#this turned out way way softer + warmer than i intended it to be

[mothfables]

♡ Bunny Flops ♡ - Part Two

(Legend has like 0.5 seconds of angst cause ✨trauma✨, but then it’s just fluff <3)

The second time it happens, the Chain is taking a much-needed break at Lon Lon Ranch. Several weeks have gone by since the first Incident (as they’ve taken to calling it when Legend isn’t around to hear), and it’s mostly passed from everyone’s minds by now.

Legend refused to answer any of their questions, growing embarrassed and awkward any time someone brought it up. Eventually they gave up and let him be, to his relief. He doesn’t want any of them knowing it’s a holdover from his Dark World form - or that he suspects that isn’t the only reason for his more...rabbit-like tendencies. Luckily (or, perhaps, unluckily in this case), those tendencies really only show themselves when he feels truly comfortable and safe, with a few exceptions.

(He doesn’t want to think about what it means that it’s happened around the other heroes. Thinking about it means acknowledging it, and acknowledging it means he has to face the fact that he’s let himself get close. Close to people who will just get taken away go away again.)

(He can’t go through that again. He can’t.)

As it is, Legend is curled up on the rug in front of the fire in the main house, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug and a fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Quiet chatter mixed with soft music flows around him. Chores are done for the day, none of his weapons are in need of maintenance, his belly is full, and he’s warm and cozy in a house that makes him feel as safe as he’s ever been.

Legend feels himself start to drift, his mind growing hazy and soft. Each blink is longer than the last, and he fumbles to keep from spilling his drink as he begins to drift off. Someone takes it from him, their hands gently easing it from his own, before patting him on the head. Half-asleep, he barely registers giving a soft chirring purr in response to the affection, hearing the other chuckle warmly as they continue petting his hair.

Sky smiles down at him as the younger hero begins to doze. He pauses for a moment to twist around, searching for the coffee table so he can put down the mug he’d taken from sleepy hands. Once that’s done, he turns back around to continue his ministrations, only to blink as he realizes the other boy is not where he’d left him.

He glances around, confused, before looking down and seeing Legend curled up on his side before the fire, blanket clutched in his thin hands and violet eyes blinking sleepily into the flames. Giving a relieved sigh, Sky shuffles closer and lays a hand on soft pink locks. Legend starts purring again as Sky gently pets his hair.

He only half-listens to the sounds of the other heroes in the room with him, most of his attention on the cozy bundle before him that is the young hero. As he weaves his hand through his hair, marveling at the softness of it, he senses more than sees someone moving to sit next to him.

“He’s doing it again, huh?” Warriors’ voice, hushed in the quiet peace that’s settled over them all, comes from his left. He joins Sky in reaching out and laying a gentle hand on Legend’s arm. The Vet sniffles once before sighing. Wars runs his hand along his arm in a soothing motion, and his eyes slip shut as he finally nods off.

“So, it’s not anything to worry about then, do you think?” Sky asks, keeping his voice low. “Since he’s just sleeping when he does this?” ‘This’ being tipping over and falling asleep with ease as compared to the restless, guarded nights they’re all used to.

Wars shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. This is-” he stops, looking for the right words. Sky nods; he understands what his brother means.

This is an incredible show of trust. For the Veteran, prickly and snappish and guarded to his core, this may very well be the equivalent of lowering every wall he has and opening the door straight to his heart. Sky’s own heart warms at the realization. He lets himself trust that they will not hurt him, and in turn allows them to protect and care for him at his most vulnerable.

The Chosen Hero turns his head to meet the Captain’s eyes. They both nod, coming to an unspoken agreement that they will do everything they can to keep this trust. Their brother deserves to be able to let his guard down, to be able to open himself up, to know he has people he can depend on, and that none of it will be taken from him.

With a content sigh, Sky lets himself lean into Warriors, resting his head on his shoulder. They each keep a hand on their sleeping brother, protective and soothing both. The two of them will keep watch over their brother tonight, here in this house of safety and warmth and love, to make the most of every ounce of trust they’ve been given.

<< First : Last >>

#moth’s tales #fanfiction #linked universe #linked universe fanfiction #lu legend #lu sky #lu warriors #this turned out way way softer + warmer than i intended it to be #not that i’m complaining #legend deserves good things: the fic #sky: it’s my turn to take care of my grumpy little brother #bunny flops #honestly this reads like it could be the end but no! #we have one more part to go folks!

[fwckriley]

The Missing Wolf Tee

═════════════════════════

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

═════════════════════════

It was a calmly morning. She woke up feeling extremely unwell. Her night had been terrible. One way she coped on these bad days was to seek comfort in small things. So, she took out a large navy blue shirt with a wolf print from her wardrobe. She sniffed the shirt for a moment, still sensing his scent on the fabric.

Once she got all set, she thought about going out for a bit to get some fresh air, smoke a cigarette, and take a walk to sort out her thoughts. After the walk, she went back inside the lodge. The place was empty, most of the soldiers were out. Still wearing her coat, she collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep.

Nearly half an hour later, she woke up to the sound of the door slamming. She quickly composed herself when she caught a glimpse of Simon's figure from the corner of her eye, and then she relaxed. He sat down next to her on the couch, completely silent. Automatically, she decided to take off her coat. But as she did, she remembered she was wearing one of his shirts, his favorite shirt, that she had stolen during one of their hookups. She put the coat back on, but it was too late; Simon had already seen his shirt. She swallowed hard and stayed quiet.

Simon raises an eyebrow, his eyes observing her, checking her out before saying: "Is that one of my shirts?" He asks casually, his voice raspy and deep.

"Nope... It's mine. I guess it just looks kinda the same." She lied, trying to get out of that situation, but she knew him. She knew he was smart and wouldn't buy her lie.

"Are you sure it's not mine?" He asks again, his penetrating gaze still fixed on her. She can see his eyes squinting, a result of a smile, so subtle that only she can notice. He knows she's not being honest, but he's letting her get away with it for now.

"Why would I be wearing one of your clothes?" She tries to play dumb.

Normally, she wouldn't mind if it were one of her affairs, but Simon was more than just that, even though their situation was a bit odd. And the fact that she liked wearing his clothes, because the smell and the memory of him brought comfort, brought forth feelings that neither of them dared to discuss.

"You tell me," he calmly replies, his eyes fixed on her. He doesn't show any emotion. He watches her reaction closely for a moment before speaking again, "I don't mind that you borrowed it."

"I didn't borrow it," she says defensively.

"So, you stole it." Simon's voice is dry, seems emotionless, but she can feel a hint of mockery in his tone.

She let out an exasperated sigh. She seemed offended, even though she was guilty. "I didn't steal anything." Her voice comes out more shrill than she intended.

"So, how did you get your hands on it? 'Cause I don't remember giving you any of my shirts." Simon leans back on the couch, trying to hide the small smile growing on his face, which, despite wearing his balaclava, was visible in his eyes. "Did you simply find it lying around?" He continues, teasing her.

She rolls her eyes, grumbling. "It just showed up in my stuff, not my fault."

She had totally planned to swipe his shirt the moment she laid her eyes on it.

"You're not a great liar, you know." Simon's voice sounds amused, but there's a hint of affection in his tone. He watches her for a moment, and then he adds: "You know, you could've just asked me if you wanted it."

"Can I keep it?" She asks softly, like a kid begging for a toy she saw in the store.

Simon looks at her for a long moment, before letting out a sigh and nodding, turning his face to the side. "Yeah, sure." His tone is softer now. He is not used to sharing with others or giving anything away to anyone. But for her, he makes a small exception.

She smiles secretly, bumping her knees against his. Like a 'thanks.'

As usual, Simon remains stoic and doesn't react to her touch, even though the gesture makes him feel a little warmer inside. He doesn't say anything, but she can see the faint smile that reaches his eyes remains even after she pulls her knees back.

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #call of duty mw2 #cod x reader #cod imagine #simon riley x y/n #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon riley headcanons

[george-weasleys-girl]

Congrats on reaching 200 followers! You deserve all that and more! If I may, could I request a fic where the reader has a crush on George (or Fred take your pick) and he has a crush on her as well but they’re both too afraid to say anything out of fear of ruining the friendship until one Christmas break the reader is staying with the Wesley’s and Hermione and Ginny are asking how she can tell the twins apart and she’s explaining things like George’s eyes sparkle when he makes someone laugh and his smile is much warmer and softer than Fred’s that always looks like a smirk and she confesses she knows all of this because of her crush and George is just in the doorway like this 🧍and they have a cute confession at the lake or on the roof. I feel like I just spewed out a ton of stuff so please take what you like or ignore it! Congrats again!

Tysm💕 This is so sweet! I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: couple of curse words

Christmas Confessions

Y/N and George had known each other forever, it seemed. Arthur and her dad had been best friends at Hogwarts and were each other's best man when they married. After the dust settled from the First Wizarding War, their families grew quite close, frequently getting together for dinners and picnics, and even going on a few vacations together.

Y/N was the same age as the twins and a "girlie girl" who had no qualms playing Quidditch, climbing trees, and blowing up things while wearing pink taffeta and bows. She fit right in with the mischievous duo, despite her penchant for frilly dresses. For many years, she was known as the Weasley triplet.

As they got older, Y/N gravitated more toward the younger twin and his gentler demenor. He, in turn, grew closer to her. Yet, it wasn't until their fourth year at Hogwarts that George realized his feelings for Y/N went beyond mere friendship.

He'd never forget the exact moment he realized he loved her. It happened almost a year ago at the Burrow on Christmas Eve. He and Fred decided to have a little fun and switch sweaters to see how long it took for anybody to notice. Just as they were coming downstairs, Y/N, Ginny, and Hermione returned from their walk.

George moved to help Y/N with her coat.

"Oh, thank--."Y/N began, and then she noticed his attire. "George, why are you wearing Fred's sweater?"

Fred's face fell. But George's lit up like the sun when he realized that she could tell them apart with barely a look, and then he realized he couldn't remember a time when she'd ever mixed them up.

His heart skipped a beat.

"She sees me. Not Fred and George. Just me. She's always seen me."

And that was all it took. George was a goner.

~•~

One Year Later

George watched Bill kiss his newest girlfriend under the mistletoe, a painful tightness growing in his chest. He'd intended to tell Y/N how he felt by now. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue every moment of every day, and yet whenever he tried all he could imagine was her looking away, biting her lip as she searched for a way to let him down easy. And he'd say, "That's ok, we can just be friends." She'd nod and smile, "yes, of course." And they'd try, but it'd never be the same, both of them afraid to get too close in fear that the other might take it the wrong way. Everyday, they'd drift further and further apart until their friendship was nothing more than a distant memory.

He looked around the room at the happy, festive couples laughing and talking. His mum and dad. Y/N's mum and dad. Bill and his girlfriend. And even though Percy's girlfriend wasn't there yet, she would be soon. Yet, another couple to drive home to George of what he didn't have and what he may never have.

The room suddenly felt too small, too loud. He needed to get away. To be alone. Turning, George headed upstairs, hoping he could sleep his loneliness away.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard laughter. Y/N's laughter. George turned and followed the sound, intending to simply bask in its glow for a few minutes.

Y/N, Ginny, and Hermione were huddled up in Ginny's bedroom, looking through old photo albums. "It's hard to believe that was you," Hermione laughed, looking at a picture of a beaming eight year old, mud-covered Y/N wearing the pinkest, frilliest dress she'd ever seen, flanked by the two equally beaming, mud-covered twins. "I can't imagine you wearing something like that today."

"Sometimes I can't believe it myself," Y/N giggled, looking down at herself. Gone were the fluffy dresses and bows, replaced with jeans and tall, black boots. The only thing left of that rambunctious, little girl was the color pink. It remained Y/N's favorite color. So much so that Molly knitted her Christmas sweaters every year in pink, with her initial knitted in a bright magenta.

"Which one is which?" Ginny squinted at the picture.

"Oh, that's Fred on the left and George on the right." Y/N said matter-of-factly.

"How do you do it?" Hermione asked.

"Do what?" Y/N eyebrows scrunched together.

"Tell them apart," Ginny clarified. "We all get it wrong sometimes, except for you. You never mix them up."

Y/N shrugged. "Ever since I've known them, Fred's been the smug one. He doesn't smile so much as smirk. But, George, when he smiles, he lights up the room. And his eyes," Y/N's voice took on a dreamy quality. "The way they sparkle and shine when he makes someone laugh. It's like he's achieved the greatest thing in the whole world just by making them laugh."

Hermione and Ginny shared a knowing look.

"Sounds like someone may have a little crush," Ginny teased, shaking Y/N out of her reverie.

Y/N didn't speak for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip as she wrestled with what to do. After a few long moments, she nodded to herself and spoke. "Swear to me that what I'm about to tell you goes no further than this room."

Hermione gave a solemn nod. "I swear."

Ginny held up her pinkie. "Pinkie promise."

All three girls giggled and linked pinkies.

Y/N took a deep breath. "It's not a little crush. I'm full-on madly in love with George. I have been for as long as I knew what that meant, maybe longer."

You could've heard a pin drop.

It was only then that Hermione noticed someone standing in the doorway. "Oh, hi."

Y/N turned to see George staring straight at her, his expression blank.

"I think we need to talk," he said. "Meet me downstairs."

Y/N swallowed and nodded.

~•~

George walked downstairs in a daze, uncertain if he was dreaming or not. All this time, they'd loved each other in silence. All those times he'd wanted to spill his heart out to her while she had secretly wanted to do the same. He felt a little foolish for never noticing. But, none of that mattered now. A small smile spread across his face as he pulled on his coat. Now that the shock was wearing off, a light-headed giddiness began to set in.

Y/N arrived downstairs a few moments later. George was bundled up for going outside, his scarf wrapped around half his face, hiding it from view. Her already racing heartbeat picked up the pace. Without a word, she pulled on her coat and everything else she needed to stay warm on a cold, snowy day.

George's eyes twinkled when he offered his hand. Y/N took it, tilting her head in question.

Giving her hand a squeeze, he led her outside. They'd only taken a few steps when he stopped, held up a finger, and ran back into the house. Y/N cocked an eyebrow, her nervousness morphing into curiosity, and more than a little confusion.

George was gone no more than a few seconds when he came running back out, slipping a little on an icy patch. Then, grabbing her hand, he continued sprinting through the snow, pulling Y/N along behind him.

"Where are we going?"

No answer.

"George? Did you hear me?"

The only response she got was another squeeze of her hand. Y/N rolled her eyes and stumbled along, trying to ignore the growing stitch in her side.

Much her to her relief, she soon saw where he was taking her. Thank goodness it wasn't too much further.

"Here we are!" George finally spoke. They were standing next to the lake where they spent most of their summers. But, rather than a welcoming sky blue, it was a hard, steel grey, almost indiscernable from the snowy expanse surrounding it.

Y/N held her side, trying catch her breath. "Are--are you trying--to kill me?"

George chuckled. "I thought you were in better shape."

"I'm in excellent shape," she rasped. "But I had to run three times faster to keep up with your long-ass legs."

"Oh," George gave her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. I was just in a hurry to get here."

Y/N smiled and shook her head.

George brushed the snow off of the fallen tree that they often used as a makeshift seat. Then, sitting, he patted the empty spot beside him.

Y/N followed his lead, sitting next to him. Neither spoke for a long while. Despite Y/N's apprehension, it was, as always, an easy, comfortable silence.

"There's something that I've been wanting--trying to tell you for a long time," George began, taking her hands in his. "It wasn't until now that I thought I could."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "I love you too. I think I've loved you all my life. It just took me a while to realize it." George squeezed her hands. "If it's ok with you, I'd like to be more than friends. So very much more."

Y/N stared at him, hoping the recent lack of oxygen hadn't addled her brain, and this was just some sort of a vivid hallucination. "You love me back?"

George couldn't help but chuckle at the stunned look on her face. "Of course I do," he replied, cupping her face in his hands.

She simply stared at him for a moment, then a smile that took his breath away spread across her face.

"I think this is part where we kiss," George's eyes sparkled. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes. Yes, please," she said as they leaned toward each other.

"Oh wait!" George jumped back, startling Y/N. "I almost forget." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smushed sprig of mistletoe and held it above them. "Now, I'm ready.

Y/N laughed out loud. "Is that what you ran back in for?"

"Yep," he replied proudly.

"You cheeky bastard," she quipped, earning a wicked smile from George.

"But you love me anyway."

"That I do," she said. And with that, they closed the distance, smiling into their first kiss.

~•~

@princess-paramour @milivanili99 @fancy-pantaloons @turvi @zvummyummy @xmjthewitchx @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @georgie-weasley

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x fem!reader #george weasley imagines #george weasley headcanon #george weasley x you #george weasley fluff

[lunaviee]

personal heater

suna rintaro x reader

tags/warnings: fluff, suna and reader are not yet in a relationship, though they do like each other, out of character?, i suck at tagging

synopsis: while only intending to warm his hands, you seem to have made his heart flush as well

authors notes: okay so this is also based off of me..umm...ANYWAYSS i tend to run really warm and so many people come to me to warm their hands so i just kinda thought this would be cute LOL also, this is just smth i wrote throughout the entire day, so if it’s bad i’m sorry and imma write more i promise

word count: ~1.1k

early mornings breezes are nice. the sharp, cool winds against your cheeks caused them to turn pink. though, you enjoyed the cold. you ran warm anyway so winter was a nice change from the sticky summer

you’re met with people taking off scarves and gloves to protect them from the frigid temperatures as you walk into your classroom. friends huddled together by their seats to preserve their warmth, hugs and holds are shared to maintain their flushed features. these kinds of moments warmed your heart, especially because your own friends were guilty of clinging to you, taking advantage of your comfortable body temperature. being labeled as their “personal heater”, the hands of your friends were always in yours, their frozen palms melting in your warm ones

unfortunately, none of them shared your first class with you, so they’d have to wait a bit to regain the feeling in their fingers. you noticed that class didn’t start for another few minutes, deciding to take this time to rest just a while longer. your cheek was squished against your palm, supported by the arm that rested on your desk. it was only a matter of seconds before your eyes fluttered to a closed state, evening your breathing out. as loud as the classroom was, you managed to tune most of it out to get just a few seconds of tranquility

though, your calm moment was soon interrupted by your desk mate shuffling his way to his seat, “morning..oh sorry did i wake you?” he questioned, softer than usual

“hm? no you’re fine don’t worry, i shouldn’t fall asleep this early anyway” a breathy laugh escaped your lips

man, the things he’d do to hear that laugh more often…

luckily, the coldness outside had caused his cheeks to dust pink, hiding the blush that was creeping up his face. “don’t worry, i sleep in this class all the time, and i end up fine don’t i?” he teased, slouching in his chair in the process. you laughed again, this time grabbing your phone instead of lying back down

you didn’t realize, but you soon began to think more about the blocker sitting next to you..

suna rintaro; a second year you’ve known for a little over a year. his seat next to you in the early mornings helped with forming your friendship, enjoying each others company

he weaseled his way into your contacts by his constant asking for the notes you had taken, he was too bothered to take any himself. his dumb videos and jokes made you smile, along with his stupidly cute face

your daze was soon broken by the school bell, indicating that people had 5 minutes to get to class. your gaze shifted to suna’s hands, they fidgeted with each other, attempting to be stuffed in his hoodie pocket. he was cold. the thought of his hand intertwined with yours made you even warmer than normal. you hesitated to speak up, but it’s not like the teacher could call you out yet, class didn’t start for another 4 minutes

“uh..are you cold?” your voice laced with hesitation. you hoped the pink flush on your face wasn’t too obvious, you’d rather be dead that have him know about your feelings. “oh uh yeah” he laughed “i should be fine though after ab-“

you cut him off, “i can warm your hands for you” you stated, now worrying you had been a bit too forward. “you sure? you don’t have to i mean-“ his gaze shifted around the room, he was nervous?

“of course i’m sure! listen, my friends call me their personal heater, and i hold that title pretty well..soo can i warm your hands?” you held your hands out, indicating he should do the same. the proud glint in your eyes paired with the eagerness to hold his hand made suna’s heart rate skyrocket. he was positive that his blush was apparent, though yours was just as bright

“alright then, work your magic” he placed his phone down and gave you his right hand, a curious smirk plastering his face. his slightly calloused hand rested on yours as you held them close, your heart rate accelerating. “jeez dude are you always this cold?” you joked, hoping the twinge of nervousness didn’t shine through too much.

with the last bit of confidence you had, you laced your fingers with his, using your free hand to transfer more of your warmth to him. “not always,” he replied, “but hey, at least now i have my own personal heater right?” he moved his chair closer to yours, knees almost touching. you bit down on your lip as an attempt to fight back the large grin on your face. “i guess so..” your hands continued to roam his own, going from one hand to the other to maintain his warmth

the silence between you two was comfortable. him studying the way your fingers grazed upon his hands, hoping you wouldn’t notice how much he was blushing. your hands were soft, much softer than his own, your hands felt like silk running across his palms

the two of you stayed like this for a while longer, hands and hearts heating up with each second that passed. the final bell ringing made your heart sink a little bit, though, suna’s grip on your hand only tightened. you look at him curiously, an uncharacteristically small pout formed on his lips

“can we stay like this just for a bit longer?” he whined, “you can still take notes like that can’t you? i don’t want my hands to get any colder” it was obvious he was lying just to keep you from pulling away, but it’s not like you’d say no to him anyway. “yeah alright whatever you dork, you’d ask for them whether you held my hand or not” a smile finding its way back to your face

and so that’s how the rest of the class went, hands tangled with each other under the table. a glint of disappointment glazed his eyes as the bell rang for the end of class, his hand already felt colder when it left yours. a sympathetic smile tugged at your lips as you turned back to him, “don’t get too cold, yeah? i’ll send you the notes later” you nodded your head as a farewell of sorts

suna’s mind was racing, maybe he’d have to get cold more often. this would naturally become a routine for you two everyday

he could get used to mornings like these

I HOPE THIS IS OKAY HHHH i just really wanted to write something but this seems like not good so feedback is appreciated😓 i think i’ll have the nagi one finished by the end of the week and i’ll make another haikyuu one and maybe a bsd one if i feel like it LOLL

written by lunaviee feb 2023, please do not repost, copy, or translate any of my works.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarō #rintaro suna #✩ vie writes

[ekwallace]

I don't think I've ever posted this here. Have some lesbians in your Mononoke!

