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gurugirl · 8 months

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Not Fair | bfd!harry

best friend's dad!harry x reader | forbidden relationship au

Summary: Harry's been thinking about something that might make your relationship fair but you don’t like what he suggests and it blows up in his face.

Word Count: 6.5k

A/n: You guys asked for this and so here you are. At the beginning of this check-in you'll be getting a glimpse into Harry's married life and his internal thoughts about Y/n and his wife and then it ends with angst.

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, smut, angst, cheating, age gap

bfd!harry masterlist

Harry rolled over onto his back, looking up at the dark ceiling in his bedroom. The only light coming in was from the window. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath.

He felt the bed move as his wife got up to go and clean herself up in their bathroom. He could hear her saying something but he wasn’t listening. His thoughts were on you and what you were doing at that moment at work. His mind wandered to what he’d feel or how he’d react if he knew you had just fucked someone else the way he just did his wife. He wouldn’t like that. And he was sure you wouldn’t like that he’d just nutted in his wife. Even if he told you he was thinking of you as he did it. Imagining that he was stuffed inside of you and you were the one sighing and gasping under him. Because that’s how it was lately. It wasn’t his wife that he was with even if she was the one under him.

The guilt he felt became more self-centered. He was less worried about his wife than he was about how he was going to continue with his little façade. He still loved her. They’d been through a lot together over the years. She gave him a daughter. They’d lost family and friends together. Doctor’s visits with scary diagnoses. Fights. Vacations. Two houses. A car accident. Lots of lows and highs. But all he could think about was you.

It didn’t bother him that he wasn’t thinking of his wife when he was fucking her these days. The lights stayed off like they usually had before you, and he would pretend he was sinking into you and that you were the one pulling at his hair and moaning his name. It was easy. His wife has no idea. The frequency of sex with his wife was about once every other week or so. He could keep up with that. He’d prefer to be with you in your little apartment and finding his orgasm inside of you rather than with his wife but that was not always possible.

“Did you hear me, babe?” She called to him from the bathroom.

Harry jumped from the bed and walked naked into the bathroom with his wife so he could clean up his own mess, “What was that?”

Laughing as she flushed the toilet, “I was just saying you were so turned on tonight. Did you watch porn or something before?”

She was mostly teasing but Harry knew why she noticed the way he was acting a bit different. And it wasn’t porn. It was that he got a notification that an item he bought for you had arrived. And you were working so you wouldn’t know what was waiting in the mail room until you got home after your shift.

A sex toy. Something he could control remotely. Just the thought of you using it on yourself had him hard in his sweatpants as he climbed into bed with his wife and initiated sex.

He knew it was wrong. To sleep with one woman and think of another. But as the months drew on with his little secret it became easier and easier to imagine he was with you.

But sometimes he’d get distracted by his wife. She’d screech or make a noise that you wouldn’t. Her scent was totally different too. Neither scent was better than the other, just different.

You got him so worked up and so edged that he always had to fight from coming too fast. You made him leak with precome before he even took that first thrust into your pussy. With his wife, there was hardly any build-up or foreplay so it was usually just a little oral sex and a quickie fuck. Which had all been good until you came around.

Now he was obsessed with his dynamic with you. It was better than any he’d had with any woman. And it wasn’t that you were better in bed or anything. It was that the connection you had was better. You were far more stimulating, teasing, fun.

“Nah… you just looked cute tonight,” he grinned as he washed his hands. That wasn’t a lie. His wife was cute. She was a very attractive woman. In fact, he surprised himself by pursuing anything with you at all because his wife was sort of the whole package. Great body, smart, kind, patient, and a good mother. They’d definitely lost their spark sexually, though he seemed to be the only one to notice it. That was really the only issue. They still had sex but it wasn’t fun anymore. It was simply a means to an end.

And the first day that he went to your apartment he knew in the back of his mind what he was doing was wrong. He wasn’t sure he’d have gotten you into bed but he definitely had imagined it. And when the opportunity suddenly opened up he took it. He couldn’t stop himself. Typical man really, he felt. He always championed himself as a great guy with integrity and a good moral compass. But that all flew out the window the moment he was with you on your couch in your living room and he dared to begin asking personal questions. The way you were squirming and your skin got hot and your words were breathy… he knew all he had to do was to lead you to your room and you’d be putty in his hands. He was right.

At first, he had regrets. He wasn’t going to stop but he did have some guilt. But after the second time you were together he knew he was fucked when he realized you still wanted more. You loved sex with him. You wound up begging or giving in to him after he was already so hard it ached. The way you teased and flirted with him before he finally laid you out and licked your pussy was quite intoxicating. And you were eager to suck him off too. God, it fed his ego to have you drooling over his cock like you did. It’d been years since he’d had that.

But lying in bed trying to get to sleep once his wife was tucked in and softly snoring to his left he did feel a pinch of something that gave him anxiety. It was the fact that you weren’t seeing anyone but him (which he preferred). It meant you got the short end of the stick in the relationship. You were seeing a married man. What did that mean for your future? Was Harry fucking everything up for you? Was he taking you away from having a normal dating life and maybe finding true love with a man you could actually be with openly?

Well, he thought that yes, he was definitely getting in your way. He was too old for you on top of it all. And there would be a divide between you and Fae if she were to ever learn of the affair. Potentially? Harry could ruin some really great things in your life.

He hated that feeling he got when he thought about it rationally. Thought about the damage he was doing to himself, to you, to his wife, to Fae. Thought about what kind of man this made him. And he often imagined the fallout. You’d probably get most of the blame. He’d try and defend you and his wife would leave him and his daughter would hate him for a while but would eventually forgive him.

But Fae would never forgive you. And anyone involved would think you were the seducer. That you must have come on to a happily married man, chipped away at his composure until he reluctantly gave in. They’d call you a home wrecker. Slut maybe. The Eve complex and all.

Sure Harry would come out of it looking like a big prick but he’d fair better. He’d eventually start to get big forgiving pats on the back from male members of his family and co-workers. Telling him they understand how it could happen (of course they could). And his wife would also be partially to blame because she’d been neglecting his physical needs– or that would be the gossip. No one would say it to her face. Maybe not even to Harry. But that would be the assumption. That she should have tried harder to keep her man happy. That it was no wonder Harry had strayed.

But none of that was the reality. And he didn’t know if anyone would believe them when he told them that he was the seducer. That he had come on to you. That he went to your apartment and flirted with you and led you to your bedroom and saw your cute SpongeBob panties and fucked you in your own bed over the period of five hours.

Harry saw his ceiling light up when he got a notification on his phone. Rolling over he quickly grabbed and unplugged it before tiptoeing out of the room, leaving his sleeping wife in the bed by herself.

I just got home. What is this?

Harry grinned as he descended the steps and read your message, quietly making his way to his study and closing the doors behind him.

Hi. It’s a toy for you. I’m gonna video call you.

Harry settled on his leather couch and clicked the video call button, letting it ring until you answered.

“Hi, Harry,” you adjusted the camera so your pretty face was in view as you sat on your own living room couch.

“Hi, pup. How was work?”

Harry heard you sigh and watched your eyes round out as you started talking about your late shift, describing one table that was particularly grating.

“But… what’s this? It says luxury app-controlled, sound-activated egg vibrator for ecstasy-inducing sharable play,” you laughed as you read the side of the box.

“Well, it’s just what it says. We’ll look at it tomorrow and connect to the app so I can have access to it whenever we want to use it. S’just like something for when I’m not there.”

“Tomorrow?” You looked from the box to the phone screen in question.

“Yeah. In the morning. Is that okay? I know you work tomorrow night and I figured I could come over for a few hours before you have to get to the restaurant.”

You nodded with your large grin and bright eyes, “Yes! Of course it is!”

. . .

It turned out that all Harry needed to get to sleep was to hear your voice on the phone. When he woke up the following morning his wife was just coming out of the bathroom, brushing her teeth, fresh-faced and soft and cozy looking.

That stab of anxiety he’d been stuck on the night before came rushing back, icing his veins and dampening the excitement he normally would have felt knowing he was going to see his lover.

It felt like a warning. He needed to talk to you.

When he left his house he’d told his wife he was going into the office. Which he would, after he left your apartment. The nice thing about his job title was that he could come and go from the office as he pleased. He could tell everyone he’d been in a lunch meeting or a golf outing with a potential buyer. He could tell his wife he was going to work.

Knocking at your front door he felt a bit of dread. He wanted to see you and kiss you but he needed to sort out what had been weighing on him before you parted ways for the day.

You opened your door in just a pair of panties and pulled him inside quickly so no one saw your state of undress.

You nearly climbed up his frame, jumping into his arms as he placed his hands under your thighs to hold you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him as your soft tits pressed into his button-up shirt.

He brought you to your bedroom, keeping an eye open so he didn’t trip on the way. You were insatiable.

When he dropped you onto your bed he climbed over your body and smoothed his hands up your torso letting his palms squish your breasts, “What’s going on, puppy? Couldn’t wait to get me in your bed?”

You laughed against his lips and nodded, “You’re the one who brought me in here. I was just saying hello.”

Harry shook his head and sat back between your legs, “You greeted me wearing only panties and then jumped on me like you were some kind of wild barbarian. I think you wanted me in your bed.” He pinched your nipples between his fingers and you gasped.

“Just…” you decided to give in far too fast. You did miss him. You woke up from a dream about him and it left you needy and hot and horny. And normally you’d have taken care of it but you knew Harry was coming so you waited. And now you were on edge. “Just fuck me.”

Harry raised a brow and grinned, “Just fuck you? What a potty mouth. Where are your manners, dear?”

You groaned and pulled at his collar to bring him down over you, “Please. God… please sir. I need you.”

Harry smiled against your lips as he quickly began to undo his pants, “There we go. There’s my sweet girl. Needs me so badly today. Fuck, honey…” he moaned when he felt how slick you were already, a finger along the side of your panties.

Pressing your thighs into your chest he hooked his fingers into the crotch of your panties, pulling it to the side, and attached his lips to your pussy, making you whine loudly. He sucked and licked and moaned into you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You wanted something else, “Give me your cock. Please, sir. Want your come so bad.”

Harry kissed your labia and closed his eyes. You loved his come. Ever since that night, you begged him to breed you it had been more of a thing. In fact, you rarely let him come anywhere other than inside of your cunt. Even if you were gagging on his cock and he was beginning to release you’d drag him down and beg him to give it to you in your pussy where it belonged (your words). And he didn’t like denying you.

Though the last morning he saw you he came on your tits and you pouted about the waste.

“Want me to fill your little pussy full so you can go wait tables with my come packed inside of you?”

Nodding your head you moaned and yanked at his collar again. Harry laughed, “Careful. Gonna tear it, baby.”

“Please take it off, Harry.” You fidgeted under him and began to pluck at his buttons.

Harry grinned at you and sat up again so he could unbutton his shirt. But first, he swatted at your bare thigh before moving your fingers away from his shirt, “You don’t think I’m gonna take care of you? What’s got you so riled up, pup?”

You didn’t know how much more you could take. You weren’t in the mood for any teasing and you were running short on time before he needed to leave. You needed to feel that connection with him. To feel him inside of you.

“Dreamed of you and woke up needing you so bad. Please…” You reached for him again as Harry was undoing his buttons. He leaned back away from your grasp and stood up to disrobe himself before pulling your panties down your legs.

“A dream?” He asked as he shoved you into the bed so your head landed on your pillows and he settled in between your legs, pushing at your soft thighs, “Tell me about it. What happened in your dream?”

You groaned and pouted, “Please… please fuck me, Harry!”

Harry held your wrists down as you attempted to grab at him again, “Ah, ah, ah… tell me what your dream was and then I’ll fuck you.”

You huffed and let out a grunt of disappointment before looking at him directly to tell him quickly what he wanted to know. You just needed him to hurry up and put himself inside of you, “You were fucking me. Really hard and I woke up before I could come.”

“Mmm… yeah? And what position were in you? How was I fucking you, puppy?”

“At first you were soft and on top of me but then you flipped me to my tummy and spanked me and entered me while my tummy was flat on the bed and you held me down and just… it was really hard and fast and my face was stuffed into the blankets and then I woke up.”

“That sounds yummy. Should we reenact that?” Harry slid his cockhead through your labia, the wetness coating him.

You nodded, “Anything. Just… please.”

Thrusting in shallowly, you moaned and bucked your hips upward to push him in deeper. You were getting impatient. Needed to be filled to the brim right then.

“Woah, there. Slow down, pup. I know you want me to just fuck you til your dumb with no thoughts in that little head of yours but I want to savor this. Love feeling the way you open for me,” Harry spoke softly but with a bit of a condescending bite, his fingers grasping onto your thighs, “Feel me, honey. Just feel the way my cock pushes into you,” he began to push in deeper, “Feel how hard you make me and how your muscles expand around me. How good it is, baby.”

You put an arm over your eyes and did just that. Let him slowly push his way into you, his thick crown intruding and pushing your insides apart. Stretching. He always did it the way he wanted. Which meant teasing and edging and going in slow at first.

But what you wanted wasn’t exactly something slow and teasing. You let out a sob and jutted your bottom lip out, arm still over your eyes.

You heard Harry chuckle as he grasped your wrist and moved your arm away from your face, “Let me see your face, puppy. Those pretty eyes of yours keep me going when I’m not with you. Need to see them so I can think of you later just like this.”

You loved it. Loved the way he talked to you and how he made you feel. When he was with you, you felt like you were his number one. Of course, when he wasn’t with you, you had your doubts. But in that moment you believed him and looked into his eyes so he could have what he wanted.

“Good girl. Fuck… That feels fucking incredible, doesn’t it? Made for me.” Harry rocked into you with one final plunge, dipping his tip into your cervix and making you squeal like he loved.

“See? Gonna give you what you want. Always do.”

You cooed in relief once he began to drive into you in long, wet strokes. His pubic hair was gradually getting wetter as he bottomed out over and over again.

He started off slow. Just like your dream. The way he rolled his hips into you and dipped into you so deep it ached and made you suck in sharp breaths at each poke.

“Feel good, puppy? This what you needed?”

You softly moaned and nodded, “More too. Want more. Please…”

Harry’s cock was certainly feeling that delicious squeeze you gave him. Goosebumps covered his thighs as he thrusted deep and he keened at the slick warmth of your cunt.

“Please!” You yelped when he suddenly rutted into you in one swift drive, knocking into you with a harsh thud.

He smiled as he pulled himself out and gripped onto your hips, flipping you onto your tummy and giving you a handful of healthy swats to your butt cheeks, leaving bruising marks behind before he tilted your hips so he could press himself right back into you. But this time he didn’t go slow. He was going to fuck you the way you dreamt.

He began fucking into you fast and deep and hard. His hips slapped into your bottom and you yelped and whimpered loudly into the blankets. He held your cheeks apart to watch himself driving into you before leaning over your back and holding you down by the back of your neck.

Your bed squeaked and creaked loudly as he plunged into you in punishing strokes. His own gasps and moans getting increasingly louder.

You loved hearing him moan. Harry wasn’t quiet when he fucked you. He often spoke dirty to you but he also gasped and panted and whimpered right along with you. You absolutely loved it.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He groaned loudly as he worked himself into you as quickly as his strong muscles allowed. And Harry was strong. There was never a single question about that. From the first time you slept with him, you realized just how fit and incredibly solid, and powerful he was.

You were rendered completely silent with your mouth wide open and your blankets stuffed into your mouth, your face smushed into the bed as he railed you hard. Your body smacked up and up and up each time his hips struck against your ass. Loud smacks and wet thuds sounded in the room as he split you in two with his big cock.

It was methodical the way he fucked into you. His thighs bulged and began to burn at the way he was working them. But it wasn’t his muscles that couldn’t keep going. His body was strong and he had great stamina. He could continue sinking into you over and over again in this way for hours. No. What was making it hard to continue was that his balls were tightening and he began to feel the climb of his orgasm so he stopped as he caught his breath, his hand still wrapped around the back of your neck as his chest rose and fell.

You felt him stuff your blankets into a ball underneath you, “Rub your clit on this so you can come for me. Then I’m gonna fill you up like you need.”

You felt the stimulation immediately against your wet clit as he started to drive into you again. This time his words were closer as he spoke into your ear and his lips grazed over your neck, “Come f’me puppy. Want you to feel so good when I pour myself into you.”

You whined and gasped as he slicked into you deep. This time his strokes weren’t as fast but they were achingly deep and every time he bottomed out, your hips drove down into the balled-up fabric of the blankets under you, pressing and rubbing your clit into the material.

Divine and complete. That’s how it felt. His dirty words in your ears. His cock in your cunt. Your heart pounding in your chest.

You squeaked as you began to see stars and writhe your hips into the blankets for more friction. You tried to speak but your mouth was covered by your blankets as you began to pulse around him, the heat covered your back and your bum as you gushed onto the fabric of your blankets.

Harry coughed a loud groan and slid into you slowly as he felt you coming. He gasped when he finally began to come and leak into you, “Gonna put a baby in there, yeah? Fuck! Pussy needs to be bred…” he groaned his words and then stilled his hips, keeping them flush against your bottom as he drained himself into you, throbbing and pumping and twitching so hard you could feel every delicious spurt.

You sighed as you felt your whole body tingle. Harry was shivering with the way your pussy milked him like no one else could and when he collapsed over your back you felt him stuff his arms under your torso and hold you tight. His breath fell over your neck, hot and sticky.

You loved it. Loved every bit of what he gave you. Loved having him connected to you, keeping himself tucked inside of you until you both calmed and could breathe again.

When you felt his lips warm over your skin and down to your shoulder you turned your head so your mouth was clear of your blankets, “You always fuck me so good.” Was all you could get out of your mouth.

Harry chuckled and you felt him move off of you and then roll you to your side as he plopped down next to you, his hands on your hip, “S’that what you needed?”

You grinned and nodded at him, sliding your palm up his chest and relishing the feel of his warm skin and hair under your palm.

It was always soft and sweet after sex. He took care of you. Cuddled with you. Told you how good you were and how you were his favorite girl and how pretty and sweet and smart you were. You were spoiled with the way he cleaned you up and kissed your hot skin and brushed his fingers over your curves and looked into your eyes with that gentle longing that you knew meant his words were real. And that his feelings went beyond those words.

“I wanted to talk to you about something that’s been on my mind a bit.” He said as he buttoned up his shirt and you slid on a pair of shorts.

“Okay. What about?” You didn’t like his sudden serious tone. The change of subject. It sounded serious.

“Come sit down with me.”

You gulped nervously and felt lightheaded. You couldn’t imagine what he’d want to talk about with you that warranted a sit-down.

You sat next to him on your couch and fiddled with the bottom hem of your shirt as you kept your eyes on his.

