In which Harry is incredibly nervous and y/n knows just how to calm him down.
A/N: WELL I did it. Barely. I managed to get this finished before Harry’s single dropped so that I’ll be able to freak out in peace tonight. I hope you enjoy because this is… kinda filthy. LOVE YA BUY SIGN OF THE TIMES ON ITUNES!
Imagine your best friend always tries to play matchmaker to you with the odd blind date with her boyfriend’s friends. The last two guys were such idiots, she literally had to beg you to try one more time and eventually manages to convince you. Your car is in the shop so she offers for her and the boyfriend to pick you up and you agree. However, she purposely didn’t mention your date would be getting a drive with them too. You hear her car in the driveway and put on your shoes. The doorbell rings and you pull open the door without looking as you turn towards the closet for your sweater. Your back is still to her as you’re putting it on while talking. “I really hope this one is not a dick like the others because I’ll never…” You turn thinking it’s her but Loki asked to come to the door instead, believing it a gentlemanly to do. Your jaw slacks as you eye him from head to toe and he smirks. “Hopefully I’ll do better than the others.” He holds out his hand. “Hello. I’m Loki.” You smile while shaking it. “I hope so too…I mean hi, I’m…”
“Cause of death,” you whispered to Natasha, making her snort.
You took another bite of your cereal and watched Bucky walk over to the refrigerator. He opened the door and reached in, grabbing a water. You and Nat both barely held in groans when he tipped it back and took long pulls from the bottle, the muscles in his throat working vigorously.
He had been down in the gym with Steve. He hadn’t hit the shower yet so his chest was gloriously bare, sweat still clinging to his skin. The gray gym shorts he was wearing were hanging low on his hips, a peak of his black underwear visible. The sweat on his legs were making his shorts stick to his thighs.
That is the cause of death you had been referring to.
When you had entered the gym a half an hour ago to retrieve your hairbrush that you left in the shower room, Bucky had been doing squats. You had frozen in place as you watched the muscles in his back bunch with every movement. His shorts had stretched tight across his firm ass and had ridden halfway up his thighs. The muscles were straining as he bent deep, the weights on the barbell across his shoulders staying parallel.
Dean’s kisses vary depending on his mood. When he’s relaxed and happy they’re all soft and slow and sweet. His hands were snug on your hips as he whispered sweet things in your ear. Trailing little kisses from under your ear to your jaw to your lips. When he’s upset or worried or stressed they’re all lust-filled. One large, calloused hand pressed the back of your head onto his, his fingers twisted into your hair, firmly. He’d let out little growls when you pulled away, flashing desperate puppy-eyes at your own just to get more kisses.
Sam always had his hands on you when you kissed. Whether it’s his thumb and forefinger gripping your chin or his hand pressed on the small of your back, he wanted to have hold of you. Sometimes he’d just bury his hands into the sides of your hair. Pushing it out of your face and pulling it through his fingers. Sammy was always a little rough, even in the sweetest of times. He was always worried that the, kiss would be the last. He couldn’t bare the thought so he always made them count.
When Cas kissed you, he always did it in clusters. It was never just one sweet kiss. He’s cup your face gently with his calloused hands and brush his lips to yours still, after years, nervous to kiss you. He’d press them softly to your lips, your jaw, your neck, your face. Everywhere. He loved it. He’d press his lips to you until you were writhing and giggling underneath him from the tickling feeling of his lips and stubble grazing your skin.
Dominant. That word could be directed at any part of Crowley. The way he walked, the way he talked and held himself. If he wanted something from you, then he would get it. You’d walk into the room and he’d gesture you forward with a curved finger, “Come here.” was one phrase he often mouthed when he did it. You’d walk to him and he’d curl one arm around your waist and his hand would grip your jaw tightly, keeping your head in place. He’d kiss you for seconds, minutes even before he even considered loosening his grip on you.
Gabriel was a tease. He’d press tiny pecks on your jaw and face before quickly peppering your lips, always pulling away before you would get to press back. He’d pull back with that god damn smartass smirk that drove you nuts. You’d flash him a playful pout and he’s giggle lightly before pulling you into his lap. He’d press a soft and gentle kiss against your lips before whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
Stirring the white milk into the coffee you sighed, bored out of your brain. Your boyfriend was busy working in the home recording studio you had built for him for his birthday, as he was most nights. Yoongi was a member of the internationally famous kpop group BTS, and had even released mix tapes and solo tracks of his own. He was so very passionate about music, in fact, that’s how the two of you had met.
Three years ago you were out buying a new sound system as your room mate had broken yours, Yoongi was in the quiet music store too; he introduced himself as a sales assistant to help you find the best ‘value for money’ equipment, as you didn’t have much cash with you. Of course things started to get a little fishy when said sales clerk asked if you had a boyfriend, whereabouts you like to go eat and what your living arrangements were. Eventually he confessed he didn’t work at the store, but was very intrigued by you and wanted to get to know you better.
