Tyler watches you with a raised eyebrow as a slow, amused smile spreads across his face. You’ve never felt less cool in your life and you end up looking anywhere but him. 

“Hey…you’re an engineer right?” Lily calls out. “You wanna take a look at the wing here? She’s giving me some trouble.”

You glance at the Storm Par van, half expecting Scott to come to scold you for even considering helping the enemy, but he’s still inside. 

“Tin Man seems pretty tied up with his work,” Tyler observes. “I think you’re safe to join us, Dorothy.”

You blink, both surprised and a bit embarrassed to realize just how obvious you must be. “Uh, yeah, I can take a look,” you tell Lily.

She grins, shifting back on her heels. You follow her over to the truck to examine the drone. Lily talks you through everything she’s already tried so far with Cairo and you ask her a few questions in return. After a bit of trial and error, you identify the issue. Thankfully it's a quick fix. 

Boone lets out a low whistle, impressed. “You know, if things don’t pan out with the corporate overlords, I bet Ty would offer you a spot on our team.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, watching Tyler round the truck and draw closer to you.

“I’m a much nicer boss than Scout,” he promises.

“He’s not my boss,” you remind Tyler. “And his name is Scott.”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” he intones, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes it hard to focus on anything but the way he’s looking at you.

You let out a nervous little chuckle, realizing that you hadn’t actually planned for anything beyond capturing Tyler’s attention. Glancing down at the beer in your hands, you fiddle with the label until Tyler takes the bottle. He twists off the cap and hands it back without a word.

You offer him a quick, “thanks,” and take a sip. The lukewarm, hoppy flavor tingles on your tongue. You make a face.

“Not a beer girl?” Tyler asks, drawing back to give you a thoughtful once-over. He hums consideringly. “No, you strike me as a rosé-all-day type.”

“Actually, I’m a whisky girl,” you lie, grinning at the surprised blink you get in response.

“I must be losing my touch,” he confesses, leaning into your space and letting you catch the faint scent of his cologne or deodorant—something sharp and clean like the ozone that lingers in the air after a storm. “Unless, of course, you’re just messing with me,” he continues. “But you wouldn’t do something like that, would you, city girl?”

The way he stares at you suggests that he’s not just talking about your choice of drink. Before you can stop yourself, you look over his shoulder, searching for Scott. Tyler doesn’t turn to see what has your attention. He doesn’t need to, you realize.

“A lesser man might take that as a blow to his ego.” His tone is teasing as he uses two fingers under your chin to gently guide your gaze back to him. “Lucky for you, darlin’, I’m a big boy.”

A prickling warmth spreads across your body, and your jaw muscles tingle with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. You must have been horribly transparent in your attempt, you realize.

“I’m not…I didn’t,” you stumble over your words as Tyler’s smile grows.

“The decent thing to do is ask,” he encourages. He cranes his neck behind him and you see Scott’s finally noticed the two of you together. “Better make it quick, he’s on his way over here now.” 

“What?”

“You know what,” he replies, tapping your nose.

Panic settles in, your reluctance to admit what you were trying to do warring with your desire to get Scott’s attention. “Okay, okay, fine,” you relent. “I’m trying to make Scott jealous.”

You can see Scott over Tyler’s shoulder now, his expression dark. He’s second away from being in hearing range. “Tyler. Please.”

“Well since you said the magic word.” 

He turns and in one smooth motion throws his arm over your shoulder to draw you in close. That seems to surprise Scott whose pace slows as he approaches. Your heart flutters wildly in your chest as you gaze up at him, acutely aware of Tyler’s body pressed firmly against your side.

“Hey, Scooter,” Tyler greets. “Want a beer?”

Scott’s cheek ripples in annoyance. “No,” he says curtly. 

“Suit yourself.” Tyler shrugs. He grabs the bottle in your hand and takes a long drink from it before handing it back to you. “Nothing better than a cold one after a day of chasing storms.”

Scott’s nostrils flare and he utters your name in a clipped tone. 

“Uh, I better go,” you tell Tyler. “Thanks for the beer.”

“Well, I hope to see more of you later, sweetheart,” he replies with a wink. 

The second you’re within reach, Scott’s hand is on your upper back and quickly moves to rest at the base of your neck. You feel a little like an errant school child with the way he guides you past the rest of Tyler’s crew, whose goodbyes are decidedly less enthusiastic than their welcome. Boone glances between you and Scott, making a face that you can’t quite decipher.

“I thought you were headed to bed early,” Scott accuses as soon as you’re out of earshot of the crew. He’s tense beside you, fingers flexing against your skin. 

“I was but then the Wrangler crew invited me to join them for a beer.” He doesn’t need to know you sought them out for your ill-conceived plan. 

Scott scoffs, moving in front of you. He stares down at you. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time with those hillbillies.” 

“They aren’t so bad,” you defend until he pins you with a quelling look. You know Scott well enough by now to drop the topic, even if his words don’t sit quite right with you. Tyler and his friends were nothing but kind to you tonight.

“Storm Par can’t be seen spending time with those amateurs. It’s bad for business. You should know better.”

You realize, with a sinking feeling, that he’s not jealous — he’s just angry. He’d probably be just as upset if another member of your team was seen mingling with the so-called enemy. How could you have been stupid enough to think talking to Tyler would make him want you again? 

