#I did not build all those fucking restoration shirts by hand for nothing

[frostbite-yinny]

YINNY RATES MAN EPISODE TWO: @professor-amaryllis

WELL WELL WELL. First of all, I would like to start this episode by saying that I catered for his and Dave's wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony. They are such a nice person. Also, I would like to say they use they/he pronouns but I'll be mostly using 'he' pronouns because my keyboard is fucking crazy and freaks out <3

Welcome everyone to; Yinny Rates man~ episode 2

Amy Amaryllis; The wild guy turned Pokemon proffesor aged like fine wine

Yes, this 'Daddy issues good ending' male lead. Look at that ekans shirt. Look at his dress shirt and assassin haircut. Sadly, the 1 point he got by being exactly 10 years older than me is imminently crossed off by the fact he is 5'5. I like my man with issues, and what better way to build character than getting bullied in middle school by getting called a girafarig.

For one too many times, I got drunk with handstand shots at a frat boy's party and watched this guy's show piled on a couch smoking things I would rather not say in public. High girls LOVE their funky clothes and watching him wrestle with Krookodile's. If that's real. Might be a fever dream I dunno the only thing I know is I watched the whole show and it was fucking amazing. 10/10 would do it again with no hesitation. I would try to do it sober this time.

Now back to the daddy issues good ending part. I would like you to observe the kind and heartfelt way he is looking at those babies. Look at the compassion in them. I would like you to take a second to drink it in. This man would give you the male validation your father never did without it being weird. I would like to simp harder but this pure-hearted golden man doesn't deserve any type of filth coming anywhere near him.

Get yourself a man who is as stylish as him. Beautiful pink skirt, matching scarf with a yellow blouse, AND an Ekans walking stick????? Well, Dave hit the jackpot. ALSO when I got drunk and asked him about the shit in meowstick ears they just said I must be having a good time and calmly explained it to me with a warning not to touch their ears.

I would let this short beefcake ruin my life only if they let me pet Beans the internet celebrity Zorua.

Okey my mom went to the other room let me real quick: He looks like the main character of a 'One had a flower shop and one had a tattoo shop romance' and you will never know which one he is running. He is the mom friend of the group everyone secretly has a little crush on. The hair is ON POINT and combined with those clothes?????? a solid 10 pls give me fashion advice. They have done nothing wrong in their lives. If I saw them slaughter a man with their bare hands I would lock myself in an asylum because this man had never been wrong not even once in his life and I must have gone crazy.

I like pathetic man. This guy is a ray of sunshine in a pathetic world.

Yes, please continue restoring out faith in humanity, king. We need it.

Final verdict: 8/10 he is a spectacular person that does NOT deserve to be in this show. I know when someone is above this shit. 2 points off because he is not evil or ridiculously old or has issues.

(BTW ALL PICS ARE CREDITED TO @professor-amaryllis THEY MADE THEM AND GAVE ME PERMISSION TO USE THEM)

#You are too good for hardcore simping #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #pokemon irl #irl pokemon #irl pkmn #pokemon #pokémon irl #real pokemon #pokemon in real life #Yinny rates man

[stylishanachronism]

Okay so we’re going to open with the fact that while Obsidian has at least one person on staff who understands armor, literally nobody understands clothing, especially historical clothing, and though they stumbled into something... acceptable in two and a half cases(1), literally everything else they’ve produced on the subject is garbage.

So what’s the most garbage cultural garb in Eora? I’m going to shock you, despite my complaining on the affront that is the Dyrwood, it’s actually the Vailians. They’re supposedly primarily metalsmiths and textile traders, (iirc Obsidian called Venice and the Phoenicians as the major guiding influences), with really strong textual aesthetic sensibilities, and yet they’re all wearing drab closefitting garments with neither wild shaping nor excess fabric, mostly in deeply boring greys. It’s like... bad period piece Renaissance Venetians, but make it 90s haute couture. It is *painfully* bad. Deadfire improves, a little bit, but these are supposedly the most baroque bitches around, I should be seeing vivid colors (especially in reds and blues and purples), rich blacks, and enough spare fabric to drown a medium sized child. Also lace. A famous vineyard’s worth of lace. At least blackwork, come on Obsidian they look cheap.

Based on Pallegina’s armor, I should also be seeing a ‘pigeon breast’ silhouette on literally everyone, or alternatively low, square cut bodices to show off extremely fancy underwear (and don’t worry, we’ll get to the underwear), and I should be seeing split hose, not pants, if I am seeing hose at all. I will accept pants for exactly two cultures and no more. and the Republics do not apply.(2) Deadfire did them a good turn by introducing brocades but where is the velvet. The silk. The weird hats. The dagged, slashed sleeves to show off the fact you’re rich enough to wear an overdress, an underdress, and then your underwear’s fancy as hell too. Everybody on the south-eastern half of the Eastern reach is wearing, at minimum, a chemise, hose, and if you’ve got boobs some sort of stays to keep said boobs put, and pockets, before you even get to their outerwear.and just like today, everybody wants pretty underwear. Embroidered cuffs and collars, clocked hose, lace on everything, if you’re rich, blackwork if you aren’t, extremely beautiful pockets, the works. The Republics, being the rich people with all the fabric, have canonically raised fashion to an art form, so they should be dripping with extra details, and they should not only be the only people with flat patterning, they should be reveling in that fact. They are not doing any of these things.

The second most garbage cultural garb is, of course, the Dyrwood. Again, I should be seeing lots of color, not necessarily saturated but given their climate and stated food products I can make an educated guess about what dye plants are around, so lots of greens and yellows and rusty-orange reds and (maybe) pale blues, and a billion extremely rich shades of brown and almost-black, mostly plainweave for themselves (they’re shipping out their brocades for the most part), but lots of embroidery again. They can keep the bracers, they’re the only canon-given detail I actually liked (and it plays into a different headcanon re: where the fuck did you get the standing army), but they don’t even get split hose, much less pants. Skirts for everybody! Again, these people are producing all the fabric, and it’s cold(ish), so multiple layers are a thing, as is excess cloth, and if you’re going to do that, you’ll dye your underdress a fun color to contrast with your overdress (which very well might be quartered, too), at the very least. There’s probably a lot of plain trimming, and guards, and they’re coming out of Aedyran fashion so there’s not a lot of shaping but stripes and plaids are probably a thing, and certainly no flat patterning. Think bilaut over later kirtles, with side lacing and belting around the waist for various purposes (like making your boobs stay put, depending on if you’ve got stays or not, or holding up said skirt when you’re working in the fields, to get it out of the way.)(3)

Based on the leather armor you pick up, I should also be seeing the beginnings of a more conical style, moving away from clothes you just drop over your head into separate skirts and bodices (for everybody, not just women), which still probably lace up the front or (more commonly) the sides. (There’s an argument to be made that kilts are a thing, coming out of Eir Glanfath, but it’s probably more of a western than an eastern thing, and frankly I’m not sold, get back to me on this.) Also, going back to my dearly cherished ring lace headcanon, pretty much everyone wears extremely beautiful knit lace shawls (but not trim, and not non-knit), because even if you’re selling all the really nice stuff you’ve still got piles and piles of little apprentices practicing their trade, and somebody’s got to wear it.

Unfortunately I just don’t have enough information about Glanfathians to say anything other than what they’re wearing is also probably garbage, and fashion is probably a hugely tribe-specific thing. More nomadic tribes probably don’t wear many wovens, probably saving what cloth they make or trade for for things like belts and blankets and carrying bags, but again, it should all be extremely colorful. You’ll see more shaping and piecework here, because leather does not appear in neat rectangles the way cloth does, and if you’ve already got that curve you might as well use it, lots of fur, mostly for warmth but also as decoration, and we might see Dyrwodian fashion influences with the more eastern tribes, depending on the mystery of what’s going down politically at that border and whether or not those tribes are more or less nomadic.

Ixmitl gets an honorable mention for having the most color and also horses, and so the pants are acceptable, but I’d like to see more color and more embellishment. And also more information. Rauatai gets an honorable mention for having actually reasonable rectangular construction on everything (clearly an accident but I’ll take it) and again, some color. Aedyr gets an honorable mention for having some logic put into it’s creation, even if that logic isn’t extended out to its colonies like it should be, and even if what we see in game makes it clear Obsidian doesn’t actually understand how things like chitons work.

Engwith gets all the honorable mentions for somehow being the most internally consistent culture as far as art and fashion go, despite 90% of that art and fashion being extremely hard to see frescoes, and the rest of it being Thaos. Yeah it’s basically a straight copy off Sumer but you know what? That just means it works.

At some point in the distant future I may update this with illustrations of canon v. what we reasonably should be seeing, but right now is not that time.

1: Whoever Obsidian picked up for Tyranny clearly stayed on (Tyranny’s clothing was uniformly pretty great, even if it had the same bra problem), and they’re the only person with half a clue, which is why the Huana look as good as they do. Pillars gets half a point for Aedyr, Iximtl, and hilariously enough Engwith, for having reasonable starting points, and Deadfire should get another half point for Rautai, but that picture of Maia exists and it is such an affront they lost it again.

2: Ixmitl and the various groups of the White that Wends can have pants, the first because they’re canonically horse people, and that’s what pants are for. The White doesn’t actually get pants, per se, they’re fairly clearly inspired variously by the Inuit and the Vikings, so they have separate undergarments we would call pants in order to help keep warm, but it counts for this. Nobody else gets pants.

3: Just for the record, this is also where Raedceras should be, fashion-wise, but we have huge amounts of nothing when it comes to non-priest everyday wear so I can’t really talk about. My logic still stands, plus they’re even less likely to know about flat patterning, but, y’know.

#pillars of eternity #pillars of eternity meta #this is a mess I'm sorry #there will be a sister post covering the fiddly technical bits if you're confused #but I don't want to derail this more than it already is. #please drop me a line if you need a technical definition I have no sense of what people do or do not casually know on the topic #look I wrote my not-dissertation on tracing trade through fashion in art this is one of the few times I actually 100% know what I'm about #obsidian started out with the completely stupid assumption that everybody's wearing a bra and it just went downhill from there #nobody is wearing a bra #nobody is wearing pants #NOBODY IS WEARING BORING SHIT BROWN EITHER #I did not build all those fucking restoration shirts by hand for nothing #look my art history advisor had her focus in South American and Polynesian art and I loved her so much I took all her classes #so I've got two years of that plus a couple of months on Maori art from her Nonwestern overview #which is exactly enough to say 'that looks reasonable' but if I wanted to get into it I'd need to make so many phone calls #and probably write an actual thing because I would rather die than admit to this nonsense to my academic circle okay #if somebody with a better background/contacts wants to come talk about it please come hang out with me #look the cover of the game features Maia wearing a dress that wraps one way above the belt and the other way under it #and that's illegal #please mentally erase eder's pants and replace them with either a long shirt or a kilt if you like #he is not wearing pants #you can make a kilt argument #but not pants #I guess everybody in the living lands goes naked because I have absolutely no idea what they're wearing over there #or where over there is for that matter #obsidian show me your atlas please and thanks

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 1

Shigaraki Birthday Week! MINORS DNI DO NOT PUT THIS ON TIKTOK

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, let me know if I’ve missed something

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: Tomura gets stuck taking an English class to graduate and is partnered with you, a bitchy try hard (his words not mine) for his final project. But over the course of the semester he finds that while he hates everyone, he might hate you just a little...less. 

AO3 mirror

The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming. 

He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more. 

“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?” 

Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair. 

He recognized you.

The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie. 

Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late. 

Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest. 

“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.  

“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled. 

You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in. 

“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class. 

Of fucking course you did. 

Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall. 

It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of. 

As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’ 

It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that. 

He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule. 

The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.

And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. 

Fucking disgusting. 

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top. 

Only fucking English profs used Helvetica. 

He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist. 

No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D. 

One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??  

With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working. 

This was going to be a nightmare. 

From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again. 

If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging. 

“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

It most certainly was not. 

But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy. 

People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for. 

So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence. 

“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in  late so I missed that last bit.”

Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell. 

And god if he thought you were irritating. 

“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking Clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.  

Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop. 

“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions. 

It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier. 

It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A. 

That walking condescension on the other hand— 

“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask. 

Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it. 

“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.” 

You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.

“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees. 

Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with bated breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing. 

But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did. 

“Really? Well they should.” 

Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head. 

“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.” 

He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie. 

God just talking to you made his skin burn. 

“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see. 

“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed. 

Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.

He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option. 

It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else. 

“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”

“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.” 

You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up. 

Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever. 

He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long. 

Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either. 

Maybe he was fucking allergic or something. 

Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat. 

“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.” 

The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out. 

“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support. 

For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day. 

Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge. 

“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.” 

Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks. 

“God,” you huffed and turned back to him. 

His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity. 

Did you fucking bathe in the stuff? 

He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him. 

“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension. 

Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone. 

He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?

It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?

He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either. 

“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand. 

Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students. 

He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text. 

Unknown Number:

— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt 

— not very plus ultra of him...smh

— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?

 Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality. 

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #bnha fanfiction #tomura shigaraki imagines #fem!reader #incel!shigaraki #college au #bee.writes

[omiscurls]

hi!! could i request a diluc x fem!reader angst where they were childhood friends, and when reader gets a fiancé, diluc tries to confess his feelings but reader rejects him, gets married and moves from mondstat, and every now and then diluc sends reader letters (apologizing, asking how readers day was, hoping they come back). thanks!

unrequited

plot: reader rejects the character

contains: diluc

warnings: angsty and like one curse word, that’s all

diluc was a cute kid.

as the heir to one of the most wealthy and powerful families in mondstadt, he was polite not only to his senior, but also incredibly nice to his friends, as well. different that most boys his age, he didn’t go around yelling dumb, inappropriate jokes, and didn’t take pride in making girls feel bad.

he was always sweet to those doing worse than him in class, be it theory or sparring, and acted like an absolute saint to his adopted brother.

naturally, how could one not adore a kid like that? how could the mondstadt girls not line up to see him each time, how could the boys not want to play with him? how could anyone resist, when he had that charm to him that seemed to draw people near almost against their free will?

finally, how could you not take pride in the fact that out of all those over-the-top girls who fought over each other to talk to him, out of all those boys that never failed to bug him in each little scrap of his free time, he chose to try and get close to you?

you didn’t understand it at first, but it seemed like he genuinely wanted to know you, his eyes looking as though they were studying your expression at all times, a warm smile welcoming you each time you passed him by.

his words were careful and his sentences always strained, as if he struggled to talk, but a sense of honesty and genuine sympathy always seeped through his words, confusing your little childish brain, but also forming a warm and fuzzy feeling inside your chest. 

over the years, not only did you finally answer to his advances, but also befriend the kid. his rare smiles were reserved for your eyes only, and his mind opened up before you each and every time you talked, no restrain and limitations between you two. 

he’d sit behind you in class, sometimes passing you notes with an answer to questions you didn’t know, or a funny note about the teacher, or just simply asking if you want to hang out after school. 

you’d go to windrise and sit under the tree, talking for hours about the most useless of things, about what you thought the clouds looked like, but also your futures, your dreams and hopes. 

he’d explain math to you before every exam in the dark rooms of dawn winery, hair pulled up and tea made for the both of you, looking at your struggling with unmistakable patience and affection, but what could you know? you were kids, barely even teenagers. why would you think anything of the way he said he’ll “always be there for you” after some simple math tutoring? how could you analyze his kind stare that you never saw him wear for other people? 

and so you didn’t. 

he’d sit with you on the counter of his kitchen, carefully caressing your back as you wet his shirt with tears, quietly telling you that “they didn’t deserve you anyway” after your first ever heartbreak. to hell with the fact that his own heart was breaking a millimetre more with every word he spoke, if what he said calmed you in any way, he’d talk all night, going on and on about how you deserve the world, and nothing less. 

you held his hand at his fathers memorial service, letting him tighten his grip on your fingers harder every time, you wiped away the tears, you listen to his sobs and pleas when the two of you were alone. you offered solace to him over the next painful months, you justified every word he hurt kaeya with, only to make him feel better about himself. 

to him, you were like an angel sent from above. you restored the faith he had lost in the world, you stuck by his side and lighted up his days one after the other, how could he not adore you?

how could he not fall in love? 

and trust when i say, he did really try to avoid it. he tried pushing his thoughts away, he tried focusing on something else, tried avoiding you, tried everything. no matter what he did, his mind circled back to your smile, and unconsciously he smiled as well, even if the next second he’d look in the mirror and wipe it off his face as if it was a crime to smile. 

diluc was a cute kid, and he grew up to be a polite gentleman, whom you called a friend. and as any polite gentleman, he wouldn’t dare do anything to loose the honor you had given him, so he stayed silent. stayed silent since his in-class notes, through talks about the future, through your breakups, through all the times you had been there for him. in no universe would he ever mention how the weight was lifted off his shoulders every time you as much as looked his way, how all the clouds went away at the sound of your laugh, and how he was ready to do anything in the world to keep you happy. 

somewhere in his mind, perhaps he thought you had somehow known all along, and would reward his efforts to not complicate your life with his emotions with loving him back, but how could you know? how, if he kept it a secret that well? 

in the end, his own plan backfired on him, and he realized he had lost when you ran through his door, tears in your eyes, but a smile on your face, showing off a ring, shining in sunlight, resting on your finger.

if he ever thought “they didn’t deserve you” hurt him, “i’m so happy for you!” stabbed his soul a thousand times more painfully. 

to normal people of mondstadt, there was no change in behavior from the gloomy and serious owner of angel’s share, but a few noticed how heavy his presence was, how desperately he blinked back the sheen layer of tears, glistening in the candle light while he was serving drinks, and you were off somewhere in the back, laughing with your lover by your side. 

he had lost his chance, and now there was no way in which he could get you back. no way at all. all his life, he had built up a hope inside that one of these days, he’ll get a happy ever after, and lived with that thought through all the bad moments that came along the way, and now these years of carefully building this scenario came crushing down with the realization. 

in a desperate search of any relief, he came to the conclusion that the only thing to be even remotely at peace with himself was to... simply just tell you. 

so there he was, right outside your door, the watch on his wrist striking ten in the evening, stars shining brightly on your doorstep, as you appeared before him, merely a nightgown shielding you from the cold air of the night, a soft smile adoring your lips from the moment you realized it was him. 

“diluc? what’re you doing here this late?” you said, grabbing a coat from behind the door and closing it behind you. a foolish hope sprung inside him when you joined him outside, as he stared at you with a little grin, working up the courage to speak up. 

“there’s something i wish to tell you about” he merely whispered, gesturing you to come with him.

the walk to windrise was longer than the ones you remembered from your childhood days, and the sharp air nibbled on your skin mercilessly, to the point your legs hurt a bit when you reached the tree.

diluc turned your way and spoke for the first time in what felt like forever, but was thirty minutes.

“i hoped not to burden you with the secret i’ll share with you now, and i’m sorry for whatever bad outcome it might cause, but… truth is, i can’t keep it to myself anymore, and if i want to have some peace for myself, i have to trouble you with it.” he said quietly, settling worry in your gut.

“you can tell me anything” you assured calmly “your secrets are always safe with me”

he took one last look into your caring eyes, feeling a little better just having you smile at him, and took a breath before spilling.

“i might’ve been in love with you for the last ten years” he said calmly “and i know this is hardly the time, i really do, but i just-“

“what?”

you looked at him in surprise, blood audibly pumping through your veins as you tried to comprehend what he just said.

“i do understand that you’re engaged, but-“

“do you? do you, really?” you said bitterly, making his heart sink in regret. “because to me it seems like i waited for you all those years, i hoped, and i prayed, and i wished, and after i finally, finally gave up, you decide to mess with my emotions right when i thought i had them figured out?”

diluc was stunned. so you felt the same way about him, once? he could’ve had all he hoped for? he didn’t even comprehend the rest of your sentence fully, focusing on how you just admitted to having feelings for him somewhen in the past.

“no, i’m not trying to mess with you, I’m-“

“but you are! honestly, diluc, i knew you were somewhat insensitive, but this is blatantly cruel! what- i don’t- why didn’t you say this to me earlier?”

“i wish i did, but to me it seemed like you were always chasing someone else, and i didn’t want to-“

“bother me? is that it? you didn’t want to bother me so now you decided to try and mess with my relationship? god, i- i need to be alone right now. sorry.”

and with that you were out of your usual childhood spot, leaving him alone under the tree that shared both of your secrets and plans for so long.

a longing stare pierced through your back as you ran back to mondstadt, not going home right away, but trying to find a spot where nobody would find you.

“fuck” he muttered. he was familiar with the feeling of loss, but the fact that it was nobody’s fault but his own made it a hundred times worse.

diluc was a cute child, and grew up to be a polite gentleman. so he was there to apologize to you on countless occasions, ready to beg forgiveness for his recklessness and lack of thought, but you were never there to hear his pleas.

and so it went on, a huge wedding covered the streets of mondstadt in white while he stood in the sidelines, his friends said goodbye to you as he watched from a safe distance. you left, and so did every remaining proof of his embarrassment.

nevertheless, he sent countless letters, no address on the envelope, save for the name of the city, hoping that one of them would eventually reach you. sorrow and tears almost spilled from the words written in a tidy cursive, but he never had any certainty about wether they reached you or not.

and while he hoped you forgave him,

he knew you didn’t.

#genshin impact #genshin boys #diluc angst #diluc x you #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #diluc headcanons #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

[bonny-kookoo]

Sweet Girl [J.JK x Reader]🔞🌼☁️

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, angst because I like to cry myself to sleep

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, dom!jungkook, sub!Reader, size kink is still strong, mild dd/lg themes, praise kink, long haired jungkook because yes that needs to be a warning, strength kink, they fuck in the kitchen smh

Jungkook and you are in a healthy relationship, managing all those things couples have to manage; building an IKEA bed, having your first fight, or arguing who should do the laundry this time. Apart from that, your life inside your bedroom has been pretty active as well, leaving Jungkook more satisfied than ever. He's not a horny teenager anymore after all, trying not to bust a nut just because he got a glimpse of your nipples through your rather thin shirt- yet you always manage to be so unbelievably sinful, he can't help but snatch a taste every now and then. After all, you're his- he's simply reminding you.

This is part of the 'Good Girl'-Universe!

Good Girl || Sweet Girl || Smart Girl || Brave Girl

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Jeon Jungkook and you loved to tease each other. From the way he would rub his sweat-soaked hair all over the crook of your neck playfully after his workout just to rile you up, just to exclaim happily that you love him too much to actually be serious when you yell that he's disgusting. And he's right- even if he's exhausting to be around sometimes with his seemingly endless energy (seriously, you're convinced at this point that he's the human embodiment of the energizer bunny), or how he could sometimes forget that you're not as tough as his other male friends that he was regularly around. You catch yourself laughing inside yourself every time you turn into a crybaby and tear up when a comment gets under your skin, because his entire body changes posture- every time he notices you getting hurt because he's too rough while playfighting, or when he again tells you you could just get your chubby butt up and work out with him, completely ignoring the fact that he knows its a very sensitive topic for you; he literally turns into a complete child who just got asked to explain rocket science. Jungkook isn't used to handle something as fragile as a girl- plus, you play along and usually brush off most things so easily, that he simply sometimes forgets that you actually have weak points.

One of these moments occured early on in your relationship; it was a silly mistake on his side really. When Taehyung asked him straight up if he was dating you, you didn't expect a huge love proposal; Jungkook wasn't like that. But a simple yes would've been okay as well- yet Jungkook being the cocky bastard he was, simply made a comment along the lines of 'nah, I'm just screwing her.' It was meant as a joke really, and it took him a good thirty seconds to notice your demeanor changing. Deep inside you, you knew he didn't mean it like that, yet it still hit you hard, especially considering his past hobby of trying to be the biggest manwhore around. When he'd went after you just when you had told him you'd be using the bathroom and not returning after a good ten minutes, he'd bursted into the womans bathrooms just in time to see you trying to wipe away your tears. His face had been priceless really now that you thought about it; before that moment you always had a hard time imagining that 'kicked puppy look' people always talked about- he didn't look like you just kicked him, but full on sucker punched his prized playstation out of orbit just for a laugh. He was totally unprepared and clearly had no idea what to do in that moment, never having needed to deal with tears in that way- and your face had hit him especially hard, considering how it was his fault at that. Considering how lost he really was he dealt with it quite sweetly, yet in a typical Jungkook fashion- uncaring of other woman and girls trying to get into the bathroom, he'd grabbed a considerable amount of tissue paper from the dispenser next to the sink you were standing in front of, promptly sitting you on top of it to properly have you at eye-level with him to wipe away your tears and smeared make up, telling you how you looked better without it anyways, and how sorry he was for being an utter asshole and idiot at the same time. You honestly started laughing at that. Not necessarily his comment even though it was true, but his extremely concentrated face, as if he was restoring an ancient artwork or something the likes of that. He audibly sighed at that, glad to know you didn't hate him. Because that was his innermost fear; you probably seeing the dickbag he thought he was underneath and leaving him for good. Not that he'd tell you that. You knew of that fear though.

Needless to say, it wasn't the only thing that happened between you both. Yet you've always overcome these things with ease, both of you growing surprisingly mature about arguments as time went on. Jungkook changed you as well- you were a wallflower before, and if you were honest, you kind of still were. But you were carrying yourself with a newfound confidence because of his daily praises- turning heads every now and then simply because you actually liked yourself these days. And Jungkook noticed as well- always commenting on how he didn't know if he liked the change or not, considering how much attention you now got everywhere you both went. You simply countered that with a simple comment along the lines of 'Now you know how I feel', because he was glowing up every month it seemed. Yet he stayed true to his words back then to you; he really did only have eyes for you anymore.

What really did piss him off was just how innocent you could be sometimes. It had him fuming how oblivious you could seem to others shamelessly flirting with you, yet he knew that he loved that about you just as much. The fact that you would willingly (and happily of course) let him corrupt you over and over again fuled his pride to no ends, making him feel like he was your knight in shining armor, even if it sounded sappy. Right now however he could really use some more patience, because he was sure his own amount was slowly running out. When he came back home, he didn't really have any plans, except for the one you had already agreed on. You both wanted to cook something tonight, nothing fancy, simply craving some kind of 'bonding time' as you called it, even though he had immediately told you this could be done in a different way, to which you blushed. He loved making you embarrassed, almost craving the way your flustered cheeks would turn into a beautiful red shade.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He knew those plans would change however as soon as he spotted you on the couch in his living room. That itself wasn't something new since you lived here, but the attire you chose was rather.. unfair. He was supposed to keep it in his pants tonight, yet he could already feel himself rising against the fabric of his sweatpants at the view of you in a black shirt of his, oversized on your way smaller body. Yet that exactly did it- because that was all you wore, apart from your flimsy pair of pastel blue lace rimmed panties. You raised your head from out of your book and he was a goner as soon as he saw those eyes.

"Babydoll you're being really unfair right now." He groaned as he sat down on the couch, making you bounce a bit next to him. You looked at him confused, his patience snapping. Maybe it was his frustration that had filled up his mind during the day, or simply his habit of taking what he wanted when he wanted it, but soon enough you found yourself on his lap, your legs on either side of his. His hands were fast to reach under your, or more so his shirt, growling when he felt your bare breasts underneath his fingers. You really were asking for it.

Stop. Mission abort. Cancel all open tasks. Shutdown, emergency-

With a sigh the young boy detached himself from you, running a hand through his hair rather agressively. Even though he would usually not feel too bad about his actions, especially with you, considering he felt rather safe and comfortable around you, he had to remember the small argument you both had the night prior. It really hadn't even been an argument if he was being honest, and it was basically all on him that night, yet he felt like he needed to second-guess his actions now. It had been a simple question really, admittedly a fair one at that, however, it also was one he rather feared answering. Yes, Jeon Jungkook was actually scared of a mere question.

'Why won't you kiss me?'

Well, yeah. Why wouldn't he? To answer that would mean to expose himself, to open himself up, to be vulnerable- and even though he knew deep down that you would never use anything against him in an almost predatory meanor others in the past had, he couldn't shake the feeling off. The fear, of what he couldn't tell. He simply waved you off, telling you that you both didn't need those sappy gestures, and you had simply nodded, accepting that, even though he knew that you felt hurt by his answer. Hell, he felt hurt by his own answer. And what had hurt him even more was your reaction to it; somehow he wanted you to be offended, to openly dig at his wounds, to scratch at his scars and make him spill his blood into your hands. He didn't want you to feel like he only loved you physically, like he only wanted to own your body, because he craved so much more than your touchable form. He wanted to build his home into your very soul, wanted to surround himself with your voice and live in your very heartbeat- yet it didn't matter how romantic and oh-so poetic his own thoughts could be. It didn't matter at all if he couldn't say it.

He looked at you, internally cringing at the way you looked at him, utterly confused. You'd gotten so used to him using you that it made his own saliva taste bitter, making him crinkle his brows a little. "I-" He started, yet took a deep breath, his eyes aimlessly dancing over the plush carpet, analyzing the various shades of light brown it presented to him. Right now he hated it. Hated how it made his apartment, your apartment feel like home. He hated how it did fit into the living room even though he'd complained about you buying it, arguing that you started to take over his life back then when you both didn't even date each other. He hated how he fell in love with it after he'd seen you lay on it with your phone in hand, the small white fan in the corner of the room softly blowing your hair and clothes during the summer. He hated how he remembered spilling his soda on it one day, freaking out because he knew even if he would cover it up you'd notice, you always noticed. Just like now. Because the hand you'd placed on his shoulder as a form of comfort had never felt so heavy on him, like a brick trying to force his entire back down. "M' sorry.." He simply grunted out, putting his head in his hands.

