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heresathreebee · 4 years

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Garrote part 9

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez x Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Word count: 3k words

Warning(s): Explicit (+18) | sibling angst, mention of past drug use, roleplay sex!, UNPROTECTED sex (wrap your willy before you get silly), clothed sex, dirty talk, oh uh minor voyeurism. Previous Masterlist Next

AN: No beta, all mistakes are my own. Why is it so goddamn difficult to apply gifs to a post. I promise I’ll sort the masterlist tonight! Also tags will be moved to the bottom under the cut. Let me know if you’d like to be added

Gif creator @padfootwantsatummyrub thank you!

Alicia agreed to meet him that same night, and he tried to be presentable, and though he couldn't hide the alcohol on his breath, he was miraculously clean. That was thanks to the girls, of course, he hadn't had a second to snort coke with all their attention and literal begging. His sister was out on a job– Healy had given them the name of the low level thug who stole Porsche. Kennedy belonged to Jason Micic's organization, but Alicia discovered the boy usually did his own jobs. Diego met her just a few miles from his place and watched her work. His presence seemed to make Jason's Right Hand man nervous.

"Look miss," he had been calling her 'lady' sarcastically before he noticed Diego lurking around in the shadows, "I hear what you're saying and I promise we're gonna fix it. By this time tomorrow, nobody's ever gonna know that kid's name."

"Good." Alicia took a drag from her cigarette and held out a hand. The man reached out to shake it, but she snatched his wrist and put the cherry out on his forearm. He screamed, lurching his arm out of her grasp and gaining a few claw marks in the process. "Make sure it never happens again, claro?"

They left him cradling his arm and stalked over to the alleyway of a greasy midnight diner. Diego held the door open for her, instructing her guard with a look to wait outside (his guard did the same). Alicia picked a booth in the back and ordered whiskey and fries– the very mention of which made Diego's stomach growl.

"What do you want, Diego?" Alicia was stoic, already a note of disappointment fell from her voice as if she expected something childish.

He took a deep breath to collect himself.

"I'm sorry, sister," he said. She raised an eyebrow, but he continued, "I've been reckless and stupid and I almost got us caught because of it. You said those fucking pigs wouldn't have had anything on us except for my gun, and I can't let that happen again. So until we cross the border… no more coke."

Alicia was, understandably, surprised. "No more coke? You think you can handle that, Diego?"

His eyes were hard as stone– determined. "For us? Yes."

His sister relaxed into the red cushions of the booth. Her eyes searched his– for mockery, for tricks, for falsehoods– until her jaw tightened and some raw expression flashed that Diego didn't know how to read.

"On our mother's grave," he vowed. The trust Alicia was giving him now could not be squandered. It filled him with determination and a desire to be redeemed in her head. On our mother's grave.

She hugged him. After sitting in perfect, tense silence while he ate all the fries and took a sip of her whiskey, as they were walking back out the door, she hugged him. He felt like a kid again. He felt like he had when their mother had passed away. Those were the only times she had hugged her brother, and it left him feeling raw and exposed like a nerve ending. His head drifted as he drove home and he swiped a tear from his cheek.

I can do this, he decided. For us.

It was nearly dawn by the time he got back to the penthouse. The cityscape was always bright at night, but there were a few precious hours in the evening and the morning when enough lights went out that made the city feel truly peaceful. Diego slipped into bed, barely managing to kick off his shoes before falling asleep watching the flurries of driven snow fly past his window.

Someone was jiggling the doorknob. Diego had just enough strength to turn his head and look at the clock to read the time was 5:40 AM. The door to his bedroom opened violently as someone fell in. He lifted his head groggily and recognized the pretty kitten heels hanging from the brown arm with a death grip on the door knob. Jazmine pulled herself up with great difficulty, swaying on her feet like a drunk and slowly maneuvering the door to close behind her. Her half lidded eyes landed on Diego and she smiled.

"Hey." She sounded hoarse and slurred. "I didn't think you'd actually be here…"

Diego groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to sit up just a bit. "You asked me to be here. What do you want?"

Something like sickness flashed over her face but only for a second. Her brow smoothed with determination and she sauntered with purpose to the side of his bed. Jazmine pulled his hair lightly and elicited a grunt from him.

"I saw Haagen last night," she sighed. "When I left, I got a cab and got drunk and… well, here I am."

Diego had a hard time focusing on her words, what with the gentle petting of his hair causing distraction, but he understood the unspoken story hidden between the lines. He rested a hand on top of her thigh and felt her twitch under his touch but not away from it.

"If you're not too tired…" Her soft hand slid down, down, down. Stroking over the side of his neck and the open collar of his shirt, caressing his chest and pressing into the plain of his stomach until it mirrored his own touch on her thigh. She even gave him a squeeze which caused him to twitch as she had. "I could use a nice massage."

Diego felt himself smirk involuntarily. She had his blood pumping now and pushing out the grogginess of a near sleepless night. He squeezed her back in answer but made no move to sit up or do anything else.

On Jazmine's part, she couldn't take her eyes off of the man. There was something about the calmness and the plain white shirt that made him seem altogether a different man. He didn't look like a drug lord right now– he looked like somebody's husband. Maybe even somebody's dad. She could put that thought to good use…

"You like roleplaying, Diego?" His eyes had drifted shut but one opened curiously. "I can start."

"Every girl likes doctor and nurse," he mumbled almost to himself.

Jazmine shook her head. "I've got something else in mind."

She stood up and tossed her shoes to the side. Only as she was taking it off did Diego notice she was wearing a t-shirt over her dress (in his defense, they were the same color). What she wore beneath was modest, something she could pass off in a church, which was a far cry from the little number she had worn to the club. Jazmine started her story by removing his belt with an agonizingly slow pace.

"You," she said, tapping the buckle, "are a 9 to 5 office jockey who loves his parents and makes a decent living wage."

"So sexy," he drawled sarcastically.

"And I–" she ripped the belt from the loops of his pants eagerly and in one motion, "– am your wife."

Diego's voice dropped. "Keep going."

"I take care of the kids and our three story suburban house." She unbuttoned his pants with one hand, struggling and constantly bumping into his junk just to drive him crazy. "And we're so busy with everything we haven't had time to ourselves since our second kid. But guess what?"

The button finally popping forced air out of Diego's lung, and he pulled his pants down himself as he became impatient. Jazmine was intent on keeping control and straddled his hips with force. His hands found their way up her skirt with ease and he fingered the strap of her panties as he waited for the other shoe to drop. "It's their first day of kindergarten."

Diego's lust addled brain took a second to catch up. It was harder to do with her warm core putting pressure on his hardening cock, but he managed, and when he did he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you saying we haven't had sex in five years?"

Jazmine hummed. She ground down on his hips, and he couldn't help but buck into her, feeling rock hard and ready. The woman slipped into her role like she was born to it, donning a face of longing with just a pouting lip.

"I've missed you so much, baby..."

God, he could not wait to get naked– this would just have to do. Diego sat up until he was chest to chest with 'his wife' and slipped his hands into his boxers to free his cock from its confines. Jazmine wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held onto him for dear life as he pushed her panties to the side and slipped a finger in.

"So wet, baby," he groaned, "estas listo?"

American girls loved hearing his Spanish and Jazmine was no different judging by the way she shuddered. He had to do everything by feeling since she refused to let go of him. She slid onto his cock like she belonged there, and although it was truthfully the first time, it felt like the first in a long time.

Jazmine gasped when he finally bottomed out. Without a condom, she could feel every single vein and ridge of his thick length wedged into her pussy, and just the slightest movement caused the greatest sensations. Diego's warm breath fanned over her chest and she wished she could reach the zipper on the back of the dress to offer her nipples to him. He was content, it seemed, to try and taste them from the outside, and she squeezed his cock as a reward.

"Oh fuck me."

It wasn't meant as a request but Diego obliged her nonetheless. He gripped the soft curves between her hips and her waist and used them to bounce her in his lap, not too fast and not too deep, limited by the position but also like he wanted to keep her close to him. His watering mouth soaked through her dress and her lacy bra and when he pulled away to attack the other it left the last cold.

The sweet burn of Diego's ministrations allowed Haagen's to wash away like footprints on a sandy beach. All that mattered now was Diego, and the unexpectedly tender way he fucked her like she really was the mother of his children. It made her ache where it shouldn't have, deep in her chest, but she didn't fight it and soon the tightening coil in her core won over her attention.

Diego moaned with his mouth still on her and Jazmine keened in response, wrapping her fingers in his hair and dragging his head up to look at her. His pupils were blown wide but the light from the window still illuminated the deep brown ring of his eyes in a way that was so hypnotic she couldn't look away.

His lip curled (of course) and the unhinged mischief of his former self shone through. "Want another..."

She couldn't tell if it was a question for her or a statement from him. He kept her bouncing on his cock as his eyes drifted down to her mouth and back up again. Every time she came down it was harder and deeper than before as she let her whole weight crash into him. "Put another baby in you, huh, muñeca? Make it three…"

That should not have been as hot as it was. Jazmine whined involuntarily and put both of her hands on his chest to push him onto his back, stalling their impeccable rhythm for a second as she basked in how deep his dick really went.

He could do it. For real– his cock was naked in her pussy and he had the length to do it better than most. Oh fuck, it's curved, she thought, wishing she was fucking him the other way around. Can't stop now. Can't wait.

Jazmine began to ride Diego and listened to all the filthy things that fell from his lips. No wonder I married you.

"Yeah, querida? You like this dick? Want me to cum inside and paint a pretty picture?"

"Yesss," she hissed. "Oh god. Fuck…"

"That's it, mama, keep fucking yourself. Don't need my help, do you? Got it all figured out. Put a baby in you and watch you grow again…"

Jazmine gasped, she was so close, hanging right on the edge. "Fuck, daddy…"

She didn't even know she'd said the magic word, but the pair came together, and hard. Diego's grip on her waist was bruising and merciless, he filled her up with all he had and then some, and just to make it extraordinary, he made her hips grind into him for good measure. Jazmine's mouth dropped low and saliva dribbled out and dripped into his shirt, her hands tearing a button off as her pussy clenched down on his pulsating cock for a true flood. She was seeing stars when the torrent of endorphins finally drew back, and she collapsed onto his chest, boneless and gasping for air.

When their breathing had finally slowed down, Jazmine moved just enough of her weight to make them both comfortable without adding distance– for her sake as much as his. There was sweat cooling in the small of her back, Diego’s chest rose and fell beneath her head, and the memory of Haagen faded away like static on a television set.

“So,” Diego hummed, “I take it that was a bit of a fantasy of yours, eh?”

Jazmine’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Three kids, a house, and a spouse?” She thought about it for a moment and shrugged, “doesn’t everyone, in their own way?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

"I will admit it was probably most definitely brought on by this," she plucked at his white shirt, smirking with pride at the missing button and pocketing it in her drenched bra. "You look like… well I don't know exactly but this shirt screams normal and I figured you couldn't possibly own something like that."

Diego hummed but offered no explanation for the unusual attire. He could probably go incognito through a crowd and never be seen with that thing. Now uncomfortable, Jazmine sat up and flung off her dress, admiring the red handprints on her sides. She lay back down into his embrace and chuckled.

"What?"

She started drawing circles on his chest with a finger. “I wasn’t sure you could get off without, you know, an audience.”

Diego shrugged his shoulders (jostling her head in the process) and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “of course I can come without an audience. It’s a preference, not a medical condition.”

“Oh right, sure. Sure.” The warm hand on her back began to slide, tracing up her sides and just short of cupping her face, she felt his fingers graze her earlobe. A groan of irritation ripped through her throat. “I guess you did get an audience after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean exactly?”

Jazmine took her sweet time answering him as she rolled up and over top of him to get to the other side of the bed and to touch the room light remote on the nightstand. Now brighter in the slick black design of Diego’s bedroom, she leaned over him on her elbow and pointed.

Directly at her fake hearing aid.

Diego stared for a moment before his cheeks puffed and he blew a raspberry trying to hold his laugh. It exploded from his chest like a bark and his entire body curled into it, which in turn warmed Jazmine to join in. For as cool and unbothered as Agent Healy portrayed himself, there was no way he could have been able to ignore the sounds on the other end of the listening device by the sheer volume of the activities on the receiver.

Ever the exhibitionist, Jazmine was not surprised to find Diego’s hand pressing into the back of her neck to draw her closer. She rolled her eyes when he leaned forward to speak directly into the microphone, “like what you heard, Healy?”

The answer came in an instant. Just as Jazmine was debating whether to settle back into the bed or to get up, Diego’s phone rang. The man was having far too much fun as he pushed her under him and reached for the nightstand even though she was closer. His knee fell between her sensitive thighs as he checked the screen. Despite everything, he still looks at her with disbelief as Healy’s contact glares back at him.

Healy’s voice sounded somehow right coming from a speaker. It matched the sometimes robotic way he delivered them lines about his purpose or his plan. “Yes, Mr. Jimenez, I am always on the edge of my seat when you make a pass at my informant.”

The expression only flashes for a second across his face, but for a moment Diego looked as uncomfortable as Jazmine felt. It was strange, knowing the name and the face of the person who was surveilling you. Knowing they hear everything all of the time and forgetting, only to remember and wonder if you’ve done something to warrant the shame and embarrassment that floods through you upon recollection. Jazmine was more often than not completely unaware of the thing until it beeped its death notes. She would have to remember to set a schedule for charging it every night, as Healy had suggested before.

“It’s fascinating the things people get up to when they think they’re alone,” Healy continued, “but if it is any consolation to you, Miss. Mann, I am accustomed to turning a blind eye– or ear, I suppose– to your nonessential activities.”

Well at least that was something. Diego hung up (or Healy did, she wasn’t paying attention), then turned to look her in the eye with a mischievous glint.

“What?”

“Jazz Mann.”

