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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Not So Easy

prompt: Harry and Y/N have both had a rough week. Ivy is in the prime of her terrible twos. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: swearing, smut, a little angst

AN: Fulfilling this request ***. This is part of the CEO!Harry verse. If you enjoy please like, reblog, and come chat with me about it x

*** <--- click for visuals

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It was a gorgeous, cool Saturday evening and Y/N had been cooped up in the house all week due to nasty rainstorms that lasted the whole week. All of Y/N’s friends had canceled plans for one reason or another. Anne came down with flu and couldn’t visit like she was suppose to.

Harry had an extra awful week at work - which was saying something - and hadn’t been able to let it go. The frustration and irritation he usually was good at leaving at the office at the end of the workday hadn’t been happening.

Ivy was in the midst of her terrible twos and quite frankly it was disaster for all of them.

They decided on one of their favorite restaurants about an hour outside of London near the beautiful, green countryside. ***

It was a family-owned Italian establishment with outside seating on the patio. The tables were filled but Harry always managed to squeeze himself into a non-existent reservation with his charm (and wallet).

When they’re escorted onto the deck, Ivy had Harry hitched up on his hip and wriggles her into her wooden high-chair with little difficulty - she had just woken up from a nap and was in a seemingly okay mood.

Y/N notices a few pairs of eyes watching them from the table close to theirs but decided that she was just being paranoid. And if she brought it up to Harry she knows he’d immediately tell them to fuck off and mind their business.

They get Ivy settled with her favorite little sensory book and her plush baby doll ***, as they look at the menu, “I’m so hungry,” Y/N grumbles, unable to decide what she wants to eat, Ivy literally running her around all day with no time for refueling.

“Me too, y’didn’t let me finish my meal earlier,” Harry murmurs cheekily, looking at his wife over his menu with a raised eyebrow, “Guess I’ll just have to wait for dessert.”

“Baba’s asleep, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow,” Harry tells his wife, trotting in their bedroom. He’s already stripping the shirt off his head and wriggling his running shorts down his narrow hips.

Y/N’s laying on the bed, too distracted by her romance novel to notice Harry’s actions - well until he yanks at her ankles until her bum skids towards the end of the bed, she lets out a surprise yelp at her husband’s strength.

He plucks the book from her hands and tosses it to the floor with a thump. His hands are hurriedly reaching to pull down her shorts and panties with impatience at having his wife bare before him.

“Someone’s a bit horny,” Y/N teases, raising her hips to let him slide them down before they join the book on the floor. He ducks down to bite at the soft skin of her hip bone, suckling a dark mark there in ownership.

“Have y’seen yourself, pet?” Harry replies lowly, unable to help himself as he dips down and swipes a long, languid lip up her center with no warning. It has her moaning and pushing herself into his mouth.

“We don’t have long, H. Need you in me,” His wife whines, pulling him up by his hair until he’s slipping his tongue right into her mouth, wasting no time to hike her hips up around his waist and pushing in with one strong, directive thrust.

Y/N blushes and darts her eyes back down to the menu, “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you.”

Harry laughs, eyes wrinkling around the corners, “Y’know even when I’m not good, y’let me.”

It was very very true.

“Oops!” Ivy squeals when her doll falls to the ground. It was one of the new words she’s finally understood in context and it’s unbelievably cute to hear her high, little squeaky voice.

“S’alright, here you go bab,” Harry titters, reaching down to toss it back onto the table for his daughter. She looked so fucking adorable tonight in what Y/N had dressed her in a little Gucci jean jacket with matching jeans. ***

Ivy manages to keep herself pretty occupied until she needs a diaper change. The meals had just arrived, steaming hot and smelling like heaven, but Y/N slings their diaper bag over her shoulder and totes the baby off to the bathroom.

Harry watches them, like the protector he is until they make it to the bathroom safely. He can sense eyes on him (the same group Y/N thought was watching) but unlike his wife, Harry makes eye contact with the table who were staring directly at his wife and then him.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry asks bluntly, not hesitating to stare down every single person at the table. He didn't want anyone staring at them, staring at Y/N, staring at Ivy. He wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace with his family. He assumed they probably worked for him.

They avert their gaze from the intense man, acting nonchalantly and sipping at their glasses filled with wine as if they weren’t just staring at them. It makes Harry scoff loudly enough so that they can hear it.

When Y/N appears back with Ivy and attempts to plop her back into her seat, her limbs go wiggly and her eyebrow knits with refusal, letting out little kicks, “No mummy, no!”

“Baby, we’ve got to eat now. How ‘bout after we’re done?” Y/N hums in her daughter’s ear, attempting to steady the toddler’s legs to slide into the slots of the chair.

Y/N knew it was going to be a struggle since Y/N told Ivy she couldn’t have the big stuffed animal that was in the gift shop on the way to the bathroom.

“Mummy! Don’t wanna!” Ivy protests loudly, her face pinched with her terrible twos anger as she squirms and twists in her mother’s grip.

“S’okay, give her to me,” Harry tells his wife, taking Ivy in his lap. She smiles with deep dimples up at her father before going to reach her little fingers into his pasta. “No, Ivy. S’hot, it’s goin’ to burn you.”

Ivy pulls her brows together, decidedly not liking what her dad had to say, because she’s reaching out once again. “Ivy, daddy said ‘no’. Be a good girl and listen.”

“Mine.” Oh god, her favorite word at the moment.

“Ivy Elizabeth, s’not yours. S’daddy’s. Mummy ordered you chicken, which she very nicely cut up for you. You need to eat that, lovie,” Harry uses a bit of a firmer voice with the little girl, pulling her plate of cubed of food over.

“Here, bub,” Y/N takes a small piece, bringing it up to her daughter’s full lips. Only to be met with a hand batting it away until it’s being flung limply to the wood floor with a screech.

“No, want that,” Ivy huffs, once again reaching for her father’s steaming plate. She’s nearly close to getting her finger into the burning sauce so Harry has to scoot his chair out a bit so she can’t reach it anymore.

The parents give each other a knowing look because of what is surely about to come. The baby was struggling with being told ‘no’ as of late, as well as claiming nearly everything as ‘mine’. Tantrums were in their prime right now and they thought the pre-dinner nap would have helped.

Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t.

When Ivy realizes she’s no longer able to reach the food, she furrows her brow and pulls back her little fist, hitting at her father’s shoulder. It wasn’t often she tried to hit, likely because most times it landed her on the step for two minutes, but it’s like she knew they couldn’t do that here.

“Ivy,” Harry takes her small hands between his, “We do not hit, do you understand Daddy? S’not nice. If you can’t behave, you’re not getting ice cream before we go home.”

At that point, the little girl would normally calm down a bit and readjust because she really loved ice cream but it didn’t do anything to quell her anger tonight. She shakes her head, curly hair bouncing, before the tears start rolling.

“Should we just get this to go?” Y/N asks, knowing that the whole restaurant doesn’t want to hear the sobbing baby throwing a fit over not being able to dig her hands into her father’s dinner plate.

“Probably best,” Harry grunts when Ivy wriggles and twists in her father’s grip with a frustrated whine, “She’s not goin’ to settle.”

“Down, let me down!” Ivy demands against her father’s grip, like she’s the one running the show.

“Here, give her to me,” Y/N mutters, wrangling the toddler into a tight hold while Harry gets the waiter’s attention to get take away boxes and the check. He’s pulling out his wallet to slide out his black amex and put it on the table.

“Ivy, I’m going to put you down so I can get the diaper bag and your toys. Are you going to stay right next to mummy?” Y/N asks her daughter firmly, making sure her daughter’s little green eyes are meeting hers.

Ivy nods but as soon as her feet hit the solid ground, she lets out a giggle and dashes from beside her mother. She doesn’t get very far because she’s running straight into the legs of another patron and tumbling on her bum.

She’s not at all hurt but takes it as an advantage to throw herself onto the floor, screaming and tears - the whole dramatic show because she’s not getting her way and well....she’s a two year old - that’s all the reason she needs, right?

Harry’s in full dad mode now, “I’ll get her to the car. Y’got this, love?”

Y/N nods, sighing at the loss of their nice dinner as her daughter has all eyes directed on their family - the last thing she wanted to happen. But she just focuses on shoveling the still hot foot into the plastic containers to take home.

“S’enough of that, Ivy. This isn’t how we act, hmm?” Harry hums, pulling his daughter off the floor and into his arms - “What’s gotten into you, bug?”

