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beomcoups · 2 years

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The Athlete

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: footballer!Hoshi x journalist!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, slight angst, smut, sports au, strangers to lovers au, slow burn-ish

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: R (18+)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, kissing, throat grabbing, slight choking, oral (m and f receiving), (semi-rough face fucking) fingering, clit stimulation, unprotected sex, missionary, nipple play, dirty talk, praising, mentions of parental death, bit of a tear jerker

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.2k

𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are assigned to do an interview with Kwon Soonyoung, the trailblazing athlete everyone calls Hoshi. But as you spend more time with him, you start to see there are more layers to him than football.

𝐀𝐍: A massive thank you to @wordycerty for reading this for me and reassuring me about this. This is the longest fic I have written. Also thank you to @playmetheclassics for reading over a bit of this as well. Appreciate you guys ❤

“Mr. Kwon is ready to see you now.” You get up from your seat, stretching a little before following the little woman named Helen in front of you. She leads you down a massive hallway full of sports memorabilia, making small conversation along the way. This isn’t your first time here; the enormous stadium was built five years ago with enough money to feed the homeless for ten years. Sometimes you are here to watch a football game, but you are mostly here on business.

You are a journalist working for the country's most prominent television broadcasting company at the top of your field. You’ve met many celebrities in your area, some of whom you have become close to. Unfortunately, you have also met some not-so-nice ones, but fortunately, in your line of work, you don’t have to deal with them unless they come to you via their company. You love your job, and today you will interview the hot shot athlete from The Tigers, Kwon Soonyoung, known nationwide as Hoshi.

“He is finishing up a photo shoot, so he will be all yours soon,” Helen announces, opening a wide door. “You can just sit in here until he comes.” ‘I thought you said he was ready to see me,’ you think to yourself, annoyed that you have to wait longer. It’s not like you have anything else to do, but you value being professional and, most importantly, not wasting your time. She leads you to the main room where the photoshoot is happening, with Hoshi standing in front of the photographer.

If you didn’t have quick reflexes, you would’ve run into Helen, knocking her on her face. He poses for the camera, wearing a gray crop top sweater, showing his firm abs. His black basketball shorts fit his hips perfectly, and the tiny veins on his lower stomach lead you to thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking of. This is your first time seeing him this close in person, and he is every bit as hot as everyone says he is. You thank Helen as you set your things on a glass table, carefully taking out your recorder and setting your questions aside for when he is finished. “Alright, buddy. We are done,” the photographer announces, shutting off his camera. “Finally, I’m ready to get some grub,” Hoshi exclaims loudly, rubbing his stomach. You make eye contact, with Hoshi winking at you and returning it with small heads up. You are used to guys, and sometimes women hitting on you. He will have to do better than that. “Hi there,” you rise out of your seat. “I’m—” “I know who you are,” his tone is smooth like silk. “You’re the pretty lady who gets to talk sports with us.” You shake hands, reaching for your chair before Hoshi unexpectedly grabs you. His hands are soft, and his nails are clipped and clean, the results of a very good manicurist. “Sorry darling, but I’m hungry,” he explains. “I ordered some lunch for us in the conference room. I hope that's okay.” You blink, slowly removing your hand and clearing your throat. You aren’t opposed to eating a little early, and it is not like you haven’t worked and eaten at the same time before. “Sure,” you nod. “I could use a bite, anyway.” You gather your things, and he leads you across the hall, a room set up with sandwiches from a popular local deli. The food there is your favorite, and your stomach rumbles as soon as you sit down. “Well, this is quite the setup,” you observe, pulling out your tape recorder. “I hope I am making a good first impression,” he winks at you. “Maybe you are,” you flirt back. You cross your legs, your skirt rising slightly, showing off your smooth legs. Hoshi’s checking you out, and you smirk, used to the attention that you get when interviewing athletes. You know you are gorgeous, your best feature being your warm eyes. You use that to your advantage, making people feel comfortable as they tell you about themselves. You finish setting up and take a small sandwich, biting into it and feeling instant gratification. Next, Hoshi pulls a chair in front of you with his own food, taking a bite of a pickle. “You look content,” he remarks playfully. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I saw the food,” you confess. Your face heats up, and you regain composure, wiping your mouth with a napkin before turning on your recorder. You can feel his eyes on you, your skin tingles, and you feel warm, like you are basking in the sun. Hoshi is not the first person you have interviewed you found attractive, but you always make it a point to be professional at all times. It gets messy in the world of sports journalism, and after seeing what your peers have gone through, you want no parts of it. No matter how cute he is. “So,” you clear your throat. “We are here at the championship game finally. How do you feel?” “I’m pumped,” Hoshi perks up. “This has been a long time coming.” “I watched your game, where you ran the game-winning touchdown. What was going through your mind when the clock hit zero and you were at the goalpost?” He slouches back in his seat, his hand laid over his right leg. “I thought, ‘it’s about damn time,’” he remarks. “I want to lead the team to victory once more.” You see the passion behind those brown eyes, and you feel his conviction in his voice. You have seen him play before, and you can feel he is one of the best wide receivers in the nation. The way he eyes the field and manages to outmaneuver the cornerbacks, you deduce that he is an intelligent player. “I know everyone asks similar questions, so I want to ask you something different.” You pause to take a sip of water. “What inspires you to get out there on the field?” He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts in his seat, a falter of sadness reflected on his face. It catches you a bit off guard, not expecting to see this side of him so early. “My dad,” he says. “My dad died before I was drafted, and I want to do this for him.” You offer a small, kind smile, feeling his pain from your own experience. You lost your dad in a car accident the day you were hired by the company. He was your only parent growing up and your biggest supporter. That was a few years ago, and that pain feels fresh every day. “We can take a break, if you want,” you offer, turning off the tape recorder. “I know how it feels to lose a dad, and I understand if you need a moment.” Your eyes meet each other, understanding the shared feeling of losing a parent said without words. He shakes his head, takes a sip of water, and sits up straighter in his seat. “Nah, it’s okay,” his voice is gruff. “This isn't really the time for the feels right now.” You nod, turning back on the recorder and returning to your questions.

“What is the first thing you will do when you win the championship?” “Ask you out on a date.” You snort, not expecting that to be his answer. But you have to give it to this guy; he is bold. “I’m serious,” he asserts. “When we win, I will find you on that field and ask you out on that date.” “You’re awfully forward,” you muse. “You barely know me.” “You’re right,” Hoshi responds. “I hardly know you. But I like what I see. I know what you do, and you do it well. You’ve been on my radar for a while now.” You nod slowly, mulling over his words. Then, you ask him more questions about his family life and sports records when Helen comes in, telling him it's time to go into the locker room. You check your timer, noting that you had been talking to him for forty minutes and time flew by fast. “I appreciate your candor, Hoshi,” you say, gathering your things. “Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk with me.” “Of course,” Hoshi declares. “Don’t forget, I am going to ask you out on that date in a couple of weeks.” You shake your head, not bothering to hide the grin on your face. “Okay,” you chuckle. “We’ll see.”

You stare at your computer screen, tapping your pen nervously as you read every comment on your article about Hoshi. Most of them are positive, a tremendous relief to you because you worked on it to help your readers see another of him. Of course, there were a few troll comments here and there, but you never let those get to you. Some people just want to be seen, and you’d like to think you have tough skin. You have to, in this industry anyway.

It’s been a week in a half since you saw Hoshi; the interaction is still fresh on your mind, leaving an everlasting impression on you. As everyone says, he is charming and witty, but seeing it firsthand hits differently. In addition, he has a southern charm that makes you smile, reminding you of your upbringing in the South. You shouldn’t think about him this much; you barely know the guy. ‘Get it together,’ you are lost in your thoughts. ‘Just because you haven’t had sex in a while doesn’t mean you should bounce on the first person giving you attention.’

“Great job on the article.” You yelp in surprise, not noticing that your boss Gail Kim is beside you. “You scared me,” you titter, clutching your chest. “But thank you.” “So,” Gail pulls up a seat next to you. “Danielle will not be able to interview the winning football team this Sunday. She has covid.” “Oh, my god. Is she okay?” You pause before realizing that was a stupid question. “Wait, of course, she’s not. What the hell is wrong with me? How is she feeling?” “She’s… okay, I guess,” she mutters. “But you know the quarantine period is five days, which overlaps into the game.”

There is a slight pause, then it dawns on you. “Am I going to be interviewing the team?” “Yes,” Gail reveals. “I need you to step in her place.” Interviewing at any big event is the highlight of anyone’s career, let alone the championship. You’ve been on the red carpet at the Oscars, the Grammys, and any other prestigious event, but this has been your dream. One more thing to knock off your bucket list. “Yeah, I can do it,” you say eagerly. “Great. I knew I could count on you.” Gail gets up from her seat. “Get your questions ready, and I want them in my inbox by 5 pm tomorrow.” “Yes, ma'am,” you joke, playfully giving a salute. You look at the time, noticing it is after five and time for you to go. You shut down your computer and lamp, gathering your purse before almost bumping into a man holding a bouquet of flowers. “Hi, I think this is for you,” he says, handing the flowers. “Thank you?” your voice trails off as he walks away. Your fingers trail over your favorite flowers, the prettiest roses and Shasta daisies you have ever seen. They smell fresh, as if they were picked from a garden, wrapped nice and tight in pink foil paper. You are aware of your coworkers staring at your gift and your good friend Gina marveling at the flowers.

“Is it Valentine's day already?” she quips. “Who’s the lucky person?”

“I don’t know,” you smell the flowers. “I should thank them, though.”

A small white card is snugged in the middle of the bouquet, and you pull it out, reading what’s displayed in beautiful penmanship. Just a little idea of what our date is going to be like. -H “Wait, who’s H?” Gina questions. “That’s not who I think it is—” “Shh,” you cut off. “Walk with me.” You both beeline it to the elevators, feeling relieved when you step in and no one joins you. Your heart is beating out of your chest, your adrenaline pumping like you are keeping a horrible secret. “So, listen,” you begin. “You know how I had that interview with Hoshi?” Gina nods, pressing the parking level button. “I remember.” “Well, he was flirting with me heavily and then basically promised to ask me out on a date at the game.” Gina’s eyes widen, and you try to surprise your grin, failing miserably as you press your lips together. “So, are you gonna go out with him?” “I-I don’t know,” you stammer. “He’s direct, and he’s cute… but I am so into work right now. I finally got where I dreamed of being, and I don't want anyone thinking it's because I got with some hot football player.” “Oh please. Fuck these people!” Gina exclaims. “You got here because of your merit and hard work. Plus, it's been a while, and you need to get laid, my friend.”

The elevator doors open at the worse time, with two men on the other side with curious eyes. You excuse yourself quietly, speed walking to your car to hide from further embarrassment. “Jesus, Gina,” you mouth. “I’m sorry,” she whispers loudly. “How the hell was I supposed to know there were people at the other end?!” You shake your head, turning your keys into your car. You know she meant well, and you aren’t really mad at her. Just embarrassed that two random men know about your sex life or lack thereof.

“So, are you gonna call him?” Gina probes. “Are you gonna thank him for the flowers?”

“Mm, I should,” you mutter. “Let me get on that.” Gina nods, and you say your goodbyes, getting in your car and driving out of the parking center. Then, you send a voice message to your contact at the Tigers organization, asking for his number to “verify something” you wrote in your article. His number is in your inbox a few minutes later, ready to be called. Deep down, you are starting to feel giddy, like a young girl with a school crush on a popular boy. It’s not the first time you’ve received flowers from anyone, especially shown who’s shown interest in you. But something about him is bold and different… maybe you’ve watched too many clips of this man. “Hey siri, call xxx-xxx-xxxx.” The phone rings twice before he picks up. “Hi there, beautiful,” his voice comes through smooth as silk. “Hi,” you click your tongue. “So uh, I got your flowers. How did you know what to get?” “It’s just like I told you; I’ve had my eye on you for a while, and I pay attention.” “Uh huh,” you hum. “Well, I want to thank you for them. They are very nice.” “Anytime, gorgeous,” he replies. “I gotta go, game stuff. But I’ll see you on Sunday?” “Yeah, you will.” You end the call as you pull up to your condo. You aren’t willing to break your rules yet, and you see nothing wrong with getting to know him. It can’t hurt to go on one date with him, right?

“There are two minutes and forty-eight seconds left in the fourth quarter, with the Tigers trailing behind by five points. The coach has called for a timeout.”

You nod at your cameraman, Jeff, pinning your mic together on your shirt before grabbing your mic and leaving the press box. The short walk to the field is buzzing with personnel and other reporters fixing up their hair or going over last-minute questions before the celebration begins. You bite your lip, the outcome of the game leaving a fit of nervous bubbles in your stomach as you watch the field. You want the Tigers to win, not just because Hoshi is the team's star wide receiver, though that is a plus. You and Hoshi have been texting since he sent flowers to your job, mainly flirting and getting to know him through his funny innuendos. So far, you’ve learned he is a mama’s boy, has a big heart, and loves tigers. You can tell he is a good person and cares about the people around him. It’s not like you daydream or wish for the impossible, but you hope he asks you on that date tonight. “Seventeen seconds left on the clock, Choi throws a fifty-yard pass to Hoshi… MY GOD! HOSHI CATCHES THE BALL AND MAKES THE TOUCHDOWN! TIGERS HAVE WON THE CHAMPIONSHIP GAME!”

The crowd erupts in thunderous applause, confetti falling from the stadium's roof, and fans from all over jumping and shrieking with joy. Hoshi is raised in celebration, holding the football in his hand, screaming victory with tears in his eyes. The other reporters rush out to interview the teams, but you know better, not wanting to get mixed in with the crowd of personnel, family, and friends on the field. You wait until the coaches have shaken hands and the crowd disperses a bit before walking onto the field. The stage is already set up, with the organization's commissioner standing on the podium, trophy in hand. Making your way to the stage, you review your questions in your head one last time before the team arrives. “We will be ready in thirty seconds,” the cameraman tells you. You nod, turning around and bumping squarely into someone’s chest, your face red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m such a clutz—” “It’s okay, darlin’,” that familiar buttery voice responds. “You look really pretty.”

Hoshi is gazing at you, his short blonde hair messy from his helmet, his good looks more evident than before. You can’t help beam at him; unbeknownst to you, you are falling for his charm. “Thank you,” you grinned, moving in front of him. Your body slightly rubs against his, the tension small but noticeable enough to set your insides on fire. This is a bad time to be horny, and Hoshi doesn’t make things any better. “So that date—” The theme song comes on, cutting him off, and you move in front of the camera. You introduce Commissioner Han to the crowd, listening to talk about the game and listing off the players' achievements. “And this year’s MVP goes to… Hoshi!” The cheers shake the podium, Hoshi moves up to the front to accept the MVP trophy. You two make eye content, a wide smile spread on his face. You stand next to him, mic in hand, watching the wave of emotions seen on his face. “What is going through your mind right now?” He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes filled with tears as he breaks down and sobs. He didn’t have to answer the question for you to understand how he felt. This is supposed to be the happiest moment of his life, but the one person who wanted to see him succeed the most isn’t there. You know that feeling all too well. “Dad,” he catches his breath. “I hope you are proud of me. I did it.” Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion; his teammates hugged him, giving him words of encouragement that lifted his spirits. It brought you back to when you found out your dad died right after you were hired for this dream job. He always rooted for you and was your best friend, your only family. Losing him was a cross you never thought you would have to bear, and if you are being honest with yourself, it's something you can never get over. The mood makes you sentimental, and a single tear falls down your cheek. Not wanting to be noticed, you wipe it away quickly. You wait for him to regain his composure before he finishes the interview, the atmosphere full of love and admiration for Hoshi. You couldn’t have been more proud. “Any last words?”

There is another pause, a twinkle in his eye. “Yes. Will you go on that date with me?” You cock your eyebrow, trying to surprise your smirk. His teammates scream in loud cheer, the crowd telling you to say yes. You admit you were caught off guard, the date not even on your mind after seeing him cry. But Hoshi got you good, and you can’t say you aren’t impressed. You nod, not bothering to hide your smile anymore. “Yes, I’ll go on that date with you.”

The next few weeks were hectic, the championship high still going strong in the city. You were assigned other projects, and Hoshi was busy celebrating his win with his team. His “proposal” of a date on national tv put you more in the public eye, with people all over wanting to know about your relationship. Your boss loved it, asking you every other day about him and mentioning the buzz the department was getting. Gina was specifically entertained, teasing you every chance she got. “So, where’s your star player?” Gina taunts you, sitting on your desk.

“I… don’t know,” your voice trails off, turning around to face her. “Why, what's up?” “Mmmm, do you think he has a single teammate looking for a good time?” “Jesus, Gina,” you snort. “How am I supposed to know? I haven’t even gone on a date with the man yet.” “Speaking of that, when is that happening?” Gina probes. “I mean, it's been a few weeks since he’s asked.” “Your guess is as good as mine,” you muse. “We’ve been talking a lot, so maybe he has something planned.” Gina returns to her desk, and you finish working on your projects. It’s been a welcoming distraction from being anxious about your date whenever that happens. It’s not like you and Hoshi haven’t talked since then. You talk every day, either via text or video chatting. He greets you good morning and makes an effort to make sure he is the last person you say good night to. You have a lot in common in your shared interests in travel and childhood stories about your dads. Talking with him is comfortable; his positive energy is a small light in your hectic life that you greatly appreciate.

He gets more handsome every time you see him, and you finally see what everyone is raving about. He’s a small-town boy with a big heart, always talking about how much he loves his mom and how much he provides for her. It made you wish you had a family like that, someone you could rave about and show a lot of love to. It also doesn’t help that he’s a looker; your favorite part of him is his dimples. The way they randomly appear when he’s talking always sends you into a tailspin, but you’d never tell him that, of course. A few hours pass, and you check the time, realizing it is time to go. You finished most of your research and decided to do the rest at home, wanting to be in the rush hour traffic. You have a three-day weekend, and you plan to enjoy yourself by all means. You sit up to gather your things, feeling your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see Hoshi calling you, your heart skipping a few beats. “Hi,” you answer quickly. “Hey, beautiful. Are you done for the day?” “I might be,” you toy with the string on your purse. “Why, what's up?”

“Okay, I’m coming right up!” “What—” He hung up before you could fully react, butterflies quickly filling your stomach. You check yourself on your camera, doing a once-over just before the elevator opens. He strides in, wearing a black bomber jacket, fitted jeans, sneakers, and a white shirt with a single gold chain. He is holding the prettiest bundles of white roses, presenting them to you as you walk toward him. “H-Hi there,” you stutter. “I wasn’t expecting you here.” “I know, I know,” Hoshi responds, pulling you into a hug. “We never planned that date, and I figured why not now? So I worked it out with your boss and freed your schedule up for me.” “Oh, did you now?” You turn around and look towards Gail’s office, who is standing at the door, a smirk on her face.

“Well, are you ready?”

You beam at him, pushing the strap of your purse over your shoulder. The butterflies are still there, and your heart is beating a million thumps per second, but at this moment, you are ecstatic. “Yeah,” you nod. “I’m ready.” He suddenly picks you up, carrying you out of the office while your coworkers cheer you on. Feeling incredibly shy, you hide in his jacket until you reach the elevators. Once you’re in and you hear the doors close, you peak and look at him, meeting his dark brown eyes. “You are something else,” you giggle. “Do you plan on carrying me all the way to the car?” “I didn’t plan to,” he confirms. “But now I will.” You roar with laughter as the elevator stops, Hoshi keeping his promise and carrying you to his black Jeep. You hold on to him tightly, admitting to yourself that you don’t want to let go. He senses your earnestness, opening the door while holding onto you with one arm. His strength turns you on, your mind wondering if he would use that same strength in the bedroom. You know he has a nice body, and you’ve imagined him being on top of you with your legs open, pounding you until you came over and over. It’s gotten you through some nights you felt needy, your trusty dildo doing the trick until you can have the real thing. “Do you like steak?” You blurt out as he sits in the car.

“Yeah, why?” “I make a mean steak and potatoes, and if you don’t mind swinging by the market, I can cook for you,” you offer. Hoshi shuts your door and goes to the driver’s seat, turning on his engine. “Making me dinner already?” He playfully rubs his stomach. “I might just have to marry you, woman.”

The crackling sound of oil and the smell of steak fill up your condo quickly. Two wine glasses on the counter, filled halfway with red cabernet, one of them stained with your lipstick. You made due on your promise, making steak and mashing up your potatoes to serve with your meal. Your grilled asparagus was already finished, set to the side to cool off. Hoshi watches you with curiosity, and you don’t mind it, as you pride yourself on being a good cook. Since your dad passed, you haven’t offered to cook for anyone, and you feel a bit rusty, second-guessing yourself on a simple recipe. “Are you okay?” Hoshi chuckles. “Your hands are shaking.”

“Uh, yeah,” you fib, grabbing the salt. “It’s just been a while since I’ve cooked for anyone.”

You add your milk and butter to the potatoes, mixing them with garlic, salt, and pepper until they are fluffy to your liking. You feel Hoshi move around you, turning over your steaks in your pan. Every time he gets close to you, you tense up, your inner goddess begging you to give in. It doesn’t help that he is so stinking cute with a nice body. You are in deep trouble. “I’m not a good cook. Terrible actually,” he says. “But I know how to make a steak.”

“Oh, what would I do without you?” You tease. “Well, let’s hope we never find out.”

The steaks are finished several minutes later, and you make the plates, sitting them at the table while he waits. You hold your breath while you watch him take his first bite, sitting on pins and needles as you hope he likes it.

“Damn, woman,” he swallows. “You know how to throw down.”

Feeling proud, you dig into your own food, discussing your day and upcoming projects. Then, he talks about an upcoming family trip to the mountains, where he owns a huge cabin. You think about the time your dad took you to one for Christmas, waking up to snow falling from the sky and holiday music playing throughout the place. It was one of the happiest moments of your life, and you would give anything to relive that again.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hoshi asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Oh yeah,” you get up quickly with your empty plate. “I’m fine. I am just gonna get some more wine.”