“Come on,” Scott urges, seemingly intent on walking you back to your hotel room. 

At the door, you wave the card over the keypad and shoulder the old, warped door open. Before you can turn to bid Scott a good night a hand on your hips pushes you forward and he follows you inside. The door shuts and he plucks the keycard from your hands, thoughtlessly tossing it on the bedside table.

His mouth is on yours before you can speak, his hands grabbing at the hem of your sundress. The shift in his mood is enough to disorient you and you don’t resist when his tongue invades your mouth. The back of your knees hit the bed and then he’s on top of you, warm and solid. He pulls roughly at the strap of your dress, his teeth nipping at the exposed skin. When you feel his hand land on your inner thigh you push at his chest. 

“Wait, Scott,” you breathe. This feels nothing like your last time together. 

He pulls back, a tick in his jaw as he stares down at you. “It's been a long day,” he says, “and we both know you want this.”

You do want him, more than anything, but there’s something about his tone and words that dredge up an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. It makes your skin prickle, and you avert your gaze, suddenly uncertain. Above you, Scott sighs, and you feel his fingertips gently touch your jaw. You think of Tyler suddenly, his teasing tone and the amusement in his green eyes. When you look back at Scott, his unreadable blue eyes meet yours. 

The bed creaks as he shifts back. “I can just go,” he offers.

“No, please don’t.” The words escape your lips before you even realize you’ve spoken. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. Scott’s the kind of man you always dreamed about, handsome and intelligent – one of those Ivy League boys who never looked twice at you in college. 

“Good answer,” he says with a smile.

You pull him closer, and as his lips find yours once more, the lingering discomfort fades away. You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted.

 Aren’t you?

Part 2

♡

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[illbegottenfaith]

BAD REVIEWS (a Bad Reviews by Sabrina Carpenter inspired fic)

you've heard more than your fair share of bad reviews about theo nott. that doesn't stop you from becoming the newest addition (theo nott x reader) [best viewed in dark mode]

a/n - i did NOT realise this fic was turning out this long which I think speaks to how much fun I was having writing it, planning it out carefully and setting the slow burn justtt right ahh I truly think this is one of my best pieces of writing ever? at least I rlly like it hahah so enjoy :))

tropes/warnings - tw toxic r/ship descriptions, lovebombing, unhealthy possessiveness, angst

word count - 6k! whoo!

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167

Little Miss Formerly Delusional ★★★★☆ He’s charming. Too charming. He will reel you in just so he can ruin your life. I gave him my time, my life, my youth, and where do I end up? Crying in his shower - NEVER. AGAIN. He's so good at making you feel special. Scratch that - he's so good at getting what he wants.

It started at a picnic.

The kind that got cobbled together last minute with leftover snacks and a secondhand deck of cards, bodies strewn across the grass in lazy clusters, all chatter and sunshine and no plans beyond the hour.

You hadn’t planned to stay long. You almost left twice. But then someone pulled out a pack of cards, and everyone had gotten paired up for a game - you with Theo Nott, of all people - so you stayed.

You were seated opposite each other, cross-legged on some thin picnic blanket, knees knocking every so often every time one of you leaned over the card deck between you. Some slap-happy mess of a game that had rules no one followed properly but left everyone’s hands red and stinging from all the shouting and reflexes gone wrong.

Theodore Nott - teasing, long-limbed, annoyingly pretty - watched you with his sleeves rolled at the elbow, tie loosened. His eyes locked on yours with a lazy kind of intent. You'd seen him around plenty, and heard about him even more, but this was the first time you'd actually talked to him. Up close, he was worse. His vacant grin too self-assured with a rich, arrogant voice that promised all sorts of unscrupulous things.

Theo flirted, of course, in the way boys like him always did - bold, rehearsed, shameless. Fixing you with unabashed, unrelenting eye contact. Leaning over to you closer than what was strictly necessary. Playing the role of injured loverboy for every round he lost.

You rolled your eyes through most of it.

You'd heard the stories. Everyone knew the way he moved from girl to girl, leaving miserable shells in his wake like it was nothing. That boy didn’t even have a heart to break.

Three rounds in, he spoke up when you won. Again.

“You’ve got quick hands.”

You shrugged, sweeping up the cards.

“You’ve got a slow reaction time.”

His grin widened. “So modest.”

You finally deigned to return his gaze, your face as impassive as ever. “I don’t usually play nice.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I like girls who make me work for it.”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. Was that supposed to flatter you? Impress you?

"Do you?" you mumbled instead, dealing the cards out once again. When Theo didn't move to pick up his, still intent on watching you, you gave him a look and sighed.

“Look. You don’t even know me.”

“I’m trying.”

You looked bored.

“And why is that?”

“Because you look like you’ve already decided I'm not worth your time.” He rested his chin on his hand, unbothered. “Now I need to know if you’re right.”

You hesitated. That was...unexpected.

But you recovered almost immediately.

“Well,” you said, eyes flicking to the deck, speaking quickly, “I'll have to warn you. I’m not the kind of girl who gets affected easily.”

“‘Affected,’” he echoed, amused. “That's adorable.”