"What're you sorry for?" You had laughed a bit uneasy, and he hated the sound of it. He always pictured himself as the man who was oh-so protective of you, yet right now he'd never felt so small. "Is it about yesterday? You don't have to change Jungkookie, I don't mind-" Yet he had to shut you up, turning a bit to look at you with a face melted into a vision of being thrown side by side by your own thoughts. This was exactly the issue. You didn't mind- and he knew that you didn't even lie about that- it made everything so much worse.

The nickname, the way you said it, the way you meant it- it all just punched his guts even harder. Instead of answering he simply took your face in his hands, placing his lips onto yours with so much emotion you could feel them trembling. His kisses turned into more than simple pecks, they turned into desperate cries of confusion, of insecurity, of so many things you would've never associated Jungkook with. Slowly your bodies fell into place again, with him laying you down on your back, a pillow falling down and knocking a fork down from the small table, yet none of you cared about it in that moment. As soon as you reached for his belt he'd grabbed your hand, holding them with such care. "No no- I-" He said, switching between kissing and talking. "I want to- no, I need to make love to you, yeah?" You squeaked at his sudden movement when he'd picked you up, trying to carry you to the shared bedroom, yet aborting that mission as well by simply sitting you ontop of the kitchen counter, the marbled stone cold underneath your butt. You gasped into the open air, the way he'd just lifted you with such ease making you feel so small- in every good way possible. Yet even though this wasn't the first time making out in the kitchen, this was new- to both of you. He had no clue what to actually do, exploring new territory as well as you did in that moment, never having gone slow before. Yet he slowly eased into it, his arms leading his hands over your exposed skin, fingers softly squeezing the flesh of your thighs. His kisses started to wander, caressing your neck, yet even though his dominant side was starting to show the more comfortable he got with what he was doing, you noticed a slight difference in his demeanor. His arms weren't limiting your movement, weren't moving you around to his hearts content- even though you would never complain about that- they were around you, his hands on your back, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in his hands, then letting go just to repeat like a kneading cat. "You're so sweet, so so sweet, did I ever tell you that?" He whispered almost like a secret, and you felt like he was bewitching you in a weird way. "Wanna keep you all to myself, wanna hide you like a secret." He said lowly, almost growled, and you felt yourself slowly fall for his word with every sound he made. "But I also wanna show you everyone, wanna show everyone how lucky I am, how I got the prettiest and sweetest of them all." He said, hands wandering up his shirt you were wearing, running over your soft breasts, squeezing them softly and relishing in the way they felt under his fingertips. He always loved your skin, even though you'd complained before how you disliked the slight chub on your lower belly, or how your thighs were thicker than most girls your height. Yet he couldn't find anything wrong with it, loving the way it gave you such a soft vibe and feel. This was you, every little flaw that you were seeing he saw as another thing to love about you, as sappy as it sounded. "You're my good girl, my best girl.." He said before he started to move your already ruined panties to the side, his fingers exploring your heat. "My only girl." He said, making you mewl into his neck, hands now grabbing his shirt for a change. He made you shuffle a bit closer towards him, standing between your legs while his tattooed hand pushed two fingers inside you, reaching to make you feel good, yet never going the usual pace.

"Jungkoo-ah- Jungkookie please-!" You sighed, and he simply chuckled, kissing your neck, down to your collarbone where he playfully nipped at the skin, loving the sounds you were making. "No no no, I wanna go slow yeah? Wanna make love babydoll, we got time.." He said, and you shot him a pout, making him laugh. "Come on I'm trying to be romantic here!" He said, and you reached for his jeans again- making him move your hands away again. "Nuh-uh. Good girls are patient. You can wait right, pretty girl?" He said playfully, making you pout again. He couldn't help but comply with you. How could he not? He loved you. He really did. Fuck, he really, really did. Undoing his belt and letting his pants fall to his knees along with his underwear, he reached for your butt, making you shimmy even closer to him so he could swiftly enter you, making both of you gasp out both in anticipation and relief from your side for getting your way.

The simple view he had of your form speared on his cock was the sole reason he loved every position that made him look at you. The picture in front of him just was too presious yet sinful to be wasted. He wished he could take a picture of it actually, yet he decided against it, having heard his phone fall out of the back pocket of his jeans before, and he was kind of too terrified to see his screen cracked yet. He also couldn't really think about it, the way your walls engulfed him occupying his mind almost completely. His arms encaved you, holding you against him as close as possible, creating a safe haven for you and your mindset. You always slipped into some sort of headspace whenever his praise and affection got to a certain point- something that had terrified you at first, making you feel a bit embarrased as well- yet Jungkook had assured you that it was completely okay and normal, having googled it someday back when he'd been bored on his phone. It was actually quite endearing that your mind trusted him enough to slip into such a vulnerable state, his pride feeding off if it to no end.

He wanted to go slow, yet by the end of it his pace had quickened to his typical ruthless tempo, making you gasp out bursts of breath against his neck, hands clawing at his shoulder blades though the material of his shirt, grabbing onto him for dear life, while on your fast lane to release. When he came himself his breathing got erratic from oversensitivity, yet he ignored it to bring you over the edge as well, even making you ride it out to its fullest afterwards. When you slowly deflated against him, hands simply reaching out for his body, he softly cooed at you, completely enchanted by you in your post-orgasmic bliss. Suddenly he laughed, resting his head in the crook of your neck. "God, why am I like this?" He said, soft smile turning bitter. "Can't even be soft for one fucking time." Yet your hand softly ran through his now slightly damp locks, head turning to look at him with so much endearment he could cry- well, he actually felt his eyes start to sting, but he swallowed them down.

"You don't have to, Jungkookie." You softly said, and he wanted to argue. "Don't change. You're perfect just the way you are. I love you either way. Doesn't matter if you buy me roses or screw me in the kitchen. I take any love you give me." He suddenly laughed, and his eyes turned into sparkling half moons, his bunny smile almost blinding you.

"God I love you."

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"Jungkookie?"

"hm?"

"I'm hungry."

"There's leftovers in the oven."

"You're not gonna treat me some chicken nuggets?"

"Tomorrow maybe. Its too late now baby."

"Come on, be a sweet baby-boy and do it-"

"Careful sweetheart."

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IT.IS.FINALLY.OUT.Thank you all so so much for waiting so patiently, I really didn't expect all of you to even stay, let alone shower me with all of your support- I really didn't deserve that! I hope I didn't dissapoint too much with it, since I didn't check for spelling errors :( I love you all, and I hope you're all staying safe and healthy during these times! Remember that spreading love begins with self-love, and self-love begins with small steps 💜

#jungkook #bts #bts fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #dom!Jungkook #sub!read #jungkook x reader #bts imagine #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst

[captain-jensen]

I’ve Only got Scotch

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: After having drinks with the Shelby brothers for the first time, Tommy walks you home. The only issue is that you’re out of Irish whiskey. Will Tommy be ok with it?

Warnings: 18+, swearing, smut!!!, unprotected sex (I can guarantee you that were Tommy Shelby alive during the age of condoms he would wear one, so you should too)

Authors note: This is a follow up to a headcanon I did where you’re Tommy’s receptionist so I would recommend reading it for context.

    You turn from Tommy’s paralyzing gaze to unlock the door to your flat. As you do, you can feel Tommy moving his body closer to yours. Walking up the stairs you suddenly feel the courage boosting effects of the earlier consumed whiskey wearing off, feeling completely aware of the fact that THE Thomas Shelby was about to enter your tiny Small Heath apartment. The very same Thomas Shelby that you promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for. However, the inhibition disabling effect of the whiskey was very much still intact, so you say to yourself “Fuck it”.

“What was that?” You hear Tommy ask. Then you realize that you had said that out loud. 

“Oh nothing” You reply. “It’s not much” you say opening the door to reveal your scant flat. “But it does the job” you say, trying to explain yourself. 

“I wasn’t expecting this” he says while letting his eyes wander around the room.

“And why is that?” 

“Well you’re always dressed nicely” Tommy compliments you.

“Well thank you Tommy. But I’m afraid that even if I could afford a nicer flat, I wouldn’t be able to find a landlord to rent to a single woman” you say.

“Y/N, this is Small Heath, all you have to do is explain your position in my office and I’m sure any landlord would accept you” Tommy says while sporting small grin. He moves to sit at your dining nook while you gather two glasses and your half empty bottle of scotch. Pouring some into the two glasses Tommy watches you attentively. Raising his glass for a toast, Tommy says “To scotch whiskey, not quite as good as Irish, but good enough to drink in the company of a pretty woman”. Eager to restore your earlier confidence, you down the amber liquid in one go, Tommy follows suit after watching you with a smirk. He grabs the bottle and pours another glass. You both decide to sip this one. 

   After sipping in silence for a moment, exchanging glances, Tommy finally catches your eye and you’re immediately sucked into his mesmerizing blue eyes. It’s then that Tommy makes his move, slowly leaning into you from his place in the chair beside you. When your lips finally connect it feels like a breath of fresh air. Your lips move eloquently against each others. Tommy deepens the kiss by moving his hand to the back of your head and sliding his tongue across your bottom lip. Opening your mouth slightly, you permit him to move his tongue into your mouth, but you don’t let him take control fully as you tangle your tongue with his in a heated fight for dominance. He takes his mouth off yours and pulls you into a standing position, quickly reconnecting and pulling you into his arms. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and grab the back of his neck, you both are trying to get impossibly closer together. He guides you across the room clumsily before he spins you and sits on the bed so that you can mount his lap. You rid him of his waistcoat, eager to open up the present underneath you. As you start on the buttons of his shirt, you feel his hands move from your waist down your thighs and under your skirt to unclip your garters. His hands then slide up your body to undo the buttons of your blouse. After you’re both rid of your tops, Tommy flips you again so that your back is against the mattress. He unzips your skirt and pulls it down your legs, bringing with it your tights. You’re now just left in your slip and garter. Bunching your slip up your body you take the hint and raise your hands so he can take it all the way off. He works his way down your body with soft kisses and small bites. After slipping your garter off he kisses your thighs in multiple spots before moving into your center. “I’ve dreamt of this before Y/N” he states before placing a wet kiss onto your mound, making you gasp. He works you slowly with his tongue, noting every sigh and soft moan that he emits from you. When he guides his index finger into your hole you moan his name and Tommy swears he’s never heard a more beautiful song in his life, which makes him moan lowly into you, sending vibrations across your whole body. This very action rips an animated orgasm from your body. Unable to control yourself you let out a mixture of curses and Tommy’s name is repeated like a prayer. 

   Tommy removes himself from between your legs and you see him wipe his mouth of your juices (which is an orgasmic sight in itself). He leans down and captures your lips again in a much more sloppy and passionate kiss. He stands to rid himself of his pants and boxers. Through hooded eyes, you take in his form. Instantly moving to rake your hands across his muscular chest. He lays on top of you and kisses you while positioning himself at your opening. As he slowly enters you, you both let out satisfied sighs once he buries himself to the hilt. Feeling more full than you ever have before. Tommy starts to move inside of you at a languid pace, taking the time to savour the feeling of your fluttering walls. When he feels you wrap your thighs around his frame and pull him even closer to your body he starts to move faster. Behind every thrust is an immense of power and you can feel pressure starting to build up in your core again. You swear you can feel every vein on his cock stroking the walls of your pussy. Tommy moves his head from its place on your shoulder to look you in the eye. You pull him into a passionate kiss and slip your tongue in, drawing a deep groan from the back of the Tommy’s throat. Hearing that sound and concentrating on every sensation that is happening throughout your body you mewl out sighs and swears again, feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching. “Tommy, please, faster” you beg between breaths. Wanting nothing more than to watch you spiral into pleasure again Tommy obeys you and starts thrusting at an intense speed. With the feeling of your walls pulsing around his cock, your nails scraping themselves across his shoulders, and the blissful look on your face as you cum, Tommy is thrust into his own orgasm. Spilling everything he’s got into you, he groans your name in a husky voice. Collapsing against you, you both bathe in your post-orgasmic heaven. Hesitantly pulling out of you, you almost wince at the feeling of being empty again. Standing up to grab his cigarette case and lighter you watch him stumble a little and can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips. He gives you a warning look over his shoulder, “You don’t frighten me Tommy” you say looking him dead in the eye with a small smile, his face relaxes into a smirk which then grows into a grin. Still grinning when he gets back into the bed, he lights a smoke and hands it over to you. He pulls you into his side and your slightly taken aback by the act of tenderness, but lay your head on his chest nonetheless. Laying in the silence and the warmth you let out a yawn. “I think I’m going to sleep now Tommy” you look up at him. 

“Alright” he responds, not moving his arm. 

“You’re not going to leave?” you ask surprised. 

“Do you want me to?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow and smirk playing at his lips. 

“No, I just figured you would” You say matter of factly. 

“Well you figured wrong” he responds. Deciding to let the matter go you doze off comfortably and easily on Tommy’s chest. Finding him, still there in the morning sends a warm feeling through your chest.

   For the next few days you always find Tommy sharing looks with you in the office. He’s also started calling you into his office more often to help with small tasks that he could easily do himself, and asking you to spend your lunch hours with him. Drinks at the Garrison after work become more and more common, sometimes with the other Shelby’s, sometimes it’s just the two of you. Knowing how Tommy is, you don’t push him to define what’s happening between you. One night though, after sharing a cigarette in bed you say goodnight and get ready to doze off. As your mind grows silent, you hear the words slip out of his mouth, “I love you Y/N”. You give him a kiss on his chest and say it back nonchalantly, deciding against making a big deal out of it, not wanting to over-excite him or yourself. The next morning you’re invited to your first family meeting. 

                                                  The End

For those who wanted to be tagged!! @thomashelbyswhore​, @walkingonshunshine​, @ysmmsy 

#Tommy Shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby oneshot #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #cillian murphy #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader

[winterscaptain]

backseat.

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

a/n: we are back at it again it seems. thanks to @good-heavens-chris-evans for helping me out with the concept for this one. you’re the bestest in the westest <3

words: 2942 warnings: it’s an elaborate excuse to write really dirty car sex and i’m not even a little sorry. smut. big time. brief (easily skipped at the end) discussion/discovery of pregnancy. unprotected sex. plot (just a little bit of) what plot

ao3 | masterlist | requests open!

“You know,” you panted as Aaron made his way down your neck, “we could just go home.”

He laughed darkly against your skin, sweaty in the heat of the bar. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Your hands fell into his hair, your nails scratching against his scalp. He groaned and slotted a thigh between your legs, pressing you further against the wall. “They’re gonna start looking for us soon.”

“Let them.” 

You shuddered against him. His breath fanned hot against your skin, and you dropped your weight further into him. His hands were on either side of your head, firm against the wall, crowding you in. “Aaron.” His mouth dropped to the hollow of your throat, sucking bruises into the skin he found there. “You’re gonna leave marks,” you whined with a breathless laugh. 

His only response was to advance and continue his attack, meandering back up to your jaw before finding your lips again. You were rough with him, scraping your teeth against his lower lip and running your tongue along his. The whiskey on his breath was bitter against your lips, and you couldn’t get enough. He was intoxicating. 

“Take me home, Aaron. Please.”

He pushed off the wall and offered you his arm, and you immediately missed the warmth and weight of his body on yours. You fixed his hair, trying to right some of the cowlicks and general messiness before you left the little side hallway. 

Your bag was still at the table, so unfortunately you had to retrieve it (and face the rest of your team) before you could be on your way. Emily grinned at you as you approached, and Derek may or may not have winked. 

This is worse than surveillance. 

“Alright, we’re headed out. We have an early morning with Jack’s soccer practice in the morning.” You were impressed by the composure in his voice, but then again he always managed to stay calm under pressure of any sort. 

+++

The ride home was difficult. His hands wandered between your legs more than once as he drove, pressing against you through your jeans. The friction was nowhere near enough, and it only served to drive your impatience. 

You got your payback though, palming him through his jeans as he grew painfully hard. He shifted in his seat more than once, and you retracted your hand every time, just to rile him up. The hand not gripping your thigh tightened on the wheel, and the speed he was pulling would have made you nervous if you didn’t know better. 

The only thing that made him drive faster than imminent sex was the imminent arrest of a serial killer. 

Priorities. 

As soon as he pulled into the driveway and threw the car into park, you launched yourself across the console. He threw his seat back to give you room, and you straddled him, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. 

A huge hand met the back of your head, and your lips collided. He let out a hum deep in his chest. It rumbled through you as you crowded closer to him.  

“Backseat,” he said, hardly coherent. He slipped out from underneath you and all but fell into the backseat. You unbuttoned your jeans and followed him, shucking them as you once again crossed the center console and scrambled into the back. Your knees planted themselves on either side of his thighs, returning  you to your original position on top of him. 

The friction between his half-undone jeans and your underwear was much better than before, but still nowhere near enough. You ground down on him, your arms looped over his shoulders with your hands in his hair. His hands were stretched wide against your back, covering the skin under your shirt. There was far too much fabric separating you - an issue that would soon be remedied. 

His breath was hot in your mouth as you rolled your hips against him. He groaned, fanning the flames that licked at your belly. He dropped his hands from your back as he pushed his jeans and boxers down. You lifted up just enough for the denim to clear your thighs and free him. 

You writhed against his cock, already so turned on you could hardly see straight. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just Aaron, but you were single-mindedly focused on your objective. Your lips met again, messy and desperate. 

He blindly reached for your bag on the floor, bringing you with him as he bent over and shuffled its contents. His frustration was evident when he couldn’t find what he was looking for. 

“Aaron, I need you, now. Don’t worry about it.” 

He laughed a little, pulling back. “Really?” His raised eyebrow almost killed the mood, but his disbelief was just as charming as the rest of him. You stopped moving for a moment and sat back on his thighs, planting your hands on his shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. 

“Whatever happens happens, but if I don’t get you inside me right now, I’m really gonna lose it.” 

He didn’t hesitate as he returned to you, shoving your underwear out of the way and ripping it in the process. His hands stuttered for a moment as if he surprised himself, and looked up at you in apology.

You kissed him, sloppy and filthy, and told him you hated those anyway. You lifted up and guided him into you, your mouth falling open as you stretched around him. His lower lip disappeared between his teeth, and you kept your eyes on him for as long as you could.  

There was really nothing like it. Every time, he took your breath away. You were so wet already that he was fully seated inside you before you could really process it, and you loved the way his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation. 

You kissed him again and started to move, swiveling and grinding your hips as he thrust up into you. 

“You feel so good. Fuck.” His praise was entirely without breath, and you laughed a little. He groaned, and you remembered what laughing did to your anatomy in this particular situation. 

You couldn’t help but let out another little giggle. “Sorry.” 

He shook his head and a desperate little noise left the back of his throat. “Please don’t apologize. That was - ah fuck - really good.” 

His hands seemed to be everywhere all at once - your jaw, your back, your thighs, your hair - they wandered over your oversensitive skin. His touch sent bolts of heat rocketing through your body. His hands met your hips and he lifted you off of him. You whimpered at the loss, but immediately picked up on his plan. 

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You obliged, propping a knee on the seat and bracing yourself with your forearms. His strong hand smoothed over your back and over your ass before tracing your hip and thigh. He leaned over you, reaching between your legs, running two fingers up your slit. The feeling of his clothed chest against your back was overwhelming - you were completely surrounded by him. 

You inhaled sharply at his touch and he circled your clit, teasing you. He laughed, his breath fanning against your skin. “What do you want, my love?” He pushed two fingers inside you, and you let out a dry sob at the sensation. It was good, but not enough. “Do you want my fingers?” 

You shook your head. 

His fingers left you, and you whined at the absence. He ran his slick fingers across your clit, and your hips jumped again without your permission. He’d been working you up all night, and it was paying off, much to his amusement. 

“Aaron, please.” Your hips jumped and you arched your back, searching for what you wanted. 

He laughed lightly, and his words fluttered across your back between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered as he continued to touch you, his hands wandering up your abdomen to your breasts. “Are you going to touch yourself while I fuck you?” 

You nodded and another soft noise left your mouth as you felt the velvet hardness of his cock brush against your thigh. You rocked backward, beside yourself with want. “I need you, Aaron. I want you. Let me have you.” 

He kissed your spine with a reverence that restored your breath, and you sighed with him as he lined himself up and sank back into your heat. 

It took everything you had to avoid crying out at the change in angle. He filled you perfectly - like the missing puzzle piece you forgot you needed until it was restored to its place. 

“I love the way you fill me up. God, you’re incredible.” Your words were punctuated with a gasp as he set a steady pace that made your palms sweat. It wasn’t fast enough to get you off by any means, but there was nothing you didn’t enjoy about the phenomenal stretch, the slight ache, as he moved within you. 

His hands found a place at your waist, running his thumbs over the back of your ribs as you arced back into him. The way he circled his hips as he bottomed out sent white spots careening into your vision and your head fell forward against your hands, laced on the seat in front of you.

“Touch yourself, love.” 

You shifted your weight, rising up onto the heel of your hand while your other reached between your legs. Your hips jumped as your fingers brushed against your clit. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you sighed, the pleasure building where you were joined. 

“I wish I could see you. I love watching you.”

You let out a breathless peal of laughter that quickly turned into a moan. “We should invest in a mirror.” 

He slowed, and you could feel him actually considering it. “Maybe…”

“More, Aaron, please. Fuck. Move goddamn it - fuck,” he picked up the pace again with renewed focus “- please, more. Faster.”  

He reached around and put a hand flat against your chest. You let yourself fall back into him as he pulled you upright, once again changing the angle. He fucked up into you harder, faster than before, and you continued touching yourself with one hand while the other reached behind you, tangling in his hair. 

He groaned and buried his face into the crook of your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin. You whimpered and tightened your grip on his hair. His hand fell to your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your chest arched toward his touch.

His cock fell deeper inside of you, and you moaned. You could feel your own wetness coating your thighs as Aaron moved within you, almost frictionless. 

“I need to see you. I need to see you when you come, sweetheart.” He kissed the sensitive space behind your ear, his words washing over you with deliberate tenderness.

It took all your willpower to rise off of him, but you managed with only the softest of complaints. He helped you flip over onto your back, and he roughly pulled you toward him by your hips, burying his face between your legs. 

You cried out for real, then, keening as you sought to pull him ever-closer. His fingers parted your lips, and he had easy access to your already-swollen clit. 

“Aaron, I’m gonna come. Please. I need you inside me. I want to come with you inside of me.” 

He hummed against you, and you bucked against his mouth. His lips never left you as he murmured, “You will, baby, don’t worry.”

Your legs wouldn’t stop shaking where they rested over his shoulders. He couldn’t get any closer to you, shaking his head a little as he continued to devour you. He slipped two of his fingers inside you, curling them up and hitting you just right. 

All at once, pleasure washed over you in a shock of white-hot heat. Aaron didn’t quit for a moment as he licked and sucked and stroked his way through your overwhelming and unexpected wave of euphoria. It was a wonder he didn’t suffocate between your thighs as they spasmed around his head. 

Before you were through, he shot up and planted sloppy kisses up your body, finally landing at your lips. He left one hand between your legs, playing with your clit, and your hips continued to jump as you kissed the taste of yourself off his tongue. 

You felt his cock against your folds again, and you wrapped your legs tight around his waist, hooking them at the ankles. He lined himself up and thrust into you, feeling your walls flutter around him as you rode out the last dregs of your orgasm. His name, repeated over and over again on your lips, was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. 

He hooked one of his arms under your back, holding you to him as you clung to his shoulders, which were still covered by his pinstripe button down. 

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he all-but grunted into your ear. “Tell me.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” You repeated the words like a mantra as he pounded into you, his forehead pressed to yours. 

“Are you going to come for me again?” 

You nodded. “Please. You feel so good.” 

He dropped his head and kissed your neck, soothing the bruises from the bar with the flat of his tongue. You mewled under his touch, every nerve on fire. The seatbelt buckle dug into your lower back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

He set you down gently as he sat up, placing his hands on your thighs and spreading them wide before him. Your hips lifted off the seat, and your hand shot down to your clit again, desperate for release. 

“I’m gonna come again, Aaron. Fuck. You’re gonna make me come.” 

“Come all over my cock, sweetheart. Let me feel you.” 

You kept your eyes on him, zeroing in on the wet, slick sound of Aaron driving into you over and over and over. It was insanely hot, and the relatively small space of the car seemed to amplify everything, bringing a new height to every sight, sound, and feeling. 

“Come inside me, Aaron. Please.” 

A possessive, pleased sound that was almost a growl left his chest and he pressed his hands flat into the backs of your thighs, the burn of the stretch only adding to the cacophony of feeling in your body. 

You worked at your clit, all the while your legs never ceased shaking under Aaron’s hands. His hips met flush to your sex as he buried himself to the hilt with every thrust. 

Just like your first, your second orgasm hit you like a Mac truck, knocking the breath out of you as words and sounds and expletives left your lips in a ceaseless string. Black spots filled your vision until you were certain you couldn’t see a thing, and your hips rolled as Aaron continued to fuck you mercilessly. 

He came with a curse and a moan that ran deep into your bones. His cock twitched as he spilled inside you, and you contracted around him, milking him until he fell forward, catching himself with his hands on either side of your head. 

Your fingers carded through the hair at his temples as his head hung down, completely relaxed. He was still breathing hard, as were you, but you still had enough in you to laugh. 

“Holy shit, babe.” You tipped his chin up with your fingers and pulled him toward you for an almost-chaste kiss. “That was…”

He huffed a laugh against your lips. “Incredible?”

You pulled back and framed his face in your hands. “I was going to say insane, but incredible...works.” 

He grinned at you and helped you sit up, pulling his softening cock from you. 

You missed him already, but you threw your jeans back on and stuffed your destroyed underwear into your pocket. Your legs were still shaky as hell, but Aaron offered you his arm as you both clambered out of the car, reeking of sex. 

Halfway up the walkway, you stopped in your tracks and inhaled sharply as you felt the rush of his cum leave you, seeping into the denim and down your thighs. Aaron was a little ahead of you, watching with a smug smirk. 

“Wipe that look off your face, Hotchner.” 

If anything, the smirk grew wider. 

+++

“Do you have any idea of the date of conception?” The doctor asked crisply, clipboard in her hand. 

You looked at Aaron, and found a flush rising on his cheeks. He, just like you, knew exactly what day that was. 

“June 30th,” he said.

The doctor looked at you for confirmation, and you nodded. The heat in your cheeks was undeniable. 

She laughed lightly. “I often find in instances like these that conceiving incidents tend to be, shall we say, memorable.” She made a note on her clipboard and looked back at you. “Congratulations. I will tentatively mark your due date as March 6th, but we’ll know more at your next ultrasound.” 

You smiled at her as she picked up her things and left the room. Aaron was at your side in an instant, his arms around you. 

“Hear that, dad? March 6th. We gotta mark our calendar so we don’t forget.” 

He laughed, and there were tears in it. 

You pulled back and looked at him, his lashes wet. “I love you. So much.” 

He brushed some imaginary hair off your face, just taking a moment to fuss over you. His lips met yours in a heartbreakingly tender kiss. 

You returned it, and covered his hand where it held one of yours. “Speechless, Agent Hotchner?”

He heaved a shaky breath and shrugged, shaking his head. “I just - I don’t have the words.” 

You smiled widely at him. “You’ll find them. We’ve got time.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @fics-ilike ​@ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @mrshotchnerrossimulder21 @tessahardy3 @forgottenword @sparklingkeylimepie @aaronhotchnerr 

again, please tell me if you don’t belong on this list or if you’d like to be added!