Ivy sniffles, knuckling at her wet eyes, “Home, daddy.”

“We’re taking you home, don’t you worry,” Harry chuckles, smiling softly when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, thumb finding her lips. His large palm came to rub at her back and bounce her lightly.

When Y/N finally gets everything together, one of the waitresses - an older woman, stops by the table, “How old is your daughter?”

Y/N smiles, “Just turned two a month ago.”

The grey lady has a kind, knowing grin on her face, “What an age, huh? She looks like a little replica of your husband.”

The girl laughs, they can’t go anywhere without hearing that from someone, “Oh, believe me. They have the same attitude too,” She jokes, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“I wish you two luck. Two is a very hard age, I have five kids of my own. Just appreciate it, even though the tantrums are a pain in the arse,” She says, patting Y/N on the shoulder before heading back to a table who was waiting on her.

---

Both the parents were frustrated, more so than they usually are with Ivy’s tantrums. They thought she’d simmer down once they’d gotten home but it had just revved up again when she realized she really wasn’t getting any ice cream.

“Shouldn’t have even promised her ice cream in the first place,” Y/N mutters with frustration as they stand near the staircase. Ivy sat on the step for two minutes in timeout, kicking her little feet against the marble.

“Right, because I knew she’d decide to have tantrums all night,” Harry shoots back, matching his wife’s tone. The screaming was echoing through the house, high-pitched and it just made you want to cover your ears from it.

Y/N rolls his eyes at him, motioning towards their daughter, “Well, this is your doing because you reminded her that she wasn’t getting it. You deal with it, I’m going to shower.”

“You’re not doing much to help anyways,” Harry hisses, their voices both low so that their daughter doesn’t hear - not like she would over the screaming match she’s having with herself.

They rarely fought to be honest. This wasn’t even a fight - really. It was hard raising a two year old and they were learning as they went along. The couple was good at communication and working through their problems most of the time.

“I’m not doing much to help?” Y/N asks in disbelief, “Then if I’m no help at all, why don’t you put her down for bed? You don’t need me, obviously.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, his hand gripping the railing with a hard grip, “Don’t go twistin’ my words, that’s not what I said. Now you’re just lookin’ for a fight.”

“Yeah, because on top of a fussy two year old - I want to deal with a childish husband. I’m surprised you're not on the stairs, cryin’ about ice cream too with how you’re acting,” Y/N laughs - the sound crawling under Harry’s skin with irritation at her fake carefree attitude when she’s just as annoyed as him.

“You’re being an even bigger brat than our daughter right now,” Harry tells her, trying to keep his voice at a low volume but it comes out louder than intended. He felt himself straighten up and kept direct eye contact with his wife.

Y/N’s lips form into a tight line before gritting out, “Do not raise your voice at me. We agreed that no matter how frustrated we got we wouldn’t do that in front of our daughter.”

“Then don’t act so immature, ever think of tha’?” Harry bites, hating the he hears his work voice being directed at his wife when he never wants that.

“How am I being immature? You promised her something that she didn’t get, then reminded her that she’s not getting it. I’m allowed to be frustrated with you!” Y/N whisper-shouts, Ivy is now distracted by taking her little shoes off and watching them tumble down the stairs.

“I have so many better things I could be doing right now than stand here and fight with you over our daughter having a stupid tantrum. I’ll be in my office,” Harry replies, because when he doesn’t know what to do and refuses to admit he’s wrong - he falls back to his best excuse, work.

And he automatically regrets it when he sees a flash of hurt cross his wife’s face. Harry wants to swallow back those words and wrap his wife up into a hug. Never wanting to make her feel like his work is worth more of his time.

Deep down, they both know she knows that it’s not the truth but in the midst of the fight it doesn’t sting any less. He opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her that he’d rather put their daughter to bed together any night than be in his office.

But he can tell she’s already past the point of being pissed when she replies calmly, “I’ll put our baby to bed. Go work on whatever is more important than us, Mr. Styles.”

Harry wants to reach out and grab at her arm, tug her into his chest, and murmur in her hair how much he loves her more than anything. He said that because he knows it’s hurtful and it’s his only way to win an argument with her.

However, she’s moving up the stairs, scooping the somewhat calmed down baby into her arms and trudging up without another look at her still brooding husband.

Harry hears Ivy shout back down the stairs, “Daddy, come on!”

He hears his wife tell his daughter, “Daddy’s too busy with work, Ivy. S’just mummy.”

But that has Harry absolutely fuming, storming up the stairs after then, “Do not make it seem like I’m ever too busy for my daughter. That’s completely uncalled for, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t turn back to face him, instead keeps walking, and says with a monotone voice, “Oh, but you just said you had better things to be doing than dealing with your family. So go take care of your work, hot shot. I’ll take care of our daughter.”

“Why are you making it seem like I put my work before Ivy? I’ve literally never let that happen and you know that. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion because Ivy’s been having tantrums and you can’t put on your big girl pants and deal with them.”

That’s when Y/N spins around on her heel, letting Ivy down and encouraging her to go play in her room for a little before bedtime. Her face is turning red - which rarely happens unless they’re really about to get in an argument.

“Big girl pants? Really, I’m at home dealing with her tantrums twenty-four seven. You get to come home from work and only deal with it half on the time. Do not act like you know how stressful it is to stay at home with a toddler in their terrible twos all day.”

“Do not act like it’s harder than running a multi-billion pound business,” Harry scoffs, his voice becoming lower with frustration with an argument that was going nowhere. He had a cocky lift to his voice that made her want to scream.

“Oh, because it’s so difficult half the time? Last week, you got to go on your private jet to Paris for three days for business aka dinner and golfing while I sat at home alone!” Y/N raises her voice, angry tears forming over her lids.

“Sat in our 35 million pound house with a pool, playground, plenty of shops in town, unlimited money doesn’t sound like a hardship, love,” Harry replies, jaw clenching but his fingers itching to brush the tears away.

“You know what? It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’m going out. You watch her for the whole fucking day and see how easy it is. For now, enjoy the guest room,” Y/N spits out, storming down the hall to Ivy’s room to get her ready for bed.

“With pleasure,” He tells her, retreating back into his office and slamming the door. He wasn’t a fucking inadequate father.

He never put work before his family. He knew it wasn’t easy being at home and as soon as he sat his arse in his leather chair - he realized what a douchebag he was being to his stressed out wife.

Harry didn’t want to sleep in the guest room, he wanted to be spooned up next to his wife, whispering apologies for letting the stress of the week get to him. Remind her what an amazing partner and mum she is to him. How lucky he is.

The issue was - Harry had pride issues. He wasn’t one to admit defeat even when he should. He thrived on challenges so he was eager to show his wife that he’d have no problem taking on his terrible twos daughter.

He sneaks into his daughter’s room after she’s fast asleep in her crib, checking on her to make sure she’s okay before hesitantly entering their bedroom where his wife is fast asleep but a pile of clean clothes for him on the floor tells him she was serious about him sleeping in the guest room.

It was torture, not being able to be in the same bed as his wife. The love of his life. He thought about it multiple times - going in and groveling but his stubborn brain wouldn’t allow it. After such a long week, he was looking forward to sleeping in and his head hit the pillow in no time.

“Rise and shine,” His wife's voice wakes him up, it wasn’t with her normally cheery tone but with the same irritation as the night before. She definitely hadn’t magically forgiven him yet - dammit. Her voice is nearly drowned out by a fussy curly-haired baby.

“Wha’s wrong?” Harry grunts, sitting up to see Ivy still in her pajamas with sheet wrinkles across her face. Skin pink and warm from her nice, peaceful sleep.

However, she decided to wake up today with a massive chip on her shoulder.

“Ivy’s upset because she can’t find her ballerina doll,” Y/N replies.

Harry notices she is already fully dressed *** and made up for the day. “Might want to get up and help her find it. I’m heading out like we agreed on.”

“Fine,” Harry replies with a tight lip, rubbing his eyes as he’s still half asleep. “Y’look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replies nonchalantly, leaning over to kiss Ivy on the forehead, “I’ll see you later bug, I love you.”

Ivy looks at her mother in betrayal as she leaves Harry to manage their little ball of fury. He tries to tug her in for a big, warm hug but she shrieks and screams at her father, “Ballerina!”

“Ssh, okay. We’ll go look for y’ballerina, dove. No need to yell, s’too early,” Harry grumbles, sitting up and automatically being pulled by the hand off the bed to search for this doll that could be anywhere in this thousands upon thousands of square foot home.