It wasn’t what you actually wanted to say. What you meant was: I’ve heard what you do to girls. I’ve seen the aftermath. And I’m not anywhere near stupid enough to be next.

But you didn’t say any of that. You just kept her expression level and glanced at the cards, seeing what Theo had missed. You slapped your hands on his.

“4 - 2,” you said, with a thinly veiled smugness.

Theo looked at your hands, then up at you, and smiled slow.

“You like this, don't you?"

“I like winning.”

He didn’t let you win the next round. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

Later, when everybody was cooling off with some iced butterbeer, peeling grass off their sleeves, Theo glanced your way with a look that gave you a bad feeling in your gut.

He raked a hand through his hair with a careful air of nonchalance that was fooling no one, and said offhandedly, "You know, I let her win one of the early rounds, by the way.”

For a moment, you gaped at him and his slimy audacity. Then you sat up, affronted, nearly upsetting your butterbeer. “You what?”

He gave you a lazy blink. On another day, you might have considered him somewhat endearing. Today, he was getting on your last nerves.

“Thought it might soften you up.”

“You did not let me win," you said hotly, a strand of hair stuck to your uncomfortably sticky cheek. "You just couldn’t keep up.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t good. Just not as good as me.”

Oh, you could punch him. “The score was six to three - ”

“Yeah, and that third one? That was a gift.”

You turned to the others, scandalised. “He’s l - liar. Liar. He’s lying, I sw-.”

Theo just sipped his drink effortlessly. “I thought you didn’t get affected easily?”

That shut you up immediately. You turned away, face hot with something dangerously close to flustered. You'd walked into that one. Hard.

They'd only formally met a couple of hours ago and he somehow managed to already get under your skin. Just a little.

And he knew it.

When he leaned in a little closer to murmur something to someone beside him, you swore he was still smirking.

You weren't supposed to be caught off guard. Not by him. You knew boys like Theo Nott. Knew their tricks and charms and the revolving door of names on their lips.

Unfortunately, knowing didn’t make you any less curious.

Little Miss Territorial by Proxy ★★★☆☆ He’ll be possessive. And you'll like it. It feels flattering at first. I mean, why wouldn't it? Who doesn't luvvv being loved? It's always nice to feel wanted.

That's not what this is, though. Theodore Nott, erm, 'wants' in the way a hunter 'wants' a deer head stuffed and mounted on the wall.

The courtyard had that lazy kind of energy that lingered on warm afternoons - bodies stretched out, butterbeer bottles dusty and half-empty, faint music straining through the thick, heavy afternoon air from someone’s wireless. It was easy. Drowsy. Like no one wanted to be anywhere else.

Theo was already there when you arrived.

You noticed him from across the throng, lounging in one of the stone archways, a little separate from everyone else. He met your gaze. You looked away. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Eventually, someone pulled out a deck of cards again. Out of the few of you who could tolerate the smacking and getting smacked on such a hot day, you partnered up with a Ravenclaw named Liam - broad-shouldered, painfully chatty, cursed with the unfortunate affliction of not being as funny as he thought he was.

When you beat him - again - he let out an exaggerated groan and slumped back dramatically.

“Alright, alright. Clearly I’m no match,” he said., as he poorly reshuffled the cards. Over the deck, he shot you a smarmy look that left you feeling icky all over. “Maybe you could teach me sometime.”

The line was lame. And obvious. You picked up the cards he dealt, not bothering to look up.

“Sorry. I don’t usually train the hopeless.”

Liam winced. “That’s cold.”

You shrugged. “It's true.”

Laughter buzzed through the few who were listlessly paying attention. Theo didn’t laugh. Didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Only stared.

His eyes had sharpened the moment Liam started talking. He hadn’t said anything yet, but you could feel the heat of it - the weight of his stare digging between her ribs.

You shifted slightly. You took a sip of your butterbeer to cool off and calm down. The saccharine drink had begun to sour in the relentless heat.

Liam nudged your foot with his own - light, playful. Theo straightened and sat up.

“Careful, mate,” he said, voice steady and too smooth. “You’re one bad joke away from a nosebleed.”

A few chuckles sputtered. Nervous ones. It didn’t sound like a joke. No one knew whether to laugh or move on.

Liam blinked, uncomfortable now.

“Relax, yeah? Just playing.”

Theo tipping his bottle at him languidly. “Just warning.”

Before it could stretch into something uglier, he abruptly shifted focus.

“I’m in,” he said suddenly, "the mood to play now.”

There was a shuffle as the group moved up a little to make room for Theo where they were all scattered across the floor.

You didn’t hesitate. You switched your partner to Theo before anyone else could move. Your knees bumped. His smirk twitched higher.

The game began. Slaps. Feints. Barely restrained grins. She won the first round. He won the next. By the third, she was half a beat faster. Or maybe he was just a beat slower.

He let her win. Or maybe she let him.

When he looked at you afterwards, head tilted, lashes low, he gave you a look of some quiet approval. Like you’d passed a test you hadn't even known you were taking.

You looked away first. Unexpectedly, you felt a flicker of pride. From there sparked an obsession with this most cursed type of validation, one that you had never known to be greedy for.