He appeared nervous too. Or uncomfortable at the very least. Part of you thought maybe he’d want to connect your little toy to his phone but that hadn’t come up yet.

“I feel like what we’re doing is really great, for me and you. When we’re together it’s amazing. I really like you a lot. And I don’t want you to start resenting me or feeling upset that this isn’t a traditional relationship,” he paused and watched you for a moment before continuing. “And thought it might be good if you wanted to like,” he reached behind himself and scratched the back of his neck before breaking eye contact with you, “date someone else.”

You sat in stunned silence. Date someone else? It felt like a slap in the face after that shag you’d just had.

“What? Harry, are you breaking up with me?” He still wasn’t looking at you in the eyes.

“No. Of course not,” then he turned his gaze back to you finally, “I just think it’s not fair, our situation. I’m married and you’re… well…” he inhaled deeply and licked his lips, “You should see other people. Don’t you think?”

You shook your head and stood up from the couch to pace. You were beginning to feel angry, “So what about us? If I start to see someone else that’s it? No more of this?”

Harry stood up and stepped in front of you and took your hands in his, “I would hope you and I could continue seeing each other like this. But I just want you to feel like your life is going in the right direction. That you can date and be with someone else. I want this to be an equal relationship. Does that make sense?” You shook your head again, “Why would I want to see anyone else, Harry? I don’t want anyone else. Just you.” You tried to fight the tears that were filling your eyes and making your sight blurry but you knew the moment you blinked there would be salty wets streak down your cheeks.

“I know puppy, but I’m married and it’s not fair for you. I think it would be good, you know?”

You scoffed, pulling your hands from his and crossing your arms over your chest, “Don’t call me puppy. That’s not fair.”

He sighed and nodded, “Sorry, Y/n.”

You looked back into his eyes and all you could see was a man you wanted all to yourself. But you knew that wasn’t going to ever happen. But that didn’t mean you wanted to fuck anyone else.

“You’re right. Our relationship has never been even. You have a wife and a happy life. I get your leftovers. But fuck you for thinking that me dating someone else will make you feel better or something. I’m too far gone for that, Harry.”

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like it’s for my benefit. I just want you–“

“Oh I heard you. So you want me to fuck other guys? Go on dates and find happiness with someone that I can actually be with? Meanwhile I’m still fucking you in secret so then not only would you be lying and cheating, I would be too. Then we’d be even right? You wouldn’t have as much guilt.”

Harry shook his head and ran his hands over his face, “No, pup–“

“Don’t!” You pointed at him as your felt the tears drip off your chin, “Don’t call me puppy. Not now. I know what this is. I’m not dumb you fucker.”

You turned to walk toward your kitchen. You need a glass of water. Something to cool you off and get your head level. This news was not something you ever wanted to hear from him. It just meant what you already knew. That he was never going to be yours to have. That this was always only a secret affair. A dirty thing to hide from everyone.

Harry followed you into your kitchen and sighed as he watched you get a glass down from your cupboard with shaky hands. You were trembling so hard he was worried you were going to drop the glass. He hadn’t meant to upset you. He thought it would a way for you to have a life outside of just him. Not that he wanted that. Fuck no he didn’t want anyone else near you. Wanted you to himself but he figured that wasn’t fair of him. He intended for it to be a kind gesture of selflessness but listening to your response had him rethinking that notion.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was right behind you as he helped you grasp your glass and bring it down to the counter. You felt his hand on the back of your hip and his chest press into your back, “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that at all. It was not my intention to hurt you, Y/n. I just don’t want to be selfish with you. Hate the thought of anyone else touching you but that’s not fair of me.”

His arms wrapped around your front and he squeezed. You closed your eyes and sniffed, keeping your hands down on the countertop. You were still angry at him.

“Do you understand how I feel about you? I don’t think you do?” He spoke quietly into your ear.

You shook your head in response.

Harry moved and turned you around to face him as he tilted your chin up, “Please look at me.”

Reluctantly you opened your teary eyes and did as he said.

“You’re so so special to me. I know what we’re doing is wrong but it’s not just sex with you. Not for me. I’m not just using you because your cute and fun. I like you a lot, Y/n. More than I should. You’re all I think about these days. I just don’t want you to ever regret our time together. Want you to live a normal life outside of this,” he gestured between you two. “I don’t want to lose what we have but I want you to explore something else. Ya know? Because while I’m at home at night with my wife you’re here alone and I don’t want you to feel like you resent me for keeping you all to myself. If you don’t want to see anyone else that’s your choice. I just want you to know I’ll still feel the same way about you if you do. It’s an option.”

His thumb moved along your jaw in the most tender way and you couldn’t stop the tears from pouring. You didn’t want anyone but him. And you didn’t want him to have anyone but you. If you could you’d have the whole world burn to ash except for a small island in the middle of the ocean where you and Harry could live together forever without anyone else. That’s how bad you had it for him. To invite another person into that felt like a rip to your heart. It would shred your soul in half if you kissed anyone else.

“Harry… I don’t know how to tell you how I feel about us without sounding like I’m,” you hiccupped and wiped your face, “obsessed or crazy… but I just can’t. I can’t be with anyone else. That would tear me apart. I can’t do that.”

Harry pulled you into his chest and held you tight, “You don’t have to, Y/n. I just want you to know you can. If you ever met someone. I don’t want you to but I can’t be selfish with you the way I have been.”

You understood it. But you hated it. And you were still angry. Maybe you weren’t angry at him. Maybe you were, you couldn’t tell. But you were upset and you knew that you’d never wind up happy with him like you fantasized about.

You pushed yourself back and looked up at him, “Okay. I get it. Fine.”

Harry looked sad. Defeated at your words as he blinked his own tears away.

“Are we okay, Y/n?”

You shook your head and scoffed a laugh, “I guess we’re never gonna be okay are we, Harry?”

Harry furrowed his brows. He was upset. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you and I… we don’t get to be together. Not really. Because that’s all this is. It’s just a lie. So I should see someone else. Find myself a man I can be with openly. Like you want.”

He gulped hard and opened his mouth but nothing came out. He didn’t know what to say. How to respond. He knew you were hurt. You needed time to calm down and come to terms with it all.

And you wanted him to take it back. Wanted him to change his mind and tell you that he didn’t want you with anyone and he was dumb for suggesting it and that you were only allowed to be his. But he didn’t. Instead, he just looked sad.

“Well, I need to start getting ready for work. I’ve got some things to do. You should go.”

Harry backed away from you as he blinked his eyes. He really really hadn’t meant for it to go this way.

“Should we look at that toy before I go?” He cringed, immediately regretting saying it. Bringing it up. God, he was such a fucking dumbass at times. He was so thrown off by the way you responded and his whole day was going to be spent regretting this entire visit. He should have had the talk before you two had sex. Or maybe he should have never said it to begin with. He thought what he was doing by telling you was a good thing. Maybe it hadn’t been.

You laughed loudly and walked out of your kitchen quickly. Harry followed close behind you as you went into your bedroom and plucked the box up from the floor next to your bed. You shoved it into his chest, “It’s yours. You can take it back or use it on your wife or something. Don’t waste it on your side piece.”

“Hey, Y/n. Come on. Don’t do this…” he followed you into your living room where you picked up his cell phone, wallet, and keys handing them to him, “Do you need a bag? Probably don’t want to walk outside carrying a remote sex toy do you.”

He watched you, stunned as you went into your kitchen and dug out a plastic shopping bag for him, “There. Now you can go.”

“Y/n. Baby…”

“Don’t fucking call me baby or puppy or anything. Leave. Please. I need to be alone.”

You wanted to break down so bad. Needed him gone so you could just unravel and crumble in peace.

Harry stuck the box into the plastic bag and you watched as tears fell from his lash line down his cheeks. You didn’t want to make him cry. It sucked that you still wanted him happy above all else even in your own misery. But you needed to cry and scream and break something so you needed him gone.

You opened your door and looked down at the knob as you waited for him to leave. He paused next to you and placed a hand on your shoulder, “Y/n, I’m sorry. Please…”

Shaking your head you couldn’t hold it in anymore. You began to sob and suck in sharp breaths, “Just Go, Harry.”

It was the worst moment of your life maybe. Probably. You pushed the man you were smitten with, the one you were sure you’d fallen completely head over heels for, out your door as his own heart broke right in front of you and tears welled in his eyes.

But you couldn’t watch it. Couldn’t bear to see him breaking down or crying. Because you knew he was already hurting. You saw the look on his face. You knew he was suggesting something with only the best intentions for you but it hurt. There was no good thing that could come from you and Harry being together. That was clear.

Months of having fun with him and getting to know him in a way you never thought you would. Learning what real intimacy looks and feels like. Finding yourself drawn to him. You’d formed a bond, the two of you. Trust and respect and comfort. But it was all a lie.

Now you needed to grow up and stop playing around. If you didn’t put an end to it now the hurt you’d feel later down the line would completely destroy you if it hadn’t already.

It wasn’t fair. But perhaps Harry was right.

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unoislazy · 4 months

Text

Jealous Mizu Headcanons

Disclaimer: A tad bit of NSFW is included in this so be warned

A/N: again, i apologize for not getting anything super extensive out. I thank you all for being so patient and so sweet!!

————————————————————

Mizu’s not the type to be outwardly jealous.

She’ll get jealous but she won't say much about it, she’ll just let it fester inside her quietly until it gets to be too much and she needs an outlet.

More often than not that outlet is fighting (more on that later)

She would never think to label you as “hers”, you’re not an object that she can possess.

However, when it comes to other people being around you, she finds it very tempting to start.

Before either of you confessed, you had already made up a plan to act like you were a couple to avoid unwanted stares from men and women alike.

Turns out Mizu enjoyed that much more than she thought she would.

God help the person that decides to flirt with you while she's around

If that person happened to be Taigen? Forget the duel that man's dying TONIGHT

Mizu of course would recognize that you’re your own person and you can choose to be with whoever you want… but the thought of you choosing TAIGEN of all people is not a thought that would allow her to sleep well at night.

She would claim its for no other reason than she thinks you deserve better than a man who abandoned his engagement for honor

She wouldn’t be wrong but you wouldn’t have even been interested in Taigen in the first place so her coming up with all these reasons why you shouldn’t choose him would just be outing herself.

She refuses to come to terms with the fact that she feels jealous about anything

She would be deep in denial for as long as she could manage until someone finally calls her out on it.

Her jealousy causes her to become a tad bit possessive

She’s not the most secure person in the world when it comes to relationships no matter how hard she pretends to be

She would go above and beyond to try and make sure no one was going to try and lure you away from her.

NSFW Headcanons

(Pretty vague in favor of remaining gender neutral)

Remember how I said “More often than not that outlet is fighting”

Well the alternative to that involves you

It would be less about being possessive over you and instead it would be her way of proving to you she can give you more pleasure than anyone else

And she would without a doubt prove that successfully

She might not be incredibly experienced but you wouldn't have been able to tell that by the way she treated you

Despite her feelings she would actually be extremely gentle with you

It’s not your fault she's mad that other people also find you attractive, so she’d have no reason to be angry with you.

Which means praise. Lots and lots of praise

Constantly reminding you how pretty/handsome you look while beneath her

What, you thought she wasn’t going to pin you down? That’s like her signature move at this point, she’s GOING to be on top.

She would take an opportunity handed to her to tease you and usually that meant one of two things

She teased you with compliments

Or she teased you by stopping what she’s doing all together and having you beg for her to continue

Just cause she’s not mad at you doesn’t mean she can’t mess with you a little

Considering before this point she wouldn’t have been so open about her feelings you would’ve been taken by surprise

She would find it incredibly entertaining if you got embarrassed by all the sudden attention she started giving you

As rough as she deals with things in her everyday life I think she’d be a service dom honestly, in this specific instance at least.

She wants you and she wants you to know that.

She wants to sear it into your brain so any time you even so much as look at someone else all you’d get is a flashback to how good you felt with her.

She would not let you do anything for her, she wants to focus on you and only you

She would just enjoy knowing she was making you feel good and that’s all she’d need

If you tried keeping quiet, she would persuade you into letting go, she wants other people to know that she was the one making you feel good

Needless to say if Taigen had attempted to flirt with you before, he definitely knew not to now.

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sparkrls · 2 months

Text

delayed proposal

MASTERLIST

Summary: in which Harry’s got a few secrets up his sleeve and Y/N just wants to know if he’s going to propose

Author’s Note: this is the blurb i was talking about with bandmates!harry x y/n. remember to like and reblog because i crave validation. love ya <3

Word Count: 1.1k

•••

“Are you going to propose soon?” Was the last question Harry expected to be uttered out of Y/N’s bright pink lips.

It was just another Sunday night, the couple trying to enjoy those last fleeting moments of weekend relaxation before Monday arrived with the usual burden and obligations of being working adults.

In little less than 12 hours, Y/N would be back to her 9-5 job being an assistant to a high-class executive of a finance company. Her boss had too much authority for being so irresponsible and more money than anyone would need in a lifetime. What a luxury it must be to have your dad pass down a company you didn’t know how to run down to you.

Her boss wasn’t a horrible person, he was quite respectful and kind when asking her to do tasks, he was just a very exploitative executive. He had learned from his father to be unbending and demanding.

Y/N’s work paid a good wage, enough for her to pay her bills and still have a bit left. She wasn’t one to buy luxuries, though, preferring to save money up so she could one day quit her 9-5. And then dedicate herself to the things she did every day after work: picked up her red electric guitar, adorned a black skirt that bordered on too short, and perform for (currently small) crowds of people who cheered her band on as they played.

There wasn’t anything Y/N loved quite as much as the rush of being on stage, the bass making the stage shake with each loud thrum, sticks clashing with plates of a drum and the velvet voice of an angel, Harry singing through the microphone and his eyes on her and her fingers moving over the fret of the guitar.

They played small clubs and rundown bars, getting payed a poor wage for the extrenous effort used to get four adults with full time jobs to align their schedules in order to rehearse. Sometimes all they got were free drinks, but they took what they could get and did it for the love of it.

That was how they got here, on Harry’s couch, his arm draped around her shoulders, and her head on his chest. They were watching Bluey, the way they did most nights they spent together. He would always roll his eyes when Y/N suggested it, pretending to hate it, but she knew it was his favorite show, and he always cried at the emotional episodes.

Their instruments lay forgotten on the table, his blue guitar next to her red one, as they’d spent most of the afternoon drinking beer and writing a new song.

It was a question that had been lingering in the back of Y/N’s mind, and she wasn’t quite sure why she chose that moment to blurt it out, but she did. “Are you going to propose soon?”

Harry’s gaze turned to her, eyebrows raised in light surprise, a small breath exhaled between his lips in a faint chuckle. “What?”

It was too late to take it back, so Y/N sat up and told him, “You’ve always talked about wanting to settle down and get married.” His features remained in small confusion. “We’ve been together for a while. Are you going to marry me?”

“Well, of course I’m going to marry you,” Harry said, like it were some scientific fact that everyone knew and was unchangeable. “You’re my forever, baby. I’ve written about a hundred songs about it.” His lips turned up in a smile. That smile he wore every time he told her he loved her, with a cocky and smug edge as if he were teasing her, laced with affection.

“I don’t mean we have to get married this instant, but I just, I guess we’ve never talked about if we were getting engaged or when and I-“

“Baby,” Harry cut off her nervous rambling, chuckling. He kissed her, soft lips with cracked edges from the cold and dry weather. “I already know what ring I’m going to buy. I’m just saving up for it.”

Y/N’s mind blanked for a moment. “You’re already thinking about rings?” Her lips parted in surprise.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, silly girl. You’re not the only one thinking about marriage.” He smiled at her, reassuring her that he was just teasing. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

“Oh,” Y/N said, still in shock. Here she was, getting all nervous and insecure about marriage and he had already been planning to propose. Her question now seemed a bit foolish. She looked up at him and said, “You know I don’t need some needlessly expensive ring, right? You could buy it on Aliexpress and I couldn’t care less.”

Harry looked at her with slight amusement. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N said with a small nod. “It’s stupid to spend money on a ring when it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Harry sighed. “Baby, it’s not about the ring being expensive. It’s about the ring being a symbol for my devotion to you. And I want my devotion to be apparent in the beauty of it.” He tapped the finger on her left hand where the ring would lay. “No, I don’t have to spend money on an expensive ring. That’s why I’m not just getting a huge diamond. I’m getting something you’ll love.”

“But it’s expensive and it’s a waste of money on a simple ring-“

“Is it just a ring? Or is it a symbol of matrimony, of us being together forever?” Harry said gently, correcting her statement. “Not to mention you’re going to be wearing that ring every day ‘till you die.”

Y/N made a sound of contradiction. “Unless we get a divorce.”

Harry stared at her blankly for a few moments. He deadpanned, “Not funny.”

“Kinda funny,” Y/N said with a small smile.

She waited for Harry’s stern gaze to soften with adoration the way it always did. It only took a few moments for his composure to crumble and he leaned in close to her. His nose grazed against hers as he muttered quietly, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

The way he said it sounded like a declaration of love. Everything he said to her did. Because his love could never be called in to doubt. It shone through every word he uttered, every song he wrote, every thing he did.

His lips locked onto hers once again, the tension in his muscles melting away as if all he needed to feel complete was to be pressed against her. To have every inch of skin surrounding her, the taste of beer still on her tongue, and the scent of spring enveloping his senses.

“I’m going to marry you,” Harry uttered, an oath murmured against her lips before placing a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close once again.

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cherryjuiceblues · 2 months

Text

𝐘/𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒

➯ A VANILLA LIME EXTRA. ✰ demon!harry valentine’s day fluff. sexual content. mild degradation. mocking and teasing. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 3.4k ッ vanilla lime masterlist

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Y/N blinks in a way that she can only assume demonstrates befuddlement. She turns around half-expecting Harry to shove something less than pleasant in her direction. Flick her nose or smack her arse. But he stands rather sheepishly before her, hand hidden behind his back and a hint of a redness spattered around his cheeks despite the harsh line of his mouth.

She frowns, “What’s this? What did you say?”

“It’s February 14th,” he states, surveying Y/N as if to make sure she reacts in a way that doesn’t catch him off guard. When she raises his eyebrows, silently expectant that he explain himself, Harry presents the object behind his back. He’d procured it only minutes before.

“It’s—”

“—a bouquet.”

Y/N bites her lip to curb a teasing smile—although she feels the pleasant warmth filling her chest unreservedly—stopping herself from saying I can see that. “Starting to like these human holidays, huh?” reaching for the flowers without hesitation, quick to melt in front of him contrary to the front she likes to display.

He plays dumb. “Holiday? Is a holiday obligatory to be able to give your girlfriend flowers?” He slings a cocky arm around her shoulder, now that his offering has been met with obvious tenderness, and presses a kiss into the side of her head. “Something about this Valentine’s made me want to celebrate it… can’t think what.”