Title: Interlude Fandom: Mononoke Pairing: fem!Otherself/Kayo Word count: 1870 Rating: Explicit

If Kayo always feels off balance around him--and she does--it is worse with her, the woman who is dark and golden at once, who seems to see through her even more keenly than her other half does. Is that dizzying sense of being defenseless before her why Kayo is so irresistibly drawn to her?

Maybe it's much simpler than that.

"Are you hurt?"

Kayo shakes her head, steps closer. "Are you?" It's an excuse. When she puts her hand on the golden one's arm, she can feel the hard muscle under soft skin much warmer than her own. The urge to trace along the bright line that wraps her bicep is almost overwhelming. What would it taste like? she wonders, and feels herself flush. Oh. Is that what you want from them?

The painted smile curves into a real one, with a teasing edge to it. "What do you really want to ask me?"

"I-- I don't know." It is not a lie, not really, for she could not put this strange longing into words if she tried. Desire, yes, but also something more... to see and be seen, as she is when she is most truly herself, with none of the obscuring trappings of convention and stifling politeness. She could not hope to stay with them, she by her very nature ephemeral and he no less fleeting, never to stay in one place for longer than he must to find his answers. But she can have this much.

The golden woman leans closer, as if to tell a secret. "Do you not, Kayo-san?" Her voice is more musical than her counterpart's, but it sends the same shiver down Kayo's spine when she murmurs in her ear, and, like him, she pauses the slightest bit before saying her name, which makes it feel somehow far more intimate than it ought to.

Heart pounding so hard she feels it in her throat, Kayo meets those unsettling, beautiful eyes. "Can you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

"If you want."

"I do want." It comes out breathy and oddly heavy, weighted with more significance than she intended. She swallows and steps closer. "I do want," she says again, this time acknowledging its full meaning.

The golden woman gives a pleased hum and bends again. She brushes her lips over Kayo's hair, then her cheek, and Kayo turns her head to bring their mouths together.

She has never kissed anyone, and she did not expect it to be like this, overwhelming all her senses and stealing her breath completely. The golden one's mouth on hers, and her hand cupping her chin, are both warm to burning, but her hair, when Kayo (a distant part of her awed at her own daring) slips her hands into it, is cool, and softer than silk.

"I want to see all of you," she whispers when they break apart, and there is no mocking at all in the golden woman's answering smile.

"You know how."

But Kayo must first run her fingers over the markings on her chest, and after a moment can no longer resist kissing them. The golden woman makes a sound, low in her throat and not quite a growl, and grips Kayo's shoulders hard enough that she feels the prickle of sharp nails.

That makes Kayo feel bold enough to tug the bright robe open (she suspects a bit of subtle help in loosening the obijime and obi) and, with a slightly self-conscious smile at remembering her earlier thoughts, she sets her mouth to the spiral of gold about one breast.

The golden woman murmurs an Ah at the first touch of her tongue. Her skin tastes of musk and warm spices. Kayo has touched herself, of course, but how different it is to feel someone else's body respond to her. The golden one lets her explore, arching her back to press closer, until she finally gives what is definitely a growl and tugs Kayo up into a fierce kiss. Then she moves back, only a little, so Kayo still feels her breath across her lips. "I need you much closer than this."

"Oh... Yes." She doesn't know exactly the way of it with another woman, but every fiber of her being cries out to embrace the golden one.

Who steps away, and Kayo is about to say something indignant until she shrugs out of the robe, slips the hakama off, and stands naked before her. Kayo's mouth is suddenly too dry for her to say anything at all at first.

"You're... glorious." She doesn't blush to say that. It might sound absurd to describe anyone else thus, but not her.

The golden woman's mouth quirks as if in acknowledgment (very like her other's when he's amused). "Now, come here." She takes Kayo's hand and draws her to lie down beside her.

Kayo's barely aware of the surroundings, has had no attention to spare for anything but the golden woman since the hone-onna exploded in a shower of colors, and, barely thinking except to fear that she might never see her again, she clutched at the golden one's wrist before she could melt away, too.

They're in some strange in-between, the color of everything, save the two of them, washed-out and watery, but none of that matters, not with the golden one next to her, and Kayo, reaching for her, breathes out, More.

I'm no fine lady, but how pretty we are together, she thinks, admiring the contrast of her own small brown hand against dusk-and-gold skin as she cups again the soft heavy weight of the golden woman's breasts. But she cannot bear even this much distance between them for long, and squirms closer, tipping her chin up as the golden woman tilts hers down.

Her kisses are greedy in a way Kayo can't imagine him being. She doesn't know how it works, whatever the golden one and the medicine seller are together and apart, and she's not sure she wants to, because the thought of him seeing her like this makes her want to squirm in embarrassment.

It also makes the heat coiling low in her belly burn even hotter, and thinking he might know of it, or even feel it, as she slides her hands down, shaping the curve of the golden one's waist and tracing along the lines that mark the swell of her hips, unexpectedly lush, sends a strange, shivery thrill all through her.

"Ah, you tease too much, Kayo."

"You say that as if you don't!" She might move even more slowly in retaliation, making sure she touches each bright curl of gold. "Besides... I don't know what to do."

The golden woman meets her eyes in a look not quite a smile but full of promise, takes her hand again and guides her fingers. Kayo thought she was drowning in warmth before, but that's nothing to the heat at the golden one's core, and after a little while she grows bolder, learning how to draw gasps and little wanting noises, until the golden woman's hand is a burning vise about her wrist and she's shuddering against Kayo's fingers.

She pulls Kayo close then, tumbles them over so her lean length presses her down, one knee between her legs. Kayo rocks her hips up all but mindlessly, but the golden woman, breath still fast, gives her a quick kiss and a smile that bares sharp teeth.

"I've wanted this for a long time," she murmurs, and if Kayo didn't know better, she might think it was an unwilling confession. The golden woman huffs a little laugh at Kayo's expression, leans in to mouth at her ear. "Are you so surprised that I should want you?"

"Yes!" Kayo says, for surely it's obvious why she would feel that way.

"He does, too." It's a murmur against her jaw, and Kayo tries not to shiver, but cannot stop the tremor that runs through her.

"That really surprises me," she says, as much to cover her embarrassment as anything else, but it has quite the opposite effect when she cannot help but imagine pale skin flushed and blue eyes darkened by desire.

"Mm, you still blush so easily, Kayo." She looks down at her, as if to see the effect her words have, but she doesn't linger long; she is as made for graceful motion as her other half for patient stillness, and so deft and quick are her hands that Kayo doesn't realize her kimono is open until the golden woman runs her hand along the edge, nudging the fabric further aside and leaving a trail of heat where her fingers brush Kayo's skin. Her eyes have never looked so much like points of flame, and Kayo, transfixed by them, thinks, Burn me up.

She would almost think she spoke that wish aloud, for the way the golden one looks at her--seeing her, yes, as she really is, eager and wanting and unashamed--is as dizzying as her touch. She skims her hands over the silk where it molds to Kayo's peaked nipples, the slip and drag of the fabric maddeningly almost the touch she craves.

"I didn't--" She shifts restlessly beneath that teasing, and has to fight to catch her breath. "Didn't expect you to be so patient."

The golden one dips her head again and kisses the hollow at the base of her throat. "Am I too patient for you, now?"

"Yes," Kayo says, and arches her back to bare herself to that hot mouth and the silky slide of pale hair over her skin.

"Let me show you something good," the golden one whispers. She moves down, smiling that wicked smile, and Kayo sputters in confusion, and then in dawning comprehension.

"Wha-- What are you-- Oh."

She isn't sure what became of her undergarments, but that is definitely the golden woman's warm breath and warmer mouth on her sex, with no fabric in between to diminish the startling sensation. Kayo's eyes go wide and she grabs for anything to hold onto, for she feels she might fly apart. Her fingers end up tangled in silvery hair again, and she can feel the golden woman's little movements as she licks and teases, seeming to coax pleasure from her very center that spirals up and up. She feels how wet she is by how easily the golden woman's fingers slip between her folds, and she finally cries out, so far past embarrassment that she hopes they both can hear it.

She drifts for a time in a hazy sense of well-being, lying in the golden woman's arms, her whole body feeling pleasantly weak. She thought, before, that she would go back to ordinary life, and be able to look back on this when it all seemed too colorless, to draw strength from the memory...

But perhaps she has learned to be greedy, too. That no longer seems like enough. She opens her eyes and the golden one is watching her. "Will I see you again? Both of you?"

"Perhaps. If you want." Her smile is lazy and satisfied, putting Kayo in mind of a big cat. Kayo smiles back. "I do want."

#mononoke 2007 #mononoke fic #f/f fanfic #rule 63 #Kayo/femHyper

[angstyaches]

For a request, maybe something fluffy where Shayne kinda hints that he knows Charlie has a tummy kink, and kinda teases him a little bit about it. (Hope you had a wonderful break 💛)

It's definitely not my best work, but it's been a long few weeks and I'm tired lol

Thank you to the original anon and to all the anons who helped me with this prompt! Sorry this took so long. And sorry that Shayne ends up flustering himself as much as Charlie, that's just how it realistically played out. Hopefully that doesn't take too much away!

CW: stomach kink mention/implied, stomach ache (mild), belly rubs, embarrassment, a bit of silly banter as promised.

___

Shayne held his breath and waited for Charlie to look at him.

He could feel his stomach churn as it had been doing since dinner, resulting in a mild belly ache, but this was the first time that it had gurgled audibly. It was loud enough to be heard over the TV. A creaking, straining sound.

Even if Charlie hadn’t turned his head, Shayne wouldn’t have deluded himself into thinking he hadn’t heard. Charlie could easily ignore the shrieking of the dishwasher when it finished a load, but there were some things his ears just seemed more attuned to than others.

The pain in Shayne’s stomach dulled, momentarily overwhelmed by something warmer, softer. As predicted, Charlie wore a strained look of concern. His gaze kept veering down towards Shayne’s stomach, but he also seemed to be trying his best to discern the emotion in Shayne’s face.

Well, good luck, Shayne thought. He struggled to discern his own emotions these days.

“Um, sorry.”

“What?” Charlie blinked and a smile appeared on his face. The picture of innocence. “Why are you sorry?”

This bastard. Was Charlie feigning ignorance to make him say it out loud? Drawing out what was already an embarrassing moment?  

Shayne’s soul wanted to shrivel at the thought of falling for such obvious bait, but this was Charlie. If Charlie was trying to prompt him to say or do something, it was just because he thought it was... What, exactly? Cute? Funny? Shayne didn’t have a firm grasp on what went through Charlie’s head when he behaved like this, but he had the vague sense that questioning Charlie about it would shatter something that could never be made the same way again.

Shayne swallowed. He was really doing this.

He laid one hand on his stomach. He’d found himself doing this a couple of time while on a video call with Charlie, just to see how his boyfriend would react to it. Charlie had never mentioned it, but Shayne could always tell, could always see him fighting back a grin, when he noticed.

Of course, it felt a little bit more intimidating when they were in person, but since his stomach had already drawn attention to itself, he decided he didn’t have anything to lose.

He let out what he’d intended to be a sigh, but the sound could have also passed for an exaggerated groan. He slumped against Charlie’s shoulder, not because he wanted to snuggle, but because he wanted to hide his face for the next part.  

“My tummy kind of hurts,” he mumbled.

Charlie inhaled sharply. Shayne could have sworn he could hear his boyfriend’s brain rebooting like a laptop, fans whirring and hard drives turning over.  

“Aw, I’m sorry, lovely.” To his credit, Charlie’s voice sounded relatively normal. He looped an arm around Shayne and pulled him closer, pressing his face into the side of Shayne’s neck, as though hiding his expression even though it wasn’t in Shayne’s line of sight. “Is something from dinner not agreeing with you?”

Follow-up questions? Shayne hadn’t braced himself for those. He wanted to curl up in a ball, which, luckily, he was already halfway to achieving. “I don’t know.”

“Are you nervous about anything?”

Shayne shrugged. “I mean, I could be. I’m hanging out with this guy that I kind of like.”

That wrangled a burst of laughter out of Charlie. Shayne couldn’t resist lifting his head now, just to see the smile that he'd won. He wasn’t surprised at all as he took in the redness in Charlie’s cheeks, and the way he seemed to be pulling on the inside of his lower lip with his teeth.

“Oh, yeah?”

Perfect, as always. “Yeah. He desperately needs a fucking haircut, though.”

“Hey – careful.” Charlie’s eyes flashed, his gentle smile morphing into a smirk. His fingers traced the width of Shayne’s stomach, travelling lightly. “He knows your weak spots.”

Charlie’s fingers switched to a scrabbling motion that made Shayne sit up a little straighter and – once again – catch his breath. He brought both hands to his stomach now as the muscles tensed, instinctively trying to cover as much of it as possible to fend off Charlie’s hands.

“Oh – sorry. Sorry.” Charlie pulled his hands back, showing both his palms. “Sore tummy. I forgot.”

Shayne raised an eyebrow. Liar. And then, even though the tickling had only triggered a small spasm, he rubbed his stomach as if he’d been punched there. “Yeah, ow.”

Charlie hummed in amusement. “I said I'm sorry.”

He pressed one hand against Shayne’s belly, fingers out straight this time. Shayne felt a twinge of shame at the way his stomach chose that moment to churn and groan, as though it’d been waiting.

He made an exaggerated gesture of lifting Charlie’s hand from his torso and mimicked batting it away. “Um, no. Get off me, weirdo.”

Guilt passed over Charlie’s face before he – with a disbelieving glimmer in his eyes – realised that it was a joke. In fairness, it wasn’t hard to sell discomfort when Shayne genuinely felt like burying himself in the ground and never coming back up.

“Oh, I’m a weirdo now?” Charlie demanded. He shifted his weight so that he was facing Shayne a little more head-on, and propped his elbow on the back of the couch. “A minute ago, I was some guy you liked!”

“That guy turned out to be a weirdo.”

“Well, he’s a very sorry weirdo who won’t try to tickle you again.” Charlie’s smile deepened. He was still doing the lip-biting thing, though he clearly thought he was doing a more subtle job than he really was. “I’ll be super gentle. I promise.”

Shayne’s belly fluttered at the quiet desperation in Charlie's eyes. Fuck.

“Fine.” He rolled a little further onto his back and laid his legs out across the couch. The back of his head rested against Charlie’s sternum. If he tilted it back, he had a view of the underside of Charlie’s chin.

Charlie was true to his word. He gently smoothed his palm across Shayne’s stomach a couple of times as silence settled over them. Shayne closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he half-opened them again, Charlie was looking at the TV.

“Shit, I missed everything that’s happened so far,” Charlie laughed. He reached for his phone and put the episode back about five minutes. His other hand never stayed still on Shayne’s belly for longer than a few seconds at a time. He broke up the big, sweeping strokes by massaging it with his fingertips whenever he noticed a tight point, or heard another one of its sluggish gurgles.

Shayne told himself to try to relax, but quickly realised that the ‘trying’ wasn’t necessary. He felt his t-shirt start to crinkle up under the movement of Charlie’s hand, and the first three times it happened, Charlie carefully smoothed it back into place.

When it started riding up again, Shayne reached down to lift it out of the way. He pulled it up as far as his ribcage, holding his breath the entire time.

Charlie glanced down, and the look on his face was... well, Shayne could have compared it to the look on Felix’s face when he talked about food, or Rin’s giddiness when she watched videos of ducks marching in a line, but neither of those were quite the same thing. It wasn’t the look that characters in TV shows gave each other just before they started ripping their clothes off, either.

The sigh that passed Charlie's lips might have carried the word 'fuck' with it, but... that could have been Shayne's imagination.

The warmth of Charlie’s hand against his belly made him inhale deeply to suppress a shiver. Charlie’s fingers started out splayed in opposite directions, and he dragged his fingertips inward so that they almost collided in the middle. It was like his hand thought he was scratching a cat’s head, only it was slower, and more pressurised, than a scratch.

Shayne didn’t have to fake the little moan that bubbled up in his throat. As much as he told himself it was all for Charlie’s – bizarre and unexplainable – benefit, he couldn’t deny that he was getting something out of this arrangement, too.

“Mmm.”

Charlie chuckled softly. “What, lovely?”

Shayne inhaled and exhaled again before answering, giving himself a second to think. And giving Charlie a second to stew. He closed his eyes, unable to make himself talk while Charlie’s face loomed right above him.

“You always make my stomach feel so much better.”

“O-oh,” Charlie stammered. “Really? Is that – I mean, is that the only reason you keep a weirdo like me around?”

“Shut up,” Shayne mumbled. “I know you like it.”

Charlie fell silent at that, and his fingers clenched into a fist resting at the centre of Shayne’s belly.

"I... what?" Charlie half-groaned. "What do you mean?"

Shit. Had that been too much? Had Shayne shattered the thing he was supposed to be keeping intact?

“Like… all the touching.” His mouth started talking while his mind still scrambled for something to say. “I know I get weird about it sometimes.”

“Oh.” Charlie sounded more surprised than relieved.  

Shayne tilted his head back to see more of Charlie’s face. His heart was hammering in his chest. He’d been panicking, hoping to find some half-truth he could use to break up the awkwardness and spare Charlie’s feelings, but he'd ended up saying something honest.

It felt like he’d stripped his whole body bare, not just his stomach, but somehow it wasn’t an altogether scary feeling.

“I – lovely, just...” As Charlie’s hand slowly unfurled across Shayne’s stomach again, he also carded his free hand through Shayne’s hair. “Just know I don’t ever want to rush you into anything.”

Shayne raised his eyebrows slightly. “You don’t.”

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Charlie he was amazing. How grateful he was for his endless patience. How loved and taken care of he felt when Charlie was around. But Charlie chose that moment to resume his gentle massage of Shayne’s belly, and the tingling sensation that filtered down through his skin to his insides made everything else fall right out of his head.

“Mmm,” he said again.

There was a soft, shaky sigh as Charlie let his head fall back against the couch cushions, no longer bothered by the fact that the episode continued to play without either of them watching.

"Mm," Charlie mumbled quietly in agreement.

#StW Shayne #StW Charlie #tummy kink #stomach kink #stomach rubs #hurt and comfort #hurt comfort #kink mention #stomach ache fic #sickfic

[guardianofscrewingup]

Maybe this is just being an older person who only peripherally looks at stuff in the fandom, watching the show in a popcorn-ey way. So I have quite a few years of experience sorting out a lot of abuse stuff well after the fact when I’ve had a lot of time to reflect (and get therapy). 

But it feels like people don’t get Gabriel’s character at all? I’ve seen people complaining about how he vacillates between caring gestures and being a snidely whiplash style villain twirling a mustache and tying his kid to railroad tracks. Saying that the softer moments are a sign the writers are trying to make him seem sympathetic but they’re failing because the rest of the time he’s so mean! ”But it’s impossible, writers! You have to either make him a full evil cartoon villain or genuinely sympathetic and on a path of redemption! You can’t do both and show the evil behavior and a few rare caring gestures!” 

Why does it have to be either or? And why is the combination of the two traits - extremely vile + minor caring gestures - so shocking from an abuser? My dad was abusive growing up and he’d vacillate rapidly between love bombing the family and giving them positive attention so he could pat himself on the back and pretend to be a good father and husband. Then he’d turn around and act so evil (beating my mother black and blue in front of us, attacking his kids etc etc) he should’ve grown a mustache just to twirl it.

I feel like people criticizing this rapid vacillation, this alternating between weak gestures of seeming to care and being the absolute fucking worst, don’t get it’s fairly common abuser behavior. The warmer parts are often not because the parent is genuinely a sincere and good parent so much as them doing the bare minimum to lie to themselves that they are. Since they’ve compartmentalized their evil and abuse of their child as justified and push it out of mind, they don’t give up entirely on the abortive “caring” gestures and still do them. They’re just more for the sake of the abusive parents’ self-concept than the actual welfare of the child.  

It’s very strange to see people try to call out abusive behavior with a clear lack of understanding of how some common abuse cycles work with many abusers. Not all, so some people might go “but my abuser didn’t act like that!” But it’s pretty well documented that a lot of abusers work on those cycles in a very similar way. 

Showing the “caring” behavior is therefore not necessarily an intended cue of “this person is really a good parent/deserves redemption” so much as showing the reality of how parents like that operate because it’s often not just them beating the crap out of their families 24/7. 

Also it explains why Adrien is so desperate for approval. Abusive parents that give love sometimes are harder for the abused child to shake off the influence of. It wasn’t until my late teens that I was able to conceptualize “boy my dad is a prick even if he’s a good dad sometimes” in part because he was a “good” dad on occasion. Had he just beat the shit out of the family all the time, it would’ve been easier to turn the hate beams on him and I’d have rebelled against his bullshit faster. 

It’s not necessarily a sign of inconsistency and even if it was a writing choice arrived at by mistake, it actually does emulate something realistic about many abusive parents. While they are unilaterally bad parents and awful people, they sometimes alternate back and forth between vile behavior and fake loving behavior. 

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #cw: child abuse #cw: domestic violence #cw: dv

[tarydarrington]

It takes about half an hour for the general topic of conversation at the party to turn to his scars.

It shouldn’t be a surprise; any guests of Archmage Beck’s are bound to have at least a passing familiarity with the way a Scourger’s arms are meant to look. The maze of ink is a symbol of power, a sign of something dangerous and elite, and his ragged array of raised, pale cuts is a far cry from elegance. It’s natural that they would pick up on the difference. It’s natural that it would be gossiped over. It’s natural that Caleb feels rather like teleporting straight home and letting his future self deal with the social consequences.

To borrow an odd turn of phrase Veth had once used, two halves are at war inside of him. One is filled with an angry, headstrong pride that makes him want to shove his scars in the faces of all those who care to gawk and let them have their fill. The other wishes he had brought a coat.

It’s rare that Essek does much at these functions aside from artfully disappearing in such a way that lets him mingle with as few fellow guests as possible, but after only a few moments of stares following him, the elf appears at his side.

“May I borrow you, a moment?” he asks.

The way his eyes dart around the room reminds Caleb of an irritated cat’s tail swishing.

“As many moments as you like,” he replies, and follows Essek into an empty hallway.