“Shut the– I’m going to fucking strangle you.”

~~~~~

Alrighty, I think this was pretty successful! But know that it’s all downhill from here (OK, mostly downhill from here).

@1zashreena1 @kid-from-new-zealand @nicke0115 @girlpornparadise @mental-bycatch

#Diego Jimenez #Diego Jimenez imagine #Starz Power #Diego Jimenez x OC #three bees writing #🐝🐝🐝✒#Garrote

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simple-heroics · 4 years

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Snowy Nights in Tokyo

Part 1 of the “Let Me Take Care of You” mini-series Fuyumi Todoroki X fem!Reader (alternating between she/her and they/them pronouns) Word count: 11,919 someone stop me

Not to get too gay on main but @floof-reppu opened my eyes with their Fuyumi fic. Which inspired some assertive!Fuyumi. Everyone say thank you to her for helping me the NSFW scene. It’s my first one and tbh I still have a lot to learn in writing smut but here it is.

Me being me, I’ve also gone overboard and now have to make a mini-series for Fuyumi. I don’t even care that I won’t get a lot of notes for this. It just...feels like I need to write it, you know?

Anyway, this is dedicated to all the eldest daughters in the world who have had to take care of everybody but themselves.

Content warning: Hyper vigilance, alcohol, references to drunk adults, references to high stress work environments, mild Quirk play (not previously negotiated), brief orgasm denial, possible naked book clubs, and VERY consensual sex between two sober adults. Emotional, intense topics brought up before, during, and after sex. It gets heavy, y’all. And a little awkward because surprise, surprise. Sex with a virtual stranger isn’t always all that sexy.

“To y/l/n - for kicking ass and finally taking a night off!” Your friend toasts you. Similar cheers echo her as shot glasses clink together.

Rolling your eyes, you throw your head back and take your shot. You are well-acquainted with burns but the shochu is an unfamiliar one in the back of your throat, making you cough. Your old schoolmates laugh, jokingly asking you when you last actually drank. A second later, you remember to laugh with them. The sound scratches itself out of your throat, hoarse from the recent burn of liquor.

It feels...off.

Even if you weren’t on shift, even if you were having fun with friends and tossing back a couple of well-deserved drinks, you couldn’t help being hyper aware of everyone in the room: The group of salary men, somber when they first arrived, now laughing hysterically. Some girls’ night out, tipsy women giggling over cocktails. Random tourists in the back going nuts over sake bombs. You watch it all on the mirrored wall behind your friends.

Eventually, your eyes wander to your unsmiling reflection next to your friends and realize… You look older than them. Your friends glow with this vibrancy, this carelessness, that made them feel younger to you. You listen to them talk - about classes, about apartment hunting in Tokyo and midnight convenience store runs, about dating. A whole different life than the one you live now. You’re the same age as them, have known some since high school, but you somehow feel ten years older. A part of you always feared your friend group growing apart as you all got older. But you never expected you would be the one to age so quickly ahead of them. There is too much weighing on your mind, too much you’d seen.

You close your eyes and the images are vivid on the back of your eyelids. The memories sweep over you, drowning out the surrounding laughter and clinking drinks. Phantosmia clogs your senses like smoke. The taste of ash soots the back of your tongue.

“Seriously, though. It’s been forever!” one of them exclaims.

You jerk back to the present, blinking.

“Does your new boss own you or something?”

You stiffen.

Another friend nudges her, shooting her a reproachful look.

“I actually don’t see him that often,” you say, tone sharp. You don’t want to kill the mood, not when it’s been so long since you’d seen any of them, so you try to lighten it. “He’s busier than I am.”

There are few people you respect as much as your boss. It’s a privilege to work under someone with so much experience and skill. You worked your ass off for years before you became qualified to even apply, and that was only the beginning. If you couldn’t keep up with the team, you weren’t needed. Too many lives at stake. The only person held to higher standards were the ones your boss set for himself.

“Right, right,” says the friend who made the sarcastic joke. “And we’re grateful to him, really. But...”

“But we really do miss seeing you, y/l/n,” another chimes in, sincere.

Your best friend intervenes. “Besides, he’s not all bad if he let you and that cute coworker of yours off for the night. Speaking of…”

Knowing what they’re getting at, you check your phone. “She says she got caught up in...something.”

“Really? Even the salary men over there are taking a break.”

Your table looks over to see the middle-aged men, completely sloshed, start their own improv karaoke. Your friends immediately crack up and imitate the off-key singing.

While you laugh with them, a part of you itches. You think of your coworker and the ongoing case. It feels strange, almost wrong, to be joking with your old schoolmates and making fun of drunk salary men while they were risking their lives.

Maybe you are becoming something of a workaholic, you privately admit. But it’s good work, important work. You help so many people everyday. You love your job.

But what’s the point of if you don’t have someone of your own to protect? a voice whispers, the same quiet voice that speaks up when you leave the bunks for your own lonely apartment.

Now’s a good time for another drink.

Ignoring the teasing requests for another round from your friends (“C’mon, y/n, we know you’re getting paid more~!”), you slide through the small crowds until you find an open space at the bar. The bartender’s swamped with orders piling in from a sprawl of college boys. Some sports team, you think as you subconsciously size them up, too rowdy to be an academic club. Harmless but stupid.

Still, you watch them from the corner of your eye.

“Could I get the matcha highball, please?”

Her voice should have been too soft to hear in the loud bar but somehow it rings out clear as a bell. Everything slows down. Your eyes widen, snapping to look at her.

At about average height, she stands out among the bar patrons in her modest white blazer and high-waisted jeans. Her soft-looking hair is white like the snow outside, vermillion streaks ribboned throughout the light strands. She shifts from foot to foot, full hips swaying with the motion.

You stare.

“Oops~”

You snatch the college boy’s wrist before he could “spill” his drink after he purposely bumbled over. The boy (really, he could only be a year or two younger than you) jolts, gawking at you.

With a stony expression, you look him dead in the eye. “Careful.”

“Oh!” The woman startles at the sudden commotion. She turns and you still.

Her face is cuter than you’d imagined it: a pert nose, soft jawline, and pretty pink lips that look like they’re made for things like smiling and laughter and other nice, soft things. Large, bright eyes like a winter sky framed by glossy eyelashes blink at you behind glasses.

The entire world around you just...freezes. The only conscious thought you can think is her, her, her, her. The inner mantra matches the tempo of your heartbeat.

“Uuh...hey?” the college boy speaks up. You realize that you haven’t let go of his wrist - oblivious to his attempts at pulling away from her vice grip. And that you’ve forgotten to breathe.

Feeling your face turn warmer than usual, you swiftly look away from her. It’s pure autopilot that allows you to say, “Be a little more careful. We don’t want any ‘accidents’.”

Driving your point home, you squeeze just a little - a silent show of your strength - before abruptly letting go. He stumbles back slightly, nearly bumping into another person, and stutters, “Y-yeah, whatever. Sorry.”

Partially to avoid contact with pretty turquoise eyes and also to drive the intimidation home, you stare after him stoically until he disappears.

“Thank you.”

You take an extra second to breathe, willing the concerning heat in your face - and the rest of your body - to lower before you face her.

Then she smiles at you.

The heat returns tenfold. Damn.

Light-headed, you quickly realize she isn’t merely cute. This stranger was so stunning that she knocked the air out of your lungs with just a look.

“No problem,” you croak.

The bartender saves your life. “Matcha highball!”

You have exactly 5 seconds to breathe and get your shit together while she gets her drink. You flounder for something, anything, to say. You could bench press the bar counter itself but you can’t talk to a random (beautiful, alluring, breath-taking) woman at said bar counter. But would that be weird? Would that make you no better than the creep deliberately spilling drinks on people?

Drink in hand, she turns back around and smiles again. It’s just as debilitating the second time around. Your knees weaken. “Thanks again.”

“You come here often?” you blurt out. And promptly wanted to blast yourself.

You expect her to lift a dainty eyebrow and walk away, pretending your existence never happened, but instead she honestly answers your terrible cliche. “No, not really. I’m...usually at home around this time. But some work friends told me I couldn’t skip out on happy hour again.”

Given her the simple sincerity of her answer and the way she completely missed the near “spill”, you deduce that she doesn’t come to bars often or at least doesn’t have much experience with the nightlife. You almost want to ask what a (beautiful, damn near ethereal) girl like her is doing in a place like this but thankfully quash the impulse.

“Me, too,” you say quickly, straight-faced. “Except they’re not so much work friends. More like actual friends. Not that friends from work can’t be actual friends but they’re my friends outside of work. Except I haven’t seen them in a while. Because I work. A lot. Not that I’m a workaholic or anything. It’s just an intense job. But I’m not intense. Well, kinda. Some people say I can be. Only because it’s important - the job, not me. Um. Not in like a self-deprecating way but like in a self-important way - which I’m not. Or I try not to be. I just care about people which is kinda a requirement for my job. Mostly. Or at least it should be. Some people, you know? And I’ll just stop talking now.”

It’s a wonder steam doesn’t hiss out of your ears with how hot your still stoic face is. You almost wish a villain would tear through the bar and knock you against the wall right. Now. Damn it, y/n.

Yet miracle of miracles, her polite smile slowly widens into an amused one - and one of those genuinely nice ones, without so much as a trace of mockery. “It’s like that with my job, too.”

How is she still here after that? And was she really...making conversation?

You swallow and try not to seem overeager when you ask, “What do you do?”

Her face lights up. “I’m a teacher.”

You can’t help the rare, almost timid smile that wobbles onto your lips. A teacher. Of course the angelic-looking woman is also a sweetheart with a sweet job. God, that sounds so precious. “Yeah? What grade?”

“Third.” Thinking about her class, her smile broadens. Your first impression was dead on: her face was made for smiles.

“Third grade…” you repeat. Not just a teacher, an elementary school teacher. No wonder she seems so - wholesome? Patient? Kind? You damn near melt at the mental image of her working with little kids.

She tilts her head, bangs moving with the cute motion. You try not to get distracted. “What about you?”

“I - “ You hesitate. It always feels weird when you tell people your vocation, almost like you were bragging. Besides that, another part of you - the increasingly paranoid, always on guard part - is cautious. “I’m a civil servant. Public safety.”

She makes a small noise of interest. “That does sound intense.”

“It has its days. But your job is probably a lot harder.”

Something in her eyes flashes. “You think so?”

“Mm.” You nod. “Teachers have to take on a lot, right? You’re not just teaching kids - as if that’s not a big enough responsibility, teaching the next generation. You’re also their counselors, social workers, referees, lawyers, motivational coaches. Sometimes even surrogate parents.”

Her expression softens into something more thoughtful. “Yeah… Yeah, sometimes.”

Whereas before you were hyper aware of everything, now your entire attention is narrowed in on her. It’s the first time in a long time you weren’t subconsciously counting every head in the room or checking for emergency exits. And she’s quiet, considering you. The two of you spend an unusually long time analyzing each other.

She licks her lips. You try to keep eye contact but can’t help yourself, gaze flickering at the deft movement.

“My name’s Todoroki. Todoroki Fuyumi.”

You briefly linger on her familiar but common family name before zeroing in on her given name, Fuyumi. Fuyumi. As in winter beauty. You inwardly applaud whoever chose her name; they had the right idea.

You bow politely. “Nice to meet you, Todoroki-sensei.”

She laughs a little, cheeks flushing pretty and pink. Her returning bow is shorter, a little awkward with a drink in her hand. “Please, you don’t have to call me sensei. I’m off the clock.”

“What should I call you then?”

“How about…” She seems to internally debate this. “Fuyumi? We’re about the same age and besides, hardly anybody calls me Todoroki outside of work.”

“Fuyumi-san…” Your lips naturally curl upward while saying her name.

Her eyes flicker away and back, catching your own. “And yours…?”

“Y/l/n y/n. But y/n is fine,” you say, an almost lie. No one but your closest and dearest call you by your given name. But you can make an exception for this stranger at the bar, for Fuyumi. A small, greedy part of you simply wants to hear your given name in her voice, see how those pretty lips move around it. And besides...

Something tells you it won’t be long before you can count her in the small, tight-knit circle anyway.

“Nice to meet you as well. Please take care of me.”

“Of course.” You pause, realizing what you just said. “Uh…

Her rosy cheeks brighten but she’s still smiling, still looking at you with those bright eyes. “Can I get you a drink, y/n-san?”

Yeah, your name definitely sounds good - really good - coming from her. Almost as good as her own name feels on your tongue.

“I’d love that, Fuyumi-san.”

Another kneecap-shattering smile is sent your way.

Cool it down, y/n. Cool it. Down. You tug on your collar to alleviate the growing heat under it.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

Despite their earlier hassling over you not spending enough with them, your friends are more than okay with you (temporarily, you insisted, lying to them and yourself) ditching them to talk to someone new. They seem almost more excited than you are -- “almost” being the operative word. You feel like you’d been hit by someone’s electric Quirk, and the feeling persists the longer you talk to Fuyumi.

You find a little two-seat table near one of the windows of the bar. It offers you both an open view of Tokyo, bright and alive in the dark winter night, where flurries of snow roll through the neon-lit streets. A nice sight, you’re sure, but you’re all but ignorant to it in front of Fuyumi who sits across from you. White blazer draped over the back of her chair, she wears a form-fitting black turtleneck. A simple gold band glints on her wrist as she fiddles with her glass, tracing the rim with an elegant finger. You notice that despite having gotten her drink sooner, the ice cubes remain perfectly intact while your own drink is now a watered down version of your original order.

Not that either of you are really drinking, consumed in conversation - in learning each other.

You learn that Fuyumi is 22 years old. Less than a year ago, she completed her bachelor’s in elementary education at Showa Women’s University. This is her first year teaching, and she loves it. She adores her class. You listen attentively as she talks with her hands and a brilliant smile, describing one shy student’s increasing confidence and another’s improved reading score. You learn that your earlier deduction was correct: she isn’t much of a nightlife person, preferring smaller get-togethers and home-cooked meals. You learn that she loves the weather outside, attention sometimes drifting to the falling snow outside. You learn that she loves to read but is weak to the same soap operas you are. You learn that she’s kind and smart and passionate.

And that if you look directly at her for too long, you forget how to breathe.

Your conversation delves deeper. You both talk about your work, how a passion for helping people brought you to your chosen professions and how it's that very passion that sustains you through the hard parts. You talk about the constant paperwork, tracking every incident and expense and flickering concern, in order to protect the people you look after and yourselves. Fuyumi quietly expresses her frustrations with the Ministry of Education, the intense focus on academics and Quirk development, and how she can already see the pressure on her young (too young) students. Expression grave, you tell her about the moral concerns in your job, how people - people who have it hard, people who are just having a bad day - are practically dehumanized for their mistakes and how your colleagues treat even milder, non-violent cases like they’re scum of the earth.

You and Fuyumi both lament over the bureaucracies that get in the way of actually doing your jobs. You talk about what it’s like to be in that weird “in-between” age, feeling too old around people your own age who don’t have the responsibilities which your jobs demand yet so young - naive - next to most of your colleagues. Compassion fatigue is common in both your fields, you find. It’s just as fulfilling as it is utterly exhausting, taking care of people. You talk about how tiring it is to work for the public, how underappreciated you sometimes feel, how helpless some cases are.

“And then after all that, coming home at the end of the day can just be so…” Fuyumi cuts herself off, covering her mouth.

“Draining,” you finish, solemn.

She slowly lowers her hand, turquoise eyes wide and serious behind her glasses. “...yeah.”

You tap the edge of your cocktail glass, contemplative. You hesitate before saying, “Sometimes it’s hard seeing people I really care about…after taking care of people all day. I know my loved ones need me, too, and I want to be there for them. But sometimes it’s too much on top of everything else. Somedays...I feel too tired to care and caring’s the whole reason I even got into this job.”

You didn’t realize how true this was until you said it. It’s an ugly truth, hideous as it lingers in the air, but the truth nonetheless. You wonder if this is the real reason you don’t go out with your friends anymore, why you rarely saw your family as of late.

You also wonder about the intent look Fuyumi wore. Intelligent blue eyes meet yours behind rectangular frames and you can’t bring yourself to look away. You don’t know how long you two stared at each other, only that you’d stopped breathing entirely.

Pop!

“Aaaayyy!”

You shoot up and whip around, physically blocking Fuyumi - an automatic shield. Your hand goes to your waist and of course - of course you aren’t wearing your tactical belt. You’re off duty.

You start to activate your Quirk, let it hum unseen but ready under your hot skin. Off duty but still - .

But still, it was just the crazy salary men anyway. All drunk off their asses. One of them bought champagne, hence the pop. The man must be in his forties yet there he is, drinking straight from the bottle. The college athletes nearby start to chant and soon the rest of the bar is joining in. Somewhere, you hear your friends (the hooligans) cheering among them.

A gentle hand touches your arm, cool fingertips pressing against your wrist. Her touch sends off an immediate spark at first contact.

Electric Quirk?

Turning around, Fuyumi’s face is gentle but her eyes burn with an unexplained fervency. It kindles something in your stomach, makes you swallow.

“Let’s go outside for a bit. Get you some fresh air.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

With the din of the bar behind you, you exhale and watch your breath condensate in the cold night air. It’s quieter here. Only a few other bar patrons mill about, one smoking several feet away and others waiting for a rideshare. The warmth from nearly activating your Quirk slowly seeps out enough to bring you back to a safer, more civilian-appropriate temperature but it’s still enough to keep you warm in your simple leather jacket.

You glance at Fuyumi. The falling snowflakes surround her like a vision, bright against the dark of turtleneck but blending in with her hair. “Aren’t you cold?”

She smiles, pushing her glasses up. “I’m fine.”

“Quirk thing?” you guess wryly, curious but also avoiding directly asking about her Quirk. It’s fine as a kid but as people get older, outright asking people about their Quirks is something of a social taboo. It would be more polite to ask what her bank statement said.

“Something like that. What about you? Are you cold or is it a ‘Quirk thing’?” When she speaks, you notice that her breath doesn’t come out in a misty cloud. Trained to automatically identify hints of what a person’s Quirk could be, you pick this out. Ice Quirk then, maybe snow? It suits the winter beauty.

The corner of your mouth twitches. You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and lean against the building behind you. “Something like that.”

You both stand in companionable silence. It’s easier to breathe outside with the city lights to distract you, though you sneak occasional glances at the way the blue and red neon lights reflect off Fuyumi’s snowy hair. The red streaks glow burgundy under the lighting.

“About what you said earlier…”

You say nothing now, simply pressing your lips together and staring obstinately at a distant flashing billboard: First a soda commercial, then some car insurance ad. You glance away when you see an ad for Burning Coffee and the familiar face with it.

“I get it.”

Schooling your expression into a neutral one, you look at her from the corner of your eyes.

Fuyumi tucks a stark white strand behind her ear. You try not to get distracted by the way she bites her lip. “Even before I started this job, I…I have two younger brothers. I love them a lot but it's - I…. I’ve had to take care of them for a long time now.”

You mull over this for a moment. “Because someone had to, huh?”

“Someone has to.”

You nod slowly. “Caring for other people is why humans are here but it’s hard. There are limits.”

“Yeah, there are...” That intense light in her eyes appears again. “But someone has to care, even when it’s hard. Someone has to bring people together.”

What about your parents? You want to ask, want to know who left her alone with such a heavy responsibility when she was so young. Something dark simmers in your stomach at the thought of a small Fuyumi burdened with the care of two little brothers while a child herself. But you bite your tongue.

Instead: “Who takes care of you?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Who takes care of Todoroki Fuyumi?”

“Who… I - “ Her face is pink from the cold, you vaguely notice. Which is odd, if your hunch about her Quirk is right. “I... My brother does. The older one, Natsuo. He…”

You realize too late that you’re raising your eyebrows, high and skeptical in your otherwise neutral countenance.

“People care,” she finishes lamely. At your unimpressed stare, she turns her head away. The gesture is as bashful as it is stubborn.

“...there’s a difference between caring for someone and taking care of them,” you say softly.

Lifting her face, Fuyumi meets your gaze. You step closer without breaking eye contact. Her lips part, and you’re undeniably staring now - more than staring. You’re leaning closer, into her space, and she tilts her head back.

“Te ni shitai hikari ga aru kiiiimiii wa ima yorube mo naku hitori de kiro niiii tatsu~”

You both jerk away.

“Sorry,” Fuyumi mutters, covering her mouth. You catch a pink flush before she turns her head away.

Clearing your throat, you fumble for your cell. “No, my bad. Uuuh, hold on. Lemme just turn it off.”

Even saying that, you habitually check the caller ID and immediately turn serious. You look at her apologetically. “It’s work.”

Still pink-faced and cute, Fuyumi waves a hand. “It’s fine!”

“One sec…” Praying it’s not an emergency but prepared nonetheless, you answer brusquely, “Talk to me.”

“Woah, there, y/l/n. No need to sound so serious. You’re off the clock, remember?”

“Are you?” you retort.

“Yeah, just got off and on my way. Your friends still there or you guys get bored waiting for me? ‘Cause I also know this one place in Shinjuku with some cute girls who maaay bat for our team if yanno what I - “

You nearly choke on your own spit. “Uuh, no. No, that’s not necessary.”

“Y/l/n, you need to get laid. Like, I’m pretty sure boss man gets more than you and - “

“Hey!” You cover the receiver, as though fearful Fuyumi would hear about your sad (lack of a) sex life. Also you never want to hear anyone talk about your boss like that. It’s worse than if someone were to bring up your father in that way. You shudder at the thought. “I do not want to think about that. Do not put those images in my head!”

Your coworker cackles. “Then get out and get some! Pretty sure with the overtime you pull, you got some cobwebs down there.”

“I will report you to HR,” you warn, too low for Fuyumi to hear.

“See? This is why he hired you. He needed a bigger wet blanket than him in the office to make him look chill in comparison.”

Ha. Your boss. Chill. Even you can privately admit that’s a good one.

“Then he owes me a raise,” you grumble. After some thought, you also add, “...besides, Shinjuku isn’t necessary.”

“Wait. You met somebody?!”

Hyper aware of a pair of pretty blues on you, you choose your words carefully. “We just received word from Team Lambda that things were...unexpectedly successful.”

“SHIT IS SHE WITH YOU NOW! Why are you still talking to me?!”

“Do you still require back up at the agreed location?”

“Pffft. Y/l/n, you dork. Nah, I’m good. I’ll swing by for a drink and say hi to your cute friend but you do who you gotta do.”

You clear your throat. “I’ll do my best.”

“Damn right you will. With how diligent you are, you’re bound to be a good lay.”

“I do have HR’s number saved on my phone,” you deadpan.

“Of course you do, you stick-in-the-mud. Now get off the phone and talk to your girl!”

Even when she abruptly hangs up on you, you can’t help the sudden grin while you silence your cell. Your girl.

That has a nice ring to it.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself.

“Is everything okay?” Fuyumi asks, tipping her head. She looks at you with such concern your heart flutters. “You sounded real serious.”

Your voice comes out half-strangled and high-pitched. “Fine. Ahem. Everything’s fine. My coworker was just checking in. We were supposed to meet up and, uh…”

“Oh.” Fuyumi lowers her eyes. She adjusts her purse over a dainty shoulder. “My coworkers are probably waiting for me, too. We should…”

No!

“Something came up,” you say quickly.

She pauses mid-step.

“Do you want another drink?”

“I think I’ve had enough to drink,” she admits.

“Oh…” You visibly deflate despite your attempts at keeping up a nonchalant demeanor. “I...I understand.”

“...didn’t you come here with your friends?”

“I met someone,” you say bluntly. You pin her with a look, one that sears through Fuyumi and says ‘you’. “They’ll understand.”

That pretty blush returns tenfold, rising in her cheeks and spreading all the way down her neck. You want nothing more than to discover where else it goes. “Oh.”

You tuck your hands in your pocket to hide how they shake, try to relax your body but even you can feel the intensity in your own gaze. “And your coworkers?”

“They’ll understand, too…” She fiddles with her purse’s strap, shifts her weight from foot to foot. Again, her hips sway with the motion and you start to wonder if there’s anything Fuyumi could do that wouldn’t attract you. “But I still think I’m ready to leave this bar.”

“Just this bar?” You peer at her from under your eyelashes.

If just looking at her wrecks your breathing, the way she bites her bottom lip will be your absolute end. “Just this bar,” she confirms quietly.

“Hm.” You step forward, edging closer but just shy of her personal space - maintaining a respectful distance but near enough to feel the energy passing between you two, the intense and immediate chemistry. It’s strange and unfamiliar and gravitational.

Fuyumi stands completely still but she’s tighter, tenser, with a white-knuckled grip on her bag and fair skin brightening to new shades of red. There’s a light in her eyes that keeps drawing you in, like a moth to a blue flame. They dart heatedly between your own darkening gaze and your mouth.

“Do you have plans for the rest of your night, Fuyumi-san?” Maybe at least a dinner, you hope, somewhere warm and cozy and private. Something you think she would like.

She shakes her head, blushing yet unhesitant.

You swear you can feel your own heartbeat in your throat. “Any younger brothers to take care of tonight?”

After some deliberation, she says, “They’re 19 and 15. I think they’ll survive one night without me.”

“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly.

“Yeah,” she says, just as quiet, and she just...looks at you. Really looks at you.

Then she steps closer and suddenly she’s right in front of you. A cloud of vanilla-and-jasmine fragrance surrounds you. You do nothing, say nothing, simply let her come to you. You watch her with a deliberately calm mien. Fuyumi lifts up a delicate hand and brushes through your hair. A whirl of snowflakes scatters around you.

She sees you shiver and whispers, “You’re going to catch a cold out here.”

Her hand lingers in your hair. The touch is light but it’s like being connected to a live wire. A second more passes. Then her hand flutters back to her side.

“Then I guess we should find some place warmer.”

“Y/n-san…”

“Let me…” Let me call you a rideshare. Let me walk you home. Let me take you home. Please. Just let me stay with you a little longer. You swallow all those other words, better words, and come out with, “Let me take care of you.”

Those impossible blue eyes widen. “What?”

Face much warmer than you’re used to off-duty and braver in ways you’ve never had to be before, you ask her softly, near pleading, “Can I take care of you tonight, Fuyumi-san?”

Fuyumi’s lips part. Then slowly, shyly, they curl into that heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “Okay.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

You nearly trip over a chair on your way over to your friends’ table.