After extensive searches, Harry realizes that he’d left it on the roof of the car when he was tucking her into her carseat last night. The cute little plush doll is now mostly likely roadkill on the country stretch.

“Ivy, y’literally got a whole room dedicated to stuffed animals and dolls. Let’s go pick somethin’ from there, yes?” Harry tries, his daughter’s arms crossed and glaring at Harry like he had just killed her hopes and dreams.

“No! No!” The toddler absolutely wails, plopping her little diaper-clad bum on the ground before kicking her feet against the marble. She had herself worked up until her cheeks were cherry red and tears were staining her shirt.

Harry couldn’t lie - he’d only been watching her for about two hours and he was starting to feel anxiety creep up in his throat over what to do. It wasn’t that he couldn’t parent her, but it was a lot of crying and he hated seeing her upset.

“Why don’t we go eat some breakfast? Does that sound good, lovie?” Harry offers hopefully, having to contain a laugh at how much she looks like him when he’s angry. The little crease between her eyes, the green in her eyes sparkling a little darker than usual.

Her eyes peek up at her father, “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry sighs in relief, scrubbing at hand down his face, taking her into the kitchen, strapping her in the highchair before whipping up some cheesy eggs for her.

When he puts down the plate in front of her, he has to say she’s surprised when she slaps it off the tray and onto the floor, spilling everywhere. “No, want mummy’s breakfast.”

Her father looks at her with a comically bewildered expression before turning on his dad voice, “We do not throw things on the ground. Do you understand me, Ivy Elizabeth?”

Her full little lips are drawn into a tight pout as she tosses her baby fork on the ground to join the still warm eggs in a heap.

“Mummy’s breakfast.”

The scolding goes in one ear and out the other, she doesn’t acknowledge her father but continues on her demands.

He caves after trying to no avail to decipher what ‘mummy’s breakfast’ means.

Ivy threw her eggs on the ground. She’s demanding mummy’s breakfast.

She’s hated eggs for the past two weeks now. Vanilla yogurt with diced strawberries and blueberries in her red baby bowl.

He does as she says, arranges a nice little bowl of yogurt with the fruit. He couldn’t find the red bowl so he substituted for a blue one.

It results in the yogurt also being smacked to the ground.

She threw that on the ground too.

Did you put it in a red bowl?

I couldn’t find it, just put it in a blue bowl

She only wants to eat breakfast out of red bowls right now

Harry groans, he didn’t know his daughter was this difficult about breakfast time. He was usually gone by the time she’d woken up for the day. Y/N usually let him sleep in a bit on the weekends until ten or so.

After digging for the specific red bowl, doing up her breakfast again - Ivy happily begins eating until it drips down her sleep clothes, rubbed all over her cheeks, and it even manages up in her tangled locks.

“S’that just so yummy, Vee?” Harry hums after she’s finished. “Looks like it’s bath time.”

He really should have guessed at this point when she shakes her head and squeaks, “No!”

“Yes, s’bathtime,” Harry says sternly, traipsing upstairs with the wriggling toddler who is doing everything in her power to fight against her father’s hold.

“No, no, no. Ballerina,” Ivy brings it up again, making it a near impossible task for Harry to wrangle her out of her clothes and diaper.

While he’s running the bath, she darts from the bathroom and through the hallways, right towards the grand staircase where the baby gate isn’t closed. Harry really really didn’t want to yell at his daughter but she could seriously get hurt.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, if you don’t get your little bum over to Daddy right now, you’re going on the step and y’not having playtime at all,” Harry orders loudly, but breathing a sigh of relief when his daughter skids in her tracks to a halt.

The little girl turns on her heels, eyes wide in fright at her dad’s raised voice - which rarely ever happened unless she really wasn’t listening. She begins to cry but not in her now typical anger-induced haze but in a legitimate sad wail.

His heart aches as his daughter toddles obediently back over to him with her little head hung low in regret, “Daddy, hold me?”

Harry can’t deny her so he scoops her up into the crook of his arm, “M’sorry for yellin’, bug. But y’need to be good for Daddy? You could have gotten really hurt and that would have made Daddy sad, okay?”

Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him, her hand curling around his neck before burying her still yogurt-sticky face into his skin, hiccuping with sad whines, “Sad Daddy.”

“Mhm, now are you going to be nice and get a bath f’me? Y’dirty, bubby,” Harry smiles down at her to brighten back up her mood and it works because her dimples pop out of her cheeks and she flashes her small blocky baby teeth.

Ivy surprisingly does well in the bathtub, allowing her father to get her all cleaned up until she accidentally opens her eyes and gets baby soap in them, it’s another round of tears that cannot be controlled.

Harry totes the sobbing toddler into a cute little Moschino onesie and brings her into their bedroom. He’s so fucking exhausted and it was barely noon. His stress level was near a hundred as he couldn’t keep her from being pissed off for more than twenty minutes at a time.

Luckily, it seems like the screaming and crying for the last how many hours had taken a toll on her because as soon as she sprawled on her stomach on Harry’s chest, she’s out like a light. The cutest small snores coming from her as she smacks her lips together while she dreams.

He gives her a few minutes to fall into a deeper sleep before tiptoeing her into her nursery and laying her very carefully into her crib. She doesn’t wake, just whimpers softly and turns on her side, away from her father.

When he’s sure she’ll be okay, he goes back into their bedroom, and well...he just breathes. He didn’t realize how high his anxiety had been up to this point and his whole morning had been nothing but trying to get his daughter calm. He didn’t even have one moment to think about himself.

It really wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Y/N being a stay at home mum - of course, he did. He already knew how bloody amazing and strong she was as a person, he didn’t need this to prove what he already knew. It was his stubbornness to not decline a challenge and they both knew that was the case.

Y/N really didn’t think that Harry doubted her abilities. He nearly spent most of his days telling her how proud he was of her and her abilities as a partner and mum. It doesn’t mean it didn’t sting when he brought up his job compared to hers.

Harry’s in his own world of thoughts that he doesn’t notice a figure leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, “You got everything under control, H?”

His eyes darted up to meet his wife’s, “Not really. She’s a little terror,” He jokes (kind of).

“It’s easy compared to your job, right?” Y/N asks but it’s obviously rhetorical. She drops a few shopping bags on the floor before leaning down to unstrap her high heels, kicking them off along with throwing off the blazer to the floor.

“I never said your job was easy. Y’puttin’ words in my mouth,” Harry argues, sitting up straight and moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re right. It’s just not as hard as your job,” Y/N huffs, unbuttoning the tight jeans and shucking them off her thighs. She didn’t have any idea what she was doing to him right now, his mouth nearly watering when her thighs jiggle a bit.

“You’re right, it’s not as hard as my job,” Harry replies, studying his wife’s face when she looks up in surprise - that he was really going to take the fight that far.

“Wow, you re-”

“It’s not as hard as my job, it’s harder,” Harry murmurs, reaching out to pull his wife to stand between his legs, her looking down at him with her hands on his shoulders. “

What I’m doin’ is nothin’ compared to your job. Y’raising our little baby, shaping her into a good person, spending every moment of y’day with her, giving up a lot of who you are for her. That’s more difficult than what I do any day.”

“Har-”

“M’sorry, lovie. Y’know I think you’re the most amazing mum and wife. You do everything for the baba and I. I shouldn’t have taken my anger from my week out on you yesterday and then said the things that I did,” Harry apologizes, his face sincere and open as he leans forward to nuzzle at his wife’s stomach.

When her hands come to run through his unruly locks, he knows he’s forgiven, “I appreciate how hard you work too. I really do, H. You’re the best husband and daddy to Ivy we could ask for. I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you as well.”

“Do you ever feel like I put work before you or Ivy?” Harry asks softly against her thin tank top, his hands come to massage at her full hips. There was a hint of insecurity in his tone that made Y/N’s heart sink a bit.

“No, I really don’t. I was just...I was just upset and I knew that would upset you. I’m sorry, baby,” Y/N murmurs softly, leaning down to kiss at the top of his head.

“Y’going to let me show you how sorry I am, how good of a wife and mum you are?” Harry drawls, his hands going to tug up the fabric of her top and humming appreciatively when she lifts her arms to let him do so.

“Yeah, remind why I married your crabby ass,” Y/N teases playfully, reaching behind herself to let her bra fall down to the crooks of her elbows before tossing it to the floor with everything else. As she’s doing that, Harry takes it upon himself to shimmy off her panties.