You took another sip of you drink, relishing the way your face warmed in the heat of the day under the intensity of his stare. Still, you should have known what you knew now - those days in the sun would only last so long. Not even a week later, the fights began.

Little Miss Made Excuses For His Anger Issues ★★☆☆☆ He plays dirty, so it's only fair you do too. When the fights begin - god, they'll never stop. He'll never listen to you, you'll go blue in the face trying to get him to change, he'll whine about you never getting off his back, you'll snap at him for breathing too loud, it's nuts.

Okay, fine, the last one wasn't exactly provoked. He was just in too good of a mood that day and it was pissing me off. But honestly? I was so valid for that. He needed to learn to shut the fuck up once in a while.

It wasn’t even about the cigarettes.

At least, not just about them.

You were poring over your books in the deserted Slytherin common room, trying not to think about Ivy had been telling you about a girl Theo had been getting pretty close to - some Romilda Vane. He lit one the second he walked in - like it was a reflex, like he was doing it on purpose. You could feel the now-familiar irritation bloom in your chest the moment the smoke hit the air, bitter and acrid and reeking of bad memories.

“Really?” you muttered, not bothering to look up from your notes. “In here?”

Theo exhaled slowly, deliberately.

“I'll open a window.”

“That’s not the point.”

He leaned against the window frame, posture relaxed, jaw tight.

“Then what is?”

You huffed irritatedly and slammed your book shut.

“The point is, you said you’d stop. Five days ago. In the hallway. After that disaster of a duel. Or did you forget that too?”

He had the audacity to sigh like you were being difficult for even bringing that up.

“For fuck's sake, Y/N, it’s one cigarette.”

“It’s your third.”

Now he looked at you properly, something dry and tired in his gaze.

“You're keeping count now? Are you keeping tabs on me?”

Maybe I should, the angry thought flashed in your mind. Who the hell was Romilda Vane anyway? You gritted your teeth. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t go through them like water.”

“It’s not a crime,” he muttered, but he stubbed it out anyway - carelessly, more like a challenge than a concession. “There. Better?”

“Sure. Until the next one.”

He laughed humorlessly.

“Sorry, Mother.”

That did it.

You stood suddenly, the legs of your chair scraping piercingly across the floor.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Turn me into some controlling shrew just because I care about your health - ”

"Oh, so now I'm supposed to thank you for breathing down my neck all the time?"

You seethed. “Is that supposed to be funny? Because it isn't. It's not. It's really not.”

“I’m not the one making a scene over a cigarette.”

“Forget the bloody cigarettes. That's not the point.”

“No,” he said, standing now, tone flat. “I think I get the point just fine. You’ve had a shit week, and I’m the easiest thing to pick on.”

The corners of your mouth tightened.

“You think I like picking fights?”

“Sure seems like it.”

You could hardly hear or think coherently over the sound of blood roaring in your ears. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re relentless,” he shot back. “It’s always something with you. First it’s me leaving my notes in the common room, then it’s how I ‘don’t take things seriously,’ and now it’s - ”

“Oh, I’m sorry - am I not supposed to care when you act like nothing is worth your attention?”

He scoffed and looked away, as if dismissing you, as if you weren't worth any more of his Wednesday night. You gathered up your books with more aggression than was strictly necessary, feeling embarrassingly close to tears with how crazy Theo drove you.

"I don't know why I bother with a degenerate like you. You always do this. I bring something up, and you turn it against me, or you twist it into me being dramatic, or overbearing - ”

He exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Well, if the shoe fits...” he muttered.

“God, fuck you.”

He never seemed more unattractive you than he did in that moment - caustically insensitive, sarcastic and selfish. You spun on your heel, grabbing your bag off the floor before storming out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

Theo didn’t follow. He just stood there for a beat, unmoving in the silence of the night. Then he leaned against the windowsill and lit another cigarette.

Little Miss "He Knows I Can Take It" ★☆☆☆☆ He'll Make You Feel Special Enough To Tune Everyone Else Out The man's arrogant enough to act like he's God's gift on Earth and he's shameless enough to act like the yelling and the screaming and the shit he gives you is a blessing. But after a while, if you're not careful, you'll go right on believing him. Twisting his abuse into some fucked up declaration of love because man does he sell the pipe dream of being his favourite punching bag well.

And the thing is - you're not his favourite. You never will be. That won't stop you from making an arse out of yourself trying anyway. The things I did? Ugh, embarrassinggg. Skipping parties, for what? Giving him all my time, for what? Cutting out the friends he didn't like, for what? A guy who needed a training broom till he was ten?? Be soooo fucking for real right now.

You didn't notice the glance Ivy and Melissa exchanged when you walked into your dorm. Your bag slid off your shoulder with a dull thump onto the floor, your shoulders aching.

“Hey.” Melissa said from her spot near the desk. “You missed lunch.”

You distractedly tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “I was revising,” you muttered, toeing off your shoes. “Didn’t realise the time.”

Ivy wrinkled her nose from where she was sprawled on her bed. “Merlin, you’re one of those. Don’t go all Ravenclaw on us now.”

You gave a faint smile. You hadn't realised how little you had seen of your friends over the past week. You missed them. “Too late.”

There was a pause. Melissa twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. You stilled, recognising that nervous tic of hers.