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction

[accioxreparo]

light of my life

synopsis: All Fred wants to do is forget the war and everything that happened and he finds his perfect escape all the way in New York. In you. 

pairing: Fred Weasley x american!reader

warnings: mentions of the war, angst with a happy ending cause I refuse to have it any other way, also a slightly racy scene, there isn’t too much detail, it’s more implied

a/n: basically I’ve been making my way through @ickle-ronniekins masterlist slowly but surely and I know we’re all in a mood tonight but this was stuck in my head and it’s now noon four in the afternoon and I haven’t slept all night cause I was so focused on this whoops

~~~~~~

Fred Weasley has always considered himself to be reckless. 

As a kid he’d sneak into the shed behind the house and steal one of the brooms they kept in there. It took four falls, a sprained ankle, and broken arm until he taught himself how to fly. 

When he and George started at Hogwarts he promised they’d make a name for themselves. One completely unlike their brothers. Only two days passed before they planted dungbombs all over the dungeons. The smell that lingered alone meant Potions was cancelled for the rest of the week. Sure they’d been given a month's worth of detention but they had people from every house congratulating and thanking them for just as long..

It was only their second year when they decided they were going to open their own joke shop after leaving Hogwarts. Despite all the setbacks they’d had over the years Fred had never been more sure of anything. Even his last year, as he and George sat in their dorm late the night before their escape, they were positive they were making the right choice. 

Maybe running a joke shop in the middle of a war hadn’t been the safest thing. Especially not when they were using the basement level as a safehouse for members of the Order. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to provoke the Death Eaters wandering Diagon Alley. But it’d been five months since the attack at Bill’s wedding and Fred had been just so completely done with seeing their stupid faces parading around every day while he worried about whether or not his family was dead. 

Finally he couldn’t help himself. A couple well placed tricks lured a fair bit of them to an ambush. Maybe if he’d thought it through a little, listened to the plan instead of going off on his own, their shop wouldn’t have been burned to the ground during the fight. He, George, Bill, and Charlie had taken out a dozen Death Eaters that day though so maybe, just maybe it had been worth it. 

Except his only remaining safe haven was gone. The war he wanted no part in had taken too much from him. His shop he’d spent years building alongside George. His family home that he watched burn down. His youngest brother who he hadn’t heard from in months. So yeah, maybe it made him just a little more reckless. A little more desperate. 

But he was Fred Weasley after all and things had a funny way of working out in his favor. He would go on raids and taunt the Death Eaters like there was no tomorrow, which he supposed in a way there wasn’t. He was on the run for months but never once had he even been close to getting caught. 

There was a war raging and even though the life he’d always known had gotten ripped out from under him, there he was. And by Merlin did it make him feel unstoppable. When the Battle of Hogwarts came he stood tall and confident, a smirk gracing his face. He was Fred fucking Weasley. He was reckless and invincible. 

But then he died. 

Well, almost. 

One moment he was laughing at whatever joke Percy of all people had made and the next...well he wasn’t too sure what happened the next. He remembered bricks, a lot of them, and the sound of people screaming his name. Flashes of black, emptiness mingled with...had those been fireworks going off above the school? They couldn’t have been. He remembered not being able to breathe, this crushing feeling surrounding him until suddenly...it wasn’t. 

There was this strange gap in his memory before suddenly he was blinking his eyes open in the hospital wing. The tear stained face of his mother had been the first thing he saw. It was as each member of his family cried as they hugged him that he realized he may have been Fred Weasley but he was, in fact, not invincible. 

It took two days until Madam Pomfrey even let him sit up in his hospital bed. Another week passed where all he could do was think. Think and watch the aftermath of a Battle he’d missed play out around him. It was during that time that he came to a conclusion. 

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” 

His mum wasn’t too happy about it. It had only been two days since he was discharged and she was smothering him senseless. Though he supposed he could understand where she was coming from, she’d almost lost a son after all. Nevertheless it was a reminder of just that. A well meaning, nagging reminder that he had almost died. And he would have absolutely none of that. 

“I mean that as of tomorrow morning I will no longer be in this house,” Fred didn’t look away from where he was stuffing whatever useful items he could find laying around into a backpack. He wandered from the living room to the kitchen only to have his dad, Charlie, George, Ginny and Harry go uncharacteristically silent at his arrival. 

“And just where do you think you’re going to go?” Molly followed him into the kitchen, hands on her hips as she watched Fred stick some bottled up potions ingredients into his bag. 

“Anywhere,” Fred shot around, a grin on his face and a bottle of lavender sprigs in his hand. “Everywhere.”

“Sweetheart,” She didn’t notice the way he winced at the name. It was never a term he’d heard directed at him before. Dear, sure maybe every now and then. Troublemaker was usually the go to. But sweetheart? Never. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Especially after -”

“After what? After you thought I had died?” Fred purposely ignored the way each one of them grimaced at his words. “That’s exactly why I have to go!” 

“Running off to who knows where? That’s your plan?” 

“I don’t have a plan. I just know -”

“Oh, even better!” Molly threw the dish towel in her hand down on the floor and pointed an accusing finger between everyone for a few moments before finally focusing on Fred. “You’ve always been the most careless out of everyone, you know. I will not let you -”

“Will you just listen to me!” All it took was a shout and a stomp of his foot for Fred to feel like a child again. He needed to be heard, though, and nobody was listening. Everything came pouring out all at once without him meaning for it to. 

“I’ve done nothing, mum! I can’t sit in this house, in this place, after being a breath away from dying and pretend like everything is okay! I’ve always thought I was daring and out there and sure, maybe a little careless but I’ve never even left this bloody town. I’ve gone from here, to the school, to the shop and back a thousand times over but never anywhere else. You know what that shop was? It was safe. It was what I knew. I loved it, of course I did. I still do and one day we’ll rebuild. But I can’t go back there after being at death’s door without leaving first because then there’s no point.”

The kitchen of the Weasley house had never been silent but it was now. Nobody dared to speak a word. The more silence that passed, the more Fred’s words sank in and the more everybody realized that maybe he had a point. Even if they didn’t agree with it all, who were they to tell him what to do? Who were they to tell him to stay put and do as he always had when he was clearly so desperate to go? 

A few minutes of tense silence and awkward glances passed before Fred finally sighed to himself, stuffed the lavender sprigs in his bag, and muttered, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning from King’s Cross if any of you care to see me off.”

***

The war hadn’t been easy for you. It hadn’t been easy for anybody, especially for the people dealing with the brunt of Voldemort’s attacks in England, realistically you knew that. Still, it didn’t stop you from firmly believing that the world was conspiring against you for a time. Now that all was said and done you prided yourself on having bounced back quickly. 

You’d been at the helm of several restoration projects at MACUSA and now just a short while later you walked through the streets of Mac Square with ease, a smile on your face. It felt normal. Traces of the battle that had happened there were nowhere to be found. There were no more piles of ashes. No more scorch marks and stains littering the sidewalks. No more ruins to clean up. It was as it had always been. 

Well, almost. 

Standing right in the middle of the Square was a giant display of dark granite blocks, names carved on every inch of the space. Wooden benches sat every couple of feet but hardly anyone sat on them. Everyone had been much too eager to get on with their lives, pretend the past had never happened. There you sat though, staring at the words etched at the head of the display. In memoriam. 

“What do you do here everyday?” The voice startled you. A laugh rang in your ears as you held a hand to your chest, a hopeless attempt to slow your heart rate down again. “Sorry if I startled you.” 

The person didn’t hesitate to sit beside you on the bench. He, like most people, paid no mind to the display. Instead he turned, placing one of his legs on the bench so he was facing you. It took a few moments for your breathing to return to normal and finally you looked at him. Quite frankly, he wasn't what you were expecting. 

He was around your age, quite tall and well built. His bright red hair was an odd length between short and long and rather messy. He was donning jeans, worn white sneakers, a Weird Sisters t-shirt, and a windbreaker jacket whose sleeves were currently pushed up. 

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” You said after a few moments, not missing the smirk on the person's face. 

“I’ve been told I’m usually rather loud,” He shrugged easily and settled further into the bench. “You were just very concentrated on your staring.” 

“And it didn’t occur to you that maybe that was for a reason?” The faint smile on your face gave away how amused you really were. 

“Well you’ve been sitting on this bench for the last ninety minutes and I simply figured you were either dead, asleep, or in desperate need of a distraction. Lucky for me, it was the last one.” The person reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch. He plucked one of whatever was in there out and tossed it into his mouth, grimacing as he bit into it. 

“What you’re really getting at is that you've been watching me for the last hour and a half.” You gave in and turned so you were facing the person you had yet to learn the name of.

“No,” He shook his head and ate another one of whatever item was in the bag. Jellybeans, upon closer inspection. “I’ve been watching you for the past week.” Just as you were about to mention how bad that sounded he motioned towards the building behind you. “My flat is just over there and every day I can look out the window and see you sit on this very bench around lunchtime and stare at that wall. Why?” 

His forwardness surprised you. For a brief moment you debated telling him. But he was a stranger, after all, so you decided against it. “Are you always this brash?” 

The stranger didn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately for you, yes.” 

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Then I’ll tell you,” He popped another jellybean in his mouth and nodded. “As long as you promise to tell me why you sit in front of this wall every day after.” 

“I’m not promising you anything. Not without knowing your name.” 

Your statement seemed to please the stranger and he smirked, offering you the pouch. You took a couple jellybeans but didn’t eat any just yet. Silence filled the air and for a moment this strange look flashed in the strangers eyes. It was gone as quick as it had appeared and soon he nodded. “I’ll make an exception but just this once.” 

“Oh how kind of you.” You offered him a smile because you recognized the look all too well. 

“Do I get to know your name at least?” He returned your smile, seemingly relieved to still have you as a distraction. 

“Maybe,” You shrugged and ate one of the jellybeans. Blueberry. “If you’re lucky.” 

“Fair enough,” The person grinned and ate another candy. He spit that one out quickly and made a disgusted face. “Liver.” 

“That’s your name? Liver?” Your smirk quickly softened when he laughed again. It was a sound you would be happy to get used to. 

“No,” He put away the pouch of jellybeans, having been put off by the last one he’d had the misfortune of biting into. “Though it’d be a fine name wouldn’t it?”

“If that’s your thing, sure.” 

He studied you for a few moments, staring in a way that had you wishing you could peer into that mind of his. “Fred Weasley.” 

The sudden beeping of your watch had you quickly standing up, pulling the bag at your feet onto your shoulder. “Well, Fred Weasley, it was nice talking to you but I have to get back to work. The members of the MACUSA Cabinet are sticklers for punctuality.” 

“Wait,” He, Fred as you’d found out, sat up on the bench and you paused your movements easier than you normally would have. “What about your name?” 

Something about him and the way he looked at you in that moment made you want to sit back down beside him, meetings be damned. You weren’t above toying with him a little though so you gave him another soft smile. “I said I’d tell you if you were lucky. Are you lucky, Fred Weasley?” 

Fred thought about what you were asking him. He thought of the countless things he’d gotten away with at school. Of all the fights he walked out of without a scratch. Of the fact that he was sitting on that bench at that moment talking to you. He grinned and finally nodded once, “I’d say so, sure.”

“Well then,” You lifted your bag higher on your shoulder and slowly took a few steps backward. “If you’re so lucky then I’m sure you’ll find me soon and I’ll tell you then.” 

You walked away in the direction of where the MACUSA offices were, a newfound ease to your every step. Meanwhile Fred watched you walk away, already wondering when he’d see you again, until you were just a blurry figure in the distance. 

***

After five hours of running up and down to different meetings the only thing you wanted to do was go home and sit. The last thing you were expecting to find was Fred Weasley standing in the middle of the lobby. Though you had to admit, he as a welcome distraction. He looked out of place, the jacket he’d been wearing earlier a stark contrast to all the suits and dress robes. 

“Told you I was lucky,” Fred pushed himself off of the pillar he’d been leaning on the moment he saw you step off one of the elevators. 

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” You sighed as you approached him, the two of you already making your way out of the building side by side. “Maybe good listening and decent investigative skills is more accurate.” 

“I’ll take it,” Fred laughed and held the door open for you as the two of you left the offices. He had no clue where he was going but he trusted that you did. “Now I believe the grand prize for my successfully locating the MACUSA offices was the pleasure of knowing your name.” 

You didn’t say anything though, not right away. The two of you walked at least three blocks before you looked around to make sure no one was looking and took out your wand. Fred watched as you touched a series of bricks and a portion of the wall faded away to reveal a new alleyway. He followed you without hesitation. 

The apartment buildings looked like every other complex he’d seen. Upon closer inspection though, they were each different. One had flowers painted all up and down the sides, enchanted so they were blooming. Another looked like a dozen single homes stacked on top of each other. Yet another had a phoenix watching over a playground, flying between a couple different buildings. 

You watched Fred spin around a few times, taking in everything that now surrounded him. There was a light in his eyes that you’d seen only a glimpse of that morning, one that held wonder beyond belief. It was going at full force now and you felt a strange desire to keep it there. “You hungry, Fred Weasley?”

***

“Ever heard of twenty questions?” 

“Can’t say I have, Y/N,” Fred answered through a mouthful of waffles. You’d told him your name on the way to the diner and he’d wasted no time in repeating it over and over to himself. He threw his head back against the vinyl booth the two of you were sitting in and made a satisfied noise. “Would you believe I’ve also never had breakfast for dinner. What do you think it is about nighttime that makes waffles so good?” 

“Forbidden fruit I guess.” 

“So how’s this game of yours work?” 

“Pretty simple,” You drank the rest of your coffee and moments later a pitcher came floating from the counter to refill your cup. As the cream and sugar mixed themselves into the coffee you reached into your bag and pulled out a pen, placing it on top of a napkin. “I ask you a question, you answer. Then you ask me a question and I answer. We keep going until all twenty questions have been asked.” 

“Where’d you learn this game?” Fred asked without thinking as he picked up his milkshake. The pen scribbled a single tally mark on the napkin and he quickly put down the large cup, shaking his head. “That doesn’t count!” 

“Afraid it does,” You laughed when he glared at the pen before turning back to face you. “We played it at the beginning of every year at Ilvermorny to make the incoming first years feel more welcome. 

“Ilvermorny.” Fred repeated what you’d told him, as if testing it to see if the word was real.

“You have heard of it, haven’t you?” It was your turn to frown when the pen scribbled down another tally mark. 

“I have,” Fred nodded but avoided your gaze, instead focusing on digging the cherry out from under all the extra whipped cream he’d insisted on ordering with his milkshake. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really realized what was out there in the real world.” 

“Well you’re here now,” The words left you without warning. They brought the smile back to Fred’s face though so you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. “Ask away.” 

And he did. He asked you about Ilvermorny and you told him basic things like your house and what it was like. You, in return, asked him about Hogwarts and all he’d told you about was his own house and the dozens of situations that occurred while he was there. An hour passed and the two of you had made your way through almost the entire game. Fred had ordered another milkshake and you had had two more cups of coffee. 

“Eighteen, what were you doing at the MACUSA offices earlier?” Fred leaned forward on the table, lowering his voice to a whisper as if you were swapping trade secrets back and forth. “You don’t seem like the government type. No offence.” 

“None taken,” You smiled before following his movements, leaning forward and accidentally spilling a bit of your coffee. “And if you must know I was meeting with the officials who are in charge of the classes taught at Ilvermorny. Now that restoration is complete I’m supposed to start teaching there again.” 

“So you’re a professor,” Fred’s response had come out as an observation instead of a question. He’d quickly mastered how to get around the pen marking every single thing he said as another tally. 

“Of sorts,” You gave a shrug and pushed your coffee aside. “Despite what they’ll have everyone believe the curriculum is dated at best and incompetent at worst. I taught myself more than any of my professors did and since then I’ve been working on rewriting the teachings of a school hundreds of years old so you can only imagine how that’s going for me.” 

For a very brief moment Fred thought of his last year at Hogwarts and all the times he’d snuck around for Dumbledore’s Army meetings. He thought of the fact that it was only the start of his career during the war. The lessons they’d worked on had come in more handy than anyone knew. He thought of...no. He refused to think about it any longer so instead he quickly shook his head and forced another smile onto his face. “I believe it’s your turn.” 

“Nineteen,” You didn’t notice Fred’s break in his own composure and thought to yourself for a moment as you dug a pile of dragots out of your bag and set them on the table. “Why are you here, Fred Weasley?” You quickly continued when you saw the smirk cross his face. “Here meaning America, not the diner with me.” 

He laughed at your clarification. The two of you had only known each other for a few hours at best and it already felt like you knew him inside and out. He liked the idea more than he cared to admit. 

“I needed a change after everything,” Fred shrugged, watching your face carefully for any sign of disappointment in his answer. He never found one though. Instead you looked at him, a soft grin on your face and maybe it was the homey feel of the diner or the colored lighting that softened your every feature or maybe even just the ease he felt while talking to you but he knew exactly what his last question would be. “Twenty, would you consider doing this with me again tomorrow?” 

Your answer came almost immediately. “Absolutely.”

***

Two months after that dinner at Red’s Diner, Fred was moving into your apartment in the Art District. Upon seeing the building that was yours, one with painted birds fluttering across the bricks, he’d told you it suited you with a smile. That night as the two of you were eating dinner at Red’s he kissed you for the first time, admitting to you in a quiet whisper that for the first time since he left home he felt okay. 

As much as you wanted to, you didn’t press the topic any further. You were comfortable around Fred and yet everything he did was wildly unpredictable in the best ways. Life with him was never boring and it was exactly what you needed. It had been a long time since you yourself had felt fine with your own life but with Fred it was so much more than that. He was home and you didn’t hesitate to tell him that. 

A month after he moved in you told him about the wall he’d first found you sitting in front of, the one meant to commemorate those who had died in the war. You told him about your own part in it, the fights that raged on for days in the biggest wizarding hubs in America. Despite what was believed, England wasn’t the only place invaded by Death Eaters. You told him about the names you stared at on the wall. Your best friend. Your little sister. Your father. Countless people you’d met at school. 

Fred held you close as you told him everything. You spoke so easily about what you’d gone through while he didn’t even dare think about what he had lived through himself. He came to the realization then that maybe you were stronger than him in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom. It was after realizing that when he came to the conclusion that he loved you, completely and wholeheartedly. And he told you so. 

Three months after that was the first night you woke up to screaming. The moon was shining high in the sky and you’d been startled awake when Fred shot up in bed gasping for air, eyes wide and bloodshot. You were quick to reach for him but when the sound of your voice couldn’t bring him out of whatever trance he was stuck in you crawled into his lap. Your hands reached for his face, bringing his eyes to meet yours. The sight of tear stains on his flushed cheeks surprised you. So did the sudden realization that he was gripping his wand tightly in one of his hands.

“Hey,” You spoke gently, still cradling his face in your hands. “You’re okay, I’m right here.” It took a few minutes of your soft reassurances before he finally looked at you. He was brought back to reality and relief flooded his entire body. His wand fell out of his hand to the floor and he collapsed into you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame as he buried his head in your chest. He shut his eyes and tried to keep his cries silent. “I’m right here.”

Two hours later Fred had managed to fall back asleep but he hadn’t let you go once. You were sitting against the headboard of the bed with his head in your lap, gently running a hand through his hair that had grown considerably longer. His breathing had evened out but you didn’t dare move him. A pain shot through you at the memory of him crying into your shoulder and you wanted more than anything to know how you could help him. Instead you were left wondering what it was that had woken him up and left him so scared. 

You were brought out of your own sleep the next morning by the feeling of Fred aimlessly drawing random shapes on the bare skin of your thighs with his fingers. He was considerably calmer now but when he looked up at you you knew he was still thinking about the previous night. 

“Did I wake you?” His voice was hoarse and the usual smile he wore every morning was nowhere to be seen. 

“No,” You lied. Fred needed your reassurance and you were more than willing to give it to him. “Been awake for a while.” 

Fred watched you for a moment as he tried to gauge how you were feeling. He hated being pitied more than anything else but there was no trace of the feeling on your face. A little bit of concern, sure, but that was to be expected after what he vaguely remembered putting you through. Mostly though you met his gaze with the same look of adoration you gave him every morning, one he usually returned. But at the moment his mind was hurtling out of control and never before had he had anybody at his side to deal with it alongside. 

He shuffled a little on the bed until he was more comfortably curled up into you. You felt like peace and that was something he was currently craving. “Can I -” He bit his lip and went silent, suddenly not sure if it was okay. “Can I tell you about it?” 

“Of course,” Your answer was automatic despite not knowing what ‘it’ was. You didn’t have to know, though. Nothing he could say, nothing that had happened, would ever change how you felt about Fred Weasley. You hugged him tighter to reassure him of that.

Several minutes of silence passed. The faint chatter coming from outside the window was the only noise that filled the room. It was almost cruel, Fred thought, the way everybody else went on with their Saturday morning while he sat there helplessly reliving that stupid war for the thousandth time. Finally with a shaky sigh he began telling you his story. 

“I saw it all happen.” You knew what he meant the moment the words left his mouth. 

“I can remember the night Harry yelled about you-know-who being back clear as day. I can remember him crying over Cedric Diggory’s body and the screams of his father when he saw that his son was dead. God, at the time I wanted nothing more than to be in that stupid tournament and I hate the fact that now I’m glad I wasn’t. I hated him, you know. Cedric. All because of a bloody game of Quidditch he beat us in. I’d give anything to take that back.”

You pretended not to notice the damp feeling soaking through your sleep shirt. Tears. 

“Nobody believed him. A boy died and nobody believed Harry. Instead we were all tortured for a year. The ministry likes to pretend they didn’t make it happen but there’s no other word for it. She made us write lines in our own blood, what else do you call it? And my dad -” He stopped, a particularly loud and shaky exhale leaving his body as he gripped you tightly. “He almost died that year all because nobody wanted to believe it. And George and I we’d just had enough of it, you know? So we left. For just a day everyone in that school was a child again and we made it happen. I don’t regret it, not at all. But maybe if we had stayed, maybe if we had made just a little more of an effort...maybe then my brother and my sister and our friends wouldn’t have had to fight off Death Eaters alone. They shouldn’t have had to, they were children. We all were. But nobody believed them and they were children and they watched somebody we cared about die that night. Why didn’t anybody believe them!” 

Everything you were hearing was new to you. Fred had told you about his family countless times, true, but never like this. He’d mentioned them by name a few times and told you stories about the summers they were all home but this? He had literally been in the middle of the war right alongside the Golden Trio you had heard so many rumors about. He was shaking, sobbing into your shoulder again and you had no idea what to say. So you settled for holding him, a silent promise that none of that would ever happen to him again, not if you had anything to say about it. 

It wasn’t until his breathing had evened once more that he worked up the courage to speak again. He swallowed thickly and his voice cracked but he powered through. Oddly enough a small weight had lifted off of his shoulders but there was still something holding him down. 

“I was never scared. I knew exactly what was coming. That’s why me and George opened the shop in the first place. Because people have to find hope somewhere after all. So we laughed and we made jokes and we made other people happy and that was enough. Death eaters burned down our house but we rebuilt it. Ron was poisoned by one of them but Harry saved him like always. Dumbledore was murdered by a professor at the school who we trusted but even then we were okay because we, the Order, knew exactly what to do. Not even at Bill’s wedding was I scared. They attacked and people were killed and others went missing but I wasn’t scared. I was furious. I was angry and I did everything I could to make sure those Death Eaters knew it. I was -” 

Fred stops again. He’s not hesitant because of a bad memory this time, no. He remembers the day he and his brothers fought the Death Eaters in Diagon Alley and what happened as a result. Shame burns through him at that moment. At the reminder of what he did. 

“I wanted them to go away, that’s all. It - It was war and you do desperate things and I didn’t mean to do it. But dark magic is hard to control, most of all a curse like fiendfyre. I’m the one who cast it and I put it out eventually but not before it reached the shop. I stood there and I watched it burn and I told George, Bill, and Charlie that it was the death eaters who cast the curse. They believed me. After that I fought and I ran and I laughed and fought some more and I was never scared, not once. Maybe that’s why.” 

You couldn’t help yourself. Fred had stopped talking but he wasn’t done feeling. That you knew for a fact. It’s what prompted you to ask, “Why what?” 

You didn’t even notice that you’d been crying yourself until Fred turned his head to look at you, frowned, and reached up to wipe away your tears. There was no hesitation in your movements as you leaned into his touch and gently placed your hand over his own. He looked only at you as he continued. 

“Why I died.” He paused once more to reach for your other hand, intertwine it with his own, and press a soft kiss to it, reassuring you that despite his statement he was still there in your shared room right next to you. 

“Madam Pomfrey told me after I was being particularly difficult one night. Percy had brought me to the hospital wing after the blast that knocked down that wall in the courtyard crushed me. She said she was the one who checked me herself. I was dead. She told my mum with tears in her eyes that I was gone and suddenly two minutes later I was opening my eyes again. I didn’t know why they were all crying. I didn’t know why they hugged me and kept repeating that I was alive. I didn’t process any of it until I woke up a couple nights later because I couldn’t breath. I was being crushed under the weight of a thousand bricks but I opened my eyes and there was nothing there. Only me and the dark room and flashes of every single thing that I had done during the war who’s ending I missed. That’s why I really left. Because that night was the first time I was scared. The worst part is that I wasn’t scared of the war that wasn’t even happening anymore. I was scared because I really thought I had accomplished a lot and it took dying to know that I really didn’t.” 

“Look at me,” You said after only a few seconds, once it was clear that Fred had finished telling you his story. He listened to you, sitting up fully and watching as you turned to face him completely. “You are here and well and I could not love you more. What was that thing you said. You made other people happy and that was enough. I’ve heard your stories, each one you tell with the widest grin. I’ve seen you play with those kids from two floors down and the smile you put on their faces. I absolutely know that even when things were dark you did everything you could to bring a little light into the world. And listen to me, Fred Weasley, that is way more than enough and I never want to hear you say or even think otherwise. Okay?” 

For a minute all he did was stare at you. He wasn’t quite sure what it was he was looking for but very slowly a soft smile grew on his face and he found himself nodding. Then without warning he launched himself forward, held your face in his hands, and kissed you. It was hard and passionate and filled with a thousand emotions. He was positive then, as the two of you moved together, wrapped in a blanket of love and reassurance, that he never wanted to leave your side. You were the one who made his world good. You were the one who made him feel better and loved beyond belief and that was really all he could ask for. 

***

The door of your apartment slammed shut behind you and almost immediately you were pushed against the wall. Frantic, wandering hands quickly removed Fred’s jacket and unzipped the front of your dress. Even in between heated kisses you could still taste the chocolate malted milkshake he had drank at Red’s earlier. A laugh escaped you at the fact as you gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. 

“Why are you laughing, this is a very serious moment,” Fred asked, a smile playing on his lips as he slipped the dress off your shoulders. 

“No reason,” You shook your head, kissing him once more as you unbuckled his jeans. Another laugh soon escaped you when he nearly fell over trying to get them off. 

“You’re so mean,” He teased, pulling the long sleeve shirt you’d been wearing underneath the dress off. Then he glanced at the thigh high boots you were wearing and sighed. “Darling, I really do love the sight of you in those boots of yours but they are such a hassle to get off at times like this, you know.” 

“Which is why last time I wore these,” You quickly moved to unzip them, taking them off one at a time with a smirk on your face. “You had me keep them on.” 

Fred wasted no time in reaching for you again once the boots were off, lifting you off the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist, carrying you in the direction of the room. “You know,” He said once reaching the bed. “The lease on the apartment is ending soon.” 

“What a -” You were cut off by your own moan as he sucked a mark on the skin of your neck. “An odd thing to bring up now of all times.” 

“I just thought,” Satisfied with the mark left on your skin, he started peppering wet kisses down your body, stopping every now and then to bite softly and speak words in between. “Maybe we’d try living somewhere else. Like London.” 

“Are you serious?” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. There had only been a few times when the two of you discussed meeting Fred’s family and each time had ended in a firm ‘one day’. The statement surprised you but didn’t distract you from the feeling of your legs being pushed apart the farther down Fred went. 

“Of course,” Even as he kissed the soft skin of your thighs you could feel the smirk playing on his lips as he heard your breathing quicken. “I’ve been dying to show my fiancée off to everyone, you know.”

“Maybe we should -” A sudden gasp escaped you at the feeling of the fabric of your underwear snapping against your skin. You glared a bit when Fred chuckled softly at your reaction. “We should discuss me meeting your family later. Maybe when we aren’t half naked?” 

A real laugh escaped Fred at your words but he quickly smirked again and resumed his previous actions. “As you wish.” 

***

Nervous was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. But it was all you felt now as you stared at the home you knew was the Burrow. The Weasley family home. An endless stream of butterflies fluttered in the pit of your stomach and you had to resist the urge to fiddle with the glittering ring on your finger to calm yourself. That was how you’d lost it only a few days ago in the middle of moving all the boxes around your new apartment in one of the wizarding boroughs in London, only a couple blocks from Diagon Alley. 