The sound of the crowd is immediately muffled by the walls as they step inside, and Caleb wonders fleetingly if this is where Essek has been all night. Someday, if they ever manage to talk about whatever this is between them, maybe the two of them will attend a party without the rest of the Nein. Just for the pleasure of being able to leave early without stranding anyone, if nothing else.

Or they could stay. Caleb thinks he wouldn’t mind a party like this quite so much, if he were with Essek.

He shakes the thought as Essek finally looks him in the eye for the first time, and Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up as Essek begins to shrug his way out of his cloak.

“Herr Thelyss, we are in public,” he deadpans, and grins at the way Essek’s face - not quite his own, here, of course - flushes.

“What is the Empire saying? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you?” He takes the cloak in both hands, holding it out between them at its full length and width, turning a critical eye on Caleb. He seems satisfied with his findings, folding it neatly over one arm before clearing his throat. “If you like,” he says in a softer tone, “you may borrow this.”

He might have been less surprised if it were a striptease. Essek is fond of his layers. They’re elegant, they present an image of inscrutability, and - most importantly to Essek, he has learned - they obscure his body. It gives him privacy, this kind of which he values greatly. To be offered something like this is quite a gift, indeed.

Essek seems, as usual, to know what he’s thinking. “It is rather warm, tonight. I dressed accordingly.”

Caleb gives him a once-over for precisely the length of time that could not possibly be considered staring. He’s not lying. The fine, light clothing beneath his cloak is amorphous enough to preserve his modesty.

Caleb thinks of the way their stares follow him. He thinks of all the pain he went through to get these scars, and all the good he’s done to ensure they are never inflicted on anyone else. He is not ashamed of these scars. Essek will understand, if he turns the offer down. He always understands.

Then, he thinks of the faces they’ll make if he returns to the room wearing Essek’s cloak.

The rest of the night passes about as he expects, with three important observations made. Firstly, Essek’s cloak is still warm and smells very much like Essek. Secondly, the well-tailored, black tunic he had been wearing underneath follows the lines of his body loosely enough to obscure most details, but just closely enough to draw his imagination to fill in the blanks. Thirdly, despite the smattering of murmurs and stares that still turn in his direction from time to time, the sum of the previous two facts makes this evening entirely enjoyable.

He suspects, from the way Essek steals a few more glances than necessary, that it might be a positive experience for them both.

-

The number of times the Mighty Nein find themselves in combat before the end of a fancy party truly ought not to be as high as it is.

Then again, Essek remembers the circumstances of their first meeting. It may be absurd, but it isn't surprising.

What is surprising - or rather, what would have been surprising, had one informed him of it several years ago - is the way he doesn't think twice before placing himself between a nearly-downed Veth and the blow intended to finish her. The blade cuts him from shoulder to chest, catching him at the wrist on the follow-through and leaving a stinging cut in its wake.

Caduceus sees to the wound with his usual easy precision, but the magic doesn't work the same way on his clothing. He picks dejectedly at the tattered remains of his neckline, the end of his sleeve hanging ragged to match. This had been a nice cloak. That, and the Ruby’s festivities inside, blissfully unaware of the commotion in the gardens, are still due to continue for another few hours.

Just as he's considering how bad a faux pas it would be to call it a night, Caleb ducks down into his line of sight, squatting beside him where he rests against the low stone wall.

"You know, I think perhaps you are a little breakable to be trying for Yasha’s role,” he says with a bemused smile. Before Essek has a chance to respond, he adds, “That was very brave of you. I will thank you on Veth’s behalf, since I think she has, ah, moved on from the moment.”

Moved on from the moment seems, in this case, to mean that she has been offering for the last several minutes to bandage Bluud’s barely-scratched biceps. Essek waves a hand.

“It’s perfectly alright,” he says. “Though I must admit, I will mourn the clothing.”

Caleb gives him a sympathetic grimace, and Essek tries not to fidget as he watches those blue eyes assess the damage and catch on the strips of rarely exposed skin. He makes a little clicking sound with his tongue as he takes it in that is much more attractive than it ought to be.

“Would you like to…” Caleb’s brow furrows in thought, and to finish the question, he takes the end of his scarf in one hand and dangles it between them. “If you like?”

Essek wipes the look of wide-eyed, touched surprise from his face as fast as he can, but he’s sure from the way a small smile tugs at Caleb’s lips that it hasn’t gone unnoticed. His gaze drops down to his ruined neckline. The damage is high enough that it’s possible the scarf could cover it, if properly arranged.

“That would…” He takes a breath. “I would be… grateful.”

With an encouraging smile, Caleb ducks out from the middle of the scarf and pools it in his arms, offering it to Essek. When he takes it, the warmth and weight of the fabric reminds him of Caleb’s cats. He tries to keep his breathing steady as he turns it in his hands - and realizes only when he attempts to duck through the center that he has no idea how to properly wrap something like this.

He’s slighter than Caleb, so the loops that circle Caleb perfectly slip awkwardly off his shoulders; besides that, the elegant coil has been tangled in the handing off. He tries to wind it around his own neck from the beginning, but finds it frustratingly difficult to get it to sit the way he’d like it to, and is entirely uncertain of what to do with the ends.

“I… am afraid I am rather at a loss,” Essek admits begrudgingly.

Caleb cocks his head to one side in curious surprise, but instead of questioning, he holds out his hands. “Would you allow me?”

He takes the scarf back when Essek nods mutely in response, and suddenly he is very, very close. Caleb gives him a reassuring smile, as though he knows - and of course he knows, he always knows - that he needs a moment to adjust to the proximity. The care in those eyes almost knocks Essek’s gaze away, but instead holds it locked in place.

“Is, ah…” Caleb begins, and his voice sounds thicker than before, “is this alright?”

Essek hopes the somewhat dazed half-nod he manages gets the point across.

He’s had Caleb’s arms around him before, but for some reason the feeling of them bracketing his neck as Caleb drapes the scarf around and around him is so achingly intimate that it stops his breath. 

His gaze breaks from Caleb’s for just long enough to notice the v of bare skin now visible at the neck of his shirt, and he snaps his attention back to Caleb’s eyes as his face burns. Caleb’s smile quirks upwards on one side at the sight. He gives the scarf a few gentle tugs to place it just right.

As his hand draws away, he lets it rest cupped against Essek’s cheek for just a moment. The night is cold, but the space between them feels warmer than a fireside. The fireside, as well, would have fewer sparks.

Caleb clears his throat as he pulls away and stands, and the spell is broken as both of them turn to studiously examine their surroundings. Essek shifts the weight of the scarf experimentally. Sometimes, one of Caleb’s cats will climb the man and wind itself around his neck in a thoroughly endearing display of affection. Caleb has always thought of it as the highest compliment, to be chosen in such a way, and Essek imagines it must feel something like this. And never, not even covered in four layers and his old mantle, has he ever felt so protected from the outside world.

“Thank you,” he manages after a moment.

“Ja, of course.” It’s a minor relief that Caleb sounds about as breathless as Essek feels.

As he stands, letting his levitation spell carry him gently off his feet, the hem of his sleeve catches his eye. Caleb’s gaze falls that way, too, then flicks back up to his with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Well,” he says, and holds out his arm, “that is a shame.”

Essek looks from Caleb’s face to his arm and back, heat creeping up his neck. Caleb knows him well enough to understand this is no small request. He knows Caleb well enough, in return, to understand that he will take no offense if he refuses.

Carefully, holding his breath, Essek tucks his hand under Caleb’s arm. The billowing cloth of his sleeve falls down to cover the ragged end of Essek’s, and Essek finds himself wondering for a moment if the loose style was intended to mimic his own.

The smile on Caleb’s face is so fond that Essek can’t help but return it.

“Well,” Caleb says, leaning in conspiratorially, “shall we?”

They’re not the last of the Mighty Nein to return to the party - Essek suspects Beauregard and Yasha have found their own pursuits in the garden, judging by the looks they had been exchanging after the battle - but they’re not the first, either. Jester and Fjord have found the Ruby and joined her in polite conversation. Caleb steers him dutifully in the other direction; they both know well what will happen if Jester sees them like this, and perhaps Caleb is as loath to break the moment as he is. They make the rounds together, and Essek thinks that they must look for all the world like a real couple. The thought brings a strange lightness to his chest, and he finds himself absently curling his hand around Caleb’s arm where it rests.

“My nefarious plot has gone off without a hitch,” Caleb murmurs with a grin. “Now, you are stuck with me for the rest of the evening.”

Essek doesn’t bother holding back the smirk. With a covert flick of magic in his free hand, he draws away from Caleb’s arm to politely retrieve a glass from the tray of a passing waiter. Caleb watches him with incredulous surprise, eyes trained on the end of his sleeve - perfectly intact through a Seeming spell.

“I think I can manage without, if I must,” Essek says mildly.

He passes the drink to his off hand as Caleb flushes a bit.

“Well,” Caleb says sheepishly, “that is one way to do it.”

Essek raises his eyebrows at him teasingly, and before he can talk himself out of it, slips his hand back into the crook of Caleb’s arm.

To his credit, Caleb doesn’t tease. The surprised little smile he gives Essek instead gives him more warmth than the scarf does, and Essek lets himself smile back as Caleb’s hand comes up to rest over his. Not enough to hold him in place, just enough for a little more contact.

“You know, you could have done that before,” Caleb murmurs. “At Astrid’s party, when you lent me your cloak.”

Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide the blush. “I realize,” he replies. He could admit that the way those people had treated Caleb lit his anger in a way few things have since he left court. He could admit that he knows, from experience, that it’s more of a comfort to have something real between you and the rest of the world. He could admit that giving his own cloak as such a barrier for Caleb had felt like a more personal kind of protection.

He could even point out that Caleb could have used the spell himself, if he had wanted to; but he finds he likes the quiet implication given by the fact that he took Essek's cloak instead.

"It suited you,” is what he settles on.

Caleb gives him a hum of acknowledgement in response. “Ja, well,” he adds with a soft, knowing smile, “the scarf suits you.”

Of course, Caleb always understands. And as they move about the party for the rest of the night, arm in arm, Essek thinks that he doesn’t mind parties quite so much with Caleb by his side.

#shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role #mine #mine:fic #caleb #essek

[seollenda]

aftertastes (princess!reader x princess!yeji)

historical au <3 who said arranged marriages were loveless?

( apologies for sitting on this one for so long...i fretted over it a tad, ngl. kinda wished this came out longer but dragging it out didn't seem like the move either xx )

CW: n/a

word count: ~1500

“i hope you know that this arrangement was not at my request.”

such were the first words your new bride said to you on your first evening alone. princess hwang yeji met your gaze in the vanity mirror, brushing the creases of the wedding day’s pleats out of her long, silky hair. you had little to say in response, your hands gathered in front of your white nightdress in silent self-consciousness.

“wasn’t it at yours?” she prodded.

“no,” your voice was smaller than you’d intended. what about this girl cowed you? the princess of a neighboring domain; equal in stature to a degree that even conventional male-female marriages could never approach. brides often grow to be the closest of friends, your mother had assured you as she watched you being wrapped in wedding regalia. you are quite fortunate to receive such companionship.

“i’ve heard of you refusing male callers,” she replied bluntly, setting the brush down on the tabletop. “if this is a ploy to escape bearing heirs, i don’t appreciate being used as such.”

shock at such a blatant accusation welled in your throat.

“there are just as many concubines for myself as there are for you,” you stammered, cheeks flushing hotly. “take your pick, i don’t care whichever are left over for me!”

yeji turned, sparing you the shortest glare before looking past your shoulder and walking to bed.

“glad to know we are on the same page.”

–

yeji was beautiful.

you’d heard plenty of the beauty of the northern peoples, but to see their princess before your very eyes was different.

because she was not just lovely; her sharp, feminine eyes brewed with life in a hundred unadulterated ways. as the princess grew accustomed to your court and palace, you saw some of the storminess give way to softer moments of joy, even affection.

one quiet afternoon spent on the rolling lawn, yeji reading under a parasol, a silly fancy came over you. you picked the tallest, brightest daisy from beneath the blooming weeping willow, and tapped her knee until she looked up from her book.

the flower tucked into her lightly pleated hair easily. you sat back, kneeling before her. her gentle smile felt warmer than spring sunlight, and you would soon find yourself chasing its glow again and again.

–

the princess was homesick, you’d realized one night.

“yeji?”

the sniffling from the other end of the sleeping mat awoke you gradually, until you turned to regard your wife’s turned back.

“yeji?” you repeated, reaching a tentative hand to her shoulder. she trembled at your touch, curling further in on herself under the covers as if she were burned. “are you okay?”

“yes.” her answer was curt but evidently untruthful. you lay there for a moment, at a loss. two weeks of marriage, and unspoken rules remained. despite sleeping in the same bed, so much as holding each other like close friends was off limits. even when your wife shivered in despairing sobs, you were frozen in awkward indecision. you took a deep breath, knowing something had to be done.

the night air was cold on your skin as you climbed out of bed, its chill working its way easily under your nightclothes and sending a violent shiver through you. yeji paid you no mind as you slipped out of the bedroom and hurried down the hall.

it was apparently closer to dawn than you’d realized, because the cook was already busying herself with prep for breakfast. she turned to see you, wide eyed and shivering in the doorway.

“my goodness, your highness!” she gasped, holding her chest in genuine fright. besides the gentle bubbling of the abalone porridge, the kitchen was silent and empty.

“i’m sorry, cook lee,” you hurried, rushing into the warmth of the room. “do you have anything ready to eat yet? something warm?”

“is her highness hungry? we can have food sent to your quarters, there is no need for you to hurry in your nightclothes at such an hour!” she fretted, but you shook off her attempts at rubbing warmth into you. you peeked into the pot of porridge, looking over the counter piled high with the morning’s harvests.

“not for myself,” you murmured. “do you have something sweet, maybe?” you opened the pantry. “something for malaise?”

“is ahgassi feeling ill?”

“no, not myself. consort yeji,” you replied. your busy hands fell on a wooden case, beautifully inlaid with images of mountains and phoenixes. when you slid the top open, untouched morsels of sweet dried persimmons sparkled up at you.

“those were in emperor hwang’s court’s dowry gifts,” the cook supplied helpfully over your shoulder. “they’re a near fortune and only made in their kingdom. nearly forgot we’ve kept those!"

you nodded, shutting the lid and holding it resolutely to your chest. she only thought to stop you when you were nearly out the door.

“at least take some hot tea with you!”

so you set off back down the dim hallway, weighed with a tray of herbal tea (“for wellness, revives any sort of malaise!”) and the entire box of the expensive sweets.

“yeji?” you whispered, stepping into the bedroom and shutting the door behind you. she turned, sitting up at the sight of your burden.

“there was no need,” she started, shaking her head, but you set the tray down next to her and thrust the box towards her.

she looked at the wooden case, uncomprehending yet briefly entranced by the ornate designs. unable to contain your anticipation, you reached forward and gently slid the lid open.

the sugar encrusted fruits sparkled in the lightening dawn behind the bedroom windows. you watched your wife’s eyes grow wide, then fill quickly with tears again. seemingly arrested by overwhelming emotion, she sat still until you lifted a persimmon and fed her from your own hand.

she met your eyes, the taste of what you could only assume was home for her eliciting a slow, sorrowful smile. she chewed until there couldn’t have been much flavor left and swallowed. your hand rested on your knee, still holding the bitten fruit, yourself just as entranced by the princess as she was by your unexpected gift.

your heart quickened, realizing you were suddenly the sole subject of her gaze. her eyes flitted to your lips for a moment, just as her own tongue darted across hers. a dull pang of longing shot through you as they’d begun to occur with greater frequency.

yeji reached down, gently plucking the fruit from your hand. what you hadn’t expected was her to lift it to your own lips, her stare attentive and insistent on you now. take it, she seemed to dare you, as if something more dangerous would follow.

the persimmon was sticky and dizzyingly sweet, a level of sugar you hadn’t experienced before that sent you into a kaleidoscope of pleasant disarray. your lips had just barely brushed the edge of her thumb, but even that simple contact set your heart aflame with something akin to desire.

the princess consort watched you carefully, hypnotized until the fruit dissolved on your tongue and was carried down in a dry swallow. she set the half-bitten sweet on the tray next to you, shuffling forward in her seat towards you.

your heartbeat sped crazily, but you couldn’t will yourself to move, either closer or away from her. yeji’s gaze was clear of tears, replaced by careful, intense curiosity.

“did you like it?” she murmured, breaking the silence.

“yes,” you nodded, your voice hoarse.

and that was apparently all she’d been waiting for before meeting your lips with hers. she surprised you with a gentle tongue against your lips, so careful before nudging the both of you into a deeper, open-mouthed kiss. her hands found yours in your lap and she leaned into you until the both of you sighed in dazed unison.

the kiss was slow, just as indulgent as the unfinished dessert forgotten on its dish. she was the first to pull away, though she stayed close, her nose just barely bumping yours.

“it’s customary to check if the sweetness lingers on your spouse’s lips,” she murmured, a shy smile on her face. “if it does not, it was a poor fruit.”

“and if it does?”

“it means the couple’s love will linger just as sweetly.”

you giggled until she joined you, suddenly hushed and secretive like young lovers. the thought made you blush in mortified thrill. “well, i cannot tell if it is the persimmon or you that i am tasting anymore.”

“mmm,” she shrugged, letting you capture her lips again. when she drew back, her dark eyes were smiling at you, the warmth of a rising dawn that had you so entranced. she held the front of your shirt, pulling you toward the sheets again with a playful tug. “we’d better check again to be sure.”

#itzy imagines #yeji imagines #itzy #yeji #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #itzy fanfic #fluff #submission

[jackrrabbit]

Clean /// Sakusa x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: [College dorm AU] Sakusa can’t stop thinking about you in the shower.

A/N: Indirectly inspired by @seita​ and @bakatenshii​, who made me think about soap and Sakusa’s cum in conjunction…thanks guys :P

Tags/warnings: masturbation, mild cleanliness fetish if that’s a thing?, Sakusa wants you and is in deep denial about it

It’s not like he started doing it on purpose. Not at first.

On weekdays, you wake up at the same time that Sakusa gets back from the gym: 7 AM exactly. He timed it that way because they clean the dorm bathrooms at 6:30—they’re still revolting, but they can’t be as bad as the ones at the gym. He can avoid touching the stall walls if he has to, and…he has to. 7 is the perfect time—even the students with 8 AM class can’t be fucked to wake up that early, so he gets the row of mirrors and stalls to himself.

Except for you.

Your room is right next to the stairwell; when Sakusa jogs up the stairs (two at a time, blood still pumping from his workout even though the sweat is already cooling on his back) he can hear your alarm through the thin wall. Always 7 on the dot: your phone blares an obnoxiously loud ringtone, there’s a muffled protest from you and your roommate curses at you to turn that shit off, it’s seven fucking AM. By the time he’s standing at the bathroom sink brushing his teeth, you’re usually pushing through the door in your pajamas, holding your towel in one hand and rubbing your puffy eyes with the other.

So it’s not like Sakusa plans this. It’s a coincidence. Mostly.

“G’morning…Kiyoomi.” You interrupt yourself with a yawn in the middle of the sentence. Your voice sounds heavy with exhaustion and he wonders, not for the first time, why you bother waking up so early. You don’t seem like a morning person.

The toothbrush is still in Sakusa’s mouth, so he just nods to greet you. You smile sleepily and then bend down to reach your bathroom locker, and—fuck, fuck, you’re wearing the shorts again, the threadbare cotton ones you wear whenever the weather gets a little warmer. They’re thin (so thin he can see the high cut of your panties underneath when they’re stretched over your ass, not that he’s looking), and they’re short.

Do you know how much you’re showing off when you bend over like that to rummage through your locker? You’re basically showing your ass off, the smooth muscle of your thighs rising up into those perfect cheeks, and between them, the dingy cotton stretched tight over your mound—

He’s not looking. He shouldn’t be looking. Sakusa lowers his gaze in the mirror to spit the toothpaste into the sink.

“Hey, can I borrow some of that?”

You’re standing at his elbow now, blinking up at him. Pleading. When he wordlessly hands over the tube, you grin, eyes crinkling up at the corners like he just offered to take your hand in marriage rather than letting you have some toothpaste that he wasn’t going to miss anyway. “Thanks! You’re the best.”

You barely know him. Sakusa’s pretty sure that these early-morning bathroom encounters are the only times you two interact.

“How was your workout?” you ask when you’re done brushing your teeth.

Sakusa has to grip the edge of the counter to tear his eyes away from you when you spit it out—white foam dribbling out of your mouth and down your chin—but that’s beside the point. “It was fine.”

“Yeah? Did you run or go to the gym?”

“Gym.” Why are you so curious? You’re too friendly.

You hum appreciatively, rubbing foamy circles of cleanser into your skin. The smell of it is light—floral, but barely. Lavender, maybe. That’s step one of your morning skincare routine, which Sakusa’s pretty certain he knows as well as you do by now. Next will be toner, and then you’ll save the rest for after your shower—but before you reach for the next little bottle in the row you’ve lined up on the bathroom counter, you turn toward him. “I should get back on a regular gym schedule too. Maybe one day I’ll go with you?”

“If you can wake up that early.” The remark must come out harsher than Sakusa intended, because you raise your eyebrows and your mouth drops open—but a second later you’re smiling again, turning back to the mirror so you can pat the toner into your skin.

“You’re probably right. I don’t know how you wake up at six in the morning every day.”

5:45, he wants to correct. But if he keeps talking to you, you’re going to notice he’s staring. So he just finishes washing his face without answering, puts his stuff back into the locker, and makes his way over to the shower stalls, leaving you and the scent of lavender behind.

There are five stalls. All open, of course. Second from the left has the best water pressure, and the one on the far right has a removable shower head and heats up the quickest. But Sakusa chooses the middle stall. For no reason. Not because he knows exactly which stall you’re going to pick, and he wants to be sure he’s in the stall next to yours when you do. He takes his time—undresses slowly, folding his dirty gym clothes even though they’re going straight into the laundry; sets his shampoo and conditioner and body wash out on the bench in the order that he’s going to use them; turns the knob to just the right angle to get the right temperature and waits for it to heat up until he can see the steam saturating the air.