“Y’sayin’ you just married me ‘cause I fuck you good?” Harry grunts, standing up suddenly and pulling her up into his arms until her legs are wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck.

“Mmm, mostly. Also for your bank account was pretty good-looking too,” She lies blatantly but he still rewards her with a bruising kiss to her lips as he backs her against the wall so he can use one hand to tug down his running shorts.

“I’d still have married you, best decision I’ve ever made,” Harry says, sobering up from their playfulness. He slows down to be careful as he slides up into her warm heat, her head falling back with a thud against the wall.

“Harry,” She moans approvingly, heels of her feet digging into his backside to goad him into moving faster, “Right there.”

“So bloody in love with you. Please tell me y’know that baby, c’mon, tell me,” Harry begs, leaning down to smear kisses against her collarbone.

“I know, H. You’re so good to me, I love you,” Y/N whines and Harry knows that whine like the back of his hand, she needs more. He reaches down to rub tight, rough circles against her swollen bud until she’s tensing and coming.

“You feel so good, every single time. Don’t know how you do it, s’like you were made just for me,” Harry chokes out, stuttering and coming with his lips suckling a deep spot onto her breast as he rides it out.

After they redress and are cuddled on the bed, murmuring sweet little apologizes and affirmations of love, they interrupted by an angry squeak from the baby monitor - signaling their daughter’s woken up.

“Ballerina!”

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kinglazrus · 3 years

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Deep Wounds Ch. 2 - What Now?

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It takes ten minutes for everyone to change and clear out. During that time, an invisible Danny floats in one of the shower stalls, his gym bag clutched to his chest, one hand clamped around his mouth. If it hadn't been for Dash's shout of "No!" he might not have hidden in time. Danny only had a few seconds to snatch up his bandages and bag—but not the gauze—before the first person entered.

It was Tucker, thankfully. He gaped when he saw Danny and quickly waved for him to hide. Just in time, too, since Elliot was only a few steps behind.

Now, Danny can only hear a single person shuffling about.

"It's clear," Tucker whispers.

Danny floats through the door of the shower stall, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees the empty change room. He drops his invisibility and dumps his stuff on the floor in favour of clutching his side. "Why didn't I stay home today?"

"Because you want to graduate this year and you can't afford another absence." Tucker grabs his gym shirt off the floor, revealing the forgotten gauze pad, and sighs at the new stains. "I really liked this shirt."

"Sorry, man."

"Dude, you are literally bleeding. Shut up. You don't need to apologize. Just be glad I got my shirt off before Elliot could see the damn thing." Tucker grabs the gauze, rolls it into a ball, and tosses it toward the garbage can. "Ten points!"

The gauze bounces off the rim and falls to the floor.

"Zero points," Danny says.

"Rude."

"Hey, I'm bleeding, remember?"

"That only gets you a pass from saying sorry, not common decency."

Danny's shoulders shake as he laughs. It hurts, making his left side throbbing, but trying to hold it back hurts worse. "Ow, ow, ow," he says, gasps of pain interrupting him. Curling over, he hugs his side even tighter, fighting back a sharp cry. The tension in his body doesn't help, but the pressure on his side feels good.

"Sam on her way?" Danny asks.

"She's grabbing the first-aid kit from my locker. I'll fix you up this time. We all know I have steadier hands." That A-plus in home ec isn't for nothing.

"Thanks," Danny mumbles.

"Yeah, dude. We've got you."

After Sam arrives, Tucker redoes Danny's stitches in record time. Half of the lunch hour has passed by the time Danny gets patched up, but he doesn't feel hungry anyway. Tucker takes his and Danny's bloody gym shirts and stuffs them into the first-aid kit.

"I need to refill on some supplies at home," Tucker explains. "I'll get rid of these there."

"Good idea. My mom found a pair of jeans I forgot to throw away after a fight with Skulker. I had a hard time explaining that one away," Danny says. The "I tripped into a window" excuse probably only works once, anyway. "But we have another problem."

"Dash?" Sam asks.

Danny nods. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"He was acting weird when gym ended. Wouldn't let anyone come inside until we pushed him out of the way."

"Huh." Danny certainly didn't expect that. Dash might be a downright bully anymore, but he's still not prone to random acts of kindness. "That's... weird." It doesn't make up for him tearing Danny's wound back open, even if it was an accident, but it's something.

"I think we might not have to worry about him," Sam says.

Danny stares at her, incredulous. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, actually. He could have done anything when he saw the rest of the class coming, including telling everyone that you were hurt. But he stopped them instead."

"But this is Dash."

"That's surprising coming from you."

"What does that even mean? You guys and Valerie are being so weird today. Come on, Tucker. Back me up." Danny looks at Tucker, fully expecting him to be on Danny's side.

Tucker doesn't respond right away. Biting his thumbnail, he stares ahead at the floor, deep in thought. That alone is enough to send Danny for a loop. When Tucker does answer, Danny's jaw drops in disbelief.

"I'm with Sam on this."

"For real?"

"Yeah, man. We don't even know what Dash thinks he saw, anyway. What happened when he walked in?" Tucker asks.

Danny tells them, sparing no detail.

"Oh, wow."

Sam shakes her head. "I'll say. I can't believe you wailed at him."

"Almost. I almost wailed at him. It was a baby wail at most. More of a hum," Danny says. He was just so surprised when Dash walked in. Danny's instincts took over and all he could think about was getting Dash out of there as soon as possible. He is lucky no one else came running.

"That already will have freaked him out. If we go around making a big deal about it and getting in his face, that'll make things worse." Sam stands up from the floor, stretching her arms over her head. She looks completely unconcerned, so does Tucker for that matter. Both of them are content to let Dash be. "Let's wait to see what he does. If he starts spreading rumours, we'll know right away, and then we can confront him."

"On the other hand, he might go to you, Danny, first," Tucker adds. He takes a bottle of Aspirin from the first-aid kit and presses it into Danny's hand before zipping the bag up. "He might not do anything."

The bottle of Aspirin rattles as Danny twists the lid off. "I can't believe you guys are okay with this." He dumps a couple of pills into his palm and tosses them back. Wordlessly, Sam passes him a water bottle. One quick swig is all he needs to help the pills go down. "He could be telling everyone right now."

"He could," Sam admits. "But he won't."

Sam and Tucker get up to leave, and Danny's forced to follow, or else get left behind. He trails after them, stiff, sore, and aching. The pills won't kick in for a while, and he loathes having to walk now. If he could get away with it, he would spend the rest of the day floating through the halls.

Tragically, he has a secret to protect. One that is very much at risk right now, despite what Sam says. Wherever she and Tucker are getting their confidence from, Danny doesn't share it. He just hopes they're right.

Dash tries to hold it in. He really does. The sound of Danny's anger bearing down on him, reverberating through the change room, hasn't stopped rattling around his head. But as lunch nears its end, the words burst out of him.

"I think Fenton is in a gang or something," Dash says.

The table falls silent.

Kwan freezes in place, hand halfway to his mouth, and a piece of meatloaf falls off his fork. "You... what?"

"I think Danny is in a gang," Dash repeats, softer.

His friends gape at him, equally confused. Mostly. Star doesn't even look up from her math homework. In fact, Dash thinks she's smiling, but he ignores it.

"Kwan, I thought you said Danny was the one who got hit during gym class," Paulina says. She pushes her lunch aside and leans across the table, lifting a hand to Dash's forehead. "Are you sure you got it right?"

"I'm fine, Paulie." Dash ducks under his hand and hunkers low to the table. When no one else moves, he gestures for them to come closer. Kwan does so immediately. Paulina rolls her eyes but obliges.

"I'm good," Star says.

"Okay, so, I checked on Fenton after dropping him off, 'cause he looked kind of bad, and I guess, I don't know. I felt... whatever. It doesn't matter. But like, he had this huge cut."

Paulina grins and leans in closer, finally looking invested. "You felt kind of 'whatever?'"

Dash scowls. "Seriously, Paulie?"

"You're the one who said it!" Paulina smacks the table, a fit of giggles bursting from her. It's her "I've found some juicy gossip" noise and Dash hates it.

"Did you even hear me? Huge cut and all that?" Dash says.

Kwan shrugs. "I don't know. His parents build a lot of crazy stuff, don't they? He probably hurt himself on one of those. Did you see that new gun they were toting around last week? It melted Mr. Lancer's car!"

"Oh, my God. I totally saw that. I felt so bad for him," Paulina says.