“Aaww, did you strike out?” your best friend teases you.

You let out a shaky laugh, pushing your hair back. “Actually, I came to say bye real quick.”

This earns you a chorus of jeers and whistles around the table.

“That’s my teammate!” a familiar voice crows behind you. You catch tendrils of green flames from the corner of your eye before you see her.

“Kamiji!”

Kamiji moves easily between the tables, as graceful as a cat and grinning like one, too. “What are you still doing here?” she teases while pulling you into a side hug. “Didn’t I tell you to clean out some cobwebs?”

You add a little heat to your embrace - enough that would have made anyone else flinch away but with Kamiji, with anyone in the Flaming Sidekicks, it’s more like a playful punch. “I’m calling HR on Monday.”

“They’ll be the only ones you’ll be calling if you don’t catch up with your girl,” Kamiji retorts, nudging you away with a discreet flicker of flame at the tip of her finger.

Your girl.

“Look at that grin! Just an hour ago, she was moping over her shots,” a friend teases.

“I can count all the times she’s smiled at work on one hand and still have fingers left over,” Kamiji says, joining the min roast session. Her eyes gleam. “Introduce me to her later, yeah?”

“We’ll see,” you say non-committedly.

“Pfff - get outta here. Some people need a drink.”

“I gotcha,” your best friend volunteers. You notice them already making eyes at Kamiji and silently congratulate yourself on introducing them.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you say with a quick wave.

“How much later?” a friend snarks.

“Have fun!” another offers, waggling their eyebrows.

“Be safe,” one teases, a joke coming from a civilian.

“For real,” Kamiji adds. From her, regardless of her playful demeanor, it’s definitely not a joke. “Call me tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Whenever you wake up.”

“Sure.”

It’s a good night, you think as you wander back to the entrance to meet Fuyumi. You have a feeling it’s about to get better.

So caught up in her, you miss your best friend and Kamiji lingering on their way to the bar. Both are curious to see who could possibly catch their overly serious workaholic of a friend’s attention. They exchange sneaky grins, instant co-conspirators, as they shadow you.

“Y/l/n’s usually the first to pick up when we’re being watched on stakeouts,” Kamiji confides in your friend. “Either she’s had too much to drink or this girl is something.”

They snort. “A couple of us literally walked by their table five times and she didn’t so much as glance our way. You literally came by the one time this entire evening where she’s taken her eyes off her.”

Kamiji’s sharp canines glint in her grin. “Oh, really~?”

She peers over at the door to take a look at your mystery girl and...stops. Her grin drops like a stone.

“Oh, shit.”

Your friend quirks a brow. “What?”

“Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” Kamii mutters. “Y/L/N! HEY, Y/L/N!”

The bar’s noise drowns her out.

“Fuck.” Kamiji whips out her cell and dials your number. When she goes straight to voicemail, she tries again. And again. She sends you a barrage of texts.

“What’s wrong?” your friend asks. “Do you know her?”

There’s no humor in Kamiji’s caustic laugh. “Pretty much everybody at the agency knows her - except our newbie apparently.”

“At the agency? Is she a villain?”

“Worse.”

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

On the way to your apartment, you check and double check if this is what Fuyumi wants. She laughs a little as she reassures you. You insist that she texts someone, anyone, and give her your address ahead of time. You even ask her to sing the English alphabet backwards to make sure it’s not alcohol’s decision rather than her own certain and sober one. Between your protectiveness against...well, in this case, yourself and her laughter, you two trade giddy glances and secret smiles throughout the entire drive.

You’ve never seen anyone who looks so...pretty in the city lights. You’d long lost any awe over Tokyo’s shining lights but find yourself gaining a new appreciation for them. They look good on her, reflecting off her hair and fair skin and glasses. It’s like Fuyumi is made of light and glass and something so bright that comes from within you can’t even fully fathom it.

And holy hell, she agreed to come to your apartment. Is this actually happening?

Your fingers tap a nervous rhythm in the middle seat. Suddenly, a cold hand slips over them - halting them. You jump, glancing over. She smiles and squeezes your hand, reassuring you even with that blush and her own fidgeting.

You’re the one who's supposed to be taken care of right now, you think.

But now you’re so focused on leveling your breathing you can’t risk looking at her. You do, however, lace your fingers through hers.

And it just fits.

When you arrive at your place and slide out of the car, you’re the one to reattach your hands while you jostle for key with your other hand. You’re suddenly entirely too grateful to have a first floor apartment.

Reality socks you in the stomach when you’re inside. With Fuyumi.

It’s strange...seeing her in your apartment. You can’t remember the last time you had anyone else in your home, hardly in it yourself between patrols and paperwork and stakeouts. But having Fuyumi here? With you? Barely visible in the dim light of your entryway, hair bright like a halo and face barely visible?

It’s like a dream.

But it’s not. Your heart wouldn’t be hammering like this if this were a dream.

Fuyumi still hasn’t let go of your hand. If anything, the situation seems to dawn on her, too, going by how she clutches it. You both stand together in the dimly lit genkan, quiet, a little awkward. But the small space between you is purely electric.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Fuyumi admits quietly.

“Me, neither…”

“Work?” she guesses.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “You?”

“School. Then work.”

You force a smile through your nerves. “And taking care of other people?”

Her words are hushed. “Yeah… That, too.”

“Guess we both missed out on the crazy party phase other people our age got,” you say dryly.

That earns you a soft laugh. “I guess so. Never looked all that great anyway.”

You snort. “Yeah, I’m not too upset that I missed out on all my friends’ college hangovers. But when was the last time you got to just...let go? Not care what anyone thinks or says?”

You yourself could at least count some fond high school memories.

Fuyumi, however…

She says nothing, bangs covering her eyes.

Tonight, you decide. Tonight is her night.

And suddenly, something clicks into place. You’re not nervous anymore.

“In that case...” Hands still connected, you step out of the genkan. “I think it’s about time someone took care of you.”

Her eyebrows furrow in concern. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But… Aren’t you tired from caring so much?”

I don’t think I could ever get tired of caring for you.

Gently, you bring your intertwined hands to your mouth and smooth light, unhurried kisses over her fingers. Your lips trail along her knuckles until they press against her wrist and linger there over her pulse. You look at her through hooded eyes. Her breath catches.

Then you drop your hands.

“Trust me,” you say, your voice low in your own ears. “This is as much for me as it is for you. But only if you want it.”

There’s an unspoken question there.

Fuyumi meets your gaze directly, heat rising in her eyes, almost like blue fire in how they scorch you with a single look. You start to rethink your original guess about her Quirk.

“I want it.”

You. I want you.

Sucking in a long, slow breath, you smile at her. “...then come get it, Fuyumi-san.”

She stumbles forward, as though in a trance. Shaky hands land on your strong shoulders, seeking stability, and she steps into you. Your chests brush against each other, and you’re submerged in her creamy vanilla and jasmine perfume. That gravitational pull tugs at you but you stop yourself just shy of her lips.

Hers. This is her night, her decision.

Her cool breath fans across your lips. Starlit eyes peer into your darkening ones.

You wait.

“May I?” The words vibrate against your mouth.

Your heart melts.

“Of course.”

Fuyumi closes that last centimeter of distance and presses her trembling lip to yours. She tilts her head, mindful of her glasses. The kiss is slow and careful, closed mouth, testing the boundaries. Even with your verbal consent, it asks, Is this okay? You follow her lead, tenderly coaxing her lips along your own. Warm and welcoming and reassuring her yes, yes, yes. This is okay. This is perfectly okay.

I want you, too.

Her hands tighten on your shoulders. Yours slide into her feather-soft hair. You tug out the ponytail holder and delve your fingers in the tresses. You pull away, separating you with a soft pop, and watch the silky strands float to her shoulders.

Breathing hard, Fuyumi is still clutching your shoulders. Her face is flushed, roses blooming in her cheeks, and her pupils are blown wide.

“Whoever named you had the right idea,” you mutter, completely dazed.

You don’t get a chance to recover.

Fuyumi surges forward, grabbing your face, and pulls you to her. You slant your head just in time to meet her kiss, eyes fluttering shut. Her lips are soft, soft yet pleasantly chilled. And they move fervently along yours. Currents spark from her to you, tingling down your spine and electrifying your senses. You meet her passion with your own, shaky and reverent hands moving up to grip her blazer.

Without breaking the kiss, she steps out of the genkan and strides forward - backing you into your own apartment. Her hands slide from your cheeks and into your hair, tugging. You gasp, startled, and Fuyumi’s tongue is like ice in the warm cavern in your mouth. You groan. She uses her grip on your hair to angle you just so, completely taking over the kiss, and you let her. You want her to.

You move your hands up her back, into her hair - earning you another tug in reprimand - and down again until they find her full hips. You squeeze, enjoying the plush give under your fingers. Fuyumi hums, low and appreciative. You smooth your hands over her curves, slipping your thumbs under the shirt and rubbing circles against her hip bones.

Fuyumi breaks the kiss just long enough to slide off her blazer, lets it fall to the floor with a muffled foomp and your leather jacket joins it soon after. Then she’s on you again, looping her arms around your shoulders. Pressing close, closer, her full breasts soft against yours. Her lofty exhale condensates in your warm apartment, chilling your lips. Your eyes flutter.

Gripping her hips, you kiss her - kiss her like you wanted to from the moment she first smiled at you. You kiss her like you want to consume her. And Fuyumi meets you, passion for passion, ice for fire.

You slide your hands further up her turtleneck and skim along cool, soft skin with heated palms. Fuyumi arches, making soft appreciative noises that falter into disappointment when you remove your hands. Next you wind your arms around to fully embrace her, crushing her to you. Fuyumi moans.

You pull back enough to land several pecks on her smiling lips, making her giggle, and then shower the rest of her face in kisses. Your eager mouth finds her swan-like neck and becomes more sensual, mouthing along the arch. Kissing and sucking and just breathing her in. Fuyumi leans her head back to accept your affections in full.

“You’re so warm,” she sighs happily.

Your brain dies and comes back to life. And then you promptly realize the full implication of her words.

Panting, you pull away. You’re still foggy and lost and looking at Fuyumi, Fuyumi with that glazed over expression and slightly parted lips, certainly does help. But you have to check yourself - make sure you’re still in control.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Just wanted to look at you,” you say. Not a complete, as your gaze sears up and down her body.

“Don’t just look then.” Fuyumi tugs you forward by your shirt. You lean back at the last moment and grin at the frustrated sound she makes in the back of her throat.

“Y/n-san…”

You kiss her, a quick peck, and dart away before she has the chance to deepen it.

Her nose scrunches up. You kiss that, too. She chases after your lips but you dodge, her lips landing on your cheek instead. You snicker.

“Y/n-san.” There’s a warning in her tone. The sternness in it, the sudden assertiveness, makes you light-headed and eager to obey.

Damn. You make a mental note to explore this later.

“Just wanted to be extra sure this is what you want,” you say breathlessly.

“I told you that I wa - “

You catch her open mouth in yours, kissing her longer, deeper. Your lips smolder against hers. Her responding hum shoots straight to your core.

When you go to move away again, Fuyumi snares your bottom lip between her teeth and pulls you back in. A hand on your waist slips under your shirt, teasing the skin it finds there. She palms the small of your back. Pushes you closer. You squirm at the unexpected cold, inadvertently pushing yourself closer. She uses this to pull you into her, hands skating up your ribs, palms freezing, touch burning. The air grows hot and humid, a perfect clash between your Quirks, and you’re shivering from something far beyond temperature, beyond arousal.

“Oh, god…” you eke out as she sucks on the corner of your jaw. You’re too far gone to process it, lost in a strange space between too much and not enough.

It’s only Fuyumi’s mercy that allows you to catch your breath. She pulls back, leaving our lips kiss-swollen and red and panting. You gawk at her.

Her demure smile isn’t kind; it’s the calm before a storm. “Where’s the bedroom?”

A small, pitiful sound - a whimper - escapes you.

This woman is going to be the death of you.

Wordlessly, you grip her thick thighs and lift her up enough to wrap her legs around your waist. Fuyumi yelps. She winds her arms around your shoulders, beaming down at you. You grin up at her adoringly, even when she laughs at you when you bump into your own furniture in your own damn apartment.

“I can’t remember the last time anyone’s carried me,” she says.

Nudging your door open with your foot, you hum thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the last time I had a pretty girl in my arms.”

Fuyumi hides her burning face in your neck. “...you, too.”

“Mm?”

“You’re pretty, too,” she murmurs, burrowing in your shoulder. She nestles into you endearingly. “Prettier.”

You press a kiss to the side of her head, nuzzling into her hair and breathing in her conditioner. You whisper, “Don’t get in a fight over who’s prettier with me, Fuyumi-san. You’d lose.”

Then you promptly drop her on your bed.

Yelping, Fuyumi bounces on the mattress. She’s still smiling and giggling even when she tries to glare at you. “No, I wouldn’t,” she protests.

Amused, you place one knee on the bed. “Yes. You would.”

“No. I wouldn’t. Have you seen yourself?”

“Occasionally,” you drawl, raising your other knee to fully kneel in front of Fuyumi.

“But you’re so fit and strong and - “ She bites her lip again, face tinted pink. “You’re gorgeous.”

You take your sweet, sweet time looking Fuyumi up and down. Body half sprawled across your bed, her beautiful hair fans out like a halo. The hem of her shirt is partially pushed up, revealing her pale stomach where a diamond navel piercing gleam and the full flare of her waist.

“I don’t compare,” you say simply, bending down to crawl over to her.

Fuyumi rises up on your elbows to meet you halfway. You straddle her hips, having to stretch out your thighs to fully seat yourself over them. Damn. They’re so solid and soft underneath you. You never want to sit anywhere else again.

Fuyumi’s breath hitches, staring up at you as though entranced. Her hands slip over your thighs. “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I think you,” you carefully slide off her frames, removing the one thing between you and the intensity of her gaze, “need new glasses, Fuyumi-san.”

You fold up her glasses and lean over to put them safely on your side table. The movement moves your hips, unintentionally grinding. The small friction makes you release a stuttery breath.

Hearing it, her own breathing starts to get heavier. Fuyumi tightens her grip on your thighs and pushes back. You groan, long and low in your throat. You start a slow rocking motion, core grinding down. Fuyumi’s hips meet you movement for movement. Her hooded gaze flares.

You place your hands on top of hers, looking down at her with half-lidded eyes. Taking all of her in hungrily. “Fuyumi-san, when you say you haven’t done this before…”

“I mean going home with someone I just met,” she murmurs, caught in the rocking motion. “This isn’t - it won’t be my first time.”

Her earlier ferocity - and the current undulations of her hips under yours - suggested as much, but it’s always good to check.

You brush your fingers over her slim wrists and up her arms and down again. Feather light. Your touch ghosts over her exposed stomach and then up her lower ribs, pressing fully against her velvet skin.

Fuyumi arches her back, eyelashes fluttering. Her lips quiver.

She’s already starting to sweat, slick under your palms. You slide your hands back down and curve over her waist, kneading the bit of fat there. Her fair skin pinkens where you touch her. A small, desperate sound escapes her.

“God, I love the sound of your voice,” you rasp, grinding harder. “From the moment I first I heard it.”

She laughs a little. “I’m surprised you even heard it. The bar was so loud.”

Rather than respond, you scoot down her thighs in order to bend down and nip a hipbone.

“Y/n-san.”

You groan at the sound of your name before trailing your lips from one hip to the other, your tongue briefly circling around her piercing. Throughout your loving ministrations, you push your hands further up her shirt to her heavy breasts and squeeze softly. Fuyumi arches her back, crying out.

Eventually, you push her turtleneck up. Fuyumi sits up and you help pull it over her head. Your mouth dries.

Her beautiful hair is a beautiful mess, red tangled in white. Darkened blue eyes stare at you hazily. You finally learn that her flush extends from her round cheeks to her sternum, rosey and warm in the ivory of her skin. Her simple black bra barely restrains her heaving breasts. She’s all curves and supple skin and vanilla-and-jasmine perfume and -

“How did I get so lucky as to bring you home with me tonight?”

In answer, Fuyumi kisses you. Her insistent lips move from your needy mouth to your neck. You gasp when she finds the sensitive place behind your ear. Her chilled breath makes you tremble.

“How did I get so lucky as to end up in your bed?” she croons. Then she sucks your earlobe into her frigid mouth.

“Ah!”

She wrangles your shirt off and sends her mouth down the valley of your breasts. You wrap your legs around her waist, squeezing her between your thighs and pressing her into your aching core. Your head lolls, hair falling back. Your breathing is heavy under her. Her fingers tangle with the back of your bra and unclip it with ease.

Peppering your shoulders with chilled kisses as she slides the straps over them, Fuyumi tosses your bra over the side of the bed and pulls back to admire. You shiver at the dark, glassy look in her eyes. And then put up absolutely no resistance when she pushes you down on the bed.

Freezing hands caress your breasts, making you hiss and raise your back, as they come in contact with your sultry body.

“Sorry,” Fuyumi says, not sounding the least bit put out. “Quirk thing.”

Your chest heaves. “S’fine. Do whatever. Just - just keep touching me.”

Her eyelids lowered, and that demure smile returns. “That’s not a very polite way to ask for what you want, y/n-san.”

You’re not a proud person, and you know what you want. “Please, Fuyumi-san, please keep touching me - aah!”

Fuyumi leans down to circle a nipple with her ice-like tongue, sucking it in with a lewd suctiony sound. Glacial fingers pinch the other. Her other hand trails down, breezing across your ribs, until they find the hem of your pants and toying with the zipper. You pant, grasping at her shoulders for purchase. Forgoing the zipper entirely, Fuyumi cups you through your jeans - fingers rubbing tantalizing circles against your heat.

“Fuyumi-san!” you whine.

“Such pretty noises…” Fuyumi murmurs against your breast. “And you looked so stoic and serious at the bar. But look at you.”

Fuyumi grinds the heel of her hand into you. You squirm helplessly underneath her wintery body. It feels so good but so intense. You wonder if you’d somehow managed to lure a yuki-onna to your bed.

“You just fall apart at the simplest of touches.” She bends her head over your other breast, biting down gently. She continues to palm at your throbbing core.

You buck your hips, desperate for more friction. “Please…”

Then, in retribution for your earlier teasing, she removes her hand out from between your trembling thighs. You whine. Making direct eye contact with you, Fuyumi pulls back with your nipple still pinched between her teeth. Only after you let loose a satisfactory whimper does she release it. Your other nipple, however, she continues to roll leisurely between her thumb and forefinger.

“Apologies. You seemed to like how assertive I was earlier. Was I mistaken?”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you say weakly, “Didn’t expect this from an elementary school teacher.”

Smiling amusedly, Fuyumi nuzzles into your too-warm cheek. “I can’t be nice, patient sensei all the time.”

“So you like to get back some control in the bedroom,” you say dryly.

Fuyumi’s answer is scraping her teeth down your throat and sucking a mark into your collarbone. Cold hands seize your breasts, squeezing. A knee slips between your thighs to push against you. You cry out.

“Based on that lovely reponse…” Fuyumi croons, running her hands up and down your sides, “and your clear deflection from my original statement, you like to let go of control in the bedroom. It’s a release.”

Somewhere in the haze of your lust, you catch on. You raise an eyebrow.

She sighs. “Let me guess: high stakes civil service job, demanding work environment, lots of pressure, extremely stressful. You have to be in complete control at all times on the job, always alert, and need your phone on even after hours just in case.”

“...maybe.” She has a scarily clear cut understanding of your “civil service job”, even without the full details such as what exactly it is.

She smiles understandingly, though there’s a strange twist to it. “I noticed how..alert you were at the bar. Even though you came with friends. You really don’t let yourself relax, do you?”

You turn your head, averting your eyes.

Gentle fingers pinch your chin and bring them back to meet Fuyumi’s compassionate gaze. “It’s okay, y/n-san,” she soothes. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place - “

“No, you’re right,” you cut her off, voice hoarse. “I - it’s just I… I love my job.”

“I know,” she murmurs, caressing the side of your face.

Your draw in a breath. “I’m lucky to have it. Especially being a woman. It’s what I’ve wanted since I was a little kid. And it - I get to help so many people. Every day. I feel like I make a real difference, you know? But it’s not easy.”

Fuyumi strokes your hair. “When was the last time you took some time off?”

You scoff, covering your eyes with a forearm. “I just transferred to a new agency a little while ago. I still have a lot to prove.”

This makes Fuyumi frown. “They chose to hire you. You shouldn’t have to prove anything!”

“Fuyumi-san,” you drawl, “you’re taking care of other people again. Didn’t I say it's your turn to be taken care of tonight?”

“Is you taking care of me just ‘helping people’ like you do everyday?” she asks.

“No. Is you asking about my work life and the personal toll it has just another way of asserting control?” you deadpan.

Fuyumi sputters, turning red. “N-no! And how’s wanting to help others ‘control’?”

“‘Help is the sunny side of control,’” you quote, bone dry.

Semi-amused, you watch realization dawn across Fuyumi’s face. “That’s - I never thought about it that way. That’s...quite insightful. Did you come up with that? Or is that from somewhere?”

“Anne Lammottt,” you say dryly. “She wrote this sorta half self-help, half memoir on hope and how to find it when things are at their bleakest. My therapist recommended it. I’ll lend you my copy.”

The bed creaks as Fuyumi sits up, straddling you. Poker faced, you make a herculean effort to keep your gaze directly on her face rather than stray to...well, the gorgeous half-naked body on top of you.

“You have a therapist?”

“High stakes job with heaps of pressure and stress, remember?” you quip. “It would be irresponsible of me not to take care of my mental health. Like skipping a dental cleaning or a vaccination.”

“Yeah…” Again, Fuyumi has that intent, searching look in her eyes. The same one she gave you after admitting how tired you were, how draining caring can be. Without her glasses, it’s only about 100 times more intense.

And there you are, titties out, laid out like a spread eagle underneath Fuyumi like you’re her personal throne. Not a bad position to be in, of course, but a little odd when her face looks like she’s trying to solve the world’s hardest math problem and not contorted in the throes of passion as gifted by yours truly. You wait it out, though. It seems important.

It’s a nice view anyway.

Finally: “You’re really something, y/l/n y/n.”

You smile up at her lazily. “Thanks. You’re something special yourself, Todoroki Fuyumi.”

Fuyumi smiles down at you like a real life Madonna icon. You’re suddenly reminded of your recently developed Fuyumi-related asthma. And how her luscious thighs are actually a little warm after hugging your body for so long.

You drum your fingers against them, enjoying the feel even through her jeans. “Hey, Fuyumi-san?”

“Mm?”

“How did we go from the hottest foreplay of my life to talking about our mutual tendencies for compulsive caretaking?”

Fuyumi slaps her hands over her reddening cheeks and groans. “Oh, no. I’m sorry, y/n-san!”

“It’s cool,” you say, nonchalant. “We can do a naked book club instead, if you like. Anything you wanna recommend?”

“No! No naked book club - well, maybe later. Wait!” She drags her hands down her face and half-heartedly glowers down at you. Somehow, that stern look makes you throb. “You’re making fun of me.”

“A little,” you admit. You stroke her thighs soothingly. “But I’m also a little serious. If you’d rather do something else, that’s okay. I think I have some puzzles somewhere.“

Snorting, Fuyumi shakes her head. “I want to keep going. I do, I really do. But if I made it too weird or - “

“Great. I want to, too,” you state bluntly.

“I didn’t make it weird?”

“Sex is weird sometimes. Besides….” You look up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, feeling your desire thrum back to life at her bold reassertion. Your voice turns smokey when you speak next. “I want to make you feel good, Fuyumi-san.”

Fuyumi shudders above you.

Gripping her thighs, you slowly sit up to avoid jostling her from your lap. Warm hands smooth up her thighs, following the curves of her wide hips and her waistline. Fuyumi shivers when you linger on the sides of her plump breasts. You trace her bra’s outer edges up to the elastic straps and unhurriedly lower the right one. You press a kiss to her bared shoulder, as soft as the newly fallen snow outside.

“I want to make you really, really good.”

You feel how the exhale shudders out of her. “Y/n-san…”

“Will you let me? Will you let me make you feel good, Fuyumi-san?”

She laughs softly, hugging your shoulders. “How do you do that? “

“Do what?” you mumble, sucking at a beauty mark you find.

“Just - mmph, right there - just turn the situation around? It was so a-aah! Awkward and now it’s like this again.”

You laugh huskily. “A little trick I learned on the job.”

“Seducing people?”

“Are you seduced?” you purr.

“Y-yes. But seriously...”

“Let’s just say... I learned how to assess a situation and Turn. It. Around. In my favor.” You kiss up her neck with each word, breathing in deeply.

She gently scratches down your back, soft lines that make you shudder. “Mm, you’re a good civil servant.”

This draws a smirk from you. “Thanks. Now...back to my question.”

“Mm?” Fuyumi’s eyes flutter.

You whisper hotly against her ear, “Will you let me make you feel good?”

“Yes, please.”

Grinning, you kiss her ear and set to work.

You unsnap her bra clasp, sliding the silky undergarment off and lazily letting it fall from your hand. Her supple breasts fall free with gentle bounce. Hand on her shoulder, you lightly push her onto her back and Fuyumi goes down willingly. Lips parted, you stare down at her darkly.

Expression hazy, she smiles up at you. “Please take care of me.”

“I’ll try my best,” you promise, voice low and gravelly.

You cup her breasts, relishing the soft weight of them in your hands, and rub slow circles over them. Then you bend down to tongue a slow circle around a dusky nipple before sucking it into your eager mouth. Fuyumi sighs, cupping the back of your neck. You hum, then go to turn your attention to the next. Gently heating your lips, you press gossamer-like kisses all over her flushed chest. From there, you kiss down her sternum and down her chest.

“Y/n-san,” she calls softly as you leave marks along her stomach.

You sink blunt teeth into he left hip and she gasps. Trembling underneath you, Fuyumi grips your hair and moans.

You slip a finger under her jeans, looking to her with lifted eyebrows. At her nod, you unbutton her jeans and - in return for her icy teasing - unzip the fly with your teeth. She gasps. You tug at the loosened denim, to which she lifts her hips, and you slide down her jeans past her hips where you kiss and suck and nip. Then you pull the jeans down her thighs. You swallow at the sight of her pink panties, pupils dilating at the dark stain over her folds.

Still, you take your time - gently pulling her jeans off one creamy leg at a time. You kiss every inch of new skin revealed, reveling in Fuyumi’s increasingly shallow breathing. You watch her chest rise and fall, breasts heaving.

She’s easily the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

Not looking away once, you toss the jeans to some far corner and settle between her thighs. You’re not even aware of where you are, so consumed with the sight and smell of her.

“Y-y/n-san,” she calls.

“Shh, darling,” you murmur, landing a kiss on the inside of her knee. You trace your lips down the soft skin of her inner thigh. “I know, I know.”

“Hurry.”

“Almost there. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.”

She moans, the precious noise pitching louder when you press your lips to the sweet wetness pooled between her thighs. You flick the full length of your tongue over her. Delicate fingers grip the back of your head, cold and insistent, and you groan. The vibrations send her hips rolling and you follow along with the motions, licking and sucking through her underwear, breathing through your nose, tenderly thumbing circles into her hip bones. Despite the delicious press of her clenching thighs against your ears, you hear her call your name - broken between a plea and a command. And you obey.