By the time Sakusa’s under the water, massaging shampoo through his hair and feeling the sweat slough off his skin along with the shower spray, you’re done with your pre-shower skincare, padding over from the sinks to the stalls and picking—predictably—the one next to his. He has to strain himself to hear it over the sound of splashing water but he does hear it: your cheap pink flip-flops slapping against the tile floor, the relieved yawn in your breath as you stretch (you always stretch) and the soft rustling of fabric as you take off your clothes and deposit them in a heap on the bench.

Sakusa tilts his head up into the shower spray and feels the stray drops clinging to his eyelashes and wonders how much he’d be able to see if the walls were made of glass.

Today is Wednesday, and that means you’re going to wash your hair today because you always wash it on Wednesdays. Sakusa can already smell the shampoo you use filtering into the air. What is it? Sharper and more bitter than mint, medicinal almost—he’s considered asking you a few times what it is, but he can’t figure out a way to phrase the question.

Hey, (Y/N), tell me what product you use to wash your hair. Ever since I started jacking off in the shower to you, I can’t get off unless I’m smelling it.

That probably wouldn’t go over well.

Fuck, he’s already hard. The heat of the shower is nothing compared to the heat of his blood pumping down to his cock. Sakusa rinses through his hair quickly, freeing up his hands so he can palm his shaft and give it a tentative stroke.

Through the shower wall you give a light, soft sigh of appreciation, and Sakusa feels his cock jump in his hand. You prefer your showers hotter than he does—white puffs of steam are rising up over the gap between the stall divider and the ceiling, and you always come out flushed. The heat must feel nice, hm? He can almost see you, standing naked under the shower head in just your stupid pink flip-flops, letting rivulets of water drip down from the crown of your head to flow lower…over your shoulders, your back, your tits; your fingers lathering the shampoo through your hair, soap bubbles washing the grease away from you, draining away yesterday’s grime so you’re all fresh and squeaky clean.

You sigh again, and your voice is pushing out behind the breath. A moan, almost. Do you ever touch yourself in the shower? He’d be a hypocrite to think you shouldn’t be able to take advantage of this rare moment of privacy…it’s so hard to get time to yourself in the dorms, he can sympathize… So maybe you let your hands dip lower while you wash, shift your thighs apart so you can fit your fingers between them. Pet that puffy little cunt, push your fingers inside, feel your slick wash off in the water just to be replaced with more.

Sakusa wraps his fingers around his cock and slides his hand up the shaft, moving slowly so he can savor the light friction. Your hands would be soft, wouldn’t they? Softer than his. You don’t have calluses like he does—all that lotion you use must be doing you some good. And your hands are a lot smaller than his are…you’d probably have trouble getting one hand all the way around. You’d have to use both hands to hold him, hold his cock and pump him, jack him off…

If your hands are too small for him, what about your mouth?

The shower is so warm and you’re so close. Sakusa closes his eyes so he can breathe in that sweet medicinal smell and imagine you in here with him.

Your mouth. Soft lips, no makeup, just your natural color dampened from the water and your spit and his precum, closed around him, stretched around him to accommodate for the mass of his cock sitting in your mouth. Little pink tongue flicking out to tease the tip, lapping flat at the underside and then kissing it. You’d be a tease, a fucking tease. Looking up at him with those eyes, batting your eyelashes over your dewy-wet cheeks as you try to swallow him a little deeper. He’d tangle his fingers around the back of your head, push the strands of wet hair away from your face, pull your mouth up and down on his cock while the water splashes down around the two of you—

There’s a click of a cap popping shut and your shoes smacking wetly against the floor while you reach over to grab another bottle. You’re humming to yourself—a song Sakusa’s heard on his friends’ playlists and at parties but he doesn’t know the lyrics. Sometimes you sing in the shower (always softly, under your breath, so quiet he’d barely be able to hear if he wasn’t listening) but today you just hum. Maybe you’d sing out loud if he wasn’t there?

You’re probably being considerate to him...you do seem like the type. After all, you must be as aware of his presence three feet away from you as he is of yours. You probably think about him in the shower too.

Sakusa’s hips buck forward, pushing his dick through his hand as he pumps it with no real technique or rhythm, just trying to match the pace of his breathing to what he can hear of yours. The heat of his impending climax is coiling low in his belly, even though it hasn’t been long—it never takes long when he’s thinking about you. You’ve practically become a part of his own morning routine, to the point where he couldn’t even get off when he went home for spring break a few weeks ago. When the two of you move out of the dorms and go your separate ways, it’s going to be annoying. He should really stop this, wean himself off you while he can…not that he really wants to.

Your voice isn’t bad when you sing, but it’d be a lot better moaning his name.

People fuck in the showers. Sakusa knows that, he’s heard them himself and always been acutely disgusted at the filth of it all. Dorm bathrooms are notoriously foul—there’s a reason people wear shoes when they’re showering, and the thought of people actually fucking in here makes his skin crawl. But with you? He can see it, he can feel it—the soft fat of your thighs in his hands, skin dimpling under his grip as he holds you up; your arms twisted around his neck hugging into him; the hot water streaming over both of your bodies as his cock slaps into your pussy, burying into that tight wet heat.

Sakusa grits his teeth to stifle a groan and wonders if you heard it, and then he’s feeling around for the memory of your sleepy “Good morning, Kiyoomi” and warping your voice in his mind until he can almost hear your lips wrapping around his name, panting it, whimpering it, choking it out between pleas for him to fuck you harder—Kiyoomi, please, fuck me fuck me just like that, fuck my little pussy til I can’t walk straight Kiyoomi I need you!

God, he wants to hear it, he wants to say your name, wants you to know he’s jacking off to you. Sakusa’s hand speeds up and his hips are thrusting into his fist, the water making wet clicking noises every time his cockhead moves up past his fingers as he imagines fucking you right here in this shower. He’d make you cum, make you clench and tighten around him, make you wake up the entire goddamn floor with your screaming, and—fuck, he’s mouthing out the syllables, and then he can hear his own voice out loud and he’s saying your name—

“K-Kiyoomi?”

Your actual voice—lifted, high and clear as a bell ringing even stifled by the stall and the rushing water hits Sakusa and he flinches—and cums, cock jerking under his grip as the sticky white fluid shoots out to coat his hand. It’s good, so good, so fucking good, you said his name, you said it, fucking perfect—the release passes over him so forcefully that he has to hold his breath to bite back the stuttered hiss of pleasure from deep in his throat.

“Kiyoomi?” you ask again from the other stall, voice uncertain. “Did you say my name? I thought I heard you…”

It takes him a long moment to catch his breath, and another to work up enough control to straighten and raise his hand to the spray, letting the cum wash off his skin and down the drain in cloudy white trickles. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, sorry! Guess I imagined it.” You’re back to your cheerful self, humming that brainless melody and soaping yourself up without a care in the world. So gullible. Like always. And it’s not like Sakusa wanted to get caught, but…he can’t help wondering what you’d do if you knew.

Maybe you’d hate him. Maybe you’d call him a creep, stop showering when he does, avoid his gaze when you pass each other in the halls.

Or maybe you’d be into it.

Sakusa finishes his shower at the same time you do, so he can catch you just as you step out of the stall. “Oh—“ you start, barely keeping yourself from bumping into his chest. “Oops!”

Your face is stained pink from the heat of the shower…or maybe it’s the way you’re staring at his bare chest that’s making you blush. Sakusa’s not flattering himself—he knows he’s good-looking, knows what the years of athletics have done for him, and you are staring—but just for a moment before you catch yourself and right your gaze back up to his face, absently watching him towel off his hair. The fact that you let your eyes stray a little gives him permission to do the same, so he takes a moment to examine the lines of your shoulders, your soaked hair sticking to your neck, the dip of your cleavage under the fluffy white robe you’re wearing.

You smell good, all soft and wet and clean. Sakusa can’t help imagining if you taste that good, too.

“Um…s’cuse me,” you say after a moment when he doesn’t move to let you pass through the walkway. You could try to skirt around him, but he’s so big.

“What shampoo do you use?”

You blink and pat your hair self-consciously. “It’s, uh, tea tree oil? It has peppermint and lavender and stuff too I think, it’s really good for waking up in the morning—sorry, I know some people don’t like the smell—“

“No, it doesn’t bother me.” Sakusa’s eyes narrow before he steps out of the way to let you walk past.

I like it, he wants to add. But he doesn’t.

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa #hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! imagines #hq imagines

[whumpflash]

Sun and Glass, part five

previous part

cw: (this is a bit whumpier) scars, slavery, abuse, whipping, sexual implications (mentioned)

For all his shortcomings, Trisk was a man of his word. He escorted her down, to whatever room he'd sent Caelon to, and left her to it. Rena stood in front of the door hesitantly, unsure of exactly what she'd see on the other side. It couldn't have been more than a half-hour since he'd been dragged away by the guard, but Rena didn't know enough about… whatever punishments Lord Trisk inflicted to say how long it took to really hurt someone.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly. A chill hit her, and she could see the open bars near the ceiling, letting in both moonlight and the cool night air. As her eyes began to adjust to the dim light, she spotted Caelon, slumped on the floor in one corner and looking very, very, small.

Rena took a step into the room, which was empty enough to echo the sound, and Caelon curled in on himself tighter.

"Please… please, don't… I, I swear I won't do it again, please--"

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said in a low voice. "I want to help."

Unbidden, the image of the sneering boy Caelon had been came to mind, a stark contrast with the shivering man in the corner. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting off the memory. Bitter reminiscence could wait until later.

She knelt next to Caelon, who didn't move an inch. The thin tunic he wore had an odd pattern, with dark patches scattered across it seemingly at random. With a start, Rena realized the darker spots marked where blood was seeping through the cloth.

"M-my lady, please… my master will--"

"He isn't your master anymore," Rena said. That got his attention. He painstakingly pushed himself into a kneeling position, letting out a hiss of pain as he turned to face her, head bowed.

"Forgive… nnh, forgive me, Mistress, I, I wasn't aware…"

"Oh," Rena said, her eyes widening. "No, that's not what I meant--"

His eyes darted up for a half-second. "Then... who?"

She shook her head. "No one. You're free."

For a long moment, he was silent. 

He can't believe it, Rena thought. Or maybe it's just sinking in.

"Am I to be put to death then?" Caelon said at last, his voice barely audible.

"No!" Rena exclaimed. A bit too loudly, she thought, as he cringed away from her voice. "No, of course you aren't," she said, softer.

"Th-then what is to happen to me?" His hands were shaking now. His whole body was shaking. With fear, or cold, or pain... or more likely, a combination of the three.

Rena pressed her lips together tightly. An explanation could wait until he felt safer. "For now, why don't you just come up to my room with me? It's much warmer."

Again, Caelon gave a single, jerky nod, and moved to stand, using the wall for support and wincing through it all. He flinched back when Rena reached out a hand to help. She withdrew it. Best to keep her distance then, at least for now.

Getting from the cell to the guest suite proved a tedious process, and they made the journey in silence--aside from the occasional whimper from Caelon. The slow pace pushed Rena towards impatience, but she bit the feeling back as best she could.

It's like when you come across a deer in the woods and hold your breath so it won't get spooked, she thought, watching Caelon make his way up the stairs from a few feet ahead. When they finally made it to her room, she felt the frustration ebb away. But it wasn't over yet.

"Will you have a seat on the bed?" she said, after closing the door behind them. Wordlessly, he obeyed. Rena popped the lid of her trunk, digging around until she found a pair of scissors and some clean linens. She scolded herself for neglecting to bring along any medicines, but the little bottle of brandy that had been intended as a parting gift to Lord Trisk would serve as a disinfectant. Caelon didn't make a sound as she cut the linen into strips and filled a bowl with warm water.

"Hold still now," Rena said, once everything was ready. "I'm going to cut off your shirt, alright?"

"Please…" Caelon whispered. Rena frowned, looking down at the man. He was crying, fear bright in his eyes.

"Please, just- just not yet--"

Trisk's previous comment about bedslaves flashed through her head, and Rena's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh. No, I would never… I-- I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all." Internally, she berated herself for not better communicating her intent. "I'm just trying to get a look at your injuries, is that okay?"

She wondered what she'd do if he refused--she couldn't just let the wounds fester-- but he only nodded. It was hard for her to say if it was genuine or if he was just agreeing in order to please her. With a sigh, she began to cut away his shirt, being as gentle as she could with the parts of the fabric that stuck to his wounds.

If the way Trisk treated him hadn't been enough to make her feel sorry for Caelon, getting a look at his bare back would've done the trick. Scars over scars over scars, a ledger of years of suffering carved into his flesh. She could tell they traveled further, maybe all the way down his legs, and a few curled around his chest. There were half-healed marks criss-crossing his lower back, and layered on top of it all was a neat row of fresh welts across his shoulders.

Rena realized she'd been staring, and dipped a square of linen in the warm water, tearing her eyes away. She couldn't get wrapped around the axle about everything that had happened to Caelon, she had to focus on what she could do right now.

He flinched under her touch when she brought the cloth to his back and began cleaning the worst of the welts, the ones that were still oozing blood. Throughout the process he didn't move, didn't speak unless you counted his yelp at the touch of a brandy-soaked cloth. Once the wounds were bandaged, Rena pulled back to survey the man. 

Was there anything else she could do with what she had right now? There were bruises scattered across his torso, some new, some old, and now that his shirt wasn't hiding it, she saw how painfully thin he was. 

Unlike the rest of him, his face was unmarked, save for a bruise on one cheek.

Pretty face, she grimly thought of Trisk's words.

There were his wrists too, rubbed raw by rope or shackle, with scarring beneath that told her this wasn't a new thing to him.

She reached for his hand, starting to clean the wounds there.

"Is there anything else?" Rena asked. "Anything hurting you that I can take care of?"

"N-no, mistress, thank you… I'm sorry you had to take the trouble for me."

Rena elected to ignore the title he'd given her for now. That could wait to be addressed until he'd gotten some sleep.

"It isn't trouble," she assured him. She wasn't sure he was free of more injuries, but she wasn't about to ask him to remove any more clothes. Not right now. There were no noticable bloodstains on his pants, or anything that gave her cause to worry.

Rena considered drawing a bath for Caelon, but decided against it. Judging by his reaction with the shirt before, it would likely do more harm than good, and he was reasonably clean already.

"I think it's time you get some sleep," she murmured. Caelon looked up hesitantly.

"May I… can I go back to the cell, Mistress?"

Being called that--and by Prince Caelon, no less--was jarring. Rena reminded herself to choose her battles.

"If that's what you really want," she began. "But it's much warmer in here. Why don't you sleep in the bed?" she said, then added quickly, "without me. I'll sleep on the floor."

Caelon's brow furrowed. "You… the, the bed? I can't, I… my Master-- no, wait, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mistress, I didn't mean to forget--"

"Shh, it's alright." She had to stop herself from putting a hand on his arm to try and comfort him. "It's alright. You can sleep where you want. I want you to choose."

He blinked a few times. "Choose." His hands fidgeted in his lap, and he glanced up at her, briefly, then back down at the ground.

"I… I will sleep on the floor," he said, the words tentative, almost like he was asking a question. Seeing if he'd chosen what she'd wanted him to.

Rena gave him a smile. "Okay, good. If that's what you want, you can sleep on the floor." It was better than the cell. It was a start.

Caelon made to lay down almost immediately, stiffly lowering himself to the ground and curling up next to the bed. He seemed surprised when Rena handed him a pair of blankets, but did not try to refuse them. He was asleep before the lights were out.

Rena lay back on the bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling. What was she doing? With the challenge of at least making Caelon safe out of the way, a bigger one lay before her; making him feel safe. And she was woefully unequipped.

This wasn't going to be as simple as sending him on his way, he was her responsibility now. It was a heavy responsibility, but…

No way you can back out of this, she thought, closing her eyes. And there's no way you're going to give up on him.

@fleur-des-lore , @fandomseksta , @whumpwillow , @and-then-there-was-whump , @pumpkin-spice-whump , @suspicious-pools-of-blood , @melodyvonmelody

next part

#caretaking scene my beloved #as much as i want to keep updating daily ill probably have to slow down here #gonna be BUSY these next few weeks #also i should probably name this story #whump #whump writing #royal whumpee #royal whump #slave whump #slavery tw #scars tw #bruising tw #abuse tw #cold whump #whipping tw #caretaking #patchup #begging #sunandglass

[writingsbychlo]

sun in the shadows (08)

word count; 12,516

summary; noah does his best to fit in, and it doesn’t quite go as planned, but that’s okay.

notes; it’s finally happening.

warnings; noah is a bit of a jerk, but it’s over pretty quickly.

The sun was out again, the grass was filled with people, and it seems that they had gained the good luck you had missed. This sun was bringing warmth, a radical change from only a  week ago, as your sundress today was entirely fitting. With hair clipped back away from your shoulders to keep cool and sunscreen on your bare skin to stop yourself from burning, you were soaking up the rays.

The group you were gathered with had been lucky enough to snag a table to sit out at, blankets laid out and pinned down in the light breeze by picnic blankets, shoes and rocks for those who hadn't made it to a table in time, and you didn’t envy them at all. Despite the warmth, the grass was still a little damp, mud still tar-like as it moved toward drying out, and yet the space was still heaving. It mildly resembled that of a festival or a beach on the Fourth of July.

Leaning back a little, your face tipped up to the sky, the chatter of your friends surrounding you drowning out as warmth washed over your face, lids closed but barely doing anything to block out the light, and you smiled. You loved the summer, always had, it was your favourite season. Something about the warmth, the longer nights and the smoky smell that came with barbecues or the salt of the ocean at the beach. As you sat, face directed to the sky, the sun was suddenly blocked, a cooler air falling over you, and your frowned, cracking your eyes open to see what had happened.

“Noah, hi.” You beamed, sitting up properly to turn around, and the man nodding his head, a hint of a smile on his face. A pair of dark black sunglasses were sitting on his nose, a pretty contrast to dark hair and darker denim jeans, a charcoal t-shirt on his shoulders, but there was no jacket. His bag was slung over one shoulder, and as his presence was made known, several others around the table greeted him, too. He seemed to have a warmer reaction to them, a wonderful smile as he offered his greetings, and your brows furrowed a little.

You ignored the action, despite its unfamiliarity with you. He was treating you once again like he had done months ago, when first getting to know you, a time when there was no trust built between you both. Taking a seat beside you at the table, you only just had a chance to move your skirt out of the way before he was sitting down. Swinging his bag over to the side, you waited for him to say anything else, his hands sitting atop the table as his forearms leaned on the wood, and your frown was only deepening.

Running a finger along his forearm, his face turned to you, brows rising up from behind the glasses, and a smirk on his face.

“You okay, there?” He teased, your eyes narrowing on him just a little, and his arm flexed slightly under your touch, before he was pulling his arm away from you, and the smirk on his face widened. “What? There’s something going on up there, so you might as well spill it.”

“Nothing, I guess.” Your words were mumbled out, and he only nodded, not bothering to wait for a second longer, before he was turning back to the conversation. Something within your stomach twisted. Confusion at his behaviour, uncertainty whether it was something you had done, or whether this was simply who he was when he didn’t let his anxiety get in the way. “I just thought I wasn’t seeing you until later, is all?”

“I thought I’d join you for lunch. Is that so bad?” He was grinning again, a more cocky smile than you were used to seeing from him, and on the few occasions you had seen it, it was never in a setting like this. “I thought you wanted me to get out there, make friends. Is it because I’m not all yours anymore?”

A couple of the other boys around the tables chuckled, various girlfriends and partners slapping at their arms in retaliation for the joke about being controlling, and your lips pursed into a thin line. “No. I just wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

He seemed a little taken aback by your shorter tone with him, one of your brows raising slightly in a challenge to his behaviour. Taking his glasses from the tip of his nose, he folded them in the middle, tucking them into his shirt, to rest on his colour. Sweet brown eyes were searching your own, and you shrugged a little. His smirk lessened, becoming a slight frown, and for a moment, you thought he was going to leave behind whatever it was that was wrong and let you in, but then, he was stolen away into a conversation.

Just a brief mention of his name was all that it took, and his focus was moving away from you entirely. You were glad that he had made more friends, you really were. You’d been working hard to try and introduce him to new people in a way that wouldn't spark his anxiety. Run-ins on walks the two of you shared, people you bumped into while out getting coffee or simply introducing him to someone you knew that you thought he’d get along with.

You’d seen Noah every single day for the last week, there hadn't been a moment that wen toast that the two of you hadn't been in contact, whether in person or via text. For as many days as you could count now, he was the last person you’d spoken to before going to bed, and the first person you had spoken to when waking up in the morning. He was the person who made you laugh when you were stressed, and the man who sent you recipes when you didn’t know what to cook. He was the person who sat by your side doodling on the tops of your work pages while you tried to get some studying done, before eventually distracting you enough to give up.

You couldn’t place anything you’d done wrong. The last time you’d seen him had been the afternoon before, when you’d gotten a coffee together and walked around campus, and you’d spoken to him only an hour or so ago. His behaviour made no sense to you, it was unprompted and without reason, and it was leaving the feeling of a put welling in your stomach.

The thought of it being some kind of reverse attempt at soothing his anxiety flittered over your mind, and so in an attempt to test the theory, you leaned over. Shuffling up close to his side, your arm looped through his, and he paused his speech for just a second. He’d been talking to the boy across from you both, telling them all about the renovation work he’d spent a summer doing with his dad on the house, and he turned to look at you.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting. Maybe for his arm to tighten around yours, to pull you in a little closer. A smile, a kiss to your forehead, something softer than the look you got with an arrogant smirk that made you feel like you were locked out from him, and when he turned back to continue the conversation without any of the options that had run through your head, your discomfort only increased.

Your arm sagged against his, his arm flexing for a second a spike of hope raced through you. But, he was simply shifting, his arm moving away from yours in a way that made you shuffle backwards. Reaching into his pocket, he produced his phone, laughing slightly at a joke that you hadn't caught from someone else around the table, and you pulled your hand back into your lap instead of placing it back through his arm.

Everything about it made you uncomfortable. The wondering, the insecurity, the fear of having done something wrong and forced him back into his shell with you. It was enough to make you feel sick to your stomach, and despite your lingering gaze on him for minutes now, he never turned to you. Checking your phone, the afternoon was tickling on. Your lunch was passed finished, your afternoon wide open with nothing else to do, as it seemed all plans with Noah seemed to have fallen through with his new personality.