You wash your plate at the sink, taking a moment to get together before running right into Hoshi, getting barbecue sauce on his shirt.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I am so sorry. Let me clean that for you.”

Before he could protest, you already have a detergent stain remover in your hands, scrubbing the sauce off vigorously. Yet, you can still see the stain there, and in the spur of the moment, you do the unthinkable.

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?” Hoshi says nervously, playfully clutching his shirt.

“Come on,” you chuckle. “I am going to throw it in the washer.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. Take off your shirt, or I will do it for you.”

He cocks an eyebrow, a devious smirk on his face, and you gulp, realizing what you got yourself into. He closes the space between you two, the tension building like a balloon ready to pop.

“So do it. Take it off.”

Your fingers flirt seductively with the hem of his shirt, pulling it off slowly. You didn’t hear the shirt fall to the floor; you were too distracted by the sexy man in front of you. He licks his lips, and you bite yours, allowing his arms to wrap around your waist. Your face is inches away from his, your insides clawing at you, begging you to take him.

“You're dangerous,” you murmur. “Am I?”

“Yeah. I like it, though.”

He leans in and kisses you; it feels magnificent like fireworks lit up in the sky. Your heart is pounding, and your breathing is heavy as you drink him in, walking backward towards your bedroom. Both your clothes come off in a blur, your naked bodies pressed against each other, engulfed in a flame of passion and sensuality that had been brimming for so long. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he whispers as his lips trail down your neck. Your skin tingles as if you are finally being awakened by his touch, your hands clinging to his hair as he reaches your breasts. His tongue swirls seductively around your hardened mounds, his warm hands cupping your ass and giving it a nice squeeze. Your center is dripping for him as if he read your mind, his fingers slowly trickling to your tight hole. “Already wet for me, baby?” He teases, his thumb rubbing your clit softly. “Y-yes,” you murmur, jolts of electricity spreading between your legs. He licks each nipple, sucking on them until they are nice and ripe, then makes his way down between your legs. Finally, he stands up, his hand pumping his cock as he licks his lips in fascination at your pretty pussy. You knew he had a nice body since you saw a peak at the photo shoot, but seeing him naked, sexy, and rock hard because of you sends you into an internal spiral. “I gotta taste you.”

He licks his lips again, getting on his knees and pulling you closer to him. Then, without any warning, his tongue attacks your nectar, slurping happily as your body radiates from pleasure. Your hand clutches onto your breast, pinching yourself as he dives into your sweet heat, ravishing you like a starved man. Your legs tremble as he slips his delicate fingers inside you, instantly making you crave his cock. “Hoshi, please,” you moan softly, lifting your head up, so you watch him. “Make me cum.”

Without delay, he laps his tongue against your clit, your moans turning into screams, and then whimpers as his fingers pump into you faster. He growls as he dives further into your cunt, the pressure building deep inside you as you feel it coming. He goes deeper into your dripping sex, his tongue flattening your clit, sending you over the edge as you finally cum in his mouth. Your hands grip his hair tightly as you ride his face, screaming beautiful profanities as your body goes through this incredible high. Finally, his fingers slip out of you slowly, and you take his hand, sucking your juices off each of his fingers. “F-fuck,” you breathe heavily. “I don’t think I’ve ever come like that.”

“Well, look forward to more of those, sweetheart,” he murmurs, standing up.

His hand is pumping his cock vigorously, beads of precum dripping out of him and making your lips water. Instinctively, you kneel in front of him, taking his cock and sucking on his head. His legs shudder, and he lets out a low howl, an evil grin on your face as he does not know what he’s gotten into. You love sucking dick when it’s the right person.

“It’s your turn to be taken care of, baby.”

You shove his thick cock into your mouth, sucking him gleefully and savoring his taste. You wrap your fingers around his base, giving it a tight squeeze before running down his shaft, your slobbering mouth sucking his balls, your tongue swirling around in a way that makes him shift his stance. You return to his length, letting him hit the back of your throat as he fucks your face roughly. Tears roll down your face at his roughness, but you don’t mind it; your clit throbs at the thought of this soon filling your tight cunt.

He cocks his head back, clearly enjoying the divine feeling of your warm mouth. His hand has a tight grip on your hair, his strokes slowly before pulling himself out of your mouth, pulling you up to your feet, and kissing you deeply. He lays you back on the bed, marveling over your naked body before climbing over you, parting your legs with his knee. You hold your breath, watching him slowly sink into you, filling you up until you take him whole. “Are you okay?”

Hoshi kisses you as he strokes you slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. The moans between you two are synced together, his hips bucking as his thrusts are faster and deeper. The hard-smacking noise of bodies colliding together echoed in your bedroom. He grunts with each thrust, his hands grabbing your throat and, with your nod of approval, giving it a slight squeeze.

“Fuck,” you mew, biting your lip. “Just like that, please.”

You are soaked for him, the squishiness of your tight core heard with each pound into you. The tighter he squeezed, the more aroused you became, your walls clenching around him. It had been a while since you had good dick, and this was very much worth the wait. He suddenly releases his hand from your throat, pulling you into sloppy kiss, deep pants against your skin as he fucks you senselessly.

“I’m so close,” he putters, looking into your eyes.

You were about to reach your peak, the coil threatening to snap below as he lifted your legs over his shoulder. Your hand finds your clit, rubbing it hard until you scream his name, your orgasm crashing down on you like an avalanche. Hoshi looks amazed, watching your legs shake because of him, his release soon after on your stomach. Your heart is beating fast, barely catching your breath as you collapse on the bed, eyes wide at the ceiling.

“You are sensational,” he whispers, leaving sweet kisses on your face.

You can’t help but giggle, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling with him tightly. You had every intention of getting up to shower and clean up the mess you made from cooking, but instead, you fell into a deep sleep in his arms. You don’t feel him get up or hear him go into your bathroom, take his shower, and then clean you delicately. You are sound asleep as he cleans up your kitchen and makes sure your cats are fed. But you do feel him get back into the bed with you, and kiss you on your forehead.

“Hey,” you mumble.

“I was just straightening up the mess we made. Go back to sleep, love.”

You did exactly that, falling into a deep sleep and waking up at sunrise, still in his arms. You ended up spending your three-day weekend with him, staying in and ordering take-out, watching movies, having meaningful talks about each other’s lives, and fucking each other whenever you wanted. You had each other wrapped in each other’s fingers, a twin flame you never thought you had in this world. You looked into his eyes and felt something, a hope of what your lives could be together if you let him in.

“You aren’t going to ghost me, are you?” The weekend is over, and you are at the door, kissing Hoshi goodbye. “Not if you come over with snacks, Hoshi,” you joke, playfully pushing him out the door. “I think we are past nicknames now,” he leaves you with one last kiss. “Call me Soonyoung.” (bonus chapter)

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murdrdocs · 1 year

Note

celeste <3 my darling <3 i have a a-bit-too-detailed request if and only if you’re up for it <3

ps: if you’re not comfy turning this into a fic or simply don’t want to, which is 100% up to you, then please take this as a random concept that i’d like your opinion on. or maybe just something fluffy to make you smile !!! <3 this is quite a long one, so…

steve harrington x shy! ditzy! best friend

*r = reader

lil backstory first: steve and r have been best friends for a couple of years now, and as we all like to read, are secretly in love with each other. however, from the very beginning, steve noticed his girl was quite shy and anxious, preferred to keep to herself and barely ever socialized with anyone… so even though he was interested in her from first fucking sight, he held back and tried to ease himself into her life instead— but it just so happens they became the closest of friends and steve wasn’t comfortable with jeopardizing that friendship because of his less than friendly feelings. so, friends it is.

r has a bit of a luna lovegood! vibe to her, y’know? often skips instead of walking, speaks whatever is on her mind (albeit mostly quietly as if speaking to herself and sometimes she only speaks half of her train of thought and leaves other confused) (she furrows her brows and pouts and speaks so softly steve thinks it’s fucking adorable), she’s so kind to everyone and doesn’t take jokes or teasing or straight up insults to heart, she focuses on herself and how she feels about herself the most (knows when people call her something she isn’t therefore doesn’t give them any importance). she’s always talking to animals and plants and flowers as if they’re friends and as if they hold actual conversations, like the plants and animals truly respond to her.

dresses in pretty dresses and flowy skirts and soft sweaters, butterfly clips in her hair, dainty jewelry, messy braids sprinkled in the middle of her hair, lots and lots of rings, lipgloss and highlighter and shimmery eyeshadow, loves doing those fairy wing designs with her eyeliner, chipped nail polish or glitter nail polish, has many ear piercings.

steve and his best friend are really close. you see, r has never had romantic validation or any romantic / sexual experience, she’s demisexual/demiromantic and quite introverted, neurodivergent, so being in a relationship with anyone has never been something she particularly wanted or had the time / mind for— until steve. she slowly fell for him while he was already pining for her. both consider the other theirs; steve swore off other girls pretty much as soon as her met r, and r never had eyes for anyone but steve.

r bakes her stevie sweets, sometimes even drops them off at family video when he’s working! it makes steve’s heart squeeze every time. she’s so damn sweet to him; always complimenting him and defending him from even the most playful of insults, gives him tentative cuddles like she always thinks he wouldn’t want to have her touch him, praises him often, makes him little handmade gifts like flowers pressed on glass and her favorite ring ever that steve wears of his left ring finger, she made him a necklace with his birth flower pressed on it for his birthday and gifted it to him along with a lil handmade booklet that has a bunch of their pictures together on it (plus a few with robin and the kids too). r stays up all night on the phone with her stevie whenever he has a nightmare or fights with his parents, they have movie nights and baking sessions and flower picking days!

r loves flowers, knows the meanings of every single one, and works at a flower shop

listen, steve is just as sweet to her! if not more in his own way! like how overprotective he is, how doting and caring, how much he takes care of her (the whole tying her shoelaces for her and tucking her hair behind her ear and reminding her to eat and pulling her waist to avoid her bumping into something while she talks excitedly to him without looking where she’s going). treats her like a princess, really. like royalty. to him, she deserves the world and he’ll give her everything he can. she’s been so alone all her life, though mostly by her own doing and preference, but he strives to make her feel happy and loved! they’re both crazy touch starved when it comes to the other, and r gets quite flustered and shy and blushy whenever she wants a cuddle from her stevie. her seat is always his lap, they hug often, she leans on him with her arms wrapped around his waist all the time, they bicker and tease and joke and laugh together, cheek smooches from her and forehead kisses from him are a must, they give each other pretty rocks!!!!!!!!!!!

steve’s girl is all giggles and breathless laughs and teary eyes and random thoughts, and he loves it. she’s comfortable enough with steve that she feels free to be a brat or a crybaby at times without fearing he’d judge her or leave her :((((((((

in my head, r has a fairy / witchy vibe and aesthetic to her; she often looks ethereal in steve’s eyes at the very least, a softness and light to her that make her seem straight out of a fairytale. crystals and tarot cards and stones and flowers are her thing— she loves surrounding herself with magic. she’s always sort of floaty, like she’s always with her head in the clouds and daydreaming, talking to the wind and imaginary friends, like all she needs are her flowers and animals to talk to and plants to care for. like she doesn’t care if she’s odd or weird or a freak to other people, because their opinion doesn’t matter to her. she’s unapologetically her.

she loves just existing by herself!!! which is why she’s so shocked when she realizes she wants to exist with her stevie!!! r has never wanted someone before, never wanted to kiss and to touch and to be someone’s girlfriend, but she wants her stevie to be her boyfriend so badly!!!

unbeknownst to her, steve wants her just as badly. wants to be all of her firsts— first kiss, first date, first boyfriend, first time… in his head, he wants to be her first and only. but he knows his sweet girl would need to be eased into such things, if she ever even felt the same for him. and that’s okay with him; he’d wait forever if it meant she’d be his.

the gang has a bet going on on who will confess their feelings first.

slowly but surely, steve and r become closer and closer and closer until she kisses him, an impulsive act when she finally notices steve looking at her like she looks at him, with hearts in his eyes, and the kiss makes steve melt. they kiss so softly and sweetly and she’s clearly inexperienced and tentative but it’s so good steve follows her lips whining whenever she pulls away to breathe. over and over and over. soft whimpers and breathless whines and low moans. until steve breathily asks begs to be her boyfriend.

firstly, i wanna mention the fact that i annotated tf outta this as i was reading. i didn’t wanna forget any of my thoughts butttt the annotations are out of order so bear with me.

also not proof read as per ush

as i was reading, all i could think about is how steve is willing to give everything to her.

his crewnecks, more of his side of the bed when she stays the night, the waffle he has on his plate that she’s been eyeing, … his heart. he should feel embarrassed, he knows that the man he was a few years ago would, to give up him entire being to someone who seems so unaware of the feelings he has for her. but he couldnt care less. hes so content with being her friend, because it means that he gets to exist in her space. in the light, airy, fern and flower filled bubble that she encapsulated herself, and him, into.

even though they both exist in that bubble, it doesnt cut them off from the outside world. stares and whispers and unwanted opinions still penetrate through the barrier that steve has attempted to fortify. she brushes off the intrusions, but steve attacks them. he knows that she doesnt ask for it, and sometimes dissproves of steves behavior, but he cant !! help !! it!!

she is his and so unapologetically her and steve just gets so fed up with the puritan beliefs that comes with living in bumfuck nowhere, indiana. that anger that he had whenever he was a Mean Girl comes back just for a second but then shes smiling and tucking a little daisy into his hair and hes forgetting about everything except the movie he had tucked in his backseat for the two of them to watch later that night.

not only is she steves, but theyre each others. its a known fact by everyone around town. “theyre dating, right?” everyone asks each other, and they might as well be. hands held, secrets shared, gazes swapped. they are practically boyfriend and girlfriend without the labels.

especially with that damned ring. as soon as robin sees it on steves fingers, her eyes widen and shes slapping his chest offendedly.

“you got fucking married and didnt tell me?” and steves so fucking confused. his eyebrows are furrowed and hes upset that robin took him away from his work (keith told robin and steve to start a new system for organization and its so confusing for absolutely no reason).

hes looking at robin with that confused look on his face and she points to the ring on his finger. “oh” is all steve says. he fiddles with the band with his thumb and shakes his head with a little smile on his face.

“my girl gave it to me.”

and thats it. no explanation given because there isnt one needed. shes his girl, and she gave him a gift. simple as that.

(except steves heart picks up in pace and his stomach churns hopefully as he imagines the ring meaning something more final and grandiose)

side note: steve gets into crystals because of her. she buys him a little necklace with a small cut of amethyst on it and steve becomes obsessed. he loves and admires that she has her thing and he wants something like that too :(( so he goes for crystals! so much of his money goes into expanding her collection and hes more than okay with that.

another side note: steve lets her be her truest self because he loves everything about her so so much. even her brattiness. which, steve is aware is partially his fault because he gives his girl literally everything she asks for (she jokingly asked for his beamer once and he was this close to indulging her) but thats just because he cant help it :(( shes so sweet there is no way that steve would be able to deny her anything.

which is why steve is so willing to take that leap into a relationship when she makes the first move.

at first, during that split second where her lips are about to touch his, hes worried about what kissing her would mean. what would change? would anything stay the same?

but then her lips are on his and he notices that they feel even softer than they do when she kisses his cheek and hes getting so lost in the moment and in her timid movements. shes shy and inexperienced and steve knows that he should be guiding her, but he cant help but lose himself in everything that is her. because he can smell her perfume and her soft hands are cupping his cheeks and starting to find his hair and her soft body is beginning to press against his and her hips just fit so perfectly in his hands and hes never noticed that she was made for him.

steves more than happy to find that almost nothing has changed about their relationship. she still talks to plants and animals and he talks to them with her, she gives him flowers and he gives her crystals, they still have movie nights (except with loads of kissing and heavy groping in there). truthfully the only thing that has truly changed is the label.

last side note: the gentleness that steve possesses with her transcends into the bedroom. hes all soft kisses in the crook of her neck and on her shoulders and respectful hands gently touching her and pink lips asking before he does anything. she finishes remembering the euphoria and none of the pain and shes left with an insatiable craving for all of steve that just makes their bond stronger and adds another element to their relationship.

finally had time to get to this and i hope it’s alright :(( it’s late and i think i’m flu positive so

#truly love this sm #:(((#THAT SHOULD BE ME BRO #stevesworld!#.tenfour #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff

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dianneking · 1 year

Note

How do you think would Marilyn Thornhill react to Fem!Reader giving her spa day after having a stressful day at work?

Spa Night: Marilyn x Reader Fluff

A/N: This is cute domestic fluff. I know, shocking, coming from the Angst Fairy. Also, I realized after re-reading this that there is no actual sentence that would characterize Reader as fem, and adding them afterwards felt kinda forced. Sorry, I am so used to leaving Reader as neutral as possible that even though I was picturing R as femme, it doesn’t show explicitly in the fic. There’s a lot of Marilyn’s body to make up for it though!

Tags: established relationship, fluff, pampering, nudity, suggestive language and scenes, no actual smut.

Wordcount: 1304

“Welcome home sweetheart.”

Marilyn barely answered you as she dropped her bag on a chair, toeing her shoes off. You looked at her from the kitchen, your eyes taking in the way her hair hung limply, framing the tired lines on her face, before reaching her drooping shoulders. Yet another day of work driving her into the ground, sapping her liveliness out until she arrived to you little more than the husk of herself. Enough was enough.

“That’s it. Come with me.”

“Darling, what…?”

“Shhhh.”

You linked your fingers together, wordlessly guiding her to the bathroom, where you only lit the smallest of lights, giving it a relaxed, warm atmosphere.

You let the water run, slowly filling up the tub as you dropped one of the bath bombs in, letting the fragrant smell of herbs mix within the steam before once again turning to Marilyn.

You slowly brought your hands to her blouse, popping one button open after the other, then delicately pushing the cloth off her shoulders, exposing the pale, freckled skin. You threw the shirt in the hamper, quickly followed by her bra.

Unable to resist, you pressed a kiss to her collarbone, and she shivered as your hands run against her sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake until they finally reached the waistband of her jeans, toying with the button for a handful of moments before you finally unfastened it, pulling the zipper down as well.

You dropped in a crouch, tugging the denims down with you, until they were pooling around her ankles, and you were face to face with her striped underwear.

“Darling…” You looked up at her breathless plea, to see her wide, beautiful eyes partially hidden by her glasses that were starting to fog up, her mouth slightly open, her chest heaving. She jerkily removed her glasses setting them on the nearby counter, drinking in your figure, kneeling at her feet like she was a goddess and you her worshipper.

You smiled up at her, hooking your fingers in the elastic of her underwear and pulling on it without breaking eye contact, until she was able to step out of the pile of her discarded clothes, an artwork comparable to Botticelli’s Venus.

You wanted nothing more than kiss up her calf, hitch her leg up to your shoulders and just dive into her, but this wasn’t about you. Tonight was all about her. So you stood back up and held her hand as she stepped into the warm water of the tub and lied down in it, a satisfied groan leaving her lips as she let the tiredness of the day melt away bit by bit.

“I’m going to set a few things up, you stay here and relax, dearest.”

When you came back, she had abandoned her head against the border of the tub, her fingers lightly playing with the bubbles in the bath as she muttered a song to herself, her hair splayed in a red halo around her.

“Would you like me to wash your hair, sweetheart?”

She nodded, her eyes coming up to meet yours, unfocused. You could get lost for days in those swirling brown pools. She was mesmerizing.

You let warm water run from the faucet, careful not to let it fall into her eyes, then you proceeded to squeeze a dollop of her shampoo on your hands, and started massaging it into her scalp, loving how she instinctually melted against your touch, a sigh leaving her lips. You lathered her lengths, rinsed, and repeated the motions.

You helped her stand and rinsed the soap off her body, before offering her your hand to hold onto as she stepped out of the tub. You lost no time in wrapping her in the fluffiest towels you had, enveloping her in a hug as you did so.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” She whispered to you, her mouth warm on your ear.

“I’m only getting started, sweetheart.” You murmured back, tightening your arms around her. You waited for her to wrap her hair in an old t-shirt, as she usually did, then once again you grasped her hand, leading her to your bedroom.

You had lit a scented candle, and low, soothing music was playing from the speakers.

“Wow.” She breathed, taking in the low, colored lights and the whole atmosphere. “All of this…for me?”

“Of course, dearest. You deserve to be pampered.” Standing behind her, you unwrapped the towels, letting them fall to the ground unceremoniously and once again you were amazed at how beautiful her body was in all of her dips and plains and valleys and all the little details that made her…her.

“Go lie on your front for me, sweetheart.” You instructed her softly. She complied, turning her head sideways on the pillow to be able to watch you as you coated your hands with scented oil.

You started the massage at her feet, firmly enough so as not to trigger her ticklishness as you ran your thumbs along the arch, allowing them to relax after a whole day of standing. You then moved to the ankles, slowly inching up the calves and the back of her thighs. She sighed into the pillow, and you had to fight all of your instincts in order not to get distracted by the soft curve of her ass. There would be time later for that, if she wasn’t too tired. You moved up to straddle her thighs in order to reach her lower back, and the feel of your body pressed against her turned her sigh into a soft moan.

You paused to apply more oil, before digging your thumbs deep into her lower back muscles, her moans growing louder the more weight you put behind your hands.

“Is it too much, sweetheart?”

“God, no. It’s…oh…it’s perfect.”

You loved to see how sensitive she was to your ministrations, how slowly but surely you worked your way through all of the knots in her back, until you were basically lying on top of her, massaging the base of her neck. Once you were satisfied with your handiwork, you pulled back, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. She whimpered, already missing the warm weight of your body on top of her.

“I’ll be there in a sec, love.”

You covered her with the duvet, brought the towel back to the bathroom, and then joined Marilyn under the covers. She hadn’t moved an inch, but as soon as your head hit the pillow beside her, her warm chocolate eyes blinked open and she smiled, a soft, placid smile that made her look like a totally different person from the stressed-out teacher that had entered through the door earlier.