The decision to move came easy for both you and Fred. He was confident that he could face everything and everyone again. The morning he’d told you everything was the morning he realized talking it through with you was more than helpful. And you had happily handed over the revised curriculums to the Headmistress of Ilvermorny only a day before leaving New York. From what you heard, there was another school who could do with the same treatment and you were eager to assist. 

It’d been exactly eleven days since the two of you had moved to London. While Fred had seen his family a couple times now, he was insistent on wanting to give you a big reveal. The only person he’d let into the apartment was George, who upon meeting you loved you instantly. The three of you had spent all day talking, swapping stories usually at Fred’s expense. 

Finally that morning he’d woken you up with a grin, had you get ready, and told you it was time for your first Weasley family dinner. Or lunch, technically. 

“Hey,” Fred stepped in front of you and immediately saw the nervous look in your eyes. He held your face in his hands and kissed you softly, resting his forehead on yours right after. With that one small movement your nerves faded away and you visibly relaxed. “Everyone is going to love you. Promise.” 

“I’m trusting you on that,” You spoke after a few seconds, a smile making its way onto your face. With a satisfied grin, Fred took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the house. 

You were fully expecting to be ambushed the moment you walked through the door, you were prepared for it. Instead you were met with a silent house. Fred wasn’t phased though, he simply led you through the rooms. You walked through a living room whose walls were covered in moving pictures, the kitchen where a pile of pots and pans were washing themselves in the sin, and finally into the backyard. That’s where everyone was waiting. 

“She’s real!” 

“Shove off,” Fred rolled his eyes at the sudden exclamation as he finally stopped, still holding onto your hand to keep you comfortable. He looked at you, the look on his face softening when he did so. “This is everyone.” 

“You aren’t going to introduce me?” You asked, a slight smirk making its way onto your face. 

Fred laughed and glanced around at everyone else before matching the look on your face. “They’re going to ambush you one by one anyway. Figured I’d save at least one of us the trouble.” 

That was all the confirmation anyone needed to hear. Before you knew it you were being pulled into a tight hug by the first person to reach you. 

“We’ve heard so much about you, dear!” Molly was beaming as she held you at arms length. “Even prettier than he said. Told us about you in every letter he sent, you know.” 

“Did not,” Fred, who’d taken a step back and was now standing beside George, met your eyes, saw your smirk widen, and immediately knew he was never going to hear the end of it. 

“He did too,” Ginny walked up to you next and glanced between you and her brother. You recognized the familiar mischievous glint in her eyes and already knew you were going to love her. “Mum read them out loud and everything.”

“Mum!” 

“Sorry, dear,” You could tell by the tone in her voice that Molly wasn’t sorry at all. She simply smiled, squeezed you once more, then walked over to Fred placing a hand on his cheek. “They were adorable.” 

“I think she even has one framed,” You recognized Charlie by the dragon tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt. He didn’t hesitate to throw his arm over your shoulders in greeting. “What was it you wrote? ‘Her smile shines brighter than the city lights, mum, I swear.’” 

“Who knew you were so poetic?” Ron mimicked Charlie’s movements, leaning on your other shoulder. He looked at you with an amused smile. “You really bring out the best in our dear, Freddie, Y/N.” 

For once Fred didn’t mind the teasing. It was worth seeing the way your eyes lit up, head tossed back in laughter alongside his family. He wondered as he watched Ginny pull you towards the table why he hadn’t introduced you sooner. You fit right in with everyone and he loved it. He loved you. 

It was Hermione who finally mentioned the ring you were wearing as you piled food onto your plate. She grinned, taking your left hand to examine it. “When’s the wedding, then?” 

“The what?” Came chorused from no less than eight people. 

“Don’t tell me none of you noticed,” Fleur said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Hermione to look at the ring. 

“It was obvious,” Percy, who was already eating, shrugged. He’d been the only one to quietly give you his congratulations, smiling excitedly as he did so. 

“Why didn’t you tell us!” Molly scolded, flinging one of the dish towels at Fred who quickly ducked out of the way. 

“Why’d you think I wanted everyone here? Just for fun?” Fred defended, not moving fast enough to dodge the balled up napkin Bill threw at him. 

“You could have at least said you had news or something,” Bill appeared behind you and Fred quickly, hugging you both at once. “This is huge.” 

“It really is,” Harry agreed, placing a hand on Fred’s shoulder. “None of us thought you’d be next.”

“Well,” Fred only smiled, wrapping his free arm around your waist to pull you close and kissed your cheek softly. You looked up at him, practically beaming. “Only the best for my love.” 

“You should’ve told us sooner,” Arthur happily smiled at the scene from where he was standing right beside Molly. “Your mother’s been waiting to plan another wedding since Bill and Fleur’s.” 

It wasn’t a lie, as evidenced by the flurry of questions that were shot your way. How’s and when’s and everything in between. Needless to say as all of you sat around the table that summer afternoon several decisions were made. Upon being asked by Molly when you two wanted the wedding to be Fred had immediately told her as soon as possible. She smiled at the sight of him looking at you with pure adoration and pushed back the happy tears in her eyes. 

The conversation finally changed topic as the afternoon went on. Night had fallen and everyone had drifted from the table to around a fire that had been enchanted to act more as decoration and less like a heat source. You sat on a blanket that had been laid on the grass, happily leaning against Fred who held you to him. 

“We’re going to reopen the shop,” George announced with a smile when everyone started talking about what they were going to do now that the ministry was finished being rebuilt. Fred had been quick to tell him the truth about the fiendfyre incident after returning to which he only received a nod and an ‘it’s fine, I knew’. “We’ve already started building up our inventory again.” 

“Really?” Everyone had been waiting for the day the two of them would decide to reopen the shop. The structure had been put up quickly after the end of the war. All that was left was the cosmetics on the outside and the matter of stocking everything. 

“Besides,” Fred grinned as he glanced around at his family. “Everyone needs a little light in their life right?” 

It was late at night, after Fred dragged you up to his childhood bedroom insisting that you needed to see it and sleep there at least one night to get the full experience, that he pressed his lips to yours in a way that left your head spinning wonderfully. 

“You’re mine, you know,” He whispered the statement into the night, afraid that if he spoke too loud he would ruin the moment. “The light of my life.” 

The words he said to you were soft and beautifully intimate and unlike anything you’d heard before. After everything, wars and trauma and so much else, you were there together in that moment in time. And you were ecstatic. You kissed him again, softly, and smiled as you spoke against his lips, “And you’re mine.”

#oof i have no idea how to tag things #here we go #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #harry potter one shot #harry potter imagine #hp #fred weasley imagine #hp fanfic #fix it fic #cause that's the only kind we know #c: fred weasley #my fics

[danseurehonte]

“Remember My Name” Mafia Series

Prologue.

Summary: Yixing made the mistake of trusting his team too well, one job that he suspected went well did not and it’s costing him everything five years later.

This is imperative to the main story and cannot be skipped.

Mentions of: Murder, Gore, Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Wedding Massacre.

Words: 1087

His eyes were locked on the screen, the numbers steadily climbing before all the power in the building went off, “Why aren’t the generators cutting on?” He questioned, standing from the office chair as the emergency alarm sounded forcing him back down into his seat to attempt himself to figure out what was going on before his personal phone ringing started ringing. “You have ten minutes to tell me why my system that you built quote on quote oh so tightly is able to be attacked?” He was seething, there was no way someone was able to crack into the system, he trusted his team, he truly did or did he? Was this an inside job? The only people that know this system are those under him, the arms team, the security team, drugs everyone knew the system; they had to know it to pass through certain doors and gates in the hideout but no one knew codes and access other than the security team.

“Sir, I’m working my hardest to get the syst-,” the call was cut abruptly, he didn’t even need to look at his phone to know what happened before he launched it across the room. “Hi Yixing,” the feminine voice spoke absolutely too cheery for his liking. “Look at me,” she spat causing Yixing’s eyes to glare at the computer screen. “You’ll answer every question I ask or I’ll ruin you to the core.” He could hear her typing, the soft clicking of the keys irritating him as all he wanted to know was who she was. “You don’t remember me at all?” She asked tilting her head, green eyes piercing through the screen, “If I did don’t you think I’d have men deployed to your location?” Quietly sighing she was back to typing before his screen was split and those same numbers Yixing was looking at were displayed, “Every time I hear what I don’t want to hear I’ll make you suffer.” That caused Yixing to straighten up, how did she even have access to this information, when did she get it, the only person with the pass-code was him.

“Let me jog your memory wouldn’t want Mr. Pretty boy thinking so hard.” Pictures were uploaded to his screen, the images of what seemed to be a happy family but Yixing eyes zoned in on the man in the background, “Kim Hanjoon.” Her smile spread from ear to ear as he recognized the man, “head of the dragons.” He muttered before realizing that he was looking at a wedding photo> His memory slowly started to jog he’d ordered his men to interrupt the wedding and kill the bride and groom and anyone else they felt like.

“You took everything from me.” She yelled as Yixing’s eyes widened realizing Hanjoon’s widow was the person he was speaking to. “So tell me, why didn’t you check? Why didn’t you show any remorse when the news broke? Why didn’t you check the list of victims? Do you show no remorse for your actions Zhang?” They left a vital survivor, the wife, she survived and is most likely the new head of the dragons but there was no trace of them anywhere, the whole reason he ordered for them both to be killed was that a wife always took her husband place as the head when he died or went to prison.

“Speak!” She exclaimed but all Yixing could think of was there being a vital survivor and how she stayed so quiet for so long. “Fine then.” She disconnected their source of contact and Yixing sat in silence for a mere ten minutes before his office door opened and there she stood, blood covering her white shirt as she stared at him. She’d been in the building the entire time, he knew he recognized the background, she was in the security room, the call cut earlier because she killed her way in. With the new-found knowledge Yixing’s hand slowly reached under the desk, “I wouldn’t do that if I did this whole building blows.” She cooed pulling open her shirt to showcase the machine wrapping around her chest, “Is this a suicide mission?” He asked slowly moving his hands away from under his desk where his emergency weapon was placed. “Excuse me?” She questioned pointing the gun at Yixing, “You took everything away from me, everything and you dare ask me if this is a suicide mission.” Her eyes were filled with tears and the only thing Yixing could do to survive was played with her already sensitive emotions.

“Listen- I don’t need to fucking listen to you Zhang, you took my love from me so I’ll take everything from you and if you dare even THINK to retaliate I will take you myself and I’ll make you lick the ground I walk on, every single step behind me. Do you understand?” She spat cocking the gun back, stepping closer to him as she awaited an answer but before his lips could form one a gunshot sounded through the room, he couldn’t even react to the initial shot as he watches in horror as the blood poured from his side, “If you live to see me, you better start answering me faster.” She chuckled walking towards him, pushing the chair with a now blood-soaked Yixing aside, “What’s the password to the vault?” She asked looking at him before pointing the gun once again, “you already know it, why ask?” He gasped for air after each word, leaning his head back as consciousness was simply a game for him at this point, either he would win or he would lose.

She chuckled, nails clicking against the keys before deleting the secondary folder titled ‘The Dragons’, “You know nothing of my family and if I dare see you near my house I will make you my personal lap dog.” Her eyes screamed revenge as she looked at Yixing bleed out she spoke, “Marie Kim, remember my name.” She didn’t even bother to stay to see his reaction, she was out the door and within five minutes the power in the building was restored and doors were unlocked, people rushed into Yixing within an instant. “Sir, Sir, stay with me.” All his mind could focus on was how she entered unnoticed and how she left unnoticed, how did she get in and how did she leave so quickly the gates would have alerted him and the doors would have too.

“He’s falling forward, alert the medic now.”

#Admin Crush #Lay Zhang #Smut #EXO Smut #EXO Scenarios #EXO x Reader #Mafia!AU #EXO Series #Lay Zhang Series #Zhang Yixing Smut #Zhang Yixing Mafia Au #Zhang Yixing #Gore #Angst #Mention of Murder

[gagmebucky]

my first steve fic... don’t drag me about the characterization please i did my BEST and that’s all the matters, really 😌

[boxer!steve. size kink. doll.] 

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. 

in which steve can’t resist what he feels for you. (includes boxer!steve x coach’s-daughter!reader, steve’s pov, dirty talk, mild choking, size kink, grinding, unprotected sex, creampie kink, overstimulation.)

—

Steve Rogers has impeccable self control. He knows how to control his emotions, to maintain a clear head amid the mist of commotion, to command his body to follow his head and not the violent, primal instincts that prickle underneath his skin. 

And despite the lifelong effort required to uphold this principle, he’s found great fortune in the endeavor. Most don’t realize it, but in his occupation, there’s a certain level of restraint necessary in order to be successful. He has experienced it on both ends so he’s aware of just how important it is. 

Growing up, he hadn’t known better. In the numerous instances where he’d been provoked and pushed, he gave in; consequently, suffering gravelly. Knuckles split, bones broken and face bloodied, his anger got the better of him, and his opponents always got the benefit. 

But that’s where your father came in, and showed him the way to fight back and win every time, to redirect his mania into his fists and funnel them in tactful blows that resulted in trophy after trophy. Once Steve learned how to do that, everything became a breeze. It’s more than a combat style but a way of living. 

Ultimately, he gets what he wants because he can make logic-based decisions and utilize his visceral drive in executing them. And a wallet fat with unmatched winnings, a house for his family and a luxurious apartment of his own, his name on the lips of the masses, it’s a fucking amazing life—for the most part, anyway. 

Except for the one part: you.

The problem with self control, he has come to realize, is that when he truly desires something, he sees the cons of that thing. Usually, if it outweighs the pros, he’ll stop it before it begins. However, in the case of you, that formula isn’t working like it’s supposed to. 

You see, he knows he can’t have you, and he knows why. You are the daughter of his mentor, the only child of the single reason that he’s evolved into the East Coast’s Golden Glove Champion three times in a row, and pursuing you is beyond disrespectful. 

So why the fuck can’t he get you out of his head? 

That’s what he keeps asking himself. Another glorious win, and it won’t stop rattling inside his skull like a hammer on a gong. The crowd is chanting his name but yours is beating a tattoo inside his rib cage. The post-win rush surges through his veins and hits harder than any blows he’s ever received but spotting the proud tilt of your lips amongst the masses is like punch from God themself.

His clean-shaven jaw locks as the referee lifts his right arm and everyone goes wild, losing your face in the fanfare. This is the part where he basks in it, where he loses himself in the victory of sweat and blood slick across his skin; money and recognition, a reminder of the advantages of self-discipline; his reward of what he gets when he uses his brain and not the urges that prickle underneath his skin. 

This time, however, it’s not as gratifying as it’s supposed to be. No, it’s fucking agitating because instead of being the thing that gets him what he wants, it’s the obstacle in his way. 

He can’t pin-point exactly why the desire is striking him this intensely but he suspects it has something to do with the fact that you’ve just returned after a while, and your father is still gone—which means you’ll be upstairs in the gym’s apartment, alone, when he comes to see you (and he will come and see you, what’s the quote about looking and not touching?). 

The tension in his muscles advises his better judgement not to. The wild thump thump thump of his heart to the tune of your name dictates he find some other not-forbidden girl to release the mania coiled inside him before he does; that, it’s not like you’d mind he greet you in the morning—in fact, you’d understand. 

Except, he feels like a live wire right now, and there’s a pull inside him that feels like you’re the only thing that can fray his edges back into stability. 

You’re on the counter when he walks in. Barefoot, you’re kneeling on the flat surface to reach a high shelf in one of the kitchen’s cabinets. One arm stretched above your head, you blindly search for the contents for a cup, palm slapping against wood as you do. After seconds of failure, a cutely disgruntled noise leaves your throat, and you shuffle up to your toes. 

For a moment, he’s entranced by the display. A smile quirks the corner of his lips, running his gaze down the outline of your figure. Adorned in a tank top and ass-hugging jeans, there’s not a flaw in sight; other than his hands not on you, exploring every inch, crushing your body against his. Oh, that and you’re about to fall. 

“Oomph!” expels in a feminine grunt when you flail backwards and collide with the cushion of his embrace. His forearm hooks around your waist like an anchor and packs you against his chest before gently sliding you down his body to the safety of the ground. In doing so, momentarily, he’s caught up in how you feel against him, your back huddled into his front like puzzle pieces.

Everything about him is big, and it occurs to him that everything about you is small. His herculean stature dwarfs yours: six-foot of towering strength versus your soft, shorter frame. You barely require an ounce of strength to be lifted, and his blood rushes to his lower region with what he can do with that knowledge. 

Subconsciously, he tightens his hold until you tilt your head back to blink up at him with those enamoring big eyes. With that, he snaps out of his daze and relinquishes you with a quiet, “Sorry.” Before you can respond, he reaches beyond to grab the item of your desire and hands it over.

Your lashes flutter. “Thanks, killer,” you breathe cheekily as you accept it, the delayed rise and fall of your decolletage slowly regulating. You step out of his space. leaving him cold in your wake, and pad over to the sink with your back to him. “You did good out there, by the way.”

At the praise, his smile restores, and he inches toward you. “Just good?” he echoes after you’ve turned the faucet on and off and crosses his arms in faux offense.

Lips curled around a drink of water, you whirl around and finish a swig. Droplets glisten on your Cupid’s bow, and he swears you’re doing this on purpose when your pink tongue licks the liquid clean. “Do you really need little ‘ole me feeding your ego?” you tease and lean against the counter. 

“You are little,” he agrees with a perfunctory nod. 

You roll your eyes playfully and set the half-full cup down. “No. You - you’re just huge.” You gesture pointedly at his broad, muscle-laden build; dragging your stare down his squared shoulders to his defined abdomen to the tree trunks he has for thighs. An airy quality lingers in your voice, almost high pitched, as you add, “I don’t understand how your competitors don’t go running for the hills when they see you.” 

Taking another stride forth, head cocking, he observes you. There’s something in your expression he can’t quite explain but it pumps confidence into his blood. He glances at himself, white under armor t-shirt and gray sweats, but there’s no downplaying the physical strength he possesses. “You think I’m intimidating?”

You scoff and shake your head vehemently. “To other people, yeah. Me? Not so much.” A devious grin curves into those alluring lips of yours, and you straighten against the counter (not that it helped any with the height difference). “I could take you better than any of those losers you’ve gone against.” 

He laughs, husky and genuine. “Oh? Is that what you think?”

You stand your ground and encroach upon him, stabbing a finger into his chest. “It’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

Alarm bells ring between his ears, but he’s too lost in the beautiful arrogance on your face to listen. “Okay,” he says then backs up to the middle of the room where space is more ample and beckons you over with both hands. “C’mon then.” 

As he expected, you don’t back down. You smooth your hand through your hair and kick off the bottom cupboard. Rolling your shoulder, you enter his orbit; a friendly competitiveness gleams in your dilated pupils, darkening enough for him to notice beneath the kitchen’s warm-toned luminences. 

Your stance is nothing less than perfection (much like the rest of you). Orthodox, you project your right side but spread your weight evenly through both legs; a smidge wider than your shoulders, you bounce on the balls of your feet. Hands in a loose fist, your elbows are drawn together, and your chin tucks, looking up at him through your knitted eyebrows. 

There’s no question about your combative ability but his just more developed—given this is what he does for a living—so while you’re fast and your punches twist like it comes straight out of the textbook, he has the upper hand. 

In a half-hearted demeanor, he humors you. For a moment, the both of you encircle each other, him with a suppressed smile, you with concentrated brows. Like lightning, you advance on him and push through a superlative jab. But as quick as you are, he’s quicker. 

Deftly dodging your knuckles, he catches your dainty wrist. A squeal escapes your throat as he wrenches it behind your lower back. The swift action draws your body against his once again; the dull ridges of your back molds so close to his front that he knows you can feel the hammer of his heart beating an imprint between your shoulder blades. 

You wiggle briefly, and he has to bite down on a groan at the faint jean vibrations against his sweats, but you eventually relax with a long whine of, “No fair!” 

“You said—”

“Not what I meant,” you interject breathlessly, a salacious underlying in the words that he can no longer play oblivious to—dawning on him in a gut-clenching heat. “When I said I could take you, Rogers, I wasn’t talking about in a fight. Though, I won’t mind if we got a little violent. . .”

His breathing hitches. “I knew it.” A truth he long-buried—the strike of realization he avoided confronting in an attempt to hinder his own feelings—hurtles in his rib cage as he unwillingly accepts the reality you want him in the perverse idiosyncrasy he wants you. That beastly part of him roars in ravenous elation while his practiced erudition advises you in a low and pained plead, almost a groan, “You gotta stop.” 

With a breezy laugh, a twinkling song of laughter, you repeat a doubtful, “Stop?” and do the exact opposite. Your body careens into him, specifically your ass grinding encouragement against the hardening bulge in his pants. “Doesn’t feel like you want me to.” 

You’re right. “I don’t.” The reply rumbles through his chest and wrenches out strangled. The grip on your wrist increases before vanishing altogether. “But you’re Coach’s daughter, and out of all the things not to do, you’re number one on that list.” 

Freed, you twirl around and retain the lack of distance. You look up at him with unwavering seduction. “When you’re looking at me like that, does that really matter anymore?” 

Again, you’re right. But that’s not the issue—not the prevailing one, that is. “I’ve thought about you a million different ways but in reality, I’d break you,” he admits in a ragged exhale and licks his bottom lip. Another analytical once-over confirms his deduction; your danity frame clashing with his would be something beastly. “How would your daddy react knowing I ruined his pretty little girl?”

To his pleasure and displeasure, it doesn’t dissuade your attraction. No, it seems to have heightened it instead. “Is that a promise?” you ask, lust scintillating in your eyes like moonlight on the ocean, and he has to recoil away because you’ve got too much power over him with a look like that. “Steve—” 

Your hand grapples his before he can get far, an earnest strength he doesn’t have to bat an eyelash at. But it’s that—another reminder of your size differences and how easily he could bend and fold you to his liking—that has a carnal current torrenting from the depths of his soul, demanding an innate action. 

On impulse, he lurches forward with an inhuman growl and herds you backward until his hips are trapping yours against the counter edge. His hand wraps around the column of your neck, partially spanning your jaw to tilt upwards. 

“In every one of those fantasies, I use you like a rag doll—fast and rough, never gentle. And you wanna know why? ‘Cause you’re fuckin’ small and it’s the only possible way for me to fuck you,” he rasps, strained and serious, imploring you to understand the gravity of his words. “That’s in the case, that I can even fit inside you in the first place. So, you may say you can handle me but the truth is, you wouldn’t be able to take just one of my fingers.”

The speech is to deter you; invoke some common sense in that intelligent brain of yours because all of his is withering by the second. In lieu of his intention, it excites you further. Your pulse races against his palm but the flames in your gaze tell him it isn’t from fear. “You seem so sure about that but. . . but I don’t think so,” you purposely goad that volatile and competitive aspect of him. “Why don’t we try and see who’s right?”

His jaw ticks. “It’s not a challenge, doll,” he bites out. “It’s a warning. If I tried to get inside you, I’d split you in half in the process.” His eyes flicker down, and your nipples are pebbles against the thin, easily-rippable fabric—you’re testing him, and he’s failing. “Goddamn it,” he hisses underneath his breath. “That - that shouldn’t turn you on.” Bristling, he drops his hand and pedals backward—he’s on his last thread, and it’s his sole chance to make a clear-headed decision. 

“No,” you state simply, following after him. “I - I think you’re scared. I think you don’t want to admit that someone as small as me could take you so easily—and I mean easy—where everyone else fell to their knees.” A coy smirk upturns the corner of your lips. “Though I also wouldn’t be opposed to getting on mine right now.” 

That’s it. The last shred of ascetic lessons from the past six years bursts into ash. The fire ignites an unhinged frenzy, tunneling into his veins and coursing through his blood like the water of a previously dammed river now freed of placating obstruction. 

With unrestricted strength, Steve hauls you into his arms, cording underneath your ass and hoisting you high around his abdomen. In a gnashing kiss, he crushes his lips against yours. There’s no delay in your response, returning his passion in a rivaling degree. 

That formerly-leashed, hedonistic entity within him preens from its shackles and livens with unhinged reign. Electricity crackles underneath his skin and tingles violently in feral need. Every filthy imagining he’s conjured of you strobes through his mind, and he feels like a man who hasn’t eaten in years, and you’re the delectable T-bone steak he gets to devour. 

You moan into his mouth, a pretty vibration he swallows, as he laps up your taste. The musical sound, the way you explode on his tongue, it all goes to his head like a hit off a drug and slithers down his spine to the ache in his cock. 

His hips snap forward, and his grasp on you intensifies; clutching your ass, he’s rocking your center into his cotton-clad erection roughly. Shards of pleasure ricochet through him, but it’s not enough—he needs more, needs more of your titillating sounds, more of your body on his, of you coming undone because of him, you making him fall apart. 

As you writhe against him with breathy sounds, he sets you on the counter and goes for your pants. Logic evades him at this point—like the fact it’d be the same amount of time with less effort it’d be if he slipped off—and his hands tear the denim material down the middle. Using little effort, he continues to remove what separates you, doing away with your panties next. All the while, you’re gasping in surprise and possibly outrage but he can’t focus on that right now. 

“You don’t understand,” he speaks laboredly, shoving his sweats to his knees to reveal he’s gone commando. “How bad I’ve wanted you. How hard it was—how hard you make me—to keep from myself taking you in every disgusting way I dreamed about.” 

Slicked with precum, his veined manhood is just as thick as it is long; past lovers have gawked at the formidable steel, shying away immediately after, and he’s always understood that. But you, you look at him starry-eyed, licking your bottom lip like you want him exploding on your tongue. 

And as much as he’d marvel at the sight of your cheeks stuffed like chipmunk with his cock— has thought how hot it’d sound when you’re gagging relentlessly around him—he’s got his attention lasered on that tiny prize between your thighs. 

A teasing triangle of perfection, daring him to completely abuse and batter as he pleases. You’re glistening like diamonds in the sunlight, effectively blinding him in a bind of corporeal desire—there’s no thinking, only action; no right or wrong, just what he wants.

His hands pinch underneath your knees and slide you to the edge. In tandem, he slots himself flat against your weeping heat, squishing the length of his cock between the split of your slit, burrowing himself there as if it’s his new home. 

Mutual moans and shivers expel through you both. It’s better than he’s ever imagined; mentally-created experience has nothing on the raw reality. Soft like silk, the honeyed aperture of your sex is eclipsed by his tanned thickness, barely shrouding a third of him, his tip twitching at your navel, and it’s a snapshot to behold. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he rasps, jaw locking before he reels you tighter and snaps his hips forward, rutting against your throbbing clit. It’s the match that starts the fire, a million sparks prickling all over that has him taking you like a madman. 

“S - Steve!” you cry, music to his ears, as he hooks his elbows under your knees, bending them over his shoulders, and works your divided folds up and down the length of his translucent-white dribbling cock. Your arms shoot around his neck desperately while you bury your face in his neck, mewling into his collarbone; the vibration unmistakably his name. 

“I am going to fuck you, doll,” he promises through gritted teeth, using his hands palming your ass to grind your little pussy into him harshly, at the same time his hips rock into the assault. “I am going to shove every inch of my cock inside you, make it fit if you can’t. But first—first, you’re going to cum on my cock then you’re going cum around it.” 

Your weight is nothing to his hulking strength, bouncing you in undulation like you’re his own personal fuck-toy (somewhere in that darker, aggressive facet of him chides that’s exactly what you are; a wanton toy to use to his desire). 

Every upward thrust is grating over your bundle of nerves, coaxing gush and gush of your essence. Mixed with his own liquid arousal, it further lubricates his slippery anatomy and empowers quicker ministrations—filling the room with your crescendos of whimpers and moans. 

“Y’like it when I make your pretty lil’ pussy grind against my cock? When the tip rubs over your soft clit?” he says, winded, in your ear as you shake like a leaf in the steel cage that is him. “Or d’you like knowing despite how bad I need to be balls-deep inside you I have to wait ‘cause your tiny pussy won’t be able to take it yet?” 

“Oh. God. Steve—” you moan, raking your nails into his flexing back muscles, and he revels in the faint sting. “I - I—it feels good. Fuck, it feels so good.”

Shocks needle down his spine and gnaw in his lower stomach while static nibbles at his limbs; a prelude to a knee-buckling reckoning. “Y’gonna cum for me, beautiful?” He can feel the tautness constricting in your body, the crook of your calves as your toes curl. “Want you to. Wanna know what’s gonna happen when you do?” He doesn’t wait for a response, especially when you’re borderline incoherent. “It’s gonna loosen you up for me. Get your pussy prepared to take all of my big, fat cock. And, you fuckin’ will. Y’hear me?” 

At that point, he’s unsure whether you nodded or not because your head does bob, but so does the rest of you. His neck muffles your cry as you buck wildly against him, and if that isn’t telling enough, he can feel your engorged nub pulsating with euphoria. 

And he can’t resist it. The threat of his violent upcoming orgasm; the fact that he knows your channel is clamping down hallowly; the earlier declaration of being able to handle him easily, it all overwhelms him. 

In a millisecond, before his mind comprehends what his instincts are doing, his hands slip from underneath your bottom to either side of your slit, and his thumbs spread your opening. He heaves you up, and when gravity brings you down, his well-endowed cock drives into your spasming insides. 

With an audible wet slush and slap of skin, he powers through your channel harshly until he’s seated to the hilt. In the throes of your orgasm—before he could stretch you first like he intended—inches that outwardly reached your belly button, width that dwarfed your mound  invades your walls in one blunt movement. 

The orgasm is still flooding you but it’s combined with the convulsions of vanquished hollowness and encompassing fullness. To be perfectly fucking honest, it’s heaven: snug, fervid heaven. And he wastes no time losing himself in you, fucking you through your stimulation while you’re rendered to a babbling mess.

“Oh - oh, my—Steve!” you squeal as your rubber-band-like resistance desperately tries to accommodate the intrusion of his size. “Big—you’re big—I didn’t realize you were so b - big—” 

“But you’re going to take it, aren’t you? Said you could, swore you’d handle me like no other before, right?” he croons and continues to decimate your swollen valley. “I told you you’d cum on my cock and around it, and that’s what you’re gonna do.” The order has your strangling heat fluttering in delight. “Unless you aren’t as big and bad as you claimed to be.” 