A giddy giggle bubbles from Y/N’s throat, “Okay, softie,” she smiles, only slightly startled by the realisation that— “I didn’t get you anything,” looking up at him with apologetic eyes widened in adoration.

“Oh, well I’ll have these back then.” Harry’s paws hardly have to uncurl to make space for the stems, blindly reaching from over the curve of her shoulder.

“Ah! No!” Y/N shrieks, pulling them away from his thieving fingers. Her body is no match for the strength of his but she tries her hardest. “They’re mine now, you can’t have them back.”

“I could kill them,” his eyes darken around the edges as he threatens to curl the edges of the petals and turn them a sorry wilted colour.

“You wouldn’t dare.” And she’s right. No, he wouldn’t.

Their morning is no different to any other—aside from the blooming petals decorating Y/N’s kitchen table, and she’s certain Harry keeps leaving new flowers inside the vase. She’s half worried she’ll blink for a moment and her entire bedroom will be filled with an assortment of foliage; she’d be able to open a garden centre from the comfort of her own home.

Harry has seemed a little softer lately but Y/N would never say anything—worried he might amp up the bullying in an embarrassed retaliation. It’s not as if she doesn’t love the way he plays with her, but it is undeniable that seeing her demon becoming sappy and fuzzy around the edges makes her heart all mushy just the same.

It makes her think back to a different time—when she pretended to hate the way he made her feel, and Harry relished in the grumpy outbursts he elicited. It’s why when he asks her, “Is there anything you want to do today?” that Y/N thinks—yes, yes there is.

“Can we— I was wondering…” It’s not scary to ask but…

A smile tugs at the corner of the demon’s lips, “Mhm…”

Only through fear of embarrassment does she stutter, “Would you like to… I don’t know— I was just kind of thinking it might be nice to go and see the cottage.”

Harry tilts his head for a moment, like a patiently awaiting dog that’s heard their owner ask them if they want a treat. And once it registers, he doesn’t react the way Y/N expects. He frowns, trips over his own words like he’s sure he’s misheard her. “Are you— Really?”

“What? Is that bad?”

“It’s just— well, no. I’d have thought that place would haunt your nightmares or something.”

Oh. That’s… that’s unexpectedly thoughtful and overwhelmingly distressing all at once. “You really think that?” Did he? Was it a regular worry of his? Does he look back upon a moment in time that Y/N cherishes but see it through glasses tinted with the overcast of a grey sky.

“I don’t know… maybe.”

Y/N’s eyebrows dip slightly—sadly, “Oh, Harry—”

He cuts her off before those pitiful eyes pierce through the skin over his chest, “—Okay, Bambi.”

But she’s determined now—to make new memories and relive old ones. “I love that little cottage. Can we go back? Only if you want to.”

“Of course, I want to. I want what you want.”

The saccharine timbre of his voice soaks into the flesh of her cheeks—warm and buzzing—and it’s hard not to bite her lip as she starts to get excited. “So we can go?”

Harry smooths a palm over the top of her head, mussing the hair there just so he can watch her fix it, mumbling out a soft, “Yeah, we can go, sweetheart.”

It’s like nothing has changed.

Y/N and Harry appear at the doorstep and it’s as if the cottage has been sealed inside a bubble—unaffected by the hands of time. She supposes it is entirely possible that time does move differently here; it is glistening with magic after all.

She can see the ghost of herself storming off, tripping over a rogue root and being cushioned by the wrap of Harry’s body. She can see the side of the cottage peeking out, its pathway yearning for footfalls, the lake rippling underneath the canopy of the magical willow tree and the memory of their first kiss emanates a glow. A sense of calm washes over her—her home away from home—a part of herself connected to this place in the same way she is to Harry.

As soon as her counterpart opens the door, Y/N is barging her way inside, desperate to see that everything on the interior is just the same as the exterior. It’s like falling headfirst into a memory, and once she’s given a head start, her feet carry her away in a rushed and giddy sprint. Harry doesn’t use any magic, he follows her slowly, lets her run whilst he calmly walks, and still makes it to the bedroom only a few seconds after she’s arrived.

He watches with an amused smile as Y/N jumps onto the bed, Harry’s bed—the one he’d slept in when they’d stayed here all that time ago. Watches as she inhales less than subtly and nuzzles her face into the sheets when she happily finds that they still smell of him. He watches but not for long because his automatic reaction is to gravitate towards her, climb up onto the end of the bed and flatten his body out on top of hers.

She lets out a girlish grunt from the weight, squawking in a pitchy cacophony, “Urgh! Heavy.”

A mere grumble is all she is returned with—full of fake disdain as he lets his limbs relax—“Don’t hurt my feelings.”

“No, no, ‘m not. Heavy and strong. Big and strong.”

They can feel each other’s ribs expanding with each breath; Y/N’s lagging some with the weight but not enough to warrant disrupting the sudden peace.

“Good.”

A silence falls upon them, only occasionally interrupted by inane thoughts spoken aloud. Y/N thinks she can somehow push herself further into the mattress when she sighs out, “Love this bed.”

And Harry, sleepy but not quite as much as her—demonstrated so brazenly as he quirks a smile into Y/N’s hair. “Yeah? Love the way I fucked you in it.”

There’s something so dry and cut-throat about the way drowsiness makes her sound, “You didn’t even stick it in.”

Admonished, Harry snorts, “Stick it in? Where is your decorum, Bambi? We should change that, hm?”

“Later,” she sighs, indeed melting further into the bed with a dreamy noise.

Harry kisses her cheek, shifting his weight off of her so that he can tug her body into his side instead. “Y’tired?”

“A little. I wanted to do something though.”

“What’s that?”

“S’ a surprise,” words slurring—tangling together in the haze of her dwindling consciousness.

They sleep for a while—thirty minutes, an hour, maybe—Y/N loses track of the time in this place but it’s never been less of a problem. Everything is the way it is meant to be when they’re here. And when the pair uncurl from around one another Y/N mewls in delight as the memory of their destination washes over her once more. It fuels her with bubbling energy, body twitching to burn it off but Harry doesn’t release her waist the way she hopes for—his sleepy brain unguarded in its blatant likeness to someone’s old, grumpy cat that hisses in distaste if ever awoken.

Y/N tries to slip out from beneath his ironclad grasp but she’s met with a grumble, low like the distant hum of an engine. “Let me out.” It’s a meek request—not the most persuasive she’s ever sounded in her life—almost as if… perhaps… she doesn’t really want to leave the warmth of Harry’s body and the smell of his soft clothes.

“Stop talking.”

“Come to the kitchen with me.” Her voice whispers like they’re not the only two people to be existing for miles upon miles.

And that’s how she lures him into baking an attempt at coquettishly shaped cookies—hearts (that Harry is less than impressed with, “Not even your heart is shaped like that, Bambi.”) and bows, flowers and bunnies—with a palette of pinks to smother their tops in. Y/N is so delighted in her mischief, watching Harry like a hawk to gauge his miffed reactions, although deep down, both of them are aware of a level of playful annoyance. Their penchant for getting on each other’s nerves only fuels the gears of their affections for one another.

“I could just… y’know, give you some cookies—we don’t need to go through the whole process.”

Y/N thinks he’s just grumpy for the sake of it—grumpy and old. Like a cat. “That defeats the whole point, Harry. It’s fun! Aren’t you having fun with me?” She widens her eyes, purposefully big to tug on those demonic heartstrings of his.

He only frowns, nose crinkling ever so slightly to indicate he sees right through her. But whether he does or not never makes much of a difference. “Yeah, no. Of course. Of course, I’m having fun,” he raps his knuckles on the table impatiently, “I love…” drumming out an annoying rhythm, “...spending my finite time on this planet waiting for tiny, wee biscuits to bake that’ll take me five seconds to inhale.”

He thinks it’s funny because he’s immortal. Y/N doesn’t laugh. “You’re such an old fart, oh my god.”

Harry hums, unperturbed by the slight mockery she makes of him as he slinks his arms around her middle and mumbles into her neck, “A certain little human lady is teaching me bad habits.”

“What does Mr. Impatient want to do whilst we wait?”

“I can think of something…” fingers teasing at the bottom of her soft cotton t-shirt, slender digits dancing along the line of skin he discovers.

“Of course you can,” she rolls her eyes to herself, trying to dampen the smile that dictates the shape of her mouth. “That’s for later, Harry.”

“Huh?” She’s inclined to believe that he’s drunk on her already—from a brush against her midriff. His warm body presses against her back and Y/N is nearly convinced to lean into his embrace and encourage his hands to explore across her front.

“You can’t seduce me.”

“Think that’s what I’m doing right now.”

“I won’t let these cookies burn because of you.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere—you can keep an eye on them the whole time… I don’t need to take your clothes off to make you cum.”

He nearly gets her. So very nearly. Made obvious by the lag in her reply and the catch of her breath that only someone like Harry could possibly hear. But Y/N wins for now, painfully stubborn as she pushes her head back to lean on his shoulder whilst simultaneously denying him. “No, you can wait.”

Harry makes sure she pays for her questionable prioritisation.

“You made me wait. Now it’s your turn, isn’t it?” His lips curve upwards into a satisfied grin as he undresses her—after a gently firm shove to push her to the bed—cruel to do as such whilst he promises not to touch her. “Oh? What’s this? Got all dressed up for me, did you?”

“No,” she grumbles. “S’for my other boyfriend.” The white lace shudders against her ribs as Y/N exhales shortly; the air punched from her lungs as Harry traces the pads of his fingertips along each bump. She resists squirming.

“Mm, that is such a shame. He won’t get to see it,” Harry juts his bottom lip out in a condescending pout. “But seeing as I’m here to admire… let’s make a few changes, shall we?” Y/N has no time to agree or disagree—to even ponder upon the question for a moment before the colour of her skimpy lingerie transforms before her eyes.

Angelic white swirls into midnight black, blossoming from the centre of her chest and swirling outwards to swallow all traces of innocence. Y/N lets out an astonished gasp—never quite expectant of Harry’s free use of magic. It seems her innately human vessel will never grasp the ease in which he procures objects, feelings—moods and senses alike.

“I liked the white,” she huffs, unable to appropriately convey her frustrations when she knows, really, that nothing Harry does is irreversible. Everything is impermanent when you can wield magic. Well… nearly everything.

“Something darker… is a little more fitting, don’t you think?”

Y/N didn’t assume that this Valentine’s would necessarily end in a passionate romp between her and Harry—she knows that the holiday is sort of an excuse for partners to have sex but… they’ve never needed one before. However, had it been playing on her mind, she’s not sure she would’ve had edging on the cards for this romantic date.

No one is to blame but Y/N for being so careless in her thought process—because it’s Harry. And Harry is cruel—cruel yet sentimental in the strangest of ways.

“You remember what happened in this bed, don’t you, Bambi?”

Yes. Yes, she remembers all too well. How could a person ever possibly forget such a night? He tortured her. It was blissful delirium.

She’d tried to beg, she really had, hoping that maybe a surrender may win him over but—no matter how much his sharp edges have become smooth curves—he is still a demon, and the prospect of squeezing tears from the corners of her eyes was too much to surpass.

That was nearly an hour ago, and Y/N is at her breaking point.

“Listen. Listen to me. Hands—” he shoves them roughly above her head, “—up.” Y/N doesn’t want to listen to him. Harry has been all lewd strokes and overexaggerated groans for at least fifteen minutes… his fingers coated in the remnants of her arousal—and her resolve is weak. She wants to touch him; caress the ruddy head that beads with precum, that slicks down his shaft and makes him shine. Her mouth waters for it and her arms struggle to stretch out. “Yeah—yeah, keep trying, keep trying baby. You’re so fucking crazy for it. Such a desperate little thing, hm?”

Frustration bubbles in her throat, sliced in half by a whimper—pathetic and needy. “Not again, don’t do this again, Harry.” Her cunt pulsates, the gusset of her newly dyed panties soaked through. He hasn’t even ghosted a breath over her warmth. She throbs with the memory of the first time he’d done this—made her cum with a few thuds and glides against her clit. He would be evil to do that again.

Harry twists his wrist on every stroke, humming out a feigned agreement, “Okay, alright. What should I do instead?” Y/N knows it matters little what she says, but she doesn’t even part her lips before he continues squeezing himself to the sound of his own voice.

“You want me to touch that pretty pussy, do you?” Y/N nods anyway—despite everything. Harry pouts, “Oh, why’s that? S’all achy?”

“Please, Harry,” her words topple out in a sigh. She doesn’t want to whine, she wants to hold out and appear completely unaffected by everything that he does but— “Please?”

“My girl’s all helpless f’me. Helpless and wet, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah,” she’s reduced to a whisper as Harry leans down, crowding her space with his broad body. The promise of his silky skin hangs above her, imprisoned in the palm of his hand. Her eyes trail down his front unashamedly, silently wanting.

He smothers her lips with his own and they taste like sugar. Sugary sweet from the cookies he’d moaned lavishly over; only half a performance, the other half satisfied to have waited for them to bake after all.

But now, Harry doesn’t think of confectionery—not in any sort of edible form anyway. Or in the traditional sense, at least. Right now, Harry licks all the flavour from Y/N’s mouth. He’s messy and he’s unhurried, sliding a palm up to curl around her patiently awaiting hands—locked up in her own embrace above her head. Their digits entwine with one another and all lingering thoughts, had there been any to begin with, just drift away.

Y/N barely registers the rip between her thighs as Harry tears at the seams of her underwear without even a hitch of his motions. Her gasp is delayed—only permitted when the demon pulls back an inch to allow her a short inhale—and then all she can do is whine into his mouth as the familiar teasing pressure buds at her entrance.

It’s unlike Harry not to draw out every drag and watch the sensitivity wash over Y/N’s face. It’s unlike him but Y/N can’t say she dislikes the snap of his hips against hers and the force in which his body nudges her up the bed. Sounds are forced from her lungs like angry fists to a punching bag, eyes wide open and tied to the magnetism of Harry’s own—a mirror image of two mouths dropped open in dumb pleasure.

“Cum around me,” he pants through short shuffles to frame his forearms on either side of her head as he cups the top of her scalp in an overwhelming desire to carry the weight of her. “Cum around me, baby. Let me feel you.”

And it’s hardly a chore. Not when her insides were already tightening, teetering on the edge as if waiting for those words of permission, his blessing, his yearning. Eyes roll back and knees jerk, souls reach out to wisp and curl around one another if just for a second, as Y/N pulls Harry along with her and over the edge.

They’re a harmony of ecstasy, a single soul comprised of two vessels—as their blood rushes through their veins and thrums underneath the surface of their warm skin. Harry settles on top of her, nestled snugly inside like there could never possibly be another option. They won’t be finished for the evening; that goes without saying.

He fusses over individual strands of her hair, smoothing them down and silently ridiculing the sweat that misplaced them. Y/N breaths quietly beneath him, eyelids fluttering closed in an unmistakable image of a happy fatigue. She speaks in sleepy murmurs, lips heavy to move but she tries her best. “You know you don’t have to celebrate human holidays just for me, right?”

Harry’s hum vibrates through her chest, “I know… but I heard a rumour that they’re not so bad,” he dips down to her ear, making her squeal and tilt her head to try and hide in her neck, “if it means seeing you so happy.”

”You’re such a romantic,” it’s meant to be teasing but as she forces her eyes open, they practically cast out holographic hearts. Y/N won’t admit it but, she’s always wished to redefine Valentine’s day—to spend it with someone who actually matters, who won’t make her resent each year that it comes around, to celebrate each other with tried and true simplicity.

She thinks they’d meet in another life—without all the magic—her and Harry. It’s a feeling so strong when she looks into his eyes, a feeling that makes it feel possible to will things into existence just by dreaming about them hard enough.

And Harry always seems to understand, as if he might be doing the same, as he dips down to whisper into her parted lips, “I spent a long time yearning for a companion like you, my little love. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#harry styles #vanilla lime #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #writing #demonrry #demon!harry

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fanficimagery · 1 year

Text

No Bone Zone

Dustin Henderson has a sister who thinks it's unfair his older friends are so attractive.

Words: 4.8K Author's Note: Stranger Things AU - Lets just pretend that Steve and Carol are still in school, only Steve is the Steve we all know and love, and Carol is still a harpy.

When your father met Claudia Henderson, you had only been two years old.

The story goes that your birth mother had thought she snagged herself the perfect man, but your father had a wandering eye, and she was a very jealous woman. So, when you were born, she left you in his capable hands and took off without a word. Enter Claudia Henderson who then fell for the struggling, single father schtick. She hadn't known what she was getting into when dating your father, but she quickly found out after she fell pregnant. This time it was your father who left, leaving Claudia to fend for herself.

It took a few years to realize you had a little brother, and when you did it took a lot of crying and tantrums to get your father to contact Claudia. He reluctantly told her you wanted to meet your brother, but since the two of you had school, it would have to wait until summer. So, one week out of the summer, Claudia Henderson would keep you in Hawkins so you could get to know your only sibling.

Over the years, you and Dustin kept in contact over the phone when he was old enough to know how to use a phone. You shared your interests with one another, telling each other all about your school experiences. You were more on the popular side of the spectrum, whereas your little brother was a total nerd and very unpopular. He admitted it hurt when other kids picked on him and you apologized for calling him a nerd, but he assured you he didn't mind it when you said it because you said it with affection.

The older you got, the more your father pulled away. Since you were old enough to take care of yourself, he treated you more like a houseguest and less like a daughter. And after one too many arguments with his late-night visitors, you called up Claudia to ask if you could finish your last year of school in Hawkins. She listened to what had been going on and immediately told you to pack your belongings. She and Dustin would make sure the room you normally used for one week out of the year would be ready for you to move into.

Dustin was more than happy to have you go to school with him but was wary of introducing you to his friends since you were on completely different sides of the popular spectrum. You promised he didn't have to do that, and he could go about his days as if you weren't there. You wouldn't hold it against him, but you would still keep an eye on him from afar because that's what big sisters did.

For the first week at Hawkins High, you pasted on a smile and took in your surroundings. You kept your word to Dustin and stayed far, but not too far away. Then when you were comfortable knowing who was who in school, you tried out for the cheer team. It was a no-brainer that the girls voted you onto the team after seeing how quickly you could pick up routines and perform the perfect tumbles, and in no time, you found yourself at the top of the totem pole where you belonged.

Over the weeks you noticed Dustin had two separate groups of friends- one who called themselves the Hellfire Club and another who consisted of a band geek, an ex-king, a creep photographer, an ex-princess and two freshmen females. The Hellfire Club made sense, but the second group was all over the place. You, however, didn't question it and were just glad Dustin had friends who looked out for him.

