#in the beginning he was rude but whenever he came close to lashing out at Tohru he tried to make up for it

[novelist-becca]

I think Kyo and Rin is what you get when the tsundere trope is written right

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Curiosity Killed Everything

Harry almost didn’t open it.

After the war love letters flooded in, and quite frankly, he was sick of it. Part of him thought it was sweet, but the rest was annoyed. Where were the love letters before? Why wait until after? Obviously it had to do with who he was as a namesake and not personally.

But as he sat at the Gryffindor table, the ripped envelope drew his attention—almost as if the sender hadn’t bothered to care about its appearance. That and it was addressed to ‘idiot’.

Curiosity was the only reason he opened it.

‘I can’t stand you.’

That was it.

Harry frowned as he turned it over, expecting more on the back. Nothing. He re-opened the envelope, trying to see if maybe there was something else included. No, it was empty.

I can’t stand you. Nothing more.

He couldn’t help it, Harry snorted.

Someone took time out of their day to send a hate letter. One so short. It intrigued Harry more than offended him. He was sure a lot of people didn’t like him, but not many were vocal about it.

He should throw it away. What was the point of keeping it? But there was something funny about the whole situation.

Curiosity was the only reason he pocketed the letter.

———————————-

The longer he stayed at Hogwarts the more he realized Ron was right and that he shouldn’t have come back for a final year. Sure, Hermione did, but she liked schoolwork.

Without Ron by his side, Hogwarts was pretty boring.

The sound of hundreds of birds swooping in signaled mail call. A glance up brought in a new ripped envelope and his lips were already twitching.

Well… maybe not as boring as he thought.

With zero patience, Harry ripped open the envelope, barely paying attention to the owl.

‘Do you even own a hairbrush?’

Without realizing it, his hand ran through his hair absentmindedly. He scowled at the note. Of course he did. It was just that it didn’t matter how many times he combed it, his hair had a mind of its own.

He glared at the note, but yet, still didn’t throw it away.

Curiosity was to blame, probably.

—————————

Mail time was beginning to become his favourite part of the day, and Harry wasn’t sure what that said about him. His secret hater amused him.

‘Your glasses are hideous. They were too big for you at eleven and you’ve still yet to grow into them.’

‘Your pension for danger is appalling, but perhaps Karma for making me have to put up with your existence.’

‘Your not as good at magic as people think you are.’

‘Everytime you open your mouth, I lose brain cells.’

For reasons that were definitely not due to curiosity, Harry had kept all of the notes. Weeks of daily insults were kept in a safe space inside his nightstand. He wasn’t sure what he could blame that on, but whatever it was, he wasn’t going to blame himself.

—————————-

‘You look like a cross between doxy droppings and a passable excuse for a human.’

Harry had barely stopped laughing when Hermione sat next to him for breakfast for the first time in weeks.

“What’s got you in a good mood today?”

“Nothing.”

He tried to move the letter away but was too slow. Quick hands snatched it off the table.

“Harry,” Hermione began with pursed lips and an angry merging of her brows. “What is this?”

“I reckon I’ve got a secret admirer,” Harry said, not able to keep a straight face at all.

Hermione arched her brows over the top of the letter. “They think you look like doxy shit.”

“Perhaps admirer was too strong of a word.”

“Some people are so pathetic,” said Hermione as she shook her head and glared at the note. “What a waste of time.”

“Wait,” Harry said far too loudly when it looked like she was going to crumple it. “I want to keep that.”

“Keep it?” Her tone wasn’t quite flabbergasted, but it was close. “Why on Earth would you want to keep it?”

Harry shrugged as he pulled the note from her hands. “I find them charming, kind of.”

“Doxy shit,” Hermione reminded him slowly. “What is charming about that?”

It was hard to explain his thoughts, so Harry didn’t try. He wasn’t sure himself why he kept them. The letters weren’t exactly nice—okay not nice at all—but they were becoming a constant in his daily routine. Whoever sent them had strong opinions, and a lot of it came off as teasing in a way. Or at least familiar. Whoever it was, knew him, and knew him well.

They could be nicer, but the chances of that were pretty slim.

For whatever reason, he liked the notes, rudeness and all.

————————-

The only other thing that brought enjoyment to his days was Potions class. Oh, he still sucked at it, but that was part of the fun.

“Are you even trying?” Snarled Malfoy, who unfortunately was assigned as his partner for the year. “I don’t even know what this is supposed to be.”

“Erm,” Harry peered into the cauldron. “I think it’s a cheering charm.”

“You think,” deadpanned Malfoy. “A cheering charm isn’t supposed to be the consistency of clay.”

Clay. Harry raised a finger to feel it for himself but before he could his hand was slapped away.

“What are you doing?” Huffed Malfoy, eyes wide. “Whatever you made could be dangerous.”

“You do care,” Harry said as he placed a hand on his chest and batted his lashes.

Malfoy looked seconds away from hexing him, and Harry kinda wanted to push him to that point.

“Lose a limb for all I care,” Malfoy said haughtily before storming off to the supply closet. “Not as if having them did anything for you in the first place.”

Harry refused snort, not wanting to give Malfoy the satisfaction. Instead, he focussed on poking the potion. Clay was a pretty accurate descriptor. Whatever it had started out as, it was not a potion anymore.

“You think I could craft something out of this?” Asked Harry when Malfoy returned and began the potion all over again. “I reckon I’ve got some creativity somewhere inside me.”

Malfoy took a deep breath, one that made Harry think he was trying to calm down.

“You know, I truly lose brain cells whenever you speak.”

Harry froze, the familiar words causing his brain to work in overdrive before blanking completely.

No. There’s no way...

When Harry didn’t respond Malfoy looked at him curiously. “Finally, you’ve been rendered speechless. Maybe I can accomplish something today. Not that you’d know what that’s like, Merlin knows how incompetent you are.”

Well, on second thought.

The rest of the lesson passed in a blur, Harry’s mind too distracted to focus on anything else.

Was his secret hater really Malfoy?

It would make sense. Who else insulted him on a daily basis? Why not add it in other forms as well?

But why?

Why bother sending anything at all. It wasn’t like Malfoy ever passed up an opportunity to insult him. And daily? That took dedication.

Was Harry really on Malfoy’s mind like that?

———————

‘You would look a lot better in some decent robes. You have the fashion sense of an old Muggle a breath away from keeling over.’ That one was almost kind. When Harry looked toward the Slytherin table, he was surprised to see Malfoy already staring at him. They locked eyes—briefly—before Malfoy glanced away, cheeks rosy. Huh. That was new. Harry traced the note with his fingers, still unsure why he kept the stupid things. They intrigued him, but was that all that did? Another glance toward Malfoy had him unable to lie to himself. Malfoy intrigued him too, always had. Perhaps it was curiosity’s fault after all.

————���—

Draco pushed his vegetables across the plate, mind focused on the pile of Charms homework that he still had to do. Flitwick didn’t have to assign that much, the prick.

It wasn’t until the normal chatter of other students talking disappeared that he realized something was wrong.

When he glanced up, Draco jerked a little at the sight of Potter standing on the other side of the table.

“You lost little Gryffindor?”

Potter rolled his eyes before extending a hand.

Draco took a shaky breath when he realized it was a note, the same size that he sent every morning. With equally shaky fingers, Draco took the parchment and flipped it over.

‘I can’t stand you either.’

There was a tiny smile on Potter’s face that didn’t match the sentiment. But Draco believed him.

“How much?” Draco asked, unable to quash the rising curiosity.

“I’m not sure,” Potter shrugged. “But I imagine we can figure out together.”

That wasn’t a good idea, but Draco’s life was a series of bad ideas.

What could one more hurt?

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader

synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you.

Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting…

tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing 

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: welcome to the first chapter of this series! i’m very excited to start this, and i hope everyone who reads it enjoys it as well! i got the idea from a manga i was binge reading a while back, so the themes and a few of the plot points are different, but as it progresses, i’ve made it my own. 

anyway, happy christmas! see you next week! 

master list

life as she’s known it >> 

You notice the subtle clench of Kenma's jaw beneath the warm glow of the hallway's light. His hooded gaze strained by hours upon hours of gaming meets your wavering grin. The gears in his head are turning very slowly, and since silence has fallen upon the atmosphere of your shared apartment, you can actually hear the little squeaks as your poor boyfriend tries to fathom the sight before him.

You have quite a knack for bringing peculiar things home without permission; the little frog you adopted on the side of the road during your commute home one stormy night, the mud pie your nephew made for you that stunk the entire apartment for weeks because you didn't have the heart to throw it away—at least not immediately; and the dinner you brought home from the self-proclaimed "legitimate" kebab restaurant that resides in the sketchier side of the city.

All quirky things that Kenma had accepted and grown used to.

But this? This was so far from the bar you had set for his expectations, he can't help but wonder if you're pulling a prank, or maybe even actually committing a crime. But the glint of guilt and sorrow painting so deep into your face tells him otherwise.

Oh, how the poor gamer wishes it was a prank.

You swallow your fear, forcing it all the way down to the pit of your stomach. You've practiced all you've needed to say in the ride home, but all you can manage is stuttering, "I-I can..I can explain," in rather hushed tone.

There goes all my practice, you think to yourself.

Kenma raises a brow, still peering at you with the driest expression. The child in your arms begins to weigh heavier than the pressure placed upon your chest.

Ah, he just might break up with me after this...

"This is—uh, this one behind me is Eiji—Ejij say hi." The young boy behind you bows shyly, his greeting softer than a whisper it feels like you imagined it. "And this little one—sleeping soundly—this one's Yuki..."

Kenma blinks away at your words, face unamused. You regret not even trying to bring home some cake. Maybe if you did, he wouldn't be so...upset? Is he upset or is it just his face again? You can never really tell.

You huff, quietly jumping to the harsh conclusion this'll be the moment he ends things with you. But you won't go down without at least a little fight.

"Look," You sigh, shifting your hold beneath Yuki's tiny bum so he doesn't slip away, "They needed a place to stay, and no one was willing to take them!" Your lips fall dry and the more you speak, the more your words come out strained. "In a room full of people who—who called themselves your family for so many years fall silent the moment they needed help! No one spoke up to help them! It was so bad, Kenma! I-If you were there you—"

You bite your tongue, catching yourself before you're swept away by the current of your rage.

A deep, shaky sigh escapes him. His eyes finally tearing away from you as he cranes his head back, seemingly accepting his temporary defeat. "Let them sleep in the spare room and we'll talk after," is the only thing Kenma says to you before turning around walking away.

The constricting feeling in your chest eases and you sigh in relief. You mentally high five yourself for your momentary win before twisting your gaze over your shoulder to look at the young boy towering over you, motioning him to follow you.

You never noticed how wide the apartment actually is. Maybe its because of the emptying feeling you were left with back in the hallway, but it all seems so eerily wide. Like, what are two people doing with such a big space?

He'll definitely break up with me after this.

There's still a lingering prickly feeling in your heart; a mixed emotion of a win and a loss. You try your best to prepare yourself for whatever the outcome may be, but deep inside you're already prepared for a break up.

The young boy trails behind you all the way into the bedroom, leaving a considerable amount of space between the two of you.

You switch the lights on, revealing a room big enough for more than just two kids. A desk on the side, a king size bed at the center, and a window with a good view of the city. It was usually the room Hinata crashed whenever he came back from traveling with his team, but he hadn't been here in months. Traces of him were left in the form of dust.

"Will this be good enough for now?" You ask Eiji as you shrug Yuki's backpack to the floor before making your way over to the bed.

His head is lowered, eyes still failing to meet yours. He's been like this since you pulled them from under the gossiping gaze of your family.

Family, you think. The word seems so meaningless now.

"When someone speaks to you, you ought to look at them," You say it with a genuine smile, hoping that the little warmth you have left in your heart radiates off you and onto him.

God knows he needs it more than you.

"Y-yes, you're right. Thank you." He stammers, "I'm-I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude—"

"Hey," You say, gently cutting him off as you hold your smile. He's still as soft and shy as the day you first met him. You can't help but smile at the thought that he never changed. "I'm not mad or anything...Its just a teaching moment. Remember it."

You watch as Eiji slowly shifts his gaze away from the floor, slowly raising his head to meet your eyes."There you go. You've got pretty eyes, you shouldn't hide them."

He hums a quiet thank you before turning around and shifting his attention to his backpack. You take care of the little one still hanging onto you, pressing a kiss onto his little forehead and rubbing his back before settling him down onto the bed.

You're careful not to stir him as you slip his shoes off. You tuck him in, brushing his hair away from his face to reveal his long lashes and puffy eyes.

Ah, there goes the heaviness in your chest again; a recurring feeling for the day. You wonder when it'll end and your heart sinks even deeper when you remember Kenma waiting for you.

Hesitantly, you excuse yourself and make your way to the door. You let Eiji know where the bathroom is and tell him not to be scared to ask you for anything, "Please don't scared," is the last thing you mutter before leaving the boys to rest.

You tiptoe across the living room, down the hall and towards your shared bedroom. The wooden floorboards creak beneath your feet whispering, "You've done it now", "You've crossed the line", and "He's definitely going to yell at you".

You clench the knob of your bedroom door. The thumping of your heart deafens your ears and your throat grows too dry for you to swallow your fear.

You shut your eyes and pray to the deities, hoping for a good outcome—hoping for any outcome than the one you're expecting.

It takes a moment—five minutes to be exact—but you muster a sliver of courage to push the door open. For some odd reason, you imagined Kenma would be sitting at the edge of the bed, silently brewing in his anger. But instead, he's on the floor, knees up to his chest as he fiddles with his Switch.

And you can't tell if you're annoyed or relieved.

You shut the door behind you before joining him on the floor. You keep your head down, picking off your nail polish while you wait.

Kenma pauses his game, setting it down to the side before completely leaning against the bed, lulling his head back to take a breath. You shut your eyes and you take a deep breath when you feel him shifting in his place to face you.

Here it is. He's going to yell at me, you think.

"What are you plotting?" He asks, not a single trace of irritation found in his voice but rather sheer curiosity dripping from his words. You keep your head down and eyes shut. "You ought to look at someone when they're speaking to you," Your name rolls off his tongue playfully, covered in nothing more than love and sincerity.

You peak an eye at him, lifting your head. "You're not gonna to yell at me?"

"When have I ever yelled at you?" His face contorts in judgement and a little concern, wondering if his girlfriend's broken or just completely stupid. "Why would I yell at you now?"

"I brought home two stray kids..."

"Yes, you did," He says matter-of-factly, "and we need to talk about that. So, can we please talk about that?"

You nod slowly, bringing your knees up to your chest before turning your whole body to face him.

Kenma sinks his elbow onto the end of the bed, cupping his chin for support before he speaks, “Who are those kids and why did you bring them home?"

Kenma looks at you directly, his face emotionless, but a bit softer compared to when you were first standing in the hallway. He blinks at you, waiting patiently till you're ready to speak.

"They were my cousin's kids," You say in a strained whisper. "The—The one that died in the accident." Kenma hums in response, signaling you to keep going. "We weren't close—as you know or else you would've heard a lot more about him—but we felt close enough...given what our family's like..."

Growing up with the kind of family you had and having met everyone from your extended family was kind of like living in a block of ice that never melted; solid in their beliefs, slippery with their anger, and had no room for any other emotion.

You made this very clear to Kenma when you first started dating, especially when he had asked to meet your family. He wasn't one to socialize or even initiate it, but he would do it if it meant doing it for you. But you turned the idea down fast, warned him that there'd be no reason to have to go through all that stress just for you; and though he was just as stubborn as you, Kenma gave in and never brought it up again when he saw how upset you had gotten.

But in chest full of ice cubes, there was your cousin, Akihiro-san. Like you, he was different. He wasn't cold, but he was so genuine and real, you couldn't help but doubt his kindness.

A kindness you failed return when he needed it most. So, when you saw your moment of opportunity, you snatched it, regrettably leaving your boyfriend as an afterthought to your decision.

"I owe it to him, Kenma..." You plead in whisper. "I owe to him because he was the only one who was ever nice to me..."

"These are kids," He counters, dipping his head to meet your glossy eyes. He takes your cheek into the palm of his hand, his thumb tracing circles over your skin. "This would be different if it were a puppy or a plant—but these are living and breathing kids and we know nothing about raising kids. My love, we're only in our twenties..."

"But—"

"You should've called first." He cuts you off, his tone still soft , but firm. You’re at least grateful he’s called you your pet name. "You should've called me and asked."

"You would've said no..."

"How do you know? You never called me." There isn't resentment in Kenma's words. Its still  playful and light, but you can feel his hurt and you feel dumb because you know exactly why. "I would've liked to have been included in this decision...especially since this is my home and you are my girlfriend, and you promised that we would make decisions together."

You frown, tears brimming to the surface as you realized what you've done and how you've probably made him feel.You denied him of his choice, and you were silly to believe that it was okay to go over his head and behind his back.

As you whisper a string of apologies, Kenma presses his forehead onto yours, smiling at you. He was angry at first, but not so much anymore.

"Are you going to break up with me?" You sniffle, voice breaking at the thought. "I'd understand if you wanted to break up with me...But I just—I really wanted to help them. I'm so sorry I didn't ask you first, I couldn't just leave them—"

"Shhh," His breath fans against your skin, "I'm not breaking up with you, stupid. Given, this is probably the biggest wild card you've thrown at me by far, but its not enough for me to break up with you."

You hide your face into dip of his neck, sobbing into the material of his sweater, letting go of the strength you had from holding back and stain it with your tears. You had always been reckless, but it never turned him off. He never raised his voice, he always heard you out, and even when you slipped up, he always forgave you in a heartbeat.

It makes you question if you’re deserving of such a love as this. 

“I was very angry and very offended,” Kenma begins, “I didn’t like what you did. It made me feel like you couldn’t trust me, and it made me feel like you saw me as some kind of terrible person that would turn away kids that need a home...”

You shake your heard, muttering a “no” to his assumption. 

Kenma runs his fingers through your hair and down to your back, soothing you until you've caught your breaths. He'll soft press his lips against the crown of your head, discreetly swiping the little sweat off his lips to keep you from being offended.

"S-So, what do we do about the kids?" Your question muffled but Kenma can hear you just fine.

He sighs, and as he's about to pull you away from his chest, you tighten your hold around his waist. "Please look at me," Your shoulders fall and you pout when you come face to face with him. He chuckles at how ridiculously childish you look, "Do you really want to do this?"

Your eyes widen, "Y-yes. I want to do this, but if you don't want—"

"Better us than anyone else, right?" You blink at him, processing. "I don't know shit about kids, but if you really want to do this, I'll support you. But you can't expect me to be good at this."

Kenma falls onto your shoulder and rests all his weight onto you, letting out a sigh. Panic envelopes his heart, his stomach flipping and churning as he stresses over all the things that's yet to come.

“We’ve been dating for four years, and I’ve just only gotten the hang of you now...” He admits in a heavy sigh.

I'm still a kid, he thinks, groaning. He's plays games all day, forgets to shower, and doesn't know how to cook either. He works from home, rarely goes out unless he needs to or if you want to. Out of the both of you, you're--surprisingly-- more put together than he is.

Can he really do this?

"Please don't expect much from me," He begs, "I don't do well with kids, and you even took in a grown one. What if it doesn't like me or if it forget to feed it?"