She brought her hand up to cup your cheek, and slowly scooted over so she could kiss you, her lips slowly mapping your own, pulling your bottom lip between her teeth to suck on, then releasing only to lazily lick all over it, before moving her tongue to yours, tangling with it with no fight. You kissed like that for quite some time, feeling as if the whole world had stopped in its motion, taking the time to explore each other.

At some point she pulled away slightly, to look at you with all of her love for you making her eyes shine in the semi-darkness of your room.

“I am so lucky to have you, darling.” She whispered against your lips, before recapturing them in a kiss, not leaving you any room to tell her that her that you were the lucky one between the two, to be allowed to care for her when she was at her lowest.

“Oh, and also,” she nibbled at your lower lip once again before finishing her sentence, “you are wearing way too many clothes.”

Liked it? You can read more of my ff on my masterlist!

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andydrysdalerogers · 11 months

Text

The ABCs of Nick Vaughn ~ "R"

Pairing: Reader x Nick Vaughn (Before We Go)

Summary: Children its time to learn your ABCs. And Nick Vaughn is here to teach you the lessons. 26 glimpses in the world of you and Nick Vaughn

Warnings: S-M-U-T!!!! (under 18 please leave the chat!) descriptions of sexual activity including some themes of BDSM, loss of virginity, fluffy bits, pet name etc...

The new upload will probably be Sundays and Thursdays. Have fun kittens! Also, the tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Previous: Q - Quicky

ABC Masterlist - Main Masterlist

R - Romance

Work had been difficult the last few weeks. That big case involving Levinson had finally gone to the arbitration phase and it looked like it would go in your favor. Nick knew you had been stressed, working long hours and basically wanted a break from everything.

A package arrived at your office on Friday. “A delivery, Ms. YLN,” your assistant said.

“Who’s it from?”

She read the label. “From NV. Not sure who that is.”

You smiled softly. NV, Nick Vaughn “Thank you Alissa. You can go for the day.”

“Thank you, Ms. YLN.” She put the box on your desk and left.

You went too open the box. On top was a note from Nick.

My darling YN, I’m so proud of all the work you done. You deserve a night out. I hope these fit. I love you, Nicky.

You pulled the tissue away to see an amazing green lace dress. “Oh Nicky,” you whispered as you pulled it out. Next to them were some matching green heels. And another note.

Dinner is at 7.

You squealed a little and looked at your watch. It was 530 so plenty of time. You grabbed your makeup bag and headed to the bathroom. After touching up, you put on the dress and heels. As you grabbed your purse, a call came in from security. “Yes?”

There is a car here for you ma’am.

“Ok thank you.” Really Nick, a car service. You shook your head, but the smile never left. You made it to the lobby and the doorman held the door for you as you climbed in. And waiting for you was champagne and two dozen roses. What the hell? You smelled the roses, smiling at the subtle scent and took the glass of champagne that was poured for you.

As you made your way to wherever Nick had planned, you reflected on your time with him. He had been on edge since that time with the train girl, Brooke, when you had met him. He had been playing at a club where you had sat down, waiting for a blind date. A date that never showed. He saw you sitting, looking more and more deflated as time went by. When the group had a break, he headed over and asked if you were ok. He had been sweet, just a guy noticing a girl.

He asked you to stay that night until he was done so he could walk you home. And before you knew it, it was morning. You had breakfast together, the conversation flowing. He walked you home and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

You had texted and talked for another six weeks before your next official date. That had been three years ago, and you were thankful for being stood up because otherwise, you wouldn’t have Nick.

Arriving at your destination, you looked up to see that you were your favorite restaurant in New York. What was he up to? You made your way to the hostess. “Uh... Table for Vaughn?”

“Yes ma’am, right this way.” She led you down to the back of the restaurant to a private dining room. That was filled with candles and flowers. And Nick, in a suit, is waiting for you.

“Nicky,” you gasped, looking around. That romantic bastard had pulled off the most romantic surprise.

“Hey beautiful.” He came over to place a sweet kiss. He ran his hands over your arms, causing goosebumps, the sensation of warmth spreading. “I wanted to celebrate how amazing you are.”

“You didn’t have to do all of this,” waving your arm about.

“I wanted to, love.” He pulled out a chair and got you seated. A waiter came in and poured you each a glass of champagne. As you toast, you notice something about Nick demeanor.

“Nick, what’s going on? You seem... anxious, or excited.”

“A little of both. I Have an idea.” His eyes turn mischievous. He pulled out a gift-wrapped box.

He slid the box to you. You opened it and saw a pair of panties.

Nick grinned as he held up a remote.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Continued in “S”

Taglist:

@patzammit @slutforchrisjamalevans @jennmurawski13-writes @firephotogrl74 @texmexdarling @atoosa22 @tinkerbelle67

#andy's shenanigans #andy's hea #chris evans #the ABCs of nick Vaughn #nick vaughn x reader #chris evans fanfiction #nick vaughn smut #nick vaughn x you #before we go au #chris evans fic #chris evans smut #chris evans au

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lost-in-wond3rland · 7 months

Note

i just finished reading 'Darling, you're so pretty it hurts' on ao3, it was so fun, loved it, please write another, the iron man concept was sooooo fun, people rarely do remus in a position of power. work wise in fics, so it was very nice to read... Especially the glass breaking with the 2 hundred dollar bill tossing. anyways, pls write some more thanks.

When I tell you this just made my whole day, in fact my whole week- 🥹 I'm in grad school and when I tell you it has been r o u g h buddy lol I AM currently working on another Wolfstar fic though! It's a little different than Darling but I'm excited for it! I actually started writing it before Darling and it's a little longer (but not by much!). Darling was just about 10k I think?? A little under? The one I'm working on now is about 13k so far and not quiteeee done. I actually didn't know if I would finish it and the title has changed at least three times, but I'm almost there and I'm excited! I've been working ahead on my classes and finding time to write where I can but I hope it goes up sooner than later cuz I like it and I hope other people will enjoy it too lol I go on vacation soon so hopefully I'll finish it off then!

Anyways! This anon was my favorite thing to happen all week and just so so sweet, ty so very much 💕 I hope your days are filled with magic friend ✨

(Ps. The 200$ bill is one of my favorite parts too lol)

#anon #ask #seven diaries #seven answers

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aphrodite-made-me-write-it · 2 years

Text

Habits - Part 2

(A/N) this ended up longer than i meant it to be bc i was editing it and thought,, lemme add more. dunno. anyway, hope yall enjoy! staying up late to work on some oneshots and the series update a;lskdf;lak figured i’d queue them as i finished them. almost midnight, so fingers crossed! once again, read that fic i linked in the first part bc it’s fantastic and send that author love.

Rating: E (Explicit for p0rn with minimal plot. it’s more relevant in this chapter, i think, but it’s v much just smut. 18+ only)

Warnings: fuckboy!yelena; PISSED!Natasha; R gets railed by a strap on; yelena is the jealous type; natwanda is very background sorry; emotionally abusive parents; mentions of past physical abuse; dw r’s parents are p much ignored in this lmfao they play such a minor role i kinda forgot they existed lowkey; this is a bit angstier than the first

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader; Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff (background)

Chapter Word Count: 10.8k

Total Word Count: 30.1k

Synopsis: It’s been a few years since you last saw your childhood best friend, Natasha, and her little sister, Yelena. Transferring colleges leads to you needing a roommate, and that roommate just so happens to be Natasha. Not much has changed between you, you’re still thick as thieves. Her sister, however, is a completely different story.

OR: The part where you build a glass castle and it comes crashing down.

not my gif

Russian Translations: Malyskha - Babygirl / Milaya - Sweetie / Kratsoka - Gorgeous / Lyubov’ - Love / Dorogoy - Darling

You wake up feeling way more relaxed than usual. You can’t recall having slept so soundly in your life, and the bed feels so much more comfy and warm than you can remember it ever being. You turn over, snuggling deeper into the blanket that feels strangely human.

Wait.

You open your eyes and nearly jump out of your skin when you meet a sleepy green gaze. Yelena blinks slowly as she takes you in, the gears in her mind still slow with the morning.

“Natasha is going to murder me.” You whisper, moreso to yourself than Yelena.

The blonde stretches her arms and legs with a long groan, releasing you from her hold so that you can sit up as much as you can on the stupid couch. You force your gaze away from her naked body, instead focusing on the hall leading to the front door.

“Doubt it,” Yelena says at last, her already deep voice even huskier with sleep. Oh god. She’s so hot. “I won’t let her.”

“You’re her little sister.”

“Yes, and?”

“And I’m her best friend.”

“And…?”

“And she’s going to kill me.” You whine, biting your lip.

Yelena scoffs. “Shouldn’t the person on top be the one she kills? How does she know I didn’t seduce you?”

“I don’t think she’ll care, seeing as you’re her-”

“Oh, enough with that shit.” Yelena sits up, doesn’t even bother to cover her chest. “You want this. You want me. I know you do.”

You meet her eyes uncertainly, but you don’t deny it. Why lie now, when she’s already proven her point? “But if she-”

“I’m an adult. You’re an adult. We’re adults who want to have sex.” She shrugs. “She can’t do anything about it.” You’re finding it harder and harder to resist that logic when she keeps looking at you with obvious want. Sensing your crumbling resolve, Yelena continues: “If you really don’t want to, we can stop. But I think you do want to.” She leans in close, her breath warm on your ear. “I know you want to. You were practically dripping last night, malyshka.”

You inhale sharply. Yelena smirks, clearly well aware of what she’s doing to you. Your heart is hammering in your ears, thunderous. “We can’t let her find out.” It’s a pathetic whisper, because you’re desperate for a way out of this that doesn’t ruin your entire friendship with one or both of your favorite human beings.

“You have a beautiful mind,” Yelena purrs, beginning to pepper kisses along your neck. “And a beautiful body,” her hand finds yours where you’re covering your breasts. She eases your hands, her kisses skirting along your collarbone.

You move your hands to cup her cheeks, redirecting her mouth onto yours. Yelena hums, smiling with her victory. She maneuvers herself on top of you, easing you onto your back while her tongue and teeth make you forget everything but her.

Your phone buzzes from somewhere on the floor. You freeze. Yelena sighs, lets you reach around blindly for your jeans. Several missed texts - and calls - from Natasha, and another text from Carol.

Natasha’s don’t surprise you.

did you make it home ok? (11:23pm)

your silence tells me no (11:30pm)

did you end up fucking carol? (11:34)

answer your fucking phone dumbass (11:47pm)

wanda says you’re probably asleep. if you dont text me before noon tomorrow i’m going to hunt you down. (12:01am)

final warning before i rush to the apartment. (11:45am)

You hurriedly type out a text: sorry! just woke up! i was just really tired!!! Im alive, no need to terrorize my peaceful sunday. (11:46am)

“Who is it?” Yelena asks, laying back down on top of you as if you hadn’t moved at all.

“Nat,” you whisper, frowning. “She was gonna come check on me. If we’re going to keep doing this, we should set some ground rules.”

“Ugh,” Yelena groans, “I hate rules.”

“And I don’t want Natasha to catch us with your hand between my legs.” You huff, chuckling a little.

Natasha responds:

she lives! (11:49am)

almost brought wanda and yelena to drag you out of bed (11:49am)

i’ll be home late. Wanda wants to spend our last day of freedom indoors ;) (11:50am)

You wrinkle your nose. tmi. enjoy ur sex day. (11:50am)

She sends a slew of emojis in response and you roll your eyes, almost clicking out of the messaging app when you remember Carol texted you.

hope you made it home safe last night! sorry if i came on a little strong, i think i just misread the situation. I promise im not a total horndog. I’d love to buy you a coffee sometime? :) (8:21am)

Yelena tilts her head to read your screen and groans again. “Jesus, can’t she take a hint?”

You snort. “She’s actually being nice, Yelena.”

Her arms tighten around you. “But I’m nicer.”

“I’m not going to go out with her,” you surprise yourself with the confidence in your voice. “And you don’t have to be, like, jealous of her.”

Yelena smiles, ducking her head to blow a raspberry against your collarbone. “I’m not jealous.”

“You sound a little jealous.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to share.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. Remember that thing I mentioned earlier that you said you hated? This is one of those magical things. I believe the word is-”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Yelena nibbles at your neck.

You smile, unable to help yourself, and set your phone on the coffee table. You comb your now free hand through Yelena’s hair. “And… you won’t, um- do anything with anyone, either?”

“Of course not. You’re the only one that I want.” The tenderness in her tone makes your heart melt unexpectedly. She kisses your neck, leaning back to meet your eyes again. She looks so overwhelmingly fond of you, you can’t help connecting your lips. It just feels right, laying here with her.

Her eyes dart to your neck, a new grin on her face. “Can we continue where we left off, or…?”

You breathe out a laugh. “You’re insatiable. Sure, but we should move it to the bedroom. This couch sucks.”

You’re in for a long Sunday.

(“Holy shit, Lena,” you gasp, several hours later, when you finally get a look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Your neck, collarbone, and torso have hickeys of varying severity, the ones most visible unfortunately being the ones that are the hardest to cover.

“What?” The blonde in question slips in behind you, sliding her hands to your hips as she looks at your reflection admiringly. “I don’t see a problem?”

“What the hell am I gonna tell Natasha? That I was wrestling with an octopus?”

“Does my sister often see this much of your body?” Yelena snickers.

You roll your eyes, but lean back into her embrace. “No, but when she sees the entire continent of Europe on my neck she’s going to be a little bit suspicious.”

“You’re so paranoid. She and Wanda are way too absorbed with each other to notice something as ridiculous as a few hickeys.”)

- - - - -

“Holy fuck, were you wrestling with an octopus?” Natasha asks, catching you in the kitchen much later that evening. Yelena had left two hours ago, and you’d spent most of that time sleeping.

“Uh- something like that.” You had hoped your hoodie would cover most of the damage.

Natasha grins that shit-eating grin you’ve come to know and love. “You hooked up with Carol, didn’t you?”

“Um-”

“Told you she was hot.” Natasha brushes past you to open the fridge. “So that’s why you slept ‘til noon.”

“I always sleep ‘til noon,” you scoff. “You’re the freak who gets up with the sun.”

“That’s literally when you’re supposed to wake up.”

“Says who?”

“Humanity.”

“I don’t associate myself with those.”

The rest of the evening, Yelena occasionally texts you and you do your best to hide it from Natasha. If she notices the constant checking of your phone, she doesn’t comment. In fact, she looks damn pleased with herself at what she must believe was a successful setup. You’re definitely just digging yourself into a deeper hole.

You talk about upcoming classes, and then you start to feel shitty about yourself so you go to bed early. You’re tired anyway.

(The longer you hide this, the worse it’s going to get. You should just say something to Natasha. ‘Hey, by the way, your sister sort of came onto me and now I think we’re dating. That’s fine, right?’)

(You’re so, so fucked.)

- - - - -

Your last real Halloween was - surprise surprise - when you lived in Ohio. After that, you were too old to trick-or-treat and didn’t have enough friends to be invited to parties, so. Yeah. Naturally, upon hearing this, Natasha is insistent upon throwing a Halloween party to make up for every single one you’ve missed.

Your last time celebrating, Yelena was just small enough that you could all get away with scoring free candy off the neighborhood. You’re positive she hated it, but you sure as shit loved free candy so she didn’t put up too much of a fuss. (It’s shocking, to think back to what she’s done for you and you alone.) You and Natasha had been pirates that year, so in memory you’re pirates this year. Of course, you’re adults now, so the costumes are a lot more risque than they had been years ago.

Yours is a corset with one of those flowing tops and a ridiculously tight pair of pants. This is the last time you ever shop for pants online, you swear this to every god you know by name. Unfortunately, Natasha had invited Carol under the impression that she was your regular hookup given that Yelena hadn’t stopped her habit of leaving hickeys wherever she wanted.

Speaking of- you know Yelena was invited, but she likes to show up late. She’s probably working on her homework - as much as she pretends that she isn’t, Yelena is somewhat the academic type and at least gives effort into her assignments, albeit last-minute. You keep looking at the door, expecting her to walk in, and after about half an hour of this Natasha starts to notice.

“Who’re you waiting for? Carol’s over there,” she frowns, confused.

Of course, Carol is talking to one of her friends. You recognize the woman, but you’re too distracted to place a name to a face right now.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you clear your throat. “It’s- I’m not looking for anyone.”

“Yelena’s on her way. Says she got caught up.” Natasha frowns at her phone. “I think she’s hooking up with someone. She’s been in a good mood lately.”

“Oh?” You force your voice to remain even. “Any ideas on who it might be?”

“Not a clue. She’s learned how to hide her tracks.” Natasha sounds genuinely frustrated at this. You laugh at her pout.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. Can’t someone just be happy for the sake of being happy?”

She eyes you warily, but her response is cut off by the front door opening. Speak of the devil, it’s Yelena. She’s wearing what you can only assume to be a military uniform of some kind. She’s wearing the vest you bought for her, as well as camo pants and combat boots. Her cheeks have solid lines of black, the main indicator of her costume.

It hits you, very sharply, how goddamn gorgeous she is. It’s honestly an outfit she’d probably wear on a normal day out, but she looks so good in it, you forget to breathe for a second. The rest of the party feels muted, somehow, in comparison to the beam of light Yelena brings to you just by entering the room.

Of course, you have to play it casual. A cordial greeting, an inside joke to show Natasha that you’re totally normal, not at all having sex with each other.

Drink two, and this is when you start feeling Yelena’s eyes on you. She’s always so aware of you, you doubt her gaze ever left you since she’d entered. Still, you pretend you don’t notice, even when Carol starts chatting you up.

“You look great,” she says, smiling that friendly smile of hers.

You aren’t flirting, but you aren’t exactly ignoring her advances, either. It’s a relatively innocent conversation about classes, when lacrosse season starts. Easy stuff. Basic shit, really. It’s enough, though.

You felt your phone vibrate.

Your room. Ten minutes. (11:38pm)

It’s from Yelena, of course.

You can’t count down the minutes fast enough. Natasha is long-gone in her conversation with Steve, Wanda and Pietro, and Carol has returned to her friend. Perfect timing. Nobody even notices your absence.

Yelena is, unsurprisingly, waiting for you. There are more guests than usual, so locking the door and barring entry shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows. At least, in theory, it shouldn’t. This is honestly the most risky situation you’ve found yourselves in since you started this whole thing.

The moment the door is locked, she’s on you. She’s kissing you hard, like she can’t get enough of you, her hands pawing at your corset like an overager teenager. You try to laugh at her eagerness, but it’s cut off by a squeal when her hands grip your ass.

“You’re forgetting who you belong to, malyshka,” she warns lowly. You gasp when she pulls you impossibly closer. “This is the perfect time for a reminder, don’t you think?”

And that’s how you find yourself half-naked with Yelena between your legs, eating you out like it’s her job. Her tongue flickers against your clit, urgency in her actions. She wants this to be quick, but you have the sense that she’s battling against her urge to make you last longer.

You’ve been keeping quiet for the most part. Or, as quiet as possible when you’re being gravitated towards a mind-shattering orgasm. Yelena is just unfairly good at making you want to scream, so you end up biting your pillows and your fist to keep from making too much noise.

And when you finally - finally - reach that precipice, Yelena is right there, holding your hand above your head and swallowing your moans. Once you’ve caught your breath, she settles herself over your face, and you make quick work of returning the favor.

When you return to the party, you’re positive your makeup isn’t as nice as it had been before your impromptu session with Yelena. If Natasha notices, she doesn’t comment. Still, this is the first time since you’d started this whole thing that you feel that raw, unnerving guilt gnawing away at the back of your mind.

(Part of you wishes she’d just find out already. That she’d question why you and Yelena always seem to disappear together, or why you have so many of Yelena’s shirts.)

(She never does.)

(You hate what you’ve become.)

(You love your bad habits.)

- - - - -

“I don’t understand where this is coming from.” Your mother’s tone is, predictably, nothing short of cold and clipped as she talks to you. “Why would you spend Thanksgiving in Ohio? Are you seriously contacting your father again?”

“No, mom, I’m not contacting Dad.” Your handful of weeks fucking (dating?) Yelena in secret were going incredibly well. Unfortunately, when things go well for you, there tends to be something to completely destroy whatever scrap of happiness you’d found for yourself. That something, typically, is your mother. “I’m going to spend it with Natasha’s family.”

A pause. “The Russians?”

“Yup.”

An even longer pause. “I just don’t understand. I take you out of that hellish state, I make sure you get into a good college - that I pay for, by the way - and this is how you thank me? Leaving me for your father? Don’t you remember what he did to me? To you?”

You cringe. “Mom, I’m not-”

“As if leaving me for strangers is any better!” She snaps.

“I’ve known her since we were like, seven! I haven’t seen her parents in years, they practically raised me when you and dad couldn’t be bothered-”

“Don’t take that tone with me. I don’t know what you think you’re referring to, but that is not how I remember the situation. Fine, you had one friend growing up and I’m happy you’ve reconnected, but this is ridiculous.”

You chew the inside of your cheek, tasting blood. “You said you were working that week, anyway.”

“And I’m not allowed to want to come home to my child?” She scoffs. “If you want to be ungrateful, fine. You had better come here for winter break.”

With this, she hangs up, and you finally let the stupid tears you’d been fighting come freely to the surface. You would, literally, rather die than cry in front of your mother - even if it’s on the phone. Maybe it’s just a stubborn habit you’ll never kick.

Yelena was the one to ask if you could go. You were genuinely excited to see Alexei and Melina again, even if it meant pretending you weren’t betraying their eldest daughter by getting railed by their youngest. There’s no proper etiquette of tricking your best friend into letting you follow her to Ohio because you’re fucking her little sister, so it took a bit of hinting on Yelena’s end to convince Natasha to ask their parents and, eventually, you.

School work was already piling up, so that’s probably not helping the uncontrollable crying. You never could manage your emotions well when work was piled up. Feeling stupid and just sad, you reach for pretty much your only source of comfort lately: one of Yelena’s ridiculously large hoodies. They’re big on her, so the sleeves go easily past your fingers. It smells like her.