You weren’t sure what had gotten into him, the new attitude was like that of half of your exes, or your friends and the people who were around you. You didn’t mind it so much on them, of course, it would the attitude that they would greet you with, because there was nothing deeper between you with them. Every friendship you had was teasing, there was nothing that merited anymore more. With them, your physical contact was limited to that of greetings and goodbyes, hugs and the occasional kiss to the cheek.

With Noah, though, you’d felt like something was different.

You’d felt like perhaps there was something more between you both, something a little beyond simple friendship. Something flirty, the kind of sweet-like-honey feeling that made you get butterflies and have your cheeks ache from smiling, or your eyes sore from staying up late, staring at a screen in the dark just to talk to him.

Clearly, that wasn’t how he felt, too.

You tried to join the conversation, to talk to the girls around you as the men were all sucked into a chat that you evidently weren’t intended to be a part of. You could keep up for a while offering your input on everything they talked about. You liked that about the girls you were friends with, they were easy to skip between topics, moving from one thing to another with ease, and sharing gossip that they had heard.

For a while, it made you feel better, a little more comforted and a little less alone, but despite his presence right next to your side, the warmth from his body and the brief brushes of his shoulder with yours when he moved, but it only made you feel more lonely. You felt shut out, as though the cold wall that you had spent so long breaking down had shot right back up, twice as thick. You couldn't take it anymore.

Packing away your books into your bag, you stood from the table, several pairs of eyes moving to you as you stood, and you offered them all the best smile that you could muster at that moment. Once they were all sealed away, you placed your bag up on your shoulder, and your hands met the wood. Leaning over slightly, the conversation went quiet as you became the centre of attention.

“Sorry to break this up, but I got to go.” Several soft complaints came, attempts to convince you to stay, and you smiled at the effort that at least some of your friends were making. “If anything exciting happens, text me.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay? I was just thinking we should go and get some coffee, or something.”

Laurel was staring up at you expectantly, her eyes a little wider and you sighed, shaking your head. As much as you’d loved to, the bad mood you had gained from Noah’s new attitude was bringing down your social battery, and you weren’t sure how much longer you’d last. “I would, but I have some studying to do, and a couple of other things. I’ll catch up with you later, though, alright?”

There were some goodbyes, and even a hug from the girl beside you, before you were beginning to trail away from them. The chatter around the table was quickly replaced by the groups you began to weave through, a polite smile on your face to everyone you passed by as you tried not to encourage any more conversations. By the time you were reaching the edge of the grass and moving to the concrete, the heavy footfalls of another person moving slightly faster than you were catching you up.

A hand on your shoulder, pulling you lightly to a stop, and as you turned around, you yes scanned up to find the face of a man you were familiar with as your instinct kicked in, accustomed to his height by now. “Where you goin’?” He questioned, panting a little from the effort he’d exerted to catch up with you, and you tried not to scowl at him as he stared.

His face was softer now, instead of the cheeky look he’d been holding all afternoon, it was something much more genuine and earnest, the kind of look you were used to from him. It was throwing you through a loop just trying to keep up with him. “Home. I have some work to do.”

You moved again, walking away from him, and he let out a confused grunt, boots scuffling on the tarmac of the parking lot as he caught back up to you. “Wait, wait, wait. I thought we were supposed to be going to the garage? I’m working on your car tonight, I brought new bulbs for your headlights because they’re kinda’ dimmed, and I don’t want you getting into an accident or anything.”

You frowned, eyes narrowing on him for a second, and your shoulders slumped under his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” His hand reached out, trailing down along your arm towards your hand, and he had the audacity to let a hurt look flicker across his face when you pulled back from him by just a fraction. It was enough, though. Enough for his hand to fall away, his fingertips brushing over your arm, before it fell back to his side, dismay evident on his face.

“What is with this hot and cold act you have going on?” His jaw dropped, no words coming out, and heat crawled up along his cheeks slightly while he gaped at you. Instead, you took the initiative, shaking your head a little at him, and he only sank in on himself a little further. “You were so sweet this morning. The Noah I’ve come to know, and then suddenly at lunch, you’re this different person. Kinda’ a jerk, actually. Now, you’re all gentlemanly again. I don’t get you, but I don’t want to hang out with someone who’s gonna’ pick me up and drop me like a yo-yo.”

His eyes flicked over your face, lips pursing closed in a tight line, and you waited a moment longer. As the silence grew, you moved away from him, taking steps again a little further, and it was a few more seconds before he moved again. He was slower, long strides falling him into step beside you, and he didn’t try to stop you, but his head hung a little, and he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, alright? But when the other Noah shows back up, let me know.”

He chuckled, dry and hollow, before he was rounding in front of you, giving you only a second to stop before you were colliding with him, and there were mere inches between your bodies. Staring up at him, your brows shot up again, and he tried to offer a gentle smile to you. “I just thought that if I acted the way your other friends acted, I’d fit in a little better, and you’d like me more.”

“You were trying to get me to like you more? By acting like a dick, and making me feel weird about ‘us’?”

“Reverse psychology?” He whispered, and he relaxed when the smile on your face came out.

“I’m the psychology major, leave that to me.” You teased, and he nodded his head. Leaning down, his nose brushed over your forehead, lips pressing to your skin in a soft kiss, the act you were used to, and you sighed as he did. “There he is.”

His hands smoothed over your sides, pulling you in closer and your hand came up to rest on his cheek. Stroking the skin across his cheekbone gently with your thumb, his head tipped into your hand.

“I don’t want you to be anyone else, okay? I like you plenty enough just the way you are.”

“You’ll still come hang out with me, then? Because it gets lonely when you don’t keep me company at the garage, now. I’ve become accustomed to having company.” He reached out again, his hand smoothing along your arm, and you didn’t pull away this time. Rather, you let his hands find yours, fingers weaving together until your palms were pressed up to one another. He smiled, something bashful and dopey, and it was an adorable kind of expression. The cold of the band he had wrapped around his thumb today was rubbing against your finger, and you squeezed at his hand. “I’m gonna’ take that as a ‘yes’.”

“‘Kay, I forgive you. Don’t get weird again, though.” He nodded his head, making you grin as he tugged you in a new direction, a ninety-degree angle to head towards the bike. He made his promise, making you grin when he held out a tattooed finger for you to link your own with, sealing the promise together.

Opening up the back-box on the bike, and pulling out your helmet. Letting you settle your things inside, he placed the helmet down on your head, pulling your hair back and out of the way. Leaning in, his lips brushed over your nose, breath panted lightly over your lips, something heavier settling over the both of you, and you couldn’t help the breathy giggle you let out.

You reached for his helmet, having learned where the catch underneath the seat was, and you opened it up to select the protection from inside. Lifting it, he ducked his head to let you place the helmet on his head, brushing back the longer strands of chocolate-brown hair to settle it there. Smoothing your fingers down along his jaw, you fastened up the catch under his chin, his head tipping up to let you do so. Before his head moved down, you shifted upward, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, and he was beaming when his head came back down.

His finger spinach the tip of your nose, between his thumb and his index, your face screwing up with a soft laugh when he did. “You’re cute, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Swinging your leg over the bike, you settle down first, your hands landing on the steering, a dangerous look portrayed him as you smirked. “In a summer dresses and lollipops kind of way, right?”

“Mhm.” He teased, fastening your helmet up and tipping it to sit properly on your head as he stood before you. Moving his eyes further down, his sights scanned over you “You look good on my bike.”

“You should let me drive. I think I’ve got it, now. I would be awesome at this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as you shuffled back to make space for him. With every catch done up and the boxes sealed, his leg swung over the bike, settling himself down on the leather. With the impact of him sitting, you slid down the seat, the insides of your thighs pressing to the outsides of his own, and your front was pressed to his back. His hand came out, circling behind his body to find your wrists, and he pulled your arms around his body. “If you drove, how would I get you to hold onto me like this? I like the attention, what can I say?”

“You could just ask.”

“Oh, yeah?” He twisted the keys in the ignition, the bike sparking to life underneath you, and your hands tightened a little more around him. Revving the bike slightly, he kicked off the latch that kept it secured to the ground, balancing it between his own feet as you tucked yours away. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You should.” You mumbled, chin tucked over his shoulder to whisper the words near his ear, and you could see the smile stretch on his face. Pulling back, your forehead rested between his shoulder blades, squeezing him once in signal to let him know you were ready, and then he took off.

You’d grown used to it now, the slight grind of the tyres on the concrete as he took off and then the streets whizzing by. You like the sights, the way the lights seemed to become like a blur when you moved, The tips and tilts, the way the bike bounced when you went through potholes or over the bumps in the road, it had all started to feel natural. It was the same when you were with him.

Noah had been a stranger to you, but he was a constant in your life now. He was by your side more than he wasn’t now, and you couldn't deny the bond that you’d formed with him It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. He didn’t force you to be anything you weren’t, he didn’t make you feel insecure, or less worthy, or like you had to constantly be the best version of yourself to impress him. He didn’t drain you down like others did, he didn’t make you feel less, or like you couldn't be yourself. You loved who you were around him, and how being with him made you feel.

Twisting your head, your eyes closed, cheek resting against his back as he moved. He was going slower than usual today, the journey taking a little longer, and while the quiet was filling the space between you both, it was comfortable. Everything with Noah seemed to be that way, now. The two of you were seemingly opposites, everything about you felt like something that would clash but there was just something between the two of you that worked. Like magnets drawn together, or opposing puzzle pieces, you fit together perfectly.

He forced you out of your comfort zone, to do things like ride a motorbike while you forced him to approach the people he’d seemingly decided hate him, only to discover he was capable of making friends. Each of your downfalls, he seemed to lift up. One by one, he was raising you up, making you a better person, and giving back to you just as much as you gave to him. It was effortless to be around him, something that had happened both slowly and at light speed. Winning his trust had turned into so much more, once the door had been opened, it was like the two of you had moved past acquaintances and friends, to hover on the verge of something else.

He was constantly on your mind, and when he wasn’t, it didn’t take long before you saw something that reminded you of him, a joke or a comment online, even just the way someone would walk across campus or the outfit they’d wear, it all seemed to come back to him.

When the pair of you had finally pulled up to the edge of his garage, he was cruising slowly between the sheds. More doors than usual were open today, the crowds were a little busier, but with the sunny weather, you weren’t so surprised. The tones of different music melded together, more students willing to come and spend prolonged periods of time outside when the weather was warm, and the days lasted longer.

Setting up the stand on the bike, your feet reached the floor, trembling a little still from the vibrations of the engine. The sounds went dead as he pulled the keys from the machine, but neither of you moved, his hands dropping down to find your own for just a second, and you lifted one hand. Your fingers weaved with his, before he was pulling your hand up, kissing the back of your hand gently, and the feeling made something explode within you. Butterflies, a tidal wave, something crushing and exhilarating and racing all in one, your heart beating erratically as he lowered your hand back down. “I’m sorry about before. I just wanted to be more like other people you hang out with, other people you’re friends with, or you’ve dated, or whatever. I didn’t want to be a freak.”

Standing up from the bike, you undid the catch on your helmet, putting it down on the seat as he copied your actions, going from looking up at you to once again looking down as he stood taller than you. “You know, when I’m with you, I feel so much better than I do when I’m with them.”

“I just want to be the right guy, you know? Be someone everyone likes, be someone who can fit in. Stiles does it so effortlessly, I can’t be like that.”

“You shouldn’t have to, because I think you’re great the way you are.” You tapped the tip of his nose, the same way he had done to you, and his face screwed up with ticklish responses exactly the same way that you had. “It’s a good thing you cut that out, though, because I got you something.”

“A gift?” He whispered, and you only nodded. Opening the box on the back of the bike, you swapped the helmet in your hand for your bag, laying it out onto the seat so that you had access to it. Opening up the bag and digging through it, you searched until your fingers brushed the silky material, and you could grasp the small item.

“It’s just something small.” You mumbled, beginning to untangle it from the contents inside, and hoping it hadn't gotten creased. Producing the item, his eyes dropped down from your face to the item in your hands, a neutral expression taking over as he considered it. “I like to put decals on my laptop, and all the ones I had were getting old and peeling. I was ordering some new ones, and I saw this one. It made me think of you.”

“It's a daisy.” He took it from you, thumb stroking across the shining plastic, and you nodded.

“Yeah, from the day that you and I sat in the field, and you let me put daisies in your hair.” You reached up, brushing your fingers through his hair lightly, and fluffing it back up from where it had fallen flat. “I figure you could put it on your laptop, or bedpost, or maybe don’t stick it to anything. You could put it on your pinboard in your room, or use it as a bookmark. I don’t know.”

“I love it.”

“You do?” Your heart had been racing, the uncertain expression he had that you couldn't possibly decipher became something like the sun, a wide smile as his chewed-down thumbnail picked at the edges. Peeling the plastic backing away from the transparent and inked design, your brows raised. He moved, pressing the edge of the plastic onto his bike, and sealing it down firmly, your eyes widening. “Noah! That’s your bike!”

“I know. I’ve never had a decal on it before.”

“But, what if it ruins your paint job, or something? I didn’t expect you to stick it on your bike, of all things!” He smirked, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks as you rambled to him. Your eyes moved to the sticker, your face cupped by warm palms as your finger smoothed over it, the white and yellow standing out prominently against the black. “What if you decide you don’t like it, or you hate where it’s positioned, or-”

Your breath was held in your lungs as he dipped down closer than he’d ever been as his nose bumped against yours. Your lips brushed, his tongue poking out to wet his lips slowly, and you let out a shaky groan as he did. Your eyes closed, lashes tickling against his as he lingered there The tension was palpable, the split second that he lingered there felt like a thousand dragging on, before his lips met your own.

Soft and warm, his lips pressed tentatively against yours at first, a second becoming two that was filled with hesitation. It was simply his pressed to your own, nothing happened for a second, before it did. His lips moved, fingers digging a little more firmly into your jaw, and his palms slid down. His hand was sitting over your neck, feeling the pounding of your pulse under his hand no doubt, and your mind finally seemed to catch up.

Your lips twisted, a smile making itself evident, and your giggle was muffled against his lips as you sagged a little in his hold. His grip loosened a little, his kisses stopped, pulling back enough to press his forehead to your own, taking a breath, before he was pulling away. “That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”

There was gravel in his voice, and he swallowed thickly to clear it away, pupils wider than you’d ever seen them when he looked back to you. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I was just caught off-guard.”

“Couldn’t have been that off-guard, I’ve not really been subtle, lately.”

“I just figured I’d have to make the first move.” You teased, his eyes rolling, and one hand lowered further. Smoothing over your side, his hand found your hip, rubbing soothing circles through the material and your whole body felt lost. Like you were floating in the clouds, but weights were tied to your fingertips, arms heavy as you raised them to loop around his neck. “Kiss me again. I won’t laugh this time, I swear.”

“If you do, I’m never kissing you again.” He mumbled, dipping down to brush a pout over your lips, and you scoffed slightly, head pushing up to meet him.

“Liar.” Your words were lost, mouth meeting his in a sweet kiss, and he sighed through his nose as you connected with him. This time, you were ready. Your lips moved back with his, a soft and slow kiss that nothing like you’d ever experienced before.

It was like fireworks, every place he touched as the hand on your waist flexed, and the one from your neck smoothed down along your bag to pull him closer. Your fingertips were tingling, one hand slipping to the back of his neck to hold him close as his mouth worked with yours in a way that emptied your mind. You were clinging to him, one hand down over his chest, feeling his heart racing through his shirt, and as he pulled away, one of his hands came up to hold onto your own on his chest.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did he. You didn’t know what to say, and neither did he. In fact, you were both completely speechless, a few more stolen pecks and bumps of your noses, before there was a grin cracking on your cheeks that you couldn’t contain, and he stood tall again, a kiss on your forehead before he was tucking you under his chin and close to his body.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while. I didn’t know it would feel like that, though.” He whispered, hands taking yours on both sides, linking your fingers together as you rested against his, and you could only nod in agreement.

“Why didn’t you do it sooner?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me back.” He shrugged, and you pulled away, shock written on your face when he peered down to see you.

“I’ve not really been subtle, lately.” You threw his own words back at him, slightly pinker lips than usual showing off white teeth in a smile, and you rolled your eyes at him. “Wanna’ fix my car and talk mechanic to me and I’ll pretend I know what you’re saying?”

“I’ll simplify it for you.” He teased, letting go of your hands after one final squeeze to retrieve his belongings. Zipping up your bag and slinging it over one shoulder, he swapped his helmet for his backpack, tucking his keys into the front pocket, and you followed him around to the front of the building. Putting in the code on the padlock, he undid the lock at the bottom, the rickety metal shutter rolling up higher and higher until the whole doorway was exposed.

Your car lay inside, the hood already popped open and the engine was taken apart. Pieces were on the floor and the counters, like some kind of mechanic gore scene, and you jumped a little as he threw the heavy padlock onto the wooden table. Your bag followed, his was dumped by the side of the car, and he pulled it open, producing four boxes of lightbulbs for your car, shaking each one for a second to ensure they hadn't broken. He seemed pleased with what he heard, laying the boxes along the roof of the car.

It was propped up now, sitting on an angle as it was elevated into the air, and the board that he used to slide under it was still on the floor, indicating that it had been recently used. Taking your phone from your bag, you grabbed for the speaker, hidden in the same place you’d put it on your latest session with him, and began to untangle the wire. Once it was set up, pulled out as far from the wall as it would go, you set your phone down, plugging the device in.

The light on the base changed from red to green, signalling that it had connected, and the speaker let out a crackling sound to confirm the volume. Adjusting the dial a little, and being aware of Noah’s neighbours surrounding you, you turned it down a fraction. As you scrolled through the first couple of sounds, beginning to choose a set to start queuing up, a warm body was meeting your back, and hand smoothing around your waist to sit over your stomach, and once again, your mind was going blank.

His chin hooked onto your shoulder, your heart racing in your chest and a flush covered your entire body, somehow managing to feel like you were on fire in your own skin while also shivering a little, goosebumps rising along your exposed arms. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the skin of your shoulder just to the left of your dress strap, and you leaned back into him a little.

Physical contact was nothing new between the two of you, and had he taken these actions only a day or so ago, you probably would have had a calmer reaction than you did now, but there was something more hanging over it now. A line crossed, a new page in the book, something entirely different that made it that much more exhilarating.

You continue your scrolling, the soft melodies of ‘Brandy’ playing across the air, and the man behind you hummed approvingly. “I forgot that this song even existed. It’s a good choice.”

“It’s my favourite song.” You mumbled, your body beginning to sway side to side with his own in a very simple dance. The tune took up, and you sang lightly under your breath to yourself, Noah humming along behind you as you continued to add songs. Occasionally, he would join you, his finger coming out to tap or point at the screen, a silent suggestion on which ones to add, and within a few minutes, the songs were collected. Enough for an hour, at least, possibly even two, and then you could reconsider what to play when the music ran out.

“Your car should be up and running soon, I’ve been making some pretty good progress on it.”

You turned to face him, sitting down backwards on the spinning stool with the wooden top, and he was walking back toward the car, the toolbox on the opposite workbench already open. His back was to you, grey shirt stretched across broad shoulders, the muscles in his back evident when he leaned over and you let your eyes linger a little longer than usual. The blush you got every time you realised you were checking him out was still present, but it didn’t feel as taboo as it had previously.

“There’s something rattling in your engine and I can’t figure out what, I’ve taken out everything he could be, so I’m starting to think it’s something underneath.”

“That why this place looks like a car’s worst nightmare?” You teased, eyes moving across the pieces of removed engine, and he chuckled, sifting through the tools inside.

“Pretty much. I’ll put it all back together, though, don’t worry. I’ll feel better knowing you’re out on the road in something safe.” You cooed a little at him, his sweet gesture making your chest flood with adoration, bursting from the inside out, and he only rolled his eyes at you, glancing back over his shoulder for a split second. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do once it’s fixed, or where we’ll hang out.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Your tone was coy, and he chuckled, turning back to look at you. He had chosen what he was looking for, something that looked like a short and blunt tool. You weren’t sure what the folded end would be used for, but he was straight into action, leaning over your engine and reaching inside. Twisting in your seat, you reached for your bag, pulling out all of your books. Flicking through your notebook to find the latest empty page, your bag sat open. You’d gathered more than enough information from the pair to be able to start making your conclusions now, but you still felt behind.

Stiles was much further ahead, he had started forming his conclusions and searching for holes in his evidence almost three weeks ago, and he was beginning to redraft his final presentations as he produced a first copy. You were still a while off of being at that stage, becoming progressively more distracted by Noah and the puzzle he presented as you deciphered him, but you couldn't help it.

He was rattling around behind you, a sound that had distracted you for a while at first but had become background noise just like the music had, fading into something that helped your mind to work better than the silence ever did. Your notes seemed like they were blurring on the page, your mind far too busy thinking about recent events than the notes you’d taken on the two.

The songs ticked by, the tinkering behind you fading away and starts and ends of your engineer turning on and off, rattling slightly and making the air around you vibrate for just a second. Your pen scribbled song your paper comparing answers and beginning to draw what information you could and in the times that your mind wandered, you doodled borders around the notes that were just for you to see. The notebook that had once been fresh and crisply pressed was now ragged around the edges, worn pages from constant flicking back and forth, filled with ink and your thoughts as you tried to get them all down.

Occasionally, Noah would come over to join you, a half-drunk bottle of water that he was getting through as he leaned don the unit beside you. His notes had joined your one, his thoughts written down onto the paper, sometimes a joke, something with a sarcastic comment about what you had written, and sometimes it was just his one doodles to join yours.

The work was progressively getting done, and while it wasn’t nearly proceeding at the rate you would get it done alone, you preferred working slower and having his company than racing through it but being all alone. It was more enjoyable, especially when he began to relax more, the deeper rasp of his voice like a security blanket that forced your body to relax once he let go enough to start singing along lowly to the songs.

By the fourth one he had sung, you realised you hadn't written anything in almost ten minutes, pen hovering over the page, and it was beginning to feel hopeless. The sweltering heat was beginning to settle over you like a thick blanket on a too-hot summer’s night. As the afternoon moved on, the breeze was dying down, and the once temperate heat was becoming stifling as it sat stagnantly.