You chew on your lip, holding back a laugh and quietly smile to yourself. Vulnerability paints well on your boyfriend, and you wish for even more moments like this.

“I promise it’ll only be until we kind find some other arrangement for them...Something better." You’re not entirely confident in your words, but you understand the idea of having them stay with you isn’t the most sound solution. 

"I suppose if we mess up, we'll mess it up together." He says in defeat, sprawling his legs open before wrapping it around you, pulling you as close to him as possible. He cradles your body tightly just as Yuki had done. "You don't understand how unbelievably lucky you are that I love you."

[sugawara-sweetheart]

mmm kenji would be so into degradation like nobody's business. prob a spanking kink too. those hands smack down so many balls your ass has no chance

god i love futakuchi so much hes so pretty this was so fun to write

futakuchi x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, kinda hate sex,

word count: 2.6k

futakuchi isn’t an easy man to get along with. in fact, he never has been as you clearly remembered him being the rude, jarring underclassmen to your best friend moniwa back when you were all in high school. sure, he eventually accepted his faults and apologised yet almost six years later when you’re the manager of the municipal team VC Date, you find that he’s still the same.

irritating. rude. sardonic with that smile that always makes you curl your hands into fists whenever you‘re on the receiving end of those teasing remarks. but the worst part is that no matter how much you try to loathe the obnoxious man, it’s hard to. it’s hard to look past his handsome face gritted as he slams the volleyball down, sweat glistening off his temples. it’s hard not to admire his rippling muscles, the green veis that twist along his arm but also the subtle kindness he shows to his teammates, encouraging the new setter that he’d be able to adapt to their spikes quickly and making sure one of the middle blockers is resting and eating properly when he’s ill. no matter how much you try to pretend you hate the man who gets under your skin so easily, it’s still clouded maybe with pure attraction, maybe with something more.

you suppose that’s how you end up here one night in the living room of his apartment. you can feel his eyes on you as you sit awkwardly on the couch before he finally walks over to you from his adjoined kitchen, two glasses of whisky in his hands. he hands it to you with a gruff exhale before he sits beside you, his eyes fixated on you as you avoids his gaze. you take a deep gulp of the alcohol with a burning hiss.

“so why are you here?” futakuchi sighs, raising a brow at you like he’s bored.

“i had a bad day.” you growl, rolling your eyes as he scoffs. of course, he causes that irritation to build in you again but somehow- maybe it’s the dim lighting, his casual clothes of a fitted t-shirt and shorts that reveal his muscular body, the fact there’s barely any distance with his knee almost touching yours- you can’t help the desire that burns deep in your core.

“so you came to me?” he chuckles mirthlessly, cocking his head with amused surprise. “wow, y/n, one of our rare days off practise and you just can’t keep away, huh?” it’s your turn to scoff scathingly as you turn to futakuchi, scowling at his words as he continues to look so entertained.

“oh please, don’t flatter yourself.”

“i’m not.” he smirks, leaning back against the couch with his legs spreading apart and hand coming to rest on the back of it. you can’t deny the way his pose shows off his body more, his shorts riding up to reveal his bulky thighs and his biceps and chest muscles bulging from the restrains of his t-shirt. “i’ve seen how you watch me at practise. how tight you press your thighs together. i see how you’re looking at me now.” he takes a sip of his whisky and your breath hitches in your throat as you notice the way the wet remnants of it cling to his lips. he chuckles as he leans close but much to your surprise you don’t turn away, even when his fingers grip your chin, tilting you towards him.

he’s so close you can see every speck of gold in his brown eyes, feel his hot breath lingering on your lips. “you can’t resist me, can you?” he’s right, you can’t. you fail his challenge the moment you lean forward, connecting your lips together and kissing him with your fingers coming to thread in his brown silky locks, tasting the bitterness on his lips. he kisses you back with fervour, sighing into your mouth as he pushes you back on the couch, not caring that your empty glasses clatter to the floor when he’s sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. futakuchi groans when you part them and his tongue slides in to lick against yours, his hands gliding up your body to squeeze at your tits.

“i bet if i touch you right now, you’ll be soaking.” he taunts, smirking as he pulls away from your lips to press open mouthed kisses that has you exhaling heavily.

“try it, you’ll see how you’re just flattering yourself.” you remark with a scathing laugh but futakuchi doesn’t look at all worried when his hand sneaks through the waistband of your pants. you can’t help the sheepish moan that escapes you when two of his fingers press against your panties, a smirk stretching across his face.

“you’re drenched.” your face burns with indignation, glowering at him as he continues to apply pressure, circling his fingers over your clothed clit, eliciting little sighs from you as warm pleasure begins to build.

“shut up, kenji.” you groan, eyes fluttering shut as you rest your head back but he swiftly removes his fingers. you can’t help but whine at the pleasure washing away. “what are you doing?”

“oh my bad, y/n.” he smirks, sitting back against the couch casually. “if you want me to help you out, work for it.”

you sit up with a scowl but it’s then that you notice the tent in his shorts, a small gasp escaping you. he’s so brazen about it, following your gaze to his bulge with a small nod.”of course if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. but come on, i’d love to see that clever little mouth stuffed full with my cock.” your mouth drops open with his lewd words but you can’t help the surge of arousal rushing into you, making your soaked panties even wetter as you shuffle towards futakuchi. he smiles at your obedience, his eyes softening as you kneel beside him, your hand stretching out to palm his clothed erection.

he groans at the pressure, his eyes becoming heavy-lidded before you tug down his shorts, revealing the clearer outline of his hard cock straining against the tight fabric.

“wow, it looks like you can’t resist me either.” you remark, a smirk tugging at your lips but futakuchi isn’t impressed. he grips your jaw tight, turning your face in his direction and poking his thumb through your lips.

“don’t get cheeky with me, princess.” he says darkly. you can’t help the whimper that rises when his coarse thumb presses down on your tongue, saliva pooling. “be a good little slut and suck my dick if you want to cum tonight.”

he takes his thumb from your mouth with a pop and you slide down his boxers, reaching for the warm weight of his cock in your hand. he’s long, veins stretching over his length and beads of precum leaking from the tip as he watches you heavily, eyes dark. you can feel him scrutinising every bit of you as you lower your mouth, tongue darting out to lick at the sensitive head that has him gasping.

“go on, wrap those pretty lips of yours around my dick.” he encourages. his gaze is heavy and lustful as you lock eyes with him, taking note to bat your lashes as you slide the head into your mouth, sucking gently as futakuchi groans. he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, heavy, breathy moans escaping him as you take more of his length, bobbing your head as you twist and slide your tongue around and under his cock, tracing the veins that has him gripping the edge of the couch tightly. “you look so pretty taking my cock like a dirty, little slut.” you can’t help but moan, slightly muffled by his dick in your mouth but your thighs pressed together at his lewd words. it’s almost uncomfortable with how wet you are but futakuci notices, smirking at the way you suck him harder. “are you enjoying this? enjoying being such a good little whore for me- fuck!” you gag as his hips buck up, the sensitive head of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you both moan loudly. “you’re so filthy.”

heavy pants escape futakuchi as you continue to bob your head along his length, cheeks hollowing as you slide your tongue around him before suddenly he’s gripping you by your hair, tugging you off his cock as he pulls you into a heated kiss. it’s messy with his tongue sliding into your mouth, drool trickling down your chin as you swallow his moans and you can’t help but chuckle as you realise the reasons for his hasty movements.

“did you almost really cum that quick?” you sneer, smirking as he hisses. he suddenly grips your cheeks hard, pushing them together with stinging pain as he forces your mouth open, growling as he leans close.

“don’t fucking piss me off.” he snarls and your eyes widen as he puckers his lips, directly spitting on your drooling tongue. he looks like he’s just registered his own actions, eyes widening, but when you release that small whine as the cold globule hits your tongue his eyes harden again. “swallow.” you do as he says, feeling yourself get so much wetter as the heat rises to your cheeks with humiliation. “what do you say?”

futakuchi hisses when you don’t say anything, his teeth clenching together as he grabs you by the roots of your hair, tugging you towards him. “i said, what do you say?” the thrill of seeing the anger in him makes your core throb as you smirk and you know it’s enough to send him over the edge as he flips you around, the hand still gripping your hair pushing your head down.

“kenji!” you groan as your face is forced into the couch but futakuchi ignores your muffled moans as he kneels behind you, his other hand yanking down your shorts and panties together.

you gasp at the feeling of the cold air hitting your slick folds, your body twitching with the sensitivity as he strokes your wetness. you’re arching yourself into him when a loud crack echoes in the room and you’re gasing, writhing as pure pain sears into your asscheek.

“you’re nothing more than a dirty, slutty, little whore.” he grunts, each word punctuated with a smaller slap yet it was just as harsh, making you moan loudly. futakuchi chuckles, spreading your legs apart as you moan out his name, aware of the way your ass was red raw and burning with the pain. “you’re so wet, y/n. you must be enjoying this, but after all, you’re such a slut, i’m sure you’d enjoy anything.”

“kenji-” you break off with a sharp gasp as futakuchi gives you another hard spank.

“much better,” he smiles as he rubs the sore, red skin. “you look so much better when you’re ruined like the little cockslut you are.”

he smiles as he turns you over, taking notice of the tears glistening in your ears as he strokes your face, a surprisingly tender action compared to the harsh spanks he gave you.

“kenji, please.” you whine desperately, bucking your hips into nothing. the burning arousal in you is too much, all dignity you have washing away as you cry out for futakuchi. he watches you with amusement, lazily stroking his dick which only has you whining more.

“god, you’re being such a desperate little slut.” he sighs, spreading apart your legs to reveal your wet cunt. you yelp as he gives you a little slap on your inner thigh, the shock of pain making you jerk. “you want me to fuck you so bad, huh? you’re so desperate for my dick, i bet you’d let me take any hole, huh?”

he looks gleeful, smirking as you’re almost sobbing with the way he glides his dick along your folds, soaking his length in your wetness. “that’s why you’re dripping all over me, stupid girl.”

“kenji, please fuck me-” you break off with a scream as he sheaths his cock in you, his length stretching out your walls as you both moan together.

“fuck, your slutty cunt is so tight.” he grunts, chuckling at the way your eyes roll back at the sensation of his length dragging against your walls. he waits till he’s bottomed out with you, heavy moans escaping him before he starts to fuck you, his hip snapping against yours roughly as you cry out. “fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight, princess. but of course, this is what you’re good for.” you moan at his lewd words as he fucks you, his cock rubbing against your walls so well. the pleasure is so warm inside you, making your mind hazy with his fast thrusts, his fingers moving to rub at your clit, making you arch your chest into him. “you should be thanking me for fucking your sloppy pussy, shouldn’t you, whore?” mind clouded with lust and pleasure, you nod desperately.

“thank you, kenji- kenji, kenji!” you can only chant his name over and over again till your voice is hoarse with every thrust futakuchi gives you. it’s only when you’re too fucked out to cry anymore, instead you tongue lolling out as you drool all over yourself that the room fills with the sinful sounds of skin slapping against skin.

“such a dirty slut.” futakuchi removes one hand from gripping your thigh to slide his fingers along the saliva coating your chin, pushing his wet fingers into your mouth. immediately you moaned around them, sucking on them with your eyes heavy-lidded, the rush of pleasure too much for you to even think. “am i fucking my little cockslut too hard she can’t even think? am i making you into my dumb, little whore?” you only moan in reply, bucking your hips up into his and from the way you’re clenching tighter around him. “is my dumb, slutty girl going to cum?” you’re nodding and futakuchi slides his wet fingers from your mouth, smearing your own drool messily on your cheeks before he wraps his hand around your throat. you squeeze tighter around him, making him moan loudly before you’re convulsing, crying as he fucks you through your orgasm, his fingers cirling your clit relentlessly, ignoring the cramping in his hand. “fuck!” you’re panting when futakuchi suddenly pulls out, his twitching cock drenched in your cum, slick sounds filling the room as he pumps himself, admiring the way your wetness coats your thighs and puffy pussy, the drool over your chin and the tears leaking from your eyes before he cums, releasing all over your stomach and painting your skin with his cum.

futakuchi collapses beside you on the couch, his body pressed against yours from the limited space as you both pant together. as your high begins to fade, the shame rises in you but it’s quelled the moment futakuchi brushes your hair out of your face.

“stay here, let me go clean you up.” you don’t know what to think, just lying on the sofa with an ache beginning to build in you as you wait for him to return. when he does, he has a glass of water which he hands to you before pressing the wet cloth against your stomach, cleaning you up gently. there’s a still silence before you clear your throat.

“i’m sorry.” futakuchi frowns at you with confusion.

“for what? do you regret this?” you hesitate a little under his rounded eyes before shaking your head, the heat rising to your cheeks as you quickly look away, suddenly feeling exposed.

“no, i had a good time. but it doesn’t feel right. i’m the manager of the team and-”

“and if you were my girlfriend?” you splutter at his words, mouth dropping open but he isn’t abashed at all, his eyebrows rising questioningly. “if i take you out on a date, would you be okay with this?”

“you want to take me out on a date?” he smiles, chuckling as he leans close.

“of course.” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours. you’d never had a kiss so soft before.

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[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Magnolio, part One

Rating: SFW Length: 1583 Pairing: Cursed Male Werewolf x GN Reader

A commission for my dearest friend, Ana.

xxx

You don’t know what it is about the old mirror in the antique shop that calls to you. It’s squat and ugly, and its silver frame is so tarnished that the designs are all but unrecognisable. Still, you watch anxiously as the cashier wraps it in recycled newspaper, and you buckle its seat belt in the car beside you on the ride home. Once there, you break out the supplies you usually use to help your grandmother polish her silver cutlery, and with a bit of patience and a lot of elbow grease late into the evening, you manage to buff off the patina and reveal the intricate designs that had been lost to age.

Wolves and flowers. What a strange and beautiful combination.

You make yourself a sandwich for dinner and pick away at it as you admire the new polish of the mirror, but something shifting in the reflection makes you frown and turn around to inspect your surroundings. What had just moved? Finding nothing, you look back into the mirror, only to find the face of a man staring back at you. You scream and flinch hard enough to throw your sandwich into the ceiling fan above you, its contents flying around the room as it hits the blades.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” you hear a trembling voice say, and you scream again when you realise that it’s coming from the mirror. “Stop screaming! It’s only me!”

“Who the hell is ‘me’?” you squeak, voice shrill from hysteria. You’re probably knocked out somewhere. Maybe you’ve fallen down the stairs and got a hard whack to your head. It is the only reasonable explanation for why there is suddenly a man testing the barrier of glass between you and the mirror.

The mirror.

The mirror itself is now reflecting a room that is completely unrecognisable to you, panelled with rich mahogany and decorated in a very austere style. The man in the mirror is possibly in his 30’s, with long, black hair and deep brown eyes. His light brown skin is exposed at the throat and collar by a white shirt that froths lace at the cuffs of the sleeves and cinches in at the waist with the high waistline of his dark breeches, but that is as far as you can see in the view of the mirror. The man in the mirror peers curiously around your living area, frowning his bemusement.

“Am I in your home?” he asks, and he doesn’t wait for you to reply before going on. “Thank God. I was so sick of looking at the back of a cloth. I’m Magnolio. You are?”

“Dreaming,” you murmur, watching Magnolio as though he were a sideshow attraction. “I’m dreaming. I must be.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on it,” Magnolio demurs. “I’m sure your dreams are more exciting than an old man in a mirror. What a charming carpet. Is it new?”

“Uh, thrifted,” you say, startling as a slice of tomato unsticks from the ceiling and plops down by your shoe. Now that you took in the scene, you had some cleaning up to do. There was mayo on the ceiling fan, and bread stuck to the window. Swearing, you begin to gather the remains of your poor sandwich. Even if this is a dream, you aren’t going to leave a future dream-you with a mess to clean up.

“You missed a bit of green,” says Magnolio, pointing out a piece of lettuce stuck to the leg of a chair.

“Thanks,” you mutter, eyeing the man as you add the leafy green to your sad little pile in your hands. Closer up, you can see a pale scar beneath one of his eyes, ragged and poorly healed at the time of injury. You have never been one for dreams, and this one is taking the cake. “Magnolio, you said?”

“Yes,” he sighs, sounding dejected. “Surname Alinari, if that means anything at all these days.”

It doesn’t. Not to you, anyway. Still, you sigh and sit down in front of the mirror after disposing of the sandwich and washing your hands, staring up into Magnolio’s face. “So, what are you?”

“How rude. I’m Italian!”

“No, you idiot. Why are you in the mirror?”

“Oh,” says Magnolio, the wind that had momentarily entered his sails disappearing. “Would you believe I was cursed?”

“I think I can make allowances for strange stories if they’re told to me by a ghost in a mirror.”

“I’m no ghost!” Magnolio scowls. “I’m very much alive. I’m just stuck in this… other world.”

“So this isn’t just a two way mirror? Like a walkie-talkie?”

“A walkie-whatie?”

“Never mind,” you say, shaking your head. “What I’m seeing behind you isn’t on earth?”

“I think it might be,” Magnolio replies, caught off guard by the question. “It certainly behaves the way the regular world does, except that something like a barrier won’t let me past the gardens.”

“Huh. That sucks.”

Magnolio nods uncertainly at your slang, frowning down at you. “I’m surprised that you’re taking this so well. Most people try to break the mirror by now.”

“How many people have you met?”

“A few. I’ve been trapped in here for over a hundred years. I lost track.”

“You don’t look like you’re over a hundred.”

“Well, it appears that I remain the age at which I was trapped, so far as I can tell. I can’t die while I’m here. I’ve tried.”

Silence falls between you. Both of you shift uncomfortably at Magnolio’s admission, until you finally sigh and decide enough is enough. “Do you want a tour? Even if this is a dream, it’s only polite.”

Magnolio laughs softly, nodding in a way that made his long hair fall into his eyes. “I’d like that, I think.”

After assuring you that the mirror can’t be broken, you heave Magnolio and his mirror all through your house, and what you plan on being a basic tour turns into an in-depth explanation of your indoor plumbing and electricity. You learn that he was from a small village in Sicily in the early 1800’s, so you figure you have your work cut out for you when it comes to catching him up on the times, but Magnolio stops you before you can get mired in the details.

“I’m caught up on history,” he tells you, and he shifts his own mirror to show you a wall of books in the panelled room. “He made sure to give me things to do, in case he didn’t get back in time to undo the spell.”

“Who?” you ask, and Magnolio’s face falls.

“My late husband,” he says, absently fiddling with a pendant at his chest. “He sealed me in this mirror when the villagers came for me. He was meant to free me before the night was out, but the villagers killed him. They couldn’t break the mirror or get to me, so they buried it with him instead. Then his grave was robbed and I was taken to France, and then to Austria, and finally I ended up here.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, ruffling your own hair. “That’s heavy. How do I get you out of this mirror, then?”

Magnolio perks up, hand stilling at his breast. “You would free me?”

You shrug. “I mean, I guess. It would be pretty shitty of me to buy your mirror, learn about you, and decide you’re someone else’s problem.”

“Oh,” Magnolio sighs, smiling brilliantly in a way that makes his eyes crinkle. “I would be forever indebted to you. You must kiss me under the light of the moon. Then I will be free.”