Dash frowns down at the table while the conversation plods on. True, everyone knows the Fentons have some crazy inventions. But everything they make, they make to hurt ghosts, not people. Everyone in town has been caught in the Fentons crossfire at one point or another. Dash still remembers the disgusting taste of the Fenton Foamers. Like warm, month-old key lime yogurt. Disgusting, but ultimately harmless.

And Danny didn't just have a little cut. It was huge. Dash only got a brief look at it, but that short glance told him everything he needed to know. Something, or someone, had hurt Danny. Rather than going to the hospital—because no trained professional would do such a sloppy job—Danny fixed it himself or got his friends to fix it. The injury had to be new, too, since it was still bleeding.

But stitches could bleed if you ripped them, didn't treat the injury right. Judging by the placement, Danny's stitches must pull every time he moves his arm.

Could one of his parents' guns have done that?

Now that Dash thinks about it, he doesn’t remember ever seeing Danny get hit with his parents' weapons. Not their guns, at least. They have that dumb boomerang thing that he's seen smack Danny on the back of the head. Actually, that one hits Danny a lot.

Dash's frown deepens, etching into his face. Why on Earth would one of Danny's own parents' inventions hurt him so much? Unless...

"Hey, guys?" Dash asks, interrupting Star mid-sentence.

"You found more proof of Fenton's gang activities?" Paulina asks.

"What if, like, someone's hurting him?"

"You mean one of his gang buddies?"

"No, Paulie, I'm serious. What if someone is hurting him?"

The table falls silent once more, but this time, his friends' expressions are serious rather than disbelieving.

Kwan lowers his voice. "Do you really think... I mean, Fenton?"

"Well..." Star taps her chin. "Where was he hurt?"

"Here." Dash taps his ribs on his left side, under his arm.

Star nods. "Okay. Are you sure he couldn't have, you know...." She trails off, but Dash already knows what she means.

"No way. He could hardly see the cut, much less do it himself. And it was bad."

"So he was hurt, badly, in a place that no one else would normally see. He didn't miss any school, so he probably didn't go to the hospital. Was it recent?"

Dash nods. "There was blood. Too much to just be because of the stitches."

Star drums her fingers on the table, nodding slowly. "I think you could be right."

The A-listers glance around the table, meeting each other's eyes. None of them say anything, but the same question lurks in all their minds. Now what?

In the days following the change room debacle, Danny avoids Dash like his life depends on it. Which it might. Any time he sees Dash in the hall, he turns right around and walks away. When they're in class, Danny stares straight ahead and refuses to look Dash's way. In gym class, Tetslaff lets him sit out, finally. Having Danny blackout on her after she forced him to play must have spooked her because she benches him before he can even ask not to play.

"No student of mine is gonna pass out on my watch. Twice," she says.

It won't last forever, but Danny will take what he can get, while he can get it.

But the thing is, Dash doesn't try anything. It's surreal. For the past four years, Danny has grown accustomed to Dash's constant harassment. Even when it dropped significantly in sophomore year, Dash never stopped. He threw erasers at Danny during class, tripped him in the halls, called out teasing names every chance he got.

"I'm not the only one who thinks this is weird, right?" Danny asks Tucker on the third day.

Already done his lunch, Tucker is thoroughly engrossed by his phone and doesn't look up as he replies. "You think everything is weird lately."

"Because it is."

"Missing your quality time with Dash?" Tucker flashes a quick grin in Danny's direction before returning to his phone.

"Har, har. You are so funny." Danny would have to be some kind of masochist to miss Dash's badgering. It's just... strange, not to have to watch the halls for him in that way. It doesn't make Danny watch any less—in fact, he finds himself looking for Dash more than before. So that he can run away if he gets close. Except Dash isn't even trying, and that annoys the hell out of him.

Tucker sighs, finally putting down his phone, and rests a hand on Danny's head. "Such a hopeless young soul. Can't even understand your own heart."

Danny slaps the hand away. "Says the guy who asked out every girl in school because they all made him feel the same way because it turns out he's super ace and didn't actually feel anything for any of them."

"And what an emotional journey that was." Tucker faces Danny head-on. "Look, Danny. If it's bothering you that much, then go talk to him. Feed him some excuse about what happened. Just remember that there's a reason Sam and I think it will be okay."

Danny ponders Tucker's advice for the rest of the day. The weekend starts tomorrow, which gives him two whole Dash-free days to think about the situation. Maybe a little time to himself as what he needs. He goes for a flight after school rather than walking home with Tucker; being in the air always helps clear his head.

He soars far above the city until he is little more than a pinprick to everyone far below. At the peak of his flight, his phone rings. The caller ID shows it's Jazz.

"What's up?" he greets his sister.

"Taken over my room yet?" Jazz asks.

"When you've only been at college for a month? Of course." It made a great storage space. Danny turns over to float on his stomach and starts drifting down like a leaf, falling back and forth on the wind.

"Well, I'm gonna need it back this weekend."

"Dropping out already?"

"You wish. I got a tutoring gig: two sessions—Saturday and Sunday. I don't want to do the two hours there and back both days, so I'm coming home for the weekend."

"I can't believe someone is actually paying to spend time with you. Hope the loser doesn't rub off on them."

Jazz laughs. "Pretty sure any loser on my came from you. And it's four people. Actually, you know them."

When Danny comes downstairs Saturday morning and sees Jazz's students at the kitchen table, he stops dead.

"You have got to be kidding me," he says.

"Hi, Danny!" Paulina waves, far too perky for nine in the morning. Squished around the table with her, Kwan and Star offer their own small waves. Dash looks straight down at his textbook.

"Goodbye." Danny pivots and marches back toward the stairs. Forget breakfast; he didn't want to eat, anyway. He can still have a nice, relaxing, Dash-free day in the confines of his bedroom.

A cascade of whispers reaches his ears as he hits the first stair. The A-listers murmur too quiet for him to make out what they're saying, although he thinks he catches his name more than once. Maybe they're talking about how uncanny it is being inside his house. Or, perhaps, they're discussing the new school nurse, Tammy. But even as he thinks it, he knows neither theory is true.

A chair screeches in the kitchen, the plastic capped legs scraping against the linoleum. Danny throws himself up the stairs.

"Oh, Danny, wait!" Paulina's silky voice follows him.

He jerks to a stop at the landing, cringing. How mad would she be if he ignored her? It's funny to think that a few years ago his heart would have leapt at Paulina calling out his name, back when he had a crush on her.

His toes curl against the carpet as he hesitates; the pros and cons of ignoring her run through his head. Pro: he won't have to deal with whatever scheme she's up to, and Paulina is most certainly up to something. Con: she might sic Dash on him, and he's the last person Danny wants to see right now. But that's a moot point because Dash is already here. After some humming and hawing, he grits his teeth and turns back around.

Paulina hangs out the kitchen doorway, greeting him with a bright smile.

"Yes, Paulina?" Danny asks.

It should be physically impossible for her smile to get any wider, and yet it does. "You're having trouble in science class, right?"

Danny hesitates. "Maybe. Why?"

"So are we! We came here for a study session with your sister, since she was Casper's best student in thirty decades. You should join us!"

"Isn't Star acing all her classes? And I thought science was your best class."

Paulina rolls her eyes and huffs, but without any malice. It reminds him of the look Tucker gives his little cousins when they are being intentionally obstinate. Danny flushes, suddenly feeling stupid even though he doesn't understand why.

"Yeah, we're good at it, but the boys aren't. Duh." She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is. "It's easier to study in a group."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I like studying alone."

Paulina's smile doesn't fall, but it changes. Danny can't quite place what it turns into. Her mouth curves upward and her teeth are exposed; objectively, it's still a smile. But there's a new tension to it, one Danny only notices now, but he thinks might have been there the whole time, lurking behind the bright façade. His grip on the newel post tightens, the wood creaking beneath his finger.

At times like this, Danny wishes his ghost abilities included reading emotions. The look Paulina is giving him is important, he can feel it, even though he can't explain it. But it doesn't mean anything if he can't decipher it.

"If you say so." The moment shatters. Paulina withdraws back into the kitchen, leaving Danny alone and wondering if he missed something important.

Down the hall from him, Jazz's bedroom door opens. She emerges with an armful of books—old schoolbooks, Danny notes.

"Not hanging out with Sam and Tucker today?" she asks.

"Jazz, it's not even noon yet. I don't think Tucker's awake." Danny glances down the stairs toward the kitchen, mulling something over in his head. "I kind of want some alone time today. I know you're tutoring and everything, but could you make sure they don't bother me?"