Unfortunately, your brother's friends consisted mostly of males. There were four females in his social circle, but none of them were as confrontational as you hoped they would be.

So, when you see Carol Perkins purposely bump into your brother and knock his tray from his hand one day, and then cruelly make remarks towards him that have his shoulders raising in embarrassment, you're up and out of your seat. Half the cafeteria had quieted when Dustin's tray clattered to the floor and then the other half quieted when you practically skipped towards the duo, your cheerleader skirt swishing from side to side.

"Hi." You beam at Carol, letting your smile lure her into a false sense of security as you come to a stop next to Dustin. From the corner of your eye, you see his shoulders droop in relief. "We haven't met yet. I'm YN LN," you tell the girl.

"Okay. And..?" Her nose wrinkles as if in distaste and your gaze goes steely.

"And I'm gonna need to apologize to Henderson here," you say. She barks out a laugh, head thrown back in amusement. A few others start to laugh along with her, but a majority smartly remain quiet as you continue to stare her down. Your smile falls and you take a step closer to her, lowering your voice and clasping your hands behind your back. It would do no one any good if you were to strike out at the female bully. "Listen, Carol, I couldn't care less about who you pick on, but you just pulled this stunt on my little brother. Now apologize, publicly, or I will make your life a living hell." The girl's smile slowly vanishes and you see her glance at Dustin a little fearfully. You slowly smirk then. "You see, I pick locks for fun. It'd probably take me a week, give or take a day or two, before I open up that closet of yours and air out all your dirty laundry. You wouldn't want that, would you, Carol?"

"You- you wouldn't."

"Oh, I would. And I'd do it with a smile on my face," you tell her a little too sweetly. When she still makes no move to apologize, you ask, "Who do you think the school's gonna rally behind? The cheerleader that everyone adores or the girl that everyone makes fun of because your middle school sweetheart is railing other girls behind your back?" She gasps and you chuckle darkly. "I might be the new girl but figuring out everyone's dirty little secrets was way too easy in your podunk little town."

Her eyes widen and she takes a few steps back. Glancing at Dustin, she says, "Sorry," before rushing away.

You smile as you watch her go, turning on your heel to follow her and then laugh when she smacks away her boyfriend's hands when he tries to check if she's okay. Then when you realize the cafeteria is still too quiet, you huff. "What?" You feign innocence. "The girl had tummy issues. It's not my fault she had to race to the bathroom."

As some of your peers laugh and the rest go back to what they were doing before Carol interrupted their lunch hour, you look back at Dustin. He's grinning at you, and you roll your eyes while reaching out to ruffle his curls. But before either of you can say anything, someone is clearing their throat.

"New friend, Henderson?" Eddie Munson is grinning behind Dustin, though his guarded gaze tells you he's trying to figure out whether your appearance is with good intentions or you were about to pick on his little sheep as well since he couldn't hear the whole conversation between you and Carol. "I didn't know Hawkins had a decent cheerleader."

"Decent?" You mock gasp, clasping your hands over your heart as if swooning. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Munson." You wink, Eddie gapes, and Dustin groans as he turns so he can see both of you.

"Please don't flirt with my friend."

You chuckle softly. "Then tell you friend to stop being so cute." Eddie's expression flickers from shocked to surprised to smug in about two seconds flat while the rest of the Hellfire table go dead silent in shock. "Now if you boys will excuse me, I got three tires to slash. Carol does not get to pick on my little brother and get away with it."

Eddie hops back a step, smirking and bending slightly at the waist as he sweeps his arm out for you to go.

"Brother?!"

"Since when does Henderson have a goddamn sister?!"

You smirk at the chaos you've just created and Dustin groans yet again. Laughing, you pinch his cheek, but before you can get too far away, Eddie asks, "Wait. Three tires? Why not all four?"

"Because insurance will cover four tires, but not three for some reason." You shrug. "I slash only three and Carol will have to pay out of pocket."

"You're diabolical," Eddie then realizes, smiling wide. "Marry me."

"No. Nope. Not happening." Dustin starts pushing you away and you wiggle your fingers in departure. As you're passing the other table with his second group of friends, you laugh at their surprised expressions. Dustin sighs, stops, and quickly introduces you. "Guys, this is YN. She's my sister." He then shoves you aside. "Now off you go. If you need an alibi, let me know."

"Will do, baby bro." Then raising your voice so those around you can hear, you say, "And if anyone gives you any trouble, come to me. I'll set them straight."

You leave the cafeteria with your fellow peers whispering about the new information you just dropped on them, happy with the chaos you no doubt just created. You expect some to not take a liking to the fact that you're related to someone in the Hellfire Club, but you're more than ready for the backlash.

You're a little surprised that it doesn't take long to be cornered by Jason Carver and his basketball goons, but you surprise them right back by not cowering to his intensity. He calls you a freak lover and a cult member and that you don't deserve to wear the school colors. You laugh in his face, press back into his personal space and tell him the same thing you'd told Carol. You match his intensity and promise all sorts of problems for anyone messing with your brother and his friends.

"You're psycho," he realizes as he watches you go from sweet to angry and back to sweet.

"And don't you forget it," you tell him. "Your final year at Hawkins High can be easy peasy, Carver, so long as you stop being a dick. If I see or even hear about you bullying the Hellfire club, we're gonna have problems." He scoffs and you chuckle. "Don't believe me? Just keep an eye on Carol Perkins. You'll learn."

You go about your day as if it were any other day, answering questions here and there to those curious about your relationship to Dustin. The cheerleaders don't really have a problem about who you associate with and you're majorly shocked when Jason's own girlfriend, Chrissy Cunningham, explains how relieved she is that someone finally stuck up for the Hellfire Club. She's heard numerous rumors about the club and a connection to satanic worship, so she's greatly relieved when you explain to her exactly what Dungeons and Dragons actually is.

Then at the end of the day, you skip to your car without a care in the world and mentally cackle when you see Carol being consoled by her bully of a boyfriend as a tow truck loads up her car with three flat tires. You catch Jason's eye then, winking as he gapes between the scene of the crime and your seemingly innocent self.

Over the next couple of weeks, you slowly let your authentic self bleed in with your cheerleader persona. Gone are the pastels, your girl next door vibe is edgier than anyone had anticipated, and you take great pleasure in the jocks not knowing what to think of you. Jason and his little band of bullies still openly sneer at you and the others they deem different, but they never make Carol's mistake of getting physical.

Then again, Jason's open hostility could be because Chrissy becomes your best friend and publicly smiles at or greets those in Hellfire Club that her boyfriend once tormented.

During Christmas break, Claudia's sister has an accident and needs help around her house. She doesn't like the idea of leaving Dustin during the holiday break, but you persuade her to go- much to Dustin's excitement- while you keep an eye on things in Hawkins. She's unsure of leaving the both of you, but you assure her everything will be okay. And then once she's gone, you and Dustin start making plans since you have the house to yourselves.

"I'm gonna see if Hellfire wants to continue our current campaign here since mom's gone."

"That's fine. I'll probably have Chrissy over for a sleepover. Poor girl needs to get out more."

"Cool."

So that's how you find yourself in your room later that evening, cleaning up and piling pillows and blankets on an air mattress on the floor so your friend has a comfortable place to sleep. Dustin and his friends have been downstairs for hours, the rambunctious bunch being louder than you anticipated, but it brought a smile to your face knowing your little brother found a place to belong.

After a while, you turn off your radio and realize it's a little too quiet.

Heading downstairs and peeking into the den, you're surprised to see Dustin collecting empty bowls and glasses, and Eddie stowing away items from the game they just played. "Hey, losers." Both look up, causing you to grin as you lean against the den archway. "Where'd everyone go?"

"Gone. Campaign ended early," your brother says. "Why? What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm about to go pick up Chrissy, some food, and a movie. I was going to see if anyone wanted to stick around, but I guess I'm too late." Dustin looks surprised that you'd include his friends and then your gaze darts to Eddie. Arching an eyebrow at him, you ask, "You in?"

"Depends. What's the movie?" He wonders.

"Goonies."

"And food?" Dustin then asks.

"Pizza."

"What about dessert?" Eddie muses.

You chuckle, making it obvious that you're looking him up and down as you bite the bottom corner of your lip. "Me hopefully."

Eddie's jaw drops open in surprise as Dustin groans. "You're disgusting!" Then out of nowhere, he produces a water bottle and spritzes it at you. "Stop hitting on my friends."

You flinch, looking at your brother in shock before both you and Eddie erupt with laughter. As Dustin continues to try and spritz you, you dodge the stream of water. "It's not my fault! You're supposed to have friends who look like gangly Wheeler and bashful Byers!" You hide behind Eddie, using him as a shield. "You're not supposed to have friends who look like Eddie or Steve or hell, even Robin. It's not fair to my hormones!"

"Your hormones need to be locked up tight!"

Laughing, you run out from behind Eddie and out of reach from Dustin and the spray bottle. "Okay. Fine. No hooking up with your friends."

"Damn," Eddie mumbles, which earns him a quick spritz of water as well. He yelps and you continue to giggle.

"Okay, okay. Serious time here," you say while calming down. "Are you boys good with pepperoni or do you have any special requests?"

"Get a meat lovers," Dustin says.

Eddie shrugs. "I'm good with whatever."

"Alright. You boys wash the dishes from your game night, and I'll be back with Chrissy and food."

Eddie watches you go with a smile, still not moving even after the front door closes at your departure. It isn't until Dustin spritzes him with water yet again does he startle from his mental musing. "What?"

"Don't even think about it. That's my sister, man."

He rolls his eyes, but smirks nonetheless. "Can you blame me? Your sister's hot, Henderson." Dustin raises the water bottle again and Eddie's hands fly up in surrender. "Chill out. Besides, it's all just fun and games. I'd be a lucky guy if your sister meant everything she said. But even if she did, I doubt she'd do that to you. Hell, I wouldn't even do that to you. You were my friend first. I get she's off limits. Whatever's going on between us is just for laughs."

"Yeah, yeah." Dustin stows the bottle away, sighing. "Help me clean up and make the living room cozy. The Goonies is her favorite movie so don't be surprised if she recites her favorite parts."

. . . .

One right after the other, you and Chrissy walk into Family Video still giggling. You had told her about Dustin spritzing you and Eddie like you were cats in heat, and she found it absolutely hilarious. Her laughter set off your laughter and you just couldn't stop.

"You girls are cutting it awfully close," Steve calls out. "We're closing in twenty minutes."

As you glance up, you see him wiping down the counter while Robin restocks the candy shelves. "Heya, Harrington. I already know what I'm looking for, so it'll only take a sec."

Chrissy is still giggling as you grab her by the wrist, tugging her towards where you know various copies of the Goonies reside. Grabbing one, you then tug her back towards the front counter.

When Steve sees what you're renting, he huffs a laugh. "Again?"

"Yep." You hand him the movie. "Chris has never seen it. I don't think Eddie has either."

"Munson?" Steve's brow furrows as he enters the movie information into your account. "Are you having a movie night or something?"

"Yeah. You and Robin should come if you're up to it," you tell him. You then glance at Robin when her head whips in your direction. "It's just gonna be me, Chris, Eddie and Dustin. After we leave here, we're gonna go pick up some pizzas."

"Dustin's mom is letting everyone hang so late at night?"

"Claudia's gone for the next few days," you tell her, grinning. When you hear the cash register make a noise, you quickly glance at Steve to see that Chrissy's paid for the movie. You roll your eyes but let her have this win. "So, are you guys in or not?"

"Uh yeah. I don't have any plans," Steve says. "Robin?"

"I'm in too. I like the Goonies."

"Excellent." You grin. "I'm picking up two pizzas- a meat lovers and pepperoni. Are you guys good with that or do you want something else?"

"I, uh, I actually like supreme," Steve says.

"Same," Robin sheepishly admits.

"That's fine. I can pick up a third," you tell them.

"And don't worry about drinks. Steve's got it," Robin says.

You laugh as Steve grumbles but assures you he's got the drinks as you and Chrissy take your leave.

. . . .

When you get back to your house, Chrissy keeps hold of the movie while grabbing her overnight bag. You grab all three pizza boxes from the back seat and then head inside with your friend following you.

"And we're back," you shout as soon as the door is closed behind you. You smile at Chrissy as she stands next to you, looking around and keeping quiet. You see Dustin round the corner and he reaches for the pizza that you pull back just out of his reach. "Nope. We have to wait for Steve and Robin. They should be here in a little bit."

Dustin smiles, happy to have Steve over, but then his eyes narrow at you. "I see what you're doing, inviting the people you think are attractive."

Chrissy giggles as you smile at him. "It's a wet dream come true. Right, Munson?" You then direct the question at him, winking when he rounds the corner.

"Oh my god!" Dustin groans, grossed out. Chrissy squeaks next to you and you glance at her to see the apples of her cheeks tinting red. "Look! You're even grossing out your friend," Dustin then says.

Laughing, you hold all three pizza boxes in one hand and use your free arm to sling around her shoulders. "Relax, Chris. Eddie knows I'm only messing with him. And besides, Dustin already strictly forbade me from hooking up with his older friends."

Dustin grabs the boxes from you, marching off towards the kitchen. As soon as he's out of earshot, Chrissy asks, "So what's going to happen when your brother no longer cares about you hooking up with them?"

"Yeah, YN, what then?" Eddie asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"Your ass is mine, Munson. That's what's gonna happen."

Chrissy barks out a laugh, quickly clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle the following giggles. Eddie laughs as well and then gestures for Chrissy to follow him. "Come on, Cunningham, let's get the movie all set up."

As Chrissy follows Eddie, you walk into the kitchen to find your brother pulling down plates. His expression is schooled so you don't know how he's currently feeling and it makes your heart ache just a little to know that you possibly hurt him by insinuating you'd hook up with his friends when he didn't approve of it.

"Hey," you call out softly. Dustin glances at you, his answering smile forced. Sighing softly, you step further into the kitchen until you're side by side with him and gather napkins. "You know I'd never actually hook-up with any of your friends, right? I wouldn't do that to you."

"You wouldn't?" His skepticism does you in and you smile sadly at him before turning to pull him into a hug.

"No, kid, I wouldn't. You come first. Always. And if you say Eddie is off limits, then he's off limits. Promise."

"M'kay." He pulls back then, smirking. "Steve and Robin are too. Don't think I didn't hear you mention them earlier."

Laughing, you tug on one of his curls. "Fine. Steve and Robin too."

"Steve and Robin too what?" The voice startles both you and Dustin, and you turn to see the two in question standing in the kitchen archway.

You shrug. "That you, Robin, and Eddie are officially in the no bone zone." Steve and Robin's eyes widen, and Dustin giggles at them while you grin unabashedly at them. "I'm a teenage girl, Harrington. Of course I noticed how hot my little brother's friends are. He was just setting down some ground rules." The two continue to gape at you and you roll your eyes. "Calm down. I'm sure it's not the first time a girl admitted to finding you attractive."

"No, but it is a first for me," Robin mutters.

"Yeah," you sigh. "People suck. But if you wanna hear it again, you're hot, Buckley. Own it."

As Robin perks up, Steve chuckles at her. "Now that our attractiveness is settled, we were promised pizza and a movie."

"Yeah. Of course." Then raising your voice, you say, "Chrissy, Eddie, come and grab a plate!"

Everyone crams into the kitchen, grabbing a plate to load up pizza slices and then grabbing a can of Cola from the bag that Steve had brought. You all take your food and drink into the living room, everyone settling down in whatever space they can find. Dustin ends up on the floor with Robin, using the coffee table to their advantage. Steve takes the armchair and you end up between Eddie and Chrissy on the sofa.

Though you've seen the Goonies numerous times, it never fails to make you laugh. And then when Sloth's introduction comes up, you can't help blurting, "That's the character that reminds me of Dustin." Your friends all chuckle and you end up with a throw pillow to the face in retaliation from your little brother.

You end up silently reciting Chunk's confession to the Fratelli's, earning a chuckle from Eddie who'd been watching you. There are a few other scenes that you mumble along to, but for the most part you remain quiet so the others can enjoy the movie. And then by the time it's over, you're happy to hear that everyone enjoyed it- Eddie included since he was the most skeptical of liking it.

You offer for Robin to spend the night with you and Chrissy, but unfortunately, she has family obligations she has to deal with the following day.

By the time school is back in session, you've toned down the obvious flirty comments to Eddie and distanced yourself a bit from those Dustin had befriended first. He completely understands your reasoning and there's no hard feelings.

Instead, you spend most of your time with Chrissy who has decided to take a break from Jason. The school's top athlete didn't take too kindly to his girlfriend wanting some space from him, so he took out his frustrations on you.

Well, on those close to you since he knew it wouldn't be good for his image to be seen harassing a girl.

You and Chrissy, along with a few other friends, are eating lunch a few tables down from the Hellfire table when you hear a commotion. Glancing towards it, you're not surprised to find Jason and his closest friends standing at the end of the Hellfire table being the ones responsible.

Whatever's going on, you can't hear but can see the frustration on the faces of your friends. The jocks, however, are smug as can be and laughing among themselves.

Then all of a sudden, Jason speaks loud for all to hear. "I got fifty bucks," he reaches into his back pocket, pulling free his wallet, "that not one girl in this cafeteria would willingly kiss any of you freaks."

The bet laid out before the students of Hawkins High is meant to embarrass those in Hellfire, but the boys are not known for backing down. Immediately they look to Mike and Lucas- two boys who are known to have girlfriends- but when they glance at Jane and Max, Max scowls at Lucas and flips them off.

The jocks laugh and just as they're about to embarrass Hellfire even more, Dustin stands up. The cafeteria quietens and the jocks grin. "YN!" Your brother calls out to you.

"What?" You call back, smirking as everyone's gaze darts between the two of you.

"You remember that thing I forbid you from doing?"

"Maybe!" Next to you, Chrissy giggles. She knows very well what Dustin forbid you from doing because she was the unfortunate soul that you whined to frequently about it.

"Well, I'm lifting the rule for thirty seconds. Make them count!"

The jocks frown as your leering gaze slides to Eddie. He arches an eyebrow at you, and you laugh before standing up. Immediately, Eddie pushes back from the table, still seated in his chair, and the rest of those in Hellfire are just as confused as the jocks.

"What the hell is going on?" Jason asks as you near.

"I just became fifty bucks richer," you tell him, snatching the crisp bill from his fingers. Then continuing on towards Eddie, you plop yourself sideways on his lap while loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. "Told you your ass was gonna be mine."

You end up smothering Eddie's laughter when you kiss him, ignoring the sudden wolf whistles and loud ruckus the Hellfire club members are making by pounding their fists on the table. You groan when his hand squeezes your thigh and then whimper when he licks into your mouth.