You heave a beleaguered breath. “I hope my neighbours don’t see this,” you grumble as you haul his mirror outside, looking around for strangers as though you were smuggling black tar over the border. When you confirm that you are, in fact, alone, you sigh and twitch towards Magnolio’s mirror. “Well. Pucker up, Mags.”

Magnolio frowns. “‘Mags’?”

“Just kiss me, man,” you plead, pressing your lips against the mirror’s surface.

Startled into movement, Magnolio closes the distance between you, planting his lips over yours through the mirror. For a moment, your lips feel warm, and your heart beats wildly in your chest at the thought of watching a man emerge from his centuries-long entrapment.

But nothing happens.

“Uh.”

“Oh,” says Magnolio, deflating like a sad-looking balloon after a child’s birthday party. “That was supposed to work.”

“Is it because it’s not ‘true love’s kiss’ or whatever?” you ask, using your sleeve to wipe away the smudge left behind by your lips.

“I don’t know,” Magnolio replies, and to your horror, his voice sounds thick with tears. As you watch, he sniffles and a tear slips free from his thick lashes, running down his face and onto his shirt. It is quickly followed by many more, and you realise that the mirror doesn’t have to be broken for this poor man to shatter.

“Hey, hey,” you say, breathless as you carry the mirror back inside. “Maybe it’s just because it’s not the full moon. We’ll try again in a week or two—whenever it is. Alright?”

“Alright,” Magnolio burbles, using his sleeves to wipe at his face even as more tears slide down his flushed cheeks. “We’ll try again. I have your word?”

“You have my word,” you say, and thank your lucky stars that you’ll be waking from this dream sooner rather than later.

[writer-ish]

hopeful hearts

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 2,515

Rating: T (for now)

special thanks to: @openheartthot for being lovely and supportive and the inspiration for this piece, in part due to all the hard work she does with the chapter scripts each week. ♥️

Notes: This takes place during the Gala, before and after Ethan and MC’s very public kiss. 

I wanted to flesh out this beautiful scene in a way that breathed new life into it, delving into the psyche of these characters and further detailing their thoughts and feelings in those lovely moments. PB gave us a lot with this chapter... but sometimes, it still doesn’t quite feel like enough.

In other words, please enjoy my self-indulgence. 

Dr. Brooke Spiers sighs heavily as she shifts from foot to foot, hoping to ease the ache that is beginning to grow in her toes. The shoes she had touted as “so comfortable!” just a few hours earlier now seem like devices specifically designed to torture her into revealing state secrets.

She is tired.

The night is wearing thin, the sheen of such a spectacular display starting to dull around the edges. She finds herself longing for the more ascetic hospital she’d grown used to over the past two years. The decor is already tiresome; she craves the familiarity of its former sterility.

I should be walking these grounds saving asses and not kissing them, dammit.

She sighs again, her eyes casting about, looking for a reprieve of some sort.

She finds it almost immediately in one Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Exactly the familiar and welcome sight she’d required. It still amazes her how finding his form in a crowded hall or room can immediately set her at ease. As though something just clicks into place whenever he’s near.

Ah, says her soul each time. There he is.

She watches as the donor Ethan had been speaking to walks away. Continues to watch as Ethan’s shoulders sink, the man physically deflating before her eyes.

He looks exhausted, she thinks, a pang in her chest as she briefly allows herself to consider how full his plate of worries is. She watches as he heads to the bar and she finds her feet taking her in the same direction, practically of their own volition.

He looks up as she approaches and she catches the slight softening of his gaze, even as his full mouth stays in a hard line.

“Holding up okay?” she asks, hearing the gentle sympathy creeping into her tone.

“Ask me once I get this next drink,” is his curt response, as he gestures to the bartender.

“That bad, huh?” His abruptness no longer bothers her. She recognizes the surface-level gruffness for what it is: a shield. To protect a man who already has the world on his shoulders from caring about too many things all at once.

He proves her correct when he performs his telltale stress maneuver: squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Something is bothering him.

She waits patiently for him to tell her what it is, like she knows he will.

“I just wonder…” Bingo. “How did we come to this, Brooke? We should be solving cases, not rubbing shoulders with smug idiots in bowties.”

She nods slowly, resisting the urge to run her hand over his tense shoulders.

“I know how much you dislike this sort of thing,” she says softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His breath catches almost imperceptibly as he stares back at her.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she continues, “I’m really proud of you for stepping up anyway.”

She can see how her words impact him through the way his nostrils flare, the piercing blue of his gaze narrowing with the dilation of his pupils.

He clears his throat and blinks the expression away quickly, turning back towards the bar. When he speaks again, his tone is dry. Back in control.

“Stepping up, as you put it, is necessary.”

As he speaks, the bartender slides him his drink. Ethan catches the glass and lifts it to his lips in one fluid motion, throat working as he swallows in a single swig.

“I always told myself I'd do whatever it took to save lives,” he says after a pause. “Whatever extreme measure was required. Which is why I'm compromising myself this way. You showed me that 'whatever it takes' includes making moral sacrifices, too. In fact…”

He pauses again, his eyes catching hers once more. She allows him to gather his words, sensing the weight of them.

“Somehow,” he continues eventually, “you've managed to make them without weakening your convictions or becoming jaded and cynical.” He shakes his head, as though the thought of it is a marvel to him.

“Ethan…” God, the way he makes her feel. There had never been a man like this one when it came to the effects of his fleeting words of praise. She would bend over backwards for a single throwaway acknowledgement, every time.

How embarrassing. Clearing her throat, she tries to gather the shards of her scattered thoughts (and dignity).

“Everyone knows how much you do to save people.”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “In the diagnostics office, sure, but have I really done everything I could? If I'd listened to you sooner, would we really be in this situation right now?”

The stark, self-directed derision in his tone gives her pause. Had he ever doubted himself in this way before?

Her hands itch to reach for him, but she holds back out of the agreements they’ve made, unspoken and not. Instead she settles for saying his name again, the syllables falling off her tongue like a caress. “Ethan…”

She sees how it hits him, in the way that his eyes close briefly and a slight, almost indiscernible shiver runs through him. She doesn’t realize that she’s caught her lower lip between her teeth until she feels the sharp pain of it.

Until his eyes catch on it and he swallows hard, before tapping the counter for another drink with a sigh.

“Honestly, it's not even the shilling for money that's bothering me. It's letting Naveen down.”

The words send a shock through her. Naveen? “What? What are you talking about?”

He rests his elbows on the bar, leaning forward as he waits for his drink, and stares at some distant point beyond them both.

“When I lose a patient, I stay up half the night turning possibilities over in my head. Things I could have done differently.”

She knows this. Knows how she does the same.

“And I can't help but wonder what would be different now, with the hospital, if I hadn't been so damned stubborn.” He rakes a hand through his hair with an aggravated sigh, then drops his clenched fist to his side. “Now that I see what I could have done…” He shakes his head. “How will I tell Naveen that his legacy fell apart...because of me?”

The vulnerability in his tone almost cracks her composure. She opens her mouth to respond, to tell him how ludicrous, how irrational he’s being, when a new voice chimes in from the side, fond amusement evident.

“I suppose you would say exactly that!”

Brooke and Ethan both turn, mouths agape at the sight of Naveen standing right behind them.

Ethan recovers first and remarks dryly, “You know it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“True,” Naveen acquiesces, the cheeky grin never leaving his face, “but I never could resist a juicy conversation. Besides, I think this concerns me fairly closely, don't you?”

Brooke silently looks over to Ethan, who is staring at his mentor with a furrowed brow and conflicted gaze. He doesn’t speak and neither does she, both waiting for Naveen to continue, likely for different reasons.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Ethan…” His tone is soft now, though the good humour and affection remain, “you do know that what I built here, what you helped me to build...it was never about my legacy, or even about Edenbrook.”

Ethan is already nodding. “It was about the mission. For the people with nowhere else to go.”

“Precisely!” Naveen exclaims, as though Ethan has once again proven himself to be a diagnostic wonder. “And no matter what happens to Edenbrook, that mission will never end.” A grin splits his weathered and jovial face. “You'll carry it on wherever you go.”

Brooke feels her heart soar, as though Naveen’s words were meant for her, too. She knows what this validation means for Ethan - what it has always meant. Tears well up in her eyes as she looks over at him and sees the emotion in his own face.

“You really believe that, Naveen?” The question is quiet, though the gravity of it remains clear to them all.

Naveen shakes his head fondly, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around a shocked Ethan. Brooke sees how it takes him a moment to register the embrace, before he fiercely brings his arms around his mentor in return. The men slap each other’s backs once, twice, in a masculine acknowledgement of brotherhood, understanding, and even love.

After a moment, Naveen pulls back and holds Ethan at arm’s length, strong hands gripping broad shoulders.

“My friend,” he says, “it's the most important belief I hold. And for maintaining that legacy?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks his next words: “I couldn't be more proud of you.”

Ethan’s own eyes glisten as Naveen gives him one final pat, before turning and walking back into the gala, a smile on his face.

They’re alone once more. Brooke glances over at Ethan, unsure of what kind of emotion she might see on his face. It surprises her to see him clear-faced, eyes bright. He stands tall, taller than before as if that were even possible. He looks suddenly unburdened. Reinvigorated.

“So,” she begins and he almost visibly startles as he looks at her. The heat of his gaze washes over her, his eyes sweeping her up and down, the way they had when he walked into her apartment for the first time that afternoon. She swallows, feeling her nipples peak beneath the bodice of her dress, even as she tries to ignore her body’s response to him.

Clearing her throat, she continues: “What's next for Dr. Ethan Ramsey now that he's not so 'damn stubborn' anymore?”

Her lips quirk in a smile, even as she watches him closely, finely attuned to his next move—the way she would watch a tiger let loose from its cage. A thrill runs through her at the look in his eyes.

“I…” When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and his body leans towards her almost unconsciously. “The thing is, I've been meaning to…” He shakes his head suddenly, as though frustrated with himself. “Oh, to hell with it.”

She barely has time to gasp before Ethan’s hands are on her, the tips of his fingers weaving into the loose curls at the nape of her neck. He draws her to him forcefully, loose limbed and sure of himself, and she has nowhere to go but along for the ride.

Their lips meet and it’s not the first time or the second or the tenth, but it’s revelatory nonetheless, an absolution and a celebration all at once.

She’s dimly aware that an audience is growing, but she can’t bring herself to care, focused instead on wrapping one arm behind his back and carding the other hand through his hair, his clipped locks silken beneath her fingers and slightly stiff from whatever product he’d used.

She tightens the hold she has on his hair and he groans softly into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her tighter. The kiss is soft, open, and wet, and she feels the lazy trail of its spark make its way from her lips, down her chest, and further still until she presses against him even harder, heated and restless.

“Ooooh!”

“Oh my god…”

“I knew it!”

A cacophony of exclamations around them slowly bring them back to reality. Brooke feels her feet gently touch the ground once more and Ethan’s strong arms loosen their hold on her slightly. He pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily, seeming as reluctant to part from her as she is to let him go. Their breaths intermingle as the last few wolf whistles and catcalls die down and the Gala attendees go into their dark corners to gossip further about what they’ve just seen.

Brooke is dimly aware that a song has begun to play, only because the tune almost feels as though it’s an extension of their kiss, slow and melodious as it is.

Ethan strokes her back and pulls away completely, before offering his hand.

“Shall we?”

She resents him his composure, looking only slightly mussed and otherwise perfect, his bowtie barely askew, while she is certain she resembles a feral raccoon, emerging from the dumpster.

“I don't know, Dr. Ramsey,” she murmurs, attempting to regain the upper hand ever so slightly. “I thought this wasn't even a date.”

She likes to throw his own words back at him, even good-humouredly, as a reminder that he best not deny what they have any longer. That he is as inextricably tied to her as she is to him.

He grins unabashedly, immediately taking her meaning.

“Just shut up and take my hand.”

The commanding tone in his voice sends a pleasant warmth zinging through her and she finds herself placing her hand in his before she’s even aware of what she’s doing.

He leads her out to the dance floor and wraps an arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She can feel eyes on them both and it makes her tingle a little unpleasantly. She’s dimly aware of the knowledge that this was what he was trying to protect her from, all this time.

“I can’t believe you just kissed me like that,” she breathes, leaning into him ever so slightly, “in front of the entire hospital.”

He squeezes the hand he has in his own and softly presses her further into him. She inhales the scent of his cologne, masculine and sweet, and realizes that, despite her discomfort at being the centre of attention, there’s no place she’d rather be in this moment.

“It just doesn't feel like I need to pretend anymore,” he admits, his deep voice a gruff whisper as they sway.

“That was a very public way to get over your concerns.”

He shoots her a crooked grin that leaves her breathless. “It felt freeing, didn't it? There are some things crowds are good for,” he adds, slyly.

His hold tightens on her and she tries to get even closer to him, shifting restlessly, her breasts pressing against his chest. She has a sensation that surpasses contentment - a crawling need for the man before her, a need to be near him, even closer than she already is. Perhaps closer than they’ve ever been.

“Then again,” she whispers, her voice catching slightly. His gaze zeroes in on her mouth. She can feel his body, hard and alert, flush with hers, “there are some things crowds aren’t as good for.” She looks up at him, slightly breathless, watching as he captures and holds her meaning.

“True…” he murmurs, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. “But that's why they invented private offices. No need to pretend there. Or worry about who's watching.”

She swallows hard, her breath shaky.

She knows everyone’s eyes are still on them, awaiting their next move. What leaving now would mean for them, for her, in the eyes of the hospital and her peers.

The real question was: how much did she care?

✨✨✨

[if you’re interested in reading the “office scene”, feel free to let me know... I might just be persuaded to continue this thing ☺️]

[722alycat]

 Face Down

pt i pt iii pt iv

Summary: Kuchel Ackerman makes a bargain, setting into motion a series of events that would leave her sons life forever changed.

“Everything you know about Levi,” Stout had demanded. 

The pieces all came rushing together in technicolor clarity. They weren’t here for revenge. They needed to pump you for information regarding your first friend. Levi Ackerman, they said in disgust. As if he wasn’t your partner-in-crime, your confidant, the only boy you had ever felt like you could- no, no, he was Levi Ackerman the fool, who left you for dead in the underground city and took the only family you had ever known with him into the light. 

He had left you. 

You kept your lips closed. Regardless of the way that betrayal still ached and throbbed like a bruise on your soul, you knew you would never, never, tell either of these men shit about Levi. How could you, when they had spent days ruthlessly beating you and cutting you, trying to pry submission from weeping wounds and dry eyes? If they did this to you out of hope you knew anything about Levi, you could only imagine what they would do to the man himself. 

Despite your silent resolution, you couldn’t help but think about the question. What did you know about Levi Ackerman?  

Above all, Levi was a survivor. He got that from his mother. 

“Yensen! Please be reasonable!” Miss Kuchel simpered, batting her eyelashes at the pimp before her while you shook limply in his grasp, halfway to being tossed into the street. You bawled your eyes out, only six years old and beginning to learn the cruel truth of life. You were wailing and shaking your small fists in the air as she bargained on your behalf, too young to understand then what was happening in front of you.

Yensen sized Kuchel up, looking at her figure, the sway of her too-skinny hips and coy smile on her face. Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she looked at him, a whisper of I know something you don’t know! behind the pretty gray. She was a rare beauty that he had collected, and he found it intoxicating to be caught in her crosshairs. 

“Reasonable? Kuchel, darling, this child is now without a parent. She most certainly cannot pay the rent. I know it must be hard seeing this, being a mother yourself, but I can’t support every orphan in the city!” he cried, his wide gestures jolting you around as you cried harder.

You were an orphan now?

“Why wouldn’t mumma wake up!?” you wailed, still not understanding why she hadn’t stirred when you tried to shake her awake, not understanding why she was so cold. Kuchel flinched. She always knew your mother had tried desperately to shield you from the seedier sides of the underground, although everyone knew it to be a lost cause. You had never seen a dead body, were unaware the only home you could remember was a brothel, and life was stealing that innocence quickly, one swift hit after another. Your mother had lived Kuchel’s worst fear. What if she got sick and left Levi alone?

She hushed you, stepping much closer to Yensen to pat your head the way she’d seen your mother do, back when she would send you off to play so she could start working. She flashed a playful smile at her pimp, watching him under her long, dark lashes. “You’re a business man, and a roguish one at that!” she teased, brushing lint from his shoulder, “I’m sure you know a good investment when you see one.” 

She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she looked at you, knowing the life she was so easily condemning you to with her manipulative words, however pretty they were. But this was the underground. The only ways to make money here was with a gun in your hand, or laying on your back. Your mother had been pretty enough to rake in a fair few customers, and as Yensen leered at you, he could see the family resemblance in your childish features. 

Kuchel felt no better than a human trafficker, watching the way his face twisted into a sick grin of delight. “Beautiful, you are one of a kind,” he crowed to her, “you could smell a nugget of gold in shit, I swear to god!”

Kuchel waved away the praise, however disgusting it was, demurely telling him that she was only paying her dues to him, since he had been so kind and generous in the years she’d been here. She felt bile rise up her throat as she walked away from you, still in Yensens grasp. 

But you would survive, and if Kuchel had her way, Levi wouldn’t be alone.

“Hey, kid.”

You glanced up at the speaker, and giggled. “Aren’t you a kid too?” 

Honestly, he was only a little taller than you, and missing his front two teeth!

The dark haired boy shook his head, pointing to himself, “I just turned seven!” he proclaimed, then snidely turned his nose up, “I bet you can’t even count that high!”

You went quiet and shrugged. Mumma had been teaching you the alphabet, and you were gonna start on numbers next, but...

Mumma was gone.

You sniffled, and the boys eyes widened, “Hey! Don’t cry! Mom’s gonna kick my butt! Come on, don’t be a crybaby!”

You really began to cry at this, curled up on the ground and wailing as he berated you in a terrible attempt at stopping the waterworks. “Y-you’re so mean!”

He looked about ready to cry himself when he heard the telltale click of heels on the concrete. She was gonna kill him...

“Levi! I told you to bring her to our room! Not be cruel to her!” Miss Kuchel hollered at the boy- Levi, “She’s been through enough these past few days!”

“I- I tried, mom! But she’s such a baby she started crying before I could even get the invite out!”

You whimpered at this, having never had anyone be this rude to you in your life. Mumma always sent you to play with Isabel down the road, and she was never this mean. And she had pretty red hair.

Life was so much easier when she was alive. You never cried this much then. She used to read you stories before you fell asleep, and now... you couldn’t remember her voice.

Miss Kuchel knelt on the ground in front of you, and tilted your chin up to make you look at her. She cooed, brushing tears from your cheeks with her knuckles. “There, there. I know Levi can be a little harsh sometimes, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just how we Ackerman’s are, sweet thing. Now stop these senseless tears.”

You took one look at her kind face and sobbed harder, realizing you couldn’t picture your mothers any more. Miss Kuchel frowned at this, realizing quickly how weak you were in the wake of your mothers death. 

“Y/N,” she began, and her tone of voice had changed, no longer was it the sweet cadence she used on Yensen, on her clients. It was now harder, flint gray like her eyes, something that could conjure a spark, “I know your mother tried her best to shield you from how cruel life can be. She was a kind woman. I am not her.”

You looked up with her, shocked into silence, your sobs hiccupping quiet as Levi watched on, shocked still.