You gasp and cling tighter. “I can - I can,” you whimper, and it’s so cute—he can’t wait to fuck you until you pass out. “Just a minute. I can’t cum yet—n - not yet.” 

He laughs huskily because he knows he’s gonna to make you do exactly that. “Yeah, we’ll see about that, doll,” he practically purrs and cinches you closer so with each pass of his hips, your sensitive clit is chafing against his pubic bone; it has the intended effect of forcing your swollen walls to quiver around him.

“Shit,” you choke. “I can’t - I can’t—”

Motivated by your disbelieving insistence, he reaffirms his grip and pistons through your folds quicker. He ebbs deeper and deeper with the combination of his hips ramming in and his hands controlling your body so your channel swallows him all the way. 

Rising sensations pulse within him at an alarming rate, numbness climbing up his toes to cover him completely, encasing his nerves with an escalating bliss. In a minute, he’s going to blow and empty the contents of his balls into your never ending, clamping depths—and he can’t wait to see your reaction when he does, what it’ll look like to have his thick white dribbling out of you. 

That thought spurs him on, and he abruptly props you on the kitchen counter. There’s no break for your used pussy as he slithers a free hand to fist your throat, laying you flat against the cold granite.

“You are gonna cum for me,” he growls, voice unrecognizable with animalistic carnality. The sheening and flushed exertion on your face, the moans vibrating up your esophagus and the wriggle of your body is mesmerizing and provoking. “And you’re going to make me cum while you do it. Your tiny pussy is gonna milk my big cock until I’m flooding you full of me.”

He ruffles your shirt up and out of the way, giving him a glimpse of the single hottest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. As his hips jut back and forth, the indent of his bulbous tip prods visibly from your stomach; he can see himself bulging low in your belly. 

He releases the unholiest of groans as lightning zaps through him, tactfully shocking his pressure points while his blood pumps to his dick, and he swells bigger inside you. The temperature is boiling to the top, and when your warbling voice breaks into his haze, “Steve—Steve—Steve—!” his eyes snap open. 

His gaze drags further down, he’s greeted with the eyeful of your exploited mound: puffy and swollen from his unyielding, punishing onslaught, your clit peaking through faintly as if beckoning for his touch. Of course, he obliges you—he has zero idea how he managed to deny himself of you in the past. 

The second he thumbs at the little nubbin, you’re sobbing his name and squelching around his cock. In a domino effect, the lava blasts from the bottom of his gut to your enveloping convulsions; sheathed to the hilt, a visual ingrained in his memory of his cockhead pushing up inside your stomach, he pours all the mania he’s kept locked away into you. 

Riding out the wave, he watches how you cream around him when he retreats from you. A ring of clear white contrasts against your bruised sex and his tanned length, the mix of your essences oozing down his balls and onto the floor. 

“Fuck,” he says hoarsely. “That’s hot.” 

There’s a periodic twitch of you, and he glances up to see you staring at him, glossy-eyed but undoubtedly satisfied. “You. . . that was. . . God,” is all you manage, and pride blooms in his chest—at the fact that you kept up, and at the fact he did you good. “You’re amazing.” 

“You did good, doll,” he speaks roughly, the hand around your throat tracing your pulse. “I couldn’t have thought of a better way for this to have gone. . .” Despite his recent orgasm, there’s a hunger clawing back to the surface as he observes the way you’re splayed out like an offering, fucked to the point of limpness. “Or, to be going. . .” 

“S - Steve,” you whimper but it isn’t a protest, far from it, he can tell. 

So he continues to trail his hand to your clit, encircling it while you give a half-hearted bleat. He rakes his teeth over his bottom lip and maneuvers his hips until his growing semi is teasing your cum-dripping entrance. “Y’said you could handle me, doll,” he murmurs and promptly glides right back into you, and a wanton cry tears from your lips. “Let’s see how true that is.” 

[masterlist / feedback]

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers imagines #marvel imagines #marvel smut #steve x reader #i AM doing the loki one i just wanted to make it clear this is the steve one #my writing #this twas a RIDE BITCH #it would've turned out better but last night i found out that one of my finals was due TODAY so i was scrambling #also... i might b a little ? like i took an extra dose of my anx meds #anywaysies did not mean for it to be THIS long #my bad! #DONT DRAG MY CHARACTERIZATION I KNOW I KNOW #i got lazy at the end rip

[shortyisweird9]

'Lonely ghost serie'

Chek and heartache- part III

Tw⚠️:swearing, referring of dark themes such as suicide attempt and mental illness.

The morning rays hit your eyes gently, tangible by their warmth,as you forced yourself from another dream of nothing but blank.

You groaned as your cat,Didi, comes running towards you: purring, meowing and chirping in pure happiness. You knew the reason she does this; your previous cat, Martha or Dildo- your roommate Sergiu called her that because of her dickish attitude with him- used to do this everytime so the little one, Didi, just followed her mother's lead.

Everytime she does that is like a small needle stabs at your heart especially when just 2 weeks passed since Martha died of old age- the black cat was adopted when she was senior, abused and malnourished, your heart knew you couldn't leave her to be laid to rest like a nothing. You adopted her, she bit you and you petted her, she hissed you hugged her, you did everything you could think of to show love even brush her fur with a wet toothbrush end to mimic sweet kisses coming from her mom. The cat soon realized that and started living again. Cautious of your other 3 roommates, cuddly with you.

Anyway, you got sidetracked with reminiscing. You heard your friends in the kitchen, Sabrina throwing away the take out boxes and Sergiu preparing some tea, probably to calm his stomach after all the spicy curry he ate last night.

You fixed the oversized white t-shirt and pull the marine blue shorts out of your bottoms, Didi already waiting you by the door.

You all, Sabrina,Sergiu,Ace and you, live in a quaint apartment, turned from campus housing, right next to one of the malls of the city. It had two small bathrooms, a living room , three petite bedrooms ,a tiny kitchen, a rounded balcony and a hallway. It was much smaller than your family home but it was in a central zone where your family home was outside the city's boundaries. You chose it not only because you wanted to spare your family from driving you to university but also because you needed your freedom, your space. Your parents were very understanding of that.

-Y/n e trează? ( "Is Y/n awake?") Ace asked as he sipped on his black cofee.

Without, he would pretty much be a grumpy hedgehog with spiky tealish mohawk. And who wouldn't love that?

-Nu încă, ah! Uite-o! ("Not yet,ah! There she is") Sabrina exclaimed, getting up to hug you and leaving the smoking tea cup by the window.

"Hello." You said ,voice grungy and eyes shut from the light.

You felt the warm hands of your Arabic friend on your face filled with moles and couple of marks from recently popped pimples, you let yourself be engrossed into it ,the touch starvation you carry like a cross chosing for you.

You hear her laugh, she always had a pretty laugh and a prettier smile . She was the beauty of the group, with big puffy sand yellow curls, brown skin with red undertones and black eyes who glow in pure happiness. She was stunning and a sweetheart with an obsession on the colour red and butterflies.

"Someone is needy." Ace teased.

"Shut up or I will staple those hair triangles on your scalp. "

You wanted to say something better but Sabrina then started massaging your lower face in a circular manner with her thumb. You knew you couldn't do anything anymore except melt.

-Anyway ,unde e Sergiu? ("Anyway, where is Sergiu?")

-Ți-o făcut ceai, cane e pervaz. S-o dus până sus să o ajute pe Florentina.("He made you tea, the cup is on the windowsill. He went upstairs to help Florentina.") He said, taking another sip of his cup.

-Ooooh, Florentina. You two began as Ace shook his head in amusement.

You and Sabrina were known to be ruthless in your teasing of the guitarist with long brown locks and beard.

Florentina was a crush of his, a freshman in the University of Arts who played the violin beautifully. Small,with olive skin, long red hair keept in a 1960s hairstyle and green petite with a triangular shaped face. She was a sweetie with a love for fantasy book ,autumn and ferrets.

-Oh, yeah?

-Dup, iubitul ei se mută cu ea. ("Yup, her boyfriend moves in with her")

-Oh.

Ace sucked in his lip ,his face filled with disappointment just like theirs now.

-That sucks.

-Numai spune,Sabrina.("You don't say,Sabrina")

Just then, the door clicked shut. Sergiu is back, this will be awkward.

-Ce vă uitați așa la mine?("Why are you looking at me like that?")

Neither of them could properly looked into the warm brown eyes of the man whose glow seemed to fade a bit, Sergiu was a stubborn man who shut his feelings deep inside, only through his song you could tell he was suffering. Just like you, I suppose.

-Am auzit...("We heard...")

You bit your lips as your long fingers played with each other, twisting and tugging while your nerves grew. Last thing you wanted was another fight where you all force the man to open up. He had suicidal tendencies, sometimes he came too close to actually do it but you were there and you needed to be there now too, even if he doesn't like being taking care of.

Sergiu rolled his eyes at you, his heart hurt from how rigid your posture was, eyes were worried about him but also scared, teeth grinding themselves not out of anger but out of care and fear.

He knew you hated arguments and shouts with dying passion. You always cried when someone raised their voice in less than friendly manner, you hated this reaction of complete terror, you hated looking weak but now you hated letting your friend burn himself because of an unfortunate love triangle. So you swallowed your nerves and braved on, it's about him ,not you.

Sergiu wanted to protect you all from this negativity, especially you and Ace. You had a big event to organise , Ace's sex reassignment surgery is coming up soon. You both have your own problems to dwell ,you didn't need to have him as one too.

However somewhere in his head, a voice telling him that he was wrong ,that voice that took the shape of you in the night of July.

You were crying, your grey hoodie wet from the rain as you cling desperately to him, not daring to move.

He was the reason why you crying, why you yelled profanities our of worry for what he was about to do. He...He tried to throw himself off a bridge ,the same bridge you two first shared your kiss.

That dark episode still irked your minds in the darker moments, late in the night nothing but your mind to keep you company and that's torture in itself.

You thought you could help him, change whatever hurts him and make it go away. That was your biggest mistake, you can't change a person that's not your duty , your duty was to support them through tough times and help them see the light at the end of the dark tunnel. A duty you solemnly swore to uphold even if he didn't liked you to. There's no fucking way you let him do that again,not if you can be there for him. Like he was always there for you, your big guardian with a guitar that spews flames in shape of songs.

-Y/n..

-Te rog, Sergiu. Nu ascunde. ("Please, Sergiu. Don't hide.")

Your eyes were desperate for him to talk it out in any shape or form. They implore for him to vent, to not hid between fake lies like " I am okay" or "I'm fine."

-Bine,bine. Tu ești șefa. ("Fine,fine. You're the boss.")

————————————————————

They talked and talked and cried and laughed and cried again. A never ending circle of venting ,small earthquakes which instead of fracturing the friendship , it onlyakes it stronger as it should.

-Te simți mai bine?("You feeling better?") Your voice ran timidly on the top of your apartment building, watching over the brutalist styled architecture.

-Un pic, doare știi dar asta îmi arată cât de îndrăgostit sunt de ea. Iubirea adevărată pentru mine nu se referă doar la a iubi doar dacă te iubește reciproc, nu , să iubești fără să forțezi persoană să te iubească înapoi. Să îi porți de grijă, să o protejezi, să o ajuți fără să fi un egoist, fără să te aștepți să fi iubit înapoi. ("A little, it hurts you know but this shows how much I love her. True love for me doesn't mean to love just so they will love you back, no, to love someone without forcing them to love you back. To care for them, to protect them, to help them without being an egotistic, to love without expecting to be loved back.")

-Poetic.

He laughed at that , starring at the setting sun ,his lit cigar forgotten fumed between his painted fingers. His hair blown gently by the wind , he looked like a masterpiece.

-Scuze..pentru tot.("Sorry...for everything. ")

-N-ai de ce. Mi-ai făcut chec până la urmă așa că balanța eternă este restabilită.("You don't have a reason to be. You made me chek in the end and thus the eternal balance is restored.") You joked, munching quietly on the piece of cake, his jacket keeping you warm.

-Haha. Cine ar fi crezut că checul are fi o gustare bună când îți dai vent.("Haha. Who would have thought that chek will be a good snack when you vent.")

Indeed, who would have thought of that but one who cried in the sore days filled with heart ache.

————————————————————

Hey,guys!💖

Hope you like the third part of the serie, I wanted to focus on "your life" and your friends backgrounds this time. The translations are not 100% word to word but enought to give you context.

Anyway, I hope you like it. Stay safe!

Tagged 💗💗:@moolujk @gaysludge @simonsbluee @yoyoanaria @cherry-piee @magenta-skyline @yikesyikesyikes95

#corpse husband x reader #fanfic #hopefully not cringy #lonely ghost serie

[2018shawn]

the anatomy of you and i | s.m

Hi I was wondering if could do prompt cozy 3 and 12 with Shawn and inexperienced!y/n she’s never shared a bed with a boy before or something only if ur comfortable u don’t have to of course just thought it would be soft and sweet 🙈❤️

cozy prompt 3: “Don’t be nervous, you can come closer”

cozy prompt 12: We could... take a nap together?

a/n: so it came out like college!shawn x college!reader au bc that’s just kinda what flowed so i hope that’s ok and i also really kinda wanna do a part 2 to this because it turned out more of a fic than a blurb lmao 🥺👉🏽👈🏽 also pt 2 i’m sorry the layout of this is gross i’m on my phone and can’t figure out how to do anything ok bye

warnings: just swearing and i think that might be it

the music from the room next to yours was something you imagined only happened in movies. it was loud and bassy and everything you didn’t want on a wednesday evening; you knew part of living in dorms would entail disturbances and inconveniences, but a party? on a wednesday night? you picked up your tote bag full of reading and text books after throwing your trusty vans jumper over your head, all ready and prepared to head down to the 24/7 library on campus. 

if you thought the music was loud in your room, you could think again, because in the hallway, not only could you hear the echos from the speakers, you could hear the shrill screams and yells from the party goers. the further away you got from your neighbouring apartment, the (thankfully) quieter it got and your short trip to the library was soon complete, the dull street lamps and soft breeze in the trees accompanying you along the way.

just as you thought, the library was empty, nothing but the sound of the door clicking shut behind you filling the room. a relieved sigh left your lips as you tugged your bag close to your body, as if the room was full of robbers who were about to mug you for your oh so precious books. opting for a more relaxed approach, seeing as it was 10.45pm, you headed to the sofa area, half thinking it would be a great place to take a nap.

instead, the anatomy of the heart was more important and your assignment was due in within a matter of days. you grabbed one handle of your bag, stretching it away from your body so you could pull out your book of choice before coming around to the front of the sofas so you could finally relax and take your time and- oh. you weren’t the only one here.

even though he was sprawled across the sofa, you could tell he was tall, really tall. the cap, embroidered with the college logo, covered his hair, but from the few stray strands, you could see wild, chocolatly curls falling loose. his eyes were shut, almost peacefully, arms crossed across his chest and very, very quietly, you could hear the soft sound of music coming from his headphones. his eyes flickered open, feeling a presence above him, and he laughed at you when you freaked out, realising you were staring at him. creepy or not, he thought you were cute; the way your finger twirled the front sections of your hair, the way your hip popped to the side as you watched over his resting frame, the way your eyes pulled into a squint as if it was the most bizzare thing to see another person in the library. the very public library.

you muttered a very embarrassed i’m sorry, before turning to walk away from the chilled area of the building. he pulled out his headphones, the sound of the 1975 becoming much more prominent, and propped himself up on his forearms. “hey, no...” he spoke, “come sit.”

scoffing, you rolled your eyes as you thought to yourself, as if you was going to let a random (but incredibly handsome) boy tell you what to do. as if you was going to actually listen and do as he said. as if- who are we kidding; your feet brought you back to the sofas, perching awkwardly on the end of the seat opposite his. he smiled, not smugly, not suggestively, not even cockily, but just a pure, genuine smile. “sorry i didn’t realise people actually like...”

“used the library?” you raised an eyebrow and he threw his head back in laughter, forearms still supporting his body which only made his t shirt strain against his chest. you recognised him from around campus, and you thought he was one of the music kids, one of the ones that did open mic nights and played guitar on the beach until 1am, but from the judgment of his toned physice, you thought maybe he played a spot of sport on the side, just for fun. not like the serious jocks who lived, breathed and worshiped football. he was definitely friends with your roommates boyfriend too, or friends with one of his friends, or- something like that, there’s a lot of people at college.

“yeah, well, no. but at this hour? why don’t you just read in bed?”

you sank back into the cushions, bringing up your legs and crossing them infront of you, looking like a little buddha wearing a vans hoodie and comfy leggings. “why don’t you just lay down in bed?”

this time, when he smiled, he smirked. “touché.”

he popped his headphone back in his ear, and the music died down again as he let his head fall back to the sofa, eyes closing shut. you wondered what had happened to bring him here, why the somewhat popular boy was cooped up in the library at this hour with clearly no intent of using the facilities. he thought the same about you. you felt awkward at first, pulling out your reading and note books, turning to the pages you had marked and setting them down around you. unbeknown to you, he cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes opening into thin slits as he watched you. he’d seen you around, even told one of your friends that he thought you were cute, but you were from different stretches of the college and really, he was nothing but the friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. he wanted to tuck the fallen piece of hair behind your ear and help you lean onto him as he noticed how you struggled to manage holding two books at once and tell you not to grind your pen in between your teeth as you thought about your work and- “can i help you?”

busted.

“sorry, i just... what you reading?” he asked, even though he could quite clearly see the front cover of the book, which read a bold title of the essentials of human anatomy and physiology. and even though you held the front cover up further, showing him more of what he could already see, you confirmed it with words.

“i got an assignment on the heart, so, yeah...” you shrugged, peeling off a post it note marker and sticking it to a relevant paragraph in the book.

“can i see?” he didn’t know why he was asking, he just knew he wanted to be closer to you. he genuinely was interested in what you were learning, and although you’d only spoken a handful of words to each other, he thought the way you spoke and tone of voice was the nicest he’d ever heard. nicer than any voices he’d heard during his classes and he studies with people who sing all day. he pushed himself up, body resting into the corner of the sofa, leaving an empty space on the pad next to him. you took that as an invitiation, not entirely sure where your sudden confidence and welcoming of strangers had come from. “what are you studying?”

“human evolutionary biology and biological science.” it rolled from off your tongue like you said it every living minute as you rested down on the sofa next to him. “you?” even though you were 95% sure you already knew, you didn’t want to let on.

his answer was much simpler, and in all honesty, he felt like a fool. “music.”

“that sounds fun.” you nodded with a smile. he reached over for your book, fingers running down the edges as he looked over the words which looked like a completely different language. your body was tense, and the closer he got, the more you could feel your heart beating, which just felt highly ironic.

“these words...” he laughed, mentally kicking himself for sounding like a dumbass who literally just knew how to strum a few chords. “chor... da? tend.. in.. ee?” you giggled innocently at his attempt, but he found it in no was patronising or belittling. in fact, he thought it was cute.

“chordae tendineae.” you confirmed, looking up and directly into his eyes for the first time. you were instantly lost in the hazel pools that looks slightly lighter when certain flashes of light fell across his skin. “heart strings, to you and i.”

you went on to explain that heart strings were in fact not just an expression that people used when they felt some sort of emotion, that you could actually physically hold a heart by their - chordae tendineae - strings and they wouldn’t break because they’re so tough. you told him it would take a lot of strength and pain to actually break one. he admired how passionate you were about the subject, reeling off facts as if you could tell them in your sleep. “sorry, i get carried away.”

your cheeks blushed a deep shade of pink and you did that hair, twirly thing you did when you felt nervous. “don’t apologise, it’s nice.” he restored your faith that not all pretty boys were assholes, and maybe it was just your poor judgment in the past that had led you to ever think that. as you stared down at your book, he stared at you, wondering if he was being overly friendly or super creepy or just a total inconvenience to your evening. you thought he was neither of those, but simply a nice addition.

“so, what brings you here at...” you looked at your watch for time reference, eyes widening as you realised you been sat boring him for the past 20 minutes... about heart strings. “11.30 on a wednesday night.”

he shrugged, leaning back and falling into the cushions, hoping a more relaxed body language would help you to relax a little more too. he could tell you were just perched on the edge of the sofa for fear of touching him. “sick of my room mate fucking his girlfriend like a porn star, dont know how he’s got it in him.” your lips formed an open ‘o’ shape, not expecting the sudden change in tone or language. “told him i was going out, he said he’ll be done by 11.30.”

“and they said chivalry is dead.” you dryly commented, only to make his eyes crinkle up as he laughed. “do you have a rota for that kinda thing or is it just a come and go as you please kinda rotation?”

“well, my rota’s severely empty.” you were shocked, and thought maybe he was just saying it because he might be a total fuck boy. you could imagine he had girls falling at his feet, and you wouldn’t blame them, because those eyes. “what about you?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him and tilted your head. “no... i mean... the why are you here part... not the sex rota part...” he pulled his cap further over his forehead, wanting to bury himself in a pit of embarrassment. if you didn’t think he was a creep before, you most probably did now, he was sure of that.

to say you were, inexperienced, would be total honesty. you’d slept with one guy and one guy only, and he was someone who thought having sex on the foot of the bed was adventurous, and you vowed never to distract yourself from your studies with boys who would waste your time. it was also just a couple of hook ups, nothing serious, in fact, you’d never even shared a bed with him overnight- and you laughed at yourself for ever being the naive girl that thought he wasn’t just using you to get laid. “there’s a party next door, they usually go on until the early hours, so whether i’m here or there, i still get no sleep.” you confirmed, and he nodded, half wishing you were going to tell him your rota was also empty. not because he wanted to pounce on you and take advantage, but because the hopeless romantic inside of him thought maybe there’d be a pathway to something special. “also, it’s 11.30, so your probably safe to head back.”

he thought maybe he was an inconvenience to your evening, that you said that because you wanted him to leave you in peace so you could crack on with what you’d set out to do. shoot your shot, shawn, he thought to himself, pulling his bottom lip inbetween his teeth and you had to force your eyes away from him because you suddenly felt all warm and bothered. “you wanna come?”

“huh?” your head snapped up, book also falling from your grip and you fumbled to stop it from landing on the floor. it was an expensive book, and you weren’t about to let some cute ass boy ruin your pages.

“not like... i mean... if you want somewhere to stay. i can take the sofa.” in the 8 months you’d been at this college, not one boy had offered you an invitation back to his dorm. mainly because you hid from any form of human contact and spent most of your time cooped up in your own room with no intention of leaving.

something in you switched, when you looked back to him to see he’d taken his cap and flipped it backwards, the peak of the hat now dipping behind the back of his neck. more light hit his features, and you felt like jelly, realising just how incredibly perfect he was. even the little scar on his cheek was kissable and you don’t know where this new confident you had appeared from this evening. you leant closer, placing your book down - carefully, of course - on the sofa, letting your hands rest on his thighs and you thought you felt him tense up, but you were probably just imagining it. “only if we can stop for hot chocolate.”

“i think we have some.”

“whipped cream?”

“is that for the hot chocolate or for me?”

although he was joking, he didn’t know if what he had said had sent a wrong message, because on the walk back to his dorm, you went back to being your quiet little self, answering questions briefly and turning the questions around onto him more often than not.

you didn’t think he had sent a wrong message, but you were well and truely helpless at flirting and maybe he wasn’t even flirting with you and you was completely overthinking it, but nevertheless, it made your stomach tighten and breaths deepen. whether it was an accident or not, your hands brushed against each other’s several times on the walk back, and it was one of those cliche, awkward moments where you both look at each other and laugh awkwardly like little kids. both of you also introduced yourself, coming to the realisation that no names had been exchanged but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t already know yours because he definitely searched for you came across you on facebook. “are you sure you’re okay? i can stay with you in the library if you prefer?” he asked, although you were both nearly at his door.

“you think i’m walking all the way back over there? nuh-uh, plus, you promised hot chocolate.” he smiled and nodded, “unless... you don’t want me, and then i totally can leave you alone.”

“no i do want you.” he spoke so quick he thought he must’ve sounded so desperate. “do want you to be here, i mean, like, if you’re cool.”

you nodded, feeling somewhat... wanted? by a cute boy? who treat you like a lady and offered you his jacket even though you had your own? who literally peeled your bag from your shoulder, just so he could carry it for you? and made you walk the side of the sidewalk furthest away from the road? and took a genuine instrest in what you said?

you’d be damned if you didn’t wake up and it was all a dream. this was by far the most college-ey thing you’d ever done; meeting a random guy in a random location and deciding to risk your life by going back to his place. maybe risking your life was a bit dramatic but we’ve all seen what happens in horror movies.

when you both reached his door, he unlocked it with the key and swung it open, holding out his arm as invitation for you to go first. of course, you thought, just be even more of a gent. inside the room, it was very similar layout to yours - you walked straight into the living/kitchen area and three doors were spread across the two back walls, one of which you guessed to be the bathroom and the other two to be bedrooms. the room was dull, the television being the only thing to illuminate the area and shawn sighed with relief when he saw his roommate and his girlfriend chilled on the sofa. “well, looks like we’re safe from the porn.” he whispered to you, throwing his keys on the table next to the door.

when his roommate’s girlfriend heard shawn speaking, she shot up and peered over the back of the sofa. her eyes flickered between you and shawn, before she poked at her boyfriends arm to get his attention. “brian...” he ignored her at first, popping another piece of popcorn in his mouth. “brian. shawn has a girl here.”

“girl can hear you. and so can shawn.” shawn said, rolling his eyes as brian also shot up, smirking as the four of you all entered a staring competition.

was it such a big thing he had a girl here? because you didn’t think it would be so much of a huge deal. have you seen him? perfect college boy with incredible muscles (from what you’d seen in your imaginatation), and here you were, stunning the members of the household into silence. “hi, uh, i’m y/n?” you almost sounded like you were questioning yourself, unsure whether you were meant to say anything or not.

the girl got up from the sofa, offering you some popcorn as a peace offering before she finally spoke to you, instead of about you. “so sorry, shawn just, never brings girls here because - ow!” shawn lightly jabbed her on the arm, taking the full bag of popcorn for himself and grabbing a handful. “it’s nice to meet you, i’m winnie. and brian...” she pointed at the boy still sat on the sofa who was too busy sending brain signals and eye expressions, about the random girl in their apartment, to shawn to notice he was being introduced. “brian was actually just talking about getting a mcdonald’s so, we can go do that and you can do... your thing.”

“nothing like that,” shawn was quick to jump in and although you weren’t necessarily here for a quick fuck or a one night stand, you felt slightly disappointed.

“oh? okay, well, let us know.” she smiled and snatched her popcorn back from shawn. “i know shawn doesn’t take long.” she laughed, clearly joking about the situation which only made shawn feel like he was dealing with bringing a girl home to his parents for the first time. before thinking about it, shawn grabbed your hand and dragged you towards one of the back rooms, presumably his bedroom.

you figured it must be when the door opened and you saw three guitars perched against the wall, an unmade bed, a laptop open on the desk and a bunch of photos on the wall of him with numerous other people. “make yourself comfortable, i’ll be back in a second.” he smiled and vanished back out of the room.

taking the time to be a bit nosy, you let’s yourself study the photos on the wall. a shorter, younger girl appeared in a fair few, along with two older adults who would appear to be his family and it made you smile at the fact he wasn’t afraid to have them on display. you felt a light twinge in your heart as you looked at a picture in which a girl was kissing his cheek, even though you had no right to feel any form of jealousy. moving on, you found the notebooks on his desk that was already opened up on a page which sent your notebook organisation through the roof. the page was full of messy scribbles, more than half of the words had been crossed out aggressively and replaced with new words. it was quiet, only the sound of quiet mutters could be heard from the other side of the door and you tried you’re best to listen in to what they were saying.

dude, she’s hot

you’ve never made any other chick hot chocolate

go back in that room and get some

at least try

you tried to look like you weren’t eavesdropping when he came back into the room, holding two mugs of hot chocolate, and just as you’d requested, with whipped cream. shawn thanked brian and winnie and their weird ass sex kinks for that. “thank you.” you smiled, taking it from him and wrapping your small hands around the mug to be met with warmth.

“i’m, uh, sorry about them..” he said, setting his own drink down on the bedside table.

“don’t be. they seem nice.”

“so, if you wanna go to sleep i can leave you be and like i said, i can take the couch and you can have the bed.”

“we could both have the bed?” you’d said, before even having time to think about letting the words fall from your mouth. his eyes almost looked like they’d lit up and you blew into your hot chocolate just so you had something to do instead of awkwardly staring back at him. “if you want, i mean, i can go home, i’m sure the party will die down soon.”

“stop doing that.” he rolled his eyes, leaning back against his headboard as you sat cross legged at the edge of his bed, surrounded by the navy duvet.

“doing what?”

“doubting yourself.”

“well i’m good at it.” he laughed at you, reaching his hands out and taking your hot chocolate mug from your grasp.

“i wanna know more about that heart shit.” he admitted, missing how you passionately spoke about something you were so interested in.

“heart shit... you mean the thing that keeps you alive? maybe tomorrow, i’m all organed out.” he looked a little disappointed and you thought maybe he was thinking you’re suggesting you don’t wanna stay up with him. he was wrong. “although, modern family is back on netflix now and that is something i will never turn down.”

he grabbed his laptop from his desk, setting it next to you at the edge of the bed. you adjusted yourself, moving more to the middle of the mattress, therefore, slightly closer to shawn. you could smell his cologne, just like you could when you sat close to him in the library.

smiling at how you twirled your hair, bit your lip when you concentrated on what people were saying, covered your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater when you started to yawn, he thought; it was weird, how he just had this feeling that he wanted to spend countless nights with you, learning about whatever organ you needed to. and you thought too; how you felt more comfortable around him than any other person you’d met at college thus far.

still sat upright, cross legged in the middle of his bed, your back started to ache and legs started to feel numb as the second episode started. you stretched out as much as you could before looking behind you and eyeing up the empty space next to shawn. “i was wondering how long before you couldn’t sit like a buddha anymore.” he laughed, speaking over the familiar theme tune coming from the laptop. “please get comfy, you look in pain.”