Closing your book and folding your pen inside, you called it a day, deeming it a good day’s work as you put your notebook into your bag, zipping it up, and a soft sound of something dropping beside you caught your attention. Turning around, a slightly damp pile of grey sat beside you, and upon picking it up for further inspection, you released it was a t-shirt.

Turning to the car, the man you were with had disappeared underneath, melodic voice bouncing from the metal on the underside of your car, but the happy trail of dark hairs along the bottom of a toned stomach was still visible, and your mouth rapidly dried at the sight. You turned away, feeling wrong for staring, but like a magnet, your gaze was drawn back to him.

Folding the material you still held neatly as something to simply busy yourself, the chair squeaked as you twisted to place it back down on top of your bag, no longer in a crumpled heap, before turning back to the vehicle. With elbows braced on the edge of the wooden counter, your eyes moved along it. Still covered in a layer of dirt and dust, it needed a good wash, but you’d hadn't bothered to venture as far as the carwash in a long time, trying to save the little life it had left for important travel. As soon as it was back in your possession, however, that would be one of your first priorities.

Moving a little further along, your eyes reached the back wheels, new tyres having been one of the first things Noah had done for you the grip on the other’s fading away, and you vaguely remembered him telling you all about the brake-pads at some point. His chatter about mechanics always became a mess in your mind, much like you were sure your psychology chatter became for him, but you listened intently and tried to keep up, just as he did for you. Simply hearing him talk so passionately was a treasure in itself.

“Oh, my God, you got that dent out.” Your eyes honed in on the spot, and while it wasn’t exactly perfect, it was considerably better than it had been. The wheels of the board scraped along the ground, sliding his body out from under the vehicle.

“Yeah, I noticed it when swapping out your tyres.” You turned back up him, the wide beam on your face dimming a little in shock, because you’d managed to forget his shirtless state for just a second, but now, it was crashing over you all in a sudden rush. His hands were stained with oil, and he stood up the folded muscles from his hunched position going taut as he stood, and he grabbed the nearest scrap of fabric he had, trying to wipe down his hands as best as he could. “It wasn’t too hard, I just had to hammer it out and smooth it over.”

“That was there since I got the car, I thought I’d never get it out!”

Your voice was a little shaky, and as he made his way over, your eyes were drawn to the tattoos on his chest. You’d seen him shirtless twice before, but you’d never had the chance to observe the designs up close. Slightly distorted by sweat and the grease from the underside of the car, you couldn't make them all out, and your fingers itched to reach up and trace the drawings that you had yet to discover.

He took the bottle from by your bag, undoing the cap with ease and raising it to take a gulp of the liquid, and every muscle he had seemed to shift and flex under his skin with the simple action. He wasn’t even trying, tired and dirty and sweaty and he was putting no effort in, but you were sure that you hadn't had a coherent thought for hours now. The song playing came to an end, the music fading out into silence, and you waited for the next one to come, but it never did. That was the second loop you’d put the music on, the hours having flown by, and the sun was shining in to leave longer shadows across the floor as it moved across the sky.

“You’re bored, aren’t you?”

“Little bit.” You grinned, holding up two fingers but making sure they were very close together, just to show a small amount, and he chuckled. Wiping the back of a hand over his mouth, he cleared excess water from there, before he was holding the bottle out to you. Taking it gratefully, your mouth had been dry and desperate for a drink since the moment he’d pulled away from you after that first kiss, leaving you dried out and thirsty ever since.

Taking a sip, he stepped away from you, moving to grab your car keys from the side unit and moved to the driver’s seat. The door was already open, and rounding it to the other side, he twisted the key to start the car up. The engine came to life almost immediately, no spluttering or grinding of parts, no multiple attempts needed, and it purred happily as it rotated inside itself, as though it was a brand new vehicle. It wasn’t loud or clunking, and there was no unusual sound being made. Clearly, Noah was just as happy with that result, because he cheered a little to himself.

Shifting inside, he checked various options, everything from the indicators to the headlights and the fog lights. The new bulbs were lighting up perfectly and brightly, clear and start white as opposed to the faded yellow they had been beginning to gather with age. “I am so impressed. Like, awestricken, really.”

“Thanks, kitten.'' Just when you thought you’d managed to put a cap on it, and get your head in a reasonable place, he had thrown a petname in your direction. Once again, you were speechless, thoughtless, and senseless, unable to control the dreamy sigh that was almost a breathy giggle at the sound, trying not to fawn too obviously over the new treatment he was giving you. “I think that pretty much does it.”

“So, when do I get to take her home?”

He was beaming, tapping the roof of the car and killing the engine, before nodding his head at himself. “You can drive her home right now, if you just give me a second to unhook and lower it back to the ground at the back.”

“We’re leaving?”

“You’re bored, and we’re pretty much done here.” You frowned, not having intended to bring your time to an end, as though he could read your mind, he continued on with what he had to say. “Doesn’t mean we have to say goodbye just yet. We can find something else to do.” He rounded the car, hooking a finger under your chin to tip your head up to meet his gaze. He was looking down on you with a sweet smile, nothing but peace and serenity written on his face. “You’re sure you really like me? We’re, like, total opposites.”

“Opposites attract.” You teased, his eyes rolling, and he stepped a little closer to you. The chair made you feel too low, his hair falling into his face as he leaned over you, and you stood to meet him, his gaze following you as he did.

“I thought you were just going to be a burden, you know. I thought that doing this study was gonna’ suck, and I was going to be miserable, but getting to know you has been so different so what I expected.”

Lifting his hand, his palm smoothed over your cheek, letting you tip into his touch. “Yeah, well, first impressions can be misleading. I can be pretty cool.”

“You’re the coolest person I know.” He whispered, gaze dropping down to linger on your lips for a second, and you smiled softly, his face mimicking the notion.

He stared for a second longer, before dipping down. He hesitated for just a second, a laugh carried on his breath that you barely caught, and you leaned up too. Your nose brushed his, nervous breaths shared in the hardly-existent space between you both as your lips continued to brush lightly. He dipped down, his lips pressing lightly to your own as the tension finally came to an end, and there was a smile on his lips as he did. It made it hard, the smiles that neither of you could contain, and your hand roe up to cup his cheek.

Timid pecks, delicate laughs between broken kisses as your noses bumped and lips puckered, trying to contain yourselves. Your heart was racing, he was just as nervous as you were, the new boundary as a friendship turned to a relationship, and it would take a little longer to get used. When he pulled back, a final and longer kiss pressed to your lips, that same sweetly dopey expression was on his face, warm cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I like that.”

“I got oil on your face.” He mumbled, picking up his shirt from beside you both, shaking it out from its folded position. Hooking the edge of it over his thumb, he wiped at the smear on your face, leaning down to press a kiss to the spot once it was cleared, and your cheeks were almost aching for your smile.

He stepped back from you, lips rolling together to contain his smile, and as he walked, he was pulling his shirt up and over his head. Beginning to pump at the jack behind the car with his foot, your car was lowered back to the ground the back wheels finally touching against the concrete again. With a screeching sound against the concrete, he dragged away the piece of equipment, metal scraping on the stonework floor, and he left it abandoned in the back of the shed.

Reaching for the keys at the edge of your car, he threw them to you, barely giving you a second to catch them before he was snickering to himself at your fumbling, the keys jingling in your touch. “C’mon then. You must be excited to get back in your car.”

You nodded, slinging your bag from the side into the passenger seat, and he was holding your car door open for you, letting you settle inside. Closing it up carefully, you reached for the lever under your seat, adjusting it back to how you liked it. He’d clearly been inside, the distance between the pedals and the seat of legs much longer than yours, and as you adjusted yourself, his arms folded against the edge of the door. Plugging in the key and switching on the engine. As it tumbled to life, you were able to roll the window down, finding it much cleaner and smoother in its movements than it had been.

He leaned in more, bent at the waist as he peered inside, and your fingers flexed on the wheel. “How’s it feel to be back in your car?”

“I feel independent again.” you turned to him, the car still rumbling underneath you. “Thanks to you.”

“Well, try your air-con.” He pointed to the nozzle, all wiped down and polished inside, and you did as told. Instead of sputtering and squeaking, they came on quietly, warm air from the engine turning to cold a second later, and it was a refreshing relief compared to the heat of the day as the sun dared to meet the horizon. “Better, right?”

“Incredible.” You mumbled, daring to mess with the other controls. Your wipers didn’t scrape at the glass, but moved quietly and conveniently, and the windscreen wash was even functional, a little burst of water covering the glass and being quickly wiped away. The gear stick wasn’t so sticky and the pedals were easy to press on once again, just the right amount of pressure underneath. There were no unusual noises coming from your engine. “Almost feels surreal.”

“Yeah, well, the only thing I didn’t do is put gas in the tank, so you’re gonna’ have to do that on your way back.”

“Back to where?” You turned to him, a cheeky look on your face and he smirked, matching you, and settling a little lower until your eyes were level.

“Stiles isn’t home. We can play video games in the main room, and I can do more of this-” He leaned in, pulling you in with a thumb and forefinger on your chin. The smirk he wore became a pout, his lips pressing to your own, and there was more confidence behind it now. All of your kisses so far had been shy and scared, testing the waters and adjusting to how it felt, but now, he was a little more sure of himself. His lips teased over yours, more enveloping than a simple kiss, and you were melting into him. Leaning closer toward the door of the car, your hand was coming to brace yourself against it, finding his arm on the edge of the rolled-down window.

“I like that plan.”

“I’ll meet you there, then.” He stood up, hands patting the edge of the car, before stepping backwards. With a wave before leaving, you undid the clutch, shifting it into first gear, and creeping forwards. Weaving through the boxes carefully, you were unfamiliar with the pathways, making your way towards the road as Noah walked alongside you guiding you to the main quarter. As soon as you knew your way, he was pausing, waving at you in your rearview mirrors and walking back towards his garage shed.

The drive was much easier, a car you felt like you could rely on as you went along, and you were barely along the road before the warning light on your dashboard was flicking on to warn you of a petrol depletion. It seemed that you had only just missed the rush-hour traffic, the roads starting to clear out a thin down, and you were almost disappointed by it. It meant that you didn’t get a chance to test out all your gears and brakes, with how seamless your journey went, but the last thing you wanted was for the car to overheat as you drove along, breaking again already.

Dangling from your mirror as you checked behind, you became aware of the little tree hanging there. A small piece of green felt, the pine smell filling the cabin as you drove becoming less of a mystery, and you lifted your hand to it. Running your fingers lightly over the surface, the cupboards underneath was sturdy, the tree spinning on its string when you let it go.

It was such a small gesture, and yet something so sweet about it as it hung there. Like a permanent reminder of him, something you’d see every time you drove, whether he was with you that day or not. Pulling up into the gas station, your car came to a stop, easy and simple without a lot of stuttering and jerking motions. It was like a miracle. Hopping out, the air-con that had been inside had grown comfortable, the warm air outside was suddenly prickling along your skin, like an itch that you couldn’t get to.

Rounding to the side and beginning to start the pump, your eyes moved over the station. There was only one other car, a mother with two children in car seats in the back, who both seemed to be hyperactive. They were screaming at the top of their lungs, giggling and smacking their hands against the window, and as her eyes met your own, she gave you a tried smile. You offered a little wave, the two small children inside the car reciprocating it too, and only a moment later, her husband was appearing from inside the shop. The bell overhead jingled as he exited, jogging slightly as he put his wallet back into his pocket.

They were pulling out as you finished, letting the nozzle drip clean for a second before you were putting it back on the hook. Locking up the car and making your way inside, there was a swift breeze of air conditioning over the doorway, the air inside chilled, and it was almost a little too cold. Rows full of treats and food for road trips and hungry children, or simply just bored snacking were laid out, multicoloured wrappers that were eye-catching.

Wandering through the aisles, you built an armful of the treats, unable to resist temptations as you bought a range of everything from pretzels and chips to candy and chocolate. The cashier behind the counter was chewing gum, a bored look on his face and you thought that he couldn't possibly be older than Junior year in high school as he rang it up. Packing it all into a bag and adding your tab from the lot outside, your card was pressed into the reader. Punching your PIN in to follow it, the out of date machine took a few extra seconds to go through, before your payment was confirmed.

A full tank and a bag of snacks, and you were back in the car, tucking the recent purchases down into the shadowed footwell and out of the way of the sun that was just beginning to brush the horizon. The clock on your dash told you the veering was rolling in, the night going to be uncomfortably hot and your car started back up with ease. The display flashed for a second as the engine restarted, and then, you were on the road.

Parking up beside Stiles’ building, windows rolled up and your snacks hidden in your backpack, you swung it onto your shoulder. Three flights of stairs, one long corridor, and two knocks on hardwood, and you waited. It was nostalgic to be here waiting for him, but the nerves you’d had months ago when waiting for a boy you barely knew were entirely washed away. Swinging it open, Noah filled the doorway, a smile so bright you wanted to cover your eyes on his face as he greeted you.

“Wow, what a surprise. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, were you expecting someone?” You played along, and he let you inside, closing the door behind you as you toed off your shoes to leave beside the doorway.

“You know, I was. I have a super cute girl coming over soon, so you’re gonna’ have to make this quick.” He shrugged, his hands coming to find your waist and pull you a little closer as soon as you’d put your bag down on the couch. “Oh, wow, super cute girl alert. Hi.”

You’re secretly a total dork, huh?” Leaning up, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, hand sliding down over his chest, and there was the sticky printing of a patch under your skin. Looking down to his shirt, it was navy blue now, a logo for a band you didn’t recognise beginning to fade on the front. “You changed.”

“I was sweaty and oily.” He took your hand, dragging you over to the couch, and pushing you to sit down with the other hand on your shoulder. He moved away, switching on the televisions and the console, two drinks of soda laid out before you, and he slumped down into the couch by your side. Your legs folded underneath yourself, taking the bag from the cushion it lay on, and dropping it into his lap. “A school bag. Thanks so much, just what I wanted, how’d you know?”

“Look inside.” Your eyes rolled involuntarily despite your grin, and he did as told, nimbly undoing the zip on it, and opening the bag up. Pulling out the folded brown pair, he indeed the top, peering inside at the contents.

“Oh, you brought snacks.” He stared in at them, before he was turning to you, a playfully accusatory look on his face as his eyes narrowed. “What did you do? Did you break that car already?”

“No.” You frowned, his finger coming up to poke and smooth at the wrinkled forming o your forehead. “Why do you think I did something?”

“Because all the previous times you’ve brought me food, it’s because you did something.” You scoffed, smacking at his arm and pretending it was an accident as you picked up a candy bar out of the bag, peeling the wrapper down.

“What the hell do you mean ‘all’?” You bit a chunk off of it, and he shook a bag of chips, distributing the flavour inside, before tearing it open. He crunched loudly as he placed one of the triangular chips into his mouth, twisting to face you some more.

“Okay, first time; You bought my coffee after ambushing me in my home and insulting me-”

“I did not insult you, you jumped to conclusions!” He pressed a finger to your lips, silencing your words, and grinning cheekily.

“It’s rude to interrupt people, you know.” He placed another chip into his mouth, chewing happily, and lowering his hand from your mouth. “Second time, you brought pizza after ambushing me on my lunch break.” Your jaw dropped, but you remained quiet, a huff and a scowl on your lips at his words. “Third time, you brought lasagne after ambushing me at the coffee cart.”

“I don’t like the way that you portray me.”

“Fourth time, you forced me to go out to a restaurant, which you technically didn’t bring food to, but it was still overwhelming.” You sighed, taking a bite of your chocolate, and he wiggled his fingers a little as he rode his thumb to create a fifth finger. “Fifth time, you said you were planning to bring me food but didn’t have any after the first time you ambushed me at my garage.”

“Why do you keep saying ambushed?” You scowled, his hand coming down to rest on his knee, and you pushed it away. That only made him laugh, his hand coming back, leaning down to grip just above your ankle at your calf a little more firmly, and lifting your leg up.

“Because that’s exactly what you did.” He pulled you closer, your legs slinging across his lap as he dragged you across the couch, and he looked overly proud of himself for the shocked noise you elicited as he did so. “But, somewhere between the third and fourth times, I stopped being irritated by it, and your continued persistence and unwavering enthusiasm because kinda’ cute.”

His hand came up to brush through his hair, he broke the silence with the loud crunching of another potato chip. “Can I ask you a question, though?”

“Only if you promise to kiss me afterwards.”

“Deal.” You teased, shuffling a little closer to him, and he moved the bag of snacks from leaning on his stomach to sitting beside the both of you. “You know that first time I came to see you here, when I asked you about the study? You said some really mean things about yourself, like ‘criminal’ and ‘lowlife’, what did you mean?”

His lower lip dragged through his teeth, eyes leaving yours for a second, and the sweet and joyful moment between you both came crashing down into something much heavier. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not actually a criminal. People just started that because one night I was at a bar on the edge of town that seems a little sketchy, and a bar fight broke out, The cops showed up, and a guy got stabbed. I was actually out the back smoking at the time, so, I didn't even see all the excitement.”

“I’m sorry that the rumour started, though.” Your hand sank to his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin slowly.

“Stiles got really mad when he heard that rumour, and he cleared it up on his podcast, but the damage was done. Yet another reason why nobody wanted to be my friend.” You leaned in, kissing his forehead like he tended to do for you, and he tipped up, nose bumping yours in a silent ‘thank you’ for the comfort. “I just saw myself as a low-life. I let the rumours travel, I wasn’t even trying to make friends. I let my whole college experience slip away because I wanted to avoid confrontation or stress. You might have ambushed me, and forced me out of my comfort zone, but I think someday, I’m gonna’ look back on that and be grateful.”

You grinned, forehead resting on his as your hand slipped down, finding his shoulder instead, and his head tipped a little further upwards.

“Now, make good on that promise.”

“Oh, I plan to..” You whispered, lips brushing against his teasingly. You stayed where you were, though, letting him lean in a little closer until he almost had his lips pressed to yours, before you were shifting. He huffed, chasing you again, and you repeated the action, making him groan at the brief teasing. You chuckled, his hand flexing around your ankle, before his hand was sliding up to your knee, and you laughed a little more at the needy action.

“You’re being cruel.” He whined, and you were ready to give in, fingertips pressing into the flesh of his shoulder through the new shirt, before there was muffled shouting from the corridor. Loud, and angry, only getting clearer as the voice moved closer to the apartment, and it wasn’t until there was a set of keys in the lock and the door was opening.

You pulled back, sitting up a little further as Stiles came in, but the man didn’t seem to notice the two of you yet. He was yelling, a series of curse words to whoever was in the corridor behind him, and you recognised the equally angry voice of Derek, before the door was slamming shut. He paused, letting out a loud scream of anger at himself as he stared at the closed door, and you twisted on the couch, kneeling on it with your arms braced along the back to look at him.

Hanging up his jacket, Stiles turned to you both, jumping as he saw you there. The anger remained for only a second, before it was melting away into guilt, quickly followed by sadness. His shoulders slumped, scowl becoming a heavy frown as the wrinkles loosened into something sad, and he was frowning at you both.

“Sorry for all the yelling.” He started at you both for a second longer, his lower lip practically wobbling with his sadness as his hands came up to clutch together in front of himself.

“Is this a best friend or a brother moment? I can’t tell, what did Derek do?” You tried to keep your voice low. Shifting your bag to the floor with a sweep of your hand to make space for Stiles, and shuffling up so that he could sit in the middle of you both.

“If it’s a sex thing, it’s definitely a best friend thing.” Noah added, and you turned to stare at him, incredulous above all, but Stiles let out a weak and watery laugh.

“It’s really nice to have you both here.” He came over, staring at the snacks that were laid out, and your bag on the floor, shoulders only slumping further. “I’m sorry for interrupting whatever the two of you were doing.”

“We weren’t doing much. Yet.” Noah sighed, and you twisted to him, glaring for his joke, and he shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek and trying to keep a serious face. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry. You wanna’ watch movies, or something?”

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” He kicked off his shoes, leaving them abandoned by the coffee table, and he settled down between you both. Placing a cushion on your lap, you patted it, and he shot you a thankful look before moving to lay down. Resting his head against the cushion, his feet landed in his brother's lap. “Will you stay?”

“If you want me to.” You mumbled, nails scraping in feather-light patterns along his hairline.

As you stroked his hair gently, he began to relax a little further, and once he did, he began to spill. He was steady long enough to select a film, one of the Star Trek movies, surprisingly, and he sat silently, eating the snacks that you had purchased, for almost twenty minutes. After the food was finished, though, he broke.

The volume on the television was turned down and he was dominating the conversation, spilling everything that was weighing on his mind and heart. The problems came back to Derek, and the future between the two of them concerning the end of college. Derek had set plans that he’d always been planning on, and Stiles wanted to be more flexible, but neither was willing to budge. The conversation had never come up before, and now, with only a couple of short months left until the decision had to be made.

He admitted how nice it was to have you both here, the three of you sitting in companionable silence to follow his confessions about his relationship, and Noah stretched his arm out along the back of the couch towards you. It wasn’t the night that either of you had expected, and it wasn’t the most exciting, but it was enough. Your fingers wove with Noah’s sitting along the back of the cushion, and Stiles was mouthing along with the words on the screen as the movie came to an end.

It was cooler now, the sun having passed beyond the horizon, and you’d texted Lydia to let her know where you were as dusk was setting in. By the time that the credits were rolling, the man with his head in your lap had fallen asleep, snoozing softly with snores that were barely audible. Noah’s thumb was stroking over your hand, and he leaned over, empty wrappers crinkling as he moved, before the television was being switched off.

“So, that didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“It’s okay. Stiles needed us.” You shrugged, fingers weaving through the sleeping boy’s hair again, and his face had finally gone back to relaxed as he rested. “I should get going, though. It’s getting late. We can just rearrange.”

You yawned, covering your mouth as you did. Using the edges of the pillow, you lifted Stiles' head, enough to slip out from underneath him and you stood up. Your head had gone numb a while back, the pins and needles having passed and you shook your leg to try and wake it back up. Your butt was aching, making you wobble with each step you took, and Noah grinned as he followed your actions.

Grabbing the stray wrappers and putting them back into the paper bag, he reached for one of the spare blankets, tucking it over his brother and making sure he was secure.