“I know you’re young. It must hurt so much to have lost her. But she would have wanted you to live on. Listen to me,” Kuchel demanded, gripping your shoulder now, your chin still caught in her grasp, “crying will not do anything. It won’t bring your mother back. It won’t make this world less cruel. It will not save you. Only you can do that. Now, stop these senseless tears. If you want to live, you have to eat, and Yensen has given us extra rations to keep you fed... he’s investing quite a bit in you.” 

She tugged you to your feet with that hand on your shoulder, hands rougher than mummas had ever been, your shocked stiff form almost toppling once she released you. 

No one had ever- 

You had never been spoken to like that. 

As you followed Miss Kuchel, numb and weary, you realized your tears had finally stopped.

You stopped weeping so much after that. Really, you had stopped all together. You wanted to make Miss Kuchel proud, wanted to prove to that rude boy, Levi, that you were not a crybaby. If miss was right, and tears solved nothing, then you figured they were a waste of time. 

You resolutely built up a wall between you and the part of you that screamed and cried whenever anything went wrong, instead choosing to foster a calmer version of yourself, one made of sterner stuff, like Miss. Even now, in the early morning, you resolutely reminded yourself that if you wanted to live, you had to be stronger. 

“Levi, take the girl out of here once she’s finished eating. I have a client this morning, and I need you both out of the room earlier than usual,” Miss Kuchel said, putting a pretty hair pin into her hair, twisting the raven locks into an elegant sweep. 

You smiled at her, chirping “Wow, miss, you must be really good with your clients, if they come this early!”

Miss Kuchel froze, her expression becoming more fragile than you had ever seen, before she shook herself, and scowled. She looked older, somehow, when she was angry. 

“y/n, it doesn’t take much talent to spread your legs and look pretty,” she snapped, and you recoiled.

To what?

“A good whore,” Kuchel snapped at you, heedless of how you shrank away from her, “is one who can survive. You’d do well to remember that. Listen to people around you. Learn how to make them love you, and if you can’t do that, make them fear you.” 

You gawked up at her, feeling pieces click too rapidly in your young mind. You had just turned seven, only half a year had passed since your mother died. A whore? She had been a..?

“Miss...” you began, voice quivering despite how you tried to steel it, “you... did my mother..?”

Kuchel huffed, all her hot air going quickly at the sight of you, brows furrowed in confusion and sorrow. She reminded herself of how little you knew, and how fast you were learning. She felt some kind of pride when she looked at you now, stronger and braver than you’d been when she bartered for your life, when she found you crying on the floor, “she tried to shield you from it. I have as well, but there comes a time where protecting your child means they cannot protect themselves. Your mother did what she had to do to make you survive.” 

What she had to do to make you able to survive, you thought rather bleakly, was die. Die and leave you to the Ackerman duo, even Levi too sharp and too cunning despite his age. You were a kitten in a snake den, and they were as apt to bite you as they were to protect you. 

But still, it was better than the streets. 

Still, you felt safe here, cared for here, protected here.

You turned to the quiet boy by the door, watching him watch the situation unfold, and sighed, “Levi... lets go.” 

Kuchel smiled then, teeth too sharp in the dawns light. You felt like she was somehow proud of you, then, for shutting yourself away from her, even if only for half a moment. 

Levi considered you slowly, slate eyes watching as you trudged to the door. His eyes flicked to his mother, seeing how her gaze settled on the two of you, her cubs. He had never seen her look so viciously proud as right then. 

You glanced at Levi, waiting for him, unwilling to venture out without him by your side. He shouldered past you through the door. 

“C’mon crybaby.” he murmured, and you bristled. 

“Hey!” you shouted, chasing after him as he strode away from you, “I don’t cry anymore! Stop calling me that!” 

Kuchel watched you go, and felt a weight lift from her weary shoulders. No, Levi wouldn’t be alone, not with you so clearly beginning to latch onto him.

She felt, for the first time in six months, that the bargain she made with your life was paying off.

“Don’t say it like that.” you snarled, low and angry. Your hands shook where you had balled them into fists. 

You see, all that crybaby energy had to go somewhere. It went right to your blood. The emotional outbursts had refined from tantrums to acerbic words and clumsy fights. Circumstances had turned you into a livewire, and it was giving Levi a constant headache. 

See, you weren’t good at fighting. You never had learned the skill, with how you mumma had coddled you, and how Miss Kuchel was usually busy with clients. Instead, you flew by the skin of your teeth. You threw punches with shitty form, you couldn’t dodge a hit for anything, you were pint sized, compared to your usual opponenets. Your fighting style was simply swing until something stops moving.

Half the time, you didn’t even have your eyes open.

Even now, as you stood across from a bully from the orphanage who was above your weight class, you had your eyes halfway to shut. 

“What? Whore? Are you offended because that’s all you’ll ever be, living in that brothel?” 

You snarled, furious and thinking of your mother of how her face was a warm blur to you now, her voice a calming buzz, who had died a whore, who had died trying to keep you safe and innocent in a world that gave fuck all for safety, for innocence. 

You thought of Miss Kuchel, who seemed to get more tired every day, without your mother there to help ebb the flow of pickier clients. You watched her be run ragged as a whore as she tried to survive to keep her son alive, to keep you alive. To keep you both from being alone.

How dare this little shit say the word whore with such blatant disgust. 

Your blood was brought to boil. You lunged. 

Levi got there first.

He grabbed you violently around the shoulders, using his larger mass to tug you away from Vic, hissing expletives in your ear all the while about how mom would kill him if he let you get your ass beat again. 

Vic made a move to follow you, but the sound of horses broke him from the action, as you watched the clean men in the nice uniforms come back into the town. One coughed into his fist a few times, shoulders shaking as he did, and headed towards the brothel. 

“Come on, brat.” Levi muttered, tugging you along by your skinny wrist as he took advantage of the distraction. 

You growled, but relented, instead hissing and jabbering at him. “How can you stand that, Levi!? How can you just be so... so calm!? Miss Kuchel is the strongest person I know! Just because Vics mom works for the wall people at that orphanage doesn’t mean she’s better than Miss! Just luckier.” 

Levi continued dragging you, almost like he hadn’t heard. You took a deep breath, gearing up to keep on blowing off steam, when he stopped suddenly and grabbed your hand. 

You blanched. “Levi...?”

He cradled your still clenched and shaking fist. He soothed his fingers along the lines in your knuckles until you stopped huffing quite so angrily, and then he uncurled and recurled your fingers back into the shape they were in, but wrapped your thumb over the middle of your fingers, on the outside.

“If you’re going to risk throwing a punch, don’t break your hand,” he finally muttered, “you’re too reckless.” 

You bared your teeth at the criticism, but then it fell away as you read the sentimentality behind the words, and you smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Levi, for teaching me.” 

He scoffed, dropping your hand like he was scalded. “Just stop picking stupid fights. Especially on moms behalf. She’d go insane if she knew.” 

You hummed, looking a little sheepish. “It’s just... she’s always looked out for me, you know?” 

He looked at you a little oddly, before nodding shakily. 

“Cmon. Lets go see what the brothel has to offer for lunch.”

When Miss Kuchel got sick, there was little you could do. 

You tried to convince the pimp to get her medicine, to help her, but he only watched you, as if waiting for something from you. He eventually shook his head, looking past your short frame into the room. He took in Kuchels frail frame, shoulders shaking beneath pale and sickly skin as she coughed. Her gray eyes, once so pretty, so lively, found his, and he resisted the urge to flinch. They were already deadened.

He pursed his lips behind the strip of cloth he used as a mask, watching as you grew desperate before him, begging him softly to please help her. He reached out and ruffled your hair, like Miss Kuchel did, like Mumma, like Levi, and your skin crawled and stomach tossed. 

He read the thinly veiled revulsion, and grinned sickly behind the mask as you still didn’t push him away. He watched you steel yourself and continue to plead. Yes, he realized, you would be a great investment. It seemed the fundamentals of being a whore came naturally to you. If you could keep your virginity, you may even be auctioned off for your first night...

“She’s not worth the coin,” he said coldly, even as his eyes fell on the little dark haired boy curled by his mothers sick bed, clutching her hand. “I’m doing you a favor now, even letting her stay here with how disgusting she is. She’s not gonna make it the week.”

You heard the shuffle of Levi behind you, curling deeper into himself, grabbing his mother tighter, as if he could keep her warm, keep her alive through force alone. You were hungry, you were starving in this room with Kuchel too sick to feed you. You were sore, and tired, and scared of what would happen if she-

What if she left just like mom had?

You were furious. 

You knocked his hand away from where it rested on your head, and watched with grim satisfaction as it flopped to his side, hearing him let out a shocked grunt. You took a breath, beginning to gear up for another one of your snarling rants when-

“Yensen.” 

Kuchels voice was like broken glass. Far from the tinkling harmony it usually was when she spoke to the pimp, winding him around her finger. 

“You’ll remember what I said?” she sounded so tired, so spent, and he nodded, looking suddenly uncomfortable at the memory of her convincing him to take you in, “Levi... he helps her. Don’t toss him to the wayside.” she begged, and the mans face grew grim. 

“Kuchel, I cannot take in every damn orphan in the underground,” he growled, before striding away, closing the door behind him. 

Levi had gone stock still, you saw, and you knew what he was thinking of. 

Orphan?

Kuchel snarled, and then coughed wetly into the hankerchief gripped in the hand free of her sons. She let out a broken sounding sob, and the noise nearly brought you to your knees. “Miss...” you murmured, reaching out to her. 

You had never seen her so small. Her shoulders were birdlike beneath your hands, her skin graying rapidly. You had kept her clean, washing her skin when she became too weak to move from the illness, but now you doubted you could even move her without hurting her. 

“Fuck...” Kuchel hissed, weakly scrubbing the tears from where they had spilt down her temples, “I’m sorry, children. I’m so sorry.” 

You knelt beside her, next to Levi, keeping your hand on her shoulder, and the other wrapped around his wrist. You felt Kuchels chest heave as she sobbed out years of pain and worry, and for the years she would miss. You felt Levi’s pulse between your shaking fingers, the jackrabbiting of it telling you everything you needed to know about if he was as scared as you. It was so odd, seeing Miss Kuchel break down. It was wrong. 

Minutes or hours later, when Kuchels tears had dried, she pulled herself away from the two of you, hauling herself up onto her elbows to sit up. She hissed when you reached to help her, swaying dangerously to keep away from you. 

“Listen to me.” she said, voice crackling and gravelly, and you thought how strong she was yet again, “Levi.”

Levi hunched deeper into himself, shaking harder now, and your heart broke for him, a chasm opening within it. But even so, you could feel an ache rising to fill it, an anger. 

“Levi!” you snapped, “Look at her!” 

He flinched at your tone, wide eyes finding yours in shock, and you gripped his wrist tighter as he tried to pull from you. You would have given anything to have had this chance with your mom. You wouldn’t let him squander it.

“She’s your mom,” you cried, “look at her!” 

While you still have the chance rang unspoken in the air, like a tolling bell, and he looked away. When he finally gathered the courage to look at Kuchel, you could see the wetness in his eyes. 

“You’re so strong,” Kuchel said, shaking hand coming to ghost over her sons cheek, “An Ackerman, through and through. I want you to beat this world. I want to watch you come out on top.” 

You felt like you were intruding on their moment, watching her imbue his spine with the same metal she had always had, even as her arm quaked holding herself up. 

“I never wanted to leave you alone,” she murmured, eyes flickering softly to you, and she reached out to ruffle your hair softly, washing away Yensens touch in moments, “and thanks to her, I won’t. Take care of eachother. Stay alive. Survive, whatever the cost. I beg of you.” 

You nodded your head swiftly, hand wrapping around Levi’s shaking one, and you pursed your lips in determination. Levi’s fingers twisted to twine with yours, and he shook harder beside you, desperate eyes drinking in his sick mother. Every moment felt like the last, every breath she took, you fought the urge to hold yours.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling boy,” she whispered, growing tired. “Of both of you. Now please, go play. Leave me to rest.” 

Levi opened his mouth to protest, and you stood to leave, releasing him. 

You couldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t.

You raced through the door, desperate to find medicine. 

If no one would help you, you would help yourself.

You fucked up. 

You knew stealing medicine would be harder than the petty theft you and Levi had screwed around with, but you didn’t know it would be tied-up-and-beaten hard. 

The store clerk had left you, curled on the ground and spitting blood, promising to turn you to the Military police on their next patrol. You felt so scared, so out of your league. Miss Kuchel couldn't save you. Levi would never leave her side to find you. You were alone here.

Maria, Rosa, and Sina help you. 

The one thing Miss Kuchel had asked of you...

You couldn’t leave Levi alone. 

and so you got to work on the knots binding your wrists, the rope rubbing your skin raw and red. 

You needed to grab that fucking medicine and go. 

You didn’t know how long it took you, tugging at the ties and hissing as your sore fingers cracked and popped from keeping them curled up in such an unnatural way, before you were finally loose. 

The store clerk had gone to bed, not seeing such a small girl as a threat. Foolish bastard. He would pay for that. You scrambled out of the small room he kept you in, knees aching and legs wobbling after sitting for so long. You launched your small elbow through the window of the store room, unwilling to bother with wasting time on the lock. Kuchel needed you. 

You frantically snatched a variety of medicine, frantic and quick as you heard a crash from the floor above you. You didn’t have time to read labels, just shoving handful after handful into your knapsack. You let out a frantic whimper as you grabbed one last fistful of bagged powder from beneath the counter, and sprinted out of the shop as fast as your legs could carry you. It was dark in the underground at night, and you were more scared now than you were when the store owner caught you. You had never been outside so late. 

You tripped some blocks away, adrenaline fading fast and leaving you feeling all the aches and pains the man had left you with. Your ribs burst with needle like jabs every time you panted out a new breath, and it didn't help when you crashed to the ground on them, arms curling to protect your stolen medicine more than your injured body. 

Kuchel needed you. 

You had been gone for a few days now, the frantic trek across the underground to one of the lesser known clinics took you a while, and you knew going back would take longer still, with your wounded body throbbing reminders of what you had survived with every step. 

Still, you trudged on.

Kuchel needed you.

Levi needed you. 

Please, you thought, let me get back in time. 

You didn’t make it back in time. 

You knew as soon as you opened the door, days old stench rising to meet you. You were far too late. She had died while you were still fiddling with knots, while you cut your elbow breaking glass to steal antibiotics, while you were napping because you got kicked in the head a little too hard.

You looked at the scene before you in shock. The proud and strong Miss Kuchel left to rot in her bed, her leakage staining the sheets she worked to keep pristine and white. You couldn’t... you couldn’t understand. 

You had got the medicine. Everything was supposed to be fine.

You threw up, shocking yourself. The mess landed at your feet and on your shirt, adding an acrid smell to the sweetness of rotting meat.

“M-miss...” you croaked, stepping towards her. you were halfway across the small room when you kicked something. Looking down, you saw Levi. Curled in on himself still, like that day you left. 

Your hands shook as you kneeled to look at him, taking in his sunken features from days without food, unsure and aching. What were you supposed to do? What would Kuchel do?

You knew the answer to that one. 

You grabbed Levi’s hand, prying it from where it was curled around the back of his head. He startled, looking up at you with fear and shock in his eyes. 

He blinked, once, twice, then grimaced, “I thought you were gone,” he croaked, “like mom.” 

You shook your head, “I’m sorry, Levi.”

He let out a dry sounding sob, before stilling again, “I thought I was gone, too.”

You grit your teeth. You thought of Kuchel, of how she had drug you back from the brink, of how she taught you how to survive. You would not lose the only person you had left, you vowed, you would return Miss Kuchels kindness with another. 

“Levi. Get up. Miss wouldn’t have wanted you to die here. You have to survive,” you yanked him easily to his unsteady feet, taking in how he wavered and drooped in your grasp, “Walls, Levi, you have to eat.”

You pulled him from the room, desperately, tugging him along. If you could get him out of there, into fresher air, you could save him. Just one step after the other. You had lost your mother, you had lost Kuchel. You would not lose Levi.

You released him from your grasp outside the room, a little further down the hall. You let him sag against the wall as you pulled a loaf of bread from your knapsack. “here,” you whispered, “eat.” 

Levi took a cautious nibble of the bread, before savagely scarfing it down, shaking and sobbing as he did, seeming to finally break apart as you held him close, tucking him against your chest. You let him sob his heart out into your filthy shirt, clutch your aching waist as he scrambled for something to keep him grounded. You didn’t know how long the sound went on for, the desperation, before he calmed. He sounded so much like Miss Kuchel when he cried. You fought back the emotion rising in your throat, unwinding a hand to wipe the side of your mouth.

You glanced up when you heard footsteps, steeling yourself to see Yensen. If that son of a bitch even tried to separate you and Levi, you swore you would kill him. Your hands found the broken shard of glass in your knapsack, from the window you had busted. You weren’t letting anyone be taken from you by him again. 

Your arm curled tighter around Levi’s still shoulders, feeling his sleeping form puff breaths against your neck. Your gauze wrapped fingers curled around your makeshift knife with vicious determination. Never again, you promised yourself.

You heard the footsteps round the corner and snarled, only to find an odd man you had never seen before. Dark hair going down to his shoulders, an earring, slate gray eyes, and a tall lithe form approached you slowly. 

The stranger looked impassively at the two of you, just some whoreson and whore-to-be to him, but he still pursed his lips, long fingers on scarred hands pushing his black hair from his face.

“You kids know where Kuchel Ackerman happens to be?” he questioned, before nudging Levi harshly with his foot, as you snarled, startling him awake, “kid, I’m fucking talking to you. 

“Leave him alone! If you’re here for her body, you can find it yourself you fucking bastard. Let Levi rest!”

The stranger stilled. Eyes taking in Levi and you with far more interest, lingering on the boys familiar features, dark hair, and slate gray teary eyes. Well, I’ll be fucked, he thought, “I thought she’d gotten rid of it.”

He watched you curl around Levi, the boy obviously still sleepy and confused. He saw the glint of the glass in your gauze-wrapped hand. Fuck me twice, Kuchel adopted a wildcat.

Still, he forced himself back onto the more pertinent topic. 

“What do you mean, brats? ‘The body’?”

pt iii

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangled up in blue

pairing: harry styles x plus size!reader

warnings: fluff, comfort, mentions of anxiety, kinda angsty

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: harry has a rude encounter with a fan

author’s note: sorry for another rushed ending, but other than that, i hope you enjoy xx all the love

masterlist

—

It’s his first day off in weeks, and he is taking full advantage of it. After such a stressful few months, he wants nothing more than to spend this short break with his girlfriend. 

It’s two in the afternoon before he gets out of bed, and that’s only because the weak little grumbling in his stomach became too much to ignore. With no real food in the house, Y/N called in an order to their regular place, as long as he is the one who picks it up. 

He decides to walk, since the restaurant is only a few blocks away from his home, but when he catches a couple paps trying to get pictures a little ways down the road, he knew he should have driven. He’s glad Y/N stayed home, since photos of her rarely get out, and he knows that she wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. 

He sighs, trying to not let them ruin his first relaxing day in a while, but it’s hard. Harry likes his privacy, and sadly, he chose the wrong career. He would never say that he hates what he does. He loves being able to bring joy and kindness to people who really need it, even if it is just for a couple of minutes. 