Later that night he took you to your favourite restaurant just outside of town and you exchanged numbers before he dropped you off at home. A week later you couldn’t contain your huge Cheshire Cat like grin when he showed up at your door at midnight, blasting music from the most expensive sound system you’d both seen in store.
“Y/N! I saw this in a movie last night, is it working?! Did I get the girl?! Let me in before your neighbours call the cops!”
Harry is the type to savor every last bit of his girl.
I mean, he is an Aquarius after all. And an Aquarius Venus as that. So naturally, he’s a pleaser.
Harry is the type to watch her. When his head is between her legs and his fingers are knuckle deep inside of her, he’s the type to look up at her from under his eyelashes and watch her. If her eyes are still open, he sends her a look asking “Are you okay?” He might even stop and press a kiss to her clit before asking if it’s working for her. And if her eyes are closed…. ohhhhh god. That’s when he smirks because he knows he’s doing his job right. And that’s when he takes the time to watch her. Because he knows she gets self-conscious sometimes when he does. But he loves it. Loves watching the way her toes curl, her tummy flutters, her boobs jiggle. Loves watching the way her face scrunches up, how she bites her lips when she’s about to cum, how her lips curve into a smile when his tongue hits the perfect spot.
Harry is the type to love his girl’s smell. Honestly. On those days when she’s extra horny and he feels like being a little shit, he’s the type to tease her. Especially if they’re in public together. Texting her, "Can smell you from here, love.” But he absolutely adores it and honestly, he’ll drop it into conversation at the most random times. “You know your pussy smells amazing when I’m down between your thighs,” over morning coffee, making her almost choke. And on their more intimate nights, he may even stall while he’s kissing her thighs, just so he can smell her. She hates it but it makes him feel so at home between her legs. He reckons he could stay there all day, and usually on lazy days spent in bed or on the couch, he does.
He’s also the type to pay attention to every sound she makes, and fuck, does he love her sounds. He loves knowing which spots elicit which sounds. He knows that if he flicks his tongue in a certain spot, she’ll wine. Or if his fingers graze a spot inside of her, she’ll let out a soft groan and probably a curse word. He wishes he could play her moans like a song on repeat all day, and admittedly, some of his favorite messages from her are when he’s away and she surprises him with an audio clip. In fact, they’ve both recorded themselves in the act a few times just to have something to listen to when they’re apart. And Harry is so attentive that he knows exactly where he’s touching her in the recording. It gets him unbearably hard.
Harry definitely loves her taste. He makes a point of licking his fingers whenever he touches her and she’s wet, especially if he isn’t in a place where he can get his tongue on her. But when he can? Oh god. He’ll take extra time savoring it. Reminding her just how good she tastes, how he loves when she gets this wet for him, and how she has the “best tasting pussy in the world, baby. I swear.” There have even been a few times when he’s brought his fingers up to her own lips for her to taste, because admittedly the sight gets him hard as a rock. And when she cums? He wants to lick up every last bit of it.
And her touch. Yes, he admits that he loves the way her walls feel when they’re clenching around his fingers or his cock. He loves how strong her hips feel when they’re fighting him as he’s trying to hold her down so he can eat her. He loves pushing a hand on her warm tummy while he’s fucking her because he knows she can feel him that deep. But his favorite– his absolute heart melting favorite– is when he’s down between her legs and her fingers interlace with his own. He loves the way her fingers tremble and search for his own steady ones to hold her while she rides through an orgasm that’s all thanks to him. He loves how she gives his hands little thank-you squeezes, involuntary or not, and he loves how her thumb automatically begins stroking his hand when she’s coming down from her hight.
Harry is the type to love a great many things about his girl. And his favorite place to see all of those things, he’s learned, is down between her legs.
“Move, (Y/L/N).” You heard the familiar, hateful voice come from behind you as you stood at your locker. You rolled your eyes and ignored it, prompting him to continue: “Seriously, move, you’re in my way.“
You turned, finding yourself face to face with Montgomery De La Cruz, who simultaneously annoyed you and made your heart flutter. His locker was next to yours, and he always seemed to get so angry when you were there at the same time. "You have plenty of room.” you stated simply.
“Can’t you just move? I can’t get to my damn books because of you.” Montgomery wasn’t the nicest guy in the world in general, or at least that’s what he wanted people to think, but when it came to you? No one had ever been more to rude to you than he is, and no one has ever gotten on his nerves the way you seem to.
You scoffed and slammed your locker shut, intentionally hitting him with your shoulder as you pushed past him to get to class, letting your arm brush against him for just an extra second. What he didn’t notice was that you did it on purpose.