Without wasting another moment, you pull away and hook your fingers under the hem of her panties. You slide the garment down her hips, groan at the pearly strands of her essence clinging to her puffy inner lips, and pull it down her lush thighs.

Impatient, Fuyumi sits up enough to shove her panties the rest of the way off. Then her hand returns to the back of your head which she immediately guides to her cunt. You grasp her thighs, spreading them open for better access. You latch onto her hot bundle of nerves and suck into your mouth. Encouraged by her cries, you lave your tongue between her folds while your thumb continues toying with her clit.

Nails scrape against your scalp, sending shocks of pained pleasure through you and inciting another moan. You bury your tongue inside her, reveling in the full taste of her. A mewl rewards your efforts. Chin shiny with her juices, you pull back only to return to her clit. You press a kiss there, two, three, before sucking it back into your hot mouth. Your fingers slide inside her; velvety walls clench around them, pulsing rhythmically as you slide in and out.

Lashes fluttering, you lift your gaze to meet Fuyumi’s piercing blue eyes - bright and demanding above the flush of her cheeks and her neck and her heaving chest. Her grip tightens in your hair. You close eyes, blissed out, and delve your tongue deeper inside her until your nose is pressed against her clit. You delight in the wet friction.

Her legs tremble, one hooked over your shoulder. Her cries rise - higher, higher, pitching into the dark ceiling. The sweetest of noises. You whimper when her thighs clench around you, following the undulations of her hips. Your own squirm against the sheets, arousal pooling in your underwear, as you listen. You feel it before she cries out: hands grasping, thighs shaking, labia twitching, her inner walls clenching around you.

Ecstasy. Pure ecstasy. All because of you.

Fuyumi calls your names.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes -

Cold.

Cold, cold, cold.

Under Fuyumi’s hands, ice coats your shoulders and spreads down your back. Your hair is stiff and frozen. Where her juices coated your lips and chin, now frozen. Even the tip of your nose has frost.

You blink.

Fuyumi gapes at you, horrified.

“You know...when the weather forecast said snowy night in Tokyo, this isn’t what I expected.”

“I am SO sorry!”

You burst out laughing.

She hides her bright red face in her hands. “I’m sorry, y/n-san! Do you have a hair dryer? Let me -- “

“Nah, I’m okay. See?” You channel your Quirk, focusing on the warmth always present in the center of your chest, and let the heat spread throughout the rest of your body. Steam rises from your skin as the frost melts, not leaving so much as a droplet of moisture behind.

Hands lowered, Fuyumi’s jaw drops. “You...you have a fire Quirk.”

“Opposites really do attract, huh?” Eyes crinkling, you laugh.

It’s the only sound in the bedroom.

“...Fuyumi-san?”

Speechless, Fuyumi stares at you with wide, wide eyes. The climax-induced flush is gone, bleached from her skin. She covers her mouth with a shaky hand.

You immediately recognize that expression. It’s the look a civilian had before they were saved, before help arrived. Fear. Seeing it on her face makes your stomach turn. It reminds you of the time you rescued a child from a burning building after a villain set off an electrical fire - the initial relief on the boy’s face evolving into sheer panic when you activated your own flames to fight the villain off before back-up came. You’d hated yourself for reigniting that fear so soon after the initial trauma.

And now? You’re bewildered and cautious.

“Hey...you alright there?”

“I - yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Fuyumi swiftly looks away, shrinking in on herself. She brings her arms up to her bare chest.

Resisting the urge to frown, you put up an air of calm. You wordlessly lift a sheet and - avoiding sudden movements - wrap it around her shoulders.

She blinks at you.

“A lot of people have had bad experiences with fire,” you say, non-judgemental. You smile softly. “I get it. It can be pretty scary sometimes. But I can guarantee you that I have better control over my Quirk than most people. Haven’t had an accident since I was 10.”

“I’m not - that’s not it, y/n-san.” Even saying that, Fuyumi pulled the sheet tighter around herself.

You lifted and lowered your shoulders in a languid shrug. “It doesn’t matter what it was or wasn’t. And you don’t have to explain it to me, either.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “Y/n-san - “

“Fuyumi-san,” you say, hushed. “It’s okay.”

You won't lie to yourself, though: It hurts. But you recognize a trigger when you see one. If years of general wariness of your flames didn’t teach you that, your training certainly did.

It’s that same training that allows you to smile at her reassuringly. “Hey… Look.”

You hold your hand out, palm side up. Watching her face carefully, searching for even the slightest flinch, you focus the heat under your skin to converge at the center of your palm: A spark, then a shimmer, and a small flame comes to life. No bigger than a birthday candle, it casts a soft light across your face.

Fuyumi’s eyes flicker between your tender expression and the tiny fire. Your own gaze doesn’t waver from her face, even as you slowly twist your hand and will the flame to move sluggishly along your palm, your wrist, over your knuckles, and between your fingers. Fuyumi watches all the while.

You urge the flare to your to the very tip of your index finger and hold it up to your mouth. You purse your lips, not unlike a kiss, and extinguish it with a small puff. You wink at her. “See? Perfect control.”

While she is still hunched under the sheet, it at least earns you a small, wobbly smile.

You hold out your hand, again palm side up. She immediately looks at it, clearly expecting another flame. The corner of your mouth twitches and you wiggle your fingers a little.

It’s a relief when she accepts the silent offer, placing her small hand in yours. Your fingers wrap around hers. Tenderly, carefully, you brush your over her knuckles. Like you’re holding something infinitely precious.

“I was a pretty stupid kid, you know. You would’ve hated having me in your classroom,” you say suddenly, still fixated on your joined hands.

Fuyumi looks almost offended. “No, I wouldn’t!”

It makes you grin a little. “You’re right. You’re an amazing teacher - one of those saintly ones with tons of patience for even the brattiest of kids. I can tell. But trust me, even little me would have given you a run for your money. I was pretty full of myself, just because of an accident of being born with some flashy Quirk. Always showing off and playing around with it.”

At this, your smile fades into a grim line. “But you know what they say about playing with fire. ‘Cept I can’t burn but others sure can. I learned that the hard way...at someone else’s expense.”

“...the accident when you were 10,” Fuyumi recalls, voice faint.

“It was someone I really care about,” you say. Your mouth twists into a self-contemptuous sneer as you shake your head. “I knew how to start fires but hadn’t yet learned how to put them out. So much for the little show off.”

Suddenly, her hand squeezes yours. You blink.

“You were only a child, y/n-san,” she whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch together and without her glasses, there’s nothing between you and those fierce eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Doesn’t matter. Someone else paid for it,” you say, uncompromising. She opens her mouth to protest. You raise her hand to kiss her knuckles which immediately snaps her mouth close. “And I’ve been a whole lot more careful since then. I promised myself that I would use my Quirk to protect people, not hurt them. Especially not someone I care about.”

At that, you press your lips to her slim wrist. You gently suck at the blue-ish veins beneath delicate skin, kissing the heel of her hand and then her own palm and finally the tips of fingers. You look up to see Fuyumi’s cherry red face.

“Are you hungry?”

“W-what?” She sounds half as breathless as you felt most of the evening. Payback, sweetheart.

“I promised to take care of you tonight, remember? So. Are you hungry?”

Fuyumi stares at you, taking in your still half-dressed state and kiss-bruised lips. “What about you? I didn’t...you know.”

You shrug. “It’s fine. Lemme get you a glass of water at least.”

After her near panic attack and the sudden turn in conversation, you figure she might not be in the best headspace to...reciprocate. Besides, nothing dashes the libido quite like your partner almost freaking out at your Quirk.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stretch your arms out, oblivious to Fuyumi’s sharpened stare where your back muscles ripple with the movement. You push your hair back, lightly scratching your head as you lazily search the floor for your shirt.

“Wanna watch a movie or something? I think I have some popcorn. We could - “

Cool hands smooth over your waist, meeting in the middle of your stomach. You feel the swell of her breasts against your too-warm back, tight nipples on your shoulder blades. Chilled lips brush the junction of your neck and shoulder, following the curve of your neck. She catches your earlobe between her teeth and tugs.

Your breath hitches.

Her hands trail up your abdomen, leaving shivers in their wake, before cupping your breasts. You arch your back, consequently pushing yourself further into her. Her thumbs smooth twin circles around your nipples, her natural chill sensitizing them.

“Fuyumi….” Her name is a weak moan from your mouth.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” comes her wintry whisper. “Let me return the favor, okay?”

“A-are you sure? A-ah! Fuyumi!”

“I told you, y/n, I want it. And I’ll take it if I have to.”

There is a higher power and apparently, that higher power fucking loves you.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

It’s habit that wakes you up in the early morning. Drowsily, you blink up at your ceiling and then turn your head on your pillow to find Fuyumi’s face inches from yours. Her cheek is squished against a pillow, snowy strands caught in her mouth.

You stare at her in silent awe.

Eventually, your stomach reminds you of your basic needs and by extension Fuyumi’s eventual needs as well. Breakfast then. You sit up slowly, taking care not to wake her. You swing your legs over the bed and pad your way around fallen clothes. You pick them up, sorting out which were whose. Your cell drops out of your pants.

You remember your promise to Kamiji. Turning on your cell, you grimace at the low power and then pause at the many...many messages on it.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: RED ALERT RED ALERT

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: YO Y/N PICK UP

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: As GREAT as a time you’re having right now...pick up.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Yl//n.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n.

Burnin’ 🔥💪💪: Y/l/n y/n.

Frowning, you press “call” on her contact. A few rings carry on, setting your nerves at ease. You know that if it really was an emergency, she would be awake and pick up immediately.

A groggy voice answers. “Must’ve been a fun night.”

“Kamiji, what’s up?” you murmur.

“Did you take that girl home with you?”

“Uuh…” You glance at Fuyumi’s curled up form. The sheets drape over the curve of her hips and tangle between her legs, leaving her mostly bare. Her arms stretch out above her head, feathery hair a tangled mess, carmine streaks vibrant in the sunrise. A few of your marks stand out, red and violet, on the fair skin of her waist and chest. Perfect matches to the ones all over your chest.

You don’t realize you’re smiling like an idiot until you hear your name repeated, louder and louder. “Y/l/n… Y/L/N! HEY!”

You scowl, soundlessly slipping out of bed and snatching a robe on the way out. You muffle your phone against your collarbone until you’re safely in the kitchen where Kamiji’s yelling won’t wake Fuyumi up.

“Yes, Kamiji, I took her home with me and now I’m going to make her breakfast. There a problem?”

Coffee. You need coffee.

“Well, at least you’re treating her right. Hopefully that’ll work in your favor.”

“What are you talking about?” you grouse, getting your coffee maker ready. You mentally go over what you have in the fridge. Do you have enough to make something? Or should you run to the cafe to grab something? Would you get back before Fuyumi wakes up? Maybe you should wait and see if she’d want to go with you...

A dark laugh from the receiver. “You really have no idea who she is, do you?”

You freeze. Tightening your grip on the phone, you glance warily at your closed bedroom door. “...why, is she a villain?”

“You wish.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“You’re completely fireproof, right?”

“Yes,” you say, frowning. “It’s pretty much why Endeavor hired me.”

Kamiji makes a small, aggravated noise. “He hired for more than that, y/l/n. But we’ll get into that later - before our boss gives a whole new meaning to firing you.”

“Fire me? For what?”

“What’s his name, y/l/n? His actual name?”

You really do not like where this conversation was going. “Todoroki Enji?”

“And who did you take home with you last night?”

“...that’s not funny, Kamiji.”

“I’m not joking.”

“It’s a common last name,” you protest, “and they look absolutely nothing alike - “

Except.

Except for the red in her hair.

And the color of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows...

The same family name.

Her reaction to your fire Quirk.

You even met at a bar close to the Endeavor Hero Agency.

“No.”

“Yeeeaaah. You slept with the #2 hero’s only daughter.”

For the first time since you were 10, you lose control of your Quirk - setting your favorite robe aflame.

“SHIT!”

Kamiji’s laughter is barely heard over the smoke alarm. Burnt cotton fills the kitchen air and you tear off the robe to throw it in the sink, immediately turning on the faucet. And then there you are, wearing nothing but a few love bites, as you fight with the smoke alarm to shut it up.

Having taken the batteries out, you snatch up the phone and hiss, “I slept with our boss’s daughter? Our boss boss? Endeavor?”

“You work for my father?”

You swear you feel the blood draining from your face. Slowly, mechanically, you turn around. She stands just outside your room, a vision in white sheets. The girl you met last night, the girl you’re pretty sure you fell a little in love with at first sight. The one you took home with you.

Todoroki Fuyumi.

Endeavor’s only daughter.

The higher power fucking hates you.

❈────────•✦•❅•✦•───────❈

Note: When Fuyumi says “Please take care of me” during introductions with reader, it’s actually an English translation of “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu” which is more of a concept than a direct translation. Cool explanation here for my fellow language nerds.

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dracoignisworld · 4 years

Note

65."You lost your chance."

Went a bit.. different.. with this one. Hope you’ll like it still!

For the Realm

“Don’t worry - it’ll all be over soon.”

Jon stirred as a woman seated herself next to him at the bar. She was already holding a drink. Based on the bauble-shaped glass, he gathered it was a gin. When she moved, the ice clinked like a windchime. “What will be over?” he asked, dragging his eyes from the drink to her face.

A perfect pair of violet eyes stared back at him with confidence. “Everything, eventually,” she said plainly and brushed a silver lock of hair out of her face. It settled behind her ear. The lobe was heavy with golden rings, just like her small fingers - from knuckle to tip, he counted five bands, each with an elaborate design and glittering jewels.

“That’s very deep,” Jon spoke after a pause.

“Sorry - you just looked so sad.”

“Did you come to discuss philosophy with a stranger?”

The woman smirked. “Actually, I came to get fucked by one.”

It was almost midnight. The pub was buzzing. In the corner, a group of lads were playing billiards, two sets of couples were sharing a fifth bottle of wine in front of the fireplace, and Jon was finishing his fourth pint of beer. As he pushed the glass aside, the bartender poured him another without asking.

“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place,” Jon stated and lifted his glass to check the head. There was too much foam for his liking and, once it settled, he waved for the girl to fill it up some more. “Are you from the city?”

“Why’d you think that.”

“Never seen you around before.”

“So you know everyone at the Wall?”

“Near enough.” Jon lifted his refilled glass and nodded in satisfaction. The beer sloshed to the very edge, spilling down the sides and dripping onto his fingers. “It’s a local pub. Everyone knows everyone.”

“Well,” the woman spoke and smacked her lips, “since you don’t know me, I suppose your assumption is wrong.” She raised her glass and quirked her brows, and Jon matched her movement as he mumbled:

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she chirped and they both had a sip. She sighed with pleasure and turned the glass between her fingertips, making the pinkish liquid swirl. “This is good gin,” she praised.

“I knew it,” Jon said before clarifying: “That it is gin, that is. I didn’t know it was good. I don’t drink gin.”

“Really? You look like a man who drinks anything that’s put in front of him.”

“Are you calling me cheap?”

“I’m calling you open-minded.” The woman held out her hand, and Jon awkwardly grabbed at it and gave it a squeeze. Her handshake was surprisingly strong. By the time he pulled back, his fingers ached a little. “I’m Daenerys,” she said, “and I am indeed from the city.”

“I’m Jon,” Jon replied, “and I’m from, eh, here.” He gestured around the pub, and Daenerys chuckled:

“You were born in a pub?”

“You’d think I was lying if I said yes?” As she glanced at him in surprise, he felt a smile tugging at his lips. “My father owns this place. The Wall of Winter. Some name, isn’t it?”

“And you were born here?” Daenerys queried. She leaned onto the counter with her elbows, resting her chin in her hands as she watched him. Her face seemed to fit nicely between her soft palms, Jon noted. He wondered if all of her was as soft as she looked.

“It was winter. Mother had no way of calling an ambulance. I’m told drinks were free that night.”

“Is that why you’re an alcoholic now?” Daenerys mused.

Jon grimaced and was about to tell her off when he noticed his glass was empty. Somehow, he’d downed the beer without even noticing, and now the bartender was back to fill it, her hands skilled and quick. As a new pint settled in front of him, he sighed and watched the foam go down. “Truth be told, Daenerys, you’re right,” Jon spoke, his gaze never leaving the beer. “I am sad.”

“Let me guess.” Daenerys cracked her fingers and moved her shoulders as if she was preparing to battle, and Jon couldn’t help but eye her with curiosity. “You,” she started, paused, then guessed, “just broke up with someone.”

“Negative. Drink.”

Daenerys let go of a surprised laugh. “We never agreed to a game!” she said, but still she took a big gulp of her gin. “Okay,” she coughed and put the glass back on the counter. “Your boss told you off?”

Jon bit down onto the tip of his tongue, smirking. “Drink.”

“By Heavens,” Daenerys complained, but she emptied her glass nonetheless.

Jon waved at the girl. “Another,” he said.

“You’ve just been filled,” she scolded him.

“For her,” Jon clarified and pointed at Daenerys. “Whatever she had.”

“No, let me have a whiskey,” Daenerys rejected his offer and pointed at a bottle on display, “how about that one, White Walking?”

“It’s strong,” Jon warned as the bartender poured Daenerys a generous glass.

A pair of violet eyes merely twinkled at him in reply. “Tell me why you’re sad,” she asked.

“I thought we were playing.”

“I thought you were a gentleman.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Perhaps I am drunk.” Daenerys sipped her whiskey and nodded with pleasure. “Mhm, it’s good!”

Jon sighed and turned back to watch his beer. For a moment, he just sat listening to the sounds around him - the chatter, the laughing, the music from the speakers -, but then he spoke: “I’m going away.”

“Isn’t that exciting? I love travelling.” Daenerys had another sip of her whiskey. She smacked her lips. He loved the sound it made - so wet, so filled with satisfaction. Like someone tasting water after a drought.

Jon slowly turned his pint between his hands. “Well, it’s not a holiday.”

“Is it for work?”

“Suppose you could say so.”

“Jon-” Daenerys leaned close to him, and Jon felt his nostrils fill with a sweet smell of peaches. He wondered how anyone managed to get their hands on such a scent here in the far north. He didn’t even remember the last time he saw a fruit that wasn’t jarred. “If you don’t want to talk,” she spoke, her voice so low it made him shiver, “then just tell me.”

Jon glanced at her. He took in the sight of her youthful eyes, her pouty pink lips, her long neck, her full body. It was only now he realised how bundled up she was - thick coat covering layers of jumpers, and snowboots going all the way up to her knees. She did not look like a woman who had gone out to get fucked as she’d put it. “I’ve been drafted,” he finally said, and when he looked back into her eyes, he saw an understanding in them.

“The ones beyond the wall,” Daenerys spoke, and Jon nodded.

“The ones beyond the wall,” he agreed bitterly and had a sip of his beer.

One of the guys playing billiards cried out in joy when he won. The group erupted into a song. As their drunken voiced echoed between the walls, Daenerys leaned closer to continue their conversation with lowered voices.

“Did you think of running away?” she asked, and Jon choked on his beer at her question.

“That’d be treason!”

“All the same - people do it.” She slowly blinked, her pale lashes waving in the wind like a spider’s frail web, and Jon wondered if they would disappear if he were to blow at them. Something about the woman looked strong and frail all at once.

“I am not people,” Jon insisted, but Daenerys just clucked her tongue at him.

“We are all people,” she spoke and sipped her whiskey. “Over or under or left or right of that damned wall - we’re all people.”

“You sound like one of them,” Jon pointed out.

“One of what?” Daenerys retorted.

Jon wrinkled his nose. “One of… them.”

“Who’re they?” she pressed.

They stared at each other in silence. Neither of them wanted to be the first to break eye-contact. Then, Jon heard himself ask: “Are you a spy?”

Daenerys let go of a short laugh. “I’d be a pretty bad one if I were to say yes.”

“What’s a city girl doing up north?”

“I told you - looking to get fucked.”

“Did all the men down south die?”

“Clearly I enjoy a challenge.” Daenerys blinked slowly while holding eye contact.

Jon felt himself warm under her stare. She was making him feel hot - with annoyance, with frustration, and with need. The way she touched his hand only further made his spine tingle, and when her fingertips stroked across his roughened knuckles, he had to take care not to gasp in air.

“I don’t know what you want,” Jon said, and clarified, “what you really want, but you lost your chance.” He pulled his hand back and swiftly downed his pint in two gulps. Then, without acknowledging her further, he slipped off the stool and waved at the bartender. “Going home!”

“Take the bus,” the girl urged.

Jon merely shook his head and headed out the door.

Outside, there was snow in the air. The cold stuck to his face and made his beard frosty immediately. Despite wearing a thick coat, Jon felt himself shudder as he set off down the street in the direction of home.

Who was she really? he mused as he walked, kicking his way through dunes of snow. His brother Robb had always told him to look out for the guys from the south, but he always assumed it to be a tale of the past. Spies was a thing of the past - a tale his father Ned had liked to tell in the evenings when the flames flickered lively in the fireplace and Catelyn had gone to bed. But it was as if his old father’s stories were repeating themselves; war had returned to the country, drafting was mandated, and scary tales of wild folks raiding northern towns seemed all too real now.

You are either with the Capital, or against it, Jon reminded himself and sighed. He hadn’t even realised that he’d stopped, but he soon found himself sheltering from the wind in an alley. As he leaned against the dark wall, he glanced up between the houses toward the night sky. The stars were not visible through the frosty breeze. The moon was a distant blob somewhere behind the clouds. Or you’re like me, he thought and closed his eyes, allowing the alcohol to warm his brain for a second, utterly indifferent to life.

When Jon opened his eyes, he groaned. The light was sharp. His body was cold. He shivered and grabbed at his throw, pushing himself further into the bed. I must’ve gotten home late, he decided, his head hammering from the overdose of beer he’d had the night before.

“This will help,” a gentle voice promised and pressed something to his hand.

Jon’s fingers closed around the glass. He could hear the fizzling of a painkiller dissolving in the water. “Thanks,” he muttered and drank with greed before blinking his eyes open, expecting to see one of his sisters with a disapproving look on their faces.

He was met with a grimace. But it was not pulled by his sister.

“Daenerys,” Jon mumbled in shock and stared at the woman. She was casually leaned against his bedroom window, her arms crossed and her eyes lingering on him. She was still dressed in her thick jacket, but the heat did not seem to bother her. Instead, she briskly walked to his bedside again to claim the glass from his hands.

“Drank too much?” she asked before placing it in the sill. “Should’ve stopped at the fourth one.”

Jon shyly lifted his throw and glanced down his body. He found himself completely naked beneath. As Daenerys’ eyes sought his again, he quickly lowered it, tucking himself well away as he muttered: “Did we-”

“You lost your chance,” Daenerys mocked his earlier words, making Jon flush.

“I was drunk,” he said, and he realised it all the more as he eyed her once again. She looked beautiful, he realised - as the winter sun fell in through the window, it lit up her frame, making her look akin to one of the Old Gods stepping out from the Heavens above. Really drunk it seems, he thought. “Thanks for getting me home.”

“Oh, you’re not home,” Daenerys said and quirked her brows with a little smile.

Jon threw a look around the room. It was only then, as he started to really look, that he realised he was not. The pictures were different. The wall colour dark. And, in fact, when he looked back at Daenerys, he realised that it was not the winter sun falling in from outside, but a spotlight. On the other side, people were moving around.

Jon felt a dread start to fill his stomach. His hands helplessly clenched onto the throw across his body. “Where am I?” he demanded to know.

Daenerys clucked her tongue and walked over to settle on the edge of his bed. “Oh, Jon, I really was hoping for a fuck before bringing you here,” she admitted. She reached out to touch his hair, and Jon sat stiffly as she ran her fingertips through his thick curls. “You were just too stubborn. I was warned - northerners don’t like outsiders.”

“Maybe because you do things like these,” Jon scoffed as he threw an anguished look about. “Where am I?” he repeated.

“Heading south.”

“You can’t take me - I’ve been drafted,” Jon insisted.

“Thought you didn’t want to go,” Daenerys said and cocked her head.

“Mandated by the Capital,” he reminded her. “It’s my duty.”

“Oh, and who rules the Capital?” she asked.

Jon scrounged his nose. “Is that some sort of trick question? Queen Cersei.”

“The Queen is dead,” Daenerys said plainly. She glanced down at her fingertips with a headshake. “Clearly, news travels slow to the north. She’s been dead for weeks.”

Jon stared at her in disbelief. “Even so,” he muttered, but it took him a few seconds to regain his voice. “Even so, I’m drafted. I have to go north. I have to fight.”

“Of course you were drafted. She probably hoped you’d die in silence somewhere north of the wall,” Daenerys said sharply. There was a certain authority to her tone of voice - at least, Jon quieted. “Jon,” Daenerys said, and she reached over for his hand. When he didn’t offer it to her, she gave him a pained look. “You’re already here,” she reminded him.

Jon swallowed. Then, slowly, he offered her his hand. As she grabbed it, she turned it between her palms, and he felt how soft her skin was. For a second, he allowed himself to get lost in the sensation. But only for a moment. Once she started speaking again, he looked into her eyes.

“There’s going to be a new heir,” Daenerys said. She spoke each word clearly, as if she wanted to be certain that he understood. “Someone needs to be chosen.”

“Dear God,” Jon whispered, and it was only then things seemed to dawn on him. “You’re that Daenerys. You’re that Targaryen woman.”

Daenerys gave him a wry smile. “You seem to be catching up.”

“You’re looking to push your brother to the throne?” Jon mused, and Daenerys’ smile fell in the same.

She withdrew her hand. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “He’s already taken it.”

“Surely you should be happy?”

“Viserys will make a poor king, both you and I know that.”

Jon felt himself nod solemnly. “But why-”

“Jon, you don’t really think you were born in a pub, do you?” Daenerys asked, and she watched him quietly.

“Right on the floor,” Jon insisted, but he could hear his voice waver. He did not like to think too deeply about the past. It was too easy to find things that did not connect.

Daenerys shook her head. “There is going to be a new heir,” Daenerys said, “there has to be. We cannot have another reign like Cersei’s, and I’m afraid my brother will only make matters worse.”

“If you want the throne, take it,” Jon spoke, “I have nothing to do with it.”

“You can only claim the throne in three ways,” Daenerys reminded him. “Through heritage, which is what Viseys’ claims. With violence, which I want to avoid. Or with support.”

“So you’re kidnapping supporters?” Jon laughed a hollow laugh. “You won’t get far!”

“Royal supporters,” Daenerys pointed out, and Jon’s laugh silenced at once.

He sat staring at her. Slowly, he felt the room start spinning. He wondered if it was the alcohol playing up. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he muttered.