You're not sure how much time has passed when you feel a hand on your shoulder, pushing you away from Eddie's mouth. "Okay, okay. Break it up. You officially grossed out Jason and myself."

You laugh at your brother's words, but you can't tear your gaze away from Eddie's kiss swollen lips. With one hand still cradling his jaw, you let your thumb swipe just beneath his bottom lip. "Knew you'd be a good kisser, Munson."

"Right back at 'ya, sweetheart."

"Gross." You glance at Dustin, watching as his nose wrinkles. "You can get off his lap now."

"Or.." you trail off, holding up the fifty dollar bill, "you can take this money and let me make out with your friend for the rest of the day."

Eddie snorts, but your brother actually takes a moment to think about it. Knowing he's going to cave, you hold the money out further to him. "Only making out?"

"Only making out," you assure him.

"Fine. Whatever." He snatches the money from you. "But not in the cafeteria. I'm still trying to eat."

"Right. Got it!" You stand up, holding out a hand for Eddie. "Let's go, Munson! I'm pretty sure the back of your van is private enough."

Laughing, Eddie takes your hand and shrugs at his gaping friends. "What? Who am I to deny a pretty girl?"

#stranger things gen fic x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #dustin henderson #eddie munson #jason carver #steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #stranger things

5K notes · View notes

comfortless · 3 months

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What dungeoneer!König wants vs what he gets:

SO TRUE. he just wants a pretty lady that can sew and cook, willing to put up with his nonsense without hissing at him at every turn!! knight!gf simply lives to bully him (she gets good sword practice that way) <3

At some point, he does ask her about her strange demeanor: “Why do you pretend?”

It’s said in a hushed whisper while they’re both fitted beneath a thin sheet at some weatherworn inn along their route, cozy and safe as every night since she took to sleeping at his side like a contented little kitten. He can’t help but want to poke at her when she’s so soft and weary (and her sword is on the far side of the room).

Not that he dislikes her with the sharp edges of her armor, the jostling of her chainmail and her expert swordswomanship— he just can not comprehend why a lady as lovely as she is would want to explore dark crypts full of monsters and bully him into dueling with her! She should be in fields of flowers, caressed by the wind, laughing soft into the mouth of her lover while he strips her of her gown…

She’s already toyed with the idea of courting him as a man would, stuffing flowers in the cuff links of his tunic and kneeling before him as if to offer her loyalty, her blade. It’s always when she finds herself keen on the idea of potentially taking him as her own that he finds a way to ruin the moment with blunt words or a too-eager hand.

“What do you mean?” She drags the words, sleep addled and dumbed down by a pint of mead from the tavern below.

“That you’re…” He pauses.

König isn’t stupid, he knows he’s jabbing at the dragon’s mouth, daring it to breathe fire the second he asks his lady knight things like this. She is what she is, and he’s given up on the hope of ever changing whichever tangled bowstring in her mind is making her this way. Though he would prefer her to be like the soft women he’s seen wearing silken bliauts, eyes shimmering as they shyly avert their gazes from him… She is something else entirely and that both fascinated and unnerves him.

“… not fragile,” he finishes, turning on his side to face her properly.

His little knight pinches her brow at that, throws the covering off of them both and rises to her knees to climb over him. She means to be intimidating, surely, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches in his pants at the sight of her downcast glare and the feel of her fingernails biting into the skin of his bare shoulders, actually thinking that her delicate form is enough to properly keep him pinned.

“I saved your life.” Ever since the gnoll, she’s been using it as leverage, punctuating her words by tracing over the scar with a light stroke of her thumb.

“Ja, but… do you not want to be more…”

“Ladylike?”

If she were, they would already have settled someplace softer; a roof above their heads where he sacrifices every shift of the sun feeding her from his palm and bringing home gifts that make her eyes shimmery and her heart fill to bursting. Every hour of the night squishing her beneath him and bringing her to beautiful ruin.

The concept only further confuses her when König nods his head, a trace of honeysuckle wafting up from his throat where she had pressed them into the collar of his shirt only earlier that day. It eases her, makes her less annoyed when she remembers that this brute is entirely hers, equally devoted even if he is more keen on fucking her in a dress than in the armor she covets.

She tells him a story when she finally retreats to her side of the thin, straw-stuffed mattress. It’s one he’s heard countless times in his own youth, of a knight she seemed to believe a hero. When she finishes, expecting some protest from him about how little girls should have never heard such tales, she’s only met with a silence that further bewilders her.

His stare is less perplexed and more loving, now. So much so, that she isn’t surprised when he pulls her closer with a gentle grasp to her forearm and rests his chin over her shoulder.

“You want to be a little hero then, hm?,” he whispers into her ear, a prideful smirk plastered across his face when he feels her shiver.

“Aren’t I already?” No matter how much cold steel she coats herself in, it could never smother out the gentleness of her laugh, and when she does giggle, he bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood to keep the urge to squish her tits and toy with her at bay.

“Knights don’t find themselves in bed with beasts,” he rasps, daring to inch his hand further down to her hip.

“You believe that a lady would be more keen to?”

“A lady would want the beast to fuck her, ja?”

Poor König finds himself entirely blueballed once more when she squirms away from him, shooting a glare as cold as a winter storm in his direction before facing away with the blanket pulled taut over the both of them.

She’s only grateful that he can’t hear the beating of her heart or catch sight of the giddy little smile pulling at her lips. It’s not his stature or his prowess in battle that’s caged him up in her heart, only the way he makes her feel as though she truly is apart of some fairytale.

#dungeoneer!könig #he spends the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling utterly destroyed #is he really this bad with women or is she just shy…#meanwhile she is just ‘a beast..? ((: you don’t say… ((:’#stealing a glance next time they bathe together nodding her head and taking notes

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hwangyeddeongie · 15 days

Note

hiii can i request a yeji fluff where you pull the "dodging my girlfriend's kisses prank" on her? thank you in advance!

hello! this ask was so cute I couldn’t not do it. enjoy!

yeji x fem!reader

You have always wanted to pull a prank on your girlfriend, but never found a right time or prank to do so. So when you see a prank trending where people dodge their partner’s kisses, you know you have to try it.

It’s harmless and easy, and you’re curious to know how Yeji would react to rejection from you, even if it was only in jest.

You decide to act on Yeji’s day off.

You wake up before her, leaving the bed to make breakfast. You know she hates it when you leave her alone in bed, and it’s a subtle way to start off the prank.

Not subtle enough, evidently, because less than ten minutes later, Yeji’s shuffling out of your shared room and into the kitchen, where you’re cooking at the stove.

You feel her arms wrap around your waist and she drops a kiss to your shoulder.

“Why are you up so early?” She mumbles, sleep heavy in her voice. “You know I hate waking up alone…”

“Sorry, baby,” you lean back into her embrace. “I made breakfast.”

You plate your breakfast of eggs and bring it over to the table, and Yeji goes in for a kiss.

You swiftly dodge it by turning your head to the side, making her land her kiss on your cheek instead of your lips.

She frowns a little, but doesn’t mention anything as she takes a seat across from you.

After you finish breakfast, Yeji goes to take a shower, and you lay down on the couch, scrolling on your phone.

A few minutes later, Yeji comes out, hair damp from her shower, and she crawls into your arms. She attempts to kiss you, but you manage to shift away just in time.

She lifts herself up, hovering over you, brow furrowed. You glance up at her from your phone for a moment before ignoring her completely.

She tries to kiss you again, and you turn your head away. This time, it’s obvious that you’re avoiding her kisses, and her frown deepens.

She grabs your face in her hands and leans in, but you wrestle out of her grip.

“Baby,” she whines, shoving your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” You feign innocence.

“You’re dodging my kisses!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You deflect, your tone flat, but you’re biting back a smile at the adorable pout on your girlfriend’s lips.

She leans in, and once again you swerve.

Yeji gets off of you, sitting back and away from you on the opposite end of the couch. She looks hurt, and you start to regret this prank.

“Are you mad at me?” She whispers, eyes wide. “Did I do something to upset you?”

Your heart shatters, and you immediately sit up to scoop your girlfriend in your arms.

“Of course not, baby, I’m sorry.” You run a soothing hand up and down her back. “It was just a stupid prank I saw online, I’m not mad at you.”

She pushes you away, glaring at you.

“A prank?” Oh, she’s pissed. “Is this funny to you?”

“No, honey,” you try to backtrack. Your girlfriend, though adorable 99% of the time, can be intimidating when she wants to. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would be hurt by it. I thought it was harmless.”

She loosens up a little, but she’s still a bit upset at you. You tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear and cup her cheek, stroking it with your thumb.

“I’m sorry, my love. Forgive me?”

She deflates at the pet name and nods, relaxing into your touch. You lean in to kiss her, and she dodges.

“I guess I deserved that,” you say, laughing.

“Mhm, how’d you like a taste of your own medicine?” Yeji quips, raising an eyebrow.

Instead of replying, you pull her by the back of her neck into a deep, slow kiss. When you pull away, breathless, you grin and cock your head.

“Do you forgive me now?”

Yeji’s cheeks are a little red, and she has a big smile on her face.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she pretends to think. “I think you should kiss me again, just to be sure.”

You do end up kissing her again, and you give Yeji all the kisses she wants (and deserves!) throughout the day.

#itzy #yeji #itzy imagines #itzy x reader #yeji imagines #yeji x reader #yeji x fem reader #yeji x you #itzy fluff #itzy x fem reader #itzy fanfic #hwang yeji

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luveline · 7 months

Note

Hi Jade! Your writing just got me hooked on criminal minds so can you do something with badass!reader and something related to how Spencer deals with her closing herself off because she jus doesn’t know how to be emotionally vulnerable? I can’t think of a specific situation but I trust ur talent 🫶🏼

ty! ♡ fem, 1k

Spencer can't see your face when you curl away like this. You've turned your head to the window, your arm wrapped around your waist and your shoulder in no danger of touching his.

Despite this, he knows you want him near you. You'd pulled him aside casually before entering the jet to ask if he'd sit with you. So, you can continue your slouched cold shoulder if you like, but Spencer's confident that you don't mean it personally, he won't take it that way.

It was a kid, this time. Whenever the BAU fails to pull through and a child dies, you take it hard, as does everyone else. The only difference with you is that if it were any other situation, you'd soldier through, pretending that it didn't hurt you. When cases like this happen you don't bother pretending.

You're taking it especially hard, perhaps because you were reprimanded. You edged your way into somewhere you shouldn't have and accused the wrong man. Spencer doesn't know what Hotch said to you to wound you this deeply, but he can imagine it was something along the lines of forsaking your hot-headedness. Spencer knows from personal experience that it's going to stick around, a what if like cancer in your head that grows and grows. What if Hotch was right? And what if your bad decision was the weight that tipped the scale out of favour?

He makes sure that no one can listen before he leans in toward you. "You okay?" he asks quietly.

"I'm fine," you say, shrugging without looking away from the window.

He checks behind him. Hotch is in the kitchenette, a cup of coffee and a case file balanced in one hand, a tea kettle in the other. Morgan lays across the couch with Emily in the chair adjacent, reading. JJ texts to Spencer's right. She can definitely hear everything he's about to say, but he'll get over it.

"You remember when he yelled at me in Tennessee?" he asks. "In front of the team? I thought he'd be mad at me for weeks, but–"

"It's not Hotch I'm thinking about." You lean back in your chair properly, tipping your chin up. You look as though you've swallowed something sharp.

"I know," Spencer says. He digs through his messenger bag for the drink he bought before take off, a half litre of your favourite.

He presses it into your hand.

"I'm okay," you say, taking it. You weigh it back and forth, the liquid sloshing heavily, your eyes tracking the wave.

"Just drink it. It'll help your headache."

You unscrew the cap of your drink. "How did you know I have a headache?" you ask between little sips.

Spencer just knew. Same way he knows you don't want to talk about the case, no matter how badly you need to.

Your hand lays restless on your thigh, twitching like you're in the midst of a bad dream. The jet is dim but not dark, the lines and valleys of your face gently shadowed. He knows he could kiss your cheek and cheer you up if he had the courage. He thinks about it until he goes half mad.

"I wish I was like you," he murmurs. "I know it doesn't always work out, but you're not afraid to mess up. That's a good thing."

You turn your cheek into the chair. For the first time in hours, he can see all of you. Your shoulders relax, your eyelids slightly droopy.

"Maybe I'd mess up less if I weren't," you say.

"But you do more good taking a chance on things than bad." Spencer can't summon the courage to kiss your cheek, but he can take your unhappy hand into his.

You close your eyes. Tentative, Spencer presses the back of your hand to the front of his, drawing half circles into your palm. You let him do it for long, slow minutes, nothing but the hum of the engine and his skin brushing yours.

When your lip wobbles, he curls his hand closed around yours.

You aren't upset about Hotch, he knows that. You're upset about something they couldn't change, because they weren't fast enough. It's a team failing that you've taken onto your shoulders, and it isn't right. Spencer gives the plane one last look before he darts forward. He stops short, his face next to yours, and sighs.

You turn away from him before he can kiss your cheek.

You've never had a problem bragging about how much you like Spencer. When somebody tells him to stop talking, you listen. When others roll their eyes, you smile and poke at his sides teasingly. Usually, you'd let him kiss you. He grits his teeth and buckles up. If you can't be vulnerable, he can be twice; failed kisses don't bother him if it's in an attempt to cheer you up.

"What can I do?" he asks, pulling your joined hands to his chest.

"Nothing. Sorry. Nothing, I'm fine."

"Can we please work on the assumption that you're not fine? And that I'm here?"

You frown at him. Slowly, your frown turns to a less horrifying impassiveness, and not long after that you're pressing your cheek to his shoulder.

"Can we not talk? Would that be okay?" you whisper.

"Sure. Of course it is."

You nod gratefully into his arm. He lets his nose sink into the top of your head, not giving much thought to how uncomfortable it is. His arm comes up to stroke yours, but when JJ stands he drops it.

"Thank you, Spencer," you murmur.

"You're welcome. Now be quiet."

He can feel the shape of your smile against his arm, small but real.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 months

Note

Awlful, awful thought: A guilt-wracked Vaggie, trying to stay as quiet as possible in Charlie's bed as she cries herself to sleep. Wishing that she could bring up the courage and confess her sins to her girlfriend, who obviously deserves SO much better...

you put that thought back where it came from or SO HELP ME-

ugh, listen, i can see this horrible progression where at first it's Vaggie hiding (and failing but she doesn't know it) that she cries, and then it's Vaggie lying (a tiny little lie she thinks) about WHY she cries

them as strangers / new tentative friends and it took SO MUCH WRANGLING for Charlie just to get the dumpster woman to stay over with her while getting used to life with one eye instead of wandering off back onto hell's streets like Vaggie was ready to, and then getting her to use a couch instead of the floor, then finally the giant bed with a pillow propped between them

this is already a miracle enough, this is already more than she's ever gotten any other sinner to accept (and thank her for? and share a smile with her over it????)

so when she hears Vaggie's breath hitch in the middle of the night like she's hurt Charlie starts sitting up with her instinct to jump RIGHT INTO HELPING like usual- but Vaggie goes dead quiet the moment she moves and Charlie freezes, the sudden cold thought Vaggie doesn't WANT her to hear. Vaggie's been letting Charlie closer but maybe her not wanting Charlie to hear this (yet?) is part of why she's been so reluctant to stop sleeping in random corners of the house, and what if she packs up (metaphorically speaking, technically she has nothing) and leaves if Charlie spooks her now? Would Charlie ever find her again?

that's the first time Charlie lies awake listening to Vaggie cry softly to herself for half the night, pretending she doesn't hear it

it's not the last.

Because Vaggie ends up staying, with Charlie SPECIFICALLY, and it's a different kind of friendship than Charlie's used to- it's not Vaggie tolerating her ideas or her dreams or her wild bursts into song, it's Vaggie troubleshooting her ideas and agreeing with (!) her dreams (though she isn't as hopeful about it) (that's more than anyone has done since Lilith left-) and it's even Vaggie enjoying her silliness, joining in on a song with her,

a sad little song about a grown woman missing being close with her parents because having a friend like this is making her homesick for everything else she used to have-

but Vaggie doesn't roll her eye at the poor princess of hell she holds Charlie's hand when Charlie tears up, she just seems to like being around Charlie? even for the pity parties??? (Charlie for the love of all therapy i a m begging you go to THERAPY)

Vaggie is clearly missing something too though, and cries about it less often now- or

(a thought to keep Charlie awake all night when it comes to her)

is better at crying about it quietly so Charlie really doesn't hear her

and it's too much for Charlie to risk losing but it's also why Charlie rolls over that night, casual, casual, and pretends to be asleep as her hand drapes over that invisible line to just brush Vaggie's arm, and why she goes on pretending to sleep as Vaggie flinches, tenses, then lets out a breath and doesn't pull away.

it's the only way for Charlie to get any sleep now- making sure Vaggie won't feel completely alone, even if she won't let Charlie be there for her (Yet)

it's a short road from that to waking up snuggled together, because Charlie's a cuddle bug and Vaggie's surprisingly smug about being cuddled (by her), so Charlie's frantic pillow wall of privacy instantly falls the next night to laughter and a pillow fight, and their game of betting if they'll wake up in each others arms again also doesn't last long (because they always do) (this is NOT like friendships Charlie is used to) and soon Vaggie is hauling them both out of bed on her good days while groggy Charlie clings to her like a very stubborn blanket and

there's not much room for hiding tears like this. the lie comes out not long after.

Vaggie's bad days are things Charlie happily makes way too many sticky notes about: collecting Tired Vaggie or Grumpy Vaggie or Bumped Into Furniture One Too Many Times Needs To Go Beat Up The Nearest Dumpster With Her Spear Vaggie, or Vaggie Gluing Herself To The Nearest High Spot While She Broods (her small smile means more when it doesn't come out until Charlie's spent an hour sitting up there with her, chatting and pointing out landmarks like hell isn't that bad and everything can be okay)

and Charlie has bad days too (tries not to) (feels guilty about having them when she ISN'T even alone anymore) but lately her worst start with dried tears on the collar of her pajama shirt and Vaggie sounding a little bit more hoarse than usual in the morning

so it's not some, sudden nighttime feelings ambush. It's not Charlie waking up in the night to Vaggie crying and suddenly having the courage to pull her a little bit closer

it's Charlie having a bad day, afterwards, and Vaggie finding her hunched up in bed. (their bed)

It's Vaggie slipping quietly (worriedly) out of the shadows with a soft hey and are you okay? and getting hit with yes- no- does Vaggie know she can get up out of bed whenever she wants at night? she can wake Charlie up and leave and that's completely fine, if she wants to be alone for a bit, and then come back for snuggles after- or they can sleep separate or-

maybe it's the first time Vaggie reaches up to cup Charlie's cheek and ground her spiraling, maybe it's the first real jolt of fear Vaggie's felt since being eye-level with a sword. maybe not, but it gets her asking Charlie what the fuck are you talking about?

and then it's the truth-

Charlie can't stop thinking about Vaggie hiding her tears for her sake. it's fine if Vaggie doesn't trust Charlie with them- (yet) (someday?) (it's amazing Vaggie has put trust in Charlie at ALL)- but she should at least feel able to CRY when she wants to.