Jazz frowns. "Is everything okay?"

"There was an... incident with Dash at school."

"Boy troubles?"

"Jazz!" Danny's entire face turns scarlet. "Please never say that about Dash." He lowers his voice. "It was ghost-related troubles."

Jazz's expression goes stony, her teasing smile replaced by a serious frown. "Do I need to take care of him for you?"

"Oh, my God, Jazz! Just keep him away from my room!" He marches the rest of the way to his room to the sound of Jazz's snickers and slams the door behind him.

When Paulina returns to the kitchen, Dash sits up straighter. She shakes her head as she reclaims her seat next to Star. Dash deflates again.

"I told you this wouldn't work," Dash says.

"Don't be so silly. That wasn't even plan A, although it would make things easier. Are you sure you didn't do anything to him in that change room?" Paulina asks.

Dash groans. "Please. Please never say anything like that again. It sounds so wrong."

"You're the one who took it that way."

Star and Kwan laugh at Dash's misfortune, watching him bury his face in his arms. When Star suggested they gather evidence, to confirm whether or not Danny was being abused at home, this wasn't what Dash expected. He pictured spy movie antics with them sneaking through the bushes dressed all in black, peeking through windows until they say something that proved—or disproved—their theory.

Things would go a lot easier if Dash could actually talk to Danny, but ever since that moment in the change room, he can't. He knows Danny has been avoiding him, which is better short term. If Danny walked up to Dash right now demanding to talk about what happened, Dash wouldn't know what to say.

How many times has he hurt Danny (pushed, kicked, body-checked) when he was injured? There's a possibility, however slim, that this was a fluke, the first time Danny has ever come to school injured. There have to be loads of reasons someone might not go to the hospital, such as bad insurance. Dash's cousin broke her nose once and let it heal crooked instead of going to the doctor since it was cheaper. He's heard stories of people sacrificing their health rather than paying exorbitant hospital fees. It's not impossible.

Except Danny's parents are inventors. They do projects for the government and can afford to throw money around for ridiculous ghost hunting contraptions. The Emergency Ops Centre only two floors above them must have cost millions. If that's the case, then surely his parents can afford a hospital visit for such a bad wound.

Dash doesn’t like to think about the alternative, but he has to. The alternative is the whole reason he and his friends are here.

That doesn't help with Dash's other dilemma, though. How is he supposed to talk to Fenton, now? Dash doesn't think he knows how to interact with Danny without some form of aggression. Even when he stopped outright bullying people, he never stopped with Danny. A push here, a shove there. It is instinct for Dash to stick his foot out if he sees Danny coming.

Danny even returns the favour, sometimes, growing bolder the older they became. Dash still doesn't know how Danny keeps getting into his stuffed bear collection, but it's not unusual for him to find one in his locker or sitting at his desk when he returns to class.

It's what they do. Dash can't help it. Any time he manages to trip Danny up enough that he gets a glare or a vengeful smile, it makes him feel good.

But he can't do that now. If Danny is actually getting hurt at home, Dash can't in his right mind keep agitating him. Just thinking about what he did to Danny's stitches makes him pale. He doesn't even want to think about what other wounds he's made worse over the years.

And he has. Dash knows this without a doubt. Thinking back on their interactions this year alone, more than five occasions come to mind where Danny grimaced, or flinched, or clutched some part of his body after Danny bumped his shoulder in the hall. It feels him with an indescribable dread, but the worst of it is he can't understand why.

He never knew Danny was injured; he can't be entirely to blame. Thinking that does nothing to assuage his guilt, though.

"Okay!" Jazz Fenton announces herself with a bright chirp. She clutches a stack of textbooks to her chest; books Dash recognizes from their classes. The idea that she stole them from the school flashes through his mind, but that's ludicrous. Jazz doesn't have a criminally minded bone in her body. If anything, she bought them, or the school gave them to her for being that amazing. Either option is more likely than her committing a crime.

Jazz slams the books down on the table directly across from Dash. She flashes him a brilliant smile as she sits and folds her hands over the table.

"So, Dash." She tilts her head. Her smile no longer looks kind. "I've heard some interesting things about you."

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#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny fenton #dash baxter #swagger bishie #danny/dash #deepwounds

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aspiringharlot · 3 years

Text

y/n takes takes care of bratty, sub, shiggy.

Ok! Eeeee! I did it! First y/n and first BNHA story done! This one is about a bratty sub Shiggy! There are some points where it’s clear I wasn’t sure what a bratty sub Shigaraki would say but hopefully overtime as I become more familiar with the characters that will change! I think I did this one pretty quickly so, forgive me, there are probably a few mistakes in terms of tense and grammar that I didn’t catch. Another little thing, this story ended up a lot fluffier/mild than I thought I was capable of and I even ended up dropping an L-bomb!

(Story Includes, mention of injury and bullet wounds, bondage elements, brat elements, l-bomb, sneak peek of little spoon Shiggy and of course, sex )

(minors please do not interact)

(tagging @palbabor-writes and @kugutsuu cause they seemed interested, p.s. don’t worry @palbabor-writes public sex and degradation Hawks is up next!)

EDIT: adding @tod0oki to the tags, happy to have you!

Enjoy!

It was hard work, keeping Tomura Shigaraki in line. Sure, you allowed him control on most days, heaven knows he needed to feel some sense of control in his life, but really there was no doubt, at the end of the day, you made the decisions in the relationship. That never stopped your Shiggy from being a brat though.

Today was just as bad as any other day wrangling your lover, only this time with the added difficulty of having to literally prevent Shigaraki from moving as he pleased. Hesitant as you were to admit it, you did not possess the brute strength required for the task. Instead you relied on a sly trick. Tying him up in bondage gear which was typically used on you.

When he was finally secured, Shigaraki whined, pulling at the restraints. Around his narrow wrists were sturdy leather straps, fitted tightly and anchored to the metal bed posts in order to restrict his movements. Your lover was red faced, lying down on his bed, dirty sheets bunched around his sweating form.

‘I should change those out soon,’ you thought before returning your attention to Tomura.

“oh, Tomura, come on… if you refuse to rest Kurogiri and I are just going to keep you tied up longer.” You lowered yourself to sit beside him on the full-sized bed, moving your hand to his head and smoothing his hair down.

Shigaraki grunted, shaking his head out of your hand in defiance. You scowled down at him.

“You know, for a man who’s been shot four times you have far too much energy.” Swiftly you stood up, dusting crumbs of food from your jeans. You really should change those sheets out… If you wait much longer there’ll be an ecosystem thriving in the cotton threads. Meh, you’ll work on it later when Shigaraki is asleep and infinitely more manageable.

Come to think of it, you should change his bandages soon. Kurogiri or the others weren’t around to do it this time, meaning you’d have to tame the beast all by yourself.

“ts.” You clicked your tongue. “I’ll be back,”

You exited the room without giving Shigaraki the chance to retort, heading straight for the kitchen cabinet responsible for holding the everyday vitamin and mineral supplements you’d feed Shigaraki. Now, however, you rummaged past the gummy vitamins, searching for a bottle of Nyquil. Upon its acquisition you turned back on your heel making your way to the bedroom your lover was restrained in. You stopped in the bathroom on your way back, collecting a pair of cosmetic scissors and gauze amongst other wound supplies. As you balanced all the items in your arms you could hear a distinct clanking noise. The noise of the restrains being tested and fought against.

You came back into the room with a sigh, looking at Tomura with dead and unamused eyes. He was fruitlessly trying to decay the leather wrapped around him, his own wrist disallowing the angle to make such a thing possible.

“Could you just, I don’t know… cooperate? Maybe, allow yourself some time to heal so you get better faster?” The eye contact you made with Shigaraki was aggressive. Testy. He smiled, curling his upper lip into a sneer.

“Make me.” He taunted.

You could see the thoughts behind his eyes. His exact line of thinking. ‘What’s y/n gonna do? Put me in time out? Make me stay in here an extra hour so I think about what I’ve done?’

In frustration you made a low noise in the back of your throat- the past two days have been utter hell. First the League’s failure at that dumb hero thing and more importantly, the four bullet wounds permeating your lover. Then there was the 12 hours you spent waiting for an underground doctor to come and dig the lead out of Shigaraki’s skin. That was 12 hours of relentless worry you had to deal with! And now, for the past day and a half you’ve had to deal with Tomura’s mood swings.

Now, it wasn’t that you didn’t understand. You were aware of the crushing feeling of personal failure which came with a train wreck you conducted. Still, you were willing to wait on Shiggy hand and foot, your only request that he allow you to take control and make him better.