“(Y/N)?” The door opens, temporarily surprising the sobs out of you. You look up and find Yelena in the doorway. Her expression changes instantly. She’s at your side, pulling you into a tight embrace. You sink into her hold, burying your face in her neck. “What’s wrong, milaya?”

“Nothing,” you sniffle. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing that makes you upset is stupid.” Yelena murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

“My mom,” you offer lamely. “She’s just pissed I’m not going to hers next week.”

Yelena holds you tighter. “Is she going to try to send you back to New York?”

You snort. “No, she wouldn’t do that unless I somehow got pregnant.”

She sighs. “There go my plans…”

“Shut up,” you laugh, pulling away in an attempt to wipe away the wetness still on your cheeks. Yelena takes your face in her hands, though, and thumbs the tears away for you.

“Are you okay?” She asks, frowning.

“I’m fine. She’ll get over it.”

“So you’re still coming?” The hopefulness in her voice makes your heart swell. You connect her lips with yours without thinking about it, matching her growing smile with one of your own.

“Of course I am.” You pause. “Why’d you come over, by the way? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Oh!” She looks uncharacteristically sheepish. “My roommate is out until after classes tomorrow. Do you want to come to mine?”

You’ve only been to Yelena’s dorm once when she’d first moved into it. It’s small, but it’s removed enough from Natasha’s circle of friends and acquaintances that you and Yelena might actually get some quality time together without worrying about jumping apart at any sound from the hallway.

It’s changed a lot since then. Yelena’s roommate is the studious type - Maria Rambeau is her name - and her mother was in the air force; her side of the room has all sorts of cool pictures of her mom and Maria as a child. She’s also on the lacrosse team with Yelena, or so you’re told, so the two get along pretty well.

Yelena’s side of the room couldn’t be more different. Where Maria keeps her things tidy and organized, Yelena’s more of the ‘organized chaos’ type. Sure, things are haphazardly thrown about, but everything has a place and you’ve no doubt she could find anything in her half of the room. It’s also pretty obvious where the dividing line is, too, which makes you laugh because the same thing had been the case when she and Natasha shared a room as kids.

(For years - until you and Natasha were fifteen, actually - Yelena couldn’t sleep alone. You think it has to do with the orphanage in Russia, but you’ve never pried and you don’t plan on it.)

She unceremoniously shoves her folded laundry off of her bed and into the basket they’d certainly just been pulled out of. You take your spot closest to the wall while the blonde grabs her laptop.

She doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your shoulders once she joins you, and you lean into her without question. It’s strange, how quickly you’ve adapted to this. It’s like you and Yelena were just always meant to be this way. Inevitable. Your dirty little secret has become a bad habit, and you can’t get enough of it.

Yelena, to her credit, at least gets through the first twenty minutes of the movie before she starts peppering kisses along the fading hickeys on your neck. You pretend not to notice at first, dedicatedly staring at the screen even when her kisses become heavier, more insistent. (She’s cute when she’s impatient.)

Eventually, your indifference makes her growl a little in frustration and you can’t resist laughing.

“What’s the matter?” You ask, feigning innocence.

Yelena arches an eyebrow at you. Very much an, ‘are you serious right now?’ look. “Oh, we’re playing this game, now?”

“What ever do you mean, Yelena?” You bat your eyelashes at her. “I’m not doing anything.”

She juts her lip out into a pout. “(Y/N).”

“Yelena,” you whine mockingly. “If you want something, you should just say it.”

“I want to fuck you.” She grabs one of your hands, guiding it into her lap. You freeze when you feel it.

“Have you been packing that this entire time?” You breathe, suddenly sounding hoarse.

Yelena grins. “Maybe.”

She’s mentioned her strap once or twice in passing, but usually you went at it like rabbits whenever you were alone in your apartment together. You haven’t exactly had the time to go out and buy one yourself, but Yelena apparently bought one a few days after you started your… thing.

It’s a little bigger than you’re used to, but you think you’ll manage seeing as Yelena’s favorite pastime is bringing you to the edge and easing you away from it just before you could reach it.

In minutes, she’s tearing off your clothes, the laptop set precariously aside. It’s easy to fall into this, easy to succumb to the tender kisses and the promises of pleasure she brands into your skin with every touch and kiss. It’s getting easier to ignore the guilt, too. Too easy, probably.

Maybe, part of you thinks, maybe Natasha will be less angry when she finds out just how deep you’re in it with Yelena. Not that you and the blonde talk about it very much, but there’s something heavier and needier in your interactions than just lust. Something deeper. You have a feeling Yelena is waiting for you; always, she’s waiting for you. She’s too patient with you. You haven’t taken the first step in your entire fucking life.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Yelena bites down on your inner thigh, earning a mixture of a hiss and a groan. You look down at her, meeting her gaze. The warmth in her eyes is almost too much to bear.

“Eyes on me,” she instructs.

Yelena has learned every inch of your body and exactly where to touch you to make you weak with pleasure. Her tongue is the perfect weapon, bringing you to near-tears until she stops suddenly. You gape at her in distress, whimpering while she chuckles at you.

“Patience, malyshka. I don’t want to hurt you.” Yelena eases herself on top of you again, kissing you gently while the tip of the strap prods against your entrance, then your clit. Your hips twitch impatiently. Yelena grabs them with one hand and pins them to the bed easily, preventing any movement much to your dismay.

“Yelena,” you whine. “Please.”

“Aw, but I like watching you like this.” She rubs against your clit again, slowly, tantalizingly. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’m desperate for you. Please just fuck me.”

Yelena hums, slowly easing the strap inside of you. Your breath catches and Yelena places kisses on your neck, cheek, and then lips while reminding you to breathe. Yelena likes to fuck you roughly, sure, but there are so many little moments like this where she’s so gentle with you that it reminds you, sharply, of how much she actually cares about you. (And how much you’re starting to realize you care about her.)

When you’re adjusted to the size, you give Yelena an almost imperceptible nod and she begins thrusting inside of you. You always thought that people who said sex with someone you’re deeply fond of was better, but every time you have sex with Yelena your disbelief is put to scrutiny. It’s just better, you can’t explain it. Something in the way Yelena watches your face for signs of discomfort, or signs of pleasure; or maybe it’s the way that, even when she starts pounding into you with purpose, she always - always - kisses you like you’re the only thing in this world that matters.

Yelena grabs one of your legs and hitches it around her waist, finding a spot deeper inside that makes you see stars. You’d been trying your best to keep quiet - you’re certain these dorms aren’t perfectly soundproof - but this completely breaks that willpower. You’re keening, back arching high as your hips twitch helplessly in Yelena’s grip and your nails rake down her spine. The blonde is glowing with this small victory, hissing in either pain or pleasure or probably both.

“You look so pretty, spread out for me,” she murmurs, biting teasingly at your earlobe. “Like you were made to take my cock like this.”

You let out a harsh breath when her fingers find your clit, releasing your hips as her other arm supports her weight. “Fuck! I’m- Yelena I’m close-”

“I know,” she hums, examining your neck with pride. “You know how to earn it, malyshka.”

“Please,” you rasp obediently, “please, Yelena. I need to- I’m so close I- please let me-”

You’re cut off by an animalistic moan as the blonde pounds into you, the breath knocked clean out of your body. She leans back enough to look at your face, your eyes threatening to close as you barely hang onto the edge.

“Look at me,” she purrs. You force your eyes open again. “That’s it. Good girl. Cum for me. Go on, that’s it…”

Your orgasm quakes through you, sending you into a series of whimpering moans of her name. She murmurs in Russian, encouragement you think; it doesn’t really matter what she’s saying, honestly, because it’s always so fucking hot when she does that.

While Yelena slows down, you happen to glance over her shoulder at the mirror that just so happens to be at the foot of the bed. When you notice how flushed you are - how completely, utterly wild you look - beneath Yelena’s rocking body, you feel an unexpected wave of arousal.

Yelena pauses in her thrusts, following your gaze perhaps out of instinct, and when she looks back at you she’s got a shiteating grin on her face.

“You like watching me fuck you?” She asks, almost sounding impressed. You nod mutely, blushing out of embarrassment. “Well, why don’t we give you a better look, krasotka?” She pulls out of you unexpectedly, the sensation causing you to gasp. “Hands and knees for me. Face the mirror.”

You aren’t a narcissistic person. You aren’t even the type to gawk at yourself in the mirror for that long when getting ready. Yelena brings a lot - a lot - out in you. You find yourself following her orders without question, body practically buzzing with anticipation.

When she pushes into you again, Yelena is relentless. Ruthless. You can hear the shitty old twin bed groaning with every thrust but you don’t care. You can’t tear your eyes away from the image of Yelena pounding into you, fingers bruising your hips, her cheeks flushed and eyes dark.

Catching your gaze in the reflection, Yelena grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls. “That’s right, malyshka. Look at me when I fuck you. Look at how beautiful you look, taking me like this. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

“Yes- yes- I’m yours-” you gasp, watching the way your bodies move together. “Fucking hell, Lena-”

“And who makes you cum like this?” She moves a hand to your clit, toying with it almost boredly.

“You! Only you!” Your hips twitch against her movements, all your muscles tensing when she finds that spot deep inside you again.

“Gonna cum again for me?” Yelena rasps, thrusting harder and faster. “Go on, lyubov’. Cum again.”

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. The wave of pleasure is so intense you swear you actually blackout. Yelena lets you ride it out, pressing kisses on your shoulders and the back of your neck as you struggle to move again.

When you’re able to breathe, Yelena pulls out and removes the strapon. You connect your lips in a slow, passionate kiss before rolling her onto her back. Your limbs feel like jelly, but that’s fine. You don’t need arms and legs to eat Yelena out.

You’ve come to learn that, while Yelena enjoys fucking you as roughly as she pleases, she prefers softer sex herself. You think she gets off on the intimacy more than the actual sex itself. She likes soft kisses, lingering touches. Her body is an instrument, finely tuned, and you’ve learned just how to play the perfect melody

She doesn’t make much noise, but you revel in the little gasps and moans she makes in your descent down her body. Her body is far more reactive than she is vocal; hips move constantly when you find those sensitive spots of hers. (Her stomach, her thighs, just between her breasts, under her ear-)

Yelena breathes out your name like a prayer when you finally give her what she wants. You suck softly on her clit, looking up to find so much intensity in her green eyes you’re tempted to look away. She always looks so enraptured by you. Like you put the stars in the sky. It’s almost overwhelming.

(Almost.)

But when one of her hands finds yours over the fucked up blanket, fingers slotting between your own, and the other cards through your hair, you feel like - maybe - you’re putting stars in the sky right now. This moment, this little world you’ve created - it’s just for you and Yelena.

Yelena’s hold on your hand tightens. She’s already close. You ease her into her first orgasm with practiced precision. You don’t slow down, moving your free hand to press two fingers inside of her. She keens at the sensation, eyes never leaving yours.

When she comes again, she pulls you up to her mouth so she can kiss you hard. It’s a lazy, slow kiss that makes your heart ache and sing all at once. After a few moments, Yelena pulls her blanket around the both of you. You lay your head on her shoulder, feeling so tired you can barely think.

Sleep, as it always mercifully does when you’re next to Yelena, comes surprisingly easy.

- - - - -

You wake up only a few hours later. You have to get back home before Natasha’s last class finishes up. You get dressed reluctantly, mind still a little slow and body far less willing to leave Yelena’s side. The blonde offers to walk you out and it’s damn near impossible to resist those eyes of hers. She even gives you one of her hoodies again, taking back the other one (“Now it smells like you, take this one.”)

You’re in such a doofy, happy haze you don’t notice someone saying your name until you feel Yelena’s entire body go RIGID. Alarmed, you turn around to find Carol - yes, that Carol - hurrying towards you with that puppydog grin of hers. Yelena immediately has an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against her. If looks could kill, Carol Danvers would be on the floor in an instant.

“Hey, Carol,” you greet, forcing a smile. “Sorry about- uh, that um-”

“It’s fine,” she shrugs it off like it really is nothing. “I was actually going to ask you why Natasha thinks we’re dating?”

Your jaw drops. “She- she thinks what?”

Carol glances at Yelena nervously, but you’re pretty sure it’s not out of fear. “She was asking me how things were going with us.”

“W-what did you say to her?”

“I said you were probably too busy for a relationship.” She looks at Yelena’s arm around you. “But I see that I was wrong in that assumption.”

“It’s… a weird story. C-can you do me a favor and, um, not tell Natasha about… this?”

Carol looks between you and Yelena several times. You can’t read her expression, but it’s certainly more surprised than it had been when she initially saw you and Yelena together. “She… doesn’t know?”

“Not exactly.”

“Your own best friend doesn’t know that you’re dating her little sister?”

You cringe. “It’s-”

“A weird story?” Carol nods, looking immensely uncomfortable. “Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll keep it under wraps. Only ‘cause Yelena is our best addition to the team and I can’t have her hating her captain before we even start the season.” She gives the younger woman a casual smile. Yelena relaxes ever so slightly, but she doesn’t remove her arm. “But you should probably say something to her sooner rather than later. Y’know, kinda like how you should tell people you’re into someone else before you give them your number?” At your expression, she snorts with laughter. “I’m kidding! It’s fine. I could tell you weren’t all that into it. I thought you were just getting over a breakup or something.”

“Well, this was a fun chat.” Yelena clears her throat. “Bye, Danvers.”

“Later, Belova. (Y/N).” The two women share a respectful nod in departure.

You wait until you’re in the stairwell to kiss Yelena on the cheek. “Look at you, being all jealous again.”

“Can you blame me? She was obsessed with you.” Yelena scoffs, but there’s a smile fighting at her lips.

“She texted me like three times and it was to make sure I made it home alive when I ditched her at a club.” You roll your eyes.

You make it to the ground level, and Yelena pauses.

“Do you think she was right?” She asks.

You frown. “About what?”

“Telling Natasha.”

You feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. The thought of losing Natasha hits you full-force. She’ll never forgive you for this. This is her sister - her baby sister - and you’re sneaking around with her.

“(Y/N)?” Yelena presses.

“I don’t know,” you admit, a lump rising in your throat. “I-I mean, we’ll have to eventually, right?”

Yelena studies your face for a long moment. “Is there a problem with that?”

You feel something hot stinging at your eyes. You blink it away. “Besides losing my best friend?”

“You won’t lose anybody.” Yelena takes your face in her hands. Ever tender, her eyes warm and expression soft. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t promise that, Lena,” you lean into her touch, closing your eyes to hide the stupid tears rising in them. “You guys are all I have, you know?”

“I know.” She presses a kiss to your forehead. “And so does she.”

“Not yet. Please?” You meet her gaze again, desperate for that warmth. “I’m not- I’m not ready for-”

“Okay,” she kisses you gently. “Not yet.”

(You wonder how long you can make this ‘not yet’ last.)

- - - - -

“I had the weirdest conversation with Carol today,” Natasha says casually, sitting beside you on the couch and propping her feet up on the coffee table.

“Oh?” You ask, trying to sound a million times less anxious than you’re suddenly feeling. You keep your gaze on the TV, not even caring about whatever it is this week’s baking challenges are. “What was it about?”

“She says you guys haven’t talked since you ditched us at Woody’s.” Natasha is definitely not buying this. At all.

“Oh,” you clear your throat. “Yeah, we, uh, haven’t.”

“Which is weird, ‘cause I could’ve sworn the next day you had a million hickeys on your neck.” She pauses. You can feel yourself starting to sweat. “And you’ve got a few more today.” She’s pawing at the collar of your shirt so you swat her hand away irritably.

“Am I not allowed to have a fuckbuddy?” You ask lamely.

“Of course you are! It’s just weird that you feel like you need to hide it from me, that’s all.” Natasha eyes you for a long, long moment. You should just do it now, get it over with. So what if there are no witnesses to whatever crime she decides to commit against you. “Do you not trust me or something?”

“No!” You look at her fully now, well-aware that the blood has drained from your face. “Of course I trust you, Nat! You’re my best friend.”

“So why all the secrecy?” She presses. “Is it someone I know?”

“D-does it matter?”

“I guess not.” She pauses, then looks down at your shirt. “Oh, are they on the lacrosse team with Yelena?” You must look really fucking stupid, because Natasha takes this as confirmation. “You can’t tell me you’re keeping it from me ‘cause Yelena had a crush on you all those years ago!”

“W-what?” You croak, suddenly able to breathe.

“You didn’t know?” Natasha snorts, leaning back against the cushions. “I thought it was pretty obvious. Doesn’t help that her first ‘real’ girlfriend was like a spitting image of you.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “It was cute, though. Her first crush.” She nudges you with her shoulder so you laugh awkwardly.

“I had no idea,” you offer.

You are a really, really shitty friend. (And, probably, an even shittier girlfriend.)

- - - - -

“(Y/N)! Look at you, dorogoy, you’ve grown so big!” Melina exclaims as she pulls you into a tight embrace. You return it eagerly, burying your face in her shoulder and laughing with delight.

“Melina! It’s been too long!” You release her just as Alexei pulls you into a hug. He reeks like motor oil, though he’s done his best to clean up for the occasion. He likes to work on old cars in the garage - or, he used to, and it seems like he hasn’t given that hobby up yet despite being terrible at it. (Lucky for him, Melina is often there to help.)

“We have all the food ready and waiting for you girls- you must be Wanda! Natasha has told me so much about you!” Melina moves onto the other dinner guest as Natasha moans about not embarrassing her.

You follow Alexei and Yelena into the kitchen where all three of you promptly grab a bottle of beer and clink them together before drinking.

“So, (Y/N),” Alexei begins, eyeing you with joy. “Has my daughter told you about-”

“Dad,” Yelena warns, but is promptly ignored.

“-the time I went ice fishing with my father?”

“Please stop!” Yelena yelps, grabbing your hand. “She doesn’t need to hear that story!” She begins dragging you away, her father’s booming laughter following you into the dining room.

“Is that the one where his dad pees on him?” You ask, chuckling.

“Yes.” Yelena groans, blushing hard. “I told them not to be embarrassing but with Wanda I think they’re both determined to turn over all the dirty family secrets.” She mutters a curse in Russian, causing your laughter to bubble back up.

“I like your parents,” you tell her, grinning. “I wish mine were this fun.”

Yelena gives you a sympathetic smile. “I don’t see his car outside. I don’t think he’s home.”

You shrug. “He’s probably at the bar. He’ll be home later, though.”

“And you’ll be here.” Yelena hasn’t let go of your hand. She squeezes it now, the most PDA you’re both willing to risk at the moment. “I wish I could have protected you then. Did Natasha ever tell you about how I almost went over to your house with my lacrosse stick?”

“No.” You blink in surprise. “When was that?”

“When you first told us… about…” She winces, and so do you. “I just picked it right up and stormed to the front door after you’d left. I was terrified he would hurt you again. Furious at the thought of it.” She breathes out an almost disbelieving laugh. “I think, even then, I knew-” she cuts herself off, looking alarmed.

“Knew what?” You press.

Yelena opens her mouth to respond, but the conversation of Melina, Natasha, and Wanda cuts her off. You drop her hand, nearly jumping away from her as you take a long swig from your beer. (You don’t miss the wounded look Yelena sends you.)

The rest of the meal is spent jovially, but you can sense something is off with Yelena. She’s quieter than usual, less willing to join in the conversation. Natasha must notice, too, because she sends several concerned glances towards the blonde.

Natasha and Yelena still shared the one room, but the guest room was offered for Natasha and Wanda to share while you and Yelena took the girls’ childhood bedroom. You fall into bed a little tipsy, but being in such close proximity to your alcoholic father has you on edge tonight.

Even worse, Yelena hasn’t said much since she entered the room five minutes after you. You were already in your pajamas, laying on Natasha’s bed staring up at the little glow in the dark stars that they had all over their ceiling for as long as you could remember. There’s also a very distinct tiny handprint from one of those sticky hands Yelena had thrown up there when she was nine. It took a full year for it to come down, subsequently scaring the shit out of Natasha when she was sleeping.

“Is everything okay?” You ask when she begins to undress.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Her clipped tone tells you that no, everything is not okay.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me so we can talk about it?” You offer, sitting up.

She finishes getting into her pajamas in stony silence. You wait quietly, but your heart is roaring in your ears. What have you done wrong? “We don’t ever talk about things. Why are we starting now?”

“Where is this coming from?” You frown. “Yelena, just tell me-”

“Does this mean anything to you?” The question shocks you to the core. Yelena turns to face you and to your absolute alarm there are TEARS in her eyes. You haven’t seen Yelena cry since that day your mom drove you away from here. She gestures between you, apparently taking your silence as misunderstanding. “Us. Does this mean anything to you?”

“Of course it does.” You keep your tone low, eyeing the bedroom door warily. Wanda and Natasha were just down the hall. Melina may not care about overhearing and Alexei sleeps like the dead. “Why do you think it doesn’t?”

“You still haven’t told Natasha.”

You flinch. “I-”

“If this meant anything to you, you wouldn’t want to keep hiding it. Hiding us. We can’t keep this a secret forever and Natasha is my sister. I want to tell her how happy you make me. I want to go out on dates, show the world that you’re mine.” She pauses, sounding timid all of a sudden. “Don’t you want that for us?” The way her voice cracks brings hot tears to the edges of your eyes.

“Of course I do,” you swallow thickly around the lump in your throat. “I want that. I do.” You hate yourself. “But I don’t want to lose Natasha over this. Your family - it’s the only family I care about.”

“You won’t lose Natasha.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You can’t promise that you’ll lose her, either.”

As usual, Yelena is her most convincing when she sounds so sure of herself. So confident. Has she ever doubted anything in her life? (Yes, you realize, she has. Your feelings for her. Because you’re an asshole.)

“Okay,” you relent softly. “I’ll tell her.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow? Just- let me think about what to say to her. Please, Lena.”