“i am not in pain, i am simply just... respecting personal space.” in all honesty, you couldn’t remember the last time you cuddled up to a boy. the last guy used to literally leave as soon as he’d done what he needed to do, leaving you empty and alone every night. “and you might not want me, all up in your space.”

“oh my god, just stop!” he laughed, despite his demanding tone.

“stop what?!”

“doubting yourself... again!”

you huffed, uncrossing your legs and crawling up to where shawn was sat. he smirked as you got closer, settling down next to him, your back also against the headboard. your legs were outstretched, finally free from their crossed positioning, and your hands fell to your lap. another ten minutes of the episode went by when you get yourself getting tireder, head leaning to one side a little more.

shawn noticed how your body was a little more relaxed, less rigid than when you first joined him at the head of the bed. risking his move, he stretched his arm behind you, draping it over your shoulder which caused any relaxed part of your body to stiffen back up. “don’t be nervous, you can come closer.”

you looked up to him, shooting him a warm smile. it didn’t take long for your body to relax again, and it actually felt nice how natural it felt to be curled into his body. his fingers traced patterns on your shoulder as your head moved in time with his chest, a loud yawn escaping your mouth. “tired?”

“mhmm,” you answered, evidently too tired to even speak an official word.

“we could... take a nap together?” he stuttered.

“a nap? shawn it’s like 12.30am, we need a full ass sleep.” you giggled, leaning up off him to pull your sweater over your head.

“then a full ass sleep we shall have.” he sorted the set up out, turning off the laptop and placing it back on the desk. he took out a t shirt and shorts from his drawers, putting them on the edge of the bed before retrieving and additional pair of shorts. he told you he was going to change in the bathroom, and to put his clothes on, only if you wanted, before disappearing out. you took advantage of the empty room, immediately peeling off your own clothes and replacing them with his. they smelt like him, like citrus and cassis and as you climbed back into the bed, where you were previously sat, a light tap on the door sounded.

“yup,” you said, popping the last letter as he shot his head around the door, smiling when he saw you’d taken up his offer of borrowing his clothes. he says borrow, but he’d be more than happy for you to keep them, because you looked a hell of a lot better in them than he did.

he’d lost his t shirt, not that you were going to complain - and yes, he did have muscles exactly how you’d imagined him to - and the sweat shorts he’d changed into hung low from his hips and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen a sight like it. shawn wasn’t the type of boy to feel embarrassed or nervous; hell, he’d managed to shit talk his way into getting you to come back to his dorm, just in a bid to keep hold of your company because he’s never felt a feeling like it. shawn’s clothes were the first you’d ever borrowed from a guy, never having the experience of the morning after or spending a long night with someone you really like, staying up all night and talking about nothing in particular. it was also a first that you’d let yourself be conned into coming back to a guys dorm.

“you sure you don’t want me to take the sofa?” he asked as he stood at the side of his bed, unintentionally towering over you, almost making you feel as big as ladybug.

“stop doing that.” you raised your eyebrows, pushing back the duvet so there was an empty space next to you.

his face showed pure confusion, having no idea what he’d done. “doing what?”

“doubting yourself.” you mocked his voice the best you could, dropping a few pitches and moving your head theatrically.

he rolled his eyes, plopping down into the empty space next to you, and although his clothes smelt like him on your body, he could still smell the orchid and vanilla scent that covered your skin. “i don’t sound like that.”

rolling onto his side, he turned to face you, slightly closer for comfort than he would normally like to be, but with you, he didn’t think he was close enough. you were on your back, eyes tracing the outline of the shadows on the ceiling that crept through from the blinds. “you kinda do.”

“oh... as opposed to, the deoxygenated blood travels into the left ventricle-” he’d put on his best higher pitched voice.

“right atrium.”

“-and opens those little valvey things-”

“just valves is fine.” you rolled onto your side to face him, but he was too busy mocking you to notice.

“-which make your heart do the ba-dum thing that i’ve been able to feel in my fucking throat all night-”

“you mean the heartbeat?”

“-all because you’ve been pulling on my chordane tendineae because you’re just too fucking amazing.” you swolled hard, and suddenly it was you who could feel the ba-dum thing in your throat. he was just looking at you, now aware you were face to face with him, only inches apart in his queen sized bed. he had just tried to twist your words in a confession of admiration, but couldn’t help but think he’d just sounded dumb instead. “no smart ass comment?”

normally you’d be offended at someone calling your comments smart ass, because they were in fact just the truth, but you knew shawn was messing, although, maybe not about the heartbeat part. you’d found yourself being drawn in, faces getting closer together with each breath, so much so you almost didn’t notice how his hand was stroking over the skin of your hip. he was searching your face for an invitation, he wanted to kiss you so bad, but at the same time, didn’t want to scare you off. the air was thick, and you were sure you could hear your heartbeat, but shawn was convinced it was his. his breath fanned against your lips, creating a cool minty sensation, and as your eyashes fluttered, your eyes looked straight into his. “kiss me.”

shawn taglist: @imaginashawnns @fallinallincurls @mendesficsxbombay @fallinfortom

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes smut

[iamdorka]

’Hi! I was wondering if you could do "dating xxx would be like..."? for colson and rook? love ur writing ♡’

So again, I thought about different scenarios and how each of the boys would react/behave in those. Hope you will like it.

- making sushi together

Colson: Neither of you is a Michelin starred chef so when you randomly thought that it would be a good idea making your favorite food in the entire world at home you didn’t really thought it through. Making an edible thing of those simple ingredients should have been easy… but not for you two. Like you tried with all of you had but somehow nothing really worked out. But you didn’t give up… first. Watching youtube videos on the kitchen floor trying to learn all the tricks didn’t really helped you. You know what helped you finally? Ordering sushi, because at least that way you didn’t go to bed hungry.

Rook: He hated sushi with all his life, but he loved you more than anything. So when you needed some cheer up on a lazy Saturday he thought about some fun way to pass the time. You were disaster at the kitchen (not like him, he was more than good), like something with just making a tea for yourself you could hurt yourself but he wanted to involve you so he made you his souchef, giving you some really easy instructions just to have some confidence. The fact that he was willing to do this for you even if he actually terrified and disgusted touching all the ingredients made it so special… and funny.

 - building something together

Colson: The idea came from him, because he facetimed with Casie and she told him about her building project for school and he got so hyped up he thought he had to something too. When a day he came home from the store with a bunch of tools and things you had never seen in your entire life you thought somebody brainwashed him. He insisted in this activity but you just laughed it off, like a hammer in your hands would be perfect just when you wanted to destroy something, not build something and to be honest he wasn’t the best in this game either. Even though you love to go to IKEA, when you have to build something from there you cursed yourself for life and now you cursed him, extremely hard. “You owe me one after this Colson… okay… not one… a hundred and one.” You were clearly surprised that none of you got into the hospital because of your bruises but if that would have happened you clearly would have killed him.

Rook: You liked to be in the garden, like if it wasn’t for you, the whole house would look like a desert with no plants, no life, nothing at all. Luckily, your house got a little garden too which, as the spring has arrived, needed some restoration and to spend more time together, Rook decided to help you out. Even had some special ideas to make the whole thing ever cuter, so he decided to make some flower-boxes with you, build them from scratch, make them your own. You were so thankful for him.

 - play „heads up” on your phone

Colson: You loved playing these kinda games but you were so bad at them, like even if you had played with them before, just to understand the rules again you had to spend concentrating on them like 10 minutes, every damn time. And he loved making fun of you because of this. Like you were competitive, you loved to win, but you were terrible because somehow you could mess it up the easiest task too. Usually these kind of games ended up with him getting a stomach ache because of the laughing while you just wanted to kill him to end that mischivious smile on his face…. but you loved him and somehow you liked to suffer a bit.

Rook: if these kind of games had a king and queen, you would be the royal couple, that’s for sure. When you play with your friends, they actually hate you, both of you, because you always win, there is no scenarios when you don’t. And of course you are competitive as fuck no matter the game, the price, the time. You loved to rule the game, the life… the trouble came when you were against each other because oh boy. The show you gave to the others while playing against each other was next level.

 - plant your favorite herbs together

Colson: The moment he heard that you wanted to plant something he immediately thought about cannabis taking it to the extremes because he couldn’t stop imagine having a full house with those plants, like it would be a dream, the best of them all. But of course you didn’t want to do that, like you knew that those plants need some extra time of caring and neither of you could do it… you just wanted to have some colors in the rock garden you had next to the garage so you decided to buy some plants for that area and you didn’t accept a no from him as an answer. In the end he even liked the idea because you ended up with your shirt soaked in water and he really liked what he could see.

Rook: You really thought that the kitchen hates you, that’s why the only thing you did there was eating, but you did that successfully. You knew that too that your boyfriend was good there too which was a really great deal for you because you love eating. His cooking was so good because he really enjoyed it and you enjoyed seeing him doing what he loved, so one day you had the idea to do some digging and to find out what are the best plants and herbs to grow in your kitchen garden. One day he came home from some photoshoot and you were ready outside with everything you needed for the planting. He was more than surprised but even that he was tired a bit he didn’t care about that because you were so hyped up and he loved seeing you like that.

 - create a new cocktails for each other

Colson: You loved mixing things, tasting new flavours, everything but also new that sometimes especially if you do that with alcohol it can end up in a really, really extremely bad hangover… to say at least. So one day when you decided that at your houseparty you were doing each other’s cocktails, drinks you knew that you were probably gonna die because oh boy, Colson loved alcohol, and his creations were usually out of this planet. All of them tasted good, but at the first sip you always knew that this gonna hit you hard, but it was worth it and you kinda liked it. You loved to suffer. About your creations… they tasted good if he didn’t think about them and drink them up right away but they did what they had to do… to make him suffer so you could do that shit together.

Rook: If you drink you like to stick to one kind of thing, and one kind of thing only, so even when you get drunk you don’t get that wasted… but sometimes shit happens and you gave the control of your night to your boyfriend, so he makes you the craziest combinations you could ever imagine, so in return, when you are extremely wasted you do the same for him and that’s the time when both of you, deep in your heart know that this night gonna be doomed, but you love it anyway because you love each other in bad and in good.

Tag list (write me if you wanna be on it❤)

@echelonwonderland @no-shxt-sherl @kissedbystrangerswaterbottle @bakerkells @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @mgk-rooklover1997 @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @southernmgkpunk @thegunnerkelly @findingmyths @painkillerash @rosesinmars @rosegoldrichie @pinksocktingz @itjustkindahappenedreally @cclynn88 @bluehairedtracii @rumoured-whispers @estxxbritt @xrosegoldwolfx 

#requested #headcanon #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun Kelly fanfiction #machine gun kelly fanfic #machine gun kelly imagine #mgk #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #mgk headcanon #mgk fanfic #colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker x reader #colson baker fanfic #colson Baker fanfiction #rook #rookxx #rook x reader #rook fanfiction #rook cappelletty #jp rook cappelletty #imagine #writing #writers #fanfiction #fanfic #double x #kanye west

[norabrice1701]

An Offer Received - Part I

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic 

Pairing:Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader 

Summary: You were just doing your job. It wasn’t your fault you did it so well that your boss, Thomas Conrad, wanted to recruit you in his plan for world domination. And what Mr. Conrad wants, well…

Rating: Part I - an F-bomb or two (later parts heat up, but gotta start somewhere) 

A/N: This is rather the hopeless result of watching "High-Rise", "Crimson Peak", the British Villain Jaguar commercial series, and "The Night Manager" over the last few weeks...so, here goes nothing! Planned to be 5 or 6 parts when all’s said and done. 

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search! 

Part I - 5 Minutes 

You dropped to your office chair with a sigh, plugging in your laptop. Today’s department head meeting had passed uneventfully for once. Robert Stark, Head of R&D, and Chris Rogers, Head of Operations, constantly jockeyed for more allocation of your production resources. It was challenging, you’d admit – finding the balance act between supply and demand while planning for the future. But you were the youngest Head of Production for the largest tech giant in the world, Lok Industries – better known by the LOKI brand splashed on phones, watches, tablets, computers – for a reason.

While youngest as your particular department head, you were hardly the youngest on the senior staff. And that was to say nothing of the CEO himself. The youngest man in corporate history at the helm – an engineer with the aptitude for business strategy and the political savvy to chart a meteoric rise to the top. In fact, Thomas J. Conrad’s nomination for CEO five years ago passed unanimously in record time.  

You’d never met him, never even seen him around the office despite your department head position. Plenty of others had, though, with stories to tell and scars to prove it. You tried to stay above the office gossip – especially when it concerned your senior boss – but it was intriguing. For all the press release photos and official portraits you’d seen – Mr. Conrad looked pleasant enough. Intelligent, sky-blue eyes; well-coiffed, gold-brown hair that betrayed just a hint of natural curl; a dashing smile. But that’s all it was, according to the hearsay – just a well-crafted facade. No one should be fooled by those eyes that could cut men in half; by that clever mind operating with ruthless intent; or, by that sharp, cold tongue that knew no mercy.

It sounded like such a cliché. The handsome, suave boss who was secretly-not-so-secretly a heartless bastard. A vicious predator in a bespoke suit. Albeit, a gorgeous one.

That’s why you didn’t care for the gossip. It’d be far better to meet the man and form your own opinions – but you’d been sufficiently warned that you’d only be brought before Mr. Conrad when you royally fucked up. “Not if you royally fuck up,” Scarlett Romanov had helpfully clarified with a coy smile, “but when you royally fuck up.”

Well, four years in and it hadn’t happened yet. And today was no time to start.

Turning to your laptop, you tended to the business at hand – reviewing production data, answering emails, assigning resource allocation. All in a day’s work. At one point you glanced at the clock, realizing there was just an hour left in your day. Perfect.

Perhaps tonight, you’d break the stalemate with Sebastian Barnes, Head of IT, and text him. He was quite handsome in his own right, easy to converse with, and even easier to fall into bed with. Even morning coffee at his apartment had been pleasant. But work got in the way for both of you – between server upgrades and production outages, there always seemed to be some excuse recently.

The desk phone beeped twice, flashing red, followed by another set of two beeps. An internal caller. You glanced at the ID on the screen, brow furrowing as you hit the speaker button.“Afternoon, Mrs. Brunhilde.”

“Good afternoon.” The pleasant voice of Mrs. Willamina Brunhilde – a relic of the former CEO and still glorified secretary of the CEO’s office – suffused your name with warmth and professional detachment. “Mr. Conrad would like to see you. He has an opening for the next hour, and I’ve just reserved the time on your calendar. Are you in a position to come to his office in 5-10 minutes?”

You knew the question was largely a polite formality. When Mrs. Brunhilde called and Mr. Conrad wanted a meeting, there was no excuse to say no. Your heart rate accelerated as you swallowed. “Of course. I’ll be right there.”

With a few more perfunctory pleasantries, the call ended. You exhaled deep, fighting to reign in the sudden nervous energy that pooled in your gut. This was no different than any other meeting you’d attended – you were smart, you were capable. You were the Head of Production, and you didn’t get this job for being a pretty face. Brushing your slacks, adjusting your blazer, and smoothing your bangs, you exited your office for the trek across the sprawling building.

Mr. Conrad’s office suite overlooking the city harbor matched much of the building aesthetic – sharp lines, glass and chrome, a study in clean whites and crisp greys with hints of the company’s bold green signature color. Mrs. Brunhilde greeted you with a smile, ushering you forward to the dark, partially cracked double-doors. You rapped on the wood, exhaling deep.

“Enter.” His velvety, British drawl had always been appealing. 

You opened the door further, stepping inside. He glanced up from the slim folder in hand as he sat in the white, leather chair at his desk – the picture of perfection with straight posture, a black tie knotted tight at his throat, and the crisp white sleeves of his dress shirt on display.

He inclined his head ever so faintly, face devoid of a smile. “Thank you for coming.” Your name rolled off his tongue in the most pleasing way.

You tipped your head in return. “Of course. Thank you, sir, for taking the time.”

He reached to his laptop, pressing a button on the keyboard before looking back to the folder as audio started to play.

Your stomach sank to your feet as you recognized it.

Your voice carried clear. “Our control limits are holding – 23 defects per 1,000,000 units. Our department has set an improvement goal to drop that number from 23 to 5 in the next four years –.”

Robert’s voice interrupted. “Oh goody, but perhaps, more importantly, you can tell me when Lane 5 will be restored?”

“The investigation into Lane 5 is still ongoing,” you said, voice even, “the code has been scrubbed, and we’re looking at retooling options.”

“Retooling options?” Robert scoffed. “Need I remind you that it’s been 33 hours since you canned my primary production line? That’s 33 hours of lost time, to the tune of – oh, say a 9% drop of market share come holiday season if we don’t finish the dev on these new marine products.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “As opposed to a 21% loss in market share if we let our control limits slip and start producing a higher percentage of defective products? Consumers know the LOKI brand is reliable – the highest reliability of any of our competition – and reliability makes or breaks on the production floor. Sacrifice quality control limits and you might as well kiss your cushy retirement goodbye.”

“Then, scale back – temporarily – on Rogers’ orders. He’s meeting quota, check the box for market supply. And if it does get tight, well, a little more demand for less supply usually helps -”

“Robert,” you cut him off, voice tight, “this is my call. I’ve looked at the same numbers you have – with Lane 5 out of commission until we can bring it up to spec, it’s a hit to our bottom line. It’s my job to minimize that hit. While never desirable, we can weather a 9% loss without permanent damage to the brand. Even Mr. Conrad would agree to that. But, if you don’t like that answer – then, by all means, let’s do discuss with Mr. Conrad.” 

The room fell dead quiet, broken only by the faint squeak of a shifting chair.

“Well,” Robert started softly, “I don’t know that we need to go there just yet. What’s your projection on the investigation conclusion?”

“Retooling should complete in the next 21 hours, then we’ll move through start-up.”

Conrad’s hand floated back to his keyboard, pressing a button to cut off the recording. You didn’t dare speak as silence fell. If he was displeased, you would know soon enough. And if he was pleased, well…no one ever said they were called to Mr. Conrad’s office because he was pleased.

Your heart raced as he drew out the moment, but you wouldn’t let him see you sweat. You wouldn’t let him unnerve you.

Cold, crystalline eyes darted up to yours, pinning you in place. “You have absolutely no authority to speak for me. Making baseless statements about my assumed inclinations is not part of your job. Your job does include resolving those inter-department squabbles without leveraging my involvement as a threat. Now, if you’re incapable of standing behind your own decisions, incapable of defending the trajectory that you have set for your department and this corporation by extension – then, tell me now and spare me further disappointment.”

You responded on instinct, hiding the sting of his words.“No, sir. I’ve watched the company’s production numbers for almost four years now. Every metric is higher across the board than when I assumed the position -”

“Yes, including budget. Your department’s costs have increased, not exactly commensurate with your outputs. Diminishing returns often plague the pursuit for perfection as one approaches the pinnacle.” He glanced down idly to the file in his hand. “Your department walks that razor’s edge now. It would be well within my interest, perhaps, to cap you there.”

“Sir, the quality of our production is unparalleled –.”

“But you wanted to bring the discussion to Mr. Conrad, did you not? Well, here you are.” He closed the folder, tossing it idly to his desk before rising. Despite the late hour, he looked as pressed and polished as if the day had just started. He crossed around to the front of his desk, bracing against it as he rested his hands inside his trouser pockets. “There’s only one solution in this case.”

You debated asking but thought against it. Asking would be redundant. He wouldn’t have brought you here without a purpose, without something to gain.

He gestured at the nearest leather armchair opposite his desk. “Do have a seat.”

You paused, hesitating in consideration of his words. Sitting as he indicated would place you in a physically submissive position to his tall, lithe figure. Not that you were short in your heels – standing just over 5’9” – but you weren’t exactly keen to meet your senior boss on unequal footing.

His gaze hardened, mouth pinching with irritation. “If you’re stalling for time, my patience is not inexhaustible. And when I make an offer, I expect it to be received.”

Steeling yourself, moistening your lips, you crossed around to sit as indicated. You squared your shoulders and held your head high, refusing to fully angle back to look up at him as he spoke.

“Mrs. Brunhilde’s time at LOKI has come to an end. As you know, she was installed to her post by my predecessor who tailored the position to suit his needs. Needs that no longer align with my own or the corporation. The position is now evolving to meet the ever-evolving environment in which it must function.”

You nearly whiplashed from the change in conversation. Hadn’t he just questioned your ability to successfully do your job…?

He continued to speak softly yet there was no mistaking the hard, commanding edge. “The new terms for the CEO Administrative Executor now require someone with a working knowledge of the business and its trajectory; a willingness to stand in defense of that trajectory while keeping a clear head for the larger vision,” he pitched slightly forward, voice dropping with the barest hint of a tease, “and, of course, leveraging the power of one’s boss with explicit authority.”

It sure sounded like a tease, but you couldn’t be sure. You were too busy reeling from the implications. “Forgive me, sir,” you looked up at him, “but…it sounds like you’re suggesting….” You didn’t finish. Couldn’t finish. The thought of being removed as Head of Production and reassigned as his personal secretary, office administrative whatever repulsed you. Had he already judged you incapable? Was this punishment for one fucking meeting?

“I’m more than just suggesting.” He reached behind him for a loose sheet of paper. “Take the rest of this week as transition, and start in earnest on Monday.”

“The rest of this week?” You couldn’t stop the outburst. “I couldn’t possibly – you’re giving me just three days to transition out as Head of Production, and into the role of your office executor? Who’s my replacement? I need time to prepare the turnover, oversee the transition – and, surely, I should be involved in determining my replacement.”

A wolfish smile ghosted his face. “Welcome to your first objective in your new role. In addition to learning the expectations of this office and implementing goals for your redefined position, of course.” He held out the paper in your direction and you stared at it, wishing it would burst into flames.

The official notice of transfer with authority granted by the one and only Thomas J. Conrad.

Well, you wouldn’t be texting Sebastian tonight, after all. Not when your workload just quadrupled. You reached out for the paper, gripping it tight as you sighed.

“You needn’t look so glum about it,” he scolded lightly. “Consider it a promotion. If you hadn’t caught my eye – or ear, more accurately – you wouldn’t be here now. At least, you’ll find I’m rather adept at managing my own schedule; my valet manages my personal affairs; and, the café staff is well aware of my expectations for coffee and tea service.”

You quirked a brow. “Isn’t coffee delivery standard to every assistant position?”

He leveled you with a stern look in return. “If you ever bring me a cup of steaming liquid, you’ll find your pay docked by 60%. You’re in this position to be eyes, ears, and perspective on this company. Someone adept at managing the razor’s edge and surviving.” He straightened from his desk, extending a hand. “Are we understood on your priorities?”

Another challenge. Another opportunity. And if it didn’t pan out…well, how many others could say they worked directly for Thomas J. Conrad on their resume?

You rose, taking his hand. “Understood, sir.”

His answering smile, predatory and self-satisfied, sent shivers down your spine.

Up Next: Part II - 5 Weeks 

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #avengers reference #fanfic #an offer received #wannabe writer #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #not rpf

[plaidstiel-wormstache]

Got a Good Feeling

This is a late entry for @atc74​‘s challenge - #Angelina���s Duets Reboot Challenge. Prompt: Something Bad - Miranda Lambert ft Carrie Underwood Word Count - 5454 Summary - Sam and Dean head to a bar for a night off, maybe they’ll get lucky, and who’s to say they won’t meet their matches? Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Fem!Reader, Carrie (OC). Warnings: gambling, fraud, potential violence, sex (nsfw) A/N: This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own (let me know if there’s a big one so I can fix it). There’s a mix of points of view, I’ve separated the scenes by ***

The eight ball spun towards the pocket, everyone seemed to be holding their breath, and then it bumped the corner and stopped short, almost resting on the precipice. “Fuck,” YN muttered. The bulky jock laughed out loud, an overly confident noise. He had to be compensating for his lack of skill… and maybe something else. “Double or nothing!” He announced, looking at YN, her grip on the pool stick tightening. She thought about it, glanced towards the bar and held up two fingers and then returned her attention to the jock. “Double or nothing,” She agreed, downing the last gulp of her beer. The jock looked a little surprised but nodded all the same, squared his shoulders and lined up his shot. The striped four ball was the last he needed to sink before moving on to the easy shot. He ripped back and pumped his arm, sending the four spinning. It didn’t look pretty, but it dropped into the pocket with the weight of his willpower. 

“What’s double for you sweetheart? I’ll take a night instead,” He laughed loudly when YN scrunched up her nose. She took a deep breath in and glanced towards the bar, waiting for him to focus his attention on the pool table again. “Where are those drinks?” She called out, holding up her hands in apology when the jock raised his pool cue from the table, leveling a heavy gaze at her for trying to distract him. He did a few practise moves and then pulled back, leaning heavy on the table, everyone around holding their breath, again.

Suddenly there was an outburst of noise and movement as the bartender smacked into his back, splashing the tray of drinks onto his shirt, someone nearby catching her before she fell over completely. “Whoa!” YN called along with everyone else standing around. “What the fuck!” The jock exploded, having scraped the cue along the table, connected with the white ball only for it to roll an inch. “Easy dude,” One of his friends tried to calm him down. “I just lost everything ‘cause of this dumb slut.” The guy yelled. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, let me get you a drink on the house.” She tried to make up. “Sorry? Do you know how much a porsche costs?” He was going red in the face and this bartender was now bending to pick up the glasses, ignoring him. “Hey! I’m speaking to you!” He yelled again, reaching for her, and before YN could launch herself over the pool table to stop him, a handsome man stepped in and caught his arm. He was tall and broad, a match for the aggravated jock. “You gonna hit her?” He accused, staring the jock down, his arm still held tight in this guy’s hand. “No I was gonna--!” The jock tried to wrench his arm out of the man’s hold, but this guy had a vice like grip. YN watched in awe as the sandy-haired man in  the well-worn canvas jacket put the jock in his place. She was almost too enthralled to notice the bartender being escorted towards the bar by an even taller man, his hair long, his shoulders broad, he’d be very intimidating if it wasn’t for the kindness in his eyes. 

“Give the lady her money and get out.” The tall guy growled, still holding the jock’s arm. “She hasn’t--” YN lined up the white ball easily and tapped it, landing the black and keeping the white just out of the pocket, then looked up with a grin on her face. She winked at the jock and held out her hand. “I believe that’s the porsche, sweetheart!” She threw the name back at him, fluttering her eyelashes. The jock snarled, literally snarled, at her. The man must’ve squeezed the Jock’s arm, because he whimpered and dove into his pocket. “Listen,” YN said, watching the pain with which the man withdrew his keys, “You can keep your porsche,” His eyes lit up, “But,” he looked wary, “You take out what’s on that amex you’ve been flashing around, and we’ll call it even.” She offered. “That’s not--” “Don’t be a dick, either give up the four-hundred k car out the front or take your card--” “The machine’s limit is two thou,” One of the people from the crowd called out. The Jock looked around at his friends and then conceded, pushing his keys into his pocket and pulling at his arm, still in the man’s hold. Both sets of eyes bore into the other as they sized up who might win if this turned into a fight, and the tall guy seemed not to think it was worth it; tossing the Jock’s arm back to him as he let go. The Jock pushed through the crowd to the ATM and puffed himself up as he slipped his wallet from his back pocket.

YN set her pool cue down in the middle of the table and began to empty the balls back onto the table, ready for the next people, and the tall, broad, sandy-haired, green-eyed, man helped her. “How ‘bout you give me a turn to swindle you out of that two thousand?” He said, a sly smile on his face. He was pretty and he knew it. “Hmm,” YN feigned thinking about it, “Nope,” She popped the P as she watched the denial only spur him on. “Guess it was just beginner’s luck then, huh?” He challenged. She scoffed, “I see through you--?” “Dean,” He introduced. “I see that bait, Dean, and I ain’t bitin’,” She said with a sly smile of her own. “Why don’t you let me get you a drink, you can watch me make my way round the room,” Singling out a few of the guys, “And then, you and me?” He gestured between the two of them. “Why don’t I buy me a drink, watch you lose, and call it a night?” She teased. “You want your money or not?” The Jock called out, impatient that he had to wait even a second more than he had. “You want to keep your porsche?” YN called back as she rounded the pool table. The jock held out her money and ripped it from her hand as she tried to take it, looking for the last laugh. She stared at him, jaw muscles flexing as she grit her teeth. She held out her hand for the money, the other hand clamped into a fist, knuckles white. He tried it again, looking around at his friends and laughing as he did. She grabbed at the front of his shirt with her outstretched hand and punched him hard on the nose. It hurt, it hurt more than it probably hurt him. But she was fast despite the pain, and grabbed the money as he reeled back, clutching at his face. “Now fuck off out of here,” She said bravely. He glared at her over his hands, threatening silently. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the hot guy standing behind her, but she couldn’t resist the urge that was building within her, “Sweetheart!” He launched at her but his friends surrounding him grabbed him before he could get at her. She was startled and had adrenaline coursing through her blood, pumping in her ears, but she was safe. ***

“Thanks, you really didn’t need to do that,” The bartender said as the tall, handsome man helped her away from the potential fight. She glanced back at the group, the man who’d saved her still holding the Jock, YN trembling with anger as she stood by. “Please, I didn’t do anything,” The big guy said, putting the glasses on the bar as she rounded it. “Okay, well, let me get you a drink anyway,” She said, hurrying on when he looked like he was about to protest, “For not doing anything,” He smiled, giving in, “A beer,” He conceded taking a seat and watching as she grabbed a pint glass from under the bar and tossed it under the tap, tipping it and opening the nozzle.