“Were you with him?” she asked casually. “Theo?”

You hesitated. So what if you were? “Yeah. So?”

“Right,” Ivy said, not unkindly. “He wouldn't have anything to do with you disappearing every other day now, would he?”

You were at a loss of words.

“...I’ve just been busy.”

They didn’t say anything.

You glanced up, feeling the air shift into something more worried, anxious.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” you muttered.

“We’re just talking,” Melissa said gently.

You shot her a look. You weren't dumb. Ivy sat up a little straighter. You could feel the both of them closing in on you.

“Look,” she said carefully, “I know you don’t want to talk about him. But Melissa and I think we should. You’ve changed. And it's...not good.”

“I’m fine,” you said tightly.

“You say that a lot lately,” Melissa said sadly. You scoffed. “It’s getting harder to believe.”

You exhaled sharply, massaging your temples.

“Can we not do this now?”

“You never let us do this,” Ivy said, brows drawing together.

Your stomach twisted.

“Because it’s none of your business,” you snapped. Your friends looked taken aback.

“I just - ” Ivy blinked. “We're not trying to - ”

“I know what you meant,” you cut in, voice rising. “You don’t like him. You think he’s bad for me. You think I’m stupid for being with him.”

“No one said that,” Melissa said slowly, frowning. “No one's saying that. We’ve just never seen you like this. We're not the enemy, Y/N.”

It sure felt like it. Melissa reached out, and in that moment of blind rage, you couldn't tell if it was to hug you or hurt you. You flinched out of her reach. You didn't miss the brief flicker of hurt that passed over her face. Even Ivy looked mystified.

“Y/N," Ivy said, getting up now. "Enough of this. We’re worried about you. He’s getting to your head, and you're so wrapped up in him that you can't even see it.”

You crossed your arms.

“I'm not a child, for Merlin's sake. I know he’s complicated. I’m not blind.”

“Then why are you defending him like he’s perfect?”

“Because you’re making it sound like he’s evil,” you snapped. “Like I’m too dumb to realise I’m being treated badly.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but no words came. Just heat. Frustration. Guilt twisting into something bitter.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Ivy said quietly. “Not over anyone.”

Looking at your friends, their hostile postures and mutinous faces, you felt terribly alone. “Well,” you said, “maybe I’ve changed.”

Melissa stared at you, looking angrier than you had ever seen her. “Yeah. You have.”

You sighed.

“I don’t need a lecture right now.”

“And we’re not trying to give you one,” Ivy said. “But you’re making it really hard to not say something when you’re hurting yourself like this.”

“I’m not - ” you started, but stopped short.

Because you were hurting. You knew it. You’d known it for a while now. But hearing it sfrom someone else's lips made it feel like an accusation.

“We’re just trying to help you,” Ivy said, quieter now.

“I don’t need help," you said, chest tight. "I need you to back off.”

A listless kind of quiet descended in the room. Melissa’s jaw tensed. Ivy uselessly smoothed down her sheets.

“Well,” Ivy said, voice flat now, “I guess that's we’ll do then.”

Melissa wasn't as forgiving. “Whatever. It's your life to ruin, L/N.”

She drew her hair up into a ponytail. "Dinner, Ivy?"

The silence they left behind was deafening. You refused to dwell on the fight. You refused to acknowledge how damning their condemnations felt.

And still - when the dust settled, like a woman possessed, your thoughts drifted back to Theo. To that lopsided grin. That lazy smirk. Pulling you in, and in, and in, and in.

Little Miss Fool Me Twice, Shame on Me ★★★★★ He always knows when he's about to lose you And that's when he's the sweetest. He'd have to be - it's his last ditch attempt to distract you. He'll have you wondering how you could ever think of him as selfish or mean-spirited or anything other than the world's most-loving, most-devoted boyfriend. Boyfriend? HA!

It started the way most things with Theo did - loud, dramatic, and entirely unnecessary.

You stepped out of the Transfiguration exam room, clutching your wand, still mentally arguing with yourself over you shaky answer to question seven, when someone near the doors let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“What the hell - ?”

Students were crowding toward the entrance of the castle, whispering, staring. You followed the noise, shielding her eyes from the sudden sunlight. And then you saw it.

A car. A bright red, shiny Muggle convertible, parked just off the stone steps, looking entirely out of place in front of Hogwart's gothic architecture. And leaning against it like he'd walked straight off the poster of some pretentiously obscure, too-slick indie film was Theodore Nott - sunglasses perched cockily in his curls, sleeves rougishly pushed up, charm turned on.

“Oh, my god,” you muttered under your breath, walking faster now, heat creeping up the back of her neck.

He caught sight of you and grinned. Not a smirk, not his usual self-satisfied half-smile. A grin.

Like he hadn't been a complete dick to you just two nights ago.

“What's all this?” you asked as you stepped up to him.

Theo straightened with a practiced laziness. “It’s a getaway car.”

You blinked at him.

“Weekend trip,” he clarified. “We need a break. You need a break.”

“I have two exams left.”

He shrugged. “Two is practically nothing.”

“Theo.”

Before you could continue your protests, he took your hand and kissed your knuckles in full view of half of your year, completely unbothered.

“Your stuff’s in the boot. Packed it this morning.”