Yelena takes a slow, steadying breath. Her shoulders rise with the action as her eyes clench shut. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping beyond all hope that she isn’t going to do what you’re most terrified of. (With a shock, you suddenly realize that losing Yelena is possibly more painful that losing Natasha.)

“I’ve waited this long,” she murmurs at last, opening her eyes. “I can wait a little longer.”

She just looks defeated.

(You hate that you’re the reason she looks like that.)

- - - - -

You don’t sleep well that night. It has to be the fact that your father is a few houses away, but the nightmares keep waking you up to the point that you just end up staring at the glow in the dark stars again. In the years that have passed, their light is dimmed. Still, you can make them out enough to count them.

After your sixth attempt at sleep, Yelena’s voice cuts through the darkness:

“Come over here.”

You slip under her blanket, enveloping yourself in her smell and clinging to her embrace. She chuckles when you shiver from your brief trip through the cold distance between the beds. You get comfortable in her arms, wrapping your own around her so you can bury your face in her shoulder. You let silence surround you for several long minutes, listening instead to her breathing and her heart.

“Yelena?” Your voice must startle her. Her heart picks up the pace. “You know I’m in love with you, right?”

If she didn’t stiffen so much, you’d assume she hadn’t heard you. She nudges you gently so you prop yourself up on an elbow, looking down at her. You wish you could see her more clearly.

“You love me?” She asks in disbelief.

“Of course I do.” You inhale shakily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like this didn’t mean anything to me. It does. It means… it means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

Her hold on you tightens, and so does her embrace. “I know you’re scared of losing Natasha.” She pauses considerably. “And maybe she’ll be mad. But- she’ll come around. Friendships like that don’t just end.”

You sigh, press a sleepy kiss to her neck. “I hope you’re right.”

Silence.

You’re just on the edge of sleep when Yelena says, “(Y/N)?” You hum in question. “You know that I’ve been in love with you since forever, right?”

You smile, unable to help yourself. “I know.”

- - - - -

You wake up to soft kisses being pressed all over your cheek, forehead, chin, nose - it takes you several long minutes to give in and open your eyes. Yelena is smiling lovingly at you, her eyes shining in the morning light.

You return the smile, smoothing some of her messy hair away from her face. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she kisses you sweetly.

You spend the next ten minutes or so just laying there, holding each other. Sometimes you kiss lazily, but mostly you just grin at each other like idiots and bask in the delicate world you built for yourselves. You can’t believe how stubborn you’d been about these feelings before. They’re so beautiful, so wonderful and they make you so happy you could cry.

“I love you,” you tell her quietly.

“I love you, too,” Yelena murmurs, kissing you with more purpose.

Your hands find themselves under her shirt, fingers tracing her spine while her own hands pull you on top of her. You straddle her waist, biting back a surprised noise when you feel her squeeze your ass.

“Your family’s probably downstairs,” you whisper.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “You can’t be quiet?”

You blush. “You know you don’t let me stay quiet.”

She chuckles, grinning wickedly. “Fair point.”

“And we should tell Natasha before she overhears us getting it on in here.” You kiss her again slowly. She hums thoughtfully against your lips.

“Fine.”

You slip off of her and you both get dressed with several shared glances and giggles and kisses. It’s hard to separate when you leave the room. From the kitchen, you hear idle chatter. Once ready, you and Yelena head downstairs to join the rest of the family for breakfast.

Over the food, you and Yelena once again share glances and smiles. Natasha is certainly picking up on something. You can sense it, the way her eyes keep moving between you, Yelena, and whatever gears are turning in her mind.

You decide that it’s probably better to do this in front of the family. Why wait to make the announcement of your relationship to them? You wish you could broadcast it to the world. It’s a shame Wanda has to be here for it, though, because you truly have no idea how this is going to end.

It’s when the dishes are starting to be cleared by Melina, Alexei, and Wanda that the subject is brought up, but not by you or Yelena.

“So, how long have you been sneaking around to fuck my sister?” Natasha says it so casually you actually choke on your coffee.

“Natasha!” Melina scolds from the kitchen. The house is suddenly so silent, you swear you hear a few leaves falling outside.

“W-what?” You stammer, going pale. Yelena looks between you and Natasha, her hand automatically finding yours under the table.

It’s the calmness in Natasha’s expression that frightens you most. She looks at you evenly, almost emotionlessly. “How long have you and Yelena been going behind my back?”

“Nat,” Wanda begins, but Natasha shakes her head sharply.

“No. I want to know how long my best friend thought it was appropriate to sleep with my sister without telling me.”

“Natasha,” you begin shakily.

“Girls-” Melina warns, stepping into the doorway.

“How long were you lying to my face?” Natasha continues, standing slowly. You stand, too, and so does Yelena, who never disconnects your hands. Natasha eyes them with little to no change to her expression. “Well?”

“Since… since right before school started.” You admit. “The night I left you guys at that club.”

It happens so fast you don’t even register that Natasha had moved. There’s just a stinging in your nose, your eyes watering as the crack rings in your ears. Several voices shout Natasha’s name, and then Yelena’s as the blonde grabs her sister and pushes her against the doorframe beside Melina.

You reach out to grab Yelena, but to your amazement your face is spewing blood. Your hands fly to your nose again, the liquid flowing freely from it. Well, yeah, this is pretty much how you saw this going.

“Nat, I’m sorry-” You start.

“You’re only sorry because you got caught.” Natasha snaps, shoving her sister off of her. Alexei intervenes, now, murmuring his daughter’s name. She backs away from him, glaring at you. “You lied to me. For weeks. For months.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to what? Fuck my sister or lie to me about it?”

“Both? I don’t know!” Tears are freely falling from your eyes, now, but you aren’t sure if it’s from the pain in your nose or the anguish of the situation. “It just- it just happened and then I fell in love with her and-”

Yelena stops the next punch with surprising speed and strength. Alexei cuts in between the two before Natasha can reconsider the next swing’s target. You stay rigid in your spot, unable to move or speak.

“Fuck this.” Natasha backs away from her family and turns on her heels to walk out the front door. “And fuck you.” She throws over her shoulder, slamming the front door so hard it shakes.

Wanda is the first to react to this, though a handful of silent seconds go by. “I’m gonna go talk to her.” She stands, looks at you with sympathy. “She doesn’t mean that. I know she doesn’t.” She pauses, looking towards the door again. “She’s been suspecting it for a while.”

You don’t respond. You just let the awkward silence settle until the Sokovian is out the door and you’re left alone with Yelena, Melina and Alexei.

Seemingly remembering your injury, Yelena rushes to your side again and gently moves your hands away from your nose. You hiss in pain as she examines the damage closely.

“I think it’s broken,” she notes, eyes watery with unshed tears. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry, I didn’t think-”

“It’s okay,” you sound nasally. Ridiculous. “It’s okay, Lena.”

“I’m sorry about Natasha.” Melina snaps into mother mode in an instant. “Let me get you something for that.”

You wish everyone would stop apologizing. They shouldn’t be. This punch is very much well-deserved. If anything, this was an undrreaction by Natasha’s standards.

“It’s fine,” you reply uselessly, because Melina is already off to get medical supplies and Alexei is staring between you and Yelena with wide eyes.

“So… you two…?” He asks.

Shyly, you nod. Yelena seems relieved by this answer, releasing her hold on your cheeks to wrap her arms around you.

“I’m getting blood on you,” you frown.

“I don’t care. I’m so sorry.” She kisses your forehead. “I shouldn’t have forced you to-”

“You didn’t force me to do anything,” you pull back from the embrace to look her in the eyes. “I wanted to do this. Well- not this, specifically.”

“She punched you in the face,” Yelena’s bottom lip trembles. The surefire sign that she’s about to start crying. Now your hands find themselves at her cheeks, thumbs smoothing away the tears just beginning to fall. You lean your forehead against hers. She looks terrified.

“I know,” you sniffle, wincing at the pain the action causes. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s-”

“Put this on your face,” Melina is holding a pack of frozen peas and a rag in her hands. You pull away from Yelena, accepting the objects. Melina grabs your forehead and tilts your head around, looking closely at your nose. “It doesn’t look too bad. Definitely broken, though.”

You let her manhandle your face, cleaning the blood off while Yelena says something about getting you a different shirt. She returns with one of her own, apparently not thinking about it, and she almost freezes when she gives it to you. You accept it gratefully and excuse yourself to the bathroom.

The second - the instant - the door shuts, it’s like everything crashes down around you. Natasha knows. Natasha knew. She had possibly been waiting for you to say something, which any good friend would have done. You’ve been lying to her. You never lied to her before. And the first lie you tell her is this.

You are awful.

You try to keep the stupid sobs quiet when you change out of the bloodied shirt and press the rag to your nose. The blood is already starting to slow down, so that’s something, at least. Still, the pain of it is incomparable to the hollow aching feeling in your chest.

Your stupid phone starts to ring in your pocket. You take it out, answering in a stuffy-sounding tone. “Hello?”

“(Y/N)? Your father called me. He knows you're in Ohio.” Your mother doesn’t often sound worried for you - at least, not in any capacity that doesn’t come off as totally forced an artificial - but she sounds genuinely afraid. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, mom,” you look at yourself in the mirror, looking anything but fine.

“Stay inside.”

“Okay.”

Pause.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about it right now,” your voice wavers. You hate when she gets like this almost as much as you hate when she acts like you’re an ungrateful child. There’s always that stupid part of you that believes she’ll stay like this, stay like she cares, but you always - always - remember those months she left you behind. You’ll never forgive her for that. (Especially not when she won’t even admit that she’d done anything wrong.)

“Okay.” It comes out a little colder, but not quite what you’re used to. “Call me when you get back to college, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” you sigh.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“Love you too, mom.” You hang up and take several slow breaths. You can’t hide forever. Time to find Natasha and face her. She’s already gotten the worst out of her system.

You wait until your cheeks aren’t as red and your eyes not as puffy, splashing some cold water on your face and carefully avoiding the areas that sting at any slight touch.

You turn the knob and almost slam right into Yelena.

“You’re crying,” she says immediately.

You blink up at her. It hits you just how much you love her. It’s so intense, you’re nearly knocked off your feet. No matter what happens with Natasha - this, this, is worth it. She’s worth it. Natasha might never speak to you again, but losing Yelena is, at this point, unfathomable. This is your family. Yelena, Alexei, Melina - yes, Natasha, too. Even if she hates your guts forever.

Instead of explaining yourself, you just lean up to kiss her. It surprises her, you think, because she takes a beat longer to respond than usual. Kissing hurts a little, though, so you pull back and try to mask the pain. Of course, ever vigilant of your wellbeing, Yelena notices and holds the stupid pack of frozen peas to your nose with careful attention.

“I’m gonna talk to her,” you state softly, moving your hand to cover Yelena’s over the pack of peas.

“I’ll come with you.” Yelena offers, but you shake your head.

“No. I have to talk to her alone.”

Yelena looks ready to argue, but thinks better of it and nods hesitantly. “Fine. But… at least keep your phone with you.”

“She’s not gonna beat me to a pulp, Lena,” you laugh. “I think she got enough of her anger out with that one punch.”

“I’ll make her pay for that.” Yelena says darkly and you roll your eyes.

“No, it’s fine. I deserved that.”

“No-”

“We’ve been lying to her, Yelena. You know how she feels about lying.” You sigh.

Yelena frowns, but doesn’t argue.

When Melina deems your nose safe enough to travel with, you take off after Natasha. You know exactly where she’d be, because it’s where she always goes when she’s upset. The park isn’t far from her house, either.

Sure enough, she and Wanda are sitting on the old swing set, feet dragging idly on the mulch. When you approach, they stop talking and Wanda stands up. She makes some kind of excuse, but you don’t hear it as you wither under the glare of Natasha.

Hesitantly, you take the spot Wanda had once occupied and mindlessly move yourself back and forth. Natasha doesn’t speak, so you don’t either. You just sit in silence, your nose throbbing without the pack of peas.

Finally, Natasha breaks the silence: “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You look at your feet, afraid of what emotions her face might show. “I was… scared. I thought you’d hate me, I guess.”

“I don’t hate you.” Those words are enough to make you weak with relief. You feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you shove them away and keep your gaze steadily downward. “But I’m pissed that you didn’t say anything.”

“She’s your sister, Nat,” you finally look up at her. She looks hurt. “I thought you’d assume the worst.”

“Why would I ever assume the worst with you?” Natasha shakes her head, exasperated. “Honestly, I had a feeling something was up when Carol told me you guys never hooked up. Yelena’s been acting happier than usual. Completely different from how she was when I left for college. Then I thought you were wearing her top, but she’s got so many stupid band shirts it’s hard to keep track…” She scoffs, almost amused. “I should have known, but I thought you’d at least be a decent friend and give me a heads up if you were even interested in Yelena.”

You cringe. “I know. I’m sorry. I really should have told you but it happened so fast-” you stop yourself, blushing furiously. “I thought it was just, y’know, for fun or whatever but-”

“Watch it,” Natasha warns, narrowing her eyes. “That’s my sister.”

“Right,” you croak. “I just- I thought I needed to just, scratch an itch. But it just didn’t go away, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and I felt so guilty because I knew hiding it from you was wrong but I didn’t know how to tell you and-”

“(Y/N),” Natasha holds up a hand and you flinch. The guilt on her face is gut-wrenching. She grabs the chain of her swing. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t trust me. You’re my best friend. Of course I want you to be happy. And Yelena is my sister. I want her to be happy, too. I want you both to be with someone you deserve.” At your pained, fearful expression, she quickly adds, “And I do think you deserve each other. In the best way.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, and Natasha snorts.

“Seriously,” she says, “Lena has had a crush on you since we were kids. I’m surprised it took this long to happen. I can see how much happier you make her, even if I didn’t know what the source of that happiness was ‘til now.”

“Nat-”

“Even you seem different.” She observes you with a new sort of expression, almost admiringly. “You seem lighter. When we reconnected, you were still the same lost kid who didn’t know what to do besides what her mom told her. I can see how much easier it is on you, now.”

You actually feel yourself crying. It’s so dumb, you hate crying in front of others. Natasha slides off of her swing to pull you into a hug. You return it happily, heart swelling.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter guiltily. “I should have told you. I knew the whole time that I should have told you. But I was a coward.”

“You were,” Natasha agrees. When she pulls back from the hug, she looks at your nose. “How’s your face?”

“Broken.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“That’s fair.”

Pause.

“But we’re okay?” You ask, just because you can’t ever get over the fear of losing someone you care about.

“We’re okay,” Natasha confirms.

She returns to her swing.

It’s almost like when you were kids again.

- - - - -

The walk back to Natasha’s house was spent in companionable conversation. She asks you a little bit about your relationship and intentions with Yelena - she does, in fact, threaten your life if you dare break Yelena’s heart but you assure her that’s nowhere in the cards. You’re in it to win it, as far as you’re concerned, and Natasha agrees that you’ve already won it.

The entire family is waiting in the living room. They must have been talking before you returned, because the silence is unbearable. Finally, you tell them everything is fine, and they all seem to breathe a bit easier. Melina mentions always seeing you as a daughter, Alexei tells you he couldn’t approve more.

At the end of the night, you find yourself back in Yelena’s arms in her childhood bed.

In the darkness, your only focus is the steadying beat of her heart that always picks up when you lean your head against her chest. You can’t ever be certain what awaits you in the future - you don’t even care anymore. As long as you have her by your side, that’s all that matters.

“Yelena?” You ask. She hums. “I love you.”

The blonde wakes up enough to press a loving kiss to your forehead. “I love you, too.”

Maybe - just maybe - everything is going to turn out okay.

~part 3~

~~ Gen Tag List ~~

/To be added, let me know if you want to be tagged for all my works, a specific series, or a specific character <3

@nobody13 @fireflyglass @swords-are-cool @artapdarkstr @pasta-bandit @multi-images @women-am-i-right @fanboy7794

#MIGHT make an epilogue for this in december #just bc i have some domestic cute fluff w yelena that could fit here if i tweak it a lil bit #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena x reader #yelena imagine #gxg imagine #nobody13 #fireflyglass #swords-are-cool #artapdarkstr #pasta-bandit #multi-images #women-am-i-right #fanboy7794

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maximoffslilwitchintraining · 2 years

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hii !! i want to start of by saying that i love your work and you’re an incredible writer <33 what about a ‘mommy..wanda?’ fic where wanda and nat bring R to visit their work and it’s just amusing to everyone how these two badass women can be so harsh one minute but be the total opposite and gentle when it comes to R 🥺♥️

A/N: hey <3 thank you!! and absolutely. This idea is so cute, I really didn't do it justice. My motivation to write has been non-existent but I tried to get this done for you. I hope you like it even if it's not the best. 💞

(Part of the Mommy... I mean Wanda AU, but you don't need context to read heh)

Word count: 1,1k

Warnings: Non this is just pure fluff, nb reader

“Hello?” The man in glasses stood up from behind his desk. “Yes, you..” He sighs. “What’s your business here?” His question was asked with a raised brow, mocking you slightly. It was clear to him how out of place you were, standing in the big lobby of this fancy building. You had never asked what Wanda and Natasha did for work, some part of you enjoyed the mystery and the other part was hoping they’d tell you. The amount of travelling that was required had inspired lots of theories. You knew it must be quite important, after seeing how stressed they had both been on Christmas day.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m here to see Mrs. Romanoff and…” His eyes widened at the name, and he swiftly sat down. “…Mrs. Maximoff.” You finish. The addition only makes him type faster. You had no doubt in your mind that Nat and Wanda would hold important positions, but the amount of respect this grumpy man seemed to hold for the two was thrilling.

“I’m so sorry. Y/N right?” His apology was sincere, although mostly driven by fear.

“Y-yes, that’s me.” You had received a text earlier that night from Wanda, telling you that they had to work late. You were supposed to have a cosy night in, but since that couldn’t happen they had told you to join them as they finished up work. You had been concerned that they’d get in trouble for something like that, but clearly, it wasn’t going to be a problem.

“Right. Mrs Maximoff told me to just let you up. Do you know the way?” The man asked, suddenly very helpful.

He helped you find her office. He kept giving you apologetic looks, the whole way there. Even whispering a small 'good luck', before knocking on the door.

“Yes, who is it?” You Heard Wanda's voice. It was colder, more professional than you were used to, but you still couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t look up as the man opened the door for you.

“Um. Mrs Maximoff, Y/N is here. You told me…” He was ready to explain his interruption, but she cut him off.

“Darling, hi! Come in.” Her eyes were only fixed on you, a bright smile on her face. He watched you from the door, as you calmly walked into her office. Once at her desk she grabbed your hand, putting some papers to the side.

“Did you get here alright?” You nod just about to give her a peck on the cheek, as you realize the man is still staring at you. Wanda furrowed her brows, seeing your discomfort.

“Feel free to leave anytime.” Her gaze drifted to the door, her accent strong. It sent a shiver down your spine at how cold she sounded. You had never quite heard her like that.

“Yes, ma’am.” He fumbled to close the door. You fought back a giggle. It was a bit mean to laugh at the poor man, but his fear of Wanda amused you greatly. He was lucky you weren’t telling her how he treated you earlier.

“You enjoyed that didn’t you?” Wanda leaned back in her chair watching you try to hide a grin, as you shook your head.

“Wanna go find Natasha? She would not be happy if I kept you all to myself.” You lean against the desk, nodding enthusiastically. “She’s been worried all day, she feels really bad about movie night.” Wanda says standing up.

“It's really not a problem, I’m just as happy being here, with you both.” Wanda smiles pulling you in for a kiss.

“I’m glad to hear that kitten.”

“Well, no. I told you not to do that.” Nat stood arguing with two men. Neither seemed as terrified as the receptionist, but you could tell they weren’t willing to push back much, they clearly respected her. The tension on her face eased up slightly seeing her wife. The two men smiled at Wanda as she approached, before giving you a curious look. Natasha's face lights up at the sight of you.

“Hey.” You speak quietly, realizing all eyes were on you.

“Hey, Sweets.” Natasha brings you into her arms. You were slightly surprised that she wouldn’t wait til her colleagues left and clearly so were they. Regardless, you soak up the moment, having missed your girlfriend.

“So…” The blonde man clears his throat, gaining the attention of you all. “Who’s this?”

“Y/N.” You hold out a hand for him to shake, earning you a smile from Nat.

”Steve. Nice to meet you y/n.” He wore a genuine smile as he shook your hand.

“So you’re the famous y/n, ugh..” the man rolled his eyes jokingly. “…these two truly won’t shut up about you.” He laughed and so did Steve although clearly holding back a little.

“And that’s, Tony.” Natasha said, giving the man a stern look. His laughter quickly subsided and he cleared his throat.

“Nice to meet you.” You smile pulling Natasha closer to you, shifting her focus back to you.

“Have you eaten yet, dekta?” She tilted her head.

“Not yet, but I’m okay-“ You were cut off quickly.

“Nonsense. Lunch break?” Natasha looked over to the men, who quickly agreed.

“I could eat.” Tony walked first out of the office.

You sat looking at the menu, trying to decide what to order. The others watched you, some of them more impatient than others, having already made their orders.

“Anything look good?” Wanda asked brushing some hair out of your face and stroking your cheek, finding the concentrated look on your face adorable.

“Hmm… I was thinking about the salad, but pie could be good too. But do I really want the pie, we had that last night…” You went on sharing your train of thought with the group, causing them to laugh.

“We can get you both, kotenok.” Wanda smiled, at the excitement on your face.

“You sure?” She nods, pleased that she solved your dilemma.

“Thank you.” You grin widely at her as the waiter writes it down.

“Anything to drink?” They asked and your eyes went back to the menu.

“Hmm, good question.” You furrowed your brows.

“Oh dear god.” Tony sighed, making a dramatic gesture and Steve snorted, shaking his head slightly. You looked up at the two giving an apologetic smile.

“Take your time dekta. It’s okay.” She slapped Tony’s arm, making him frown in a fake offence, rubbing his arm.

“A coffee and some water?” You looked up at Nat.