“You know who you really are,” Daenerys said softly. “You’ve known all along.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. She reached down and grabbed a bowl off the floor, and she handed it to Jon. When he looked into it, he found soapy water waiting for him. Its sweet smell alone made him heave. “I know you wanted an anonymous life, but duty is calling, nephew. It’s time you do right by all of us and join the struggle.”

“Why the masquerade?” Jon gasped, his mouth filling with a bit of bile. He spat it out and sent her a confused look. “Why not just tell me to come?”

“You’d never,” Daenerys scoffed. “Besides, Ned would have burned the letter. Like he burnt the others.”

“There were others?”

“Jon-” Daenerys reached out and grabbed the bowl back, pushing it aside on the bed as she instead claimed his head between her hands. As he looked into her eyes, he found only kindness. “Don’t do it for yourself, or the family, or me. Do it for the realm.”

He stared back at her. Then he nodded. “For the realm.”

Daenerys smiled a little. Then, she placed a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”

As Jon watched her get up and trudge out of the room, he wondered: Is there a way to get my chance back?

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #writing #writings #id like to do a sci-fi realm story one day #i guess this is kinda playing with some themes i enjoy #oh well as always pls ignore me!

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blissfulparker · 5 years

Text

Snowed in⇒fwb!haz

Parings→harrison osterfield x reader

Summary→ when you and Harrison have a strict friends with benefits relationship(no staying in the morning, no strings attached, no falling in love), what happens when you two get trapped in his house by the snow?

Warnings→ smut, fluff

A/n→ this is for @thollandss because I know she loves haz and wants to fuck him and honestly who doesn’t? This is also my first Harrison full fic I’ve ever written so I’m not sure how much attention this will get but I like it and hope you do too💓💞

7:38am

You woke up not as warm as when you fell asleep, soft white panties, bunched you old nirvana shirt and your hair messily pulled up by the black hair tie you’ve found in your purse.

Harrison’s arm loosely wrapped around you, his lips parted as he let out soft snores most likely exhausted from what you all did last night. Although Harrison never got tired of sex, never.

You and haz had been seeing each other since the beginning of July, it was his birthday and you two got drunk and one thing led to another and the two of you were sleeping together. It use to be once a week or whenever you two craved each other but now it was at least two to three times a week and followed by quickly leaving with a dry excuse.

This time was no different than the others, you quietly move his arm from your waist, slip on your jeans and leave his shirt because you liked the smell, brushed your teeth quickly and got ready to leave all before 8:30. Normally, Harrison woke up at that time.

“It’s snowed in.” His groggily morning voice scared you and he looked over at you trying to take in the figure before you left.

You felt embarrassed, ashamed for leaving without giving him a heads up but you’d always see him tonight and the same thing would happen but you shouldn’t feel that bad for leaving. He wasn’t your boyfriend so why should you feel so bad for leaving before he wakes up?

“I-It’s okay, I’ll call an Uber If you’re worried—“ you refuse to make eye contact with the piercing blue eyes.

“No, princess, the roads are closed.” He threw the blankets off himself and walked over to you. His body warm and that’s what you needed, warmth.

“My house is only like a mile away, I can always walk—“ you try again and he shakes his head as he starts to take off your coat. He notices you’re holding onto his t shirt and smirks a little. He knew you were gonna cuddle with it. Once he came over, fucked, then found his long lost cream sweater tucked under your pillow, like you were holding onto it for some reason. It wasn’t washed, it wasn’t anything, it still smelt like the night he wore it and was balled up under your pillow as if he was right there when he left you’d pull it out and sleep with it.

“You really think I’m going to let you walk when it’s below freezing?” He asks as he throws your coat onto his desk chair.

“Well, it’s late and I’ve got work—“ you give another dry excuse and he cuts you off with a soft kiss. Your lips were still swollen from the night before and so were his. You never liked it when he was rough in the morning because you were so sore from the night before, he knew that and that’s why he took it slow.

“How you gonna get to work when the roads are closed, love?” He asked and you look down at his lips and then back up to his eyes.

“I can walk.” You lie and he shakes his head. His arm snakes around your waist and pulls you close to him.

“Nope, not happening.” He presses a soft kiss to your neck but the whole moment is ruined by the sound of your stomach. He chuckles into your neck as he moves back a bit. “I can make you breakfast? Eggs, pancakes, coffee, something simple? If you don’t like that we always have cereal.” He offers and you feel your heart race. Your mind goes back to rules you’d set when you first started the whole thing.

“Don’t tell anyone about this.” Your naked bodies tangled under his sheets after the first time you decided to let this become a regular thing.

“Agree, Tom would loose his shit.” Harrison laughed a bit and you nodded.

“And he’d tell everyone!” You remind. Harrison places a soft kiss on your fingers as he furrows his brows and thinks of something else.

“No cooking breakfast for the other person.” He says blandly and you laugh. He lets go of your hand and looks confused. “What?”

“Why would we be making each other breakfast?” You laughed and he shrugged.

“I don’t know but then it’s serious. It’s an intimate thing to do with someone and this isn’t intimate.” He points between you and him. Your heart speeds up slightly hurt but you knew it was true, this wasn’t intimate.

“Right, right. Good point.” You nod and then bit your lip. “No staying after 9am….” you trailed off.

Now you were back in reality and not only were you breaking one rule, you were breaking two. Staying after 9am and making breakfast. It was risky, really risky for your feelings but it was happening.

“I’m more of a morning tea person.” You smirk and he kisses your cheek as he lets go of your waist and moves to his dresser. He pulls out two pairs of sweats, one for you and one for him.

“Well, lucky for you I have tea.” He throws the sweats at you and you look down at them and then back up at him.

“Didn’t tell you? The snow is expected to melt or get worse at 5:30pm.” He winks as he slides on a pair of sweats and then leaves the room.

“Fuck.” You mutter you yourself as you groan taking off the clothes you’d just put on and start to find your way out into the kitchen.

Your feelings were fucked, your day was fucked. You were gonna spend the whole day either fucking or just being awkward with each other. You guys we’re friends, very good ones. But after this whole thing started you couldn’t really just curl up like best friends anymore, it was more like laying against each other and fucking. No love, no strings attached, fucking.

His body is pressed up against the counter as he whisks together pancake mix and pours it into the pan. A soft playlist he’s made for mornings like these was playing softly in the background as you stopped and watched. You could get use to all of this, but there was no point. The only reason why you and Harrison weren’t in a relationship was because he had his eyes on someone else and you didn’t believe in love. Or at least, that’s what he told you and that’s what you told him.

“Has anyone ever told you staring is rude?” He turns around with a cheeky smirk. You roll your eyes and rub your arms as you approach him.

“Anyone ever tell you your heater’s broken?” You throw back at him and he tilts his head.

“Touché.” He goes back to whisking and you lean your head against his shoulder. “What are you doing?” He asked noticing your sudden affection. Even when you both were done fucking you didn’t really wanna cuddle, afraid you’d get too attached and your heart broken.

“Nothing.” You shrug off stepping away. “It’s cold and your heater is broken.” You remind him and he pours more into the pan.

“You already told me that love, if you wanna come cuddle just ask.” He winks and you roll your eyes as you find yourself a mug and grab the bag of tea to get yourself. You think about how much you really do want his affection, his arms around your waist as you watch a stupid Christmas movie and eat popcorn until midnight, no sex, no tension, just cuddles and kisses. That sounded amazing, but you couldn’t ask for that.

“I don’t know why you’re cooking for me, you can’t exactly cook.” You tease him taking a seat at the counter.

“Hey, I said there was the option of cereal.” He jokes and you smile as you play with the mug rim. You look out the window and see the constant snow falling, the trees are covered, Harrison has placed a tarp over his car so it doesn’t get messed up(the man was in love with that thing, more than he loved seeing you probably). It was gorgeous outside but you were stuck inside with Harrison.

“Thank you, by the way.” You smile and he comes over with a plate.

“Of course.” He goes back and gets one for himself and sits next to you. His action was somewhat bold because you thought he’d maybe sit opposite of you or somewhere else but he sat right next to you at the counter.

“Do you have a plan for today?” You ask him and he shakes his head.

“Tom might stop by because he’s an idiot and will try to drive on the roads. But other than that, no love, were trapped.” He stuffs his face filled with pancakes and you laugh a little. This was a sight you truly could get use to.

“Do you think about me when I leave?” You ask out of nowhere and he looks at you shocked.

“Yeah.” He says honestly. He knows you’re bothered by the statement because you want to stay but according to the rules you’ve set...you can’t. “How could I not?”

“How could you?” You ask with furrows brows. He moves a hand to touch your shoulder. The one that has a soft red hickie he left from last night.

“Why don’t you believe in love?” He looks at the shoulder and then back up to you. A shiver runs down your spin as he asks the question.

“It’s a stupid concept.” You lie and he laughs because he knows you’re lying.

“Hmm,” he leans in really close and presses a kiss to your shoulder. “What if you gave it a chance? What if you gave me a chance?” He asks and you move back a little and you feel yourself heating up.

“What if you broke my heart? And I never wanted to see you again?” You spoke through a cracked voice and his hand moves now to your thigh. You’re warm, actually, you’re burning hot. The snow sounds nice, being in the cold sounds amazing because of how hot you are.

“I’m not ever going to do that. You know that. I want to take care of you more ways than just sex. I want to be the person you come home to. I want you to teach me how to fucking cook properly. I want to hold you and kiss your cheek when we’re at the pub with the boys. I want so many things and they all mean love. I would hate myself forever for breaking your heart, that’s why I could never do it.” He promises you and you grab onto his face and place a kiss on his lips. They’re soft and sticky from the syrup, his face is cold but so soft, his hands find themselves gripping onto your waist pulling you in.

“Is that a yes? Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked and you lean back out of breath.

“You never asked.” You grow a little smirk. He huffs as his hands find yours and he holds them tight.

“(Y/n), will you be my girlfriend?” He has a lazy smile and you lean back into kiss him and nod into the kiss.

“I’d love that more than anything.” You hum against his lips. He pulls you off the stool and sets you on the counter, soft kisses placed on your neck and trailing back up to your lops.

“You know,” he kisses quickly and harsh, he’s dreamed of morning sex with you and now he might be able to get it. “The shower is a pretty warm place, maybe we can go in there to warm up?” Your legs wrapped around his waist as he says that statement.

“Are you inviting me to shower sex?” You chuckle against his lips.

“I’m gonna invite you to a lot of things today babygirl, shower sex or no?” He asks and you tug on his blonde curls a little causing him to groan.

“Fuck yes.” You moan as he Takes you off the counter and leads you into the back of the room.

The shower, wasn’t the only place you two would be in today, after that you two were spent in bed, watching movies and curling up to keep warm. You thought, maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, maybe Harrison Osterfield was serious about loving you. And for sure he was, for sure he was.

#harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfield smut #harrison osterfield fan fic #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield blurb

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findmeinpops · 5 years

Text

Festive Writing Prompts

Hello! This is a collection of my favourite festive writing prompts from various sources (so credit where credit’s due). Please would you lovely people send me in some requests based on the list below (or your own prompts!) along with the characters you’d like and any other context / details you fancy. Feel free to reblog / use this as inspiration x

Story Prompts:

1. Person A helping Person B by carrying their Christmas tree out to the car but Person B accidentally whacks Person A with the tree trunk and now they’re in the hospital.

2. Person A trying very hard to meet Person B under the mistletoe knocking over the Christmas tree in the process so now everyone at the party is staring at them.

3. Person A offered to help with Person B’s holiday baking and now they have 400 cookies and Person B lives alone.

4. Person A burned their tongue on hot cocoa and Person B’s first instinct was to spray whipped cream into A’s mouth like a fire extinguisher.

5. Person A dressing up as Santa and sneaking into the kids’ rooms to hang their stockings. Of course, Person B and Santa have a kiss under the mistletoe.

6. Person A and Person B were supposed to go out for a date but a snow storm hits and they get snowed in. Person A is really sad about it so Person B builds them a blanket fort so they can spend the evening snuggling and watching Christmas movies together.

7. Person A starts decorating for Christmas only to realise that all of their strands of lights have stopped working. They’re really upset because they can’t afford to replace all of them so they call Person B to vent. An hour later, Person B shows up at Person A’s house with several strands of working lights and helps them decorate the house.

8. Person A was supposed to go Christmas carolling with a large group of friends but has to cancel because they’re sick and have lost their voice. Person B, one of the friends in the group, makes up an excuse as to why they can’t go carolling either. Person B then shows up at Person A’s house and serenades them with Christmas carols in their living room.

9. Person A and Person B are decorating a gingerbread house when Person A accidentally breaks a piece causing the house to collapse. Person A is really sad and afraid that Person B will be mad at them but Person B has the idea to turn it into a post-apocalyptic gingerbread house so they work together to strategically destroy it even more.

10. Person A made Person B a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ and Person B can’t tell if they’re hitting on them or if it’s a joke.

11. Person A’s car got stuck in the snow and Person B saves them. àpasser-by? emergency contact? no one else will pick up?

12. Person A dressed up as an elf, because of their job. Person B is drunk and thinks that Person A actually knows Santa.

13. Person A hates Christmas because they’ve never had a good one. So Person B goes all out to make this the best Christmas for them.

14. Person A and B got into an argument because of something stupid but A slipped on the ice on the stairs. Person A called B to help them and their fight was forgotten when B worries like a mother-hen.

15. Person A falling asleep whilst Person B is playing them Christmas carols on the piano. They pull a blanket over them and curl up beside them.

16. Person B coming home from a day at work and finding Person A drinking eggnog from the carton and crying whilst watching ‘Love Actually’. Person B pulls Person A onto their lap and kisses their forehead until they stop crying and fall asleep.

17. Person A losing Person B at a Christmas market and having to make an announcement over an intercom to reunite them again.

18. Christmas shenanigans under the tree…. if you know what I mean….

19. Burning Christmas dinner and then trying to order take-out.

20. Person A making Christmas crafts with Person B’s younger sibling – cookies, snowflakes, reindeer food etc.

21. Person A and B cuddling in the bathtub because it’s so cold outside and Person A got caught in the snow on the way home from work.

22. Person A crawling into Person B’s room because it is so cold in their own bed and they want cuddles.

23. Person A and B accidentally wearing matching ‘Naughty’ and ‘Nice’ jumpers in public and then bumping into each other. {MEET-CUTE ALERT!}

24. Person A threw a snowball and it hit Person B and they were going to be mad but B thinks Person A is super cute so they invite them in for hot chocolate.

25. After the fourth time Person B has come to ask Person A for sugar this week, they finally ask ‘how many cookies are you making?’.

26. Person A is excitedly making snow angels in their back-garden like a five-year-old but doesn’t realise Person B can see them over the fence.

27. Is Person B the one putting mistletoe absolutely everywhere in this apartment building, or do they just happen to be in the right place at the right time every single time Person A walks under it? -

28. Person A just heard a ten-pound turkey hit the ground accompanied by some very strong words so they offer Person B some help.

29. Running into each other at the airport.

30. The pretend date at a Christmas party / family festive dinner AU.

31. Person A trying to get their friends to kiss under the mistletoe so they completely forget about Person B, their crush, until they are both under the mistletoe too.

Dialogue Prompts:

32. “You. Me. Snowman. Now”

33. “Where did all the mistletoe come from?”

34. “Your hands are freezing!”

35. “How did you manage to get tangled up in the tinsel?”

36. “Here, let me help you with the scarf.”

37. “We’ve got a white Christmas.”

38. “There’s no way I’m letting you spend Christmas alone.”

39. “Nope. This is not happening. It’s CHRISTMAS.”

40. “Wait, you’re not going home for Christmas?”

41. “You’re under the mistletoe so stop stalling and just kiss.”

42. “It’s almost midnight.”

43. “I guess… this is when we kiss?”

44. “Do NOT throw that snowball or else!”

45. “Die Hard is a Christmas film and I’ll fight you if you say anything else!”

46. “These jokes are not Christmas friendly!”

47. “I’m like a Grinch. I hate Christmas and people.”

48. “You are not dressing the cat in a reindeer costume!”

49. “Thanks for the… uh… gift?”

50. “You’re like a heater!”

51. “Let’s see who can catch the most snowflakes on their tongue!”

52. “Do you want to build a-” “Absolutely not.”

53. “So… looks like we’re the only ones without dates, huh.”

54. “I think eating chocolate alone on a holiday is completely normal.”

55. “Time to grope the turkey

“Is it really groping if it’s dead?”

“Then it’s necrophilia. I figured groping was a less creepy way to refer to dinner prep.”

“Or you should just call it dinner prep.”

56. “I love Christmas more than anything.” “What, even more than me?”

#festive prompts #writing prompts #writing resources #ignore my previous attempts to post this #my iPad uploaded it five times (without my consent) in a very odd format #so here we are on my laptop

22 notes · View notes

let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Second in Command (Epilogue - Part 3)

Second in Command: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Every time I write that word epilogue up on the title line, I feel like a fraud because this is totally a sequel, right? Lol. Yep, definitely is. Anyways, I hear there was a cliffhanger in the last chapter that you guys have lots of feelings about.

Found on ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @profdanglaisstuff @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma@alys07 @andiirivera

Her legs burn beneath her as her feet continuously hit the pavement and the music blares in her ears. She’s been running for an hour at the least, but she’s gotten to that point where she feels like she could still go on and not be dying the next day – that ever elusive runner’s high. But she knows that if she keeps going, she’ll be unable to work later tonight which isn’t an option. It’s her parents’ anniversary, and she promised that she’d work an extra shift at the pub so that they could go out to dinner and have a night completely away from home.

Sometimes she really wishes they’d get more employees than she, Will, and her parents, but while business is good, it’s not good enough for them to have enough employees for all three of them to take off regularly and leave Will in charge that much. But she doesn’t mind. She likes the work. She likes their customers. Most of all she likes when Killian comes in and sits with her at the bar, keeping her entertained when Mort and Joel are the only two people there and arguing over how the other’s favorite football team must have cheated during their last match.

So she turns around, slowing her run to her jog to cool herself down as she moves through the familiar streets, knowing that not a person has a care in the world who she is or how awful and sweaty she looks while making her way back to their cobblestone street and old wooden door. The hinges squeak as she unlocks the door, and she makes a mental note to try to fix that after she’s showered but before they open.

She doesn’t bother turning on any lights, wandering upstairs to find her parents making out in the living room.

“Oh, guys,” she groans, closing her eyes like some kind of reflex after years of practicing, “this is the common area. I don’t need to see that. Like, ever.”

“It’s not like we haven’t walked in on you and Killian, sweetie.”

“Mary Margaret, can we not bring that up? I’m still trying to un-see it.”

“I’m still trying to un-see this.” She opens her eyes and sees that her parents are now a respectable distance from each other, though still making disgustingly in love eyes. God, they need to get a grip. “Happy anniversary, you guys.”

“Thank you, Emma. You have a good run?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to go take a shower because I smell. Wouldn’t want to scare everyone away tonight.”

Her parents open up downstairs while she showers and gets ready to relieve them of their mini shift, throwing on her favorite pair of jeans and a button-down Killian left here last week. She doesn’t bother drying her hair, just throwing it up into a wet bun on the top of her head, twisting the strands into a top knot. It really doesn’t matter if she looks like a madwoman as long she gives everyone their alcohol, and by the end of the night, she looks damn nice depending on how much everyone has had to drink anyways.

Yeah, working in a low-key pub is a pretty good gig.

After her parents leave for their dinner and whatever else it is that they’re doing (she doesn’t ever ask or she’ll get far more information than she ever wanted), she tends the pub as usual, talking to their usuals and fiddling with her phone, texting with Ruby to pass the time. Killian’s at a state dinner, so he doesn’t have his phone. Frankly, she’s bored out of her mind to the point where she starts cleaning their already clean glasses just to have something to do with her hands.

“Hey, Emma,” Mort calls, raising his glass.

“Just a second,” she calls back, grabbing the pitcher of his beer before walking over to him and refilling his glass. “How are Catherine and the kids?”

“Good,” Mort answers, taking a sip of his drink. “Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”

“Late day at work. He’ll be here later.”

“Anyone ever tell you he looks like the prince?”

Her heartrate increases, practically pounding out of her chest, and she nearly drops the pitcher. After three years of Killian coming here, no one has ever said anything, and now Mort is. Shit.

“Yeah, I think it’s the beard,” she lies. “He’s a cutie, don’t you think?”

“I mean, maybe. He doesn’t quite have the same build. Too scrawny.”

“You want to tell him he’s scrawny?”

“No, he could still kick my ass.”

“Alright, Mort,” she laughs, taking a breath to calm herself, “enjoy your night, but don’t stay too late, okay? Catherine probably wants you home.”

Another hour passes before she gets a text from Killian, her phone chiming and a picture of them from Switzerland, their hair coated in snow, popping up.

Killian: Hi, love. I’m just getting finished. Hope you’ve had a wonderful day. See you soon. Love you.

“Is that the boyfriend texting you?”

“Shut it, Mort.”

Mort is long gone as are all of their regulars by midnight, and as it’s a Tuesday, she doesn’t expect more than a few stragglers coming in and out. But then the bell over the door rings, and she sees Killian walk in, usual hat on his head covered even further by a hoodie. He looks around, taking note of the empty pub, before walking over to the bar, sliding down on a stool and placing the white take-out bag he has with him on the counter.

“What can I get you there, sir?”

“A kiss would be nice.”

Cheesy goofball.

“Oh, that’s a very popular order tonight. I swear I’ve served at least ten.”

His features darken, his jaw ticking, and she throws her head back in laughter before leaning forward and pushing his hood off of his head.

“Hi, babe,” she whispers before cupping his cheeks, his whiskers rough on her palm, and leaning in to kiss him, lingering a little longer than she should and tasting his chapstick and whatever dessert it was he had at the dinner. There was definitely chocolate involved. “You have fun at the dinner?”

“Wasn’t bad, actually. I was bloody glad to get out of my suit though. Are your parents home yet?”

“No, they’re staying at a hotel. Why?”

“Because,” he drawls, reaching over and grabbing the bag he carried in, “I brought you food, and it would have been rude not to get them anything, especially on their anniversary.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Always.”

“What’d you get me?”

“A cheeseburger.”

“Bless you.” She leans forward and kisses him again. “I love you so much for this. I’ve been starving and didn’t feel like opening the kitchen.”

“I mean, what else am I for but providing you with food?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

Killian stays and chats with her, keeping her entertained while a few people shuffle in an out. A guy, obviously drunk, walks in and orders food, so she does end up having to open the kitchen, turning on the fryer and throwing the frozen crinkle fries they have in so that they sizzle. She begins cutting up the tomato for the dude’s sandwich when the fryer pops, and she jumps so suddenly the she slices her hand, the sting immediately overwhelming her.

“Oh, shit. Fuck. Shit, shit, shit. That hurts.”

Tears well in her eyes while she runs over to the sink, turning the water on and sticking her hand under it to try to clean it, but she’s bleeding too much and needs to wrap her finger and the part of her palm that’s been cut. She finds a clean towel, wrapping it around her hand and holding it tightly to try to stop the bleeding. The fryer pops again, and suddenly she remembers that she’s going to burn the place down if she doesn’t control this. But she can’t do that with her hand…damn, she’s going to need help. She was wrong saying she didn’t need Will tonight.

“Killian,” she hisses from the entrance to the kitchen. When he doesn’t look up, she calls again. “Killian, come here now.”

He hears her then, looking up from his phone and scurrying toward her, taking a step into the disaster of a kitchen.

“Bloody hell. What’s happening in here?”

“I cut my hand, slashed it open really, and I need you to man the fryer for, like, two minutes while I get the bleeding to stop.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m in pain, but we have to serve this guy. Just…just stand there and move the basket. Pour them into the other one when they get brown.” “Emma, let me look at your hand.”

“Killian, it’s fine. Just do this one thing, okay?”

It turns out that her hand is not fine, the bleeding continuing despite the pressure she’s applying, and they have to close down the pub and go to the urgent care center a few blocks over. Okay, well, she goes to the urgent care center and Killian sits in his car because she wouldn’t let him come in. She’s just going to need stitches, a minor thing, and she doesn’t need anyone recognizing him for this. He was pissed off, but he didn’t follow when she got out of his car and came inside.

After her finger and part of her palm is stitched up, she fills out the rest of the paperwork for her insurance before heading back outside with the smallest injury imaginable. Killian unlocks the car door for her, and she slides into the passenger seat. He doesn’t even say anything, grabbing her hand and inspecting her injury like there’s anything more to it than the eight stitches stretched across her skin.

“God, Killian, you’re freaking out over nothing.”

“I am not freaking out.”

She rolls her eyes and leans back against the head rest. “Yes, yes you are. I’d hate to see you if I was ever in the hospital for something serious. You’d probably have to be hospitalized yourself.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“Hey,” she chuckles, leaning forward and running her uninjured thumb over the apple of this cheek, “I’m fine. I’m always going to be fine.”

She wasn’t eating enough or drinking enough water. Her anxiety was too high, and she hadn’t been sleeping nearly as much as what was recommended.

Those are all of the things the doctor taking care of her at Medical Center told her before he casually slipped in that the only reason her schedule and lack of taking care of herself was a problem because she’s pregnant.

Because that’s a thing apparently.

She’s pregnant.

They weren’t even going to start trying until after this tour, simply enjoying life with just the two of them, and somehow they’re already ahead of the game. She guesses sometimes she can be an overachiever.

Holy shit.

This is…this is insane, and she can’t stop crying. She’s never cried this much in her entire life, and she’s honestly not sure how to make it stop.