But he just had to keep fighting you. Making you take drastic measures.

Your attention is caught up by the straps holding Shigaraki down, reminding you of the nights he would fuck you hard and rough, making you gasp in unrelenting pleasure. When he was done, you’d always be like putty in his hands, laying there blissfully exhausted and compliant. You curl your lips into a grinch-like smile. Of course. There was your ticket to Shigaraki’s submission.

You just have to fuck the fight out of him.

“Okay.” You finally said, nodding your head nonchalantly. “Okay. I’ll make you.” Calmly you set the supplies you gathered on the dresser top across from the bed, keeping only the scissors in your hand.

Coming up to the side of the bed you gave the scissors a few experimental snips, the metal making a distinct phip sound.

Shigaraki pressed himself back into the mattress, raising a scarred eyebrow up when you traced the scissor across the gray cotton t shirt. That single eyebrow multiplied into two as you took the scissors to begin cutting through his shirt.

Shigaraki started to squirm as he felt the cool, stale air of his room settle on his skin.

“What are you-“ you paused your delicate snipping to roughly grab the bottom half of his face in your hand, squeezing him to make his mouth fall open and halt his speaking.

“I’m making you cooperate…” You roughly released his face.

Ignoring his continued struggling, you went back to cutting his shirt open, until you were able to peel it off his body- the sweatpants he wore were next though you were hesitant to cut them. They were a grey pair which hung deliciously low on his hips and slid down lower and lower throughout the day. You decided against cutting them, instead shimmying them down to sit close to his shins. His underwear though, that was fair game. You took it off eagerly and drank in the sight of Shigaraki naked before you.

He was pale, still recovering from the blood loss he’d endured only two days prior, and his skin seemed especially swallow- giving off the appearance of fragility. You knew better however- Shigaraki, as weak as he may seem by appearance alone, was a force of nature.

Today you were making your way to the eye of the storm.

“Is getting me naked supposed to make me listen to you?” Tomura asked, his eyes narrowed to cynical slits.

“No… hah.” You let out a breathless laugh. “But this will.”

You were down between his knees in an instant, breathing hot breath over Shiggy’s cock. Before Shigaraki could fully process what you were doing, he’s hard, not that that was unusual, your lover was an easy guy to excite. Still, despite his nudity, he was not expecting this kind of attention, especially after being such a brat.

You were gentle at first, getting his cock used to the stimulation, stroking it languidly, licking at the slit of his cock a few times. You shuddered in satisfaction when you made your way down to his balls and heard him sigh in pleasure at the sensation of your warm tongue lapping at each testicle. Still, you knew better than to think a simple blow job would tame Tomura Shigaraki, successor of All For One.

For now, as you pleased him, he’d act all bashful but, as soon as you exert full control over the pacing of this intimate encounter, he’d start bratting again. When that happens, you’ll just have to take things to eleven.

“Ohh… fuck…” with a jolt, Shiggy thrust his hips up into your soft hand. To him, the pleasure was a most welcome distraction to the sharp aches of the bullet wounds scattered across his body. He’d been playing stoic about the pain for the past two days, but the wounds felt like hot agony for most of the day. He needed this pleasure.

“Your uh, your mouth.” He said, pinching his eyes up in pleasure. “y/n use your mouth on my cock.”

Immediately you ceased all contact with him. His eyes flew open.

“No.” you said with a shrug.

Shigaraki scrunched up his eyebrows and wiggled his hips childishly, making his cock swing like a metronome. “Yes!”

You firmly locked your hands on his hips, stilling the movement, “No.”

“W- Why? “ he whined. “Why aren’t you rubbing my cock anymore?” his voice pitched up, revealing how badly he wanted to feel your touch.

“Well,” You start. “You haven’t been very cooperative with me. I mean, why should you make all the decisions? Why do you get to dictate both what you do and what I do, Hmm? That doesn’t seem very fair.” Your own voice took on a condescending lilt and you tilted his head up with your finger so you could properly look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide with lust and along his temple you could faintly see a pulse point pumping blood in time with the throbbing of his erection.

He wanted it. Bad.

“Let me take care of you, just leave everything to me…” you brought yourself down to his level to softly mutter in his ear. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

You didn’t have to wait for his response to know what he was going to say.

“Suck my cock, now.” He growled.

You took a deep breath and pulled your own shirt off over your head, not as you normally would, but as women do in tv and movies, all in one fluid motion. Your jeans were next, as you slid them off your bare legs, your panties joining them on the floor moments later.

With the grace of a swan you climbed over Shigaraki, positioning yourself on your hands and knees as you backed yourself up to his face.

“Oh so now y/n’s gonna be a big, strong, woman and make me- mhfmfmfm!” You grinded your pussy against his face, enjoying the psychological pleasure more than the physical. Grinding your labia against any ole thing wouldn’t really do it for you- but knowing that Tomura could barely breathe around your pussy as it sat right on his face gave you butterflies and made your hole start to gush.

“There you go… Good Boy…” You panted. Finally you pulled yourself away from Tomura’s mouth and flipped around, now straddling him cowgirl. In seconds, your hand wrapped around his member and positioned it to slide right in your hole. You sat down and took in the shocked, but pleasure-ridden face of Tomura.

You started to grind your hips down and bounce experimentally. In the past, the two of you have refrained from cowgirl, Shigaraki always wanting to hold full control over the action of fucking your pussy. As he laid back and felt his toes start to curl and twitch in pleasure he wondered if he was an idiot.

“See, Tomura~” you cooed as you leaned down, dangling your clothed breasts in his face. “Wasn’t my course of action so much better? Now you get to feel my wet pussy against your cock, isn’t that so much better?”

At a loss for words Shigaraki nodded his head frantically. He was already close. You smiled.

“So does that mean you’re gonna listen to me? Cooperate and do what I say?” that particular phrasing removed him from his headspace of ecstatic compliance.

“Nuh- No!” he choked out as you bounce faster and harder. Shigaraki started gasping and clenching his eyes shut, trying to block out the pleasure to last longer.

“Yes~ you’re gonna give in to me, Tomu-”

“Nu- oh fuck!” he shook his head before tensing up, his whole body becoming stiff underneath you as you felt three hot spurts of cum fill your pussy. You chuckled, you didn’t even have to clench down on his cock to make him come, just the sensation of you bouncing on his cock was enough.

You stilled yourself as he laid under you, gauging his reaction to the orgasm.

He was flushed, and still panting heavily, meaning he came pretty hard. You clench down as his sensitive cock remains in your pussy and giggled when he let out a high pitched keen.

“So, are you gonna be good now? Are you gonna stay in bed for me?” Shigaraki blinked heavily, coming back to himself.

“You’re never…hah… going to get me to…hah… cooperate… hah…” His eyes fluttered shut despite themselves. You bit your lip. It couldn’t be helped. You were gonna have to keep riding him.

Just as Shigaraki’s breath started to even out you rose off of him, only to sink back down at full force. Shigaraki was taken out of his cool down by both the pain coming from the irritation of his bullet wounds and the pleasure of his cock being stimulated.

“Whuu? No, no it’s too sensitive!” he cried out. You said nothing, grinding down into him, fucking him like an animal.

As you continued fucking him Shigaraki trembled beneath you, whimpering in unrestrained pleasure, pulling against the leather cuffs which restricted his free reign. The noises he made were downright sinful, varieties of “ah, ah, ah”’s and “oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”’s being commonly repeated noises.

You gazed down at his face- his eyes rolling around in his skull, frequently fluttering shut only to shoot open when you switched up the rhythm you used. His skin was flushed to hell and back- making him look obscenely cute as he whined out in pleasure, mouth open, drool dripping from the corners of his lips. As you continued looking, you had an epiphany. You loved Tomura. You loved, loved Tomura. You want him to get better and you want to see him let go like this every day.

In the moment you say it.

“I love you.”

Shigaraki flooded your pussy with more cum- gasping loudly as he rode out his orgasm. There’s no way he heard your little confession. And you were okay with that. It’d probably be better to reveal that when he’s not confined to his bed.

You pulled yourself off his cock and felt cum drip down from your thighs. You yourself haven’t cum, but you have accomplished your goal. One look at Shiggy told you that he was too blissed out to fight against your care. Your hand went to rest on his cheek.

“You’re going to be good, yeah? Let me do what I need to do?” you stroked the patch of dry skin under your fingertips.