“Name’s Carrie,” She introduced, wiping her hand on her jeans before offering it to him at the same time as sliding his beer towards him. “Sam,” He said, shaking the offered hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam,” She said with a grin, “You know him?” She said with a nod towards the pool table. “Uhh, yeah, my brother, Dean,” He said, glancing back towards the pool table. Things seemed to have deescalated and he could see Dean was making moves on the chick holding the pool cue, the group around them had gone back to their drinks, but the jocks remained. “You know her?” He said. “Yeah, YN, she’s a regular.” Carrie said, looking to someone who’d moved up next to Sam. “Two buds, love,” The older patron said, gruff but kind. She turned her back to Sam, then bent to retrieve the two beers from the fridge below the counter top. His eyes moved over her; the jeans were snug, pockets accentuating her plump ass, the loose black shirt looked like a men’s but was tied at the front, buttons undone to reveal a bit of cleavage. “Here ya go,” She popped the caps off the bottles as she placed them on the bar top and took the cash he put down in their place.

“You were saying,” She said to Sam, turning back to him, catching him off guard. “Uhh,” He stammered, frowning, then shook his head before raking his hand through his hair to restore it. “You were asking when I finish up,” She said with a broad, confident smile, winking at him when he blushed. Sam took a sip of his beer, hiding himself behind it before he made up his mind. “So what time do you get off?” He asked, mind made. “An hour,” She laughed. “Right,” He said, awkward now, unsure what to do with himself in the meantime. “So what do you call work, Sam?” She questioned, knowing exactly what to do with him for now. ***

YN left the game underway, Dean up two on an old trucker who seemed overly confident in himself when they started out. “Two beers,” She said over the bar. “How’s the game?” Carrie asked, setting out getting two beers for her. “Oh, I got a good feeling something bad’s about to happen,” YN said, winking at the bartender who tried hard to hide her smile. “This is Sam, your friend’s brother!” Carrie introduced, pointing to the tall guy sitting a seat away at the bar. “Wow, brothers?” YN mused, looking from Carrie to Sam. “Uhh, yeah,” Sam said, extending his hand when YN did. “So you must know exactly what kind of a pool player he is?” YN asked him. “He’s good, don’t let the idiot act fool you,” Sam warned, turning in his seat to face the way YN and Carrie were looking.

Dean took a shot and missed, exaggerating the reaction when the Trucker added another note to the pile on the side. Dean looked to the group by the bar and winked before turning back to the older man. Sam huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes, turning back to the bar. “And don’t let the bartending fool you about this one, she’s putting herself through college,” YN said, nodding over her shoulder at Carrie. “What course are you doing?” Sam said, leaning closer. “English lit,” Carrie said, blushing. “What major?” Sam was intrigued. “Criminology,” She said, giggling when his eyebrows lifted into his hairline and he swung back on his seat. “Right, I’ll leave you two with that,” YN said, picking up her drinks and winking at Carrie before leaving, back for the pool table. ***

“I was feeling generous,” YN said, placing the beer on the table next to Dean’s winnings, winking at him when he looked up. “Generous enough for a game?” He asked, picking up the beer and taking a swig. “Honey, you gotta earn it,” She teased, an encouraging smile on her face. She enjoyed Dean, enjoyed him chasing her, pushing for a game, hinting at something more. He was handsome; green eyes that gave him away, a long neck that she could sink her teeth into, rippling muscles hiding under the jacket, with a confidence to match his strength. He knew he had her in the bag the moment she licked her lips when he pulled the bottle from his lips. There was a tell about a woman, and she was telling a lot. He bit his bottom lip and tore himself away from her stare, looking around the crowd of the bar. “Who’s next?” He asked her, leaning back against the table. She joined him, her arm against his, looking through the crowd. “What about him?” She said, pointing at his brother. He scoffed and shook his head, then nodded towards a twenty-something man that had just entered the bar. “Hang on, you don’t want any competition?” She asked, looking back to Sam. “I don’t want any trouble, have you seen the size of him?” Dean joked. YN realised he was playing a bigger game, maybe even the same kind she was already playing. “Okay, this guy then,” She said, nodding to the table next to them, an older man and a younger woman had just settled in after getting their first drinks of the night. He was a well dressed man in his forties, gelled hair, crisp shirt, faded jeans and loafers, an expensive looking watch on his wrist, a tan line on his ring finger. Meanwhile she looked half his age, giggled at everything he said, sipped at her cocktail, and hung off his every word. Dean smiled and looked back at YN, she was good at this. Maybe a little too good? “Okay,” He said, accepting the challenge. “Excuse me,” YN called out, reaching across Dean and tapping the guy on the shoulder. “Yeah?” He turned around, looking up at Dean and then YN. “Hi, sorry, my boyfriend’s saying he thinks he can beat you at pool, and I don’t think he can,” YN led, a shy smile on her face. “Oh?” The guy said, looking back to his girlfriend who was smiling up at him, doe eyed and possibly tipsy already. “Go on baby, you can take him!” She cheered. The man stood, looking Dean up and down. “Nah, it’s all good darlin’, I don’t wanna take an old timers money,” Dean said, turning to YN, a hand on her waist, a glint in his eye as he met her gaze. “You ain’t gonna take anything,” The guy said confidently. “Don’t worry, I’ll find someone else,” Dean wasn’t even trying to be convincing. “I’m not worried, you should be though,” The man oozed bravado, rolling up his sleeves, already headed for the pool table. “Get him, baby!” The girl cheered again, but she was eyeing Dean the moment her sugar-daddy’s back was turned. “Alright, okay,” Dean was cool, nodding, shooting YN a sly smile before turning back towards the man, “Should we start at fifty--” “Fifty? This is a man’s game,” The guy was trying too hard to impress the ditzy girl he left at the table, and it wreaked of desperation, “Why not two hundred?” He challenged, pulling out his wallet, thumbing through the notes, pushing the rest in and smacking two hundred down on the green felt. “Whoa, okay, okay,” Dean pulled out his own wallet, and although he’d just won that easily, he pulled out one-fifty and turned to YN, “Baby, I need fifty,” He said sheepishly. “What?” YN questioned, looking at his wallet, glancing back to the pocket of his jeans and back at his face. “Oh, man, that’s weak,” The guy laughed, “Gotta ask your girl for the money,” If YN wasn’t in the same room as this guy, she would’ve thought he was in his early twenties, surrounded by his mates cheering him on while he ragged on a teenager. “Why should I give you fifty if you’re just gonna lose it?” She questioned, teasing Dean with a brilliant smile. “I won’t lose it babe, I promise,” Dean played his part, hand out, looking sorry. “Whatever... you owe me,” She said, handing over fifty dollars in the form of five tens. Dean leant in for a kiss, hamming it up and shooting his shot, but YN turned her head, letting his lips land on her cheek. “Oh,” The man hooted, “That’s cold, so cold,” He laughed. No wonder he was divorced. “Don’t worry man, I’ll make it close.” He hushed loudly at Dean. “Kill me,” Dean whispered, but his eyes were alight, he knew he had this guy and he was going to savor beating him. ***

“So, what brings you two to town?” Carrie asked, taking off her apron and bringing her own beer around the bar to sit next to Sam. “Uhh, we’re just passing through, on our way home.” “Where you coming from?” She asked, crossing her legs, the heel of her boot came to rest against Sam’s calf. “We just finished up with something in Cedar Rapids,” He said, vague, “What about you, grow up here or…?” Sam didn’t want to lie about work, he didn’t want to get into that, he wanted to know about her, have an intellectual conversation about books and university and studying, about the world. “I grew up in Georgia, went to Ole Miss, dropped out, somehow found myself out here, serving drunks for bad tips, so I thought I’d give study another crack,” She said with a shrug, picking up her beer and sipping at it. “What happened?” Sam asked, he saw himself in her story and was curious as to what happened to her. “Bad choices,” She said with a sad smile. “I, umm, I actually went to Stanford for Law,” He said, continuing when she raised her eyebrows, “Yeah, I uhh, there was a family emergency, my Dad died, and I never went back.” he said, frowning into his own beer. “I’m sorry about your dad,” She said, reaching across and placing a hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and looked back up at her, she was sweet, her eyes kind. “Thanks,” He said, taking a gulp of his beer. He looked over at Dean who was showing off, while the man at the pool table stared at a pocket, dumbstruck. “He looked after you, huh?” Carrie asked, she looked at him as if she could read his soul, like she had known him all his life. He chuckled, “Yeah, he did.” Sam pushed a hand through his hair, “Enough about me,” He sighed, “What about you? Brothers, sisters, family?” He asked. “Uhh,” It was her turn to clam up, she downed the rest of her beer, and plastered on a smile when she resurfaced. “That bad?” He questioned, patting her knee. “Let’s put it this way, I chose the person I call a sister, and she chose me.” ***

“Come on,” Dean begged, “I’ve won everyone’s money, let me win yours!” He was leaning against the pool table, opposite YN who was resting against a bar table. “Well when you put it like that,” She teased, raising the beer bottle to her lips. “I set up the table, no one else wants to lose their money, come on, please?” Dean tried again, pushing off the pool table’s edge when she narrowed her eyes at him, wrapping her lips around the bottle and tipping it back. “Okay, how about this?” He pushed his hand into his back pocket and produced the cash he’d won, “Let me give you a chance to win this,” He showed the corners of each bill as he counted them out and laid them on the table next to her. An easy five hundred. “Oh, now we’re talking.” She said, a sly smile on her face. His eyebrows shot up, the excitement was almost like she’d promised him more than a game. YN pulled out the wad of cash from earlier and put it on top of his stash. “All or nothing?” She challenged. “Darlin’, you may wanna break first then make that call.” He warned, chalking the tip of his pool cue and blowing off the excess as if he was making a point.  “What, are you scared to live dangerously?” She asked, licking her lips and slipping her hand down her own cue, letting it glide in her fist before she tightened her grip and lifted. He quirked a brow at her, sure he was playing for something more now. “Oh darlin’ Danger’s my middle name,” ***

“Whoa,” Carrie was taken aback by the Impala parked outside the bar. “My brother’s,” Sam said, his hand still in hers as they stepped into the cool night air. “Compensating?” She joked, looking over her shoulder at his smile and roll of his eyes. “He does buff it frequently,” Sam laughed. “Bet he spends hours on it,” She added, leading him towards her old, red, truck. Sam stopped her before she could let go of his hand. “What--” She asked, interrupted by the look on his face. His eyes were dark, lips glistening in the street lamp light, his other hand reached up, hooking his index finger under her chin. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, already leaning down. “I’m hoping you’ll do more than that,” She confessed quietly. Sam’s lips met hers, soft and gentle as he angled her just so. His fingers spread and pushed into her hair as she stepped closer, winding his other hand around her back before she held onto his shoulders, pulling him into her. “Where are you staying?” She whispered against his lips. “Motel,” He mumbled against her, then pulled back, “You sure?” “Are you?” She laughed as he groaned, pulling her back in for another kiss. ***

It was a close game, right down to the eight ball, and YN was sure she’d seen real panic in Dean’s vibrant green eyes when she was lining up her shot. But with a subtle twist to her wrist and a pull of her power, the eight ball curved and stopped right before hitting the last remaining ball. He sighed relief, masking his features as she looked up to him, defeated. “All or nothing?” He checked, balancing the cue over his knuckles, lining up, waiting for her response. She sighed heavy, conceding victory, “All or nothing,” She agreed. Dean didn’t even look down as he took the last shot, sinking the black and then white. “Show off.” She said, shaking her head as she collected the money, and turned around. “Listen, you won yours fair, and I won mine fair, let’s just split it?” He offered. “No, Dean, you won this fair too,” She stepped in closer, looking up at him through her lashes. “Won what?” He asked, swallowing thickly, her body now pressing against his, he could taste her breath, and although he’d only seen her drink beers all night, she was sweet. “The money,” She said, pushing it into his chest as she pushed away, watching as he swayed towards her first then blinked, snapping back to himself. “Am I reading this wrong, or…” He took the money, but held it in her hand, tugging her back toward him, and when she stepped in, he was sure he had his answer, “Do you want me as much as I want you?” He was brave, normally there was a cheesy pick up line, but YN… she was a woman after his own heart. “I’ve been waiting for you to make a move all night,” She said, meeting him in a fiery kiss. A bar goer whistled at them, drawing attention till a few people were howling and cheering. “You wanna get out of here?” He asked. “More than you know,” She said, picking up her bag and jacket, leading the way out of the bar, Dean hot on her heels. ***

Sam rolled over Carrie, holding her to him as he did, pinning her to the bed before pushing himself up onto his arm. He looked down between them, following his hand as it traced over her breast, stomach, hip, then he dragged his fingers along the flesh of her thigh. When he looked up, there were her eyes, eager, begging, pleading for him to move. He pulled back and pressed in, rocking into her, drawing each breath from her as he did. She was breathy, needy, her hands wandered his back, traced his tattoo, then clung to his shoulders as he fucked into her, each thrust getting rougher. She rose up to catch his lips, biting at the lower, he hissed and dipped his head to her shoulder biting at it, savouring the gasp that fell from her lips. “Sam, don’t tease me,” She whined, digging her heel into his ass, “Fuck me,” Her breath at his ear sent a roll of energy through him, his hairs standing on end. He sat up on his knees and pulled out of her, flipping her onto her stomach and pulling her hips back roughly. She let out a moan as he pressed the head of his cock against her lips and sunk in. He admired the give of flesh under his fingertips as he held onto her hips and plunged into her, over and over. The room filled with the sound of her cries, his grunts, their skin meeting with each thrust. ***

Dean parked the car out the front of the motel, his hand resting across the back of their seat. He looked over at her, the glisten of the street light off her bottom lip that he imagined she’d just licked, the electric look in her eyes, the flush of her skin. They seemed to have the same thought as each reached for the other, desperate for the attention, craving the satisfaction. Pool had been the foreplay, and this was their time, the tension between them palpable, the mix of lust and admiration had them tearing at their clothes. Hands pulled at zips and fiddled with buttons until an unspoken agreement was found and they separated long enough for him to get his pants around his knees and her to pull one leg free from her jeans and panties. She bit her bottom lip when she glanced at his erection. “Fuck,” She muttered, smiling, blush raising over her cheeks. Dean wore the proudest smile, the twinkle of mischief in his eye, the wink. He ripped at the corner of the condom square and pulled out the rubber. But YN was quick and took it from him as she climbed over him, she eased it down his shaft with one hand and licked her other, taking him in her palm and pumping him twice before shifting and lining up. “Oh,” The noise popped at the back of Dean’s throat as she lowered herself onto him, he grabbed the top of the seat, the other hand on her ass. YN licked at his top lip, her tongue just grazing it, teasing a reaction from him. And it worked, he captured her lips in a seering kiss, tongue pushing into her mouth, dancing with hers, then he stilled as she swiveled her hips experimentally. She was slow and deliberate, and he lavished her neck and chest in nips and kisses, savouring the feel of her under his hands, the taste of her on his tongue. “YN,” He groaned into her neck, slapping at her ass. “Close?” She asked, lips against his ear. She took hold of the seat at his back when his hands caught her hips, tight, holding her down on him as he raised his own hips, bucking into her, once, twice, three times and then he tensed, a shout of pleasure, and then his lips found hers again. As he got his breath back, he pulled away from her, searching her eyes. “Why don’t you come inside?” He asked, kissing her before she could speak. “You gonna make me feel like a winner?” She teased, jolting when he slapped at her ass again. “You know it,”

Just before sunrise, YN woke up, her eyes searching for the dull red, fuzzy numbers of the alarm clock. It blinked 0457 at her, she wiped a hand over her eyes and looked at Dean, still sleeping peacefully. He looked so relaxed, so sated. And so he should, she’d never had a guy work as hard as he did to please, and for that she’d always remember him. Then she looked at the arm across her stomach. Pulling the pillow out from below her head, ever so carefully, she flattened it as best she could, pushing it down her side. With a quick move that jostled the bed once, she was out of his hold and replaced by a pillow. Standing naked and frozen, she watched as he pulled it into his side instinctively, but didn’t wake. Like a fish taking bait! She looked across the floor for her clothes, pulling on her panties, then jeans, her bra, and finally her shirt, then she found his jeans. Glancing up at the bed once more, she crouched down and went through his pockets, finding the five hundred he’d won in the first few games, then found her two thousand. She opened his wallet and pulled out the credit card. Mr Dan Hermansen She frowned at it, then pulled out the license. Jerry Wanek She smiled knowingly and looked up at the bed, mentally tutting him. She left the cards and found an extra forty-five cash. She wadded it up and stuck it into her back pocket as she felt through his other pocket. The keys to the Impala. ***

Sam rolled over in the bed, finding it empty. He looked up at the bathroom door, open. Then he searched the rest of the room. No one. And there was no sign he even had a guest, except for his neatly folded clothes on the small sofa. He threw back the sheets and headed towards them, a knot forming in his stomach. He pulled his jeans up and reached into the pocket, no wallet. He looked around the room, and then picked up the pile of clothes, shaking each item, then found his wallet underneath them. Empty. ***

YN squinted, holding her breath as she closed the motel door room behind her, waiting for the quiet sound of the lock to click. “Took your time,” Carrie greeted from her place leaning against the Impala. “He was cute.” YN offered as an explanation, stepping away from the door, “Got the money?” “Yep, got the keys?” Carrie tried, pressing her hand to the Impala’s bonnet. “Uhh, about that…” “Oh, come on, please? Please?” Carrie was begging, literally; hands in front of her face, a puppy dog look in her eyes, bottom lip turned out. “Yeah, I couldn’t do it, he really loves this car,” She said with a shrug. “You’re soft on him.” Carrie accused, turning her shoulder when YN swatted at her. “No,” She defended, “We said--” “Yeah, yeah…” Carrie interrupted, pulling the truck’s keys from her handbag, “Nothing that no one can get attached too.” She repeated the rules, set from long ago.

They climbed into the truck, and Carrie gunned the engine, revving it loud. “What are you doing?” YN said, a laugh caught somewhere in amongst the sudden burst of adrenaline. “I got a good feeling something bad’s about to happen,” Carrie said through a big smile.

There was a swish of a curtain a few doors down, and then another at Sam’s motel room. Dean was the first out of his room, a pillow held over his groin, then Sam came out of his, jeans on, looking directly at them. “What are you waiting for?” YN asked her best friend. “I just want one more--” But as she leaned further over the dash, she got a glimpse of a gun in the waist of Sam’s jeans. “Oh shit!”  “Go, go!” YN squealed, holding the dash as her friend floored the truck, tires screeching, before kicking up a cloud of dust for them to disappear in. ***

“Was that--” Dean asked. “Yeah,” Sam said, raking a hand down his face before looking at his brother, “Dude!” He shook his head and laughed. A bright red lipstick mark was pressed on Dean’s cheek, and the pillow hiding his modesty completed the picture of jilted lover. “It was a good night,” Dean defended, shrugging it off, unabashed. He was turning back for his room when Sam spoke. “How much did you pay for it?” He asked, making Dean scoff. “I don’t pay for--” “One-twenty, what I got out yesterday.” Sam explained, handing his wallet to Dean. Realisation dawned on the older Winchester and he dashed back inside the motel room, his ass on full display. He found his trousers and stuck his hand into the pockets. Nothing. “No, no, no,” He chanted as if it would change everything. Then he spotted the Impala’s keys on the bedside table and sighed a breath of relief. And then he spotted his wallet on the floor. He snatched it up, opening it to find it empty. “Son-of-a-” 

#dean winchester #sam winchester #Angelina’s Duets Reboot Challenge #spn fanfic #original content #spn smut #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x oc

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Good Things Come to Those Who Talk

It’s been a long time since I’ve written, but the muse visited this week, so here is a fluffy and smutty Captain Swan one shot. I’m sure this trope has been written one millions ways, here is one million and one. Hope you like it. Although I am not around as much as I used to be, CS still remains my OTP and always will. 

ao3          ffnet          rated M          8.9K

Summary:  Emma Swan is so over her brother, he warns every cop he knows to stay away from her. She's pined for so long though, she wants Killian Jones, it's just double bad luck that he's a cop and he happens to be David's partner. She decides her brother's wrath is worth the risk to find out if there's something more for her and Killian. Now all she needs is a new dress and a plan.

“Emma Swan, you little slut! What has gotten into you?” Ruby screeched as Emma pulled the door to her home open.

“Is it too much?” Emma asked with just a touch of hysteria coloring her voice. She hurried back to her bedroom to give herself the once over… again. Running her hands down the newly purchased, skin tight, black mini dress, she followed each and every curve that was on full display.

“Girl, I would do you if I didn’t already have a girlfriend.”

“Not helping, Ruby!” 

“Emma, you look fucking hot, there is not a man on earth that could turn you down in that.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she mumbled under her breath. Tonight was the night. She’d danced around the longing and heat between her and Killian Jones for long enough. She’d been pining for this man for longer than she could remember, half the time they spent together felt like they were a couple anyway. She already knew her stupid brother, David, had warned Killian Jones to stay away from her, but there was nothing stopping her from putting the moves on Killian Jones. She just hoped Ruby was right, that no man would be able to resist her, including the one who’d been threatened with death if he so much as laid one finger on her. Emma was undeniably hoping for far more than one finger. A shiver jolted through her and she was brought back to the present.

“Someone’s got it baaaad,” Ruby teased. “You gonna make your move tonight?”

“That’s the plan,” Emma said as she grabbed her knee length black leather jacket and tied it closed. She pulled her flowing, golden tresses from the jacket and tossed them over her shoulders. 

“Well then let’s get this party started!” With that, Ruby grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her back to the front of the house and out the door. 

The Rabbit Hole was their favorite local pub, and the only place to celebrate the hot shot detectives who’d made the biggest bust this city had ever seen. Of course it was the hot shot team of Detectives Nolan and Jones to bring down the infamous Robert “The Deal Maker” Gold and his outfit of miscreants. Earlier this morning, both men had received the Medal of Valor, for extraordinary acts of bravery and heroism, performed in the line of duty at extreme life-threatening, personal risk, their Captain had said. 

Emma remembered that day three weeks ago, when she’d received the call from her sister-in-law. The baby had been wailing in the background as Mary Margaret had tried to tell Emma, through choked sobs that David was in the hospital. No doubt the little guy had been so upset because his mama was having a justified meltdown. 

When Emma had arrived, Killian was in the waiting room, a little bloodied, bruised, and banged up, but he’d insisted on waiting for her before letting the doctors examine him. He’d wanted to let her know that David was in surgery, but he’d be okay, and Mary Margaret had just left to drop her two year old off at Belle’s so he didn’t have to wait in the ER. It wasn’t until Killian’s body had slumped against hers that Emma realized he wasn’t doing as well as he’d pretended. She’d found out later, Killian had been hit by Gold’s car as the fiend had tried to make a run for it. 

Emma doesn’t like to think about the panic she’d felt as he was hauled behind the swinging doors of the ER. She doesn’t like to remember the tears that had fallen when the thought that she’d never gotten to tell him how she felt for him, crossed her mind. She especially doesn’t like to think about how he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks now, and she’d still been too chicken shit to even ask him out on a date, let alone tell him that she’s crazy about him. 

Once Killian’s internal bleeding had stopped and he was cleared to go home, she’d helped him convalesce through a dislocated shoulder and severely bruised ribs. He’d gotten remarkably lucky considering he was hit by a car. Hours of flirting and bantering, movies on his couch, meals together, and she hadn’t scraped together the courage to tell him how she felt. She’d picked him up and attended the medal pinning with him today, and still she couldn’t find any words to tell him how she felt. When he’d come down off the stage, walked toward her and scooped her up into a bear hug, all she’d come up with was how proud she was of him. Even though it was true, there was so much more she wanted to say. And she’d known long before any of this had happened, she’d just never considered moving past her fear of rejection or risking their friendship for a chance at something more until she’d felt like she might lose him. 

That thought made her feel pretty shitty. But that’s when she’d decided a few things. Emma Swan was shit with words. Actions speak louder than words. Tonight was the night. And she needed a new dress. 

Taking a deep breath as the car pulled into the parking lot, to center her thoughts, fortify her determination, and get her collective shit together, Emma stepped out of Ruby’s car with something akin to hope.   

Upon entering the noisy bar, she searched for the woman who’d be lending her an assist tonight. Regina and her husband Robin, a retired police officer, now owned this bar. They were close personal friends with Emma’s brother’s family, as David’s former partner, and by extension, with the whole group. Regina would be the one taking care of their party tonight. Emma needed to square some drinking details away with the woman and then she’d be mission ready. After talking to Regina, she glanced around the crowded bar, searching for the man of the hour. Whatever confidence or hope had been building, promptly deflated as she located Killian, only to find him sitting at the bar with some handsy redhead whispering in his ear. 

“Emma!” She heard Mary Margaret’s voice call out from across the bar, but she couldn’t turn, she was transfixed, watching as the woman ran a finger along Killian’s jawline. It gave her just an ounce of pleasure when he removed her hand from his vicinity and placed it on the bar. The mystery woman was undeterred though as she placed her hand on his chest next. 

Mary Margaret called her name again, louder this time, and Emma noticed it caught Killian’s attention as he began to scan the bar. When his eyes met hers, they immediately lit up and he mouthed the word help, with desperation in his every feature. Emma’s confidence restored, she sashayed toward him with renewed determination. 

Goddamn, she thought as she appreciated how Killian’s royal blue button down shirt and black slacks were tailored to his body.  She bit down on her lip when she noted that he definitely had his customary one too many buttons undone and was displaying that magically delicious thatch of chest hair she’d imagined running her hands through just a couple times. Sauntering right in between the two, she settled in the spot of his perpetually manspread legs and placed her palms on his thighs, leaving her back to the other woman.

“Hey Sexy, where’ve you been all my life?” she asked in the sexiest tone she could muster while also trying not to crack up as she laid it on thick for the woman trying to steal her man. What?

“Right here, waiting for you, love,” Killian answered, wrapping an arm around her waist. The man didn’t miss a beat. 

Emma couldn’t be bothered to feel bad as she rubbed her palms over his muscular thighs which currently rested on her hips. She had a mission tonight, and this floozy behind her had been throwing herself at Killian.

“I’m so lucky someone didn’t come and scoop you up before I got here.”

Emma almost melted when he came right back with, “No one else is you.”

She knew this man, had known him for several years. She knew when he was playing a long con, when he was bullshitting, when he was joking, when he was serious, and when he was sincere. Her heartbeat stuttered as his earnest expression dared her to believe him. Just at that moment, the drinks Killian had ordered arrived. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the three beer bottles in one hand and taking his hand in her other. 

“Let me order a couple more, now that the rest of you are here.”

Emma leaned in to whisper in his ear, “And leave you at the mercy of Hands, I don’t think so.” If she wasn’t mistaken, Killian actually shivered, and she wondered how bad it had gotten before she’d arrived. When she stepped back though, she noticed a bright flush along Killian’s cheeks, and she wondered if she wasn’t causing that shiver and blush. “I’ll order when the server comes around.” 

Emma was positively rippling with anticipation of what Killian would think of her dress as they walked over to the private room Mary Margaret had reserved for tonight. The bar had several private rooms off each corner of the bar, they were a little less noisy, and perfect for celebratory drinks. This one had a large round booth and table in it, so Emma slid in next to her brother, pulling Killian in behind her. Strategically speaking, she was hoping David couldn’t stare daggers at Killian from this angle, like he always did when Emma and Killian were hanging out and getting too close for his comfort. She didn’t need her stupid brother ruining her plans.

“Here love, you can have this beer,” Killian offered as they sat down.

“That’s okay, I can wait for the server.” Emma was not in the mood to get drunk, at least not drunk for real. “Are Will and Belle still coming tonight?” Emma asked as she untied her jacket and leaned forward to take it off while still seated in the confines of the booth. 

Killian audibly choked on the swig of beer he’d been taking when he caught a glimpse of all the skin Emma was now showing. One false move and there could be a nip slip, really.

“Hey, Jones, you okay there buddy? Emma, quick, give him mouth to mouth, he’s choking,” she harassed. 

Emma shot her a look before slapping Killian on the back a couple times. “My ribs,” he croaked once he’d finished hacking and coughing. 

Emma preened as she noticed he still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You gonna be okay?” she asked, turning fully toward Killian as she soothingly rubbed her hand along his rib cage.

“Love your new dress, Ems,” Ruby exclaimed, adding fuel to multiple fires.

“New dress? Are you sure you got the whole thing?” David fumed. “Looks more like a tank top to me. And yes, to answer your question from before, Will and Belle are coming, their Lyft was running late.”

Emma looked over her shoulder to scowl at her brother, and he scowled right back. “I happen to like this dress, David,” she said, saying his name as pettily as any sister could, “what about you Killian. Do you like my new dress?”

Killian’s hand immediately shot up to scratch behind his ear, but before he could even speak a word, David leaned forward, peered around Emma and stared those oh so familiar daggers at Killian. 

“Oh stop it, David,” Mary Margaret chided her husband. 

“Oi mates, hope you didn’t start the party without me,” Will shouted as he and Belle entered the room. He and Belle scooted into the booth next to Ruby and Mulan, and Emma was thankful they’d arrived before David could start ranting about not wanting his sister to date a cop.  

Emma, Mary Margaret, Belle, and Ruby had all been promised a play by play of the Gold bust now that the case was finalized, Gold had been sentenced, and everyone was healed. Will and Mulan hadn’t been injured, but they’d been part of the task force, and instrumental in the take down. Emma tried not to concentrate too hard on the fact that she was the only female here who wasn’t technically a significant other. Besides, maybe that would change after tonight.  

A round of shots was ordered to start the evening and Regina brought them to the table, handing a shot of rum to each guest. They toasted to the takedown of the felon who had run rampant like a virus, for far too long. The story was intense to be sure, and a second round of shots was ordered to toast the health and safety of David, Killian, Mulan, and Will.  

When the live band started, they headed for the dance floor and Emma was thankful to have a bit of privacy, albeit in the middle of a crowded dance floor, with Killian. “You cut quite the figure in that dress,” he whispered into her ear. 

The band was covering a latin number and Emma melted as Killian pulled her in close. His left hand was on the small of her back and the other held her free hand. Her free hand rested on his chest, right at the juncture of his too unbuttoned shirt. 

“I don’t know exactly how to do this… dance,” Emma mumbled as Killian began to move his feet. They were connected at their hips as they swayed with the beat. 

“It’s called a mambo; there’s only one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She’d danced with him before and it never ceased to amaze her how well the man could move his body. If he was this fluid and skilled while dancing, what could he do in bed? 

“I can see your mind working, Swan. What are you thinking about?”

Emma tried to stop the blush, but she’d definitely been caught ogling him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Perhaps I would,” he admitted while sweeping a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You are blushing,” he added as he trailed the finger down her cheek.

“I was just thinking, if you’re this good on the-” Emma’s breath was knocked from her as David and Mary Margaret careened into them. 

“Hey guys,” David shouted over the music, “time for shots.”

Emma just barely stopped herself from yelling at her brother to stop being a cockblock. Instead, she settled for stomping on his foot as she led Killian off the dancefloor. They all lined up at the bar and Regina doled out more shots. 