Your mouth dropped open. How did he manage to get into the girls' dormitories?

“You what—?”

“There’s snacks,” he continued, unrepentant. “I even charmed the glove compartment to keep your disgusting fizzy drinks cold." Traces of the Theo you knew started resurfacing. He sounded pretty damn proud of himself. "You’re welcome.”

“You’re mental.”

“And you’re exhausted.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Come on, Y/N. You can revise in bed with me and a view of the sea. There’s a fireplace. I booked the biggest suite they had.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to your palm. Your face burned.

"Please? For me?"

You should’ve walked away. You meant to walk away.

But he had that look again - the one he used to reel you in after every fight. The one you couldn't bear to tell off. That soft-eyed, unwittingly innocent look like he wasn't even capable of doing anything wrong, let alone on purpose. Behind him, the sunlight hit the car just right, glinting off the chrome like some surreal, too-good-to-be-true movie scene.

It was stupid. And ridiculous. And maybe that was the point.

So you went.

On the drive down, Theo's hand casually resting on your thigh, wind whipping through your hair, you told yourself you weren't impressed.

But then you saw the room - two floors, a balcony, a charmed bath bigger than her dorm - and you maybe slightly let it go to your head.

He ordered room service like you were royalty, feeding you chocolate-covered strawberries by the tray, worshipfully kissing the tips of your fingers like he’d never once raised his voice or made you feel small.

He lit candles. Bought you a new jumper at one of the quaint, homey shops by the pier when you'd offhandedly mentioned feeling a little chilly. Got up to make you tea in the mornings and made it right - not the way he liked it, but the way you always complained about no one ever remembering it.

He let you pick the station on the wireless. Spoilt you relentlessly. Had the nerve to call you pretty in the midst of you lounging in the utter bliss of what was turning into the most indulgent heaven.

Maybe it was the wine. Or the way the fire flickered inches from you where you laid tangled up on the rug, breathing slow and even and in sync, like the world where you were constantly at each other's throats never existed.

Or maybe it was just the way he was looking at you again. Like you mattered. Like you were special. Like he was choosing to be good. Like he was choosing to be good for you.

You caught yourself smiling at nothing. You let him pull you into his lap. Let him press kisses down your neck, murmuring all the right things.

On the last night, your head was resting on his chest, his fingers tracing slow, thoughtless circles into your back. You should've been long asleep, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how different he felt like this. Like this version of him had always existed, but you were only just now being allowed to see it.

“I don’t get you,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Theo glanced down at you.

“What’s there to get?”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down on what little you could see of his face not obscured by the dark or his soft curls. You tilted your head, considering.

“You’re just…different, sometimes.”

His hand paused.

Then he shifted, rolling you both over gently, lips brushing against your jaw, collarbone, shoulder.

“Maybe you just make me better,” he murmured.

You almost laughed.

Because it was such a good line. But that's exactly what it was - a line.

You drew Theo closer to you almost anxiously. He obliged, hands wandering to your hips. Distantly, you wondered if you carved open his heart, would you find anything remotely genuine inside?

It was late. You were tired. It made your head hurt to think of such depressing things.

So your eyes fluttered shut, and you let yourself succumb to Theo's ministrations. Let yourself believe it.

For one more night.

Little Miss Egg on My Face ★★☆☆☆ It Never Lasts It's almost a slap in the face, really - he could do it all for you, and more. He just doesn't want to. He doesn't care enough to even be halfway decent, especially once the glow wears off. So a week later, he goes back to his old ways, drinking and philandering, and you - well, you stayed, didn't you? Now who's the idiot?

For a few days, it almost felt like things truly had changed.

Theo had stayed soft, sweet, attentive. He sat with you during meals without you asking. Laced your fingers together under the table in study hall. Let you sleep in his bed, no questions asked, when you showed up exhausted after a double-length Potions exam. He even gave you his last chocolate frog during a study break and shrugged, saying you needed it more than he did.

And you started to believe it. That maybe the trip really had saved their relationship from ruin. Maybe this time, he meant every kiss, every touch.

But, like all good things, it didn’t last.

By midweek, you started noticing it again, despite your best efforts.

The way he brushed you off in the corridors with a distracted nod, not even slowing his pace. The way he left your group hangouts without saying goodbye. The way he started treating you like an accessory he wanted only sometimes.

It was subtle. Like he was slipping out of a persona.

One night, you watched him lean towards another girl a few tables over, heavily wrapped up in whatever riveting conversation they were sharing, all low laughs and half-lidded glances, his mouth tugged up at one side. The same smirk he’d used on you—only now it felt recycled. Contaminated. Revolting.

He didn’t even glance your way as you left the Hall.

You waited until you were alone. You found him near the back stairwell, the one they used to use to sneak up to the Astronomy Tower. He was lighting a cigarette. Of course. Something about this was beginning to feel destructively futile.

Your voice was quiet at first.

“Hey.”

Theo glanced over, eyes unreadable in the gloom of the night. “Hey.”

You hesitated.

“Can we talk?”

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, then shrugged. “Sure. Talk.”

There was a beat of silence. Then she said, softly, almost apologetically, “You’ve been different. Since we got back.”

Theo looked away.