Killian doesn’t know yet. He’d run down to get her a hot chocolate at her insistence right before the doctor came in, and instead of waiting for Killian to come back, she’d told him to go on. So now she’s got a mixture of anxiety and excitement and overwhelming love running through her veins waiting for Killian to walk back into the room. She’s also got tear tracks all over her cheeks from all of this stupid crying, and she already knows that he’s going to freak out before she gets the chance to tell him that she’s fine. She’s just…pregnant.

“Hey, darling, I couldn’t find you hot – ” he walks into the room holding an armful of snacks and a bottle of diet coke under his armpit, and he promptly drops them all in a chair the moment they make eye contact. God, he’s so dramatic, and all she can do is cry a little more, snot forming as more tears make an appearance, while Killian comes to sit on the bed. He cups her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears while his eyes scan hers. It’s eerily similar to what happened when she fell, though he’s not trying to pick her up and carry her like he had tried then, and a smile stretches across her face just thinking of how good of a dad he’s going to be.

God, they’re going to be parents. Are they even ready for that? Is anyone ever ready for that? She wanted this, wants this, and so does Killian. It’s just a lot right now and not at all how she expected to find out she was pregnant with her first child. It should have been a moment with she and Killian sitting on the bathroom floor or on her bathroom vanity and using one of the pregnancy tests that only brought her a hell of a lot of fear in the past. But it would have been simple and happy, and he could look at the test to know instead of her fainting and losing her mind in the hospital.

“Love, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Do I need to call a doctor? I can call a doctor right now.” She has to stop him from leaning over her hospital bed, the IV in her arm tugging the slightest bit, and the confusion painted on his face only increases when she twines her fingers through his and squeezes. “Emma, I’m really starting to worry. We still don’t know what happened, and I am freaking the fuck out with how upset you look right now.”

A laugh passes through her lips, and her entire body practically sighs in contentment while Killian freaks the fuck outin front of her, his blue eyes flooded with worry.

God, she hopes the baby gets his blue eyes.

And his ears.

Maybe his hair too.

There’s going to be a baby.

“So the doctor came in while you were gone.”

“Did he? What’d he say? Are you okay?”

“Babe,” she sighs, running her fingers back and forth over his knuckles. His skin is heated, a major contrast to the temperature outside and the air in this hospital room. “I’m fine. Dr. Hawkins told me that my schedule for the tour is what caused the dizzy spell. I wasn’t eating enough or drinking enough, so I’m hooked up to the IV for fluids. All of the crowds and the stress of making sure to do the right things were making me anxious and overwhelmed. And I apparently haven’t been sleeping enough for someone who’s about seven weeks pregnant.”

“Okay, so we’ll get you to eat better and force feed or drink or whatever your water and…wait. What did you just say?”

Killian’s lips are parted, and his eyebrows are practically at his hairline, the lines of his forehead increasing before he furrows his brows together and his grip tightens almost painfully around her fingers. He’s going to be so pissed when he realizes that she framed the news that way on purpose, but watching Killian figure out that he’s going to be a dad is one of her new favorite things…possibly her favorite thing.

This moment is going to be perfect even if it’s like nothing she ever imagined.

“I said that I’m pregnant, with child, knocked up, have a bun in the oven, however you like to say the phrase.”

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, his voice barely sounding in the room for how quiet he is before he’s releasing her hands and pulling her into an embrace. His hands are everywhere, running up and down her back or over her arms while his lips continue to press into her neck and her salty tears fall against his cheeks.

When he pulls back, there are tears on his cheeks that didn’t stem from her, the blue in his eyes even brighter, and before she gets a chance to wipe his tears away, he’s doing that for her, which only makes them form at an even quicker pace. She’s never been this much of a crier when it comes to being happy. Hell, she barely cried on their wedding day. But now she can’t stop.

“Are you truly, Emma? Are we going to have a child?”

She nods, and he beams, the most genuine joy painted across his face.

“We’re having a baby,” she confirms, blinking to clear her vision. “I love you”

“I love you, too.” He simply stares at her for a moment before his eyes go wide and he runs one hand through his hair, making it stick up all over the place. “I can’t…I can’t remember if you said you’re okay. You’re okay, right?” He releases her cheek to press his hand against her flat stomach. “And the baby? Everyone’s okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine.” She places her hand over his and squeezes. “I just can’t be on a non-stop schedule where I’m not eating or sleeping properly. And I’m not supposed to get too stressed, which reminds me that we have to put out a statement about my fall and us leaving and cancelling the last few events. And then we have to get the ND’s for the hospital staff and – ”

“Emma.”

“What?”

“Stop worrying about all of that. I’m going to handle it, and we’re going to work on getting you home, aye?”

“Aye,” she agrees, mimicking his accent without even thinking about it in the same way the she leans forward and kisses him without thinking about it. “I’m happy. Are you happy?”

“So happy I almost don’t believe this is real.”

“It’s real and apparently in my uterus.”

They end up issuing a statement saying everything the doctor said about the tour being too much stress on her body with her lack of eating and sleeping. She knows that very few people will believe that, and that the speculation behind the real reason will be front page news tomorrow. It’s something that she’s not used to, that she’ll never quite be used to, and while she’s learning to share parts of her life with the world, this baby is something she wants to keep to she and Killian forever. Or at least for a few weeks. That lasts approximately two days before they arrive home, deciding to cancel their trip to Maine, to find her parents sitting in the living room.

How did they even get inside? She’s pretty sure she didn’t give her mom a key.

Oh…Killian gave her dad one for Indy. Damn.

“You’re pregnant.”

She stops dead in her tracks, her feet halting and her carry-on falling to the floor while Killian’s hand finds the small of her back, a comforting presence if she ever needed one. She really needs one right now.

“Well hello to you too, Mom. It’s nice to see you after a few weeks away.”

Killian chuckles beside her before pulling her into his side and kissing her temple. “Be nice,” he whispers into her ear, his voice low and rumbling. “And tell the truth.”

She rolls her eyes at the last part. She most definitely was going to lie. She already has to share this with the world. Now she has to share it with her parents and Killian’s parents and likely Killian’s entire family. She loves them all, but she’s just not ready yet. The baby really isn’t either. It’s supposed to be just them for another month, but somehow everyone already knows.

(Okay, so passing out on a stage in front of hundreds of people is not exactly the most discreet thing in the world, but people should have a little more common courtesy.)

But she’d feel awful lying to her mom. She knows it’s irrational, but she already feels like that’s setting a bad example for her baby.

Oh shit. She’s going to have to stop cursing in casual conversation. It’s going to be like she’s always at a public event.

Priorities, Emma.

“Mom, Dad,” she begins, preparing herself for her mother’s scream and taking a deep breath, “I am seven weeks along in my pregnancy. It’s very new, and Killian and I were going to try to wait until I’m a little further along to say anything, especially with how we found out. But apparently you guys are Sherlock and Watson.”

“Are you…are you not excited, sweetheart?” Her dad takes a step forward, his eyes full of concern, and it’s then that she steps away from Killian, letting his hand fall from her waist as she embraces her parents, allowing them to hold onto her as tightly as possible.

“I’m so excited,” she whispers into her dad’s neck. “I’m just a little overwhelmed right now, and I’m being selfish in not wanting to share the baby. Like, at all. I just…I,” she sniffles, wiping her tears in her dad’s shirt. “I feel crazy and tired and my body wouldn’t let me eat a cheeseburger on the way home. I really wanted a cheeseburger.”

“Shhh,” David whispers, running his hand up and down her back before cupping the back of her head and leaving her mom’s hand on her back. “It’s okay. We understand. It was the same way when we found out about you.”

“It was?”

“I didn’t want to share you with anyone,” her mom admits, and she can’t help but bark out a laugh at thinking of her mom being private, “not even your dad. I’m sorry if we ambushed you. I just…you called to say you were fine, and it was just a dizzy spell. And then I got to thinking, and it just came to me. I was so excited to be a grandmother, and I got a little ahead of myself. And we were only really here to bring Indy back and – ”

“Mom.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m excited you’re going to be a grandmother, too.”

They sit and talk to her parents after getting Indy from their fenced in garden. Emma thought she was going to be brought down by how excited Indy was, her long legs practically landing on Emma’s shoulder as she licked everywhere she could reach. But then she saw Killian, and it was game over, the dog completely ignoring Emma and running to tackle Killian, her tail wagging at such a rapid pace. Ever since they got the dog and she’s preferred Killian, he’s always said it was payback for Alex betraying him and loving Emma more.

Maybe it is.

But jokes on him because she’s got Lizzie, too.

And soon, they’ll have their own baby to have these stupid arguments over.

Her hand finds her stomach, rubbing over the flatness. Killian was right. It doesn’t seem real. It seems like this is all some kind of dream that she doesn’t want to wake up from. A weirdly emotional and slightly nauseous dream but a dream nonetheless.

She finds Killian’s gaze across the living room. His eyes are completely focused on her, and when he raises his eyebrow in question, she nods in answer, smiling at him before returning to the conversation with her parents.

Her mom and dad promise to keep it a secret until they tell the rest of the family and close friends, and she almost believes her mom when she says it. As soon as they leave, she rushes upstairs and changes out of her jeans into a pair of pajamas, burrowing herself under the covers and falling asleep faster than she ever has. When she wakes, there’s a warm body next to, cradling her, and the way that Killian’s hand runs up and down her side, soft touches and gentle caresses that send pinpricks across her skin, makes her just as sleepy as she was when she fell asleep.

“Have you been watching me this entire time?”

“I have.”

“That’s creepy.”

He laughs against her neck before she tilts her head back and awkwardly captures his lips with her. They continue to move against each other until she releases him and turns in his arms so that her nose brushes against his and her hand lands on his back while the other rests between the pillow and his cheek.

“Killian, you can’t watch me like a hawk for nine months…or seven months. I’m pregnant, not incapable of taking care of myself. Especially right now. I haven’t even thrown up yet or done anything but feel tired and not like smells. I’m fine.”

“I know that I can’t, that you’re more than capable of anything, everything. But Emma we only found out you were pregnant because you fainted on a stage. And I know you. You don’t like to ask for help or slow down.”

His voice sounds desperate, broken, and she can’t begin to imagine how scary it was for him to watch her and not know what was going on. It was terrifying for her, the way her body didn’t feel like her body anymore, but waiting and worrying about someone you love is always somehow equally as nerve-wracking. And Killian’s not exactly someone who can tamper down his feelings most of the time, especially when it comes to her.

“I don’t want to slow down.”

He sighs before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed as she revels in the feel of his lips on her skin, his whiskers scratching her the most familiar feeling in the world.

“You don’t have to, but you have to be smart. And you have actual doctor’s orders to sleep more and to take care of yourself. Darling, you have life growing inside of you. Things aren’t going to be like they have been, and it’s going to take some getting used to.”

“As long as you don’t keep me inside of some kind of pregnant lady cage.”

“Damn. The bedroom down the hall is going to need some remodeling then.”

He’s joking, but it is. She feels like they just finished remodeling the house, and now they have to change another room. There’s so much to do, but they have time. Hopefully. She’s feeling a little – or a lot – overwhelmed right now, and as much as she came to accept her parents’ visit earlier, it didn’t help her. Honestly, it kind of pissed her off.

“I can’t believe my parents ambushed us like that.”

Killian’s hand begins running through her hair, pushing the strands back off her forehead. “Are you okay? You seemed pretty upset.”

“I am…I was. I don’t know. I love them so much and kind of accepted it for them, but I wish they hadn’t done that. If they understood how I’m feeling like they said they do, why would they put me through that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s, like, they’re the greatest parents, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m older now or what but…sometimes I think they don’t think about me. I think their instinct is them first, which I get. And I totally understand mom being excited. She’s wanted to be a grandmother for a long time, but I…I just wish – I wish she’d taken a moment and put me first.”

“Emma, I – ”

“And I know that sounds crazy because they’ve almost always done that but – ”

“It’s not crazy,” he reassures her, his hand running up and down her arm. “Parents can upset us. We look up to them, and sometimes they let us down. That’s life.”

“Are we going to do that to our kid?”

“Most definitely, but darling, that doesn’t mean they’re going to love us any less as long as we don’t muck it up too badly.”

She sighs, nuzzling herself under his chin and taking comfort in having him, her favorite person on the planet, by her side. He drives her crazy sometimes, but she’s so in love with him it hurts. Right now, though, it’s doing the exact opposite.

“Are you going to think I’m crazy when I get even more hormonal and have a giant stomach and get pissed at you for breathing?”

“I will not. I’m already used to all of that.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, moving her arm and hitting the back of his head. “You’re an asshole.”

“Eh,” he protests, leaning forward and kissing the tip of her nose, his lips warm against her skin. “I’ve come to terms with all of my titles in life, and asshole is one of them. I’m excited to get the new one of daddy or papa, though. I think those have a nice ring to it.”

“I’m not sure I can call you daddy until I have a bump or else it honestly just sounds dirty.”

“Love,” he laughs, falling back against the mattress and pulling her with him, “you are absolutely ridiculous. I don’t remember renting naughty videos on pay-per-view last week.”

“Yeah well,” she presses a kiss against his lips before winking, “you’re a deep sleeper.”

She starts throwing up the next week, and she has to cancel all of her engagements because the thought of having to get dressed in something other than pajamas makes her sick. Literally. Everything makes her sick, and while she’s known pregnant women, read the books, seen the movies, she didn’t realize it would be like this. It’s disgusting, and while she’s always queasy, she never quite knows when she’s going to have to run to the restroom and lose everything she’s ever eaten and then some.

She hates it.

One of the best things to ever happen to her, but she hates it right now.

It’s also the reason why Brennan and Allison find out about the pregnancy when they were trying to wait until she was at least ten weeks along to officially tell them. They’d apparently figured as much after she was hospitalized in America – as did the rest of the world apparently – but they were waiting for she and Killian’s confirmation. The same goes with Liam and Abigail.

“Oh I’m so excited,” Abigail squeals, wrapping her in a hug and rubbing her back up and down. “Alex and Lizzie are going to have a little cousin. You’re just going to be the best mum. I know it already.”

Liam hugs her when his wife eventually releases her, and his embrace is much less tight. He does kiss her forehead and hold her close, though. “Congratulations, lass. I’m so happy for you and Killian.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back, tightening her arms around his waist and letting him hold her for a second before releasing him and going to stand next to Killian. She nuzzles her head under his chin, her arms around his waist, and he rubs his entire arm back and forth over her shoulder blades. His head falls against hers, his whiskers burning her skin, and she smiles into his neck.

So she has to share the baby with someone other than Killian. It’s not too bad right now, especially with these people who love her. The idea just took some getting used to.

But then Emma started cancelling events or sending Killian in her place while the Palace begin getting calls, aides talking, advisors making suggestions, and she and Killian had no option other than announcing her pregnancy.

“You sure about this, darling?”

“Yeah, they’re going to figure it out soon enough anyways. I’m ten weeks, our check-up yesterday was all good. I’ve only got, like, two or three more weeks until I’m supposed to start showing according to the million websites I’ve read and apparently everyone already knows anyways. Send it, babe, but with the cute picture at the basketball game. If we have to do this, I want to do it our way.”

Emma and I are thrilled to announce that we are expecting a child in the late summer of this year. It is an exciting time in our household, and we are bounding with joy over having a product of our love coming into the world soon. We thank you all for your support and kindness, and we hope that you all share our joy in these happy times.

Love Always, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge (Killian and Emma).

She can’t take any more time off, so she heads back to work on the twenty-second, sliding into the front seat of the car with Thomas as he drives her to St. Stephen’s School.

“How are you feeling today, Your Highness?”

“Emma, Thomas,” she laughs, looking over to him while she fiddles with her engagement ring. “You can call me Emma. How many times are we going to have to go over that?”

“At least a hundred more and then maybe I’ll get it right.”

“Maybe. But I get it. You’ve worked for the family for decades. All of the rules are probably ingrained in that brain of yours.”

“You have no idea, Emma.”

“Ah, see,” she chuckles, her lips forming into a soft smile, “you’re already getting the hang of it.”

“You never did tell me how you were feeling, Your Highness. You’re alright to work today?”

So right back to the Your Highness. He’ll get the hang of it eventually. He has to. She can’t spend so much time with him and have him not call her by her name. If anything, maybe she can convince him to call her Emma and then get to work on him calling Killian by his name.

“I feel okay,” she honestly admits, slyly adjusting her bra from where it’s killing her. Damn sensitive breasts. Killian loves them because, well, he’s a man. She’s not liking them so much right now. “Just the usual things, but I’m ready to be back to work. And I couldn’t miss this.”

When they arrive at the school, she gets out of the SUV, slamming the door shut behind her and walking over to the school’s staff, greeting them and telling them how lovely it is to be here while accepting their congratulations on the pregnancy. There are flashes behind her from the increase in photographers, something she was warned was coming, and she tries to ignore it as she’s led inside and guided throughout the school and all of its recent improvements.

“Is there a particular age group you’d like to work with today, Your Highness?”

“No, no,” she assures Johana, “I’m fine with whatever, whoever. We’re working outside, right? In the garden? It’s a good thing it’s not too cold today.”

“That’s right. Do you spend a lot of time gardening?”

“Not so much me, but Killian does. He likes to be out there with the dog and sometimes our niece and nephew. I’m afraid I’d kill the plants.” “Well, let’s hope that’s not what happens today.”

They end up going to get the kindergartners to spend time out in the garden as well as a few older kids. Only the older ones know who she is despite the introduction, and she prefers it that way. If anything, her focus on children when it comes to her patronages stems from being able to help them, but the added bonus is definitely spending time with people who have not a care in the world who she’s married to.

Most of the time.

She’s outside in the garden, making a necklace of leaves with Matthew and Caroline, when another flash appears in her peripheral view.

“They’re taking pictures of you, you know,” Caroline tells her while she picks another leaf. “It’s because you’re a princess.”

“No, no,” she promises Caroline, reaching to tuck her red curl behind her ear, “they’re taking pictures of you. You’re special.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh yes you are, darling. Why do you think I came here today? I wanted to meet you.”

Caroline’s eyes light up while Matthew shows her the last leaf to finish off his necklace.

“Did you want to come meet me too?”

“Of course, Matthew.” She takes his necklace and drapes it over his head before doing the same to Caroline. “You guys look beautiful. Do you want to show your necklaces off to the cameras? Look just over there.”

She points to the camera before waving, wrapping her arms around them and pulling them closer. These are two sweet children, and she’s going to try to push her damn hormones down so she doesn’t break into tears in the middle of this.

She and some of the other children plant some new flowers in the garden for the spring and summer, and she promises to come back when they begin to bloom so she can see all of their hard work. At one point a worm crawls out of the soil, and there’s an absolute meltdown, a mixture of glee and terror at not knowing how to feel about the slimy little creature. It’s pretty hysterical if she’s honest, but the kids never do quiet down, squirming around while someone from the local wildlife preserve talks about and shows them a few animals in their care.

Lunch is served, and while they eat, she chats with the administrators of the school about their plans of using the outdoor area for both educational and recreational purposes. She’s so glad that the school got the money to expand. It’s a poorer area, their resources not as bountiful as a lot of the schools she lives near, and she’s truly excited and hopeful that this will make a difference.

And maybe she’ll get better at gardening at home.

When she gets home that afternoon after visiting two more schools with the same new implementations, she’s exhausted, falling onto the couch in the living room and flipping through the channels on TV until she finds reruns Downton Abbey, which is probably her most British concession…besides her mother and marrying Killian. That last one was pretty damn British.

Indy sits in her bed below her, snoozing after getting too excited over Emma being home. Her phone starts ringing, and she reaches over to its spot on the coffee table to answer. She thought it would be Killian telling her he’s on the way home, but Ruby’s picture pops up on the screen.

“Hey, Rubes.”

“You look tired on my TV, baby mama.”

“Geez, nice of you to say that. Aren’t you at work?”

“We have televisions in the diner,” Ruby answers, the sound of plates crashing coming through the speaker. “Granny keeps it on the news for some strange reason and both you and baby daddy were on there.”

“You have to stop calling Killian baby daddy. That makes it sound like he’s your baby daddy.”

“God no,” Ruby laughs, and Emma rolls her eyes before scoffing. “Not that he’s not hot or anything, but I think Graham might kill him.”

“Graham wouldn’t be the only one.” She turns the phone on speaker and sticks it in her bra strap while she walks to the kitchen, laughing at Ruby’s kidding around. “Is there a reason you called other than to tell me I look like shit?”

“Very beautiful shit, though.”

“Weirdo.”

She finds some leftover chicken tetrazzini in the fridge, pulling it out and popping it in the microwave before grabbing a glass of water.

“I know, I know. I’m the best friend. Anyways, I was actually calling just to chat. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s been…crazy. You can come over this weekend if you want, though.”

“Can’t. Graham and I are going to meet his family in Ireland this weekend.”

“Rubes,” she squeals, pressing up on her toes to check the microwave, “no way. You’re meeting the fam. Are you terrified?”

“Absolutely. But he’d wanted to do it back at Christmas. I just couldn’t leave Granny. We’ve been together seven months now, though, and I’m kind of feeling like it’s time to do all of that big relationship stuff.”

“Huh,” she scoffs, the microwave beeping behind her, “would you look at that. Ruby Lucas is in love and settling down.”

“Shut up.”

“Nope. You tease me on a daily basis. I’m going to do the same to you. Girl, I’m thrilled for you, and honestly, don’t be too terrified. The meeting of the family is not the end all be all. Trust me.”

“Yeah, I guess you would know all of that. What the hell am I going to wear?”

She takes her tetrazzini out of the microwave while answering Ruby and grabs a fork out of their silverware drawer before diving in. It’s delicious and probably the first thing her stomach has really agreed with all week. The front door jingles, and she hears it close while Indy’s nails hit against the hardwood, obviously going to check on who just came in the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Killian greets when he finds her in the kitchen, Indy at his feet, before kissing her cheek and squeezing her hip.

“Hi, baby daddy,” Ruby yells through the phone, her voice echoing throughout the room.

Killian snickers, his eyes going wide before squinting as he tries to find her phone that’s still strapped under her bra. “Hello, Ruby. How are you today?”

“Wonderful. I’m going to let you guys go now. Killian, give your wife a foot rub or something because it’s your fault she’s knocked up. You should have used protection.”

“Ruby,” they both hiss while she practically cackles on the other end. “Love you, Rubes. Call me again before this weekend, okay?”

“Got it. Love you and baby daddy.”

She pulls her phone off her shoulder and hangs up before placing it on the counter and taking a few more bites of her food, reaching down to scratch Indy’s head instead of caving and feeding her.

“You already ate,” she tells her, and Indy just keeps looking up at her with those stupidly big brown eyes and the cutest little face. “This is my food, yeah?”

She looks up from Indy to see Killian sitting across from her on a bar stool, the softest of smiles on his face as he looks her up and down.

“What?” she chuckles, covering her mouth so food doesn’t fall out.

“You’re eating.”

“I’ve been eating for twenty-eight years.”

“No, I mean,” he circles his hands around, “you’re eating actual food, and you don’t look like you feel sick. This is good.”

She chews a bit more before taking a sip of water. “I know. The ginger mints I found help a lot. This afternoon was bad, though, but I made it through.”

“How were your school visits?”

“Good, I liked them a lot. How was the car plant?”

He smiles then, lips stretching and white teeth on full display. “They let me test drive a new car on the track.”

“What?” she laughs, her eyebrows practically hitting her hairline. “Did they have you wear protective gear?”

“No, I didn’t race, love. It was just a little thing. I’ve been driving for nearly half my life. I knew what I was doing. What did you think I was doing?”

“I don’t know. I thought you were just supposed to be touring it. I didn’t know they were turning you into a Formula One driver.”

“Look at you, saying Formula One instead of NASCAR. So proud of my little British woman.”

She scrunches her nose up at that before reaching her arms in the air and stretching, her shirt rising with the movement. “Your little British woman wants a foot rub or a backrub or something, and you’re going to give it to me because, like Ruby said, you knocked me up.”

She walks across the counter and places a kiss on top of Killian’s head, his hair smelling like sweat and product, before walking back to the living room, shucking her bra and shoes along the way.

February dwindles into March, the temperatures fluctuating between wanting to warm up and frosting the ground. It’s one of her favorite times of the year. St. Patrick’s Day was so fun to work at the pub, and while she enjoys her duties now, they’re not quite the same. Though, she has had an absolute blast her past two years handing out the shamrocks and serving Guinness.

Mostly, though, March is the month she met Killian eight years ago, and she always thinks of that as the calendar flips and spring begins to fade into view. Or really, when it’s pouring down rain, the water pounding against the roof and the windows just like the night he wandered inside and she had to ask him to change clothes so he didn’t ruin their booths…not that she ever did that for any of their other customers.

That’s what it’s like this morning, rain furiously falling down outside as her eyes flutter open and awareness slowly comes to her. Killian’s arm is wrapped around her stomach, something he’s been doing for the past few weeks, while his other bicep rests under her cheek. She’s not sure if it’s an unconscious move or if he’s purposefully doing it as some kind of protective move.

He’s always been protective. It’s just in his nature, and while sometimes it can drive her mad, he’s rarely overbearing. He knows and understands that she can take care of herself, so she allows him his little protective moments. Sometimes she kind of likes them too. She likes the way he always checks on her when they’re at an engagement or after they walk through a large crowd. She likes the way he opens doors and pulls out her chair when he gets to it before she does it herself. She really loves the way his hand always finds hers or finds her back, slyly rubbing up and down to soothe her.