“I’m ready to go home,” Emma slurred into Killian’s shoulder several hours later. “Take me home?”

“Aye, love.”

“I thought Ruby was your ride,” David interrupted.

“No can do, Davey,” Ruby mumbled. “Me and my baby are staying at the hotel across the street so we don’t have to drive and we don’t have to come back for the car tomorrow. 

“We will take you home,” David proclaimed, as if someone had died and made him king.

“That’s ridiculous, we’re already taking Belle and Will home,” Mary Margaret told her husband. “Killian hasn’t been drinking for the last two hours, he can take Emma home.”

“Bu-” David started.

“I know we have five seats, but we don’t need to squish five adults into them, when Killian can give Emma a ride.”

Emma snickered at the way Mary Margaret effortlessly handled David.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” David muttered. 

After the group said their goodbyes, Emma let Killian lead her to his truck. She pretended to need much more help getting in than she really did. Under the guise of being drunk, Emma found she was much braver. If he turned her down, she could always pretend she was so drunk she didn’t remember, and if he was a gentleman, which he was, he’d never mention it. 

Reaching across the space between them, Emma brushed the hair away from his forehead. “I was so worried about you when you were in the hospital,” she whispered, making sure to slur a word here and there.

“I’m sorry I worried you, lass, but you needn’t worry about me.”

“I do worry about you, Killian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, in your inebriated state, I’m sure it’s hard to imagine, but I am sure you’d manage.”

“What a horrible thing to say! I would not be okay if I lost you, I would never be okay.”

Killian clasped his hand over hers, which had been idly stroking his cheek. “Shhh, love, there’s no need to discuss this topic anyway. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s surviving.” 

Killian pulled into her driveway and hastily exited to help her down from the truck. She definitely put more weight on him than was strictly necessary and sloppily handed him the keys to unlock her door. 

“Someone is going to be feeling like shite in the morning,” Killian laughed. 

Emma played it up, and allowed Killian to get Tylenol and water for her as she stripped out of her dress and hopped into her bed. 

“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” he checked as he set her hangover supplies on her nightstand.

Emma caught his hand as he went to put it in his pocket. “Stay with me?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Emma asked sweetly, looking up at him with all the hope she felt inside written clearly on her face.

Killian exhaled a long sigh as only a man who knows he’s lost can. Circling around the bed, he started to climb in behind her. 

“You’re not going to sleep in jeans, are you?”

“I don’t exactly have sleepwear at my disposal, Swan. And you’re sleeping in your dress.”

Emma laughed at that, that’s what he thinks. “Take off your jeans, boxer briefs are just like shorts.” She grinned triumphantly as she heard the metal of his belt and the rustling of pants being dropped. 

Once he was settled in her bed, she turned over and snuggled against him. The groan he emitted when she did so shot a bolt of heat straight to her core. She knew he was just as affected as she was, and that was hot. 

“Emma, please, you’re making it very hard fo-”

“That’s kinda the point,” she giggled, pressing her body against his and snaking her free hand into the opening of his shirt to rake it through his chest hair. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

“Yeah?” 

“Poor choice of words,” he corrected as he scooted away from her advances. “We can’t do this.”

Emma immediately felt the sting of his words in her chest, like someone was gripping her heart, or worse, like someone had taken it and she was hollow. A flurry of emotions ran through her as she tried to assure herself she still had her failsafe of “being drunk”. She searched for words. “Why? Because of my stupid brother?” she demanded, her voice a little more watery than angry.

“This has nothing to do with your brother, Swan.”

“Then… why?” Emma sat up in bed and pulled the blankets tightly around her body, as if they’d protect her from whatever hurtful reason he had for not wanting her.

“Because you’re drunk and-”

“Well-” Emma interrupted.

“No, wait, let me finish. Before I lose my nerve.”

Emma frowned at him, but complied by sitting quietly.

“You’ve been drinking all night love, and I would never forgive myself if I took advantage of you in this state and then you regretted it in the morning, if you regretted me. I… I’m crazy about you Emma, I have been for a long time. I don’t want a drunken one night stand with you, hell, I don’t want any kind of one night stand with you. I want… more.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she asked softly.

“Short answer? I’m a coward.”

“What if I want to know the extended version?” she asked as she patted the seat next to her and offered him part of the blankets so he could join her.

Killian got back into the bed and sat up against the headboard as Emma was. “I guess I’ve hid behind your brother’s warning to stay away from you. I mean, he’s not wrong, it can be a hard life being with a cop. Look what happened with Gold. I also worried about jeopardizing our friendship, especially if you didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“Why now?”

Killian chuckled before answering her. “You being drunk gives me the courage to say how I feel, because you might not even remember this in the morning.” 

Emma dropped all pretense of being inebriated and leaned forward so she was looking straight into the depths of the eyes she dreamed about almost nightly. “Let’s get something straight, okay? I could never regret you, Killian Jones.” Placing a hand softly on his cheek, she smiled at the awestruck look on his face. “And also, I haven’t had a drink all night. I paid Regina to fill my shots with apple juice. I just needed the cover of liquid courage to try and seduce you because I am shit with words. And I figured if you didn’t feel the same, I could always pretend that I didn’t remember the next day.”

Killian’s warm laughter startled her a bit, but then she was laughing with him. “I usually have a flair with words, Swan, you just do something to me that brings me to my basest form. I’m a goner for you, and I wish I’d have told you sooner.”

“Well, get used to me not being great with words. I’m sort of caveman-like. I mean, I’m not gonna point and grunt, but I definitely use action over words. But if I can paraphrase a great wordsmith, ‘I’m crazy about you, Killian, I have been for a long time’.”

The smile that lit up Killian’s face, dimples and all, was worth the hell she was going to go through with David. 

“In the spirit of full disclosure, I never got a chance to answer you at the bar. I love your new dress, may I see it again,” he asked, gently tugging at the blankets she’d wrapped around herself for protection a few moments ago.

“Hmmm, sorry, not right now...” Killian immediately dropped his hand from the blanket and began to tell her it’s okay, when she peeled away the blanket, and continued, “because I’m not wearing it anymore.” 

“Fuck me,” he murmured before biting down on his lip hungrily.

“Still the plan.” 

♡~♥~♡~♥~♡

“Stand up, love, let me see you.”

Emma complied, standing up and bearing herself to him. She was clad in nothing more than lacy, black panties and a matching bra. Watching as he perused every inch of her body, from the swell of her breasts, to her lean torso and soft belly, then down to the apex of her thighs, she could see his length swelling under his boxer briefs, and every part of her wanted him. Crooking her finger, she beckoned him to her, and it was his turn to comply. 

Once Killian stood before her, Emma unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, to the floor. Then she did something that shocked her a little bit, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him close and just held him; he immediately reciprocated, both arms encircling her and bringing her close. The feelings they’d just spoken floated around them and  flowed between them.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she guided his mouth to hers and kissed him, softly and exploratorily at first. But as lips gave way to caressing tongues, and roaming hands, heat built and Emma found herself panting and breathless.

Killian unclasped her bra and pulled it away and she was never more grateful for that barrier to be gone, as his chest hair delicately tightened her nipples and sent sparks shooting to her core. She wanted more and made it known by grabbing his ass with both hands and hauling him firmly to her. Killian glided his hands down her back and over her firm ass while sucking a nipple into his mouth. She moaned his name at the sensation of his wet mouth laving at her breasts, and his fingers and palms caressing the smooth expanse of her ass. Emma wanted that last barrier gone, she reached between them to remove first her panties and then finally his boxer briefs.  

She was not disappointed when she finally got a look at what her Detective was packing. Emma licked her lips as his cock stood at full attention, straining with the need to be touched.

“See something you like, darling?” 

There was that hint of cockiness that she loved so much. “Yeah,” she breathed as she dropped to her knees. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, Emma stroked up and down a few times, relishing in the hiss that left Killian’s mouth. When his head dropped back, she pounced, taking him deep and swallowing once, before pulling back and then setting a slow rhythmic pace.

Killian lifted her from her knees and attacked her mouth with kisses, between trying to speak, “You don’t have to do that.”

Emma pulled her head back to stare at this man in front of her. What guy turns down head? “I know I don’t have to, I was enjoying myself,” she said, then she pushed into his frame, guiding him backwards until he could sit at the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees again, and  smirked before descending on him once more, but before she could even set a rhythm, he was halting her ministrations again.

“Okay, that’s twice. What’s up, Jones? Do you not enjoy getting head? Do I suck at it, and not in the good way?” Emma sat back on her calves, folding her arms around herself.  

“On the contrary, you are magnificent at sucking my cock, Emma.”

She grinned mischievously at the compliment, a swarm of relief flooding her mind. “Then what gives?”

“I haven’t...” Killian trailed off, and an actual blush colored his cheeks as he tried to find the words he was looking for. 

Emma put her hands on his knees and gently squeezed. “What is it? You can tell me.”

“I haven’t been with anyone in a while, I’ve kind of been saving myself for this brilliant lass I know. Plus, I’ve been hard since you took your jacket off at the bar and I don’t wish to finish before you,” he admitted. He rubbed nervously behind his ear as he waited for her reaction.

Emma was a little speechless. At no point in her life had she ever been with a man who was so dedicated to her gratification, he would deny his own. She’d definitely never been halted in the middle of a blow job so that her needs could be met. She stood up, taking Killian with her and then turned them around so that she could lie down on the bed. Holding her hand out to him, she pulled him down next to her and then scooted so that they were laying face to face. “Make me come, Killian.”

Needing no further guidance, Killian captured her lips in a fiery kiss while situating her on her back. Their tongues slid together effortlessly until he broke the kiss to blaze a trail down her body. She would definitely have marks, but he was careful to leave them where only they would see. As he paid special attention to her breasts again, delighting way too much in the noises she made, Emma finally caved, begging for more.

Scooting down between her legs, Killian took stock of the pretty picture splayed out for him. “Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured. Ever so gently, he ran the tip of his finger along her glistening folds, parting them as his finger ran further down, exposing her clit to the cool air. 

“Please Killian, touch me.”

“As you wish.” 

Emma keened in half relief and half need as his tongue finally made contact with her clit. She thrust her hips, needing nothing short of penetration, and again, she was obviously hoping for more than just one finger. She wasn’t disappointed when Killian filled her with two digits as he worked her clit with his tongue.

Emma fisted a handful of Killian’s dark hair as he brought her a pleasure like none she’d experienced before. It was hot as hell to have him watching her with those devilish blue eyes gazing up from between her thighs as she fucked his fingers. 

Emma had never been much of a talker in bed, but she found it easy with Killian to ask for more, to ask for it harder, and because of that, he had her falling over the edge of oblivion quickly.

“Get up here, now,” she panted, once her mind came back from the haze of post orgasmic delight.

“Gods, you taste divine,” he praised as he moved over her body, settling between her legs so they were face to face.

“You are really good at that, better than I could ever have imagined.”

“Oh, Emma,” he began as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently before letting it go, “do elaborate on ‘imagined’,” he smirked before grinding his hips down so his thick length slid through her folds and over her clit. 

A breathy moan rushed past her lips as he teased her. “Yeah? You want to hear all about how I get myself off while thinking of you?”

“Aye, lass, tell me.”

“Mmmmm, sometimes it’s quick and dirty, fucking my fingers, wishing they were yours. Other times I imagine you bend me over your desk at the precinct and take me roughly. But the best is edging while wondering if you’re lying in bed thinking about me, stroking your hard cock. I always finally make myself come, pleading your name as I picture you making yourself come all over your chest, calling out my name.”

“Christ, Emma, I’m going to come all over your chest if you tell me any more.”

In a flash of motion, Emma flipped them so she was on top, staring down at Killian. “We can’t have that.” Leaning down, she kissed him roughly, demanding his tongue, while situating his cock so she could sink down on it. “Oh… fuck you feel so good,” she gasped as his full length hit a depth she’d never felt without toys. Her hands found purchase on his chest as she adjusted to his size. 

She let Killian set the pace after he grasped both her hips and guided her along. He was mesmerized by the way his cock slid in and out of her wet heat. “You feel so good wrapped around me,” he praised.

Killian pulled her down for a kiss again, and flipped them so he was on top. Emma whined as he withdrew from her completely and sat back on his haunches. “I’ve just realized I don’t have a condom,” he said defeatedly.

“That’s okay, I’m on the pill and I’m clean. You clean?”

“Aye, lass. On my honor.”

“Then put every inch of that cock back inside me,” she demanded as she pulled him back into the cradle of her thighs.

Emma laughed lightly as Killian groaned loudly while pushing back into her. “Just so you know, love, this feels so much better than any time I’ve ever taken myself in hand while thinking of you. And I always come with your name on my lips.” 

Her answering smile turned into a low moan as Killian pulled out and then thrust back home. He changed the tempo, long deep passes, quick pounding thrusts, grinding his hips into her sometimes, and pumping shallowly others. She made sure to let him know what felt good and what felt better, and especially what was, “Oh fuck, yes, right there!” 

Despite never having been together before, the combination of Emma knowing what she liked,  being comfortable enough to ask for it, and Killian listening to her and taking care of her, had them riding the same wave, feeling, exploring, loving. 

In the end, Killian had both her legs pulled up high around his waist, arms under her shoulders, and his face buried in the crook of her neck as he methodically drove into her, determined to make her come again. 

Emma had her legs wrapped tightly around his torso, her arms around his neck, and her head thrown back into the pillow. They were a hot sweaty mess, and she was sure she’d never been wound this tight, she’d never been this turned on,maybe there was something to sex with feelings. His hot breath against her neck caused a tightness in her nipples and a tingling in her clit. Killian’s thrusts were punishing, hitting her deep, and she was so close and she knew he was close and she really wanted to come again.  

“Touch yourself, Emma, I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

An errant bit of relief flooded her as she realized Killian was not intimidated in asking for what he wanted either and he wasn’t too macho to ask her to help get them there. Now was not the time for reflection though, and so she pushed those delightful thoughts to an area for later. Reaching down between them, Emma gathered the arousal that coated her thighs and started rubbing her fingers over her clit. “Almost, Killian, almo- Oh, Ooooh,” Emma cried. 

It was almost ridiculous how in sync they were, each gracing the edge of ecstasy before plummeting off one after the other, calling the other’s name like a benediction. She’d been right, his moves on the dance floor had definitely foreshadowed his performance in bed. And just like the attentive gentleman he was day-to-day, he was the same in bed, making sure to guide her through every aftershock, and hold her as she came down from on high. 

“Bloody Hell, why did we wait so long to do this?” Killian panted against her neck, before rolling off of her. “Come here,” he said, pulling Emma against his side. 

Instead of nestling into him, Emma stood up and stretched deliciously. “So, I guess, I’ll umm... see you around?” A mixture of shock, disappointment, and embarrassment crossed his face before he quickly jumped out of bed. The look was priceless, she really did feel heartless, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. 

“Right, love,” he mumbled as he turned from her and grabbed his slacks off the floor.  

Emma tiptoed behind him and circled her arms around his waist, his whole body was taught. “I’m fucking with you, Jones,” she said gently, pressing her cheek to his back. “Join me for a shower?” As his body relaxed, she placed a few kisses between his shoulder blades causing him to shiver. 

He turned in her arms and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. “You are a devilish little minx, aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t resist,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Come on, let’s go get clean… and dirty.”

“Do you promise to tell me more dirty little fantasies?”

A blush ran up her body as she remembered telling Killian her favorite fantasy about him. 

“Don’t get shy now. For someone who says they’re shite with words, you were certainly very chatty in bed.

“Oh my gosh, Killian.” She rolled her eyes and smacked his chest as mortification coursed through her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shower, but found herself being swung back into his chest.

Killian wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his front to her back in a sensual embrace. “Don’t you dare ever feel ashamed to tell me exactly what you want, love. If you want it harder,” he thrust his hips against her ass to elaborate, “if you want it deeper,” he growled, sucking at the lobe of her ear, “if you want my mouth between your thighs…”

Emma moaned as Killian continued rutting his hips against her ass and caressing her with his strong hands. She hung on his every word.

“If you want to watch me stroke my cock,” he said huskily, “just say the words.”

“Fuck, Killian. I want you to fuck me again,” she responded breathily. Taking his hand and pulling him toward the shower again, she met no resistance this time. 

Reaching into the shower she turned the water on full blast and then turned around and jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist to kiss him while they waited for it to warm up. 

He took her again, against the wall of her shower, then they made out until the water began to cool, before they both fell into bed, sated and exhausted.

♡~♥~♡~♥~♡

Emma hummed happily as she stood at the stove making pancakes. Killian was still sound asleep in her bed, the hint of a smile playing at his lips, and a hard case of morning wood if the slight tent of the sheets was anything to judge by. As much as she’d wanted to wake him up with salacious activities, she’d also wanted to let him sleep in. So she’d silently slipped into her black silk robe and headed to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. Her mind kept jumping to different parts of their evening together, and how much she hoped for a repeat performance.

An unadulterated smile broke out across her face when Killian’s husky voice broke through her morning musings. “Something smells delicious.”

The way he nuzzled into her made her weak in the knees as she protested the compliment. “It’s just from a box.”

“Mmm,” he hummed against her ear, “I’m not talking about the pancakes.”

Emma spun in his arms and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her mind was spinning, it was a little shocking to her that she wasn’t panicking at all about how much they’d discussed last night and how deep their feelings ran for each other. She realized she wasn’t afraid because what they had was worth taking the risk for. Breaking the kiss, she peered into his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes full of emotions that she knew mirrored her own. And the absolutely boyish grin gracing his face made her heart soar. 

“What?” he asked as she continued gazing at him.

“Nothing, I’m just... happy.” 

“Aye, love, me too.”

Emma leaned in to kiss him again, this time parting her mouth and begging entrance to his as she stroked the seam of his lips with her tongue. “To hell with the pancakes,” she muttered when he opened to her, tongues tangling together. Carding her fingers through his hair, only their breathing and wet kisses filled the air as she pushed him back toward the table until he was sitting with her nestled between his legs.

 Untying her robe, Killian caressed his hands up and down the lush skin of her torso before greedily pulling her against him, showing her how ready she had him, not that it was hard to tell through his boxer briefs.

“I smell pancakes. I thought we were eating on the way to the zoo?” a masculine voice said, cutting through the moment. 

“David!” Emma gasped.

“Your brother has a key, good to know,” Killian muttered. Emma dropped her head into Killian’s shoulder, willing this to be a dream. That was quickly shattered when she heard Mary Margaret’s voice. 

“Are we interrupting something,” Mary Margaret asked, eyes wide as saucers and a smirk begging to be let out. 

“EmEm! Killy!” little Leo cooed. 

David’s hands had immediately found his hips, as they quite often did before interrogating a suspect. Although the look on his face looked more like he was preparing to beat a perp. “What the… I mean… What’s go- Why the hell is he- Goddammit!” he roared, throwing his hands up in the air, and the toddler snuggled in Mary Margaret’s arms immediately started crying at his father’s outburst. “I thought I said she was off limits?”

“Hey!” Mary Margaret and Emma both yelled. As Emma stepped away from Killian to give her brother a piece of her mind, Killian quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Neither missed the huff of exasperation from David, but both ignored it. Killian quickly folded Emma’s robe over and tied it closed before giving her an attempted wink.

She smiled that happy smile at him before returning a scowl to her brother. “I am not a possession, David. You’re not my father, you’re not my husband, and you’re not my keeper! You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot be with.” She was outright yelling as she finished.

“I’m not,” he boomed. “I’m telling Killian he can’t be with you. I don’t want you with a cop, Emma!”

“Why is being with a cop good enough for your wife, the one you share a love so pure with and would lay down your life for, but being with a cop isn’t okay for me?”

“It’s not like that, Emma,” David argued.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s it like? I’m dying to understand,” she retorted.

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“From what?” When David made no move to answer, she shouted her question louder at him. “From what!?” 

“Daddy, EmEm, no fight,” Leo cried. 

“Emma,” Killian called softly and she turned to look at his calming blue eyes. He was quite the site, clad only in his skivvies, both hands strategically placed over his package. “Let’s get dressed. You both could use a minute to calm down.”

“That’s a great idea,” Mary Margaret piped in. “Take five, we’ll finish making breakfast. You still have that leftover ham from the other night?”

Emma nodded at her sister-in-law, then she and Killian headed toward her bedroom.

“Where are you going, Jones,” David seethed.

“Where the fuck do you think his clothes are, David,” Emma cursed.

Once in the bedroom, Killian pulled Emma into his arms. “Hey, we are going to make him understand, okay. There’s no reason to fight with him. Let’s make him understand. Hear him out, whatever his reasons, and then show him why he’s wrong.” 

“No, Killian. He’s being an absolute dick. He has no right to tell me what to do. And I hate whatever his reasons are. I don’t care.”

Killian placed a hand on each of her cheeks and looked into her eyes, before planting a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes you do, love. And we can figure this out.”

Admittedly, some of her anger faded as Killian talked of understanding and explaining and communication. She walked to her dresser and pulled out one of his old t-shirts she’d borrowed at a party at his place. 

“You still have this?” he chuckled.

“It smelled like you for a long time after I borrowed it, I like sleeping in it.” 

“That party was over a year ago,” he mused.

“I told you, I’ve wanted…,” she paused, trying to find a better word for how she’d felt for so long. “I’ve really liked you for a long time, Killian.”

He slipped the t-shirt over his head before descending on her and kissing her fully. “Maybe almost for as long as I’ve fancied you.”

She just giggled at that, hugging him for fortification before taking his hand and heading back out into the battle zone.

“Wait, I still don’t have pants.”

Emma led him to the guest room.“David and Mary Margaret keep extra clothes here for when they don’t decide early enough who is going to be designated driver.”

“I don’t think Mary Margaret’s pants will fit me, darling.”

“Shut up you goofball,” she laughed as she threw him a pair of David’s sweatpants.

“Let’s sit down and eat, and discuss this like adults,” Mary Margaret, always the mother, ordered everyone when Emma and Killian emerged. 

She’d finished cooking the pancakes, whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs, and was just finishing frying up the leftover ham. David was pouring a round of coffee for everyone and holding Leo who was happily babbling now that he had a pancake in his hand and no one was yelling.

After strapping the baby into the portable high chair they kept at Emma’s place, everyone sat down at the table and dug into breakfast. 

“Can you just tell me what you think you’re protecting me from?” Emma asked. “I mean you trust Killian with your life, literally. Why don’t you trust him with my heart?”

David’s stoic expression lightened at that. “Does he have your heart, Emma?”

Killian glanced toward Emma and smiled knowingly. They didn’t need to call it love right this instant, but they were definitely invested in each other. 

“Answer the question, dear,” Mary Margaret prodded. “Otherwise they don’t have the truth, because trusting Killian has nothing to do with it, and you know it.”

“Fine,” David sighed. “You dealt with abandonment by your own parents, by every subsequent foster parent, by the only friend you made as a child, who turned out to be a fraud, and then with Neal’s betrayal, which almost broke you. I don’t want you to ever experience that abandonment again.” David’s voice broke as he finished explaining. Tears rimmed his eyes as he contemplated even trying to understand what she’d been through. And he would be damned before it happened again, especially by someone who he’d introduced into her life. 

“What?” Emma asked incredulously. “That has everything to do with trusting Killian,” she argued. “Why do you assume he’d abandon me.”

Leo quieted as the tension between siblings started to grow again and Mary Margaret looked around the table, jaw clenched and a warning in her eyes to every adult at the table to not upset her baby again. 

Killian placed his hand over Emma’s white knuckles where her fist lay balled up on the table. “I don’t think he means I would intentionally leave you, Swan.”

Emma looked between her brother and Killian, a confused furrow cocking her brows. 

David chuckled, “See, he gets it.”

“Explain, David. Make her understand where you’re coming from,” his wife urged him.

Wait, Emma thought, it was supposed to be the other way around. She was supposed to be making him understand why she and Killian were a good, no great, thing. Before she could speak though, David started up again.

“Emma, you really think no one sees how much you two are into each other? You really think for almost two years, no one has watched the way you pine for each other, flirt off the charts, tease each other like kids on a playground? You’re like an old married couple half the time, we’d have to be blind not to see it. Killian is a good man, I understand he’d never purposefully hurt you, he’d have to deal with me if he did. But you have to understand that officers die in the line of duty all the time. Being with one means you accept that risk. I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing one more person you loved, especially if it was someone I brought into your life.”

A tear or two trailed down Emma’s cheeks as she listened to her brother. As she really heard what he was saying. For the first time, she understood where he was coming from. It finally made sense why he didn’t want her being with a cop. And it relieved her mind that it had nothing to do with Killian personally, especially because she wasn’t giving him up. 

“EmEm, you sad?” Leo asked.

A small laugh turned cry-hiccup escaped Emma’s mouth. “No baby, I’m happy,” she smiled. 

Leo clapped his hands, his innocent celebration of an adult human being happy, bringing a smile to everyone’s face. 

Emma unfurled her balled up fist under Killian’s comforting hand and interlaced their fingers, giving him a strong smile. “David, while I am thankful that you explained your reason for not wanting me with Killian and I even understand where you’re coming from, I could walk outside tomorrow and get hit by a bus. There are no guarantees in this life.”

David nodded his head as he glanced between her face and her and Killian’s intertwined fingers. 

“He has my heart, David, would you deny us that?”

David sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest as he often did when contemplating something. After a full minute, at least, he exhaled a breath bespeaking acceptance, albeit reluctantly. “I’m beginning to see that. And I could never deny you happiness, Emma.” 

Emma beamed at her brother, understanding that while his actions may have been off kilter the reasoning behind them was fueled by brotherly love. 

Mary Margaret leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek before flashing Emma and Killian a smile. “Glad we got this settled,” she giggled.

“So, just what are your intentions toward my sister, Jones?”

Emma scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes at David’s attempt at big brother intimidation tactics. But when she heard Killian’s answer, she was kinda thankful to her brother.

“Well Dave, whatever happens between me and Emma is as much up to her as it is me. But I’m in this for the long haul if she’ll have me.”

“Good answer, partner,” David laughed as he threw his hand out across the table in an offer to shake Killian’s. “Two rules,” he added as he squeezed Killian’s hand tighter, “you are never allowed to kiss and tell around me, and if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” 

Killian let David have his moment of brotherly protection, because he understood how important it was to cherish Emma. He was the one who’d fancied her for almost two years after all. 

“All right, enough of that,” Mary Margaret sighed as she wiped Leo’s hands and face. “Let’s get everything cleaned up, and then we are headed to the zoo as planned. Emma you are free to bail, you and Killian probably have a lot of catching up to do for the last year and a half.” 

Emma waggled her eyebrows at her sister-in-law and Killian had the good sense to not dispense with his usual abundance of innuendos, while David just cast the evil eye at his wife. 

“What,” Mary Margaret asked, holding her hands up in mock innocence and confusion, “what’d I say?”

“Ga-dammen!” Leo shouted and every head whipped around to look at the little boy as he tugged helplessly at the lap belt of the high chair. “Up, up,” he pleaded. 

“Way to go, dear, looks like he’ll have your charming vocabulary,” Mary Margaret scolded her husband.

Not having any kids of their own had Emma and Killian struggling not to bellow out loud at the little guys antics. 

“No, no, Leo,” David told his son as he unbuckled the lap belt and picked him up. “That’s a… that’s a daddy word.”

“David! What kind of lesson is that?”

Emma and Killian just looked at each other and started cracking up. “So what do you say? Stay in or join these crazy kids at the zoo?” Emma asked Killian.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am doing,” Emma deadpanned. “I’m asking you out on a date with me, my brother, his wife and kid, and the monkeys too.”

“Sounds delightful as long as you’ll be there,” Killian answered as he pulled her into his embrace and pecked her lips. 

“Hey, let’s just take it slow,” David interrupted, “I’m not quite there yet.”

“Oh relax, she’s 28, not 16, they’ve obviously already done the deed, how are you going to get squirmy over a hug?” 

“Not helping!” David pleaded with his wife, rubbing his temples in a soothing motion. 

“He’s such a baby,” Mary Margaret cracked up. “How about you guys meet us there? No rush,” she added conspiratorially. 

“For fuck’s sake, do you want to lay out a trail of rose petals to the bed for them?”

“He’s too easy,” she continued laughing.

“Fuhfuh sake!!” Leo shouted.

Mary Margaret’s laughter cut off immediately as she stared daggers at her husband. “Watch your mouth, he’s a parrot these days!”

“Gonna be a fun day,” Emma said, once the Nolans had departed. She was most definitely trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“It’ll be brilliant, love. You and me, that is the only requisite for my enjoyment.”

“I bet you say that to all the other girls.”

“There are no other girls. Only you, milady.”

“Good,” Emma whispered before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Mmm, let’s practice mating like the animals, Swan.”

Emma laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “I have no doubt David is now timing the drive to the zoo and adding it to the time he thinks it should take us to be ready.”

“I can be quick,” Killian purred as he thrust his hardening length against her stomach. 

“Or we could take our time and really freak him out?”

“Your heart’s desire, Swan, I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”

Emma stared into the intense gaze of Killian’s eyes, the blue shining with truth and sincerity. “The long haul, Killian, that’s what my heart desires. You and me.”

The End

Tagging @laschatzi @xhookswenchx @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @hollyethecurious @jennjenn615​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @apromisednightcap​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @wordsmith-storyweaver​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @nikkiemms​ @deathbycaptainswan​ @gingerchangeling​ @thisonesatellite​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @tiganasummertree​ @cocohook38​ @snowbellewells​ @andiirivera​ @searchingwardrobes​ @timeless-love-story​ @artistic-writer​ @kday426​ @imagnifika​

#cs fan fic #cs ff #cs smut #captain swan #cs au