“Have I?”

You could feel him beginning to shut you out. You panicked. “I’m not trying to start anything," you said, hurriedly. "I just…noticed.”

“You always do,” he muttered, flicking ash onto the stone floor.

You frowned. “I’m not accusing you.”

“Not yet, you're not.”

Something about the way he said it - flat, unaffected - made you feel ridiculous. A laughingstock. Overly emotional. Wholly irrational.

Still, you pushed on. “You were great this weekend, Theo. Really. Till now, I didn’t want to say anything because I liked that. I liked you. And now - ” You swallowed. “Now I don't."

He raised a brow.

“Because I sat at a different table?”

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what is it?”

You worried your bottom lip.

“You’re pulling away again.”

Theo laughed condescendingly.

“Well, forgive me if I don’t feel like being your emotional support boyfriend every minute of every day.”

You stared at him.

“Is that what you think I want?”

“Sure seems like it.”

You stepped back, your frustration mounting.

“God, you’re unbelievable. I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re acting like I’m some clingy, nagging -”

“Well, aren’t you?”

Your mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious that this, is getting old,” he said, not even bothering to look at her now. “The whining. The melodrama.”

You hated the way your voice was beginning to shake.

“You always do this, Theo. Every time we get close, you run the other way. You pretend none of it ever happened.”

He turned to you now, finally meeting your eyes with that cold, dead gaze of his.

"We had a nice weekend. We had one nice weekend. Newsflash, princess - it's not that deep."

Your chest tightened, your breath catching in your throat.

He didn’t stop there. “You act like I’m supposed to worship you like some lovesick puppy all day every day. Don't you get exhausted by how much you want all the time? Do you really need to be wanted that badly?”

There was a long pause.

Then you exhaled, sharp and cold.

“Fuck you.”

He didn’t blink. “That’s more like it.”

All this while he'd been trying to buy your infatuation. Meanwhile, you couldn't pay him to offer you a shred of respect.

You shoved past him, your nails digging crescent moons into her palms as you walked far, far away from him. The echo of your footsteps hit the walls too loud, too fast, like you couldn’t get away from him quickly enough.

He didn’t follow. Not that you expected him to. But the worst part was that it hurt exactly the way she knew it would that afternoon you first laid eyes on him. Because he didn't care - not really. Not enough for it to actually mean anything.

Still, some sick part of your heart pulsed with the worry that you'd go back. That you weren't strong enough to truly stay away from him. That you'd go crawling back to him on some cold, miserable night.

When your hands stopped shaking. When your voice stopped cracking. When you convinced yourself again that maybe he half-meant it that one time. That maybe he could change. That maybe he already had.

But for now, all that you could do was walk, and walk, and walk, until the halls swallowed you whole. Until he was little more than smoke curling in the wind.

The only thing heavier than your silence was the weight of still wanting him.

It’s always worse at night.

When the castle halls are quiet. When your bed’s too big. When there’s no fight left in you to battle the waves of want.

It was late—so late that even the stars seemed like a distant memory, hanging somewhere far beyond reach. It was a stupid hour, one where you should have been asleep, or at least pretending to be. But you weren't. You never could sleep the same without him anymore. Not when he’d been the one to fill the void inside you, even if it was with something corrosive. You hated it. And yet, there was no escaping it.

You missed him. How could you not? Despite everything, despite his flaws, his temper, his habits you loathed, you missed him. Even when he was the last person you wanted to think about, your mind wandered back to the way his lips felt against your neck, the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren't looking.

That stupid half-smile. The ominous smell of smoke clinging to his collar. The way his voice softened when he said your name like it was something precious meant only for him.

It was exhausting. This back and forth. The way he could make you feel like the most important thing in the world one minute, and a burden the next. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he flipped it. Changed the rules. Changed the game.

And still - still, you chose to love him.

You were too tired to care about what was “right” anymore. You'd been walking around in this fog of longing and resentment, trying to convince yourself that you deserved more, that you needed more. You needed to be more.

But you weren't. Not without him.

You'd told yourself you wouldn’t do this again. Had said it out loud, even. Had whispered it like a promise into your pillow the night you walked away. But the resolve didn't hold under the weight of your chest caving in from the loneliness.

You tried everything - busy days. Cold showers. Long walks. None of it worked. You couldn't help slipping.

And tonight, you're slipping fast.

Your bare feet carry you down the corridor before you can think. You don't react to the chill of the floor. Your head is vacant of any plans, any rational thought - just the sharp pulse of want, of need, of him.

You hesitate outside his dorm. But it's too little, too late. The time to turn back was months ago, when he was little more than a stranger on a picnic blanket you had enough sense to not get involved with.

The door creaks open.

He’s awake. He doesn’t say anything. You don't leave. He doesn’t ask you to.

He lifts the covers. Makes room for you without question.

You climb in.

His arms wrap around you like muscle memory. Like forgiveness he didn’t earn.

And you let him.

Because the thing about loving someone like Theodore Nott is, it’s never a fair fight. It's an affliction of the worst kind. It's a habit you can't quite quit. It’s knowing better. And choosing him anyway.

You closes your eyes and shift closer, pretending you don't know how this ends.