He just wishes he could have some more space and privacy and freedom to do his own thing. He wishes he could go out on his day off without being stopped or having people trying (and failing) to take a sneaky picture of him, which, again, is an absolute invasion of his privacy. 

He would never snap at anyone, well, no one except the paparazzi, not only because he was taught early on that he shouldn’t do that, but also because he wasn’t that type of person. While he still may not be used to the significance of his stardom, he still understands that he is a role model to many people, and he needs to act as such.  

“I have an order to pick up,” he says to the hostess, who just stares at him for a second, jaw dropped slightly. It’s not the usual woman who gives him his orders, so he gives her a moment. She bounces back rather quickly. 

“Uh, what’s the name?” She asks, trying not to draw any unwanted attention toward him, which he appreciates. 

“Y/N.” 

She taps away at the register, tells him the total, and he pays. 

“I’ll go check and see if your order’s done. If not, it should be just a couple of minutes.”

“No problem.” He smiles. 

“Harry?” 

He turns to see a nervous looking girl with a bright tee knotted around her middle and a pretty pearl necklace tight around her neck. She brushes a tuft of brown hair over her shoulder, fiddling with her fingers. She’s only a little shorter than him, but she still doesn’t meet his eye. 

“C-could I get a picture?” 

He honestly doesn’t want to. 

He knows that one photo will lead to dozens more, and he just wants to get his food, go home, and cuddle up with Y/N, but she looks sweet, and the hopeful look in her eyes makes him cave.

“Sure,” he says weakly, taking a quick photo. 

“How’s Y/N?” The girl asks when she puts her phone away, desperate for a little more time with him. A beaming smile takes over his features, and he sits on a stool at the bar, feet tucking behind the bottom bars. It’s not very often he gets asked about her, but whenever he does, he takes full advantage of it; that is, of course, if the person seems genuinely interested and not just asking him for the sake of conversation. 

The public was a little less than understanding or supportive of their relationship when it was, forcibly, made known. Being friends and neighbors since childhood, Y/N has been a present figure in the early parts of his life. They grew further and further apart after he left for The X Factor, to the point where they didn’t even speak to each other. It was tough because she wanted absolutely nothing to do with the life that he led, and he couldn’t just give up everything he worked so hard toward. 

They reconnected some years ago when he was visiting home, and she had a break from uni. It was a slow build to what it is today, mostly because Y/N was hesitant about everything that came with being with him, like distance between them, negative publicity, and, of course, his fans, but, as she always said, he made everything worth it. 

When their relationship was leaked in the press, they had to prematurely address the rumors. Not that Harry is embarrassed or ashamed of her, quite the opposite, really, but he just had one too many relationships fall apart due to the pressure the media put on them. He didn’t want to put Y/N through that; he didn’t want to see her to realize that, perhaps, he wasn’t worth the negative attention. 

“She’s great,” he says. “We’re gonna go hiking later this evening, hopefully get a good view of the sunset.” 

“That’s nice,” she smiles, happy that he’s happy, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s refreshing to meet someone who is actually 

His smile fades when a girl behind him scoffs. 

“That’s surprising.” 

He wants to believe that she’s not commenting on his conversation, but he knows better than anyone that she’s listening in; hell, he could feel the eyes of everyone in the diner the second he stepped inside, but just because he’s been doing this for years doesn’t mean that he’s not immune to the voices and the stares. He’s gotten pretty good at being able to ignore them, and he tries his best to do the same with her. 

The brunette, who also seems to have noticed the girl behind him, flushes red, pity apparent on her features. He gives her an uncomfortable, closed mouth smile, trying to focus back on their own conversation. 

“I mean, have you seen her?” The girl behind him continues, laughing lightly. 

It makes his chest ache, anger settling deep in his stomach, burning and vengeful. Never has anyone made such blatant comments about her; they normally say that sort of stuff behind the safety of a screen and certainly not right in front of him. He knows what people say about his love. They make negative comments every little thing about her, the biggest one being her weight, and he never says anything because Y/N thinks that it would make everything worse, but she’s not here to hold him back. 

He turns to face the girls behind him. The one whose back is still facing toward him, leaned in close to the other, as though that’s enough to hide what she’s saying. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

They’re both young, but surely old enough to know better. One of the girls, with brown hair with a pink strip in the front, blanches when he catches her eye, an apologetic look on her face; she looks close to tears, even, stuttering hopelessly. 

“Dee—” 

“I didn’t expect him to be a chubby chaser.”

“Excuse me?” 

The girl with bright red hair, Dee, he assumes, finally turns to face him, a shameless smirk on her face. 

“I am so sorry,” the brunette begins, but her friend, fueled by desperation and spite, cocks her head to the side, chest puffing out beneath a “Treat People with Kindness” shirt, the rainbow colored words taunting him. 

How ironic. 

“I mean… am I wrong?” She asks, looking at him expectantly. 

“How dare you?” He seethes, standing fully, towering over her seated figure. He knows he shouldn’t be giving her the slightest bit of attention. That’s exactly what she wants, to get a reaction out of him, and he’s playing into her game, but he honestly doesn’t care. A heated red paints his skin, trailing up from his neck to the tip of his nose. He can barely breathe, let alone speak clearly, frustration and anger choking him. 

He struggles to find his voice, but when he does, he can’t stop them from spilling out, malice and disgust dripping with every word. 

“I have never been so disappointed and ashamed in someone who claims to be a fan of mine. How can you wear that shirt while passing judgement on someone I love very much, who you have never seen or met? And I pray that you will never meet her because she doesn’t deserve such vile things being said about her.”

He turns to see the hostess with a large paper bag in a stunned silence, and he takes it from her wordlessly. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters to the sweet girl, ashamed that he snapped like he did, but she gives him a proud smile and moves, so he can leave. 

—

Someone apparently recorded the encounter, and the video is trending on Twitter by the time he gets home. Jeff is the one who told him about it, sending him a link and a long message about how much of a PR nightmare it’s going to be. Especially when the reception is less than positive. While some think he was being too nice, others are saying that he shouldn’t have lashed out (their words, not his) at someone who is a fan and supports him, but Harry knows that there is no winning. Everyone always finds something to say about things that are clearly none of their business. He even saw a few comments about Y/N, how she should fight her own battles and not have Harry do them for her. 

They make him feel nauseous. 

“Hey, babe,” he says as he enters their apartment, Munchy, Y/N’s cat, weaving and purring between his legs. Whenever he gets home, he can feel the stresses of the day shrink to nothing, and he’s finally able to relax. A smile creeps over his face when he sees her, leaning against the counter with a mug of tea cupped in her hands. She hasn’t changed out of the boxers and the large yellow tee from that morning, but her hair is still wet from a shower, the scent of her fruity soap strong. 

“Hey,” she says softly, and he leans in for a kiss, only for her to turn at the last moment, lips unfortunately pressing to her cheek. She takes the bag from him. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, tugging the takeaway boxes from the bag, not even offering him a glance. 

He knows that she’ll tell him what’s really wrong in her own due time, so he can’t push her; that makes it worse for everyone involved. However, he has gotten pretty good at coaxing it out of her. All it takes is a little patience and affection, and she’s putty in his hands. 

He presses kisses to her temple, tracing his lips down the length of her tender skin to the shell of her ear, nibbling playfully. He dips his hand beneath her shirt, feeling her stomach tense beneath his touch. After such an exhausting day, he just wants to be with her, feel her warmth and love. He’s never really been able to find comfort or safety in any of his past lovers, and when he found that in Y/N, he never misses an opportunity to shower her with affection, teasing and biting at her skin. He just wants to melt and forget about his problems, to just be there, in the present, with her. 

His little bubble is popped when she shoves his hand away, probably harder than she really meant to, but it hurts him, nonetheless. She turns and gives him a weak little smile, her eyes, glassy and unable to meet his gaze. She looks like a shell, nervous and empty, and he knows exactly why she’s acting the way she is. She must have seen the video and probably the nasty comments people left about her. 

“Baby—” 

“Let’s eat, yeah?” She changes the subject, pulling out some silverware from the drawer.  “This one mine?” 

“Yeah, your usual,” he says softly. 

They eat in an awkward silence, old sitcom reruns playing in the background, tension thick in the air. He can’t focus on anything but her breaths, shaky and shallow with anxiety. He knows that this entire situation is weighing heavily on her mind, and he needs to get everything off his chest. He wants to pull her into his arms, stroke her hair, and tell her to not listen to anything anyone says, that she’s it for him. 

It's going to happen, all in due time; he’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t go at her pace. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters suddenly, picking at her food. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I don’t want you putting your career at stake by standing up for me.”

He understands; he knows what it feels like to constantly be worried about what other people think, to have it impact every single decision you make. He’s mulled over everything he’s done for the past decade, but, at the same time, he’s her boyfriend first. He could honestly give a damn about his public image if it meant he had to stand by a listen to people say those nasty things about her. 

“You would do the same for me,” he says, and she sighs. 

“It’s not the same thing.” 

“I don’t understand why we're arguing about this,” he says abruptly, placing his food onto the side table and turning fully toward her. 

“I’m not—” She breathes out quickly, standing up. She tugs her clothes down, loosening them, and she crosses her arms, feeling vulnerable for some reason. Harry has never passed any judgement to her for the way she looked, knowing full well that she’s struggled with her weight her entire life, but this entire situation is making her feel insecure and weak and anxious. She feels like he is going to think that she’s being too sensitive about it, melodramatic about the severity of their comments. 

“I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t think you understand that there’s going to be a lot of backlash for this.”

She’s embarrassed that he even needs to stand up for her. He should be with someone who is used to being in the spotlight, and, most importantly, he deserves to be able to go out with someone without people commenting or staring. He shouldn’t be with someone who makes people wonder why he’s with her, of all people. 

It’s not only her physical appearance that people comment on; she’s seen fans talk about how Harry doesn’t go out anymore, how she is never present at any concerts or any other special events, even though they don’t know she has severe social anxiety and a career that keeps her from being with him all the time. She truly wishes she could be all of those things for him, but she can’t, and that’s what breaks her heart the most. 

Harry deserves nothing less than the world, and he settled for her. 

And with everyone else in the world questioning why he chose her, of all people, why wouldn’t he think the same? 

“There would be even more backlash if I had just ignored it, right?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she says, “but, it’s not like it’s going to stop people from saying—” 

She can’t even say it, their all too familiar words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. No matter how many times Harry tells her to pay no mind to their comments, she can’t help it. She truly hates how much other people’s opinions about her impact her, with paralyzing fear and doubt filtering through her thoughts on a daily basis, but she can’t help it. 

“Saying what?”

“You know,” she whimpers, eyes glassy. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who say that I don’t deserve you. There will always be people out there who think I’m ugly o-or too fat for you and—” She chokes on her words, tears finally breaking through. A weak sob leaves her lips, faint and broken. “It’s not like it’s not true, so there’s no point in fighting it if it’s going to ruin your reputation.” 

She starts to pace, one hand tucking into the curve of her waist while the other pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache forming.

“Whoa, hey, okay,” he stutters, standing. He holds onto her arms, hands rubbing over her cool skin, trying to comfort her, but she weakly pushes him away again, rubbing her nose. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt and wipes away her tears, leaving it wrinkled and wet. She sniffles, struggling to keep the panic from growing any further in her chest, heart racing painfully. 

She moves into their bedroom, and he follows close behind, their food long forgotten as she tries to control her breathing. 

“What’s this really about?” He asks. She pauses, her shoulders visibly sinking, and she sits on the foot of the bed, hooking her feet on the footboard. She cradles legs to her chest and tugs her shirt over them, forehead pressed against her knees. 

She’s exhausted at this point. Ever since she saw the video and the comments, she’s been torn. She’s grateful that Harry said something; it made her hopeful that maybe it would make them stop, even if it was for only a day, but when she saw people actually defending the girl who said those terrible things about her, all of that pride was pulled away, leaving nothing behind other than debilitating anxiety and bone-chilling fear. 

She just wants the day to be over, as if that will make everything go away. 

She knows that they need to talk about it, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid of what this conversation could lead to; he could realize that he doesn’t want to deal with everything anymore or that he doesn’t want to deal with the strain that it puts on his relationship with the public. 

The bed shifts as he kneels beside her, hand pressing against the small of her back.

“Y/N, please, don’t shut me out,” he whispers. She whimpers when he kisses her temple, an attempt at trying to ease her out of this miserable hole she’s dug for herself. She finally looks up at him with swollen, burning eyes, tears threatening to fall. 

“I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that I’m not worth all of this. You shouldn’t even need to say anything to people.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have to say anything to them, but that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I have to say things because of all of the judgmental people in the world, who body shame the woman that I love, a woman who they know absolutely nothing about.” 

“I don’t want you to start believing them, and I just don’t want you to regret me.”

“Why would I ever regret you?” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” She snaps, her lips quivering. “I’m not like the others.” 

“That’s what I love about you.”

“I’m not cut out for this,” she cries.

Hurt passes over his features, and the words die on his tongue. A pinch of fear starts in his stomach and spreads up to his heart, which races painfully, chills rushing through his spine. 

“What are you saying?” 

She doesn’t answer; she can’t. She didn’t mean for it to slip out. It’s usually just a passing thought when her insecurities come at full force. She’s never actually said it aloud, for fear of its repercussions. She doesn’t want to lose him. Even if she isn’t cut out for this sort of lifestyle, he is worth absolutely everything. 

“Y/N,” he says, cupping her cheeks. He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, but more fall to replace the ones he tried to clear. He hates how much this has affected her, and he hates that it’s his fault, too. She holds onto his wrists, fingers trailing up and down his heated skin, from his calloused hands to his elbows, their gaze never breaking. 

“I love you. Nothing anyone says will make me feel differently. Would you still love me if I gained a ton of weight or if I was just skin and bones?”

“Of course,” she says quickly. 

“This is no different,” he smiles. “I do regret many things in my life. I regret some choices I’ve made, I regret things I’ve said, and I regret being selfish. But you?” He shakes his head. “You will never be one of my regrets. You are beautiful inside and out. You make me want to be better, you make me look forward to every new day, and you give me strength.” 

Her heart swells at his words. Harry has always been a very emotive man when it came to her. He was never ashamed to let her know exactly how he felt, probably because of the years where he felt hopeless and couldn’t express himself fully. He leans in a little closer, his forehead resting against hers, and she can feel her worries tapering off with every shallow breath. 

“My love, you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against hers. He brushes away her tears, leaving her skin sticky. “Not one fuckin’ clue about the nights where I wanted nothing more than to be just with you, to be able to see you and laugh with you. Remember the night before my audition? And I asked if I could kiss you because I’d never kissed anyone before, and I didn’t want to seem like an absolute dud.” 

She nods. 

She pondered over that night for years. He was rambling and nervous, but she didn’t hear anything after he asked if he could kiss her, her mind going completely blank. Of course, she said yes. She had a crush on him for years, how could she say no? Even if it was just once, if it was just one fleeting moment in her life, she held onto it with everything she could. 

It was her first kiss, too, and she was so nervous with trembling hands and clammy skin. It seemed too good to be true: the boy she’s liked since as long as she could remember was going to kiss her; perhaps, there was hope for them after all. 

When they pulled apart, his hair messy and cheeks rosy, she thought that he was going to kiss her again. From the look in his eyes, he seemed like he was completely enamored with her, at a loss for breath with a soft gaze, but he didn’t. Her mind was playing tricks on her because all he said was “thanks”, and he laid back down, on his side, not even facing her. The hope she felt was crushed. Then, he left the next morning, and they never spoke about it again. The memory of that night leaves her heart aching. 

“Bullshit, all of it. I jus’ wanted to know how your lips would feel against mine, how soft and warm your body would feel. For months, I would think about that night, and I wished I could go back and tell you the truth, that I loved you. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you back in my life, to have you here, by my side, to hold and love.” 

As she gazes into his eyes, she can feel the truth in his words, the dedication, and the pain, most of all. 

He doesn’t want to lose her like he did all those years ago. 

He felt the same during those years apart, hopelessly wandering into the arms of various lovers to try to replace what he felt for her. He’s spent nearly an entire decade, searching for that one person to fill the void in his heart that Y/N claimed when they were just kids, much like she had with him. He yearned for a person, who would support and loyalty him just as she had, but they never cared as deeply as he did, nor did they feel and love just as strongly as he did. 

“I love you for everything you are, not just your heart or your mind but also your beautiful body, babylove. Don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” 

His lips tease over hers, just barely touching before she finally catches his lips after such a painstakingly long moment of silence after his confession, and they both are overwhelmed with the feeling of absolute relief, like they’re finally able to breathe.

He guides her onto her back, his knee nestling between her legs, blue sheets bunched up around her waist. He gently eases his hand below her shirt, fingers faint on the soft and pliant skin. She combs her nails through his hair, scratching and teasing. Her body alive and heated beneath his touch, they melt into each other, forgetting everything wrong with the world and focusing solely on each other, the pinch of teeth biting lips and the rush of chills down her spine. He feels up her thighs, tender touch on her soft skin, but she pulls away from him, fingers still latched in his hair, hesitation clear on her features. 

“Please,” he whispers. “Jus’ wanna make you feel good.” He kisses her beneath the curve of her jaw, the warmth of his breath leaving her heart racing. “Wanna make you feel loved, make you feel as beautiful as you are.” 

There’s not many things Harry can find safety with. Since his life in the public eye, he’s had to make a lot of sacrifices. It’s difficult to find considerate strangers, safe refuges, and genuine friends, but he knows that he can always find solace with her, in their home, together, blanketed in warmth and tangled up in blue. 

—

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Negatives? - C. Hood

Hello my lovies! This is the anticipated second part of “Benefits?”!! Didn’t think we could get angstier but here we are!! I apologise in advance!

Masterlist will be updated soon! Hope you enjoy! More requests will be filled very soon!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

9 months. 9 months of longing, of pain, of loneliness. 9 months of being cooped up inside of his own head because he was too ignorant and rude to admit that he hadn’t buried his feelings for Y/N.

Drew made Y/N smile, but he knew that he could do better. He made her laugh, yet she laughed heartier when Calum would joke with her. Drew kissed her, yet Calum knew he would do better.

But he didn’t deserve her. Not in any way, shape or form. He had ruined his chances with her the minute he told her she wasn’t good enough to be with him.

Every interaction between the former friends was cold. Y/N looked as if she were fighting back tears and Calum often had to leave the room as his own fell. The band knew what happened between the two; they had been there to pick up the pieces for Calum as Y/N called their manager to quit and took off. She was determined to prove Calum wrong, and everybody knew it.

She kept Sierra up to date with her whereabouts, and job prospects. The two had grown closer as the older woman comforted Y/N. Sierra, in turn, kept Luke updated, and he the rest of the band - except Calum. Whenever he heard her name, he would get angry. It took him months to realise that his anger wasn’t directed towards Y/N, but himself. He let her get away. He was scared to open up. He got defensive, rude, nasty. He broke her heart and stomped on it as he left. All for what?

Drew knew nothing of the relationship between the two, just that they were once friends. He didn’t pry, nor did he try to figure out why the two didn’t talk, he simply made sure to comfort Y/N in anyway after a long day.

Things came to a head very quickly as they hit their 12th show of the tour. The entirety of the trip had been tense. There were very few photos of Calum captured, blatant ignorance as Calum tried to speak to Y/N and many outbursts of anger from the pair. Ashton and Michael had enough.