What you didn’t notice was how his eyes followed you all the way down the hall.
But he didn’t realize that you were watching. When he thought no one else was, you were.
You saw how on the very first day of school, he didn’t just tell a freshman where her class was, he walked her there.
You saw how when another freshman dropped her books a week later, he picked them all up for her.
You saw how when a sophomore guy didn’t have lunch money, Montgomery bought lunch for him.
You saw all of the moments that he wanted to hide– he wanted to be seen as tough, but deep down? He was kind-hearted and caring.
You were just starting your junior year and you were standing in Jess’ living room, drink in hand. You felt good tonight– your hair and makeup was done, you were dressed up for the first time in weeks, and the little bit of alcohol flowing through your veins was boosting your confidence.
“(Y/N)! Hey!” Jess slurred, pulling you into a hug.
“Hey, Jess!” you said laughing, "Where’s Justin?“
"He’s late, can you believe that?” she said, rolling her eyes. “What kind of boyfriend shows up late to his girl’s party?"
You laughed again, about to reply when someone bumped your arm, making your drink spill onto your shoes. "What the hell?” you exclaimed, spinning around to see who had knocked into you.
“Problem, (Y/L/N)?” Of course. There was Montgomery, standing there with a smirk.
“God, what is your problem? I don’t ever bother you unless you’re messing with me first and yet you still hate me! What did I ever do to you, Cruz?"
He just stared at you for a second before starting to laugh. Just the sight of him laughing about this made your blood boil and without even realizing what you were doing, you threw the rest of your drink in his face and walked away. You weren’t just angry– you were hurt. You see the way he treats other people, especially when no one is around, but when it came to you, he acted like the stereotypical asshole jock. You didn’t understand what it was about you that made him this way. And the alcohol in your system was just making all of your feelings more intense.
”(Y/N), wait!“ you heard him call after you, but you kept going. You walked out of the living room, through the front door, and were halfway down the road before he caught up with you.
"Please just listen to me.” he said, catching your arm and turning you around.
“No!” You were practically yelling now as you pulled your arm away. “I don’t wanna hear it, Cruz. You act like you hate me for no reason."
"I wish I hated you, (Y/N). I hate the way you make everyone love you. I hate that every time I walk into a room, my eyes find you. I hate that your laugh has become my favorite sound. I hate that every time I close my eyes, I see your smile. I hate that you look so gorgeous all the time. I hate that I can’t even sleep without dreaming of you. I hate that I love you, because I know you’ll never love me. I wish I hated you, (Y/N), but I love you so much that it hurts.”
You were shocked, to say the least. For so long, you’d thought that even just the thought of you annoyed Montgomery, but he’d felt this way all along?
“Why do you act like this, then?” you asked, not quite understanding why his actions and words didn’t match up.
“Honestly? Because I’m scared. You’re beautiful and you’re smart and you’re so kind, I don’t think anyone like you could ever love me. I was scared of you finding out and rejecting me.” he admitted, a sad look filling his eyes as he looked towards the ground. “You’re too good for me, so I act like I don’t care."
"Monty…” You whispered the nickname, but his eyes shot up to meet yours. You’d never called him anything but ‘Cruz,’ so the sound of his nickname coming out of your mouth was both shocking and beautiful to him. “How could you ever think I wouldn’t love you?"
"Why would you? I’ve been nothing but terrible to you since you moved here 2 years ago.” he replied, still looking sad.
“You really don’t notice, do you? I’ve been watching you since the beginning and I see it. I see through your tough facade. I see how deep down, you truly do care about people’s feelings. Just let down your walls, Montgomery.” You found yourself stepping towards him as you were speaking, ending up right in front of him by the end of your speech.
“So, you don’t hate me?” he asked quietly.
“Of course not.” You answered, placing your hand on his cheek.
“I love you.” he whispered, pulling your face to his before kissing you slowly. “I’ve always loved you.”
Congratulations on reaching over 2,000 followers! :D MUCH PROUD AND LOVE GOES TO YOU!
2. “Stop hiding, I know you’re in there.”
8. “You smell like sex.”
19. “Your shirt is on backward.”
85. “Oh stop clapping.”
88. “Oh, I think this is definitely a laughing matter.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
You pushed yourself further back into Bucky’s closet as you covered your mouth with your hand. You couldn’t believe you found yourself in such a delicate situation.
Bucky stepped out of his shower, towel hugging his hips as he moved. Your breathing hitched as your eyes raked over his glistening skin, he looked so goddamn beautiful. You chastised yourself, as accidental as the situation was, you were still hiding in his closet and spying on him.
Steve has some grand old revenge coming his way if I survive this.
Summary: Soulmates are supposed to be a wonderful thing, that is until you find out who your soulmate is. You guessed it, Lance “The Fucker” Tucker.