-and it's the lie.

Vaggie does trust Charlie. a small tiny lie that's mostly truth-

(she trusts Charlie is a good person) (she's scared of what that means) (she hasn't been a good person) (she isn't being one now)- she tells Charlie she cries because she misses her wings and the scars hurt and she hides it because there's nothing to be done about it, if they were coming back (for her) they would've by now (she DOESN'T want them to come for her she WOULDN'T leave if they did, if they offered-) (would she?) but they aren't so, (it's been too long) why waste her and Charlie's time being sad about it?

(how can she even still be SAD about it-)

I could hear Charlie whispering back something along the lines of, time with with you is never wasted, not to me. And, I want to be there with you, like you are when I need you.

I won't say this is when they both went Oh or even when maybe someone leaned forward a little and someone else met them half way, they're the sort of couple where it could have happened a in a million different times and places and it doesn't really matter

but afterwards, when Vaggie cries at night she doesn't hide it anymore

(now she knows she can't) (she can't hurt Charlie like that)

so some nights she sobs quietly into Charlie's shoulder while Charlie rubs soothing circles into old scars and holds her tight and the sickness over the lie that turned out bigger than she thought almost makes it worse than crying alone

(almost) (not quite)

those are the nights where she dreams of a sword and torn off feathers. other nights, Vaggie shuts her one eye and refuses to let any tears fall

some nights she dreams of damning wings on her back and Charlie turning away from her

she can't face Charlie or her love on those nights.

so she doesn't let herself cry at all

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #vaggie #angst #headcanon ideas #.......#ANYWAY #ughhhh

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depravitycentral · 9 months

Text

Partnership

Yandere! Uvogin x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, theft, threats of violence, implied non-con, if your name is Stacy pretend it isn't, Stockholm Syndrome, brief mention of vomiting, Nobunaga is featured a bit in this but don't worry he doesn't want you, fem reader, MDNI

This is dedicated to @ramwrites, who is amazing and wonderful and offered to write me a welcome back gift, and I couldn't not give something back in return! Thanks for letting me write this for you; your writing is so good and makes me all giggly and inspired. For those interested, please check out her Shalnark piece - I haven't read it yet, but I'm sure it's just as good as everything else Ram produces.

WC: 10K

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

“So you went and got yourself kidnapped, huh?” Uvogin asks, cocking a brow at you.

You, who’s tied to a metal chair, gagged and blindfolded, very clearly having no fucking clue what is going on.

You squirm, sitting up straight at the sound of a new, unfamiliar voice. Your cute little sleeping shorts had ridden up a bit, exposing more of your thigh than you were probably comfortable with, and Uvo notices with a distant sense of enjoyment that the thin nightshirt you’re sporting is doing very little to hide the way the cold air is affecting your chest.

You’re weak, really; a pathetic little thing that has him scoffing and crossing his arms.

“Listen up, I’m only gonna tell you this once. A friend of yours – Stacy, was it? Anyway, this friend of yours got herself noticed by the wrong type of guy.” He starts, plopping down and sitting in his own identical metal chair, just without the restraints.

You stop struggling when he mentions her name, and he takes this as a sign to continue.

“See, Nobuanga’s not a bad guy. He’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but any guy who isn’t is hardly worth knowing.” He chuckles at his own assessment of his closest friend, though you don’t seem to share the sentiment. “Stacy works at that shitty little restaurant he loves – the one with the sticky, greasy booths and the fries that come drenched with salt and are so limp they literally drip oil.”

He shivers at the mere memory, the hamburger he’d ordered barely worth eating.

“Don’t know what she did, exactly, but somehow he’s smitten – she’s got him all fucked up, ranting and raving about how beautiful she is and how she smiles at him all the time and flirts with him on the clock. Real annoying, if you ask me.” He sighs heavily, letting his thumb sit at his chin as he loses himself in the story of his best friend falling in love – with your best friend, no less.

“And then she quit her job, I’m sure you know. Started working up at that movie theater – more shitty, oily food, just popcorn instead of fries this time.” He laughs again. “Nobunaga went crazy over that, you know, thinking that maybe she wanted to work in a more intimate setting like that so that he could sneak her off into some abandoned theater and get some one-on-one quality time, if you know what I mean.”

You grimace, at both the implications of his last statement and the mention of Stacy quitting. You know exactly why she’d quit – it was the whole reason you’d been staying at her place, really. She was convinced she had a stalker, that there was this crazy man who used to bother her at the diner and follow her home. It’d scared her, obviously, and she’d requested – with a guilty look and fiddling thumbs – if you’d be willing to spend the next few nights are her place with her, because maybe if there was more than one person home he wouldn’t get gutsy and break in. Of course you’d agreed, believing her fully and not wanting to leave her alone to deal with this crazed freak.

Although now, you’re starting to regret that decision just a bit.

“As I’m sure you know, it didn’t change much. Pretty stupid, to be honest – if a stalker’s that dedicated, how the hell is a change of occupation going to change anything? Chick’s pretty dumb, if you ask me.” He shrugs, and although you can’t see it through your blindfold, you’re sure his face is awfully apathetic about the whole situation. “She was ignoring him, refusing to serve him at the theater, reporting him to her manager, even calling the police and getting a description of him circulating. She was going to get a restraining order against him, even – again, like that’d do shit.”

He snorts, and you bite into the gag harder.

Sighing, he looks up at the ceiling. “See, that’s the thing about Nobunaga. He might seem a little lazy sometimes, but he’s got a heart of gold when it comes to the ones he cares about. He’d do anything for that woman – steal for her, kill for her, anything at all. He’s a sap, totally obsessed with the chick, but it’s kind of sweet in a way, I guess. Means he really cares about her. Isn’t that funny? Her stalker really is in love with her.”

You don’t find it particularly funny, but you can’t say much.

“Anyways, the police finally got a sighting of him last night. Went through the system pretty fast – I’m a little impressed, to be honest. Normally takes those bastards much longer to process things. Regardless, a few too many sirens were going last night, even a few cars parked outside the apartment he’s been squatting in, yelling his name in those big, gaudy megaphones of theirs. Caused a real stir, and sent the guy into a panic.”

He takes a moment to breath, tapping his foot lightly on the ground. “So what does he do? He calls me, in the middle of the night, talking so fast that I can’t even understand the guy. All I’m hearing is Stacy this, Stacy that, police and blah blah blah recognized. I had to force the words out of him before it made any sense, the idiot.” That same laugh rattles in your ears.

“Eventually I got him to be coherent, and he told me that he had to ‘make his move’, whatever the hell that meant. Said he couldn’t wait anymore, that he had to take Stacy and run – the police were coming, and even though it’s not hard to take out a couple of poorly trained guys, it’s still a pain in the ass and Shizuku’s not here to clean up his mess.

“Anyways, he starts begging me – literally, actually pleading with me, imagine that – to come and help him out. He told me there’s this other chick at her place – some girl she’s been keeping around for some unknown reason, and he needs someone to take care of the body.” Your blood goes cold, fear suddenly creeping back up your throat.

Was he going to kill you? Why was he bothering to tell you all this if he was just planning on slicing open your neck? Did he find some sick pleasure in prolonging your death?

He notices your discomfort, it seems, because soon he’s rolling his eyes, scoffing at you. “Calm down. You’re such a bad actor – can’t even see your face, really, and I know you’re scared shitless now. I’m not going to kill you, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You calm slightly, but not much.

“As I was saying, there’s this girl he needs me to take care of – a quick death, nothing too flashy, which makes me immediately ask why the hell he’d request me of all people, when every time I kill it’s messy. It’s kind of my trademark, you know?”

You didn’t, and you hoped it’d stay that way.

He sighs again. “Anyways, I head on over to Stacy’s apartment, meeting Nobunaga outside and listening to him run down the plan. He’s going to run inside and knock her out, pulling her out of bed and running off to God knows where he’s got all set up for the two of them. And while he’s busy doing that, I’m supposed to head in and eliminate the friend. Seemed easy enough, if not a bit tedious, so I agree and we head inside, keeping mind of the sirens still in the distance.

“Everything’s going smoothly, except once we get the front door open, it becomes very clear that Nobunaga was stupid and panicked and didn’t bother to doublecheck if Stacy was actually asleep.” He pauses to sigh dramatically, like it’s some big annoyance. “She’s fully awake, standing about ten feet away from the door, and then she starts fucking screaming.”

You remember that bit – the screaming, that is, because it had woken you up from your slumber on Stacy’s couch. Everything is still blurry after that, disorientation fogging your brain from being so abruptly woken up.

“She’s yelling and screeching, and if Nobunaga hadn’t been there I probably would’ve killed her myself just to get her to shut the fuck up. She’s got one of those high, shrill, shrieky voices, you know? The kind that really drive me up the wall - it’s damn annoying.” He pauses, looking at you skeptically. “Hope you haven’t got one of those, things’ll get messy real quick if you do.”

You hope you don’t, either.

“He rushes forward and tries to grab her, but she swats at him and, get this, manages to punch him in the dick.” He laughs aloud at that, slapping his knee and throwing his head back. “This weak-ass girl manages to get him on the ground flat, stupid ass’s hands clutching at his dick, and what does she do in the meantime? She runs over to the couch, grabbing this girl and staring back at me like I’m some monster.”

You make a noise through the gag, but Uvogin ignores it.

“I’ve gotta hand it to Stacy, though, she’s got guts. She starts yellin’ at us about how she won’t let us kill the girl, how she’ll kill herself before she lets us get our hands on her, and immediately Nobunaga crumbles. I don’t know why the idiot didn’t think of the possibility earlier, but he totally freezes up when she threatens that, just gaping like a fish. It was pretty awkward for me, to be honest, because watching him get so thoroughly rejected was giving me serious second hand embarrassment. I mean, the chick literally said she’d rather kill herself than let Nobuanga take her – pretty harsh if you ask me.”

He looks back at your covered face, letting his gaze linger on the edges of the blindfold. “So he panics and gives into her demand, telling her he won’t kill her friend – says that he’ll just take her too, so that way everyone’s happy.”

He frowns a bit at you, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, everyone except you, probably. And except Stacy, too, probably. And except me. So really, Nobunaga’s the only happy one.”

Your face would sour if it was able to.

“Anyways, it wasn’t hard to knock them both out and bring ‘em to their respective holding places. I’ve got no clue where the hell Nobunaga’s keeping his chick, but I’m sure you’ve figured out that you’re Stacy’s little friend.”

You nod, slowly, the movement limited by your restraints. Your wrists have gone numb and your ankles feel bruised and sore, the ropes keeping them pinned the legs of the chair making blood flow difficult.

“So, what to do with you now.” His voice is wistful, like he’s actually contemplating, and that same familiar fear washes over you again.

He groans, the chair skidding out behind him as he stands to his full height. “Would you quit it with the fear? I already told you I’m not killing you, are you even listening to me?”

You nod again, faster this time.

Uvogin sighs, shuffling forward towards you. You can hear him approaching, and although your shoulders stiffen up, you try not to look as terrified as you feel. It doesn’t seem to work all that well, but he spares you another comment about it.

Soon the blindfold is ripped off your head, leaving your hair messy and out of place, your eyes squinting and blinking rapidly to adjust to the rather bright white light hanging over you and what you can now see is an absolute behemoth of a man.

He’s fucking huge – towering over you in every sense of the word, muscles practically bulging out of his body with how defined and massive they are. Black hairs cover every inch of his body you can see, even his arms and especially the bits of chest peeking out of his white top. Ragged, unruly hair sweeps down to his shoulders, making the muscles of his neck look even firmer, and you gulp. Any chance of escaping has basically left you now – there’s no way in hell you could ever beat that, especially if he’d already managed to kidnap you once.

He clears his throat and your gaze is brought up to his face, a small, strange wave of embarrassment flooding through you as you realize you’ve been caught staring. He’s smirking, though, and you take in the sharp line of his jaw, the thick, dark eyebrows that frame equally dark eyes. He’s attractive, in a strange, rugged sort of way, and you immediately feel sick at the thought.

“You like what you’re seein’?” He teases, and you immediately look away, still unable to reply with the gag covering your mouth.

He laughs, and sets his hands on his lips. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with me. Before you freak out, I can’t kill you because that damn Stacy really seems to care about you, and she’s told Nobunaga she’ll kill herself if she doesn’t get regular proof that you’re still alive.”

A flame of hope ignites in your chest, and internally you thank Stacy, even if this whole situation is less than ideal.

He seems to sense your sudden upturn in mood, chuckling with a condescending lilt. “Oh no, princess, that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go. No, you’ve gotta stay put, because now that you know what I look like, you’ll go to the cops and report me as fast as those little legs of yours can manage.”

You shake your head at that, eyes glistening with tears as he shuts down your last hope of escaping. Please, you internally beg him, hoping he’ll somehow be able to sense this too. I won’t, I promise!

His gaze narrows at you, before that same smirk is back. “I’m sure if you could talk you’d be telling me how you’ll never tell a soul, but you and I both know that’s bullshit. So I’ll save us both some time and keep you here, so that I don’t have to track you down again and lock you back up once you’ve just gotten free.”

You visibly deflate, and if Uvogin had been a kinder man, he would’ve almost felt bad for you. But instead, he just hums, crouching down in front of you. Even squatting he’s still taller than you, and it does nothing to make you feel less scared.

“Now listen up, here are the rules. I’m a pretty nice guy, all things considered, so don’t break my rules and I won’t break your bones.”

Your eyes get wide, but you nod along. He smiles, patting your knee.

“That’s good, see? You’re already doing better than that Stacy girl, at least you’re not fighting me every step of the way.” Something about his statement makes guilt eat away at your chest – are you supposed to be fighting more? There doesn’t really seem to be a point – this man is massive, and you’re all bound and unable to move. You’re doing the best you can, right?

“First,” He holds up a finger, “don’t even bother trying to escape. I’m bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you, and smarter than you. There’s nothing you can try that I won’t see through, and you’ll end up regretting it more than you can imagine.

“Second, no trying to hurt yourself. Nobunaga will kill me if I let you die, and it’d be a pain to deal with him.” He fixes you a stern look, and you nod.

“Third, don’t go digging through my shit. I’m doing my buddy a favor by keeping you here, and if I find you snooping around… He didn’t say anything about roughing you up a bit, and it might be good for Stacy to see you with some bruises or a cast or two.” His threat doesn’t go unheard, and you nod again, throat bobbing as you swallow.

He stares at you for a moment more, gaze calculating and judging whether you’ve really accepted his conditions, before strong fingers come up to untie the knot keeping your gag in place.

“Don’t you scream, I’ll have to shut you up if you do.” He warns, before pulling the fabric away. Immediately you’re flexing your jaw, the muscle aching as you move it, and he watches with a neutral expression. You’re still tied up, unable to move really, and Uvogin gets a fleeting thought of how pitiful you look.

“Um,” You start, your voice a bit hoarse from being so dry and unused for the last few hours. “What’s your name?”

He blinks, before laughing a bit. “Of all the questions you could’ve asked, all the things you could’ve said and done as soon as you woke up from learning you’ve been kidnapped, and that’s what you chose? Shit, you wouldn’t survive in the wild, would you?”

Shame creeps up your neck at his belittlement, but before you can defend yourself he’s answering. “It’s Uvogin.”

You nod, not willing to look at him. It’s silent for a few moments, before he sighs again and reaches forward to untie the rope shackling your ankles and wrists. As soon as you’re free, you try to stretch out your limbs, keeping a weary eye on the man – Uvogin.

What a stupid name.

“Well, the fact that you’re not screaming your head off is a promising sign. Get up, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” He orders, already taking off towards the door in the corner of the small room. You try to follow him, but your legs aren’t moving right, and it takes you a while to make your way over there. He looks irritated at your lack of speed, but says nothing, only holding open the door until you make your way through.

You’re led down into a rather sparse apartment, only furnished with a single gray couch against one wall (with a few stains on it that make you wince a bit), a TV and some cabinets, a wooden table and two chairs, and a beat-up fridge in the adjoining kitchen. Everything’s clean, but the space lacks any sort of personality, and it makes you uncomfortable.

“That’s your bed, extra blankets are in the closet. If you need anything tell me, and I might snag it for you next time I’m out on a job.” Something about the way he says ‘snag’ makes you nervous, so you just mutter a small affirmation.

He gives you one last glance over, his eyes once again lingering on your chest, before stepping through the doorway.

“Wait, Uvogin!” Your voice, a bit wobbly and unsure, makes him turn back, his brow cocked and curiosity dancing on his features. (And a bit of surprise, too, because he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him, or even use his name. Maybe you weren’t as skittish and weak as you seemed – though, he doubted that.)

“Um, is it possible for me to see Stacy soon?” You asked, voice growing smaller with every word. He blinks, before standing up a bit straighter.

“Actually, you’re in luck. Nobunaga called me about an hour ago and let me know we’re meeting up in a few days – he said it would be good for Stacy to have a ‘playdate’ with you. Whatever the fuck that means.” Uvogin shrugs, looking entirely uninterested, and you bristle at Nobunaga’s choice of words. Poor Stacy.

Excitement brews in your chest; at least you’ll have a familiar face, and hopefully the stranger hasn’t done anything too terrible to your friend. Nodding, you glance back to the floor, wishing the hulking man staring at you would just leave. He does, a few moments later, and only then do you allow yourself to slump onto the bed he’s assigned you. The bedroom is bare like the rest of the home, with a twin bed set in the corner and a small set of drawers sitting nearby. It makes you laugh humorlessly – were you supposed to fill that chest? With what? You hadn’t brought anything with you, and you seriously doubted Uvogin would let you return home to grab some of your clothes.

Sighing, you sat onto the bed, the mattress firm under you. Distantly, some part of you was pleased – at least the bed would be comfortable enough.

Time passes slowly as you sit on the bed – not your bed, not yet. You stare at the wall ahead of you, the fear slowly seeping out of your system until only exhaustion remains. Sleep eventually takes over, and although you try to fight it, you’re slipping into a dreamless slumber before long.