“Anything you want malyshka.” You smiled at the waiter and they walked off after collecting the menus. You looked over to the two men that were once again giggling.

“Anything you want..” Tony repeated Nat’s words. “They sure have made you soft, Romanoff.”

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blissfulparker · 3 years

Text

Monday mornings→professor!tom

Pairings: professor!tom x professor!reader

Warnings; fluff only!(also extremely unedited)

Summary; you and Tom like to keep your relationship private. but when he leaves his laptop charger at home you only want to be a good girlfriend and give it to him but accidentally expose everything.

A/n; A little blurb/fic literally no one asked for...too short to be an actual oneshot or anything but hope y’all like it💗

For many, Monday mornings were the worst. The start of the week after a beautifully long weekend. You and Tom were no different from the others who hated this day.

With different schedules, him working early in the morning and you trying to take advantage of sleeping in as you had worked afternoons, he was always trying to get out of the house before the sun rose and you tried to value the bits of sleep you could get.

“Turn that thing off Thomas!” You whine as his alarm blared next to your face as he was rushing to get ready for his 8am history class.

“Gotta go darling.” He leaned in to kiss your sleepy figure. You groan as you open your eyes seeing your boyfriend dressed in his button up and glasses. The attire that made you do a double take in the hallway in the beginning of the year.

“Mmh,” you pull him by the tie closer. “Have a good day, professor.” You kiss. Saying with a more seductive voice to keep him in. The title almost making tom stay in bed as he loved when you called him that.

“Love you.” He kissed.

“Love you more.” You try and get him to stay but he doesn’t. He only kisses your cheek again and leaves.

As you start to shut your eyes, you look over to see that Tom left his laptop charger on the bedside table. A part of you wants to stay in bed—only get up for your 1pm classes taught and let him come home on his own. But the girlfriend side of you tells you to run the charger over to work for him, how he doesn’t deserve the dent in his day all because of a charger.

And so you had time, you quickly threw on some Pants thinking that you could make it early enough to his class to where no students could see you. It would be fine, dropping off his charger would only take two seconds and you would get one last chance to kiss him again.

But as you rushed into the classroom, the room was already filled with students ready to learn the next part of the French Revolution.

“Babe You left your—“ as you start you turn to see half the class filled and Tom turn away from the whiteboard to look at you with rosy cheeks.

“Mr. Holland,” you try again. “You left your charger in the meeting room.” You clear your throat. You recognize some of the students as your own, you felt like you were lucky to put on proper jeans instead of sweats but his old band tee you wore to bed still remained.

Too stunned to say a word, you place the charger on his desk and turn to face some of the students.

“Mrs. (y/l/n)?” One of the boys spoke, a few of them already growing smirks as they figured out what was happening. Some give jealous glares as they wished Tom was single for how attractive he was. Everyone wanted to be with tom.

Already calling tom babe, you panicked needing—trying—to clear the air with the pet names.

“Sweetheart, hi!” You smile at the frat boy who stares at you in shock.

“Hey Angel!” You smile at another girl who waved at you. You quickly make your way out of the class, shutting the door leaving tom all alone with the young adults anxious to know this relationship status.

“Professor (y/l/n)? Nice!” One of the frat boys calls out and Tom feels himself grow red again. The room fills with chatters and giggles as Tom clears his throat.

“I know and she’s got huge—“ before the other fratboy could finish what he was about to say tom gathered the class together.

“Alright that’s enough! That’s enough!” He waved his hands and rolled up his sleeves. “Open up to chapter 4 section 3.5!” He called out and the chatter turned into pages flipping as the class got prepared.

So sorry! Thought I was early! Love you!

Your text read as he looked at his phone real quick.

It’s fine :) next time just don’t call the boy who’s always talking about your ass ‘sweetheart’

He texts back as the pet name towards the fratboy was not liked by Tom. For that kid always seemed to have a new focus and took your class just for you.

You're the only one who gets to have it though ;)

He swallows hard at your text and shoved his phone into his back pocket.

“So do we call her professor Holland now too or…” one of the girls asked in more of a jealous way.

“No, no, enough of this. Let’s just get started okay? Let’s hope you all did the notes I assigned last night?” He claps his hands and the class let’s out a groan.

Plugging in his charger he lets out a laugh to only himself. It would be the first and last time you would come in early in the morning to drop anything off but certainly not the last time you would find yourself barging into His classroom to give him something.

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perhapsthanatos · 3 years

Text

10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

Text

1. December 26th, 2016

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 6.4k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | ASK

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

A/N: welcome to chapter one of THE ONLY EXCEPTION! i’m so flipping excited i could scream!!!!!! this fic is going to be a long boi so buckle up. also thank you to @meetmeinfleetwood for supporting this fic from the start ilysm!!!! xoxo, willa

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N’s dad had been having these Christmas parties for the past five years or so, each time on the 26th of December, each time packed with music industry people and lots of bottles of tequila and red wine. Her first time had been two years ago, and she had found it surprisingly enjoyable—she had expected it to be boring and to want to leave after the first hour. Instead, it was full of people she had known since she was a kid, musicians and producers and her dad’s old A&R guys who she had grown up hanging out with in recording studios and backstage at her dad’s shows. They had come to family dinners before and after her parents’ divorce, and so when she ran into them at the parties it was easy to catch them up on her life and suddenly it was after midnight and the party was emptying out.

This year she had volunteered to help set up. Her dad had rented a massive house out in the hills and it came already decorated, but it was on Y/N to make sure there were chairs set up for the music circle, a massive bar laid out and plenty of glasses ready. Her dad’s friend was making the food, eager to use the opportunity to promote the new restaurant he was opening, so when Y/N opened the door it already smelled like garlic and olive oil, her favorite scents on earth.

“Karl!” She called through the house, shutting the heavy oak door behind her. Her arms were laden with boxes of plastic glasses—her dad was too scared of the guests breaking glass ones—and she wandered into the kitchen. The tall ceilings of the entryway where a massive Christmas tree sat adorned with ornaments gave way to a modern, sleek kitchen. Karl twirled around to greet her, a grin on his face. “Smells delicious in here.”

He set down his spatula and came over, grabbing a box and giving her a kiss on each cheek. “Hello, darling. Are there more in the car?”

She shook her head, unwinding her scarf from her neck and placing it on the counter. Karl had been her father’s college roommate and somehow they’d stayed close over the years, every one of Y/N’s birthdays spent at one of Karl’s restaurants with all of her favorite dishes made special, a birthday cannoli with a candle in it for her to blow out. “This is all of the glasses. Dad told me to get the bar ready—he’s bringing the booze in a bit.”

“Hope there’s a glass of wine in there for the chef,” Karl said and Y/N chuckled—there always was a bottle of Karl’s favorite expensive wine set aside when he did one of these things and he knew it. It was part of the pay, her father always said. “Want to taste test?”

“Always.” Y/N joined Karl at the stove, eagerly tasting the sauce he was cooking. It was a simple sage butter sauce, but Karl always excelled at the most simple dishes. “Delicious, as usual,” she said.

Karl jabbered her ear off about the updates on the restaurant—they’d run into problems finding a good sous chef and he was about to do the job himself if he didn’t find someone soon—while Y/N decided where to set up the bar. Finally, she settled on a high table against the glass wall in the wide hallway between the kitchen and the sprawling dining room, which opened up onto the patio. She tugged open the accordion glass doors and breathed in the cool Los Angeles air, thankful for a relatively cold evening, since she always got overheated at parties like this, where people were crammed into every corner. Her dad seemed to know more people every year. Satisfied with the position of the table, she set out the glasses and paper napkins, before asking Karl if he had an extra cooler he’d brought with. She’d forgotten to ask her dad for one before she had left. She filled it with ice and set it next to the table with a scoop, and grabbed the special shot glasses her father had told her to bring, placing them on the table next to a bouquet of flowers.

Her job done, she wandered through the rest of the house. It was gorgeous—she wondered how her father had found it. If she remembered correctly, he had said something about it being an official venue for music and parties, he’d done a private gig here a few years back and the owners had loved him enough to offer it for this party. It’s not like anyone really had gigs on December 26th anyway. She closed all the doors to the back bedrooms, remembering her father’s request, and set up a coat closet of sorts out of the bedroom closest to the front, before heading to change into her outfit for the evening.

“Y/N!” She was securing her favorite pair of earrings in her ears when she heard her father’s voice through the halls of the house. “Where ya at, sweetheart?”

“One sec, Dad!” She grabbed the hanger she had kept her top on and shoved it into her massive purse, settling it into the back corner of the room for safety. Her father was waiting for her in the kitchen with Karl, also getting a sample of the sauce she had tried earlier.

“Hi you,” her father said when she came in. His salt and pepper hair was balding a bit, but his bright smile was what drew people in, olive skin that tanned easily in the California sun. Y/N had selected his suit for the evening, a maroon red and a black tie, something a bit out of the ordinary for him, but Y/N loved it. “Look gorgeous.”

She hugged her father tightly. She had spent Christmas with her mother, as usual, so this was the first time she’d seen her dad during the holidays. “Not too bad yourself, captain.”

“Ha!” Her father pinched her cheek softly, just as he had when she was a child. “I’ve got your present in the car, come grab it with me?”

“Sure.” They had decided to exchange gifts at the party and Y/N had hers tucked in the back pocket of her jeans—dinner on her at Karl’s new restaurant, something she’d discussed with the owner a few weeks ago. Her father’s car sat in the driveway, trunk open where boxes of alcohol laid waiting to be carried inside. “That my gift?”

“You wish,” her dad answered, and Y/N gave him a pouty look that he just shook his head at. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out an envelope. Y/N couldn’t help but hope it was cash—she needed a new computer and was running a bit short. She knew her dad would help if she asked, but she hated asking him for money.

She took the envelope and opened it, a sheet of paper and something thicker hiding between its folds. She opened the letter and found a homemade coupon of sorts, just as she had done for him.

TWO TICKETS TO ANY SHOW IN LA - NON-REFUNDABLE, FUN REQUIRED!

“Papa,” she said, giving him a beaming smile. “My favorite!” She threw her arms around his neck and he chuckled, hugging her right back.

“Just give me a few weeks heads up, okay?”

Y/N nodded, and looked back down at the letter, eyes running over her dad’s sweet words of love and pride. It was their thing—homemade cards always, never store bought, despite that neither of them could draw. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, sweetheart.”

“Now yours!” She reached into her pocket and pulled out his envelope, aptly addressed, Dad, and handed it over. Her father read her card as well, and chuckled at her drawing of them at dinner together.

He kissed her forehead gently. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, squeezing his side. “Now let’s get all this booze out of your car before I drive away with it!” Her dad laughed and followed her to the back of the car, them each grabbing a carton of wine. There had to be enough for over a hundred people, Y/N thought to herself. Who would be new this year?

The party was in full swing, her dad’s favorite music playing softly through the speaker system, people littered all over the house with the alcohol flowing. Karl was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, his food a massive hit, and Y/N couldn’t have been happier for him. She’d caught up with her dad’s friends and people who were essentially her godparents, sharing how her job was going (fine) and her relationship prospects (non-existent), sipping tequila and red wine on rotation.

Y/N leaned against the patio railing overlooking the hills, a glass of tequila on the rocks settled in between her palms. She could hear her father’s voice in the distance calling people to come and start the music, the scrape of chairs and strumming of guitars. It was about time for her to go in, but she lingered, relishing the quiet of the night and the biting air wrapping around her. Since she didn’t play an instrument, despite her father’s attempts, this part of the evening was the part where she just sat back and observed. And also usually got quite drunk since all she had to do was drink and sing along.

“Y/N, right?” She turned around, eyes focusing on the person standing a few feet away. “I’m Harry.”

Harry Styles. How had he ended up here, and how had she not seen him yet? “Nice to meet you,” she answered, standing up straight and taking a sip of her drink. “Not going in to play?”

He shook his head. “Bit nervous, if I’m honest. Lot of talent in that room.”

She cocked her head to the side as he joined her at the railing. “You’re plenty talented,” she told him. It was true. She was a huge fan of his, had been for a while, following his work in One Direction since its inception, and now in the solo career her dad had mentioned. He was recording with some guys out at The Village a few months ago and called her at the end of the day, saying he ran into Harry Styles in the middle of a session doing some solo stuff. Said it sounded good, which she wasn’t surprised by in the slightest.

But Harry just chuckled. “Nah, those people are legends,” he said. She knew who he was talking about, too. One of the Dixie Chicks was there, some guys who had written with John Mayer and Kanye West, a dozen other Grammy-nominated musicians, some record label execs who had practically formed the industry as they knew it today, the A&R people who had found them. It was intimidating, definitely, but for Harry she didn’t think it would be.

“Just people.” She sipped on her drink, studying him. He was in a long black coat, a loose black v-neck silk shirt and red and white plaid pants that tapered at the leg, his cropped curls falling into his face slightly. He also had a tequila on the rocks gripped in his hand, rings adorning every one of his fingers. A skull, a red stone, a silver band, amongst them. “Having fun?”

He smiles at her, thankful for the change of topic. “Loads. Haven’t been at a party like this in a while.”

“What do you mean?”

The breeze passed between them, ruffling his hair a bit. “I don’t know. Just, people who didn’t really give a shit about me, if you know what I mean? Holidays can be a bit much sometimes.”

She nodded as if she understood what it felt like to be a popstar of his fame, which she didn’t, but she could imagine. “Didn’t go home?”

“My mum and sister came here, actually,” he said. “They were craving a respite from the cold English winters.”

“Well, this is definitely a respite,” Y/N said, and Harry chuckled.

Silence stretched between them and Y/N tapped her fingernails against her cup. Maybe it was time to go inside, she thought. “So, Y/N, what do you do?”

His question pulled her out of her head easily. “Brand strategy,” she answered, thankful for a comfortable topic. “I work mostly with fashion and product companies, preferably sustainable ones.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.” She did. She loved her work—she’d gone to school for it and thrown herself into it after school, loving pitching projects for clients and helping them understand their core purpose and how they could grow and evolve most authentically. “It was that or books, but I decided this was a bit more profitable. Also wasn’t too keen on living in New York.”

Harry nodded, twirling his glass in his hands. She took the opportunity to run her eyes across his face—he was gorgeous in this way that you weren’t sure was real. It was interesting to see how much he’d grown up. At 22, his cheekbones were cut and his jaw defined, his former long locks he had recently cut and Y/N liked these more, she decided. “What are your favorite writers?” He asked, pulling Y/N back into the conversation.

“That’s like asking which one of your children is your favorite,” she joked, and he chuckled, the sound music to Y/N’s ears. “Dunno, really. I read so much it’s hard to choose, you know? Reading a Louise Erdrich book right now that’s absolutely stellar. The Round House—you should give it a go if you’ve got the time.”

He pulled out his phone and she watched him type in the name to his Notes app, the action making her smile. “Been looking for a new book,” he said. “Just been reading The New Yorker and my mum about took my head off for not reading enough.” They both laughed, the sound filling the night air.

“Harry!” A man was standing in the doorway to the patio, a guitar in hand. “Come sing, mate.”

Harry glanced back at Y/N. “Coming?”

Y/N nodded and followed him inside, refilling her glass on the way. Harry handed her his, and she did the same, giving them both another glass of tequila to sip on while they listened to the circle of musicians. Someone had decided to do some Christmas tunes she Y/N smiled when she heard her father’s voice—he’d made it a bit country, just like he loved to do with popular songs. He’d grown up on a steady diet of folk music and country, just as Y/N had, and he always joked it was in his blood. Harry took a seat next to his friend who Y/N didn’t recognize—probably some producer her dad had met recently, maybe one of the guys from The Village if that was how they’d connected, and Y/N grabbed the seat her dad had saved for her next to him.

She joined in immediately, knowing this rendition of “The Little Drummer Boy” by heart, since it was the same one he had made up when Y/N was eight or nine. Karl was in the circle too, a plate of food in his hands and his bottle of red wine on the ground, and he gave her a warm smile. This was her favorite part of the night—feeling a part of something her father loved so dearly. When he gave her a kiss to her temple and introduced her to the group, she couldn’t help but find Harry’s eyes, his irises twinkling back at her under the lights.

At one o’clock, people finally began filtering out of the party, and Harry decided it was probably time for him to head. Jeff, who had invited him to come with, had already left, exhausted from the holidays with family, but Harry had stayed, hoping to talk to Y/N for a little while longer. He had unfortunately failed to catch her, though, the music running long and after it had wrapped up people had tugged her in for hugs and conversation. Despite knowing who she was through her father, he was still in awe of how intimately she knew all of these people. He overheard snippets of her conversations, asking about children and partners, parents who had cancer and career-defining moments she’d missed out on because of work. Harry was in this world too, but many of the people at this party were a bit older than his usual set—they belonged to the group of his heroes, rather than necessarily people he felt were his peers. He was still getting his solo career together, still only a boyband member in their eyes. He tried not to feel less than, but sometimes it was hard when you were sat next to Natalie Maines of the Dixie Chicks with utterly nothing to say but awe-inspired ramblings.

Finally, Y/N was alone, the older couple she was talking to having left for the door, and Harry seized the opportunity. “Y/N,” he said, and her head popped up from her phone to look at him. Her dark brown hair was soft against her skin, and he eagerly wondered what it felt like against his skin, brown eyes that searched his soul. “I loved talking to you earlier.”

She smiled and Harry loved it when she did. Lit up the whole room, just about. “Me too. Glad you came—with Jeff, yeah?”

He nodded. “He introduced me to your dad when we were at The Village.” Y/N nodded as well, obviously having figured out the story. “I—I was wondering, would you want to grab coffee sometime? I’d love to chat more, get to know you.” He restrained the urge to bounce on his heels, nervous in front of her. He felt like a kid asking out his crush, but that’s what this was, a crush. Even if it came to nothing, she was kind, interesting, and fit into the world he revolved in. It wasn’t the most important thing, but he appreciated it all the same.

“Oh,” she said, tone somber. “Sorry, Harry, but I don’t date musicians. Get home safe, yeah?” She turned away from him, feet carrying her back into the living room, presumably finding her father.

What? She didn’t date musicians? “I’m sorry—what?”

Y/N turned back to look at him. “I just don’t. Bit of a rule.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Don’t feel the need to explain it. Bye, Harry.” Then, she walked away and Harry was left in shock. The abrupt change in tone was like whiplash—she had seemed so interested, involved in their conversation, only to tell him she didn’t date musicians? What the fuck kind of rule was that?

He huffed and tugged out his phone to tell his driver he was ready, and went outside, leaving behind Y/N and her confusing rule. But this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, he decided. He wanted to know why she had this rule, this stupid rule that was stopping her from getting to know him. It wasn’t like he even asked her to date him, just to get coffee for Pete’s sake. Harry sat down in the car and pulled out his phone, composing a text to Jeff.

Could I write with Peter? Seemed like a great guy, really talented. Maybe if she got to Y/N’s dad, he could earn some brownie points. Maybe then she’d bend her rules for him, because despite their short conversation, Harry was intrigued.

Definitely, Jeff replied. I’ll text him tomorrow.

Harry closed his phone and smiled. Hopefully this worked, because Harry was dying to know more about this rule of hers.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed when she pulled into her dad’s driveway. There was another car sat in the drive, a black 4-door SUV she’d never seen before, the windows tinted so she couldn’t see in. It reminded her of those cars the FBI drives in crime dramas, which obviously led her to a part of her brain that was not necessarily a hopeful place. She scrambled to grab her bag from work and her keys, launching herself from her car and towards her dad’s door.

“Dad!” She called into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. “Whose car is in the drive? Didn’t tell me we’d be having company!” Gripping the wall for balance she toed off her shoes and set her bag on the floor next to the door, shrugging off her coat and setting it on a hook. “Dad?”

“He’s in the toilet.”

Her head whipped around and found Harry Styles standing in her hallway, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. As much as she had planned to forget about him after the party, never really expecting to see him again, she hadn’t been able to. And now he was in her house, hair pushed back from his face, a grin painted on his lips. It was irritating how gorgeous he was. “The fuck are you doing here?”

A hand went up to scratch the back of his neck and for a second Y/N regretted being quite so aggressive. “‘M writing with your dad,” he explained. “Guess he didn’t tell you.”

“No,” she answered. She brushed past him into the living room where, as Harry had said, it was obvious they had been writing. Her dad’s treasured old Gibson guitar leaning against his favorite armchair where he’d set it, computers out with GarageBand up for recording demos, papers with scribbles strewn across the coffee table. “Good session?” She decided that there was no way he was here just to pursue her—he was there for professional reasons, after all. Her dad and Harry must’ve hit it off at the party last week. There was also the fact that her dad was a really fucking good songwriter, so of course Harry would want to work with him. Ever since he’d stopped touring, her dad had started doing mainly writing, his songs appearing on records from everyone from up-and-coming artists the label found him to John Legend.

Harry just nodded. Her eyes drifted to his own guitar, a soft brown wood that had obviously seen some heavy use and travel. She recognized it from her dad’s own guitars that he used to take on the road with him, the nicks and faded wood at the base of the bridge.

“Y/N!” Her dad’s voice fell through the silence of the room as he re-entered. He was wearing his favorite old UCLA shirt, where she’d just graduated from not too long ago. “Home earlier than usual. Was going to give you a heads up about this one,” he pointed to Harry then, “but I see you’ve already found out.”

Her eyes drifted to Harry, who stood awkwardly next to the couch, unsure if he should sit or stand. “Finished my projects early and didn’t have any meetings, so thought I’d get out early and surprise you.”

“Well,” her father said, giving her a quick hug, “glad you did. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” She nodded, she was always ravenous after work. “Harry, would you want to stay for dinner?”

No, she thought. The last thing she wanted was to sit at a table with a guy she’d rejected and her father and eat an awkward dinner on a Friday night. She just wanted a massive glass of red wine, her delicious romance novel from her bedside table, and maybe lighting a fire in the pit in the backyard.

Instead, Harry said, “Sure. Don’t want to impose though.”