One fine, aesthetically pleasing Tuesday afternoon, the two broke the ambient air with their shouting. All because of the lack of Calum content on the band Instagram.

“If I see one more comment asking for more Calum, I might scream. There’s enough me content. We don’t need him,” Michael whined, scrolling through Instagram on his phone as Y/N sat next to him, back leaned against Drew, laptop on her lap.

“I think we might need to get some more pictures of the man up there, Y/N,” Luke said, his voice soft, eyes softer. He sent her a sympathetic smile, knowing exactly why there is an acute lack of the Maori man.

Calum scoffed from the other side of the room. They were all situated in Ashton’s hotel room, empty pizza boxes on the tables and floor in front of them. “Why would she do that?”

“Cal,” Luke warned, only to be interrupted by his other friend.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I was good enough to take pictures of you,” Y/N spat, not looking up from her device. “Do it yourself. After all, any genius could do it, right?” The venom made everybody recoil, bar Calum.

He made an interested sound, walking closer to where she was sitting. “Tough words, careful. You might up and run away again, Y/N.” He was mad. She had left them all. She didn’t even give him the chance to talk about it when he wasn’t angry. She blocked his number as soon as she left. She cut him out of her life.

Y/N slammed her laptop shut, standing faster than anybody expected. Her and Calum were practically face-to-face at this point. Ashton was on his feet, surprised at the speed of escalation. “My time of taking photos of narcissistic, degrading assholes is over. Go find somebody else to toy with, Calum.”

“Still playing the victim, are we-“

“Enough!” Ashton had hit his point. For too long, the pair had been making the trip uncomfortable. It was putting a strain on the performance of everybody, and now causing issues with the fans. “Y/N sit down. Calum you sit over there and shut your damn mouth for a minute. Everybody else, get out.” It was rare for Ashton to lose his cool. He was the most composed of all of them, and often played the part of the most mature band member. It was a well known fact that when Ashton had enough, it was time for things to be sorted before shit hit the fan for good. As he ordered, everybody filed out except for the two in question. Y/N sat with a scowl on her face, arms folded across her chest as she chewed at the inside of her cheek. Calum sat on the bed across the room, facing the other direction for fear of lashing out again.

“Ashton what is going on-“

“Zip it, sugarface,” he raised a finger to Y/N silencing her with the gesture. “Enough is enough. This shit keeps going on and it is affecting all of us.” His brow was furrowed deep, jaw set and red hair mirroring his mood adequately. “Calum, you fucked up big time. Y/N you ran off and cut all contact. We have 7 hours until our show, and our sound check starts in 4 hours. You have two and a half to sort this shit out, or we will sort out other arrangements.”

“Ashton, this really isn’t necessary-“

“I don’t care. I’m leaving now and you’re stuck in here. I suggest sorting this out because we have all had enough of it.”

Y/N nodded, watching Calum closely across the room. He stayed silent, back still turned towards his friend and the woman he loved. This was his chance to explain everything, but it could also be his change to ruin things more than they already are. Given his track record, he wouldn’t be surprised if the tables shifted in favour of the latter.

The door closed behind Ashton, silence enveloping the room and making the air more heavy. Y/N felt the discomfort settle on top of the air, weighing it down on her skin until she felt as if her head were spinning.

Half an hour passed. They sat on either sides of the room still, both holding their words in out of spite.

“Why did you leave?” The words fell from his lips before he could think about them. It had been playing on his mind for so long. After a few days, when he had cooled down, he wanted to call her. He wanted to tell her that he was scared and angry and frustrated at himself. That he didn’t want somebody like her to be ruined by him and the life he lived.

“What?” She snipped, not looking up from her phone.

“Why did you leave?” He repeated.

A humorless laugh left her lips, much like the night he saw her last. “You’re joking, right? How could you expect me to stay after that?”

He finally turned to face her, she looked disinterested. Her attention was on her phone - probably messaging drew, he thought - and definitely not on the conversation they were meant to be having. Even after so long, she was still so beautiful in his eyes. Her temper was overwhelming, but she never showed anger towards another unless she had been wrong, and boy, did he do her wrong.

“I tried to apologise, Y/N. I called you, texted-“

“And I waited, Calum.” She was mad, yet calm. Her eyes were burning with fury, jaw clenched hard as she gritted words through teeth. “I waited two days. I got nothing from you, you ignored my calls, and I had enough.”

He huffed, a heavy breath leaving his nostrils, “So because I ignored you for a few days, you left? You left us without a photographer, without a friend, just to go screw around with the Chainsmokers?” He was angry. So was she. He was standing. She was sitting, phone clenched between white knuckles.

“I left,” she was on her feet now, almost chest-to-chest with him and radiating far more anger than he had ever seen, “because you not only degraded and embarrassed me, you criticized my career. I was terrified to open up to you. I knew you wouldn’t feel the same because I was hold never be good enough for you, but I tried. I tried to be open and all I got was made a mockery out of and told that I was practically worthless in my position working with the band.” She stepped closer to him, now at a point where they could stare at one another. Her phone had been thrown aside now, flung from her fingers as she stood. “I spent seven years with you all. I was there for you through everything. I fell in love with you, Calum. And you destroyed it within an hour.”

Her words were venomous, cutting deep along Calum’s heart and allowing the reality to finally, completely, sink in. He caused this. He made her leave because he treated her confession as a joke. He is the reason she is with Drew now, no longer his friend, or his lover. Or even his coworker. It is all his fault.

He slumped down onto the seat next to him, holding his head in his hands and trying to compose himself. He couldn’t even apologise, for he didn’t trust his voice.

“I gave you everything, Calum, and you threw it back in my face. How could I stick around?” She couldn’t look at him. Whether it was out of anger or sadness, or even fear of him making a fool of her again. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she turned around, staring out of the window of the hotel room.

They had a nice view, and she allowed it to distract her eyes from harboring tears.

She heard the rustling of fabric behind her, along with the creak of the chair beneath Calum. The soft padding on carpet told her that he was walking closer to her.

“I-“ he started, taking in a breath. She could hear the emotion. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I hate myself for what I did to you that day, Y/N.” He had tears streaming down his face, she could see so in the reflection in the window. “I don’t know why I said those things. I should never have told you that you weren’t good enough, or insulted the career that you built for yourself. I’ve been replaying that day over and over since it happened, Y/N. I knew that I loved you four years ago, and hearing you say it, after I tried my hardest to push down those feelings - I don’t know why but I got so defensive-“

“Shut your mouth.” She hissed, turning and allowing her anger to resurface. “For fuck sakes, Calum. Don’t try and play with my head again. You didn’t love me, not like that.”

“I loved you more than I have loved anybody else, Y/N.” He whispered, voice steady and his eyes not leaving hers. He was telling the truth, and they both knew it. “I fell in love with you so many years ago. I didn’t want to do anything to ruin this, but then you told me what I had been dying to hear for so long.” He sniffed, brushing tears away aggressively as he pressed his palms into his eyes. “I’m an idiot.”

“I can’t help but agree with you.” Y/N turned away from the window, the view no longer appealing as her own reflection became far too evident, along with Calum’s.

Another few minutes passed, both now situated in the seats they previously occupied. Y/N had her knees pulled up to her chest, picking at her fingernails. Calum was staring at his feet.

“I’ve found that if I close my eyes, I can sometimes pretend that Drew is you,” Y/N whispered. Her voice was full of pain. She was still processing the information that Calum had fed her. Still trying to figure out what to say to him. She figured the truth was better than anything. “I want - I wanted a future with you, Calum. I wanted to be able to wake up knowing that the man I loved, loved me back. That the man who knew me better than anybody else, was there with me. Hearing you say those things to me was the worst thing I could have experienced.”

“Y/N, I-“

“I hate to say it, but I still love you. I still wish that every time I fell asleep with Drew, it was you beside me. It’s easy to pretend.” Her own tears fell. “I can’t forgive you so easily. I can’t just forget everything that you said. I can’t forget how much I want to be with you.”

“Just one more chance, Y/N, please?” Calum was focused solely on her. He was ready and willing to be down on his knees, begging to have her in his life again. Not even for love. He would be fine to simply be able to watch a movie with her, joke with her. Love her like he did before. “I know I can’t make up for it right now, but I love you so much. I would spend the rest of my life showing you how sorry I am, if you would let me. You deserve far better than me.”

For possibly the millionth time, Y/N was at a loss for words. Calum kept his vulnerability from many people, but Y/N could often read him like a book. Unfortunately, he could do the same for her.

“You don’t need to give me an answer right now, we have a few more months of the tour left. Whatever you decide, I’ll be fine with. You never want to see me again, I’ll stay away. You want to give me a second chance, and I will spend every day of our life together making up for all of the years that I kept my mouth shut and the horrible things I said to you and the pain I caused you for the past nine months.”

A sob tore from her throat, her eyes clenched as she let his words hit her soul.

Thankfully, the door clicked. It opened cautiously, a head of red hair poking through, Ashton eyeing the pair warily.

“I can’t do this right now, Cal,” Y/N blurted, taking the chance to rise to her feet and push past Ashton and the other guys. Drew watched after her with confusion, as did Luke and Michael.

Ashton glared at Calum, “You suck at apologizing.”

Tag list: @starshonerose @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @mantlereid @another-lonely-heart

[primergon]

arrival of the birds , megatron/reader

Summary : “ Some people live more in twenty years than they do in eighty. Yes, we humans are insignificant, yes, we are imperfect, yes, we are small. Our lives end just as quickly as they started. Yet, we strive to create a life worth remembering, we try to create greatness out of simple ordinary things. We live, we die – but it’s what we leave behind that matters.”

How strange are human optics? Eyes, you’d call them – Megatron thought. It took him a while to realize that the light dancing across your eyes didn’t come from the stars scattered above. Instead, they reflected an emotion he never understood, one the pits of Kaon had denied him so long ago. How strange are humans, he thought, watching the way constellations seem to form around your lashes, how very strange indeed.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types , Transformers: Prime

Relationships: Megatron (Transformers)/You , Megatron / Reader

“ You are far away from home aren’t you?”

The wind was picking up its pace, plowing through the trees, whose leaves shiver in anticipation. Their soft susurration awakened the nocturnal animals, and they chirped to life, moving in tandem with the sway of the grass. Megatron could hear your footsteps approaching, but he stayed where he was – letting you settle yourself next to him.

You were very small, he would have not heard you if it wasn’t for his attentiveness – old habits born out of violence were hard to kill. The former Warlord had initially wanted to spend the rest of his days in isolation, yet the natural need for Energon had inevitably anchored him to Earth. Unlike its natives, the little blue planet held far more pleasant surprises. He found it strange, how a planet born out of Unicron himself could hold such diversity – it was as if destruction had created a beauty of its own.

What a waste, he thought, what a waste that it must be given to such a miserable species.

In his peripheral, Megatron could see you wrap your arms around your body – no doubt to keep the cold out. You had found him by the cliffside one morning when the last drops of dusk were beginning to sink by the mountains. The sun had barely risen, yet there you were, quietly observing him from afar. He had sensed you from the very beginning, and had challenged you to react – yet for the first time in a very long time, he was proven wrong, by an organic no less. There was no screaming, nor were there any weapons fired – instead you were admiring him. Gazing up at him in what could only be called as awe.

After that, you were persistent in making him stay. In the beginning, the Warlord denied your request, leaving you alone to watch the sun crawl out of its slumber. After that, you made it a routine to drive and watch the sunrise every morning – hoping that you’ll get to see him again. Once he noticed just how determined you were, he decided that making a human liaison won’t do anyone harm – even if he was adamant to keep his distance.

Humans are weak, fragile, and small – they hold no meaning over him; a being who’s live through eons.

Yet, as the day bled into weeks and the weeks bloomed into moths – he found himself more and more drawn to you. The more he tries to keep you away, the more you are to stay. Like the gravitational pull of two heavenly bodies, you find yourselves stuck in each other’s orbit. He would choose to go the Pit rather than admit it, but he finds himself growing more and more curious. Humans are weak, fragile, and small – what could they possibly offer him?

“ Penny for your thoughts?”

He scowled.

There you go again, using strange human metaphors and idioms. He doesn’t understand the meaning behind your colorful pattern of speech – humans were expressive, more so than himself, you especially. He could never understand it, yet perhaps he doesn’t need to, as he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the way your teeth line like pearls whenever you smile.

“ Humans.” He spat, yet it came out as a sigh. “ Tell me. Does it not bother you, to know that you are nothing compared to the universe, with lives that come as quickly as they go ?”

The question was straightforward and even rude. Yet he could not care less, and neither did you.

If anything, it only provoked you to think over his words. You raised your head to the endless sea of black. Tonight, the stars were brighter than they usually were – and from below they seem to race with one another, trying to see just how fast they can light up the night sky before the sun wakes.

“ Stephen Hawking spent his entire life looking at the stars. All he ever wanted was to go back in time to the moment when the entire universe was born, in the end, he just wants to go back to the moment where he meets his wife for the first time.” You pluck a stray flower – Daffodils, Megatron noted, you had once referred to them as Daffodils.

You let the petals fall, the white buds barely reaching the soil before being swept away by the breeze, disappearing into the night.

You catch his eyes, craning your neck to accommodate his height.

“ Some people live more in twenty years than they do in eighty. Yes, we humans are insignificant, yes, we are imperfect, yes, we are small. Our lives end just as quickly as they start. Yet, we strive to create a life worth remembering, we try to create greatness out of simple ordinary things. We live, we die – but it’s what we leave behind that matters.”

How strange are human optics? Eyes, you’d call them – Megatron thought. It took him a while to realize that the light dancing across your eyes didn’t come from the stars scattered above. Instead, they reflected an emotion he never understood, one the pits of Kaon had denied him so long ago.

How strange are humans? He thought, watching the way constellations seem to form around your lashes, how very strange indeed.

“ What do you want to leave behind, Megatron?”

His name on your lips was gentle – it always was. No matter how many times you’ve said it, whether it was out of spite or anger or sadness, you could always find it in yourself to cradle the syllables of his name as if they were not once feared by thousands.

You didn’t know his past, yet you didn’t seem to care either. He should have considered it strange, even foolish – yet the amount of trust you gave him was too valuable to ruin with the truth.

At times, he wonders what would happen if he were to tell you. He imagines you walking away from him, he imagines your dread, your shock, your look of betrayal – yet here, under the placid night, he could not bring himself to conjure those images.

He shouldn’t care what you think. Humans are weak, fragile, small – they mean nothing to him.

But he made no move to stop you when you rest your head against his arm, your hair fanning against the metal. What would happen if you knew how much blood those hands have spilled, would you pull away? Would you run? Would you leave?

Both of you stayed this way, for how long he did not know, but just before the first ray of golden grazed the surface – your eyes were already closed. Your breathing steady, the rise and fall of your chest almost hypnotic.

There was a moment where he was reluctant to get up and leave, yet when frightened by his hesitance, Megatron decided he has to.

He took one last look at your sleeping body, the cottage not far behind waiting for your return. The daffodils crowded your frame, its white petals standing out in the midst of yellow and green.

Optics skimmed the curve of your lashes, the flush against your cheeks, the freckles kissing your nose – before turning away.

Megatron left, and never came back.

Because how strange are humans ? He thought, with their short lives and expressive eyes.

How strange are humans, because the very thought of loving something so weak, so fragile, so small is enough to scare him away?

Humans, he sighed, how very strange indeed.

A/N : Daffodils : a symbol of truth and forgiveness wrote this at 12 am because I can't sleep. So naturally, I thought about Megatron and got really sad over him. I mean tfp Megatron is a jerk, but hey, feels Hope you liked this short one shot of him <3

AO3 link : arrival of the birds 

[crazymangaluv]

That Smile (Bakugou x reader)

Warning: (some angst, some fluff, mentions of steaminess)

Description: You appeared in his life so suddenly, catching him completely off guard. That smile of yours was what initially drew him in...soon you charmed your way into his heart and you made him want to stay by your side. But just as suddenly as you appeared in his life, you disappear without a word. 2 years later and you’re back. AND you have the audacity to act like you never knew him? He cared about you and as much as he refuses to admit it, he’s hurt. What happened? 

That smile of yours…so radiant...so beautiful, it draws him in like a moth to a light. The first time he met you was in middle school. You greeted him with that toothy grin of yours and he was immediately caught under your spell. He was in denial of course, how could an extra like you make him feel like this? To fluster him up like this. 

The two of you walked the same route to school, and although he tried to avoid you at first, he found he couldn’t keep away. He made it a point to always bring breakfast for you after he discovered you tended to forget to eat in the mornings. He surprised you every morning by nonchalantly shoving whatever breakfast he made for you that day into your hands. A smile would tug at his lips when he saw the way your face would light up. The two of you would walk back home together after school as well. He would wait for you or you for him. Each time you would toss him a different kind of snack you saved just for him. Side by side, both of you walked together enjoying your snacks, most days in silence just enjoying each other’s company, and other days with some conversation mostly led by you. 

Regardless of the weather, be it the rain, snow, heat, etc., this routine the two of you had continued daily for about 2 years before one day you stopped appearing. One day became 2, then 3, then a week had passed with no sign of you. He came to learn from the talks around school that you were sent to the U.S. The reasons for leaving were unknown, filled with nothing but speculations and rumors. He wouldn’t admit it but he was hurt. Why did you disappear without telling him? Why did he have to hear it from these extras? 

~Fast forward~

He never thought he’d see you again, much less here in U.A. as the new transfer student. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. 2 long years have passed since you’ve disappeared without a word. You introduced yourself to the class with a smile, however, it failed to reach your eyes. Your eyes, once so full of joy and light seemed to have dimmed. Unlike the rest of the dumb class, only he noticed. You were seated next to him but you made no indication you knew him. He scowled into his hand, irked at your behavior. During break the extras swarmed around you with introductions and relentless questioning. You made sure to greet everyone and at last you greeted him. His scowl deepened by the way you greeted him, like you didn’t know who he was. He was fuming, not caring about the way you stumbled a bit when he collided with your shoulder as he stomped off, leaving you in your confusion. 

There was something familiar about Bakugou that you couldn’t quite place. He was an unpleasant fellow, cocky, rude, and quick to anger. He was even more intolerant of you, for unknown reasons. You shouldn’t care but for some reason, the way he acted towards you bothered you and even hurt your feelings. It was like he was actively trying to push you away. Although he tended to treat you harshly you couldn’t help feel a sense of comfort whenever he was near. It wasn’t until one day you were able to finally be alone with him. You took this chance to confront him. You hadn’t seen him this angry before but you steeled yourself and pushed forward.

The pair of balls you had was astounding. Here you were confronting him about his behavior when it was your fault, acting like you never knew him. He lashed out at you, unable to contain his feelings. He instantly felt guilty when he noticed the way your widened eyes glistened from unshed tears and your lips shook. Your voice was heavy with emotion as you apologized to him and explained to him of the accident you had 2 years ago from villains who sought revenge against your underground hero parents. This incident led you to not only lose a brother but also lose some of your memories. Since then you’ve struggled with a broken family, shattered memories, and recurring flashbacks of that trauma which haunted you every night. 

Your tears cascade down your cheeks, a sob escaping from your lips. Your pained expression stabs him in the heart, riddling him with anger, guilt, and shame. The solid walls he rebuilt since you left crumbled away. He enveloped you in his arms, pulling you flush to his body. You clutched onto him and he tightened his grip. His whispers of sorry were barely audible over your cries of anguish. 