It’s the way he was raised, royal protocol and all of his gentlemanly behavior, and while sometimes she just wants to close her own door and walk her own path, which she does quite often, she’s learned to appreciate these things in the right moments.

Now that she’s pregnant all of his little tendencies have increased tenfold, and it makes her smile thinking of just how good he is to her and to their child. He’s going to drive himself mad with worry and go prematurely gray, but he’s sweet.

She lays in bed for a few minutes longer, letting Killian’s breathing mixed with the sounds of the rain lull her into a sense of calm and drowsiness. Her nausea has begun to significantly fade, and for all the things for which she’s thankful, not having morning sickness at the end of her first trimester is at the top.

She did get dizzy again last week after waiting too long to eat while at an event, but she’d immediately sat down and asked Killian to go get her something to eat. Dr. Hudson tells her that’s completely normal, but she did tell her to keep some kind of cereal or protein bar with herself at all times. If she forgets, Killian remembers. He’s like a little pregnancy guru. He sits in bed at night with his glasses on and a stack of books on his bedside table. There are color-coordinated tabs in each chapter for certain things, and she knows that his phone has got to have at least thirty tabs open.

If her mom, Dr. Hudson, or the internet don’t know the answer to her question, her husband does.

She gently moves Killian’s hand off of her while she edges her body away. A part of her kind of wanted to take advantage of his morning erection pressing into her ass, but she desperately has to pee. So she gets out of bed, Killian flopping down into the space she’s left vacant, and heads into their bathroom.

On her way back to bed she passes the floor-to-ceiling mirror and like every morning, she lifts her shirt and tries to see if there’s any kind of bump. There hasn’t been, but as she looks today, making sure she’s not extending her stomach in any way, she sees one.

Just barely, but it’s there.

“Oh my God,” she gasps to herself, her hands running up and down the slight curve.

She can’t…she can’t believe it’s there. She knew it was coming, knew that she was pregnant, but knowing and waiting is totally different than seeing.

She has to show Killian.

“Killian,” she calls, her hand moving over her small bump, making sure it’s not going to disappear before she wakes him up. She doesn’t hear him move, so she tries again, “Killian.”

Sighing, she runs into the bedroom to find him sleeping away, snuggled against herpillow with the comforter covering his entire body unlike when she left. “Babe,” she urges, shaking him awake until he flips over and opens one eye to look up at her.

“What?” he mumbles, his mouth opening into a yawn before he jerks up, his eyes going wide. “Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she reassures him, finding his wrists and pulling him out of bed. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

“What the hell could you have to show me at,” he leans over to press her phone, the time popping up over a picture of the two of them and Indy from Christmas, “six in the morning?”

“You’re going to remember your grumbling in a minute, and you’re going to regret it.”

He raises his eyebrow, but he follows her into the bathroom, muttering things under his breath. She gets them to the mirror, situating Killian right in front of her.

“Okay,” she sighs, clapping her hands together, “you ready?”

She looks up at him to see him yawn while nodding, his hands running through his hair and making the strands stick up in a million different directions. He looks entirely disheveled, his beard too long and his chest hair sticking down in different places while his sweatpants ride up on his right calf and dip indecently low on his left hip.

“I’m ready, darling.”

Without saying anything else, she lifts her shirt over her head and tosses it to the ground. Killian quirks his eyebrow again, and when he furrows them together, she points to the mirror. It takes him a few moments, but then his features light up and he looks back to her absolutely beaming.

“You have a bump.”

“I have a bump,” she agrees, taking his hand and placing it on her stomach. “Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s beautiful, Emma.” He leans down and kisses her, their bodies pressing together until he pulls back and frames her stomach, looking between it and her eyes. “This was definitely worth waking up over.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” He stares at her for a moment longer, his eyes full of adoration, before running into the other room with absolutely no explanation only to come back with his phone. “Here. Stand in front of your vanity. I’m going to get some pictures.”

“I look disgusting. I’m not even in the outfit we’ve been taking pictures in.”

“I don’t bloody care. We’re documenting this.”

“So demanding.”

“You’re going to thank me later.”

She moves to stand in front of her vanity only to reaffirm the fact that her hair is half on top of her head while the other is falling down her nearly bare back. She’s not even in a cute bra, but Killian’s right. She’ll likely thank him later. He takes a few pictures of her cradling it, which his honestly pretty hard to do when she really only looks a little bloated, and she laughs at how serious he is in the whole thing.

“I love you, ya weirdo,” she gushes to him when they’re flipping through the photos later, cuddled up in bed with Indy curled at the foot of the bed sleeping after they took her out.

He wraps his free arm around her shoulder before kissing her temple. She sighs into it, her hand rubbing up and down his back. “I love you, too, wild woman.”

“Wild woman?”

“Look at your hair here.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, hitting his back and looking at the way her hair really is wild and all over the place, curled in some places and straight in others as it falls out of its bun on top of head. “I told you to let me fix myself up.”

“No, no,” Killian promises, kissing the top of her head so softly she barely feels it. “It’s perfect this way.”

#second in command #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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our-jensen-ackles-love · 6 years

Text

Dancing In The Dark; 10.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You made a mistake last night.. you went home with a married man. A man whom you had crushed on since your first day at work, a man who you knew had secrets, a man whose wife had invited you over to dinner time and time again. So how did the two of you end up in bed last night?

Work Count: 1.8k

Warnings: a bit of a creepy element towards the end.

Author’s Note: go tell @jerkbitchidjitassbutt how much she rocks for beta’ing this chapter.

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10.

You trailed behind Dean’s truck again, this time with him constantly checking the rearview mirror to make sure that you were, indeed, following behind him. Dean Winchester had lost a lot of things in his life, but he seemed to really want to keep you in it; even if things were still on edge.

The one plus side of taking separate cars back to your place was the fact that you could use the quiet of your car to sort through your thoughts. And you had lots of them. For starters, Dean said the devil was a dick, did he mean that the devil was exactly how every single biblical piece of work out there described him or was he like that douchebag guy that continues to hit on you at the bar despite you telling him over and over again that you had a boyfriend?

“The fuck did he mean that there were monsters out there?” You mused aloud, staying focused on the license plate in front of you. “And the cage with his brother?”

Maybe he had just drank too much when he was younger or hit his head just a little too hard. Or maybe this was how he was coping with losing his brother. You’d heard of some people making up stories when they’ve lost a loved one just to make it easier on them. Maybe that’s what Dean was trying to do.

Then again, there was the way that he looked at you. It was a look that you had seen before, not with him, but with your own father - when he told you that he was dying. You didn’t believe him then and thought he was just being overdramatic about a chest cold when he landed in the hospital. Tests confirming what he had been trying to tell you for weeks.

You weren’t one to pray, but when things got really hard and you had no one to talk to; you would have conversations with your dad. At a red light, you stole a glance at the roof of your run down little vehicle, “Dad, do you think I got myself into something a little too sticky?”

Not sure what you were waiting for, the light turned green and both you and Dean made your way toward the main intersection right before your apartment complex. You hated this intersection with a fiery passion, solely because no one knew how to properly stop. You had almost died several times because of idiots who thought they couldn’t be bothered to pause long enough to let another driver go along with their merry business.

Dean pulled through first, pausing once again to just narrowly avoid being hit by some speedster. You waited a couple of seconds, making sure that no one was coming your way, you pulled into the parking lot. Finding your reserved spot, you hopped out of the car breathing in the kind of air that held the promise of snow.

In two beats Dean was behind you, spinning you around to face him. “Hey baby. How are you feeling?”

“What do you mean Winchester?”

He gave you a side smirk, brushing some of your messy bed head out of your face; a gesture you were growing extremely fond of. “I couldn’t help but notice the way you were talking to yourself back there.”

Heat rose to your cheeks making them feel even more flush against the wind. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Or it’s adorable.”

You shuffled away from him, your slippers getting damp when you didn’t realize you had parked right on top of a giant puddle. “I’m sticking with it’s hella embarrassing.”

Beginning the three floor trek to your apartment, Dean fell into step behind you with ease. “So, are you going to tell me what you were talking to yourself about?”

“Uhm, I was just talking, you know, trying to make sense of things,” you muttered, wishing you didn’t live so high up. You took the same couple of staircases up to your residence every single day, but today it felt like you were climbing Mount Everest. “And I was just talking to my dad.”

“Your dad?” He asked. You could hear the way his voice rose at the question, almost like he was surprised by the confession. “Like, you were praying?”

The door came into view and you let out a heavy breath - reminding you just how much you had been meaning to cash in on all your ‘I’ll start going to the gym next week’ promises. “No, no, not praying per say.. Just.. you know making conversation.”

He stayed silent. Probably thinking you might be just a tad bit more crazy than he was, but he still followed you into the small space when you unlocked the door. Everything looked exactly the same as when you had left, even the bed was still a mess from you sudden departure as well as the leftover mug of tea that been left on the table half drunk.

Everything may look the same, but your world has been turned upside down.

“I do that too, you know.”

“Hm?”

“Talk to loved ones that, you know, have left us,” you turned to face him. Dean was leaning against the wall between your living room and bedroom, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I tend to talk to both my parents. Usually more my dad.”

Not too sure why, but you were surprised that he was telling you this, but then again, he really didn’t have anything to lose. If you were going to run away from him, you had several chances while in the car. “Why just your dad?”

“He, uh, he had a little bit more experience in the work that I do.”

You nodded your head, slipping off your jacket and absently tossing it on the couch. Every inch of your body felt like it was drained, probably because you were running on just two solid hours of sleep. “Right, the whole Sherlock Holmes gig.”

He chuckled, following your lead of stripping off layers until he was in just in a t-shirt in jeans. “I, mean, sort of. I always preferred the term a Hunter.”

“Cause you hunt things?”

“Damn straight.”

You both just stood there, smiling at each other like a pair of idiots. Dean filled out his t-shirt nicely, arms crossed showing you just how sturdy they were, and those jeans were snug in all the right places; meanwhile, you were looking like something that was tossed out of a moving vehicle and run over several times for good measure.

Dean was still looking at you when he took a couple steps forward. “Are we good?”

“Good in what sense?”

He sighed, pausing his journey and shoving his hands in his jeans. It almost was like he was trying to restrain himself from touching you, which right now you wanted nothing more in the world. You wanted everything to go back to how it was - except, maybe, not having to keep your relationship so under wraps. “Like, do you believe me?”

Your lip found its way between your teeth. “Yes and no,” you mumbled, earning you an exasperated look. “I believe you that you weren’t going out to have some midnight rendezvous with Lisa. I do, but this whole hunting things, saving people thing.. It’s a little much, don’t you think?”

“Baby,” he started, closing his eyes briefly, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts. “As much as I really, really wish that I could say that I’m making all of this up - it’s very real. And it’s a real son of a bitch.”

You opened your mouth to explain that you might actually need proof on this one or to get on the level of hard liquor that he grew up drinking, when you were cut off by a rapid couple of knocks at the front door.

Dean and you both looked at each other. He asked you the silent question if you weren’t expecting anyone, to which you were only able to offer him a shrug. He raised his hand to you, signalling that you should stay where you were and he practically tip toed his way over to the door.

You watched quietly, and slightly amused, as he looked through your small peephole. A look of confusion was thrown your way before he swung open the door to reveal a very timid looking Sid. “Uh, hey Sid.”

“Oh, hey Dean,” he replied breathlessly, looking at him briefly before his eyes zeroed in on you. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

There was a panicked look shared between Dean and yourself as you closed the gap between you and the door. Clearly your throat you spoke, “Winchester was just here to make sure I was feeling okay. Maryellen told him that I wasn’t coming in today, so he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t stuck heaving over the toilet bowl all day.”

“Oh,” Sid eyed you up and down in the most defiling way you had ever seen; it was not like Dean’s best friend to ever look at you like that. “Well, you certainly look fine to me.”

You suddenly felt exposed, like Sid had just undressed you with his eyes. Hugging yourself, you scooted closer to where Dean was standing. The way he put his arm around your waist assured you that the way his friend looked at you was not missed.

Dean pulled you close to him, causing Sid to tilt his head and eye the hand that was gripping your waist so securely. “What are you doing here Sid?”

He didn’t even ask, just kind of waltzed into your apartment like he had been here before. Which he hadn’t, in fact, very few people knew where you lived and you kind of liked it that way. His hazel eyes scanned the room, taking in the mess of clothes on your couch and the way the little lamp on the side table, that you had turned on when you walked in, was flickering ever so slightly.

“I just wanted to check up on things.”

Dean was still gripping you and the door tightly. If you didn’t know any better, you would say it was scared to close all three of you in the confines of this small space. “Check up on what kind of things buddy?”

“Just the usual,” he grinned. “I always like to know what the oldest Winchester is up to now that his little brother is gone.”

He blinked and suddenly Dean was throwing you behind him, pushing you out of the apartment all together. “Get to my truck.” You started to protest, not even knowing where to begin or why you would do such a thing, but he was squeezing his keys into your hands. “NOW.”

Doing as he said, you ran down the steps, completely bypassing Mrs. Saunders and her groceries that you almost always offered to help carry up for her. You sprinted until you were out of breath and your socks were drenched to the point that your toes felt numb, but you didn’t stop until you were securely locked inside the driver's side of Dean’s truck.

Sid’s eyes had gone completely black.

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#Dancing In The Dark #DINTD #dean winchester #dean x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn #supernatural reader insert #reader insert #nanowrimo18

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suedescripture · 5 years

Note

Pinto, Hallmark Christmas movie AU

The Pine family has reigned over the Christmas season at The Grove for as long as most people can remember. Katie and Gwynne come up with new themes for the North Pole Village each year. Robert Pine is—in certain circles and according to ten out of ten children under the age of 12 in the greater metro area—considered the Real Santa Claus. And Chris is the cheeriest, happiest, Most Merry Santa’s Little Helper who has ever held the position (including when he booted Katie at the age of 17). He can charm a smile out of the surliest scrooge.

But listen, Zach works retail, and not even good retail, he works one of those godawful kiosks trying desperately to sign people up for phone service, and the only reason he’s making $15/hr now is because the great state of CA finally forced his boss to pony up a semi-realistic minimum wage (but Zach still lives in his newlywed brother’s basement, because Califuckingfornia). If there is anyone in this mall that hates the time of year when the glitter covered fake-ass cotton snow comes rolling out and That Family™ comes in and takes over the place, it’s this guy.

Oh Zach and Chris very nearly came to blows last year. The have A History. This will be Year Three in the Fallout between Chris the Friendliest Happiest Santa’s Elf and That Swarthy Guy with the Nasty Attitude At Kiosk 18. It made the local 6 o’clock news. Reporters are already staking out territory. Mall security isn’t happy about it.

It starts out similarly to last year. Chris leaves a Christmas candy on Zach’s kiosk when he’s not looking. A candy cane one day. An Andes mint chocolate. Those pillow thingies that squish weird in your teeth. Each time, Zach trashes them, gritting his teeth. So Chris ups the ante. He goes for the whole Terry’s Chocolate Orange, the kind you have to whack and then unwrap and you get perfect little slices of delicious orangey dark chocolate.

A cameraman from Channel 7 catches him squirreling it into his coat pocket, When confronted, with the camera in his face, he says defensively, “My mom loves them, and they’re impossible to find in Pittsburgh,” before running off.

Chris: 1, Zach: 0. Grumpy Zach is publicly outed as a Mama’s boy. The reporters send an affiliate to reach out to his mom in Pittsburgh for comment. She cracks the door and tells them her Zachary really is a sweet soft gentle boy, he’s just had a terrible time since his father passed on Christmas when he was just seven.

The following week, Zach makes two children cry by telling them Santa passes gas in the break room that smells like reindeer roast.

That’s where it comes to head this year, so the media doesn’t quite get wind of it. Chris walks in and confronts Zach at the coffeemaker, saying, “Don’t you dare bring my dad into this.”

“Why not? He’s a gassy Santa. It’s gross, he should see a doctor.”

“Yeah he is, but you don’t have to ruin Christmas for little kids just because you don’t have a dad!” Chris immediately covers his mouth after that pops out. It was out of line, and he knows it. Zach silently goes back to the kiosk with a pained rage on his face.

But it changes everything. Chris confesses what he said to his dad when they’re at home over hot cocoa with full sized marshmallows, and they he feels even worse because all he’s ever wanted was to cheer this poor guy up and let him have a good Christmas for once. Also he’s just kind of hot, and… and Chris knows he’s probably as sweet as his mom says, because who would know better but Zach’s own mom? And Bob, itching at the snowy beard that he’ll shave off as soon as the season is over, tells him, “Then stop making it a hostile takeover, a forceful assault demanding that Zach should be happy right now. Sometimes, Chris, especially with people who have losses and pain to deal with, the Spirit of Christmas is just in quiet moments of joy.”

Chris doesn’t do anything at all in the week leading up to Christmas, to the dismay of all the reporters and the gossipmongers. He and Zach keep their distance, but there is one instance where Chris drops an entire bucket of mini candy canes practically in Zach’s kiosk. He didn’t do it on purpose either, some asshole didn’t place a mat over a wire correctly, and a patron could have gotten hurt. A whole group of piney teenage girls swept right in to help Santa’s Hot Little Helper pick up the mess, which he milked with sweet grins and thanks and presenting each one with a sweet, but it was a camera from Channel 4 that caught Zach watching the whole thing, specifically staring at Chris’ ass before he rolled his eyes and picked up a remaining candy cane by his feet, tucking it in his pocket.

Another happened when the Christmas decorations strung over Zach’s kiosk come loose and covers him in glitter that would never fucking come out of his clothes, but it almost made him look positively festive for the rest of the day. Chris giggled every time he looked in his direction, and Zach caught him several times, scowling. “You did it on purpose,” Zach accuses over the coffeemaker.

“I didn’t,” says Chris, “But now you’re all sparkly. It’s cute.”

“I don’t sparkle.”

“All sparkly and shiny and pretty like a Christmas ornament.”

“I’m not pretty,” Zach frowns, flustered.

“Yeah, you are.”

Zach’s eyes widen in shock.

Oh. Chris turns beet red and leaves it at that. Whoops.

Finally it’s time for the Christmas Eve Finale, the part everyone is here for, because every year—and the reason he stole the position from Katie (though she was happy to give it up)—Chris sings a song and put on a little show. And boy howdy, Santa’s Little Helper can sing like Sinatra. And this year, Zach got scheduled to work til close, so he can’t skip out and leave like he did the last two years.

Chris puts on a snappy suit with a Christmasy paisley double-breasted waistcoat and a red bowtie (he has a friend who works at the Armani shop and did him a solid) and starts the show by walking up to Dad with a grin and steals his Santa hat. The lights go low, and the music starts, and Chris makes sure he can see Zach nonchalantly flipping the pages of a magazine as he starts to sing “Let’s make Christmas Merry, Baby”. It’s risky, but hopefully he can play it right. He casually strolls off the stage and in among the crowd and over towards the kiosk.

Zach tries to fight it, he tries to hide at first when he realizes what Chris is up to, but Chris’s cuts off his escape and as he sings “I’ll come around about midnight, fill your stocking full of toys.” Zach rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as Chris does a little twirl around him, singing “I’ll let you ride my reindeer, you won’t need a hobby horse,” as he pulls a pen from Zach’s breast pocket and writes his phone number on the heel of Zach’s hand with a heart. By the time he sings “I’ll bring you a chartreuse Cadillac and a diamond ring,” he’s got Zach’s full attention, because he’s shimmied his butt up on the the kiosk’s countertop and tugged Zach in between his legs, and parents are covering their little kid’s eyes, because… because…

Because Zach, the Scowling Scrooge of Phone Sales at the Grove, is smiling. Besotted. A little punch drunk looking as Santa’s Little Helper leaves a sweet kiss on his cheek and whispers in his ear, “I hope you’ll come at Christmas with me.”

And he does. Zach feels so awkward going over to the Pines for Christmas, but he puts on a dumb ugly sweater and carefully does his hair and awkwardly shows up with a bottle of wine, but they’re like so nice to him, and Bob Pine takes him aside and asks him about his family and (tongue-in-cheek) if there was anything that Santa could do that would help him feel better around this time of year, and fuck, he might as well be the real Santa Claus for as good as he is at reading people and saying the right thing. And then Chris gestures him out to the dark backyard and it’s kind of awkward, and Chris has glitter in his hair and Chris says he only has one wish for Christmas and it’s for a kiss.

He tastes like peppermint.

#clearly I am terrible at this whole summarizing thing #wordplay as foreplay #fanfic memes #AUs I'll never write #semperama #also I have never actually watched a hallmark christmas movie in full so I hope I did this cliche shit justice

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youngjaelook · 6 years

Text

Querencia — Park Jinyoung

author's note — another requested imagine! i actually really like this one, it's lowkey kinda fluffy yet angsty at the same time. hope u guys like itttt! also send me some more requests! to anon, i know u requested a jinyoung au and im so sorryyy asfkdfjfdkl i hope u still like it tho T.T #UNEDITED!

request from anon — Hi! Would like to request for park jinyoung au, where he forgot about 1st anniversary and his s/o had prepared a surprise for that day. but jinyoung didn’t appear and then, when he realized, he tried to put the situation to rights?

summary — Lately, it seems like Jinyoung doesn't know that he's the reason you're falling apart.

warnings — slight smut, angsty-ish & flufffff

word count — 2K

Jinyoung was rarely ever running late, so when the clock struck ten and he was still nowhere to be found, you wondered if you supposed to feel worried.

It was mid-November in Seoul, so it wasn't exactly warm outside. The air was biting and you could practically make out the white snow starting to fall down from the sky like beads of rain on a July afternoon.

"It's Jinyoung! I'm probably busy at the moment, so please leave a me —" Usually, you loved the sound of Jinyoung's voice, but tonight it was anything but soothing.

You looked up at the sky, cursing the gods for your luck today, and sighed.

You were aware that dating an idol wasn't going to be a walk in the park. You had to compete for his attention on most days.

Sometimes you felt almost like a burden to him.

Your phone buzzes in your hand and you jerk in surprise.

It's Jinyoung.

You don't hesitate to answer him, heart beating widly in your chest as you prayed he was okay and safe, and not in some freak car crash or something. "Yah, Park Jinyoung! Why haven't you answered my calls? Are you alright? Oh God, please tell me you're alright."

You hear shuffling on the other side, followed by a heavy sigh.

"I'm fine, jagiya. I just — I'm still at this party and I don't know if I can make it tonight." It's like your heart is free falling into the dark void in your stomach.

You don't know if you should be relieved that he's safe and not in the hospital, or if you should cry because this is the third time he's flaked out on you. You figured any other day would be fine for him to ditch you for his job, but today marked your first year together — did he even care?

Jinyoung takes note of your silence. He's pulling at his dress tie, mouth dry and lip twitching as his guilt starts eating him away.

"Princess —"

"Why do we even bother anymore, Jinyoung?"

And it's as if all of Jinyoung's demons start mocking him, torturing his senses, driving him insane as the words roll off your tongue.

He swallows thickly. "Jagiya, let's not talk about this now," he looks around, hoping nobody can see the tears in his eyes, or the tremble in his hands. "please."

It takes almost everything in you not to scream at your phone before hurling your phone into the busy street. You take in deep breaths in order to calm your state of mind, but it doesn't work — you don't know if anything will work anymore.

"Goodnight Jinyoung." Your voice is soft, on the brink of breaking, and you hung up the phone before you could hear him protest.

The walk back to your apartment was quiet, only the sound of your sniffles and the buzzing of the cars on the roads, are the only sounds you hear along with the shattering of your heart with each step you take.

When you get home, you fling yourself on your bed — the velvet sheets keeping you warm, and providing you comfort.

After what felt like hours of crying which were only just about twenty minutes in reality you make yourself a cup of tea to calm down your raging head-ache.

You don't know where you stand with Jinyoung at the moment, neither did Jinyoung.

He was whizzing past crowds trying to get to the exit. The remorse in his heart prompted him to run back to your apartment, to see you.

Wonpil was the one who noticed his fellow label-mate sprinting for the door. He frowned as he made his way to Jinyoung.

"Jinyoung-ah!" Jinyoung looked like a mad man as he turned around to face Wonpil. "woah, are you alright? Did you drink too much — it's very unlike you to get drunk this early into the party."

Early? Jinyoung wanted to scream. It was half past midnight, and the girl he loved oh so dearly was probably back in her apartment after hours of waiting for him, crying herself to sleep because he didn't show up!

It was too late.

Wonpil noticed the conflict in Jinyoung's face and laid his hand on Jinyoung's shoulder as he gazed deeply into his eyes. "You haven't been taking," he looked around and lowered his voice. "drugs, right?"

Jinyoung's eyes visibly widened. "What? No, of course not! It's just," he ran his hand down his face, flustered and frustrated. "I flaked out on my girlfriend."

Wonpil pursed his lips. "Again?"

Jinyoung nearly choked on his spit. "Again? What the hell do you mean again —" Wonpil shook his head. "I can take you to her apartment if you want, I know where it is."

Jinyoung always thought Wonpil was a gift sent from heaven.

"You would do that?" Jinyoung asked.

Wonpil always liked you not in that way, though, he thought you were a nice girl, an extremely warm soul with a good heart — he knew you deserved better, but he always knew that you loved Jinyoung with every fiber in your being.