“Nonsense! Y/N why don’t you go change and Harry and I can tidy up from working. We were about done anyway.” Her dad kissed the top of her head sweetly and she just did as he said, Harry a forgotten thought behind her as she went to her room upstairs.

It was her childhood bedroom which she had been residing in for a month now. How her landlord could put her out for this long was beyond her, but she hadn’t had the energy to fight it—plus, it was an opportunity to spend some quality time with her workaholic father. So she was spending her evenings in her light blue colored room, sleeping between her soft pink sheets, and picking her work clothes that butted up against remnants from high school she’d left behind as memories. Y/N pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose white t-shirt that probably belonged to an ex-fling from college—Daniel maybe? Y/N couldn’t remember. Slipping on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm from the tile floors of the kitchen, she left her room, tugging her door shut so if Harry went exploring he wouldn’t stumble into her room.

Downstairs, Harry was sat at the kitchen island with a glass of wine and a smile on his face, deep in conversation with her dad about Fleetwood Mac’s chord progressions. A glass of red was waiting for her on the counter and she picked it up, wandering over to where her dad was cooking

“Whatcha making?” She asked, peeking into the pot.

“Pasta,” he replied. “Now stop being a nosy Nelly and talk to our guest while I try to focus on not burning the pasta.”

“Dad you haven’t even put it in yet.”

Her dad shooed her from the stove and she chuckled, backing away. “Get out of here, ya pest.”

She turned to Harry, realizing her dad was actively trying to get them to hang out. He was so annoying sometimes. “How do you feel about a fire?”

“Positively,” he answered and she led him outside into her backyard.

It was chilly out, but nothing too bad. She set her glass on the table and went over to the stack of wood her dad kept against the fence, picking up some logs and carrying them over to the fire pit they’d had for years. At first it was so Y/N could roast marshmallows at home, her father trying to do anything to get her to come over to his house more after the divorce, and as time had gone on it had become her favorite place in the whole house. When her dad was out of town and she came over to check up on the house in high school, she’d bring her weed and smoke out here under the stars.

Harry sidled up next to her and picked up a few logs, following her to the fire pit. “This is cool,” he said, words breaking their silence.

Y/N dropped the logs into the fire and looked up at him. “Favorite part of the whole house.” A box of matches sat next to the door and she grabbed them, as well as some kindling, and brought it over to the logs, setting the kindling under the logs before lighting them. The fire leaped up, the wood nice and dry from the lack of rain recently. “So, who got in touch with who?”

Harry looked at her in confusion. “Huh?”

She settled into one of the chairs set by the fire, wine tucked between her fingers. “The writing. You or my dad?”

“Oh,” he answered, joining her in the chair next to her. “Me, actually. Through Jeff.”

As expected. “And?”

“He’s really good,” Harry said, to which Y/N chuckled.

“That he is.”

“What was it like growing up with him as your dad?” He asked, breaking the silence between them.

Y/N shifted in her chair. She’d been asked this question so many times over the years, but it still was hard to answer. “Hard, if I’m being honest,” she told him, truth surprising her. But she had a feeling Harry would get it to a certain extent. He was a hugely popular star, after all. She’d heard rumors that he was a part of a movie coming out this year, something historical. “Like, my parents are divorced, which I assume you know.” He nodded, probably having figured it out by now. “And with my dad’s tour schedule when I was in school, I didn’t see him all that much, especially in elementary and middle school. He was gone all the time, even missed my birthday a couple times because of tour dates, so I just didn’t really know him that well, I guess. Fuck, sorry, this is a lot,” she breathed out, realizing she was rambling. Harry was just surprisingly easy to talk to, his eyes steady on her, intently listening to her every word. Boys didn’t usually listen to her like this.

“S’fine,” he replied. “When did it change, if you don’t mind me asking? Seem so close now.”

The fire, having grown by now, crackled in front of them. “Late high school, but mainly when I was in college. My mom moved to San Francisco for a job and I went to UCLA, so my dad was closest. Came over to do my laundry sometimes, have a home cooked meal, he’d take me to dinner, that stuff. Came to football games with me, sometimes, which he always tried to be interested in but never succeeded.” Harry chuckled at that and Y/N smiled at the sound. Harry was obnoxiously pretty. Like, impossibly pretty in this way where you couldn’t help but look at him again to make sure that yes, he was a real person. And it was really fucking distracting. “His touring kind of stopped when I went into college too,” she added, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Started writing mainly, putting out music only when it suited him. He’s a lot happier now, I think.”

“That’s good,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I’m glad you guys were able to have that kind of relationship, even if it was later.”

Y/N blinked at him, his words so kind and honest. “Me too.”

“Always been one of my fears, if I’m being honest,” he said, words soft in the cool night air. Sun was starting to set and it was getting dark around them, the light of the fire putting an orange ember to his face. “About having kids with my career, you know? I want to be a dad, but it’s like…how do I do that while being gone all the time?” His honesty shocked her, but then again Harry Styles seemed to be excelling at that in every regard. “Sorry, that’s a lot to unload on you.”

“No it isn’t,” she reassured him. “Just told you about all my daddy issues, yeah?” He chuckled, and it lightened the mood just enough. “You’ll figure it out.”

Harry nodded, taking another sip of his wine and she did the same. It was her favorite, the one her dad bought multiple of whenever she came to stay. Even though they’d gotten closer over the years, his desire to make his house perfect for her never seemed to fade. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot.”

“The rule—I—why is that?”

Well, fuck. This was the exact conversation she didn’t want to have, the one she was hoping he wouldn’t bring up. “It’s actually related to what you were just saying,” she said slowly. He’d get it after everything she’d explained and the fears he shared, right? “I don’t date musicians because they’re always gone.”

Harry was quiet, absorbing her answer. It was true, they always were gone—she had every right to her rule, she told herself. She didn’t want a repeat of what her parents had experienced, what she’d experienced. Her dad’s job had ruined everything in their family, ripping her parents apart, keeping him away from her for more of the year than he was home. She didn’t want the same thing for her kids. “That’s a pretty broad stroke, isn’t it?” Harry said though, pushing back against her. “Like all musicians. Kinda a generalization ‘bout us.”

“You said it yourself,” she said, leaning forward in her chair and resting her elbows on her thighs. “You’re gone all the time. How do you build a life with someone who isn’t there half the time?”

“Devil’s advocate,” Harry said, setting his wine on the arm of his chair, “but hypothetically you’re dating someone who tours all the time. But they make you a priority, coming home and seeing you, putting your relationship first. That wouldn’t matter? You wouldn’t even take the chance that it could work out okay?”

This time it was Y/N who was quiet. “I mean, musicians only have so much control over their schedules,” she said, remembering the excuses her dad used to tell her. “Plus, it’s not the relationship that’s the problem. It’s the part when you get to marriage and kids.”

“…So it’s better to just avoid the whole thing entirely?”

Y/N nodded, her logic laid out in front of her. She’d never had to do this before—most times, guys just took her at her word and dropped it all together. Harry pushed though, wanting to understand in a way the others didn’t care enough to do. “It’s safer.”

“But then you miss out on the opportunity to fall in love with someone,” Harry says, his words like rocks in her stomach. “And what if that person was a musician?”

Y/N had a feeling they were no longer talking in hypotheticals. “We can fall in love with tons of different people.”

“No soulmates and shit for you, then?” She shook her head. She didn’t believe in all that crap, never had. Relationships were about work, effort, time. The person was important, but the life that person led mattered more to her. How much they’d prioritize the relationship, the kind of life they wanted to build. “That’s kind of depressing,” Harry said.

The fire crackled and popped. “I don’t think so. It’s…practical.”

“Love isn’t supposed to be practical, Y/N.”

Y/N found herself speechless. She didn’t have an answer for him. She’d never been in love before, that was for sure. Hadn’t found that kind of love that people like Harry write songs about and she’d often found herself wondering when it was going to happen for her. There just hadn’t been any guys that were right for her yet.

“Y/N! Harry!” She turned and her dad was in the doorway, pasta sauce splattered on his shirt. He’d always been a messy cook. “Dinner’s ready.”

Y/N took one last look at Harry before grabbing her wine and heading inside, Harry following at her heels.

After dinner, Harry decided this was his last chance at Y/N. He couldn’t exactly use the same excuse twice and after understanding her rule, he was determined to be the exception. He helped Y/N clear the plates while her dad settled in at the TV in the other room, telling them it was his time to watch the nightly news and they could clean up since he had cooked. Harry had missed being in a home like this, the kind where he got told to clean up from dinner and there was calm and normal conversation at the table, Y/N talking about her day at work and Harry sharing about his activities from his mum’s visit. It brought him a kind of peace he didn’t know he needed.

The plate clattered on the counter as he set it down, Y/N turning, her hands soapy with the water from the dishes. “Gonna break our dishes,” she said with a snort. “Be careful, please.”

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. He’d cleared the table, so he grabbed a dish rag from the peg and joined Y/N at the sink, taking the clean dishes from the rack and drying them, stacking them on the counter since he didn’t know where they belonged in the cabinets.

They worked in silence, the only sound her dad’s TV from the other room. He could hear Rachel Maddow’s show on NBC, the same one he liked to watch, learning from her commentary on American politics that he was still trying to wrap his brain around.

“Y/N,” he said when they’d finished the dishes. “I promise I heard everything you said earlier.” She looked at him with curiosity in her eyes, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Harry tried to pick his words delicately, wanting to make sure she knew he did hear her, he was just entranced by her and couldn’t give her up. “But what is the likelihood you would be willing to give it a shot? With me?”

She took the dish towel from his hands and dried her own, considering his words. The waiting was killing him, but he didn’t want to rush her. He knew what her worries were and he was asking her to put them aside.

“We’ll take it slow,” he told her, stumbling over the words. “Promise. You set the pace, you decide about commitments. I just…” Can’t stop thinking about you.

But then Y/N surprised him by saying, “I know. I feel that way too.” His eyes widened, not believing the words from her mouth. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said slowly. “Better make the date good.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask again unless you’d like me to change my mind.”

“Can I get your number then?” She nodded and read it off, Harry typing the numbers into his phone next to her name. Then Harry shut up and just smiled at her, following her like a puppy dog into the other room where her dad sat watching TV. She curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket her dad had so it would cover part of her and his heart softened at how sweet she looked. He loved seeing her like this, at home, comfortable in her space. “I’m going to head out,” he said. “Thank you so much for dinner, Peter.”

Y/N’s dad turned from the TV and gave him a wide smile. “Of course, Harry. You’re welcome anytime—wouldn’t want you to get lonely out here!”

His eyes drifted to Y/N and he knew that with her around, there was never anyway he could be lonely.

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songtoyou · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2: First Meeting

Tolerate It

Paring: Modern!Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Story Rating: R (No minors should read this fic).

Word Count: 2,778

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault. Sexual activity between two consenting adults.

Description: Tommy Shelby is the owner and CEO of Shelby Company Limited. Starting out as a Bookmaker, Tommy had big ideas to expand his riches. In the past ten years, the company has grown rapidly to expand its business ventures from bars to producing alcohol, manufacturing motor vehicle parts, and exporting. One of the richest men in Great Britain, Tommy Shelby, has it all. Unfortunately, the death of his wife, Grace, left the multi-millionaire mogul alone and depressed. He needed someone to fulfill his needs and deepest darkest desires.

A/N: Again, the response to this fic has been wonderful. We learn more about Rose and find out why Lizzie left. Rose meets Tommy for the first time and begins the process of solidifying their arrangement.

Note: Italics represent the past or past conversations.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people actually like this fic.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Saturday rolled faster than a blink of an eye. Rose was not nervous about tonight's meeting with her new client. A part of her was looking forward to it. Taking the time to look up Tommy Shelby on the Internet, Rose found out more about the man she would be possibly spending most of her time around. His backstory was interesting. The man started from nothing. It was no wonder Tommy was a massive celebrity within the business community. Inspiring entrepreneurs looked up to him and how he accumulated his wealth.

Rose was aware that Tommy's business practices were not always ethical, just like she knew that Alfie, Luca, and her other clients all dealt in questionable behavior to stay ahead of the game. It was like these guys did not know that the 1920s were long gone, and their little gangs should have considered obsolete in these present times. But it was not her job to question them as part of her did not care. All Rose wanted was to get paid and have a little pleasure herself once in a while. She hoped Tommy was good in bed as Lizzie mentioned he was. She had no reason not to believe her former coworker.

It was a terrible incident at the club that made Lizzie leave for good. All because of Oswald Mosley and his sick and deviant behavior. Oswald was a Member of Parliament for South Staffordshire and the youngest member of the Conservative party. His influence within the party continued to gain strength as the young politician expressed his outlandish views that tended to lean towards fascism. Many other MPs have tried to rebuke Mosley's power but to no avail. His supporters only rallied behind him more. He was garnering more attention and enthusiasm to start his very own nationalist party within Great Britain. This idea worried many other MPs, even within the Conservative Party.

As Mosley's profile continued to rise, he found himself needing a form of release. It did not take long for him to receive an invitation to join Excelsior. Politicians were another form of clientele for the club. However, word soon spread about Mosley's odd behavior with the girls. The man had a weird fetish for rape and sexual assault fantasies. Not many girls wanted to partake in that act. Rose quickly passed on having Mosley as one of her clients since non-consensual/dubious consent was not something she gravitated towards when it came to pleasure.

Some of the girls confided in Rose they felt after being with Mosley. Many were scared to inform Izabella or Tatiana in fear of getting fired. Unfortunately, it took the incident with Lizzie that left her brutally scarred, both physically and psychologically, to have Mosley permanently banned from Excelsior. What made it worse was that no one could do anything to Mosley outside the club, no police reports, no arrests, nothing. He was too powerful.

The only thing Lizzie said to Rose was that Mosley took it too far and that she was rethinking her time at the club. When Lizzie did not show up for three days, Rose knew that she left the life of escorting for good.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Rose opted for the wine-colored long drape dress, with a silver belt to extenuate her hips, and topped it off with silver ankle strap heels. Satisfied with how she looked, Rose grabbed her clutch (silver as well) and walked towards the front door.

"Mom, you are coming home later, right?" asked Louis as he sat in the living room watching television.

"Uh…probably won't be home until late. I'm simply hanging out with the girls. Don't wait up, sweetie," said Rose kissing her son on the top of his head.

"Aren't you a little too dressed up for a girl's night out?"

"Louis, darling, here is some advice about women. We like to look nice now and then. It makes us feel good. So, don't ever question why your mummy is all dolled up, okay. The girls and I are celebrating Ellie's promotion at the firm. That is all. Now, do not stay up too late. See you later, love."

"Bye, mum."

Rose hated lying to her son, but there was no way she would ever reveal the truth to him about how they could afford their lifestyle.

As a teen mom, Rose worked tirelessly from different part-time jobs to get food on the table. She was tired of struggling to make ends meet. Rose wanted more for her son. By Rose's mid-twenties, she bit the bullet and became an exotic dancer. The nerves and humiliation wore off quickly when Rose counted her tips. It was the most she had ever made and all in one night. She had no intentions of ever becoming a high-end call girl. But again, the money proved to be too good to pass up. It also helped the Duchess and Princess give their girls some sense of agency and control over what they do and partake in certain activities. Rose's clients did not seem to understand or realize that she held all of the power. She was not a puppet, nor was she naïve.

Tommy continued to check his watch every fifteen minutes. Rose was not late by any means; it was merely a habit. It gave him something to do since he was not allowed to smoke at The Savoy. He instructed Rose to meet at the hotel's bar and restaurant at precisely 9:00 p.m.

He was not nervous as Tommy Shelby did not get nervous. He wanted to get the night started. The man needed some release.

"Mr. Shelby," spoke the hostess. "I have a Miss Turner here to see you."

"Yes, thank you. Send Miss Turner over, please," ordered Tommy and downed his glass of Irish whiskey in one gulp.

For a second, Tommy thought he forgot how to breathe when he saw Rose walk towards him. He would not deny that she was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Mr. Shelby," she greeted him with a quick kiss on his cheek. Thankfully, no lipstick residue on his face. Men hated when that happened, Rose learned.

"Miss Turner. It is a pleasure to meet you in person finally," said Tommy as he helped Rose into her seat. He could be a gentleman when he wanted to be one. His Aunt Polly raised him right.

After giving her drink order to the waiter and a refill for Tommy, the two were left alone for the time being. Unsure of where the conversation should start, Rose chose to cut to the chase.

"How do you want tonight to go, exactly? Are we here to talk about, I don't know what you call it, our agreement, our arrangement? Or should we…"

"I say we talk about what we like and don't like," Tommy cut Rose off.

When the waiter brought their drinks, Rose took a sip of her white wine, while Tommy sipped his whiskey.

"My file should have included my interests. What I will and won't do with a man," Rose reminded him.

"Indeed, it did, but a file can only tell me so much. I would rather hear it from you, Miss Turner. So, tell me, what gets you off?" asked Tommy in a low voice as he leaned over the table. Thankfully, the two were at a back corner table with no other patrons around.

Taking another sip of her wine, Rose leaned in as well. "I like being dominated. From your file, you like being the dominant one. I like being tied up, gagged, and made to cum over and over again until I can't take it anymore. Orgasm denial, I like that as well—humiliation or degradation, whatever you want to call it. I don't care for that at all. It has never turned me on."

"What about pain? What is your pain threshold?" Tommy questioned.

"Pretty high."

"So, nipple clamps, whips, floggers…none of that bothers you?"

Rose shook her head 'no' and asked Tommy what kinds of punishment he prefers.

"Spankings with my bare hands and edging. Punishments only occur if I deem you being bratty or don't follow my rules."

Rose nodded, indicating she understood. "Pretty standard forms of punishment for a dominant."

The waiter stopped by again, asking if they wanted another drink or order some food. "I'm okay, thank you," said Rose.

"I liked to order champagne for our room, please," Tommy requested and told the waiter his room number. Rose was not surprised that he was in one of the hotel's suites. On different occasions, she had been to The Savoy Hotel, mostly with her other clients for leisurely visits now and then when they called for her services.

Taking another sip of her drink, Rose started to feel unsure to ask Tommy next. "Is there anything particular that you like or don't like?"

Gulping down his whiskey once again, Tommy stood up from his seat and helped you out of yours.

"Let's head up, and I can show you what I like. You can take your drink with you," mentioned Tommy buttoning up his suit jacket.

Rose gulped down her wine and grabbed her purse. "No need. I'm ready," she said and looped her arm around his. Tommy kept his strides short throughout the walk to the elevator. Rose noticed how the other hotel patrons all seemed to fawn over the man she was with while the employees moved out of his way. Rose found it amusing when in the elevator the people who were already in quickly left, leaving them alone on the ride up to his suit.

"People go out of their way to accommodate you, don't they, Mr. Shelby. Must be nice to have all that power over others," Rose stated admiringly.

Tommy smirked and looked at Rose, "When you come from nothing, you work extra hard to achieve everything, even peoples' fear of you. What about you? Must you find it exhilarating to have powerful men at your fingertips? I would not be shocked that once your clients and I told Tatiana that I have an idea of who they are, well, they are not going to be happy about losing you to me. I have a lot of enemies, Miss Turner, but rest assure that while you are in my company, you will be safe and protected."

The elevator dinged indicated they made it to their destination. Leading the way once again, Tommy steered them down the hall and stopped at the door of his suite. Once he got Rose inside, he took off his suit jacket and opened the doors to the balcony where he could finally get his nicotine fix. He offered one to Rose, but she declined. Tommy watched as Rose looked around the suite. He took this time to look at the woman before him; she would not be deemed the model-type with her 5'7 stature, nor was she skin and bones. Dark brown hair ran past her shoulders, and her skin had a lovely complexion. Tommy took one last drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out on the balcony.

He slowly walked up behind Rose and wrapped his strong arms around, inhaling her scent; he began to grind himself against her backside. Rose promptly reciprocated and matched his rhythm. Trailing kisses down Rose's neck, Tommy moved his hands to squeeze her breasts. He quickly turned her around and began kissing her on the mouth. His dominant side was finally allowed to be released.

When Rose pulled away, it took Tommy by surprise. When he began to pull Rose back towards him, she put her hands on his chest. "I need to freshen up first, is that okay?"

Letting out a sigh, Tommy motioned her towards the bathroom. "I won't be long; I promise," assured Rose. Once in the bathroom, she began to take off her heels and dress. She hung her dress on the door hook, placed her heels to the side, and then looked herself over in the mirror. Smoothing out her hair, Rose dug in her clutch to quickly check her phone. No messages from her son. Now, Rose would be able to focus on the task at hand entirely.

Rose exited the bathroom to see Tommy waiting for her on the couch, no longer wearing his tie and vest, shirt partly unbuttoned. She walked towards him, where he indicated he wanted Rose on her knees. Spreading his legs, Rose kneeled and began unzipping his pants, reaching for his hardened member and gave it a few strokes. She looked up to see Tommy stretch and lay his head back against the couch, indicated he was comfortable and was ready for Rose to begin. Rose licked her lips and opened her mouth to take him in as much as far as possible. Rose did not stop until she felt him at the back of her throat.

Rose pulled away for a second to lick off the precum of Tommy's dick before proceeding to lick the entire length. She went back to sucking once Tommy put his hand in her hair. He bobbed her head back and forth at a fast pace. Tommy felt like he was about to explode his load in Rose's mouth he backed off. Rose took the time to catch her breath. She watched as Tommy took off his shirt and got up from the couch.

"Up," he ordered, and Rose followed obediently.

She never took her eyes off Tommy while he walked to the bedroom.

"Take this off," Tommy ordered, indicating he wanted her bra off.

Once again, Rose followed his orders. She tossed the bra to the side, and Tommy walked closer to her. He reached for her breast and began to squeeze them, tugging on her nipples. When he started to pull her nipples extra hard, Rose let out a little squeak.

"Too hard?" Tommy asked and released his tight grip.

"No. I mean, it hurts, but it feels good too," Rose answered truthfully.