“Why don’t we have breakfast together tomorrow morning?”

“I’d like that.” Your arms looped his waist, and his circled your shoulders, pulling you a little closer. “Where?”

“Here, if you stay over?” You studied him for a second, and his eyes widened, a pink colour coating his cheekbones. “Not with me. Not, y’know, I mean-” His blush only deepened, and you chuckled at him. “I just meant that you can stay in Stiles’ room. He won’t wake up until the morning now, anyway, and you’re tired. It’s dark and you shouldn't have to go home alone.”

You smiled, leaving him hanging in the suspense for a second longer, before putting him out of the suspenseful misery. “I think that would work just fine for me.”

“Good.” He smiled, lips brushing over your forehead, before he was straightening up. “Can you get the lights and the locks, I’ll go grab you something to wear.”

He stepped back, letting you do as told, as you moved around the room. Checking the door first, you flicked the catch on the door and double-checked it, before beginning to turn off all of the lamps. Stiles was snoring to himself and rolled over, facing the back of the cushions and clutching the blankets up to his chin. Pressing a kiss to the tips of two fingers, you smoothed it over your best friend’s forehead, mentally wishing him a quick recovery from his broken heart, before turning out the final light.

Noah was waiting in the hallway when you arrived, a pair of sweats, a t-shirt and a jumper in his hands, with a ball of socks on top, and he presented them to you, a shy smile on his face.

“I don’t think I’ll need all of that. It’s the summer.”

“Well, you know, I didn’t want you to get cold in the night, or anything. Now you have options.” You took them from him, tucking them under your arm, his hands went into his pockets. You were both lingering, the darkness only illuminating you both from the light on in his room that was spilling out around him. “Okay, well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Noah.” Despite the words being spoken, neither of you moved, brown eyes with wide pupils sealed on you, searching you for some kind of reaction, and he swallowed thickly. His mouth opened, more words to come, before his jaw was snapping shut again, and his brows furrowed.

“Goodnight. Again, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Noah.” You smiled, humour in your voice again, and he took a minuscule step back from you before pausing again. Taking a step with him, your hand came up, the one not clutching clothes found his shoulder, and you pressed your lips against his in a simple peck. He let out a sound that made your heart flutter, leaning in to return the affection and he kissed you back slowly, before letting you sink to the ground and step away towards Stiles’ room. He watched you go, never moving until you were giving him a final smile, and closing Stiles’ bedroom door.

Resting your back against it once you were inside, you heard his bedroom door close too, and your heart was beating so fast you could feel it all the way to your fingertips. The day had been nothing like what you’d expected, a whirlwind adventure from start to finish, but you didn’t regret a thing.

#nogit-june #nogitjune #SITS #sun in the shadows #void stiles #void stiles au #void stiles x reader #void stiles/reader #void stiles teen wolf #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien #dylan obrien teen wolf #dylan obrien void stiles #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski/reader #stiles stilinski #void month

[witch-and-a-half]

saving up

i’m back with a fic! it’s longer than i’d originally intended because i got carried away with a new idea at the end but hopefully you still like it.

notes: fred x reader, fluff, 7th year, no specific house, georgie gets a few fluffy friend bits too

words: 2.8k

- - -

[y/n] was flabbergasted, “What? You don’t want to go to Honeydukes tomorrow? They’re having a sale, Freddie.”

Her boyfriend shrugged beside her, “I don’t feel like spending a lot of money right now.”

“Why? You and George have been doing such a good job selling things around school… you don’t want to treat yourself a bit?”

Fred gave a silly grin and wiggled his eyebrows playfully, “I’m saving up.” His chest puffed proudly.

The two of them had reached [y/n]’s classroom, so Fred gave her a quick peck on the forehead. His eyes were bright as she grinned up at him. “Fred Weasley… not interested in a trip to Honeydukes… I might have to take you to see Madam Pomfrey.”

He just laughed before heading down the corridor.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] spent the day in Hogsmeade with a few friends, and Fred stayed behind to work on some products with George. When she got back to the Gryffindor Common Room that evening, the twins were sitting on the couch wrapping sweets in colorful foil.

“How was your day?” Fred asked when [y/n] sat down beside him. He set the foil aside and pulled her legs across his lap.

She pulled a cellophane bag of sweets from her knapsack and held it out for him. “It was good! Honeydukes was packed but I managed to knock a few first years out of the way so I could bring you some sweets.”

This prompted a laugh from both Fred and George, which made [y/n] beam. George shook his head and Fred thanked his girlfriend with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Looks like you’ve had a productive day.” And she gestured to the packages of products strewn across the mahogany coffee table.

“Yep, we have,” George said merrily. He was counting out coins, writing down their profit, and splitting it into two piles. Fred hummed in agreement and rubbed his hand on [y/n]’s thigh. “Here’s your bit Freddie…” George passed a handful of knuts to his brother, “... and here is mine. I’ve almost got enough for that new chess set.”

[y/n]’s hand fell atop Fred’s and she gave him an accusatory look, “See! George is going to buy himself something nice. I don’t see why you-”

Fred interrupted with a chuckle, “I told you! I’m saving!”

“You deserve to get something nice for yourself. You’ve both been working so hard.”

George was still writing something down but smiled widely at the comment. Fred just looked at her face intently.

[y/n] laughed at the faraway look in his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that! What are you saving up for anyway?”

Fred shrugged and made a gesture like he was zipping his lips closed. [y/n] was a bit frustrated, but it wasn’t her money and she knew she had no business telling him what to do with it. But she was just so proud of how successful the twins had been and knew this was the most spending money they’d ever had, so she was a bit excited to see them get to buy themselves fun little treats. And she was a bit disappointed that Fred was so reluctant to do so.

~ ~ ~

A couple of months passed and Fred was still hell-bent on frugality. At first, [y/n] had tried to ask George—who’d bought a chess set, a shiny new trunk, and a tailored tweed suit jacket to wear “someday”—why his brother was so opposed to buying something nice for himself, but George just shrugged it off, “That’s just how he is, I guess.” [y/n] made her peace with it by the time their anniversary came along though; in fact, she was the one to suggest that the couple have a nice date instead of exchanging gifts.

The weather was warmer than normal—spring was just around the corner—as [y/n] walked toward the Black Lake with Fred. Their hands were intertwined and swung slightly between them as they walked. Fred laid out a blanket on the far side of the lake, where they were least likely to be disturbed, and started unpacking the basket he’d brought. There were pretty sandwiches and pieces of fruit and a little package of miniature pies. “Oh!” [y/n] exhaled in admiration, “This is so lovely.”

Fred nudged her slightly, “The kitchen elves were very generous,”

She laughed and wondered which parts of the lunch Fred had asked the house elves for and which parts he’d snuck out of the kitchen himself. The two snacked and talked for what must’ve been hours. They talked about everything and nothing all at once. The sun was beginning to set when Fred unwrapped his arms from around [y/n], who sighed sadly at the loss of contact. She turned to see Fred pull a small box from the picnic basket.

“Oh, Freddie…” Her voice was marbled with excitement and disappointment, “We promised no gifts…”

“Don’t think of it as a gift. It’s just a…” His smile was softer than it had been earlier in the day, “... a token of my affection.”

He passed the box into her hands and [y/n] unwrapped it slowly. She shook her head as she did so, overwhelmed by the surprise. Inside the box was a beautiful silver locket with an intricate floral design. When [y/n] realized where it was from, her heart sank.

~ ~ ~

Over the past summer, Fred had come to visit [y/n] in her hometown for a few days. She took him to all of her favorite places around town. One day, they were downtown and stopped in a small vintage store. Fred wandered to the back of the store, where they kept all the old Muggle comics and other old trinkets, while [y/n] looked through the vintage dresses and skirts.

When Fred found [y/n] again, she was looking into a glass case by the register and chatting with the woman behind the counter. He stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“It’s absolutely beautiful…” [y/n] said breathily to the older woman, who wore glasses with red frames and had her hair in a playful half-up bun.

The woman smiled at her, “It’s one of our finest pieces. I can pull it out for you to have a better look?” [y/n] nodded eagerly and the woman set the display on top of the glass casing.

Fred looked down at the necklace [y/n] was studying through the glass: a silver locket. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to clasp the necklace around her neck and see her joyful reaction to wearing such a pretty little thing.

[y/n], however, was barely aware of Fred’s presence as she spoke, “It’s so lovely, but I could never justify spending that much on a necklace right now. Maybe someday though…”

The woman nodded gently as she put the necklace away, “I understand completely. Maybe someday you can come back for it.” The couple thanked the woman before heading toward the door.

[y/n] turned her attention back to Fred, who was holding the door open for her, as he spoke, “You really liked that necklace?”

She shrugged, feigning benevolence, “Oh it was pretty but I don’t think I’d ever wear something that pricey.” But she was simultaneously imagining coming back to the store in a few years—once she’d graduated and was working—to buy that necklace as a gift to her younger self.

~ ~ ~

And now, only a few months later, she was holding the necklace in her hands. Fred’s thumb was nervously rubbing circles on her thigh and he watched her examine the dainty piece of jewelry. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes and she suddenly felt so undeserving of everything she had in that moment.

“Oh, Freddie… you shouldn’t… I can’t take this.” She blinked and the first tear fell slowly down her cheek. Fred’s eyes narrowed with worry and endearment, “Of course you can. Do you not like it?”

[y/n] shook her head furiously, “Oh no, I love it. It’s perfect… but you shouldn’t have spent so much on me especially since you’ve been saving-”

Fred cut her off with a gentle chuckle, “Love, what do you think I’ve been saving up for?”

As all the pieces fell together, [y/n] squeezed her eyes shut. She needed a moment to sort out her overwhelming emotions. Her thoughts only became cloudier when she felt Fred press a kiss to her temple and take the necklace from her hand. Fred moved so he was slightly behind [y/n] and gathered her hair over her shoulder, which caused her eyes to flutter open again. His warm hands brushed her neck as he clasped the necklace. She looked back at him to see the brightest grin she’d ever seen him wear.

Fred tenderly took her hand and used his other arm to hold her to his chest. Stars were beginning to appear in the sky, their reflections shimmering on the glassy lake. Fred’s fingers were brushing mindlessly through [y/n]’s hair as they sat tangled in each other. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fred cleared his throat.

“You know how George and I talk about starting a shop in Diagon Alley?”

[y/n] shifted so she could see Fred better, “Mhm,”

His words came spilling out, tinged with worry, “We’ve been talking about… leaving school early and getting a headstart on it. Between Umbridge and exams and-”

[y/n] pressed her lips to his for a moment, overjoyed by the idea. She knew how talented the twins were when it came to these kinds of things. They loved a little spontaneity and a risk, and they always managed to pull it all off. There was absolutely no reason why this newest scheme wouldn’t be the same.

“If that’s what you want to do, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Fred looked shocked, he’d expected her to worry or even try to convince him to stay. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t go if you didn’t want me to.”

She smiled up at him. The loving look in her eyes melted his worries and filled him with relief. “I’ll miss you, obviously. But we can send letters and then once I’m done with school I can come help out if you and George’ll have me. I think you’ll do an excellent job and I’m excited for you.”

“What is a girl as wonderful as you doing with a bloke like me? Merlin, I love you so much.”

Fred’s lips were back on hers before she could return the sentiment.

~ ~ ~

They walked back up towards the castle, their path illuminated by the moon. Their hands were intertwined again, but their bodies were too close together for their hands to swing like they had when the sun was still out. [y/n]’s free hand wandered to the locket on her chest again, still in disbelief that it was truly hers now.

“I still can’t believe you spent all your savings on me…” She said quietly, half hoping that Fred wouldn’t hear her.

His hand tightened around hers, “I wanted to give you something beautiful.” Then he shrugged playfully and added, “Plus, it wasn’t all my savings.”

[y/n] was relieved, “Oh? So what are you going to do with the rest?”

Fred hummed, taking a moment to choose his next words carefully. [y/n] looked up at him to see a grin wash over his face as he spoke, “I’m saving that… for the future.”

She rolled her eyes, disappointed but not surprised by his answer. They took another few steps and [y/n]’s gaze was back on the path before Fred spoke again, his voice low, “... for our future.”

[y/n] felt a blush warm her cheeks under the cool night air. Fred looked down at her to watch a range of emotions flood her face. She looked like she was about to laugh and cry all at once.

~ ~ ~

Less than a month later, [y/n] watched Fred and George Weasley soar across the sky above Hogwarts. They were surrounded by fireworks and the sound of cheering students. When George spotted her in the crowd, he gave her a cheerful wave and called out to Fred. His eyes locked on hers, even from so far away, and he blew her an exaggerated kiss before the brothers turned to head off on their new adventure.

They hadn’t explicitly told [y/n] that they were planning to leave that day, but she’d known. She’d known because George had spent the day before studying with her in the library—even though he was subtly studying from a finance textbook that definitely wouldn’t help him on his Transfiguration exam. She’d known because both boys had given her some of their old clothes they’d found as they went through their trunks the night before, so now she had a cool pair of corduroy slacks and some soft-from-wear t-shirts to remember them by. And she’d known from the way Fred had kissed her that morning before her exam. The kiss was warm and needy and especially fiery. And, when Fred pulled away, [y/n] could see the sadness in his eyes.

[y/n] quietly watched the Weasley “W” fade from the air as the other students began to head back inside. Once there was no longer any evidence that there were ever any fireworks in the sky, [y/n]’s hand found the locket again. She was shaken from her trance when she realized she’d never opened it. Guilt washed over her as she wondered if Fred would have wanted to see her reaction to whatever was inside, and then she felt worried that maybe nothing was inside. Shakily, she pulled the necklace so she could see the dangling piece of silver and opened the locket.

Inside was a picture she’d forgotten even existed. [y/n] was standing beside Fred on the castle steps outside the Yule Ball. He had on a smart suit and her hair fell delicately on her shoulders. Fred’s arm was draped around her in the loose way it did before they started dating. She remembered that George was behind the camera, and she and Fred were laughing at something he’d said. As they laughed in the photo, Fred’s arm tightened and pulled [y/n] closer to him. She could still remember the butterflies in her stomach as he did so too. [y/n] felt tears prick her eyes as she watched the two of them in the locket. Out of all the photos and memories she and Fred had, he had chosen this one for her to wear around her neck. He’d picked a photo that was taken only a couple hours before he’d nervously admitted that he fancied her and she'd first felt his soft lips on hers.

She closed the locket gently and refused to let the tears fall from her eyes as she walked back into the castle. [y/n] traipsed through the mess in the Great Hall corridor and her eyes fell on one of the only Educational Decrees still mostly intact on the floor. Her eyes lit up as she read it, and immediately she picked it up, knowing exactly where it belonged.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] knocked on the door of the Weasley twins’ shop, a brown paper package clutched nervously in her hand and the silver locket hung dutifully around her neck. Fred opened the door and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“What’s this?” Fred gestured to the package as he led her inside. George was painting one of the shelves on the wall on the floor above them and gave [y/n] a wide grin before rushing down for his own hug.

[y/n] told Fred and George about the day they'd left. She told Fred about how she’d opened the locket just after he’d left and how touched she’d been. Then she told them about how she’d found an Educational Decree only slightly frayed by the chaos, and how she’d framed it as a good-luck gift for their shop.

The look in Fred’s eyes as she spoke was distant, he was so overjoyed to be reunited with the love of his life that he barely even registered the fact that she’d omitted which Decree she’d found.

“What’s it say?” George asked, and [y/n] handed the package to him. She looked at Fred, expecting him to watch his brother open their gift, but instead saw the soft look in his eyes, which were fixed on her. [y/n] beamed and came to stand closer to him as he turned to see George pull out the orange frame.

George’s face lit up as he read the words on the paper, “Oi, this is perfect!” Then he turned it for Fred to see. [y/n] looked up at her boyfriend and watched a cheeky smile spread across his face. He looked down at her in disbelief as George propped up the frame on the check-out counter.

Fred shook his head and kissed his girlfriend’s forehead excitedly, “What would I do without you…”

[y/n]’s hand pressed to her chest, atop her locket, as Fred leaned across her to re-examine the rule Umbridge had put into place back at Hogwarts.

“Educational Decree Number 30 - ALL WEASLEY PRODUCTS WILL BE BANNED IMMEDIATELY.”

#fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #fred and george #fred weasley one shot #george weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshot #harry potter imagine #i wrote this

[hooniee]

— ꒰‧⁺apartment 15 *ೃ༄

↷ jake x reader ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷genre: fluff | romance ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷warnings: kissing scene | mentions of a box cutter! ⋯ ♡ᵎ

♡ :: i see requests are open cutie <3 may i pls request fluffy jake helping you move into a new apartment? love you vivi !! @jakeysim

⇢˚⋆ ✎ hi ate gill!! thank you for being my first request both times, it’s a big honor to write for you BIURBEFIUERBIW🥺, i hope you like it and i love you more ate <333

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*

your arms felt strained, bearing this remarkably heavy box. last time you checked, you didn't recognize this box when you were relocating the things into the moving truck. it was signed with jake’s name in messy black marker.

jake probably threw a bunch of his things inside last minute. who knew what he would have in here? from his physics textbooks to his cap collection, anything was likely.

“do you need help bun?”

jake said from behind, carrying small boxes filled with some miscellaneous things that jake insisted were "very important". you let out a gasp of relief when he took it from your hands, wasting no time to massage your arms.

“what’s even in here? it’s so heavy babe”

jake smiles, knowing precisely what's inside but he wanted it to be a surprise. he had gathered all these items to make a perfect little box for you when you would move into your apartment together.

“it's a surprise, i'll show you later! we have to finish unloading first”

you were eager, hastily scrambling to your feet and grabbing more boxes to load into the house. it wasn't physics books. what sort of surprise would physic books be? undoubtedly jake's idea of a surprise.

the last few things were finally scattered in the place you would call the living room and the both of you had collapsed on the plastic-wrapped mattress, yet to be moved to the shared bedroom.

both of you didn't converse for a while, attempting to catch a breath from moving. you had begun loading the house at 1 pm and it was around 6 pm by the time you guys were finished. you and jake still had a bunch of belongings to organize. 

“we did it," jake says

you turn to jake, smiling and he returns the gesture, high-fiving each other in achievement.

the mattress was uncomfortable with being sweaty and there being a plastic cover on it, but you scooted closer to jake. you placed your head on his chest and his arms snakes around your waist. you both gaze at the ceiling as jake taps a rhythm on your hip.

“ah right! you wanted me to show you what was in the heavy box from earlier right?”

jake remembers your curious eyes when he told you it was a surprise. he wanted to show you as soon as possible. you nod to him, and he immediately gets up from his position. he clutches the heavy box with a grunt, making sure to grab a box cutter while he’s up.

he gently settles the box down in front of you. what you hadn't noticed was on the side of the box, there was a sticker labeled "FRAGILE”

he delicately slices off the tape that coated the whole box. what kind of box needs this much protection?

dust molecules spiral in the air causing both of you to cough. he must have had this box crammed away for a while to have it collect this much dust. he opens the box to expose the inside and you look over to it, gasping when seeing the content.

the box was packed with memories from the book you guys were assigned to do together which is how you guys met. to be honest, jake wasn't the worse person you could be paired with, within english class. he was friendly and worked hard so you wouldn't have to sustain the project by yourself.

jake had scheduled meetings at his house and you had the honor of meeting his mom and layla. you quickly fell in love with the boy who sat in the front of your english class. he asked you out after taking you on an ice cream date and your world became the most dazzling planet out there from that day on.

to the letter, you wrote to him on your third anniversary. you poured all emotions you could in the letter for him. jake deserved more and sometimes, you believed you couldn't give it to him yet he always ensured that you gave more than the world.

you provided him home; a home that he could always run back to when the world was ungracious to him, a home that was filled with love and laughter, a home that he entirely wanted, and that was something that would be more than enough for him.

you glance over and a petite black, velvet box catches your eyes. you've never seen such a box and you never gifted jake something small enough to fit in a box like that, not that you knew of.

“what is this?”

you pick up the box that was soft at your fingertips. it was small enough to fit in the palm of your hand and had a tiny engraving of 'parks,' a popular jewelry brand. did you buy jake something from 'parks' and you didn't remember? you were as forgetful as dory sometimes.

before jake abruptly grabs it from you. he stumblingly hides it behind his back and clears his throat. his face gets a rush of blood and he can feel himself become warmer than the sun.

you tilt your head, not knowing why he swiftly grabbed it. you try to move around to see what it was hiding behind his back before he does this weird motion to hide it. at this point, you resembled two idiots dancing side to side from each other.

you laugh and jake giggles, giving up at this relentless dance, and pulls it from behind his back.

“i was going to give this to you later but since you saw it, i guess i’ll give it to you now”

jake lays it in your hand and you open up the box, allowing out another gasp. inside the box laid an elegant silver, thin banned ring, with a small diamond on the top. on the side of the ring, it had a little j carved in to give a special touch to the simple ring.

you look up to him, sensing your eyes pooling tears. you take an unsteady breath in, trying to soothe the stinging of tears in your eyes.

“is this what i think it is?”

jake smiles at your reaction, the response he had hoped for. he wasn't intending on proposing so soon into moving in with each other but he forgot that he put that in the box. he originally was going to hide it but you, being a smart person, would be able to find it even if you weren't trying to.

he had a couple of choices of people to give it to so that they could store it until he was ready. his best friends;  sunghoon park, jay park, heeseung lee. he quickly realized it wouldn't be a good idea of trusting them with a ring. jay would lose it, sunghoon would unexpectedly throw it out and heeseung would probably find a way to pawn it for money.

jake looks over to you. as tears glide down your cheek, yet you’re ethereal in jake's eyes. you're still anticipating his answer and he belatedly nods before speaking.