Pairing: Lance x Reader
A/N: I bet you all look really beautiful today :)
Reality comes back to Hope and she screeches. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“What do I do?” you slap your palm on your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut.
“Is this a joke? Am I getting Punk’d?” she questioned and you scowl, although she couldn’t see your face through the phone.
“No you’re not fucking getting Punk’d, dumbass.” you grit, trying to keep your voice down so that Lance wouldn’t hear you.
You hear Hope scoff on the other end. “I can’t believe he’s actually your soulmate. How fucked up is that?”
“Laugh about it later. Right now I need to know what to do because at the moment Lance is in my kitchen.”
Her joking tone turned serious. “Why is that dickwad in your kitchen? Oh god Y/N did you guys fuck?”
“No! God Hope, I have self respect for myself, you do realize that, right?” your friend was being unbearable.
“That guy has some mad skills. One minute you can be talking about something as innocent as a kids birthday party and the next, you’re fucking. He’s smooth as hell.” she tells you and you sigh.
“Yeah, well I won’t make the same mistake that you did.”
“I was young and dumb Y/N. Stop holding my past against me.” Hope says in a casual tone.
“I don’t! This is probably the third time I’ve ever brought it up since meeting you! You’re the one who always brings it up!” you defend.
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, just go out there, look him in the eyes and say get out of my fucking house you sex addicted freak. He’ll be gone just like that.” you can practically see her shrugging.
“I’m not doing that Hope, I’m a nice person.”
Hope sighs loudly. “I don’t know what to tell you, Y/N.”
“There has to be a reason as to why he’s my soulmate, Hope. Maybe he’s not as bad as you make him out to be.” your voice lowered towards the end and you shut your eyes, knowing Hope would start yelling at you.
“I’ve experienced what it’s like to be with Lance head on! I know what kind of asshole he can be. He breaks hearts and doesn’t care, Y/N! He’ll do the same damn thing to you and I won’t allow my best friend to get hurt from some scum bag who doesn’t have feelings!” she shouts and at one point you have to take the phone away from your ear.
“Hope, there has to be a reason that above everyone else, he’s my soulmate! We’re destined to be together!” you argue
“That soulmate stuff is bullshit.”
“Say that in front of Ben.” you challenge and she goes silent. “ Exactly.”
“He’s an asshole.” she reminds you.
“You just say that because he fucked you over and he’s been cruel to you since you got all the attention despite only winning the bronze.” you roll your eyes.
“He’s mean to Ben!”
“Hope, you’re mean to Ben.”
“Yeah but I’m allowed to be mean to him.”
Another eye roll. It goes silent on both your eyes as you process everything that has happened in the last 20 minutes. Lance is your soulmate. You share every cut, every scar, every injury, every… Tattoo.
“Hope, I gotta go.”
“What? No, where-” you end the call and toss your phone onto your bed then storm out into the kitchen, startling Lance when was leaning against the counter, sipping his cup of water.
He stands up straight upon seeing you. “Hey, what ha-”
“You selfish asshole!” you shout, coming chest to chest with him. Lance is confused. “I can’t believe how inconsiderate you are! You knew damn well that you had a soulmate and you knew damn well that I’d feel every single thing you felt!”
“What are you talking about?” was he being serious?
“I’m talking about you getting that god awful gold medal tattoo!” you shout. “Do you not know how ugly that shit is?! I hate taking showers, I hate looking at myself in the mirror and I can’t fucking have sex with anyone because that stupid tattoo is so god damn embarrassing!”
Lance smirks. You didn’t expect that reaction. “Shit, you have it too? Lemme see..” he leans forward, reaching for your pants but you swat his hand away, glaring at the tall, dark haired man.
“Oh baby,” he rests his weight on the counter again. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
You look at him with disgust plastered on your face before turning your back to him. “Get out of my apartment.”
Now when girls would tell Lance to get out of their house, he’d be out the door before she could even finish her sentence. But with you, it was different. He wanted to stay with you, he didn’t want to go. Just being in your presence comforted him no matter if you were angry with him or not.
“Y/N, wait, no, I didn’t mean-”
“I said get out, Lance.” you snap, turning back to look at him. “Maybe it’s a good idea if we just stay away from each other. You didn’t want anything to do with me before, there shouldn’t be a difference now.”
Lance thought back to all the times you’d try to contact him with a simple ‘hi’ or ‘hey’ and he’d respond with a ‘fuck you’ or ‘leave me the hell alone’
“I’m sorry.” the cocky, asshole Lance from before was replaced with this Lance. He was genuinely sorry.
“Just leave please.” you sigh, not daring to look up from the floor.
Lance, defeated, let out a puff of air before complying to your wish. He looked at you once more before shutting the front door behind him.
A/N: Sorry it’s kind of short. Tell me what ya think :)