Since then the two of you grew closer, shocking your classmates at the total 180. The more time you spent together, the more he noticed the spark in your eyes slowly returning and how your smiles increased when he was around. Slowly your memories of the tragic incident no longer haunted you every night. They were becoming overwritten by new precious memories with your friends, and most of all, with him. His feelings for you grew even more, as your feelings did for him. The two of you were inseparable, dancing around your feelings for one another. He was determined to become the pro hero you’d be proud enough of before he confessed. He wanted to be someone worthy of you. 

~Present~

Your relationship continued to stay strong as you both became pro heroes. You could no longer contain your feelings for him, it’s been too long and your heart yearned for more. Tomorrow marks your 4 year friendaversary and you’re determined to confess, even if it might hurt your relationship with him. You’re supposed to meet him after work for dinner, unfortunately, life doesn’t always go the way you plan. 

He rushes like mad, propelling himself aggressively through the air. He bursts into the room. He sees your bruised form, head wrapped in bandages along with your arms and legs. His face contorts with rage. Who did this??! An unfortunate member of the staff is given the privilege of explaining to him how you were ambushed by a team of villains who desired to carry out their revenge against you, the very pro hero who brought down their boss. You managed to defeat every last one whilst protecting the surrounding innocent civilians, however, not unscathed. They proceed to explain how you’ve suffered from a head laceration, multiple abrasions on arms and legs, and bruising of the body and face. You were given stitches and pain medications, and have been unconscious since the moment you were found. He’s torn between wanting to kill whatever scum did this and to hold you in his arms. The staff is smart enough to flee from the room, escaping from his wrath. 

His hand wavers as it gently grasps your bandaged one. His head falls, jaw clenching as he wills his tears away. Damn it…

The clock ticks in the background. He’s unaware of how much time has passed. Suddenly, your other hand twitches, and you begin to stir. “You know, out of all the things you used to bring me for breakfast, those pork katsu sandwiches you made were my favorite.”

His head snaps up. 

Your eyes open, meeting his red ones, and the corners of your lips quirk up to reveal a beaming smile. “I finally remember everything, Katsu-kun.” The look on his face is priceless, a mixture of shock, worry, relief, and irritation; like it was struggling to choose which emotion to predominantly display. You laugh. The movement causes twinges of pain but you couldn’t help it. You sit up with a slight grimace and ruffle his hair. “Katsu-kun.”

You used to call him that back in middle school when you would poke fun of him. Katsu…you started calling him that after he brought you a delicious pork katsu sandwich he made for you. You always did like his food. His brows knit together and his lips tremble. He reaches a hand out to you, and you immediately shut your eyes, flinching reflexively at the incoming flick to the forehead. Instead, he circles his arms around you, hugging you close, and burrows his face into your shoulder. “You’re an idiot…” he mutters. 

You feign a pout. “How mean…Katsu-kun.” you hum out as you squeeze him back. 

You wish the two of you could stay like this longer but he pulls away. “Tch. About time you remembered...idiot…” His downturned lips break into a relieved smile.  

Your smile falters, a tear running down your cheek. “I’m sorry it took so long Katsu-kun.” 

He wipes the tear away and shakes his head. “Quit it already. It’s Katsuki, you dummy.” He encloses his hand over yours, interlacing his fingers with your fingers. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Your cheeks heat up at how large and warm his hand feels. You almost didn’t catch his words. Your eyes snap up, confusion written across your face, however you immediately freeze in place. You suddenly realize how close he is from you, how his face is merely centimeters away from yours. His expression is unreadable as he lightly strokes your bruised cheek with the back of his fingers. Your lips quiver and you gulp nervously, “K-kats-- mmm.”

Mindful of your injuries, he carefully slips his hand behind your head and brings you in, closing the distance. His mouth covers yours, his surprisingly soft lips moving desperately against your lips. You kiss him back with fervor, your hands clutching his shirt tightly. His other hand gently cups your face...you can feel it trembling. He tilts your heads to deepen the kiss. His tongue enters your mouth and slides against your own tongue. You forget your pain, all your senses are being consumed by him. You melt into his arms. You release a moan, causing him to suck in a breath and somehow deepen the kiss further with a husky groan. You both eventually part for air, panting heavily. His crimson eyes, burning with raw emotion, gaze into yours unwavering. “I should’ve done this a long time ago.” 

You suck in a breath at his statement, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Little did you know, his own heart was beating just as crazy. Does this mean.... He cuts your line of thinking. His lips overlap yours again in a tender kiss. His lips linger on yours before withdrawing slightly, noses touching. His thumb gently strokes your discolored cheek. 

“So...does this mean…” You breath ghosts over his lips, and you could see his lip quiver ever so slightly. “You’re mine…” You brush your lips against his. “And I’m yours? Hmm?” You look at him through your half lidded eyes. “Katsuki.”

The corner of your lip quirks up as you take notice of the tinge of redness adorning his cheeks at the sound of his name from your lips. His bottom lip juts out and he clears his throat. “Got a problem with that?” 

You squeeze his hand in response. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

The warmth in his chest spreads like wildfire throughout the rest of his body. There it is...that smile of yours, the one that had always managed to take his breath away. The one that made him want to hold you close and never let you go. He leans forward and gently kisses your bandaged forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 14

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Gambling, mentions of heavy drinking, boredom. A/N: Survival mode: active. Clean up program “Vacation 1.0”: final scan.

14. Snake Eyes and Sissies

... Loki   ...

A nudge of a finger, a tap by the thumb, is all that’s needed to turn [Y/N]’s steps to thread an invisible route down the street. Every step she takes sends a bump into his palm. Whenever she sidesteps to avoid colliding with someone (who receives a harsh glare from Loki afterwards), it tugs at his body and he knows that he follows as much as he leads. Across a catwalk and into a lower section of Knowhere until they reach the destination in the shape of a secluded workshop with the owner’s name as the only identifier. Finally, Loki dares let go and he’s pleased to see she keeps close even as he pushes the door open and they’re met with stale air carrying the scents of hot metal and smoke.

“No credits. Only trades.” The creaky voice calls out sharply from behind a heap of scrap on a table in order to be heard over the grind of sawing through metal.

Loki smirks. “Think you can match a Stealth Hawk, Ek’ir?”

The screeching of the tool stops abruptly and a few of the pieces in the pile shifts due to movement behind. “What’s condition?”

“It’s seen some years...got a few dings, too.” Despite the reputation of the Skrull’s fleet, he knows this will be a hard sell. “Nearly intact and with full manoeuvrability.”

A small figure appears at the top of the scrap heap, round eyes invisible behind the goggles and the skin colour indistinguishable due to layers of oil and dirt. Still, Loki knows how carefully the craftsman is at sizing anything (and anyone) up.

“Define...nearly.” Hopping down from the table, they pads towards the potential customers.

“Got no blasters,” the Asgardian reluctantly admits.

Nearly through the first round, Ek’ir stops circling [Y/N] to stare at the Jotun with open mouth. “Why the Flerken would you dismantle the blasters?!”

“It was that or lose the entire ship.”

Meanwhile, the human is trying to come to terms with the situation. Born on a primitive world, her wonder at space travel and the visit on Alfheim had been reasonable, however she is bordering on rude if she doesn’t stop staring at the short person.

“If, and I mean if, it’s in good shape...” The cogs are turning behind the goggles to evaluate the potential gains and losses. “I’ll have to inspect it.”

“Of course.”

“Got a good few counteroffers you can choose from, at the moment.”

Loki arches a brow. “Freedom of choice?”

“We’ll see...but the Reach stays off limit!”

Few things would be as satisfying as wiping the smirk off Ek’ir’s proud little face. A Reach. Maybe the shop owner doesn’t know who Loki really is, but the species has a natural affinity for knowing exactly what a customer wants the most making it rare for one of their kind to settle in this kind of trade.

“Fair enough,” the god shrugs, “would’ve been nice to break open my casket of Asgardian mead onboard an Asgardian ship, though.”

It’s silent enough to hear the rowdy main street several blocks away as the trader pushes the goggles up onto the forehead, revealing exquisite lashes bordering yellow, cat-like eyes with deceptively narrow pupils. Small feet carries their owner right in front of Loki as if Ek’ir could stare down the much taller god.

“You got mead?” Loki shrugs once more. “How...how’ve you gotten Asgardian booze?”

Wouldn’t you like to know? “How have you gotten a Reach?”

...   Reader   ...

You’ve given up figuring out what Loki and the little person is talking about, preferring instead the distraction of the mess surrounding you. It’s a crammed place, heaps of scrap metal and tools tucked under an inconveniently low ceiling – although the owner wouldn’t have an issue with it, you suppose. Trying not to stare at the short person, you begin a game of guessing which parts could go where on a spaceship. The mental images quickly become grotesquely cartoonish, resembling the work of imaginative kids rather than actual space ship engineers.

Lost to your own musings, the gentle touch of Loki’s hand brings you back with a start.

“Come,” is all he says.

The delighted glint in his eyes doesn’t bode well as you follow both him and the alien out and back the way you came, mostly. A slight detour is allowed to bring you along to another dock with several vessels of different size and type one of which is the focus of attention. The Asgardian is playing it cool but you can see by the slant of his smile that he’s delighted with one of the ships in particular, commenting on its current state versus the original specs which are far beyond your grasp.

However, he doesn’t seem to strike a deal before having led the little one back to the ship that was your prison. It is the first time you really get to look at it without being in a rush (the second time seeing it from the outside at all). Sleek and silvery with a shape reminding you of a jagged spearhead it looks as lethal as you originally felt.

A Bugatti of space? Honestly, neither interstellar nor earthly transportation has mattered much to you as long as it worked and got you from point A to point B – you didn’t even own a car because that’s just silly when living in the city – but you’re pleased with the analogy.

“You got a deal if you throw in the cask of mead too,” the alien creaks.

"You drive a hard bargain," your travel partner retorts dryly.

Back and forth they go, inspecting ships and trying to outdo the other in tall tales about the vessels' past travels while you're bored out of your mind, eventually plopping onto the soft seat in a cabin of what they call “the Reach”. From there, you can see past the broken metal that could have made out the temporal bone (when the place wasn’t a wannabe planet) and to the stars beyond. How far are we from Earth?

This is only the second place you've been to since life changed drastically. In a way, it makes you feel special. Privileged. Deep within you a primal urge to keep moving is stirring, it's vibrating through every cell of the body until they ache with a need you can't satisfy on your own. Glancing briefly at Loki, you prefer to think it's also that longing, roaring silently and sending the butterflies in your belly swarming over a fire pit below.

"The rules are clear?" the little alien, Ek'ir, asks.

The Asgardian nods. "Doubles top with sixes as the best. Everything else reads as they show."

Propping yourself up on an elbow, you see them on either side of the table with a dice cup in between (where ever they've gotten that from). A wooden cask balances at the far end – a trophy on display. Memories from the parties you've gone to come back followed by vague rules from drinking games which always became less important as the nights carried on.

Ek'ir begins, slamming the cup down after having thoroughly rattled the dice around. A short peek. A frown.

"42."

Loki's face doesn't betray whatever he might be thinking. Slender fingers simply grab the cup and scoops up the roll to mimic the shop owner's motions. "Snake eyes."

The small hand with suction cups hovers in the air as the owner thinks carefully. With a flick of the finger the claim is proven true, resulting in a woody groan from this round's loser who of course is intend on revenge – a drawn out duel marked by small increments in the rolls before the Asgardian finds himself bested when trying to bluff. He takes it neatly, even sends you a wink.

"32," Ek'ir opens the third and final session.

"54."

The dice rattle a bit longer than strictly necessary. "65."

"Snake eyes," the god offers politely on return, causing the adversary to freeze.

Even you hold a breath. You have no clue why it's so important to get a different spaceship (and particularly this one except that it's aesthetically pleasing), however some sneaky plan must be depending on it or Loki wouldn't have gone through the trouble of bartering with the little alien.

"Naaaah..." They don't sound convinced. "A second one that soon? You think I'm gullible?" Still, the cup remains untouched, looming on the table.

"If you think me a liar, simply call my bluff." There's an air of nonchalance to the taller of the players. "Otherwise...best it."

"Probably counting on it, aren't you?"

There's no reply other than a shrug and a non-committal arching of the brows. He's bluffing. Admittedly, you're not sure. Yay for not playing him. Surely, Asgardian mead can't be that amazing?

"Ha!" Wrinkly hands snatch the cup away, a bright gleam in the alien eyes and a smile to match. Only...the glee dissipates as the roll is revealed: two ones.

[obscureoperations]

Martin being touched starved and finally getting the affection that he didn't know he wanted or needed and then never wanting to let it go

This went on a bit longer than I thought it would and it might have spun off into two different directions. I was gonna do this as a headcannon but then I started typing, um, here ya go.

Martin wasn’t sure about much in his life, but he was sure that he wanted you. He wanted you in the purest sense of the word, he wanted to give himself to you completely. Around you he finally felt at ease. He was calm, there was no more pressure in his head, his mind was no longer constantly racing. There was only you and your soothing presence, and the ever present warmth that radiated from your skin. 

In the beginning things were different, it was like he was afraid to be in the same room. You danced around each other like cats, at that point you were pretty sure he hated you. You would always be cordial, giving him the benefit of the doubt--his behavior most likely had something to do with your godfather. He would always watch you when he thought you weren't aware little did he know you were aware of his every move. You could even sense that he wanted to come closer --but there was always the lingering doubt. He was afraid of what would happen if he did. At times you really hated the old man.

You never pushed or pried, happy to give him all the space he needed. It was after about two weeks that you noticed a change. Usually when you entered the room he would automatically leave. Or, he would exit the moment you’d step in. But one day, it was after you had gotten back from work, your bag rested on the kitchen table. You were tired--so tired, your feet practically had their own pulse, all you wanted was a moment to decompress. After a few moments the screen door swung open as Martin made his way into the room. The second he spotted you, he paused in mid step, regarding you with an unreadable expression. You reach for your bag already preparing to leave, but then you notice he wasn’t already turning away. Instead he regards you for a second longer before glancing away leisurely making his way towards the sink. 

You were utterly confused for a moment, should you leave? You weren’t even bothered that you had to walk on eggshells in your own house. You just wanted to understand. There was so much you wanted to learn about Martin-- you just wanted to put him at ease. You watch as he rummages through the cabinets for a glass-- he turns the faucet on filling it with water. He takes a sip before placing it down, only halfway glancing over his shoulder. After a moment, he takes out another glass filling up placing it on the table in front of you. And with that he was gone.

The next few days were just the same, he seemed less bothered by your presence. You would speak to him here and there, just a casual greeting-- he would go as far as to nod his head. It was ...progress in your opinion, definitely progress. You had already decided that the two of you may never be close, but you at least wanted him to be comfortable enough in his new home. He would look at you more, no longer glancing away when you spotted him. There was that same unreadable expression. What was he thinking? Despite the oddness of the situation, his gaze never came across as disconcerting. It was almost like he was trying to figure you out. What did he want to know, all he had to do was ask.

He began to speak to you, though he never initiated the conversation. His replies were always one word answers. He seemed perfectly content with listening to you-- if he wasn’t going to say anything, he was going to listen. Aside from Christina, you were the only one who acknowledged him in the house. For the most part Cuda just pretended he wasn’t there. One day, the two of you were in the living room actually seated together on the couch, his attention would shift between your rant about work and the magazine in his hand. “ I mean, I don't mind closing by myself once in a while, but if I leave a list.. Thats what needs to be done!” At this point he had placed his magazine aside as he regards you with a curious expression. With a sigh, you run your fingers through your hair before sparing him a brief glance. You felt the heat begin to rise to your face at your own endless ranting. Now you were the one who was probably being rude, he was clearly trying to read. But then you saw it-- so faint but it was there, was he actually smiling? Nearly undetectable, it touched the corners of his lips, and then he spoke up “You should quit…”  He was right. It wasn’t the most impolite way to say shut up. “Excuse me?” 

“You don’t like it there do you?”  “Well, no.” “Then quit--”  You were about to mutter some kind of excuse, when the two of you heard the sound of the back door swing open. Cuda was home, and MArtin quickly excused himself up stairs. Did the two of you actually have a conversation?

Things seemed to flow more naturally from there, he began to speak to you more and more. He would ask you questions-- he left them pretty open ended. And he would just sit there and listen to what you had to say. At times he would almost appear to be in a daze, as though your voice had put him into a translike state. “Martin?”  He would thoughtfully nod his head “ And then what did you do?”

At times he would stand close to you, perhaps closer than he needed to. It didn’t feel odd or off putting in the slightest-- in fact you actually wanted him to come closer. Something about the way the heat would emanate from his skin. Close enough that you could smell the clean cotton fabric of his shirt. If he liked to listen to you, then you surely liked to be near him just as much. His nearness was almost intoxicating.

The two of you began to have talks out on the porch, most of the time after dinner. Cuda would be preparing to meet with some of the men from church, and Christina most likely had a date with Arthur. For the most part the two of you talked about mundane things, he even started to tell you about working at the shop. You would throw subtle jabs at the older women he worked with, you considered it a feat whenever you got him to smile. As time went by, the two of you would draw closer-- at this point it was unclear who initiated it. It was like an invisible string pulling the two of you together. You were nearly arm and arm at this point, and for some reason you had this overwhelming urge to rest your head on his shoulder. You refrained of course, but he was silent now. You hadn’ even noticed when he stopped talking. You could feel it, it was the oddest sensation, he was so close you could almost feel his pulse. That was impossible, but it was almost as though your breath had synced. He speaks up suddenly, startling you out of your reprieve.” y/n, Im sorry.”  Sorry? “For what Martin?”

He’s silent for a moment so you tilt your head in an attempt to read his expression. His head was downcast, brown hair falling into his eyes--you had to resist the urge to brush it away from his forehead. “For how I acted earlier. I- in the beginning. I don’t hate you… you know that right?” Something coiled inside, he sounded so innocent in that moment--as though he actually believed you were upset with him. Tentatively you reach out placing a hand on his shoulder, he flinches, but doesn’t move away. “Martin… can you look at me?” He doesn’t respond. “Could you look at me..please?” Slowly he turns to face you, eyes still downcast you could have sworn you felt him start to tremble. You place your hand on his other shoulder squeezing gently, beckoning him to look at you. You had to be careful, you didn’t want to push him too far, but he had to understand. When he finally meets your gaze, he looks almost frightened--  as though he expected you to lash out and strike him. “Come here…” you offer quietly as your hands carefully ease to his waist. Just resting them there, you can feel him shift closer-- your heart was threatening to leap out of your chest. “ Closer… It's okay…” Ever so slowly, you allow your arms to encircle his waist before lightly resting your head against his chest. He remains there frozen for a moment-- so lightheaded he thought he might faint. You were so small and warm even in comparison to his slight frame. You smelled heavenly, was that your shampoo? He didn’t know what he should do with his hands, surely you didn’t want him to touch you? Getting a bit bolder, you press in close enough that your entire front was pressed against his chest. Your arms wrap around him a bit more securely, you could feel his heartbeat thundering in your ears. Please let this be okay…

You were almost about to ask that very question when a small noise escapes his throat. So faint it was between a gasp and a sigh-- but soon enough his arms gently encircle your waist. 