“can i have the honor of marrying you?”

your body moved faster than your brain did. you didn’t need to think twice before launching yourself into his arms and tackling him to the bed, giggling and responding with ‘a thousand times yes.' you can feel the vibration of him laughing along with you. you rested on him until he pulls away from you and grabs the box.

he takes the ring and delicately slips it to your ring finger. it was a foreign feeling to have the cooling metal on your finger. you glance at the ring, giving him one of the biggest smile you could manage. jake admired the way it fits on your finger, it looked right.

you tenderly cup his face and graze your thumb across his cheek, noticing some tears gather in his eyes. you could feel your own eyes well up while peering into the precious eyes you fell in love with. your eyes both filled with so much love and adoration.

he quietly leans in to connect your lips together. you tense at the unexpected kiss; electric shock in the best way possible. your soft lips secure against his that tasted like cherry lip balm. you both move in sync, formulating a rhythm that was unbreakable between the two of you. he took his time to make sure that you could feel the overflowing love, translated from his lips onto yours. you felt his fingers wander onto your waist. he pulls you in closer and you comply, getting lost in the euphoric feeling

you pull away for breath and you both burst out in giggles, not being able to contain the joy that beams from the two of you and your apartment. you lean your forehead on his, nose bumping, tending for a softer kiss. your lips gingerly grazed against his lips again like a pair of butterfly wings, accompanying with feathering kisses all over his face while he giggles. the heart knows when the search is over and jake's heart knew.

apartment 15 belong to the sim’s now

#enhypen #enhypenwriters #enhypennetwork #enhypen x reader #enhypenxreader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #lee heeseung #jay park #jake sim #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #nishimura riki #ni-ki #niki #heeseung #jay #jake #sunghoon #sunoo #jungwon #enhypen headcannons #enhypen mtl #enhypen timestamps #enhypen fic #enhypen drabble #enha x reader #en-

[duskholland]

Mob!Tom is a little mad at you for something n the reader is keep on saying sorry but he's just too hurt to let this go rn. Then reader tries to kiss him but he turns away but she begs him to kiss him n in the end he gives in and kisses her really hard n he's like you do something like that ever again I'll never forgive u n they're both in tears n then they kiss each other n cuddle for hours.

cute! also sfw! contains mob themes and brief references to violence.

— it’s mob monday !! —

“Tom, I’m sorry.”

Silence.

“Tom? Tom, c’mon. Look at me.”

There’s a frown on your face, and as you reach out to rest your hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, a soft sigh slips past your lips. Tom’s blanking you - sitting on the edge of the bed, looking straight at the wall. He gives no indication that he’s listening to you - shows in no way that he feels your fingers as you press them to your shoulder. He is, simply, ignoring you.

“Seriously? The silent treatment?” 

You’re frustrated now, tetchy and curt. Pushing back the irritation that simmers in your chest, you release a breath and kneel at the bottom of the bed, shifting your hands to his knees. The material of Tom’s expensive jeans feels nice beneath your fingertips, and for a few moments, you drag your touch over his thighs. 

“Please, baby.” You look at him with as much strength as you can muster. “I’m sorry.”

It’s only when you reach up to touch his face that Tom snaps to action, one of his hands going to wrap around your wrist and keep your palm away from his cheek. His fingers are cold, but his grip is soft, and the pained sigh that slips past his lips makes your heart pang.

“Stop it,” Tom says. He looks at you, eyes cool, lips pulled into a straight line. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You grit your teeth. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a huge deal out of this,” you mutter. “I didn’t do anything that you haven’t done before.”

Tom’s eyes bulge, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Are you being serious?” He drops your hand, standing from the bed. You move out of the way, sitting up on the edge of the mattress and watching as your boyfriend paces the carpet in front of the bed. It’s late - 11pm, the outside world shrouded in darkness. Tom’s in a bright white shirt, bloodstains marring the fabric over his right arm and chest. The stains match the blood on your dress. He’s breathing heavily, running a hand through his hair, Rolex glinting.

“Tom,” you try again. “You’re blowing this out of proportion-”

“Am I?” Tom pauses, turning to face you. He pulls his arms across his chest, looking at you with such an intensity in his gaze that it makes your guilt increase by tenfold. “You- you- went straight in there and tried to take out a fucking dealer, love. You almost got yourself killed.”

You wince. The evening… Well, the evening hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Your fault? No, but neither was it Tom’s. 

You’d gone as his plus-one to a club, and things had been fine until one of Tom’s rivals had come out of nowhere and pulled a knife on him. Forgetting rule number one of dating a mobster - always wait for backup - you’d stalked right after them. You’d swung a very expensive bottle of champagne at the goon’s head, and then spent a terrifying five minutes with Tom as their backup had arrived, and he’d tried to keep you from falling victim to their attempts at retribution.

So maybe it’s fair that he’s angry, but you’d done it for him, out of love and concern. 

“I was trying to protect you,” you say. You look down at your hands and pick at the golden bangle wrapped around your wrist. “I didn’t do it to annoy you.”

Tom sucks in a deep breath, his eyes closing as his jaw twitches. He’s fuming, you can see it. See it in his clenched fists and his deep breathing and his reluctance to look you in the eye. He’s holding it back, but you can see it, burning away, bright beneath the surface. He wants to yell or storm out, but he’s staying. You take that as a sign that he’s open to you.

“Tom.” You stand up from the bed, a little wobbly on your feet as you approach him, softly. He’s still as a statue as you put both of your palms on his shoulders, but you feel him relax a little bit when you touch him. Tom opens his eyes, and you meet those beautiful golden browns, a little softer, now. “I’m sorry, alright? It won’t happen again.” A small smile finds your lips as you shift a palm up to cup his cheek, his face cool to touch but soft and familiar. 

“It can’t happen again,” he mutters, voice clipped. “You can’t be so reckless.”

“I know, I know.” You’re a little distracted by the curves of his mouth, and bite your lower lip as you look up at him, smirking softly. “Kiss and make up?”

Tom frowns, his eyebrows pulling together. “No.” 

“No?” Hurt seeps into your tone, and you step a little closer, puckering your lips. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” You have both of your hands on his face now, and slip one of them back to rest in his curls. Tom smells of faded cologne. 

“Y/N.” Tom’s tone is still tight, and he sighs again. “We’re not finished talking about this, I’m not- We’re not just going to sweep it under the rug, you almost died-”

“But I didn’t.” You lick your lips, looking at him with wide eyes. “C’mon. Kiss me.” You need it. You need the reassurance that you can get through this, that he isn’t really mad, just upset. You feel as though you’re floating in the clouds, your mind left back in the club, caught up in the exhilarated fight. “Tom, Tom, Tom-”

Taking a shot at it, you try to dive in to kiss him, but Tom side-steps, ducking away out of your grasp as he weaves around you, groaning. 

“It’s not that easy!” He says. Tom walks over to the dresser, unclasping his watch and throwing it onto the wooden desk with a clatter. He turns to look at you, fire in his eyes. “We can’t just kiss and make up, love. This is… This is more than just an argument.” Next to go are his cufflinks, shiny and bright as he presses them into the jewellery dish. “This is serious.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you reach up to massage your temples. You don’t know what else to do. It’s been an hour since you got back from the club, an hour of trying to break him down from every angle. You’re at the end of your tether. 

“Please,” you ask, voice coming out a lot weaker than you’d intended. Your tone cracks and Tom’s head snaps back up in your direction. “Kiss me.”

There’s a pause. The air between you crackles, and you find yourself rubbing at your eyes, trying to push down the nervous tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. You can’t bear to think about what you’ll do if Tom continues to be so cold and detached, feel horrible even thinking about it. Your heart shakes in your chest. 

Tom walks to you, finally, pushing your hands from your face and replacing them with his own. Two warm palms cup your cheeks, and he kisses you - hard. 

It’s deep, passionate. Salty tears mixing with your mouths, a force behind his kiss so pronounced that it pushes you back a few steps. Your top teeth knock together and you whimper, grabbing onto the back of his head and anchoring yourself in his loose chestnut curls. Your fingers shake, but he continues to keep his lips on yours, his thumbs padding over your face. 

Tom pushes his forehead to yours when he breaks the kiss, staring at you with deep, concerned eyes.

“I love you so much that it terrifies me, Y/N,” he murmurs. He’s speaking so calmly, so deeply, like his words are some kind of sanctified secret. “If anything ever happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.” 

Your nose presses to his as you nod against his head. “I’m sorry,” you say again. He’s holding your cheeks so tightly that they ache. “I didn’t want to mess things up, I panicked. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Tom hums. “I know, I know, darling.” One of his hands goes down to your waist, and he pulls you in closer, winding his touch around your back. “I know.” 

You bury your head in his neck, exhaling a deep breath as Tom strokes over your back. For a few moments he holds you, but then he walks you back towards the bed. You trust him well enough to let him manoeuvre you - even go so far as to let him gently push you down onto the bed and lie opposite you, pulling you in close. It’s a tight hug, a hug with your face pressed into his chest, his arms wrapped around you, and it’s quiet. So quiet you can feel his heartbeat against your ear. 

“Never scare me like that again,” he mumbles, spacing the words with kisses to the top of your head. “I will never forgive you if you get yourself hurt for me.” 

You peer up, tilting your head until you’re looking at him straight on. Tom’s hair lies messily across his forehead, but his eyes are cooler now, softer. They grow warmer too when you lean in and kiss him again, the touch gentler than before. 

“Okay,” you agree. “I won’t be so reckless again. Promise.” You shuffle in a little closer. “But I’m always going to fight for you, Tom. I will never, ever, sit by if you’re in danger.” When he opens his mouth to argue, you cut him off. “No, don’t you dare tell me that I’m wrong for that.” You raise a stern eyebrow. “You can’t lay there and tell me to sit by when you’re in danger because both of us know you’d set the world on fire if anything so much as grazed me.” You run your fingers through his hair. “I love you just as much as you love me, and I will never let you get hurt.”

Tom’s quiet for a moment, but then his mouth sags into a smile. He sighs, looking at you through tired, loving eyes.

“I love you,” he says, “for all your stubbornness and persistence.”

You chuckle, leaning in to kiss him gently. “You wouldn’t have it any other way,” you tease.

“No.” Tom kisses your nose, eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t.”

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x y/n #myblurbs #tomblurbs #mob!tomfic #mob!tomblurbs #tom.sfw #ethereal-beauty-p

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Imagine Coming Out to Steve as Bisexual:

A/N: Here’s (hopefully) the first installment of a sort-of series that I like to call the Imagine Pride Series. I don’t know how many I’ll get done this Pride Month since I’m starting it sort of in the middle of the month but if people end up liking it and I get enough ideas/requests for it, I’ll continue it and maybe it’ll become an annual thing until I’ve done a billion characters or get bored of it, lol. Anyway, this first one ended up being very personal for me, which I definitely didn’t intend, but... yeah, lol. Also, this series will be filled to the brim with my personal LGBTQ+ headcanons for Marvel characters, so if that’s not your thing, steer clear. Anyway, enjoy!

Word count: 2,477

Warnings: Coming out anxiety. Use of the Q-slur (reclaiming) and one F-bomb.

Masterlist

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

    You were in your bedroom getting prepared for lounge time before bed—and psyching yourself up—when you thought you heard the front door open through your apartment’s paper-thin walls. You grabbed your phone and turned down the music playing from your Bluetooth speaker; the current song was Janelle Monáe’s “I Like That”, from the Queer Confidence playlist that you’d built for this specific event. Taking a deep breath and giving yourself one more good look in the mirror attached to your closet door, eyeing the to-go bag you had packed with essentials and left ready to grab on the bed, you listened to the jingle of keys as they were dropped onto the table by the door. The sound was quickly followed by a voice.

    “[Y/N]?” Steve half-hollered, and you heard the sounds of movement as he made his way to the hall. His voice got softer as he got closer. “Baby?”

    You gave yourself a shake and patted your face with your hands before answering. “Bedroom!”

    Even though the two of you had been living together for well over a year, he still knocked and waited politely outside until you gave him explicit permission to enter. When he did, he immediately gravitated towards you. He casually looked over you, in your pajama pants and baggy cropped sweatshirt, as he strolled over, and seeing the slightest furrow of his brows made your stomach churn. Steve Rogers wasn’t too bad at reading people but he was always able to read you like a book and you immediately knew that he noticed how tense you were.

    Apparently, he also noticed that you were trying to keep your cool and act normal because he didn’t immediately jump into Worried Eyebrows Rogers. Instead, he decided to give you some time to sort yourself out and opted to simply hug you from behind. Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, his warm breath gave you goosebumps as he mumbled a soft, “Hi.”

    You almost forgot about your plan as you melted back into his arms. “Hi,” you replied just as softly as you leaned your head to rest on top of his. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and place your hands on his, slowly run your hands up and down his forearms; you tried to take everything in just in case this was the last time you would be held by him. The solidness of the chest you leaned against, the sturdiness of his footing even as you put your full weight against him because, in reality, your body weight was like carrying a loaf of bread to the super-soldier. The curve of veins and muscle across his arms, the dampness of his hair under your cheek that was probably caused by his evening run despite the rain happening at the time. The faded smell of the 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner that Steve used despite your complaining, the much warmer body heat than any normal person that was like being wrapped in a heated blanket during the wintertime but being suffocated in a sauna during the summer, that currently bled into you and wrapped you into a comforting cocoon.

    You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been standing like that in silence but it was long enough for Steve to decide that it was Worried Eyebrows time. He slowly raised his head again and when you opened your eyes again, he was watching you carefully in the mirror. He wore a dark navy T-shirt that was just tight enough to outline the muscular form underneath—with the help of Thor and Asgardian booze early on in your relationship, you’d gotten a blushing and giggly drunk Steve to admit that he purposely wore clothes like it because he enjoyed the attention, just a smidge—and a pair of black joggers that you got him for Christmas a few months ago.

    “Are you okay?” Worried Rogers finally asked when he realized you weren’t going to speak first. He kept eye contact with you via the mirror, which almost hurt to hold on your end, as he pressed a light kiss against your temple and then a second one to your cheek. “You called me home early. Said it was something that couldn’t wait?”

    And now I don’t want to say it at all, you thought as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. After hesitating for a bit longer—a few seconds or a half-hour, you couldn’t tell through your anxious haze—you sighed and said, “We need to talk.”

    “What, it’s not like you’re leaving me or something, are you?” Steve questioned. The quirk of his brows and a brief smile that appeared told you that he was joking but when you didn’t even chuckle or tease him back, that smile quickly reversed into a frown. “That’s not what’s happening here, is it?”

    “Well…” you mumbled, then trailed off. You glanced towards the bed, where your emergency-leave bag sat waiting, and when you looked back at Steve’s reflection, he was staring at the bag with worry lines etched deep into his skin. “That’s up to you.”

    “Hold on.” Steve moved from behind to stand in front of you, although it was only briefly as he took your hands tightly in his and led you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. He glanced at the bag again, the lines on his face grew deeper again, and you were suddenly reminded of his true age. He looked you in the eye again. “[Y/N], talk to me.”

    “Ours” by Taylor Swift played quietly in the background as you tried to untangle your thoughts and make your mouth work again. The song wasn’t a Pride song or by an LGBTQ+ artist but something about it just fit so well. As you tried to recall the speech you’d been practicing all day, then decided to throw it out altogether, Taylor sang, “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind / People throw rocks at things that shine / And life makes love look hard…”

    “Steve, I…” Your tongue seemed to tie itself in a knot whenever you tried to say it. 

    Steve’s worried, borderline scared, look turned soft. The gentle Worried Eyebrows were back and his thumbs caressed the backs of your hands so softly that it felt like he thought you’d shatter at any minute. He pressed another, stronger kiss against your forehead and mumbled, “You know you can tell me anything.”

    Steve was one of the kindest, most welcoming, most understanding people you’ve ever known but there was still something intimidating about telling him. Normally, you couldn’t fathom him reacting poorly to anything that you could have said but now, you couldn’t help remembering the fact that he was a masculine, old-fashioned, soldier—a soldier from the ’40s—who was still the Ideal American Man to a lot of people, especially some rather unsavory people, and to your knowledge, Steve didn’t have any other queer people in his life that were close to him. Maybe he didn’t want any. Maybe he didn’t like them, like many people who idolized him don’t like them. 

    A little spark of anger sparked in the dark void of anxiety that you were feeling. It wasn’t fair that people hated people like you simply for existing and as much as you loved Steve, if he held the same sentiments, you definitely didn’t want to be with him. The spark quickly turned into a raging fire and suddenly you were blurting out what you’d struggled to say all day, all month, ever since you’d discovered yourself.

    “Steve, I’m bi.”

    Steve stared at you for a bit, then blinked. “What?”

    You took a breath and squared your shoulders. It wasn’t any easier to say it a second time, but you managed in what you hoped was a confident voice, “I’m bisexual.”

    Steve blinked again and his head tilted slightly to the side, but otherwise didn’t move much. “Okay.”

    “O… Okay.” You echoed. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

    Slowly, a relieved smile appeared on Steve’s face and you watched as the tension in his entire posture relaxed. “Was that what you wanted to tell me? You wanted to come out as bisexual?”

    Your face grew heated still and you glanced away. You pulled your sweaty hands from Steve’s and wiped them on your pant legs as you stammered, “Y… Yeah, I mean, yes.” You picked at the fraying hem of your shirt for a few moments, then looked back at your boyfriend—to see that he was absolutely glowing. “You don’t care?”

    “No, of course not,” Steve said, only to quickly shake his head and backtrack, “I mean, of course, I do! I care because it’s you and your identity. I just— It’s just not what I was expecting at all.”

    It was your turn to stare at him. Now you just felt a little silly. “What were you expecting?”

    Steve looked past you to the bag sitting on the other side of you and his expression saddened a bit. He took your hand tightly in his own and squeezed them as he looked at you again. “What were you?”

    “Uh…” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “Well, I guess… I don’t know…”

    “[Y/N],” Steve said more sternly, “you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’m a grown man; I can handle it.”

    “A grown man who was America’s Sweetheart in the ‘40s,” you pointed out. “I had a right to be worried.”

    Steve nodded slowly. “No, of course, you did. I understand. You know I’m okay with it, though, right? I’ve made that clear, right? I’m proud of you and I’m grateful that you told me. Glad that you felt safe enough to tell me, even if you were still worried about it. You know that, right?”

    Kesha’s “Raising Hell” played in the background as you scrubbed your eyes with your sweatshirt sleeves, gave Steve a dumb-feeling nod. Of course, you knew Steve wouldn’t care.

    Steve took you in a tight hug as you tried to shake away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. He ran a hand over your hair and gently rocked the two of back and forth in true, calming, Worried Eyebrows Rogers fashion. After a bit, when he felt you finally relaxing, he murmured against your hair, “I love you, you know? All of you. Because you’re you.”

    You felt your cheeks warm again and you nodded against his chest. “I love you too.”

    The two of you continued to sit like that for a while until Steve suddenly hummed thoughtfully. He slowly released you and you let him go, he sat back on his hands and chewed the inside of his cheek. 

    You watched him curiously as he glanced around the room, thinking. “What?”

    “You know, I…” Now he trailed off, glanced at you before his gaze darted away again and he chewed his cheek again. “I… Now I know this isn’t my information to share but Buck’s always been pretty uncaring about it, I guess.”

    Your brows furrowed. “Buck? Like, Bucky-Buck? Our Bucky.”

    Steve chuckled. “Yeah, our Bucky.”

    “What about Bucky?”

    Steve hesitated again but eventually continued, “I had almost the exact same conversation with him before he left for the war.”

    Your eyes widened. “Wait— Bucky?”

    Steve nodded slowly again and his gaze finally settled on you again. “Bi too. Coincidence, huh? He was lucky, sort of. Says he always knew. Obviously not super open, given the time, but he was never ashamed of it or anything.” He paused and briefly glanced away again before continuing. “I still don’t know.”

    You blinked. “Don’t know what?”

    Steve just stared at you, cheeks tinting pink as he waited for you to put the pieces together.

    “Wait, you’re queer?”

    Steve shook his head quickly. “Or something. But I don’t like that word. Power to anyone who uses it positively but I was around when it wasn’t.”

    “Right,” you said, still dumbfounded, “Sorry. Yeah, I won’t use it for you then. Hang on; you’re not straight then?”

    Steve chewed his lip and gave you the cutest bashful smile that you’d ever seen on such a large man; you could almost see the scrawny, sickly, pre-serum Steve sitting in front of you.

    “I’m offended,” he softly quipped.

    You stared at him a bit longer. Then you burst into laughter. Steve chuckled along with you, watched you with a growing smile as you fell back onto the bed in a giggling fit. Eventually, you calmed down, wiping tears that you weren’t sure were completely from laughing and staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “My gaydar’s fucked, dude.”

    This time Steve laughed and he collapsed back onto the bed with you. Then he grabbed you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back as he rolled over with you so that you were laying on top of him.

    “Well, like I said,” he said, watching you, “I don’t know.”

    “Well, you kind of know, though,” you replied, “right?”

    Steve tilted his head a bit, then nodded. “Kind of.”

    “So… what?”

    “What?”

    You shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know. What are you into? What do you think you are? Like, I uh… I like girls. And guys. And everything in between and outside.”

    “I thought that was pansexual or something?”

    “For some people it is. For some people, bi is only girls and only guys. I tried pan, omni, a few others, but bi was what I always came back to. Bi just… fits.”

    Steve sighed and stared past you at the ceiling again. “See, I just think there’s too much information. I’m too old. Get confused easily.” 

    You snorted and snickered as he flashed a smile at you. “Some people don’t do any of it, you know. Labels and stuff, I mean. They’re just kinda like ‘I like this and all there it is to it.’ No label, just them and love. Couldn’t be me but it works for other people.”

    Steve nodded again and after a minute said, “I just like people.”

    You smiled at him. “Okay.”

    He looked at you. “I really like you.”

    The smile slowly turned into a grin. “Oh yeah?”

    Steve smiled back and held you tighter against him. “I like you a lot.”

    “Well, well, Mr. Rogers—”

    “Captain,” he grumbled under his breath, “but it’s fine.”

    “Captain Rogers,” you corrected as you slinked up to lean over him. You took his face in your hands and leaned so close that your noses bumped together. “I like you a lot too.”

    Steve leaned in the rest of the way to kiss you and you kissed him back. Despite the teasing, the kiss was soft and sweet, and when he pulled away from you, the way he looked at you full of love was just as sweet.

    “Love you,” he said.

    “I love you too.”

#imagine pride #marvel #mcu #pride month #pride #lgbt #lgbtq #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers headcanons #captain america x reader #captain america headcanons #captain america imagines #imagine pride series #bi reader #bisexual reader #bi!reader #bucky barnes #james buchanen barnes #james barnes #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #marvel headcanons #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu headcanons