Uvogin’s tolerable, you’ve found. He’s certainly not nice, nor is he an especially great person to be around, but he could be much worse, you suppose. He’s fed you twice daily for however long you’ve been stuck here (it feels like a week, so you’re assuming it is, if only to stave off any self-doubt that’s creeping into the corners of your mind), and the food’s not terrible. It’s clearly takeout, the packaging sometimes even having Chinese characters on it or restaurant logos, and you’ve been mostly satisfied with his choices so far. He’ll sometimes ask you what you want, and while you were too scared to answer the first few times (which only makes him scowl and roll his eyes, muttering a small damn, Nobunaga owes me one), eventually you’d felt safe enough to be honest.

He hasn’t hurt you, either. At least, not yet. You’re aware he could, if he wanted to – those muscles make it hard to forget, and you’d seen him crush his phone in his hand like a bug when a phone call with someone named Franklinwent poorly.

He’s scary, still, but you’ve reached the point now where you aren’t practically hyperventilating every time he enters the room. You still keep him in your field of vision, weary for any sudden changes in his behavior, but every day that passes has you growing more complacent with your position. The constant threat of Stacy potentially facing consequences for your actions doesn’t deter you from being on your best behavior, either.

Besides, sometimes he’s even a little bit funny – not that you’d ever laugh at his jokes, but he has this weird sense of humor that you think you’d like, if the situation had been different. If you’d met him on the street you definitely would’ve tried to cross to the other side, but you would’ve found him oddly charming, his snide remarks and cocky air a bit entertaining.

You try not to think about that, though, because the mere presence of these thoughts means the Stockholm Syndrome is starting to kick in. And while you aren’t the most resilient person on the planet, even you have to admit it’s a bit early for that.

Sighing, you take another bite of the curry he’d brought you, pleasantly surprised that the spice level was perfect. Uvogin didn’t have many rules, it was true, but he did have a few unspoken ones – one of which being that meals, particularly take-out meals, were to be eaten at the small, rickety table. Together, which wasn’t ideal.

“I’ve gotta make sure you don’t try to starve yourself or choke.” He’d told you the first time, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you into the seat across from his, the noodles sitting in front of you still packaged neatly in their container. At first you’d been nervous he would try to poison you, but eventually hunger got the best of you and you were slurping the noodles down, still keeping a nervous eye on the hulking man in front of you.

“So, big news.” He starts, taking a bite out of his chicken. He always took big bites, you’d noticed, but he ordered enough food that even if his pace was twice as fast as yours, he never finished before you.

You glance up at him, trying not to let toomuch curiosity show on your face, but he seems to realize anyway.

“I know you haven’t been up to much, but don’t make your excitement so obvious. Hurts my feelings to know you think I’m so boring.” He’s joking, you think, and to sate him you attempt to smile.

“Nobunaga called me again this morning; today’s the day.”

You practically choke on your food, eyes blowing wide and your hands beginning to shake. Finally, finally you’d be able to see Stacy – you’d been worried sick about her the last week or so, terrified that her transition to the life of being a captive hadn’t gone as smoothly as your own. (You snorted bitterly at that – smooth probably wasn’t the best word for how you’d been feeling, but at least you hadn’t been hit yet, or assaulted or any number of things. Hopefully Nobunaga wasn’t any worse of a person than your own captor.)

Uvogin is watching you, you realize, with a strange look in his eye. As soon as you glance up at him you look away again, clearing your throat and trying to keep your voice even as you ask, “That’s good, it’ll be nice to see her again.”

It’s silent for a moment, before his booming laugh makes you wince a bit. “Yeah, I’m sure you are. Finish up, I don’t like wasting food. Once you’re done we’ll head out - try to not to choke.”

He says that right as you start shoveling the food into your mouth, hoping that eating quicker will mean you can see Stacy quicker. He chuckles at you, but you follow his orders and slow down a bit. He throws you one more glance, that cocky smile on his lips, before digging into his own food again.

He’s eating a bit faster than normal, too, you notice.

He apologizes with an insincere tone as he ties the blindfold back on you (he’d told you that you can’t know where you are just in case you decide to get rebellious and run away), and soon you’re stuffed into a car. Everything’s hard to keep track of when you can’t see, but Uvogin’s talking (like normal), so you try to tune into the sound of his voice to help the time pass.

“Now listen, you might not wanna touch her too much, Nobunaga’s a bit…” He trails off, and you can hear his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Possessive. You’re her friend and all, and I’m sure he won’t hurt you, especially not in front of her, but be careful.”

You nod, absentmindedly.

“Also, don’t be too surprised if she doesn’t look the way she used to. He was always going on about how she was dressed too inappropriately in her day-to-day life, so she might be a little underdressed.”

He’d hesitated to say underdressed, and you tried not to think about what that could mean.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and you shift in the car seat. He’d let you sit in the front, an unexpected luxury, but you didn’t like that he could see you while you couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t hurt you, you were mostly confident of that now, but who knew what he had planned.

“We’re almost there. If things go badly, I’ll get you out of there. You’re pretty damn weak, a broken bone would probably take a few weeks for you to heal. I don’t want to deal with you being injured, and I’m sure you don’t, either.”

Your lips must’ve given away your fear, because a moment later he’s sighing. “Did you know that you practically reek your emotions? I feel like I can smell ‘em, even when I can’t even see half your damn face.”

You don’t have anything to say to that, but you force yourself to speak anyway, not wanting to dignify his last comment. “Do you think – well, do you think Nobunaga will want to hurt me?”

Uvogin ponders your question for a moment, surprised that you’d spoken up. You hadn’t done much talking in the time he’d had you – he was sure it was because you were scared, but it was nice to hear you talking to him like you weren’t scared shitless of him. Even if you had every reason to be so terrified.

“Honestly, probably. Especially if you touch her.”

You suck in a breath, and Uvogin hums. “But it’s not going to happen.”

“What do you mean?”

You could practically hear his toothy grin.

“It’s my job to protect you, right? So I will. Even if the one you need protecting from is the same guy who wants you to be protected.”

Something in his tone gives you the impression he means those words more than he’s letting on, and you shiver as you imagine just who this Nobunaga guy could possibly be.

“Oh my god, oh my god – you’re alive! Thank god!” Stacy sobs, arms wrapping around you like a vice before you can even respond. You clutch her back just as tightly, burying your face into her brown curls, a few tears pricking at your eyes. You’d been nervous that Nobunaga would’ve hurt her, with the way Uvogin was describing him, but after a thorough look-over, you find no bruises or marks marring her olive skin.

Eventually she pulls back, but keeps her hands firmly grasping your shoulders. Her eyes are red with tears, and her lower lip is wobbling. She’s not hurt, but she looks bad – there’s heavy bags under eyes and her hair is frazzled, her lips look swollen and she’s clutching onto you hard. Really hard.

“Stacy, are you hurt?” You ask, letting your hands cup her cheeks. You see Nobunaga – who Uvogin had pointed out with a small that’s the guy when you’d walked in – stiffen up at that, and Uvogin’s warning flashes through your mind. You might not want to touch her. Right.

Stacy glances over at her captor, and you follow her gaze, only to see Uvogin give you a small nod and drag his friend out the door by the collar of his purple kimono, calling over his shoulder that they’ll be back in exactly five minutes, and that they’ll know if you try to escape.

As soon as the door closes, Stacy pulls you in for another hug, the words flying out of her mouth so quickly you can barely understand her. “He’s – Nobunaga, he’s horrible. He never leaves me alone, and he treats me like I’m some incompetent little baby, and he’s always touching me and I just – I can’t –“

You cut her off by pressing her face into your neck again, rubbing the back of her head and letting her cry. You’re crying too, now, but your tears fall silently compared to her sobbing.

You don’t say much, because what can you say? It would be a lie to tell her that everything’s going to be okay, and every other reassurance that dances on the tip of your tongue just feels wrong, like you’d be pointedly lying to her. Instead, you let her get it out, her grip on you never loosening. You’d known Nobunaga had been the root of all her anxieties the last few months, long before he’d gotten the gall to kidnap her. And while you were happy that she wasn’t hurt, it still pained you to see her like this.

Eventually she’d calmed down, and you feel her pull back and wipe at her sniffling nose. “I’m so sorry.” She whispers to you, looking like she’s on the verge of crying again. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this mess, I should’ve just gone quietly and left you alone. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me for a few weeks, now you’re really stuck with that monster.”

You don’t tell her that it’s okay, because it’s not. Some part of you is still bitter and resentful towards her for involving you, because she’s right. You could be still living your life if she hadn’t requested you to help deter her stalker from making a move. But despite your anger, you can’t find it in yourself to hate her. Not when she’s like this – not when she’s probably experiencing something even worse than you.

“It doesn’t matter now, all that matters is that we’re both alive, and we’re both okay. Or, at least, okay as we can be, given the situation.” You tell her, smiling softly. She blinks at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, before nodding and swallowing.

“Yeah, I was worried that you wouldn’t be, with the way Nobunaga was talking about Uvogin.” Her voice was hoarse still, and you laughed humorlessly at that.

“Yeah, well, he hasn’t hurt me yet, so I think I’ll be okay. He mostly just ignores me, honestly, so I guess I’m lucky.” Your attempt at optimism doesn’t make Stacy smile like you’d hoped. Rather, her lips pull into a frown and her eyebrows furrow.

“He ignores you? That doesn’t make sense.”

You expression mirrors hers. “What? I mean, the only reason I got kidnapped too was insurance so that you wouldn’t kill yourself –“

Stacy’s face morphs into one of horror, and her grip on your shoulders goes slack.

Quickly you’re backpedaling, worried the mention of her self-imposed death might’ve triggered something you wanted to avoid. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, I totally understand why you –“

“Alright, time’s up.” Nobunaga’s voice interrupts, and knuckly hands are suddenly on your shoulders, pushing you aside so that Nobunaga can stand in front of Stacy. You stumble back, falling backwards against Uvogin’s hard chest, immediately standing up straight.

Nobunaga’s cupping Stacy’s chin, and you can see from this angle the way he smiles, a slight pink color flooding his cheeks. It makes you sick, and the pained look on Stacy’s face only makes your gut sink more. She’s looking at you still, and something about the way her brows are cocked inward that makes you feel like she’s almost pitying you.

“Did you miss me, baby?” Nobunaga’s cooing down at her, and it makes your skin crawl. Uvogin sighs from behind you and grabs your wrist, dragging you out of the room. His grip is surprisingly gentle, and as you watch Stacy slowly fade from your view, you can’t help but be slightly grateful that at least your captor isn’t leaning down for a kiss like hers.

The car ride home is mostly quiet, and it’s not until you’re nearing the end of your time in the vehicle that Uvogin breaks the silence.

“So, what did you talk about while we were gone? Girly shit?” You think he’s attempting a joke, but you can’t even pretend to laugh at it.

“She’s not happy.” You comment, voice slightly flat, and Uvogin snorts at your words.

“Of course she’s not happy, she’s just been kidnapped. And by her stalker, no less – would anyone be happy? Hell, are you happy?” He asks you, and you blanch at his question. Somehow, though, it feels like some sort of trap, so you stay quiet.

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s pulling you out of the car, your footsteps hesitant and clumsy because he’d put that damn blindfold on you again. He guides you up to the apartment, and soon you’re standing in the living room area, the fabric falling from your eyes.

“I’ve got some errands to run today, so I’ll be gone for a while. Do you want anything while I’m out?” He asks, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. You’re a bit touched that he’s offering to get you something, but you try not to focus on it. Of course you’re feeling grateful for him – he may be holding you captive, yes, but at least he hasn’t tried to kiss you or touch you. Poor Stacy didn’t share your luck.

“Um, maybe some chips? I don’t care what flavor, just something crunchy…” You trail off, looking at him nervously. You’d never requested anything before, and some part of you is convinced he’d only asked you the question to laugh in your face and deny you.

He cracks a smile and nods, hand already on the doorknob. “Okay. Okay, but you’d better be prepared to share, because I happen to be a big chip fan myself. So don’t get greedy, yeah?”

You half-smile, rubbing at your arm. “Yeah, I won’t be.”

He steps out the door, and once again the apartment is silent, his presence gone and all movement within the room gone, too.

The TV won’t work for you, you know that, but you’re still trying to get it to behave. Uvogin had to type in some password every time he turned it on, and it was too long and encoded for you to ever be able to decipher it. Still, you were clicking the power button of the remote over and over, hoping against hope that it would somehow short circuit and bypass that password screen. When it didn’t, you only sighed, rising to your feet and wandering towards the monitor.

Uvogin, you’d learned, was surprisingly meticulous – surprisingly organized, really. Meaning there was a chance he’d written down the password to the TV and had it stored somewhere. He’d only been gone for about a half hour, if the clock was any indication, and you had a lot of time to kill before he returned home. Not that he was your only source of entertainment – though, you’d read the single book he owned three times already.

Your knees crack as you kneel down in front of the cupboard the TV was sitting on, the wooden doors creaking as they open. The shelves are mostly empty – a few older remotes, and a cable channel guide.

Frustrated, you huff and let your shoulders slump, trying to decide what to do next. The TV obviously wasn’t planning on cooperating, though there was a cupboard right next to the one you’re searching through that could potentially hold the answer.

Uvogin’s rules distantly float through your mind, his gruff voice replaying in perfect clarity. Third, don’t go digging through my shit. Glancing back up the clock, you bite your lip. You had time, because while he was massive and huge and scary, there was no way he could get all his errands done in just thirty minutes.

With a deep breath, you move over to the other cabinet, letting your fingers curl around the knob. The doors don’t creak when they open, and immediately you’re scanning the shelves. These ones are full – with boxes, each labeled with a date on them. Cocking a brow, you examine the dates. January 4th – January 25th, April 29th – May 7th, and so on.

Intrigued, you slowly slide out one of the boxes, noticing not a single bit of dust is sitting on the cover. He must use this cabinet much more often than the one you’d been searching through previously, as a thick layer of dust had sprung up in your face the moment you opened the cabinet door.

The box itself is light, but you still set it down in front of you, your fingers delicate and careful, too worried that you’ll break something if you press too hard. And then Uvogin would know, surely, especially if he truly used this cabinet that often.

Slowly, you take off the box’s cover, and immediately your brows are scrunching together. What the hell?

When you’d imagined the kind of ‘shit’ Uvogin didn’t want you to snoop through, you hadn’t pegged it to be this. Whatever this was, that is.

It looked like a box full of receipts – tons of pieces of paper, all in weird sizes or shapes that looked like they were ripped out of some sort of notebook. The handwriting is messy, the letters all crammed together and difficult to decipher. You pick the paper on top up, turning it this way and that, trying to read the text.

Her: Sorry, I know it’s late, but I need to ask you a quick question.

Them: Yeah? What’s up?

Her: Do you think he’s alright? Chris, I mean – he hasn’t called me back for a few days, and I’m worried about him.

Them: You know Chris, it always takes him a while to respond. I wouldn’t worry, he’s just unpredictable.

Her: Yeah, I guess…

[6 second pause]

Them: Go to sleep, it’s late. You’ve got work in the morning, right?

Her: Yeah, I do. Okay, okay, I’m getting into bed now. Goodnight.

Them: Goodnight, call me when you hear back from him.

Her: Okay.

What was this? The ambiguity of it all confused you – who was her? Them? Chris?

You furrowed your brows, confusion sitting in your gut alongside a strange feeling. The hairs at the back of your neck prickled up, and a small pang of unease bolted through you.

Setting the piece of paper back into the bin, you picked up another one. This one was shorter, more to the point.

Her: Are we still on for Friday night?

Them: Yeah! Freddy’s, nine o’clock sharp. I’m buying, remember.

Her: You always say that, and you always get too shit faced to pay. Liar!

Them: Hey, I just know how to have fun! You could learn how to do that, you know.

Her: Yeah yeah, okay, I’ll see you later.

Your fingers are shaking as you finish reading the small, triangular slip of paper. Your lips are slightly parted, brows still crunched together. Something about the interaction between Her and Them felt oddly familiar – like something you’d heard before.

And the mention of Freddy’s. That’d been the name of a bar you frequented often with your friends, back before everything had gone to shit with Stacy.

Unnerved, you set the piece of paper back in the box and slide the box into its place on the shelf, running your eyes back over the listed date. August 28th – September 16th. One of your best friend’s birthdays was in that range.

Wiping your palms on your thighs, you try to calm the pounding of your heart. Something feels off, wrong in a way you can’t quite place. Surely, Freddy’s is a common enough name; it doesn’t necessarily mean your favorite bar. Plus, even if it does mean that particular bar, who knew who these people were. You surely don’t - who the hell is Chris?

Wanting to put some distance between you and the cabinet, you get to your feet again and close it, wandering away into the little hallway connecting the living space, bathroom and two bedrooms. Cupping some water in your hands from the bathroom sink, you splash your face, letting the cold wash over your skin. Closing your eyes, you try to calm down. It doesn’t mean anything – how could it? You’re probably just all shaken up after seeing Stacy and her freaky captor. Nobunaga disturbed you, you can’t deny it.

Sighing, you open your eyes, wiping your face with your towel. (Uvogin had been kind enough to give you one designated as your own, saving you from the horrible fate of having you dry your body with a towel that he’d already used.) Though you notice with a small start that the towel is wet, despite you not having showered recently. Odd.

As you turn to leave the room, you notice a shirt sitting piled up in the corner. It was black, and surely not your own – holding it up, it looked big enough to dwarf you. Must be Uvogin’s, then.

His bedroom is across from your own, and while you haven’t been inside it yet, it feels wrong to just leave his shirt on the floor, where it could get dirty and maybe even moldy. Besides, doing a little cleaning would keep you occupied – both from boredom, and from contemplating those weird slips of paper further.

You slowly open the door, immediately getting hit with a wave of musk. Uvogin normally smelled decent, but the scent in here is strong enough to make you wince a bit, the overwhelming stench of sweat, mint, and male making you a bit nauseous. To your surprise, the room is spotless – a very, very large bed sits floated in the middle, a navy and black flannel comforter covering the top while a few large, puffy pillows sit at attention at the head. A few pairs of boots are lined up in the corner, and a single picture looks to be taped up on the wall above them. Curiously, you step forward, moving towards the photo.

Uvogin had told you very little about himself – only that he worked as a contractor, of sorts, and that he didn’t have too many friends, so you wouldn’t have to worry about visitors. But now that you’re looking at the photo, you’re wondering if maybe that last statement hadn’t been so true – the photo is of a dozen or so people, all posing for the camera with various degrees of a smile on their face. Uvogin’s in the back, on the left side, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a shorter blond man, his blue eyes in a wink and holding up his thumb. Uvogin’s smiling, and as you scan the photo, you stop when you hit Nobunaga, who’s seated in the front row next to a woman with big glasses and a modified cross necklace. Everyone looks happy, and briefly you wonder whether Uvogin considers these people friends. He must, if Nobunaga’s present – an odd sort of satisfaction worms its way into your chest at the thought. You don’t like Uvogin, surely not – but still, everyone needs friends, right? Even kidnappers.