"Yeah, of course."

Jinyoung didn't hesitate at all as he followed Wonpil to his car parked in the basement.

And as the car started to take off and the party's music fizzled from earshot, Jinyoung couldn't help but think, "Wait, you know where my girlfriend lives?"

Wonpil switched gears and chuckled. "Y/N's a really nice person, and a great friend."

Emphasis on friend.

Wonpil managed to get them there in under fifteen minutes. But in those less than fifteen minutes, he nearly ran over a stray cat, nearly missed another car's side mirror by an inch and ran a red light.

Jinyoung looked pale as he reached to unbuckle his seatbelt. "Hyung," he gasped. "How did you even manage to get your license, or a car for that matter?"

Wonpil merely shrugged. "I have my connections." He said. "Now go," Jinyoung nodded and wobbled got out of the car.

"Yah, I'll be down here if anything backfires!" Wonpil gave him a thumbs-up and attempted to parallel park the car.

Jinyoung races to the elevator and tries to calm his breathing, though it's no use because he's starting to panic and the cramped space of the lift isn't really helping.

There's this dread sinking into his bones that he's going to lose you. It's been only a year, but he's convinced that he only wants you.

Jinyoung feels at home with you.

Every time the sunlight pours into his room and you're sprawled out beside him, his heart warms and it's like he's going crazy as he stares at you. He wants to have this everyday, to bask in your warmth and that pretty smile of yours.

Jinyoung raps on your door four times.

You're by the kitchen, stirring your tea when he knocks. You nearly jolt out of your skin. You check the time and see that it's nearly one in the morning.

You open the door and stare in shock when you see it's Jinyoung, looking like a mess — a handsome mess.

"You look like you're about to puke, are you drunk?" Jinyoung shakes his head. "No, Wonpil drove me here." You immediately understand.

One time Wonpil had suggested he take you home after you both got some coffee together — never again, is what you tell yourself.

"Okay, I think you need to sit down," You don't hesitate to take Jinyoung inside. He always made you so soft.

You guide him to the couch, laying him down softly against satin pillows. He suddenly feels intoxicated by your touch, compelled to run his hands against your sides.

"Jagiya," You don't respond, finding interest in your fuzzy socks.

Jinyoung feels desperate. "Princess, look at me." You still don't look.

"Y/N," your head snaps up and you stare into Jinyoung's eyes with your glassy ones.

Looking at you right now, Jinyoung felt beyond guilty. How could he put you last, how could he leave you out in the cold? How did he deserve someone like you?

"Come here," And it's like his voice is a spell, bewitching you to follow everything he said.

You hesitantly sit on his lap, the material of your cotton shorts hiking up to your thighs. Jinyoung buries his head into your chest, sniffling and muttering out incoherent sorry's.

Your heart breaks even more if that's possible.

You run your digits along the softness of his dark locks, twisting and caressing his silky hair. "Jinyoung," you murmur.

Jinyoung sobs and clutches on to the fabric of your shirt. "Please don't leave me, Y/N. I know I don't deserve you — but please, I promise I will do what ever I can to give you everything you want, everything you need."

You're sobbing along with him, not caring if his tears are ruining your shirt. "Jinyoung, don't say that." You cry.

"I just really don't want to lose you," he peers up at you, and you feel like falling in love with him all over again as you stare at him.

His eyelashes are wet with his tears, and his eyes are iridescent and lustrous under the warm lighting of your living room. His lips are parted and rosy, so tempting to kiss and nip at.

"You won't, Jinyoung-ah." You reach out to stroke the supple skin of his flushed cheeks, admiring how smooth he felt underneath the pads of your fingertips.

Jinyoung brings his lips up to touch your own. His kisses are urgent, yet soft and gentle. His hands travel down to touch the small of your back, guiding you flush against him.

The material of his pants kneaded the heat between your legs, leaving you panting and whimpering, and he doesn't stop, only picking up his pace as he admires you falling apart above him.

"Jagiya," his voice has turned hoarse and slightly deeper, sparking a blue flame in you. "strip for me, please." It doesn't take much from you to do what you're told.

In a matter of seconds, you're nearly bare in front of him; the only thing acting as a barrier between you two are your panties and his slacks.

"So pretty for me," he muses.

You sigh when his lips leaves a trail of kisses on the valley between your breasts. "Only for you."

And as Jinyoung hooks his fingers on the hem of your underwear, his phone blares in his pockets. Who could be calling him at this ungodly hour?

Jinyoung gives you a look as he continues to undress you. Your hand reaches into his pocket, fishing out his phone.

"It's Wonpil?"

Jinyoung stops what he's doing and curses silently. "Shit, he's still downstairs."

You watch in amusement as Jinyoung answers the phone, a look of anticipation in his face. "Yah! Park Jinyoung, I've been waiting here for the past hour —" Jinyoung frowns at you and shifts the phone to his other ear. "I swear to God if you two are fucking up there I will —" You take the phone from Jinyoung's hand and giggle.

"Wonpil-oppa,"

The line is silent for awhile before Wonpil speaks up, his voice much softer compared to earlier.

"Y/N-ah," Jinyoung stares at you in shock. There's a twinge of bitterness that strikes his chest, pouting and crossing his arms like a child being told off.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting, oppa. But Jinyoung and I are okay now, so you can go home." You tell him, sweetly.

Wonpil nods, though you can't see him. "Yeah, alright alright."

"Thank you, Wonpil-oppa. Drive home safely, and text Jinyoung when you've arrived home." Jinyoung glares at the wall behind you, still pouting. You hand him the phone, and Jinyoung presses it against his ear. "So, you've got a soft spot for my girlfriend, huh hyung?"

You shook your head and began to unbutton Jinyoung's button-down.

"Of course, I do — I mean, what kind of person doesn't?" Jinyoung furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at you. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Wonpil snickers. "You should see Jinyoung PD-nim with her." You shrug innocently at Jinyoung and offer him a small smile.

"Anyways, I'm going. Take care, and I'll see you soon." The phone call ends and Jinyoung takes your hands away from his shirt.

"Jinyoung PD-nim?"

Your shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "I have that effect on people."

Jinyoung chuckles and smiles knowingly. "I can attest to that."

#park jinyoung #jinyoung imagine #jinyoung smut #jinyoung fluff #jinyoung angst #got7 #wonpil #day6 #got7 imagine #got7 angst #got7 fluff #im jaebum #kim yugyeom #choi youngjae #bambam #jackson wang #mark tuan #kpop

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harryimaginedstories · 6 years

Text

starboy

hi friends!

!!! I M P O R T A N T !!! This is kinda part of the relationship the couple of these story lines have: Party Monster & Reminder - it’s a prequel to both and about the pair meeting for the first time. Also: the Harry in this story is different than the Harry I normally write about. This very weird picture isn’t mine.

“Mate,” Harry sighed, head thrown back and hands pressed flat to his heated cheeks, about zero patience in his body, “M’not in the mood.”

Grayson shrugged, indifferent to his friend’s words, while his fingers pushed the hangers in Harry’s closet back and forth in search for something his friend could wear to the party he planned on dragging him to that night. A party Harry would much rather miss. But knowing his friend, Harry could be sure that a no wouldn’t be accepted, because as one of his oldest mates, Grayson had learned how to deal with him. Sometimes all that could be done when Harry was in a mood was to push him, even if it pissed him off even further. This was one of those situations. Harry watched with annoyed eyes from his position on his bed, tongue hurting under the pressure of his teeth.

“Don’t care,” Grayson muttered and curled his fingers around one of Harry’s colourful silk shirts, “You could wear this one?”

Harry shook his head, a deep frown on his face. “S’missing a button somewhere in the middle. But seriously, Grayson. Don’t want to spend hours with a group I don’t know the majority of and where everybody’s drunk. M’too old for that. Almost 24 and all.”

Laughing Grayson turned to his friend and threw a pink and white stripped jacket at him. “This one’s nice. Only wore that once, have you? And besides, Jamie and Kelly will be there as well. You know them.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not how you’re going to motivate me to get off my arse.”

Grayson stepped back to watch his friend brush over the soft material of his jacket, a serious expression on his face. Harry was still opposed to going, but he did admit that he liked that jacket. Grayson grinned, knowing that he, contradicting to Harry’s earlier words, was close to winning him over. About time, too. He’d been arguing and grilling him for the past thirty minutes and sitting him down and browsing through his clothes was what he hoped would finally motivate Harry to come with him. A last resort, so to speak and he considered himself lucky for Harry’s vein streak.

“Match that with jeans and some white shirt of yours and there you go. The Styles look is complete.”

Harry sighed and nodded in defeat. “M’not sure ‘bout this, Gray.”

“That’s okay, I am. You’re coming with me and Jenna ‘cause sitting at home at New Year’s isn’t something I am going to accept.”

“That’s okay, I am,” Harry copied him smartly, eyes full of a cheeky sparkle.

A soft white shirt landed in Harry’s face and when his friend laughed, Harry found himself smiling a little.

“Fucking fine!”

“Good boy,” Grayson joked and walked towards the bathroom attached to the bedroom in search for one of Harry’s colognes. “Also: call yourself old in my presence one more time and it’ll get you fired.”

The house where Grayson’s friend held his party at wasn’t anywhere near Harry’s home and he huffed in annoyance, knowing that Grayson wouldn’t let him call for an uber or cab anytime before one am and taking the tube this day of the year... absolutely fucking not. Snow coated the garden and Harry did have to admit that the golden and silver lights decorating the trees and fence around the property looked kinda lovely and some how managed to awake the last tiny shred of the christmas feeling he’d felt slowly drain from him in the past days. Reluctantly he smiled. He wasn’t going to admit that to Grayson though and acted quickly to replace the smile with a deep frown when he felt his friend’s eyes on him.

Grayson nudged his arm and turned to open the door of his car. “If you hate it, just go charm a girl, drink something nice and you’ll be fine. Nothing hooking up couldn’t fix for you before, right?”

Harry chose to ignore that piece of advice and excited the car as well, before following his friend up to the door and into the massive house. It didn’t take more than twenty seconds to be noticed and swarmed by people. Seemingly everybody in the entryway wanted to say Hi to Harry, which was something he normally wouldn’t mind too much but tonight Harry found himself struggling not to look annoyed with absolutely everyone. What kind of bullshit idea was New Years, huh? Commercial and absolute shit, he thought grimly. A drink was thrust into his hand and he was cautious not to spill it over the dozen people getting a hug or clapped him on the back. His sour mood worsened. Grayson noticed Harry’s discomfort and excused them both by claiming he really wanted to introduce Harry to somebody, before leading him into the living room, which was luckily so packed with people nobody looked twice at who’d come in to join.

“I’ll say it now, just so you know,” Harry spoke, voice raised over the loud music making his ears ring, “coming here was a mistake.”

“Loosen up a bit, will you. Look,” Grayson nodded towards the couch at the far end of the room where a couple of guys had gathered, “You know that bloke over there don’t you? S’not all strangers around here.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah and I can’t stand him. He’s a dick.”

Grayson groaned, giving up. “Okay, that attitude of yours: starting to piss me off. I better not spend midnight anywhere near you since I plan on starting 2018 on a positive note.”

“I told you I didn’t wanted to fucking come here,” Harry growled, suddenly upset with Grayson’s lack of patience and pushed past him to get to the makeshift bar where he let the girl behind the table (or for the purpose sake, counter) fill him three shots of tequila, which he downed in less than one minute.

He fucking hated it here. The room smelled of parfume and none of the girls eyeing him tempted him in the slightest, but that he supposed could be fixed with a bit of alcohol. Perhaps an intoxicated brain wouldn’t care about their makeup smeared faces and too tight fitting dresses. The males were even worse though, all of them sleazy and gross. But the night was still young and yeah maybe he did owe it to Grayson to at least give it a try. Harry shrugged. In one point Grayson had been right: so far hooking up had always cheered him somehow up, even his shittiest mood could be lifted that way. He ordered another round of drinks and was about to raise the small glass to his lips when his eyes drifted back to the couch where the bloke from earlier, Aiden, had been sitting only minutes ago. When he couldn’t see him, his shoulders momentarily relaxed. Perhaps he’d gone? Great, one dickhead less he’d have mess up his evening.

But no, Aiden was right next to the couch with a red looking drink in one hand and a girl’s upper arm in the other. His lips were thin and spread into an ugly grin while he pulled the girl, another party guest Harry didn’t know, closer into his side. His mouth opened to speak and the girl’s shoulders tensed. Harry cleared his throat and frowned, not only because of the heavy taste the tequila left on his tongue when drowning his fourth shot, but due to the obvious discomfort written all over the female’s face. Her eyes were wide and by the reflection of the lights in her orbs, Harry could tell she was close to crying. This really wasn’t her night. Her body squirmed in Aiden’s hold and her lips parted to release a wince of distress. It was enough for Harry to shoot out of his seat, the alcohol warming his veins and angering him further. His feet carried him quickly and he reached them in seconds. A dark chuckle left his mouth when his hand pressed forcefully to Aiden’s back, pushing him right out of his way so it was now Harry who stood in front of the pretty girl instead of him.

“Hello, love,” he greeted her sweetly and call it liquid courage, but he went as far as leaning in to press a warm kiss to her flushed cheek.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be forward with girls, but something about her posture almost intimidated him and he took a deep breath to remain calm. She smelled amazing and was actually quite pretty, too, yet it didn’t go unnoticed to him that her body went rigid with shock as another male, aside from Aiden, had swooped in to make her uncomfortable and probably hit on her. He’d better make it quick then. His hand rubbed her arm up and down, successfully forcing Aiden to remove his hold on her by knocking against his fingers several times and he smiled kindly at the stranger in front of him. Her soft eyes cleared.

“Harry,” Aiden said, clearing his throat, “Kinda in the middle of something with that one.”

Harry turned his attention to the guy and arched his brows. “Oh, were you? Didn’t expect my date to make friends so quickly. Especially with you... what was it? Aaron?”

His eyes narrowed. “Aiden. And Y/N here’s your date?”

Both of them turned their faces back to the girl, who looked beyond confused at what was going on, for confirmation. Realization flashed over her features. Harry’s heart suddenly warmed at the sight of her smile and was quick to hide his surprise when her hands found his back and she stepped closer to him and away from Aiden. He found himself grinning in triumph.

“I couldn’t find you,” she purred to Harry, just loud enough for Aiden to hear, too, before she, just like Harry had, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Harry’s knees weakened at the feeling. Her forehead brushed his shoulder and she leaned into him as if in a romantic embrace, even went as far as sighing.

“Went to grab us a drink but the bar’s too crowded,” Harry shrugged, pulling her in even more until she was pressed up against him, making it very clear that she wasn’t on her own but with a guy.

Aiden rolled his eyes, raised the glass he held in his hand in a cheer and turned away to talk to somebody else he knew. Harry took that as his cue to grasp Y/N’s small hand in his and pull her away from the corner and towards the hallway at the far opposite end. It was less crowded and most importantly, Aiden free. When his eyes found hers they were no longer glossy, but wide with humor.

“You’re a good actress,” Harry smirked, releasing Y/N’s hand, even though he didn’t really want to, and stepped back to lean against the wall so he could face her.

“And you’re a savior,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest, before smiling kindly, “Thank you. That guy’s a real prick.”

Harry laughed at that and nodded. “Yeah. He’s known for being an asshole, actually. S’why I came over.”

She really was pretty, he thought, letting his eyes wander over her face. Her cheeks were still a little red, her eyes sparkling and full of warmth and her lips... well Harry couldn’t think of anything other than what it would be like to have them pressed to his own. Feeling them against his cheek wasn’t enough, it only awoke a desire in his tummy that made his skin shudder. Was she the kind of girl who would moan when he kissed her? And would she enjoy a little tongue or not? Harry smirked and swallowed visibly before reaching out and brushing his fingertips against Y/N’s collarbones in a gentle gesture. It was the most he allowed himself to touch her. Her heart jumped and her breath hitched. If she were anyone else, Harry would’ve moved closer without hesitating and pushed her back so she were pressed up against the wall and with his chest to hers. He would’ve kissed her forcefully, used by now to girls enjoying it when he was forward and he would’ve found out quickly what she was into. She would’ve whimpered when his lips bruised the skin of her neck he only dared to touch briefly and his pants got slightly uncomfortable at the thought of her body pressed to his and her quiet sighs in his ear. Would she scratch his neck? Or would she prefer to hold on to his shoulders while he pleasured them both? Oh did he wish to find out. But he couldn’t. Somehow she intrigued him too much to risk being pushed off and rejected. And also, he never wanted to be like Aiden. Their short interaction was proof enough to show that she wasn’t somebody who would’ve liked him being physically forward with her, but perhaps she would like his personality anyway?

“Want me to grab a drink for you or something?” Y/N offered, feeling silly but at the same time determined to keep the handsome stranger interested and in a conversation with her.

He wasn’t as talkative as Aiden had been, which she preferred by a far and the sensation of his fingers touching her skin was enough to leaver her burning and to have her thoughts running wild.

Harry’s eyes narrowed and the smile he gave her was enough to make her heart ache.

“No, that’s alright. Had a couple when I arrived and I better lay off for a bit or else I’ll spend midnight with my head in the toilet.”

Y/N was careful not to let her disappointment show and nodded. “Okay.”

She cleared her throat before crossing her arms.

“I’ll better not waste any more of your time. Thanks again for getting rid of Aiden. I- well, I’ll be somewhere around.”

Harry’s frown deepened and he quickly reached out to grasp her arm and pull her back.

“But,” he added, surprised at the weight in his chest caused by her frowned expression of disappointment, and he hated how he wanted a girl he didn’t even know, to feel better and above all, stay around, “We’re going to go get a drink for you.”

She giggled at his demanding tone and nodded, though it hadn’t really been a question. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Harry smiled and moved his head towards the makeshift bar. She led the way and Harry strangely enjoyed how she turned to look if he was following her, just as if she would be sad if he wasn’t. Part of him was tempted to turn around and hide from her, only to see if she would in fact wear a displeased expression. But he didn’t, instead he reached out to brush his hands against her shoulder blades to ensure her of his presence. Funny, from a far their interaction now made the one in front of Aiden look even less fake. Once they reached the bar he made sure she was handed a cocktail, one that didn’t have too much alcohol in it so she would be tipsy and not more, and Y/N liked how Harry kept one hand on her back, clearly to make sure no other bloke got any ideas. It was different than what she was used to, a guy to be so forward with her, but not gross or groping at all, and she was surprised at her own attraction to the kind of bossy way he behaved.

Harry didn’t like it, this interest he found himself developing for her and momentarily he debated saying something sleazy or to just plain abandon her just so he could bring back the distance he’d kept to everybody when he stepped into the house. The warmth of her eyes made him want to never look away again but burn in them instead, happy so actually, and those lips... He swallowed hard. How was she so enchanting to him? Once she approved of the liquid’s taste, Harry grasped her hand and led her back to the hallway and upstairs, hoping to find a quiet corner somewhere where he could charm her the way she already had him. Also, the alcohol clouded his mind and he knew he either needed to drink more and start having fun, or sit down and stay sane. So they found a small couch upstairs where they could sit, still in a hallway so things weren’t private enough to be awkward but much nicer than downstairs. Y/N offered him a sip of her drink, which he denied, before she began to ask him about how his Christmas had been (alright, he replied truthfully) and who it was he’d come to this party with (the mate who’d forced him to). That answer pleased her. He wasn’t here with a woman then. She moved to sit closer to him and their thighs touched, a shy smile on her lips.

It was then Harry’s turn to ask her questions. Where she lived, he wanted to know, if she liked it in London and if she was excited about a new year beginning.

“Indifferent to it,” Y/N replied, to which he agreed.

Y/N was surprisingly funny, Harry found, after she made him laugh out loud and the more she drank from her drink the bolder she got until Harry had her arm interlocked with his.

“So,” Y/N began, “You don’t really want to be here, do you?”

“S’that obvious?” Harry laughed at that and this time he did hold out his hand for her drink, which she handed him so he could take a sip. He pulled a face and she giggled, the sweet taste almost painful in his mouth.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Well, kinda. You haven’t asked me to dance yet and we’ve been here talking for about twenty minutes now. Aiden for instance had his hands near my boobs about ten minutes in so he was absolutely enjoying the party. You’re... a lot more quiet.”

Mentioning Aiden’s name left a sour taste in his throat and he wished, though he had only noticed Y/N because of him, that she hadn’t encountered that dick. She shouldn’t have had a guy grope her. Ever. Even thinking about it made him want to go back and knock his teeth out.

“S’that a bad thing?” he decided to say instead, “Me being quiet?”

Y/N shook her head. “Not at all. I like it.”

Harry wished she’d move closer to him and lean her lovely head against his shoulder, but to his faint disappointment she didn’t.

“To be honest I really fucking didn’t want to come here. But... well, don’t hate being here since noticing you”

Y/N’s skin shuddered and her cheeks warmed with a blush. It wasn’t often that a young, handsome guy like Harry came around and just talked to her. People like him would normally not interact with people like her, making it hard for her to behave normally and to know what she should say. Obviously she knew who he was, but somehow it didn’t matter, not here, when Harry acted so normal and strangely flirtatious with her.

His stomach fluttered when her hand brushed his arm and she sighed his name, “It’s really nice to just be with you.”

He smiled, the sound of her whispering his name ringing in his ears. “S’nice to just be with you, too. How come we haven’t met before?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“Harry!”

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by a group of girls noticing his presence and instantly running up the stairs and to where they sat. Harry only recognized one of them and shot Y/N an apologetic look before he was swarmed by females who tried to embrace and talk to him, ignoring the girl he already had by his side.

“S’nice to see you again, Ash,” he muttered, and though Y/N was still brushing his arm, the far too many other hand grasping at him brought the uneasiness from earlier right back.

Oh no. Harry felt sick and so did Y/N when reality caught up with them. He hated that. They couldn’t even enjoy one evening before she was taught what exactly it meant being with him: Attention and lots of girls throwing themselves at him. Harry felt like he was partly to blame, since under other circumstances he so far hadn’t ever minded being the center and everybody wanting a piece of him. But why did Ash and her friends have to show up when he was trying to be different? When he was trying to be with Y/N?

With jealousy in her eyes, Y/N watched hands pull at his hair, lips press to his cheeks and several voices mixed together when all of the girls tried to talk to him and get his eyes on them.

Harry squirmed and blindly reached for Y/N’s hold, which he could tell he found by her voice raising all of a sudden. “All of you, back off right now!”

The swarm of girls backed away and Harry’s orbs found Y/N’s before she turned back to the group.

“Excuse us?” Ash looked at Y/N with pure anger in her expression, seemingly only noticing her now, “And who are you?”

“Besides the point. How dare you grope him like that, huh? Leave!”

The harshness in her voice came as a surprise to him. She’d been calm and collected, sweet and innocent so far and now she was harsh and held on to his hand almost possessively. Harry surprised her too. He’d been so confident all night but when he was swarmed by people wanting his attention, he was almost too shy to speak.

“Fuck you,” one of the girls cussed, though the glare Y/N gave them and how she tightened her hold on him was enough to make them step back and finally leave the two be.

“What,” Harry turned to look at her with arched brows, “was that?”

Y/N smirked and shrugged before she leaned forward to kiss his shoulder lightly. “You saved me from being groped, so I figured I ought to return the favor.”

He smiled and pulled he in. “Thank you.”

“Is it always this bad?”

He nodded and a shadow crossed his face. “Most times.”

Only normally he encouraged it. He smiled and raised his head to look at Y/N properly. She hadn’t even lied and pulled him away like Grayson had done when they’d arrived, but spoke up to make sure he’s okay. Harry sat up and held out his palm for her to take. “Let’s move to a different room, yeah? Bit more quiet.”

“I’d say that’s a good idea.”

Y/N’s fingers held on to his and pulled him down the hall and into one of the empty bedrooms. He assumed her bravery was due to the alcohol cursing through her veins and the kick of shouting at the group of girly. She would’ve probably agreed. The room was big and had a large bed in it, one Y/N under other circumstances would’ve felt intimidated by. But tonight that wasn’t the case and Harry chuckled when she jumped onto the mattress in a heartwarmingly childlike manner.

“This is unbelievably soft,” she sighed before waving Harry over to come sit on the bed.

He followed of course, he was sure he’d follow her anywhere by this point, and crawled in to lay beside her, his head on the pillow and his hands finding her arms. It felt nice to have Y/N close and the loud noise of the music completely blocked out. All that could be heard was their breathing and the words leaving one of them every now and again.

Maybe caring about this person wouldn’t be too bad after all, he thought. Perhaps it was time to stop wanting to be alone.

“You’re good.”

Harry frowned. “M’what?”

“Good,” Y/N repeated, “You’re kind and funny. Saved me from a creep.”

He sighed and she opened her arms to encourage him to move closer. For whatever reason it didn’t feel weird to have a stranger in her embrace, to feel his hair tickle her cheek and to be pressed up to him tightly. He moved so she was still sprawled out on her back and had him leaning over her body with just enough weight resting on top of her so she felt he was there.

“I think things would’ve been nicer had we met earlier.”

She smiled softly at his words and his eyes closed when a finger found his cheek and caressed the skin. It wasn’t clear who kissed who first, but while the people downstairs continued to frantically search for somebody to kiss at midnight, Y/N and Harry lay intertwined on the comfortable bed, mouths open and licking into the other’s, hands scratching and holding on to what they could reach from the other person’s body and though they were impossibly close, both of them hurt with the need to be closer.

“Y/N,” Harry groaned quietly, letting his mouth find the tender skin of her collarbones where he began to lick and kiss and bite just how he’d wanted to.

“Happy new year,” she gasped, arms slinging around his neck and he laughed, nodded and returned to kiss her heavily.

Happy new year indeed, Harry thought as his chest pressed to the girl’s he hadn’t known two hours ago. Maybe this year things would change for the better. If he kept her by his side, he was certain he would get a chance.

I wish all of you a happy new year, that you’re lucky and well and that you don’t think this one sucks x. Since Party Monster was created off a New Year’s request from one year ago, I figured this would be fun to write in the same ‘world.’

Masterlist

Christmas Harry

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