He was reeling, mind spinning off into a thousand different directions, what were you doing? Why would you possibly want to touch him? Weren’t you afraid?  He was dreaming, that had to be it! There was no other reasonable explanation. No way to explain why you were pulling him closer-- hands soothingly roaming across his back. A small whimper dies in his throat--he hopes to god you didn’t notice. He instinctively draws your near, resting his cheek against the top of your head. So warm and alive. He could feel the gentle beat of your heart--you smelt so lovely, he thought he might die. He allows himself to repeat the action, lightly smoothing his hands over your back.  The small content sigh that escapes your lips has him holding you all the much tighter.

You remain that was for what feels like an eternity, but in reality it was less than a minute. You were practically melded against his chest, face now resting at the crook of his neck--and his heart was already yours. After a moment you speak, he could feel your breath ghost along his neck causing goosebumps to bloom across the delicate flesh. “I'm really glad you’re here “

[megalony]

Fatal attraction- Part 2

This is my new royal! Ben Hardy series I am working on which I hope everyone is going to enjoy, feedback is always appreciated.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog​

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) are in an arranged marriage to form an alliance and they both want to make this marriage work. But when they have to get to know each other and there is a power play in their marriage, things aren’t going to be easy.

Enjoy.

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"Oh no, you don't have to do that, I'll do that." The words came out slightly rushed like (Y/n) was trying to win a race or put her order in first before anyone else. The way her cheeks flushed when she spoke and how she was quick to step away from the window and try to hurry but still look composed made Ben bite the inside of his cheek as he watched her, wondering what she was doing.

(Y/n) punctured her teeth into her lower lip in a feeble attempt to stop her eyes from wandering over to the left to catch sight of Ben, but the more she tried not to look, the more desperate her eyes became to drift over his way. When her wide orbs fell on his frame, an uproar of butterflies started to flutter through her stomach and chest.

How did he have the boldness and the brass nerve to stand there and get changed whilst there was someone other than (Y/n) in the room? How could he carry on dragging his rather tight fitting trousers up his legs and begin doing up his belt whilst a maid had entered the room? If it had been (Y/n) stood in her underwear when someone else entered the room she would have been running to hide away but he didn't even blink or look like it bothered him at all.

What bothered (Y/n) more than her husband's bold nature was the fact that three servants had already been in and out of their shared quarters and it wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning yet. (Y/n) may have been brought up in a royal household such as this but her anxiety never died down through the years. People wandering in and out never settled well with her despite them simply doing their jobs and now she was married it made her beyond paranoid.

What if she and Ben grew to become closer than married strangers? What if they joked around or messed around or were childish or got frisky and someone were to hear or walk in? (Y/n) would hate for anyone to wander in and catch her and Ben in a compromising position, she would never be able to look them in the eye again.

Reaching the rather large bed a few feet from the window, (Y/n) leaned over the bed and pulled the covers from the maid's hands as nicely as she could manage.

Needless to say, the maid was quite taken aback that (Y/n) was telling her not to make the bed, which was part of her job. (Y/n) could make a bed herself, she could set the pillows straight and pull the covers up just fine, she could tuck in the ends of the sheets if they were loose and make it look presentable. (Y/n) could iron her own clothes and hang them away, she could dress herself and make her own chambers look presentable without someone needing to waltz in and do that for her. She was privileged but she was not incompetent or ignorant.

"It's not a problem ma'am, I can do it." The maid whose name (Y/n) didn't know yet had a gentle smile that looked motherly and endearing and the look in her eyes suggested she understood, or at least she thought she understood something.

"I- I appreciate it, but I can make my own bed, there's no need for you to do that. I'm sure you have other things to do around here." (Y/n) tried her best not to sound rude or patronising because she wasn't trying to be mean, she was just trying to maintain some control and order. She didn't want everything done for her, (Y/n) didn't know how things had been for Ben but for herself, she did a lot of things herself.

"If you're sure, ma'am." Taking a step back, the maid clasped her hands together in front of her and nodded her head as if trusting (Y/n) to make the bed which wasn't an important task in anyone's eyes.

"Thank you... um, could you see to it that no one comes in every morning to make the bed, or draw the curtains? No one has to tidy up in here or try to put the clothes away, I can do all of that myself." (Y/n) looked down at the cover as she started to pull it up and drape it over the pillows once she straightened them out in their place. (Y/n) noticed over the past three days that Ben ended up scattering the pillows everywhere, he seemed to drag them with him whenever he moved or turned over.

She also realised that Ben had quite taken to wrapping himself around her like a vine and smothering her at night, not that she was really complaining at all. (Y/n) had never shared a bed with someone before and as much as she hadn't imagined it going like this, she was finding that she quite liked the closeness.

"Certainly ma'am." With that the maid left the room, a slightly confused expression on her face because she wasn't expecting that. She would have to tell all the staff so no one ended up going in their room in the morning by mistake. This wasn't how anyone else in the royal family did things.

"You're blushing."

Ben's comment snapped (Y/n) out of her thoughts and it only caused the redness to deepen on her features and her head to tilt down so she wasn't looking at him. Her hands froze in place on the cover when Ben's hands grazed over her own to help straighten the cover.

"Doesn't it bother you, having people wandering in and out every morning?" (Y/n) slowly tilted her head up until her eyes could see Ben through her lashes that were acting as a veil to protect her. There was a look of vulnerability and curiousness in her eyes and on her face that seemed to reel Ben in like a fish on a hook.

"It used to, but it looks like that won't be happening anymore." The slight curve of his lips showed he wasn't mad, he didn't seem displeased or pleased, he looked rather neutral about the subject as if it didn't affect him at all that (Y/n) had just dismissed the staff from entering their room in the mornings.

"I just... why do we need someone to open the curtains in the morning? I can make the bed, I think we are both capable of pulling a curtain back and tidying things away or hanging up clothes. What if we were ill or just wanted a lie in for once?" Why was it necessary for them to do hardly anything at all? They weren't special, they were just people and (Y/n) couldn't stand people doing everything for her, it made her feel like she was incapable or not in control.

(Y/n) lifted her head when the bed was made and Ben started to move, her eyes followed him as he walked around the bed until he was standing next to her but continued to stay silent. For a moment, she thought he was just going to walk away and not even comment on what she was saying. But then he leaned closer to her until his lips were brushing against the shell of her ear.

"Now I think you're just trying to keep me in bed all to yourself."

The moment those words were whispered against the shell of her ear, shivers ran down (Y/n)'s spine and a smile she could only describe as cheeky fell onto Ben's features before he started to walk away.

(Y/n) was trying to piece together who Ben was and work out what he was like but the only thing she had deduced over these past three days was that he was very, very cocky.

Turning around, (Y/n) tried to settle her heart that was beginning to beat a lot quicker behind its confinement of her ribs. She didn't need to read anything into what he had just said, he was teasing her because it was part of who he was. But nevertheless, his words made her chest feel like it was pumped with air and it made her blood rush to her skin. Trying to steady herself and walk slowly instead of hurrying to keep up with Ben, she followed him out of their bedroom and into the smaller adjoining room in front that was more of an office than anything else.

Staying quiet, (Y/n) slowly walked over to the desk that was placed just a few feet from the large window that gave a view of the gardens that (Y/n) was desperate to explore. The sight the palace gave was certainly a very eye catching one, it was far better than any of the views (Y/n) had seen from the palace she lived in when she was growing up.

Leaning her weight back, (Y/n) sat on the desk and held onto the edge but she kept her gaze focused on the view she knew she would never quite get used to seeing every day.

"I think I'm going to take a walk today." (Y/n) knew she didn't have to tell Ben where she was going or where she would be every second of the day, but she still thought she would tell him what she was planning to do today. It would strike up a conversation in the least and she knew Ben must know some places around here he could recommend for her to go and visit.

"Okay, there will be someone about downstairs who can escort you." Ben let his eyes lower from looking at (Y/n) to looking at the clasp of the watch he was trying to strap to his wrist. His eyes switched between the watch and the papers on the desk he was also trying to read quickly so he knew what kind of meeting he would be walking into soon.

"Hmm? Oh, I don't need anyone to show me around, I'll be fine I shouldn't be going too far." (Y/n) didn't bother to look over at Ben and she wasn't being rude, she was forming a map of the grounds in her head and the perimeters she was going to go beyond. There was so much she wanted to see, there were so many gardens of the palace that (Y/n) wanted to explore but today she wanted to explore the outskirts of the palace.

She wanted to see what it was like outside of the palace perimeters and observe the people and the streets and houses and businesses. She had seen very little when travelling here and most of her time was either spent in the palace or at the church to get married. She had been here for a week now and she felt it was time to do some exploring. (Y/n) would rather explore on her own than have someone show her around.

"No, I meant a guard, you can't go out on your own. Just find two of them downstairs and they'll head out with you. Go wherever you want and they'll follow silently." Ben held his wrist up so he could push the clasp of the watch in place before he lowered his arm and reached out for one of the papers. His tone wasn't dismissive but he was talking like there was just a small miscommunication between them.

Ben knew there would be a few guards without anything to do, (Y/n) could just find anyone she liked and ask them to go with her and they wouldn't object. She needn't know they were even with her, it would be like two shadows following behind her.

Turning her head to look at Ben, (Y/n) felt her brows furrowing and her lips pursing as she pushed herself off of the desk she was sitting on. She didn't want a guard, she wasn't in danger. No one was making threats towards her and no one was going to suddenly attack her, she wasn't going to stray too far or get too close to anyone, she was only going to explore her new homeland.

Biting her cheek to stop herself from arguing with him, (Y/n) curtly nodded her head, resting her hand on his shoulder for a few seconds before she started to walk away. He wouldn't know straight away if she went out alone and (Y/n) certainly wasn't going to tell him that it was her intention to do so.

She didn't need to be supervised everywhere she went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Where have you been?"

Turning her head to look back over her shoulder, (Y/n) rose her brow at the rather crude tone of his voice. She didn't have to inform him of every movement she made during the day and he had no need to sound so rude towards her. She had gone out like she was permitted to do, she hadn't broken any rules by leaving.

"I told you this morning, I was going out for a walk to explore." Turning her head back so she was looking at the bookcase in front of her, (Y/n) scanned through the various novels to try and find something worth reading.

"And I told you that you can't go out on your own. That's not me deciding that rule for you, that's a rule I have to go along with as well you can't just ignore it." It was clear by the way Ben was suppressing the aggression in his tone that he was trying very hard not to get angry but he couldn't help it. He hadn't said that just to try and spite (Y/n) or to gain control over her, no one in the Royal family could go out on their own because it was dangerous.

"Ben, I don't need to be followed everywhere, I was perfectly fine on my own today." (Y/n) spoke calmly because this was not an argument she wanted to have or one she saw worth having. But the look on her husband's face told her that it was too late. Ben's expression was really making (Y/n) feel like she had done something wrong, he was looking at her like she had just told him she was walking to the moon.

"You're not being serious, are you?"

"Why not? I'm not the Queen and no one knows me here, they've barely seen my face in any wedding photos. I understand you're trying to be cautious but I don't need-" The people barely knew what (Y/n) looked like and she had guessed this morning that they weren't going to recognise her. All (Y/n) had done was walk out of the palace grounds and head down near to the town, she didn't get close to anyone and when she did she had turned around and made her way back again.

(Y/n) didn't want constant eyes on her because it made her unsettled, she knew Ben was cautious and it was for protection but she didn't need it. When she was growing up she had made sure she had some time alone and that she could go on walks without any guards having to follow her, (Y/n) wanted things to be the same here too.

"Why not? You're married to the King, that's a pretty big reason not to go out alone (Y/n). Whether you like it or not you're a royal and you're high priority, walking around this place alone isn't an option and people know you left, they saw you. Surely back home you never went out alone, you're the princess for God's sake." Ben didn't know how things worked back home before (Y/n) came here but he knew how things happened in his country. She couldn't go anywhere alone, not even in the palace that was now her home.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) grated her teeth together before she tried to walk out of the room. But she didn't get very far before Ben's hand reached out and gripped her upper arm to stop her from walking past him. His head turned to the side so their gazes locked and when (Y/n) tried to pull away, he held her tighter.

"I know this is hard and it's not what you want, but you can't go around acting like you're nobody when you're somebody. People will recognise you wherever you go, protection is a necessity."

"It's only a necessity when you give the people cause to pose harm to you." (Y/n) hadn't done anything, she hadn't been here long enough to give the people anything to make the mad at her except marrying Ben. People started to attack when they felt they weren't being treated equally or when someone of the Royal family did something stupid or rash or wrong. (Y/n) had done nothing of the sort.

Pulling her arm away, (Y/n) tried again to walk away from Ben but he simply moved so he was stood in front of her. He didn't like leaving arguments unfinished, he wanted to sort this out now rather than pick up the pieces later.

(Y/n) felt like part of her was being childish because she knew why she had to be protected. Protection had been a part of her whole life, but for once, (Y/n) wished she didn't need it. She wished she could be normal, that she could be a nobody and have a decision in what she did and how her life went.

"I know privacy and normality matter to you, but your protection matters to me. Next time you decide to wander off without a guard, come and find me. At least that way I can go with you."

When Ben finished speaking he moved out of the way to let (Y/n) walk past but she found herself rooted to the spot, her eyes unable to look away from him as she tried to decipher if he was being serious or not. He was willing to let her go out without a guard if she would let him go with her instead. Ben would rather go along with (Y/n) than have her go somewhere alone.

But that wasn't what he said that was catching on (Y/n)'s thoughts. He said that her protection matters to him, he wants to keep her safe.

Did that mean that he cares about her?

[laceymorganwrites]

Sweet nothings

Word Count: 1,391

Pairing: Hawks x reader

Warnings: swearing, death SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 265 (and I made it more angsty hehe)

Song: Sweet Nothings - Neck Deep

Take me back to the ocean, Feel warm sand beneath your feet,

Hawks remembered your first date as clearly as he knew how to use his quirk. He was so nervous about asking you out, he never imagined that you would say yes. And when you did, he couldn´t contain his smile, he even got rude comments from his colleagues about it. But he didn´t care, not after he finally mustered up the courage to ask you, his best friend, out. You´ve known each other since childhood and Hawks was more than glad to have you in his life, he was grateful to you that you never treated him different than before after he rose up the hero ranks. You stayed bright and loyal to him, not illuminated by his seeming greatness. You weren´t scared to bring him down to earth after his ego was shot up. And he loved you for that and many other things. Emotion -- escaping from reality,

It was hard to find a date with your busy schedules, but you somehow managed it, with lots of help from the intern at Hawk´s agency who volunteered to do the paperwork that night. Hawks took you out to a beach to watch the sunset and bathe a bit, it was so peaceful, nobody was there at this hour and you two could spend time undisturbed. You were relieved when he asked you out, you feared you were the only one stupid enough to fall for their best friend. But it was inevitable, you had no choice, not with someone like him. And he thought the same, which was why he kept taking you out on dates to great places you´ve never been before. However you were more in awe of him than in any of them. If I could only begin to explain All my flaws, all my fears

Though Hawks might seem oddly confident and laid back, you knew him better, you knew that all of that was only to cover up his insecurities. It was tough to get him to open up to you, but it was worth it. You always watched out for him, watched out that he wouldn´t do anything too reckless, that he took care of himself. He owed you big time for that and he would do his best to pay you back, even though he knew that was impossible. You were always there for him, soothed him when he cried, when everything was too much, you were always there. And he was working when you needed him. All my stupid mistakes,

And fuck did he hate it, he wanted to be with you every second of the day, but instead he had to spend them in his office doing paperwork or on duty, he didn´t even know what was worse anymore. If he would count all of the dates he missed or ran late, all the anniversaries and birthdays and holidays he had to call off because some stupid villain decided to wreak havoc and all of the other heroes were fucking selfish, he´d sink into the ground in shame. Could you still see past all the things I hide away

The worst thing was that he still had secrets, so many secrets… he wished he could share them with you, but he´d be dead before even finishing the thought. Hawks always had to tell you he was fighting villains whenever he was away and lying to you hurt even more than the truth, which was that he was forced to work alongside them. Every time he walked into the hideout all he wanted to do was to punch every single of those idiots to a pulp. Spending his time with those fuckers rather than with you, it tore him apart. And my poor choice of words? But you were smiling anyway

When he was home however, he tried to make up all of the lost time as best as he could. He got you your favorite snacks and even went out of his way to cook for you, most times he got you your favorite takeout though since he came home late most of the time. Whenever he was home he preferred to stay in with you to show you his utter affection in cuddles and movie nights, and because he was exhausted too. But you didn´t mind. You could only imagine how hard his work was. “(Y/N), you really are the fried to my chicken” he sighed contently, wiggling his eyebrows at you. His dumb flirts were something you would never get tired of. You started chuckling, shaking your head, smiling. “Because you´re hot, you know?” he explained, grinning at you widely and putting his arm around you. Wake me up in the morning Slept till late afternoon

Hawks always dreamed of waking up next to you and now that you finally made it official, all of his dreams came true. At least that´s what he thought. Instead he needed to work at night, making him go home when you already were up and at work. It made him sleep when you arrived. And he had to leave when you went to bed. My dreams are dark and twisted

With all the shit going on at work, he never really had the chance to relax and calm down. He took all of the bloody, gruesome images with him to sleep where they would haunt him. Hawks never got restless sleep anymore. Just nightmares from the things he has seen. But tonight I'm dreaming of you,

And when he woke up, started in the middle of the night, he saw you. His rigorous heartbeat calmed down immediately when he saw your sleeping form, it was like you made all the bad things go away and he was so grateful for that. Usually he´d lightly kiss your forehead and then go back to sleep but sometimes you woke up from his nightmares too. In those times you´d stay up together and cuddle. Snuck in through your window

Keigo did his best to keep the relationship to you a secret from the public eye. He couldn´t bear the sight of you being kidnapped or killed by villains who could use you against him. That´s why he had to be extra careful ever since his new mission, the infiltration began. Broken glass cut my skin Bled close to death with you all night

Of course you noticed how exhausted he was, but you decided not to push it and don´t ask him about it, you didn´t want to force him talking about work that so clearly took its toll on him. But I still don't regret a thing I have a habit of pushing my luck

Right in this moment Hawks regretted everything he has done up to this point. He regretted ever taking this fucking mission. He regretted making friends in the league. He regretted choosing the wrong moment to reveal his true nature, like he did just now. But most of all he regretted not telling you he loved you more times, he regretted putting this shitty job over you. If I just play this cool it might pay off for once

Maybe he had a chance, Hawks thought. But he doubted it. He failed to kill Twice resulting in him having a mental breakdown. Great job, hero. He thought bitterly. And not only that, he could barely deal with that. Once Dabi busted through the door though, it was all over… As we lay intertwined you broke silence with talk asking "Baby, do you think of me?" "Baby, do you think of me?" Yeah all the time, like every night When Endeavor showed up at your apartment saying his condolences, you thought it was a joke. But once you realized the harsh truth, you lashed out on the number one hero, saying that it was his job to protect your boyfriend and that he failed, not only as a hero but also as a human being. You yelled and cried and then yelled again until your throat was numb and all you could do was sink to the floor in disbelief. It wasn´t fair, none of this was…   The look in your eye You hung on every line When I poured my heart out But you took it every time