God, you really are starting to develop Stockholm Syndrome.

Shaking your head to try and clear the thoughts, you approach his closet and snag a hanger, trying to hang up the shirt you’re holding in your arms. The thing is tall, and as you try to get the hanger’s hook to wrap over the metal bar, your eyes fall to the side, noticing something out of the corner of your vision.

It’s a soft pink, and you cock a brow. Uvogin? Owning something pink?

Eventually, and with a soft grunt, you get the hanger to successfully sit onto the bar, and immediately you’re investigating the pink thing. This goes directly against his rules, you know – you’re quite literally snooping, but hopefully he’d still be out for longer. Besides, even if he comes back, you could just tell him you’re putting away his shirt, and maybe he wouldn’t call you on your half-lie.

Whatever the thing is, it’s wedged pretty far back in the closet – you’d only managed to catch a brief glimpse of it, and for good reason. There’s a storage container in the back of the closet, an organizer of sorts with some compartments that all seem to be stuffed full. It’s hard to see, the overhead light dim to begin with and not penetrating too deeply into the dark closet, but you’re able to fish out the pink fabric soon enough.

It's lace, you realize, your curiosity only doubling. That same pin-prickly feeling is back, and as you slowly flatten out the cloth, your breath catches.

It’s a thong. Pink and lacy, with a bow decorating the back, right over the tailbone.

But more than that, the thong looks familiar. There’s a thread pulled on the front right side, and a stain on the fabric at the very bottom, looking awfully similar to the color your own discharge makes once it’s been washed.

Your fingers are shaking again, and you stumble back a bit, the back of your knees catching onto the bed so that you fall back and land on your ass, too busy staring at the cloth in your hands to bother trying to situate yourself.

These panties are yours.

You’re sure of it – you know because Stacy bought them for you a few months ago. She’d cheekily handed them to you with a big, gaudy bow on top, a wink sent your way and a demure because I know you’ve got a date tonight, and I also know you haven’t gotten laid in way too long. That was the night you’d been set up on a blind date with a friend’s coworker. He’d been nice, though you hadn’t slept with him, and you hadn’t gone out again after that. He didn’t seem all that interested in you as a romantic pursuit, but he was funny, and you’d hoped you could become friends, at least.

And his name was Chris. And he’d gone missing a few days after.

You drop the panties, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

You don’t want to, and you know you shouldn’t, but before you can stop yourself you’re rushing forward to the closet, digging back to that storage compartment and rooting around for anything else you can find. It must be a coincidence; it has to be a coincidence. These can’t be your panties, you must be mistaken – why would Uvogin have these? How could he have these? You’d lost them in the laundry a while back.

At least, that’s what you’d assumed.

Pulling your hand back, you see you’ve grabbed a few items. They’re smaller, not clothing, but nonetheless incriminating. There’s a chapstick container, with a strange flavor on it that you’ve only seen once, back when you won it in some weird fundraising fair you’d been at for your job. Kiwi banana grape, it said in curling black lettering, and when you pop open the top, you notice it’s almost completely empty.

There’s also a button; it’s black with a strange shape, one you recognize as being from your favorite jacket. It’d fallen off one day, but you’d been too busy walking around the city to have realized. It was a real bummer, because it’d rendered the jacket unwearable because too big a draft would sneak through it.

And lastly, there’s a bandaid – it’s old, you can tell, with a kiddy pattern of some fairies and a dinosaur on it that the nurse had apologized for having to use, telling you it was all they had available at the time. You remembered it – it’d made you laugh that you’d gotten your flu shot and she’d patched it up with a bandaid designed for six year olds, even going so far as to snap a photo and send it in the group chat you kept with your friends.

You feel sick.

Throwing the small items back into the compartment, you rush to the bathroom, barely making it before you’re heaving, all the curry you’d forced down your throat earlier coming right back up.

What the fuck?

Who was Uvogin? Why did he have all of this? How did he have all of this? What did it mean? Your head’s rushing, too many thoughts and implications swimming through your oversaturated mind, and you have just barely enough strength to flush the toilet and stand up, staring at yourself in the mirror.

Stacy’s words rush back to you as you examine your face, seeing your wide eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling with each harsh breath slipping through your lips. He ignores you? That doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense – none of it at all. Why would your by-association captor have any of your personal items? Especially personal items you’d lost or thrown away literal months ago, long before you’d ever started staying over at Stacy’s?

You know why, you just don’t want to admit it, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you try to come up with any other possible explanation. No. It can’t be. Stacy’s the one with the creepy stalker, not me.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door’s lock clicking open makes you snap up, adrenaline suddenly coursing through your veins. Uvogin’s home.

Immediately you’re running to your bed, jumping under the covers and shutting your eyes tightly, praying that Uvogin will think you’re asleep and won’t bother you. You need more time to figure this out – it’s all too much, and while it probably won’t be any easier the longer you wait, you need something.

You can’t look at him yet. You won’t.

“I got your chips! Didn’t know which flavor to choose, so I got three I think you might like. I’m serious, though, you have to share. I’m an animal, and I will steal your food.” He laughs at that, and you hear him set down the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Your eyes are still closed so tightly that it hurts, and you ball your fists up in the blankets as hard as you can. You’d curled up into a fetal position, and you force yourself to stay still as you hear his loud footsteps coming down the hall.

He calls your name, peeking his head into every room he passes. Soon he sees you in your bed, and although you look a little stiff, his shoulders immediately lose their tension. A smile flits across his lips, and he slowly, quietly shuts the door, retreating back to his own room.

You sigh, peeling open your eyes and trying to get your breathing under control. You’d been holding your breath, and now that he’s actually home in the apartment, it’s difficult to not let yourself panic.

It becomes much, much more difficult when you hear a noise come from his bedroom, though. What the hell’s this?

There’s a muffled curse, and your blood runs cold as quick, heavy footsteps lead right up to your door. He swings it open and your eyes fly shut, trying desperately in vain to appear like you’re still sleeping.

“Wake the fuck up.” He says, and immediately you open your eyes, your fear too strong to ignore. He’s holding the pink panties in his hands, and you realize with a small burst of terror that in your haste to get to the bathroom, you’d left them on the floor. In his room. Right where he can see that they’ve been moved.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"I only have three rules. What are they?” He barks, and you’re trying to curl up even smaller, hoping his promise of not hurting you will still ring true. Though, he’s lied about pretty much everything else – how do you know if that part wasn’t all a lie, too?

“No hurting myself, no escaping, and no – no snooping.” You whisper, and Uvogin bares his teeth.

“I’ve been good to you – patient, something that takes a hell of a lot of effort for me. And what do you do in return? You go and do one of the very few things I’ve forbidden.” He looks impossibly tall right now, towering over you with those muscles, the panties looking downright tiny between his monstrous fingers. “Tell me why. Explain to me why the hell you were snooping through my closet.”

You shut your eyes again, too scared to look at him. “I was putting away a shirt you left in the bathroom. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did it, please don’t hurt me, please –“

He interrupts you with a huff, and you tense up, waiting for some blow to land. It doesn’t, though, and after a good thirty seconds, you finally peel an eye open, almost too scared to see what he’s doing.

You don’t expect the small smile that’s sitting on his lips, nor the hand on his hip. He locks his eyes with yours, then sighs. “Well, this is most definitely not the way I wanted you to find out. See, I had this whole plan – Nobunaga came up with it, one of the very few things he’s ever thought of that actually impressed me.”

You’re confused again, but that sick feeling still hasn’t gone away. All you can seem to look at are your panties, wedged in his fist.

“He told me that since you and Stacy were so close, we could cut a deal – kidnap you both at once, get more bang for our buck. There was no way to hide Nobunaga’s feelings for Stacy, sure, but you? Well, you haven’t noticed anyone following you, have you?” Uvogin asks, cocking his head at you and letting his smile get a bit wider.

You quickly shake your head no.

“I’m better at this stuff than he is. He always gets too excited to talk to her, wants to interact and have her lookin’ at him. I get it, I really do. Even now, even with you scared shitless and looking at me like I’m about to kill you, just you acknowledging me is getting me hard as a fucking rock.”

Involuntarily, your eyes dart down to his navel, and with a small, strangled sound of fear, you notice the way there’s a prominent bulge forming in those shorts of his.

He laughs at your change in focus, and steps forward. Hooking a finger under your chin, he smirks down at you. “I’m better at hiding myself, and I was willing to play the long game, content with watching you until the right time came to snatch you up. But when Nobunaga offered, telling me there was a way to get you all to myself and make sure you grew to want me organically? Well, I couldn’t resist, could I?”

You want to tell him he absolutely could’ve, or that you wouldn’t have ‘wanted him organically’, whatever the hell that meant, but your tongue doesn’t seem to be working.

He leans down, face coming closer and closer to yours. “You had no idea, did you? How do you think I knew what kind of mattress to get you? How do you think I knew exactly what to order for you for takeout, even when you were too scared to tell me? How do you think I know what shampoo and conditioner to buy you, or even what kind of fucking cologne you like? Believe me, I’m only wearing this shit for you.”

You’re frozen, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at him.

“Do you get it now, princess? See, Nobunaga doesn’t give two shits about whether you live or die – he’ll get Stacy to do what he wants no matter what. But me? I give a shit.” He’s so close to you that you can smell his breath. It’s minty, like he’s just recently brushed his teeth. The cold smell only makes you shiver, fear still tingling up your spine.

“Why?” You whisper, overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

He pauses at that, smirk falling away as he genuinely considers your words. He’s quiet for a moment, before he smiles again, but this time it’s not as predatory – there’s something oddly soft about it, and it makes you feel worse.

“Because you’re perfect. That’s all.” He answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and before you can say anything he’s clambering on the bed next to you. You want to fight him off, to jump up off the bed and run, but you can’t seem to find the energy to. Besides, you’re not delusional enough to think you could beat Uvogin in any sort of physical altercation or chase. And while he still seemed to be adhering to his promise of not hurting you, you didn’t feel like testing the waters.

“So I guess the jig’s up. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out, but I can work with this, too. At least now I don’t have to act like I don’t know you. And now, I don’t have to do all that respectful distance shit – you’re mine now, babe, and now I don’t have to hide it.” He’s grinning again, his teeth looking too sharp, and before you can blink he’s above you, your wrists pinned above your head and his lips inches away from yours.

“So why don’t I show you just how much your attention the last week’s been affecting me?” His voice is low, sultry, and makes you gulp. He presses his face into your neck, deeply inhaling and groaning. “I promise I can make you feel good… I’ll tell you my last rule, okay?”

You’re frozen, but when he pulls back to glare at you, you shakily mutter out an ‘okay’.

His grin is wolfish, predatory, scary. “Rule number four is no running away from me, even if that cute little body of yours can’t take anymore. Got it?”

You nod.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin #_lee's fics #_lee writes for ramwrites #_uvogin #_hxh

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daniswoso · 1 month

Text

Mean.

DVD x Reader

Summary: Daan sort of terrifies you, eventually you learn you had no reason to be scared.

Warnings: Swearing, gay panic, minor crisis No hate to Ellie and Daan’s current relationship or either of them I adore them!!!, overthinking (sort of?), reader and Daan being oblivious, use of Y/N.

********

You and Danielle had been teammates for the past 3 months. You however wouldn't consider yourselves friends.

You don't know why, you don't know when, but you just automatically assumed Danielle hated you. Maybe it was the way she'd have an unreadable expression on her face when you'd speak French to your other teammates. Or the way she'd absolutely show no mercy during matches or training.

The amount of times you had been on the receiving end of an angry Danielle Van De Donk in training, well... you had lost count, you just knew they hurt.

Today was a team bonding day at Ada's house, nothing too serious, just you and all the girls from Lyon sat around playing fifa and being competitive little shits.

However, it was just your luck you arrived late. And that the only available seat was the one next to the woman you swore hated you.

But you took it, despite being shit scared of her.

Everything was going well, you didn't necessarily speak to each other that much, only exchanging one word at a time. The dutch woman clearly not up for conversation, with you at least. But she was certainly up for it with the blonde on the other side of her, Ellie Carpenter.

You don't know why on Earth it bothered you so much. The way Ellie looked at Danielle with a lovesick expression, the way she'd laugh a tad too hard at her jokes, the way she'd hang off her every word. It annoyed you to no end, and you didn't know why. Which only made you more annoyed.

Which then led to you heading into Ada's kitchen, trying to not throw the glass you were pouring wine into at the wall out of frustration.

Why the hell was this bothering you so much? You were terrified of the woman! You had seen the way she tore her opposition apart on the pitch. You had seen the way she tackled so fiercely. You had seen the way her muscular arms flexed as she was in the gym, the way she panted after a heavy training session.

Holy shit. You were scared of her. But it was maybe possible that you like liked her too? You weren't sure, and that was a whole can of worms you had no intention of opening in the middle of Ada's fucking kitchen.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by none other than the brunette herself, looking down at you with wide, concerned eyes.

"You okay?" She asks, she was actually speaking to you.

"Yeah, just reconsidering life choices and pretending not to hate myself and the feelings I have." You chuckled awkwardly, hoping it would come off as a joke rather than you over sharing. You gulped nervously as the joke fell flat, only getting a concerned slightly judgemental look from Danielle, downing the remainder of your wine.

"Okay, Y/N, maybe you should slow down with the alcohol." She chuckled, although there was an underlying concern to her tone as she removed the wine glass from your hand gently. She offered you a bashful smile, which you returned; hoping it didn't come off as a grimace.

You stand there in not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence for a moment, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet.

She sniffs and wipes her nose, smiling at you awkwardly.

"So.." You say, dragging out the 'o' sound.

"So." She replies, much less dragged out than you did.

"I think I'm gonna go home." You smile awkwardly, moving to grab your bag.

She grabs your arm, turning your back around to look at her.

"I could come with you? Get a cup of coffee?" She offers, before adding to it in a nervous ramble, "If you want to that is! If not it's totally fine!" she stammers before shutting up at the sound of your laugh.

"Sure, Danielle." You replied.

“Please. Call me Daan, Y/N/N.” She smirks.

"You know," you say after a beat of silence that followed the dying down laughter, "when I first met you, I thought you were mean." You laugh, shaking your head.

Danielle looks slightly shocked, her brows furrowing before she grinned, "Well, I hope I've proved you wrong."

You laugh, nodding. "You have."

She smiles triumphantly and you go back to eating your pastries in comfortable silence.

"So, what about me made you think I was mean?" She bemusedly asked, raising an eyebrow.

You thought for a moment, before your face softened and you shrugged, "I don't actually know. I mean, your confidence and your work ethic alongside how you play on the pitch? Jesus that's fucking terrifying. But I don't know why I was scared of you off the pitch, or why I thought you were mean."

You both laugh, "Alright, anything else?" She snickers before taking a sip of coffee.

"Ah! There's also that face you make when I speak French with the others, it's like you're judging me." You laugh, you swear your abs are getting more defined with how hard you've laughed in the past 30 minutes.

"What! No! I wasn't judging you! I was jealous of you!" She laughs loudly, before your fits of giggles came to an end, "And it's incredibly attractive." She murmurs quietly, quiet enough you don't hear her.

"What?" You hum.

She sighs, "And you're so attractive when you speak French." she mutters, cursing slightly as heat rises to her cheeks.

"You... You think I'm attractive?" You grin as she nods, using your index and thumb to pull her head up, making her look at you. "If it helps I think you're pretty fit too." You laugh softly as her eyes light up.

"Y/N?" She asks quietly.

"Yeah, Daan?" You ask, your breath hitching as she leaned in.

"I like you." She admits.

"I like you too."

Silence, but only for a moment.

She leans in, her lips moving against yours, almost as if they were a perfect fit against your own. Well, at least she didn't hate you.

******

A/N: hi! sorry for not posting much, but here’s something while i write up some part 2’s (and 3’s!) of stuff :)

#woso #football #futbol #woso fanfics #woso imagine #footy #woso x reader #futból #lovesick idiots #gay panic #danielle van de donk #daan van de donk #danielle van de donk x reader #DVD x reader #DVD #danielle van de donk x you

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suzukiblu · 6 days

Text

Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit. (and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction.

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”.

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides.

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever.

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit.

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.”

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–”

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite.

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though.

And as for Tana Moon . . .

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable?

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact.

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter.

Even if it is legally salvage.

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.”

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.”

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird.

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.”

“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it.

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering.

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.”

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it.

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head.

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal!

Normal.

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off.

Ew.

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap.

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually.

Really definitely it’s a trap.

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too.

“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.”

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically.

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught.

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on.

She frowns.

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with.

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store.

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week.

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly.

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures.

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too.

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics.

Fuck that guy, seriously.

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates.

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.”

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts.

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah.

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks.

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway.

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah.

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal.

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point.

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly.

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?”

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen.

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all.

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever.

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . .

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills.

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious.

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing.

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too.

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed.

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah.

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it.

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is.

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to.

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii.

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah.

Soulmate thing, he guesses.

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were.

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever.

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.”

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up.

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.”

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red.

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses.

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all.

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?”

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.”

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means.

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether.

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . .

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like.

So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman.

One or the other, probably.

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman.

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.”

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over.

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly.

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?”

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!”

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either.

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen?

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else.

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work.

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end.

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice.

Hopefully it was, anyway.

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right?

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense.

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses.

Not a thought he’d really had yet.

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses.

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . .

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority.

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe.

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute.

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway.

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe.

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else.

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down.

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.”

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog.

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again.

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off.

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward.

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly?

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six.

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way.

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout.

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably.

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none.

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased.

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them.

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit!

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best.

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either.

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway?

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah.

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little.

Or a lot.

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary.

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering.

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face.

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure.

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe.

Somehow.

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag.

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again.

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption.

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse.

Yeah. Definitely worse.

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that.

Jesus.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water.

Well. Less worried, anyway.

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore.

Definitely camera next time.

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse.

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway.

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . .

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird.

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face.

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?”

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself.

Maybe global warming or something, though.

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point.

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering.

Or flustering.

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!”

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly.

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly.

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this.

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah.

Something like that.

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe.

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination.

Kissing him, maybe.

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . .

He could kiss him. That’s all.

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back.

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved.

eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that.

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly.

Actually, he just fucking hates it.

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk.

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even?

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.”

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is.

“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?”

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.”

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones.

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping.

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?”

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.”

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity.

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete.

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly.

Why didn’t he do more research?

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting.

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order.

“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats.

“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”.

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?”

“I don’t,” Superboy says.

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says.

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure.

“Ah,” he says.

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . .

“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.”

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement.

He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though.

Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good.

Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all?

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #wip: kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit

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