Tommy once again started pulling on her nipples as hard as he could without hurting Rose too much. He pressed his lips against hers. Rose quickly reciprocated the action and ran her hands through his hair. Backing Rose towards the bed, he lightly pushed her, where she softly plopped down. Tugging her underwear down, Tommy tossed them to the side and ran a finger up-and-down her folds.

"Wet, as I expected. Let me see how many fingers you can take, shall we," amused Tommy and slipped, not one, but two fingers inside Rose. He soon began pumping his fingers in and out.

He kept going while Rose emitted more moans from her mouth. She was panting and getting closer to needing release. But she knew a sweet release would not come easy. No, Tommy was going to have Rose work for it. She was about the beg to cum when Tommy pulled his fingers out of her cunt.

Tracing his thumb against her clit, Rose let out a squeal at the new feeling. Tommy smirked. That feeling of control, control over this woman's body, it's what made Tommy feel at ease. It allowed for his head to feel clear. Tommy did not have to worry about business deals or rival gangs; instead, his focus was all on the woman before him writhing in pleasure.

Inserting his fingers back in her cunt, Tommy added a third finger this time. Rose sat up on her elbows to watch Tommy. She saw the looked of deep concentration on his face. When he reached that spot, Rose jerked up, and Tommy used his free hand to push her back down on the bed.

"I'm going to cum. I need to cum," Rose panted out, but Tommy kept going.

"Not yet," he merely said. "You do not cum until I say you can, understood." It was an order, not a question.

"Yes…yes sir," Rose managed to say. She did not know how long she would last.

"Cum!" Tommy commanded and Rose more than happily followed it.

Pure bliss is all Rose felt until Tommy pried her mouth open with the fingers that were in her.

"Lick them clean for me, love. Taste yourself."

When she licked his fingers clean, Tommy took off his pants and underwear. He crawled on top of Rose and began kissing her stomach, each breast, her neck, and finally lips.

"You're not tired out yet, are you love?" he asked her.

When Rose shook her head no, Tommy leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Good. It is going to be a long night for you."

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

asks

alright i’m compiling these because today was a lot

i dont think there was even any negative stereotizing of black men bc all of the men in your fics do dark things??? pls ppl be looking for crumbs to hate 😭😭😭

i mean that’s kind of my view. if you’re writing like mainstream fics and characterising aran (and aran alone) as somebody who’s aggressive and rapey and all of that, absolutely, that’s a real red flag, but everybody is equally as awful in my fics. i don’t do fluff or any kind of safe, sane and consensual so??

Who is aran? And what fandom?

aran is from haikyuu, he’s an outside hitter for inarizaki :)

Please bb write that Aran fic! That man is sexy af and there is not enough content out there for daddy Aran! Please! I’ll give you my whole heart if you write it out of spite!

haha i’m honestly tempted 👀

Lol maybe the aran anon sent to the apology to the wrong creator 😂

I don’t think it’s nice to tell people to delete their fics cause that uncomfortable. Also it’s not your only JUST writing Aran fics 😂

yeah idk the ask felt very half cocked but it’s whatever

I’m sorry there are people being mean to u :( is there anything I can do to help? Is there a way for you to blog that aran anon?

it’s okay, i’m not really bothered by it – mostly because it doesn’t actually apply to me but anyway lol

Anon, if you don’t like dark content then use the content AND tag filter to block it. I don’t think you understand how both HATEFUL and RUDE it is to demand a writer to delete their fic. If you really dislike their content, then block it. Every single writer does not exist to cater to YOUR preferences. Sorry you’re getting this rude and ridiculous anon Rhi! Thank you so much for writing amazing pieces 💕

it’s all good, bby, but i do agree. tumblr has a blocking system, people should use. also i would never delete a fic just because somebody came to complain to me about it

What’s a moot? Sorry i should know this

a mutual - somebody who you follow and who follows you back :))

Did anon think you were just writing yandere fics for Aran or smth👀 Did they ignore the entire masterlist full of other characters

i don’t think they bothered to think about it, just went straight to jumping down my throat after making an assumption over blindsided

To Aran Anon, don’t you think intentionally excluding the black characters of haikyuu in fanfic writing is inherently ✨ r a c i s t ✨?

I think anon needs a pair of glasses, cause I don’t think they see the bigger picture of this issue.

i understand where they’re coming from i just think that their viewpoint (at least in this case) kinda doesn’t make sense, but hey, they’re entitled to feel how they feel, i’m more irritated that they came up and asked me to delete a fic over it

first time sending something in but i gotta bc wtf is that aran anon on?? like i get that it can be seen as demonizing black men but does anon not know that literally almost every other character is asian lmao dont pick and choose which group of poc can or cant be in dc fics its all in good fun and horniness at the end of the day ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ also i love you youre one of the few haikyuu dc creators thatll always have me entertained keep it up babes <3

yeah, it’s just all a bit ??? but what’re you gonna do.

also i love you too thanks for this bby!

Pretty sure I just bombed my Math exam 😢

Please send one good vibe my way it would be appreciated (also big fan of your work, please never stop being great!!!)

aw i’m sorry bby, i’m sending you all the good vibes and love 💕

I’m writing for Oikawa rn and I need help because your yandere Oikawa is so...amazing. What nicknames do you think he uses with reader? Like darling, cutie, sweetheart...anything?

sweetheart, cutie & babe/baby are my go-to’s for oiks :) but darling works too!

hello this is the anon who u made simp for oikawa even tho ive never having seen haikyuu dropping by to say you are my favorite writer!! i picked this flower for u ✿

I LOVE YOU!!!

omg i would love a second fic for final girl! the whole story and concept is super interesting ALSO i love bo kuroo and akaashi 🤍 (i love your fics and ideas in general ily)

well it’s currently winning with 354 votes so :))

So I voted for Final Girl but I'm sure whatever fic wins it will still be a masterpiece but what fic are you rooting for Rhi?

honestly i think i could go for a blindsided part 2 or et tu part 2 efbhjvkl i just wanna write more manager au’s

don't mind me, just coming here say that y'all are really sleeping on Good Girl 😟 It's a total chef's kiss 1000/10 fic.

fdhcbjiewrkoviwhrtj my first hq fic

Do you read manga or watch anime? 🥺 Where do you watch you’re anime (if you do), I can’t find anywhere to watch after kiss anime was shut down 😭

i watch animes across crunchyroll, hidive and netflix. manga’s i just google but i’ve only read a few

Istg the way you write these fanfics are

I M M A C U L A T E

We love you!

I LOVE YOU TOO THANK YOU SM BBY!

#discourse #BD answers #i'm not gonna talk about the whole aran thing beyond this #but it's not all discourse

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writeyouin · 4 years

Note

May I request some basic fluff with Rung? Like Rung is overwhelmed with work and (Y/n) just kinda takes them away to relax. Thank you! 💖

Rung X Reader - Relax

A/N – Again, I offer a simple drabble, but I do hope that you enjoy it. Life has been keeping me busy. I got family in the hospital and a book of my own to write. Still, here is my humble offering to you lovely people and Apollo himself.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Rung vented air through his systems, feeling the pressure of work begin to mount up. He had just finished his seventy-third therapy session in as many hours. Just thinking about all the reports he would have to write from the notes he had taken was hurting his processor. Still, this was the work that he was destined for, and he was determined to keep up.

When he had joined the Lost Light, Rung had to force people to come and see him if he felt that they were suffering mentally. Now, there were queues out the door. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise the trust he had earned but he sometimes wondered how long he could last as the only therapist without cracking.

Rung took off his glasses to rub his tired optics only to be interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. Instead of waiting for him to invite you in, you opened the door and came in anyway, smiling sweetly.

“Hey handsome,” You greeted, making him blush.

“(Y/N)!” Rung said, somewhat flustered. “Did we have a meeting today?”

“A meeting?” You repeated, smirking at how professional he still sounded when talking to you, even though the two of you had been dating for over three months now. “No, I just heard about how many impromptu therapy sessions you’d gotten yourself into and wanted to check that you were doing okay. How are you feeling?”

Rung wanted to answer that he was fine and that he still had plenty of work to do but lying didn’t seem like a healthy way to maintain your relationship. “Honestly? I think it is going to be a long night with all the paperwork I have to do. You shouldn’t wait up for me, my dear. I’m afraid this is going to take a few cycles.”

He put his glasses on as if resigning himself to work and opened his desk draw to retrieve a data-pad.

“Hey,” You said calmly, “I’m no Cybertronian, so I can’t say for sure, but don’t you think you might be overworking yourself, just a bit? Don’t you think you need a little break to reset? A little R&R could do you some good.”

“Don’t worry about me Darling, I’m sure I can manage,” Rung replied with a tired smile.

“I know you and I do worry. I know you say you’ll be fine, but you won’t stop working till you’re finished and by then a hundred more bots will be knocking on your door for an appointment, and you won’t have the heart to turn them away. Come home with me, at least for a little while. Work will still be here when you get back.”

Rung looked longingly at you standing in the doorway, feeling guilty about the possibility of leaving either you alone or his work unfinished. He would have stayed to complete his work as you had said if it hadn’t been for you coming over and holding his hand, kissing the back of it gently.

“Please.”

“Well... I suppose a little break wouldn’t hurt,” Rung said somewhat reluctantly, before walking hand in hand with you to your hab-suite. He supposed eventually, the two of you might move in together, but the matter hadn’t been discussed yet.

In your tiny hab-suite, Rung found it more comfortable to use his holoform. He allowed you to lead him over to the sofa where he sat down trying to relax. Sensing his tension brought on by the thought of his work, you considered what might make him feel more comfortable. Picking up your book from the table, you sat next to Rung and began reading aloud, hoping that the literature from your planet might soothe him.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

Slowly, as you read on, Rung let himself relax, listening to your soothing voice and the tale it told. It was no secret that Rung had always dreamed of having a relationship with one who might value literature as much as he did and wish to share it, but up until now, he did not know that Earth held such beautiful words; he had been under the impression that Earth only created those comic books that seemed so popular among the crew.

Before he knew it, Rung was enchanted by the story of Pride and Prejudice. He lay against your side with your arm wrapped comfortably around his neck while you read on. Very soon, you were several chapters in and Rung had temporarily forgotten all his worries.

It was a relief that you had found a way to soothe him, as he had started making rather awful buzzing sounds when he was overworked, like a computer that was about to crash. You weren’t entirely sure whether he knew it was happening, but now that he was resting, you hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary. You hoped that if you got further into the book, Rung might fall into recharge; by the dark circles under his eyes, he looked like he needed it. At least you had gotten him away from work; for now, that was enough.

Like my work? Buy me a coffee and earn preview of the next fic, or commission me on the commissions page.

#transformers #tf #maccadam #idw #idw transformers #mtmte #more than meets the eye #ll #the lost light #lost light #rung #rung x reader #reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #relax #Anonymous

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snarkwriteswrasslin · 4 years

Text

three | hard to forget - adam p.

[ authors notes ]

This one took a little longer to get out and for that, I’m sorry. It wasn’t clicking until just now. So, this is the unedited and rough version because as soon as I finished, I figured to hell with the editing process, just post it and be done. Yes, it’s still angst city. Yes, they’re both still being stubborn. BUT... they were finally kind of forced into interaction so yay? I guess?

FYI, this is probably gonna be a mini fic, so there’s probably only about 9 or 10 actual chapters left of it. I never meant for it to be that long BUT... we’ll see... all depends on how well it actually goes over... Do with that what you will... Also, the OFC’s self worth issues are not going to magically disappear just because the story comes to some kind of conclusion. I believe I mentioned this once before, the ofc here has the same issues I do to an extent... Anyway, enjoy a little lingering sexual tension in this part?

[ one - two - darling, the unofficial first chapter of the story - the soundtrack ]

[ warnings ]

Self esteem issues cw. Anxiety cw. Alcohol cw. Angst and sort of a slow burn. Mini fic, fyi. Probably won’t be very long. Potentially smut at some point. I switch between first person pov ( my oc’s pov ) to third person pov ( usually hangman, but also any other side characters I might use in this).

[ tag squad ]

@kyleoreillysknee

@rampagewriting

@writertoo18

@thatnerdwriter

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif

@sassymox

@hungmanhorsecarriage

@wardl0w

@unabashedwrestlefics

@cowboyshit

@adampage

@missjenniferb

@wrestlingthot

@mafiadaddypaulheyman

[ tag doc | about page | masterlist ]

T H R E E

[ ADAM ]

“Talking to her is probably a better idea than staring a hole through her, man.” Wardlow spoke up from beside Adam just as Adam poured himself another glass of whiskey. Adam took a long and thoughtful sip before shrugging.

“Obviously, there’s nothin to talk about.”

“And you’re an idiot if you believe that. Full offense meant.” Wardlow ordered his own drink and took a sip, eyes darting up to the screen mounted close to the ceiling behind the bar. He chuckled at the score on the hockey game playing and then spoke up again. “All I’m saying is you don’t want one of the other guys stepping up and getting a shot you didn’t take. I mean, earlier… Did you not overhear Maxwell?”

“Oh yeah. I heard him. Why the fuck do you think I put him against the wall real quick like I did. It’s not my business if she chooses one of them though. Nothin’ I can do about it, either.” Adam shrugged, but deep down, it had him on edge. On top of everything else… He was having to deal with the fact that one night with Rosalie showed him just how much he didn’t want things to be one night only between the two of them.

Everything was turning into a massive clusterfuck that he couldn’t escape, no matter how far in the bottom of the bottle he tried burying himself.

The win tonight over his opponent felt like a hollow victory because just as the ref raised his hand it really sank in just how alone he felt and how well he’d managed to alienate himself from his friends. The fact that Rosalie was fine with a one night stand and wanted nothing further to do with him meant that he couldn’t share the moment with her, either.

But the problem with all of this was that the more he tried to go without talking about how he felt, the further down he tried to push it all, lately, that was the harder everything tried to push it’s way to the forefront. It was getting to a point where he felt like he was one breath away from exploding in frustration at any moment.

The more he tried to find Rosalie in back and at least clear the air between them, the better she seemed to get at making herself scarce.

Just as he found himself thinking about it, he happened to spot her, pushing her way through the crowd surrounding the bar at the other end of it. Banging on the wooden bartop noisily, she hopped up and down, shoving money at a bartender who came past and getting herself a bottle of Tito’s. Adam felt himself tense all over and whether or not he meant to, his eyes were fixed on her. He bit his lip and took a long sip from the glass and Wardlow cleared his throat. “If you don’t step up, Page. Someone else will. Women like that don’t stay single or lonely long at all. Trust me.”

Without another word, Wardlow was gone, leaving Adam to watch intently. He swore to himself and grumbled when Matt Jackson wandered right up to her, boldly leaning against her from behind and muttering something against her ear.

“Naturally, he’s gotta go there.” Adam grumbled to himself as the scowl took over. He watched the scene unfolding and maybe he was a little more amused than he should’ve been when he saw Rosalie rolling her eyes before she turned around. She suck popped a gum bubble and blew at her bangs. Every physical cue she was giving off read clear irritation and annoyance and yet… Matt was apparently determined.

,, Jackass even has roses. If he really gave a shit he’d know she liked sunflowers or daisies.” Adam found himself thinking. The thought lingered, annoying him all over again. No matter how much he wanted to be angry and hate his former friends, he knew deep down that everything they’d said to him the last time they all talked had unfortunately been true.

They may have set it all in motion, but he’d been the one who let it continue for so long. Then he’d been the one who exploded and went straight for self-destruct mode rather than doing what he should’ve done, beating their asses and getting his frustrations out there and putting it behind him. And all of that, his brain wasted no time in reminding him, trickled down to the situation with her, and his inability to even fathom taking a chance and speaking up about the way he really felt. And it bothered him because he knew that not only was he letting his friends slip through his fingers but now, a chance at being with her too.

And then, it happened. Rosalie happened to spot him sitting there, watching her. For a few seconds, she stared right back, teeth grazing against a full lower lip. Adam hated to admit it, but he felt a small surge of pride at the fact that he’d done a good enough job leaving marks behind their night together that the small bite mark just below her earlobe hadn’t really faded that much. ,, then again, I was so desperate to leave any kind of sign that I even had her to myself for one night that I really latched onto that spot at least 4 times. Was the hardest mark I left.”

He must have been staring at the area pretty hard because her hand raised, fingertips settling right against the spot in question. She squirmed on her stool under his gaze and bit her lip. Adam shifted on his stool and took a deep breath, trying to will away the way he was starting to strain against his jeans. Because before that happened again, they needed to have a long and serious conversation.

She shotgunned a sip from the tequila bottle and swallowed hard, wincing at the way the alcohol must’ve burned it’s way down her throat and Adam raised his own glass, finishing it off without breaking his gaze with her.

Apparently, it was enough to be noticed by Matt, who glared at him before grumbling to himself and walking away for the time being. Neither of them were caving yet, the stare war still going on. If he were a more confident and far less anxious kind of guy, he’d almost swear that maybe the tequila was hitting her system and maybe, she was flirting across the room.

As soon as even the hint of that thought hit, Adam was on top of it, shoving it down deep before hope dared to have a chance to grow.

She sighed and the movement of her lips had his eyes locked there, following helplessly as her tongue dragged over the outline of her mouth. When she brushed shaggy bangs out of her eyes, Adam’s hand clenched because honestly, he just wanted to tangle his fingers up in her hair again, use his grip on the soft and thick locks to tug her mouth into his so deep that by the time the kiss broke they were breathing for each other.

She broke eye contact first, turning her attention to the doors of the sports bar and Adam tore his eyes off her, fixing them on his own drink.

,, if I don’t say something soon, I’m going to lose my damn mind.”

[ ROSALIE ]

I could smell Matt Jackson before he even pressed against me from behind. The cologne he wore is not my favorite and it never has been. ,, It’s not my fault I prefer Adam’s natural scent to the overpowering notes of whatever the hell Matt is wearing all the time.” my brain chimed in and I quickly shoved the thought out.

I was here tonight because no fucking thanks to Adam’s earlier match and win, I needed a good stiff drink. ,, Is a good stiff drink not how I wound up in the situation I’m in right now though?” - my brain was at it again, nagging and being pesky. Between my own mind and my mom, I was dangerously close to exploding lately.

Matt pressed against me from behind, reaching past me to grab a soda he’d apparently ordered and I cringed to myself, eyes rolling as I prepared myself for what Matt felt was ‘his best game’. In truth, his best game is a fucking annoyance to me.

If I were going to hook up with a Jackson brother, I’d die before I ever considered Matt. Nick… Nick clearly has more going for him that’s not quite so…. Overpowering and annoying.

Not that I’ve ever given them any sort of actual thought in that regard, I’m just stating a fact.

“You drinking alone, Rosie?”

“Don’t call me that, Matt. I have a name.”

Matt chuckled in amusement. He was still pressing against me a little. I tensed and he seemed to finally take the fucking hint, stepping away a little. “You could bring your bottle and come over to where me and Nick are sitting. It’d keep Maxwell off your ass.”

“I’m here alone. As in, I want to drink this tequila all by myself. Nice try, Matt.” I responded, turning just enough to smirk up at him as my words hit their mark. He grumbled and bit his lip, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. Why not just give somebody a chance?”

“Why not just leave somebody alone, though? I’ve told every single one of you who keeps trying lately, I have zero interest. That what happened that night is not only not any of your business, but it was supposed to stay between me and Adam.”

“And yet, you were telling your friends.”

“I didn’t tell them!” I grumbled and rolled my eyes in frustration, blowing at hair that flopped into my eyes and I took a sip, continuing, “They knew something was wrong with me and they kept at me til they guessed. Not that it’s your business, Jackson.”

“You can call me Matt.”

“Can I call you gone already? Because I’m exhausted with this conversation. Look.. I get that you have a hard time hearing the word no. I get that you’re trying to pour on the charm and I get that you think you want me but trust me, Matt, you don’t. Nobody ever actually does.”

“That’s not true, hon.” Matt’s brows knit together as he looked me up and down, licking his lips. I grumbled and turned away, rolling my eyes as I knocked more of my bottle back.

Somehow, I found my eyes fixed on Adam in all this.

And I tried, but I couldn’t tear my eyes off him. And as I stared, all I kept seeing was that fire in his eyes earlier tonight during his singles match. The way he looked fired up and ready to take on the whole world. I was starting to get soaked all over again and I shifted around on the stool a little.

The hunger burning in his eyes as they roamed over me had memories of that night stirring to the front of my mind and if I thought I was soaked before, that was in fact a lie. I could feel my thighs slipping off each other. The realization had me reaching for my bottle and taking a generous sip. I tried again to tear my eyes off him but I couldn’t do that either. Instead, I found them fixing on a not quite hidden hickie that I knew full well I’d left behind on the right side of his neck. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath because I remembered that I hadn’t been the only one who left a mark.

And at the sudden rearing of the thought, my fingers raised, gingerly dancing over the deep impression of his bite in my skin. I could feel my face getting hotter by the second.

Matt seemed to finally catch onto the stare down happening between Adam and I and he grumbled, making a hasty retreat.

It took everything I possessed not to shove through the crowd and go to Adam. Especially with the statement he made in an interview before his match earlier tonight burned into my brain. Hurting me because I knew for a fact that the words weren’t true and it killed me that he might even halfway consider them to be so.

I finally managed to tear my eyes off of him, spotting Sonny Kiss and Joey Janela making their way into the bar. I waved to them both, grateful for the distraction they’d provide me. The barrier they’d make between me and my desire to go to Adam and bare my entire soul.

And probably be rejected. Or have to hear him say that the one night between us was a moment of weakness and it didn’t mean anything.

Or any number of things I’d heard a thousand times before.

#adam hangman page #adam hangman page fanfiction #adam hangman page fanfic #adam hangman page fic #adam hangman page imagine #adam hangman page imagines #my writing; adam hangman page #my fics; adam hangman page #my fanfiction;adam hangman page #// yep. still angsty.#// a little intense too #// self esteem issues cw #// anxiety cw #// alcohol cw #// eventual smut cw #// this is going to be a mini fic i swear to God

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