Little Miss Disillusioned ★★★☆☆ Would Not Recommend But Merlin...I always come back.

[lazysoulwriter]

Fences & Flowers. - Joel Miller.

Summary: (Y/N) moves to her late grandparents' farmhouse, seeking solace from the overwhelming pace of city life. Determined to transform the land into a flourishing farm, she is met with unexpected curiosity from her neighbor, Joel Miller. Their first encounter is anything but smooth, filled with teasing remarks and a palpable tension. But when Joel returns to make amends, their dynamic takes an unexpected turn—one that leaves them both questioning the sparks between them.

no outbreak.

The house stood at the heart of the land, a quiet, sprawling estate that had been in her family for generations. (Y/N) ran her fingers over the worn wooden railing of the porch, feeling the age of the place, the weight of its history. It was hers now. All of it—the fields stretching beyond the horizon, the small grove of trees lining the dirt path, the barn standing stubbornly against time.

She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of earth and open air settle into her lungs. This was why she came here. To escape. To breathe. To build something that was hers.

The transition hadn’t been easy. Life in the city had been suffocating, the constant noise, the endless pressure of expectations she no longer cared to meet. Here, she would set her own pace. Here, she would make her own rules.

Her first order of business had been tending to the few animals left under the care of an old farmhand who had loyally remained despite the years of vacancy. But today, she had something different in mind. The truck she’d driven up in still held boxes of belongings, but nestled among them were the delicate seedlings and flowers she’d brought with her. She wanted color. She wanted life.

Digging her hands into the rich soil, she let the earth crumble between her fingers before carefully pressing down around the base of a small cluster of lavender. It felt good to work with her hands.

She was so focused on the task that she didn’t notice the figure approaching until a shadow loomed over her.

“You know, that’s not how we do things around here.”

Her head snapped up, startled. The man standing in front of her was tall, broad, with streaks of gray running through his dark hair. His arms were crossed over his chest, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Excuse me?” she asked, wiping the dirt from her hands onto her jeans before standing up.

Joel Miller had seen plenty of newcomers in his time, but none quite like her. She was young—too young, maybe, to be taking on a farm this size alone. And she was beautiful. Not in the delicate, untouchable way, but in a way that made him pause, made something unfamiliar settle in his chest.

“I mean, fancy little plants like those don’t stand much of a chance out here,” he continued, nodding towards the flowers she was planting. “Might as well be settin’ up a tea party for the deer.”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not taking farming advice from the first cowboy who wanders onto my land.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “Cowboy? Darlin’, I’m your neighbor.”

Her gaze flicked toward the fence line separating their properties. Of course. She’d seen his place in the distance, had noticed the way it was well-kept, the livestock thriving.

“Great. And my neighbor thinks I’m incompetent.”

“I didn’t say that,” Joel replied, the amusement in his voice not quite masking the interest beneath. “I just don’t see many city folks stickin’ around once they realize this ain’t all sunsets and slow mornings.”

She bristled. “I’m not from the city.”

“Really?” His tone was skeptical. “You just scream ‘never fixed a fence in your life.’”

She crossed her arms. “And you scream ‘grumpy old man with too many opinions.’”

That made him grin, a real one this time. “Fair enough.” He took a step back, nodding toward her work. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya when all them flowers disappear overnight.”

He turned, heading back toward his truck parked by the fence. (Y/N) exhaled sharply, watching him go. Asshole. A ridiculously handsome asshole, but still.

The next morning, she was back in the dirt, determined to finish planting, when she heard the familiar sound of boots approaching.

“Brought somethin’,” Joel announced.

She looked up, eyes narrowing as she spotted him holding out a small roll of wire.

“What’s this?”

“Fencing. For your flowers,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Figured I’d save you the heartbreak.”

(Y/N) stared at him, caught somewhere between annoyance and… something else. He had that same easy smirk, but there was an almost shy quality to the way he scratched the back of his neck, as if uncomfortable with the act of offering help.

She took the roll from his hands, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. A warmth spread through her, unexpected and uninvited.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

Joel didn’t move. He glanced down at her, at the dirt smudges on her cheeks, the way her hair was falling from the loose ponytail she’d tied up in a hurry.

“Why flowers?” he asked suddenly.

(Y/N) blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re startin’ a farm, right?” He motioned toward the land behind her. “Why go through all this trouble for somethin’ that ain’t gonna feed you?”

She looked at the lavender, the small pops of color in the rich soil. “Because it makes me happy.”

Joel didn’t have a response to that. Instead, he let his gaze linger on her face a second too long, his weight shifting slightly forward.

For a fleeting moment, it felt like something was pulling them closer, like the distance between them wasn’t distance at all.

His eyes flickered to her lips.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way the air between them had thickened. Her heart pounded against her ribs.

And then—

He cleared his throat, stepping back like he’d just caught himself doing something stupid.

“Well,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Don’t let me keep you from your… flowers.”

(Y/N) exhaled, forcing a nod, as if that moment hadn’t just changed something between them.

“See you around, cowboy.”

Joel scoffed but didn’t correct her this time. Instead, he shot her one last glance before turning away, his hands shoved into his pockets.

She watched him go, fingers tightening around the fencing wire in her hands, pulse still unsteady.

Oh, she was in trouble.