Shiggy sleepily nodded. Looks like you wouldn’t be need the Nyquil.

Shigaraki laid still as you moved to tend to his wounds- tenderly cleaning them and re bandaging the sore holes. His joints would be sore as well. You decided to uncuff Shigaraki and maneuver his funky gloves on his hands.

When you’re done you pulled your lover’s sweatpants back up and crawl into bed behind him, For tonight you decided against changing the sheets. Instead you got comfortable in the well-used sheets, repositioning Shiggy so he could be your little spoon. You took a deep breath and smelled his hair. It was a little ew, but you didn’t mind. Just as you thought about your revelation, you heard a soft sigh.

You smiled and cuddled closer, whispering those three words.

“I love you.”

And though you couldn’t see it, Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes widened from their slitted state for just a moment before a soft yet excited smile graced his features. Slowly, his eyes slid shut again as he relaxed into your arms.

#bnha shigaraki #sub shigaraki #y/n x shigaraki #brat shigaraki #hope you guys liked it

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yoontopia · 4 years

Text

𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 | 𝗺𝘆𝗴

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: anti-soulmate au; light smut (in the form of making out, thigh grinding), angst if you squint, fluff, strangers to lovers, arranged marriage (kind of)

rating: M (for the light smut, swearing)

word count: 5.4k

summary: either you find your soulmate by the time you’re 25 or a partner is chosen for you, that’s the law. (un)fortunately for you, you were just born without a soulmate scar, an anomaly in a world defined by fate, so it seems your decision is made for you. you meet min yoongi the day after your twenty-fifth birthday and its everything but what you were brought up to believe. there are no sparks, no bells, and definitely no love.

author’s note: unedited because I wrote it pretty much in a sitting. will be editing later!

You are happy for Solhee. She’s twenty four-and a half and manages to find her soulmate by literally running into her outside the twenty-four-seven grocery store on the corner of the block. Solhee barely had six months to go before it would have been too late for her. The system assures you that you will find your soulmate, your other half, before the age of 25. If this doesn’t happen, the government intervenes and matches you with someone they see fit.

It wasn’t always like this. Your parents met when they were in their thirties, and are very much soulmates, if the matching marks on their wrists are any indication. But the government insists that anything after 25 is too late, especially to further the population. Society literally dictates that you’re married off by the time you’re 25.

You don’t want to know what happens if you don’t follow the law. And you’re happy Solhee doesn’t need to find out either. Solhee’s soulmate scar shines in the sunlight as the two of you sit out in the park, sipping on juice boxes and eating home-baked cookies. She tells you of her meeting with her soulmate, and the rush to get married so they can make it in time before the deadline. A plain, white gold band glitters on on her left ring finger.

“It felt like coming home,” she tells you, sighing and staring up at the blue sky. “Finding my soulmate, I mean. You know me, I never believed in this stuff. I figured if I didn’t find them, Big Brother would just hitch me off with someone and that would be okay. But I’m glad I found her in time. I can’t imagine it now if I hadn’t.”

You nod along, taking a sip of your pineapple juice. It’s sour, but you like it. Your eyes wander over to Solhee’s wrist — her mark is a small crescent-shaped moon — it matches the one on her fiancee’s wrist, and it stands out on her pale skin. You squeeze at your juice box to get the last remaining drop out, trying to ignore your empty, unmarked wrists.

Your soulmate mark never appeared. The latest you should’ve been able to see it would have been your 18th birthday. You remember, hiding away from your own party, rubbing your wrists raw, begging it to show up. Looking back, you aren’t sure who it was you were begging to.

Of course, you aren’t alone. There are several cases like yours. Marks that fail to show up, or even individuals who have the mark but don’t manage to find their soulmate on time. There is a solution for that — the matching program ensures you don’t end up alone.

After seeing your friends and coworkers find their soulmates though, you’re not sure you want someone to be arranged for you. It feels artificial and feels like you’re missing out on something incredible. What if the person they match with you doesn’t love you? What if you don’t love them?

It’s been a while since you’ve entertained such childish thoughts. You’re an adult now, almost 25, and this is a reality. In the next two months, on your 25th birthday, you’ll wait for the government to contact you. They’ll send you a name and then check in on the two of you consistently to make sure the match is happening. It’s not like you have a choice and you suppose its better than being completely alone and soulmate-less for the rest of your life. In a way, you’re almost grateful, as someone who doesn’t have the mark. You just wish things could be different.

You watch Solhee marry the love of her life exactly on her twenty fifth birthday. She glows in her dress, and as her best friend and maid of honour, you’re busy making sure the wedding goes by without a hitch. You’re the last of your friends to turn 25, meaning you’re the only one in the group currently single. Taehyung and Jimin, also friends from your college days, laugh and tell you to enjoy the last of your bachelorette days, but their entwined hands are all you can focus on. You know they’re just trying to make light of a rather depressing situation, and you’re grateful

You meet Min Yoongi on a snowy evening, the day after you’ve turned 25. He’s got curling dark hair, ears adorned by various earrings that dangle in the light. A delicate nose, and strong hands. He looks at you like he’s looking at a stranger, which for all intents and purposes, you are. You clutch at the letter in your hands with his name on it. You smile tentatively at him. He doesn’t smile back.

It doesn’t feel like coming home at all.

You move in with Yoongi as soon as the new year starts. He has a roomy apartment in the centre of town and lives by himself so its easier. He helps you move your boxes into his place. He never says much, but he’s never rude, or mean to you. In fact, he’s been polite, respectful — even caring, in a way you are to a coworker or an acquaintance. He shows you around his small flat. It’s two bedrooms, one of which he’s turned into a small studio. You know he works in the music industry, but aren’t sure what his exact job entails.

“I can move my work stuff to my actual studio at the company,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t want to sleep in the same bedroom, that is. I don’t want to force you.”

You smile slightly, scratching your cheek.

“No it’s fine,” you say. “I don’t want to encroach. I promise I’ll stick to my side of the bed.” He nods.

“I usually work odd hours,” he says. “I DJ at the club down the street some nights, so I don’t come home until early morning hours. Usually I work from home during the day. There’s a schedule on the fridge.”

“Um, I work a regular 9-5,” you tell him and he nods again. “I’m home on the weekends and evenings.” It feels a little like drawing up a schedule with a roommate. You don’t really mind. It could’ve been so much worse.

Yoongi’s running a hand through his hair. You notice he wears a lot a jewelry, and file away this fact for later. His ears are adorned again with several earrings, pierced in multiple places. Bracelets clink on his wrists of various materials and colours. A single, silver necklace hangs around his neck, two fish swimming in a circle. He’s a Pisces, you realize. He’s been twenty five nine months longer than you have.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he says, waving a hand towards his small, but cozy living room. A small couch and an armchair sit pointed towards the TV. A guitar sits in the corner of his studio, next to an old brown piano. Hints of music adorn the place, photos of Yoongi with his friends at various concerts and gigs. He looks different when he smiles. He has yet to smile at you.

You spend the rest of the day moving in, and its evening before you emerge from your now-shared bedroom with Yoongi. He’s nowhere to be found and the taped schedule to the fridge tells you tonight he DJs.

There’s containers full of food on the counter with your name on them, and you assume he’s left you some of his own meal. You eat alone, and do the dishes. You go to sleep that night, feeling no different from your usual self.

Months pass by quickly once you’re settled in with Yoongi. The two of you fall into an easy routine. You cook breakfast, and he cooks dinners and lunches are usually eaten at work. You split your grocery costs.

Honestly speaking, he’s a really easy roommate to live with. As time goes by, you get to know more things about each other. You learn that he likes meat more than anything else, that he has a tendency to overwork himself when deadlines are near. He has three close friends that he’s grown up with, and an older brother. His family owns a small brown poodle called Holly. His brother is a chef at a Korean restaurant in the city. You’ve met him once and liked him. He’s allergic to seafood, but eats it anyway because he likes it too much.

You also know he has, or had a soulmate. One time you caught him coming out of the shower wearing nothing but jeans. You were curled up on the living room couch watching TV and you could see him shuffling around shirtless in the bedroom, looking for a shirt to pull on. It’s the first time you see him without his usual bracelets and there is a mark on his wrist. You can’t make out what it is from where you’re sitting, but its there, clear as day against his milky white skin. An uncertain feeling curls in your stomach.

Until this point, you’d assumed Yoongi was like you — wrists bare. But this changes things — either he’s never met his soulmate, or they aren’t around anymore, and you don’t know what’s worse. He hasn’t spoken about it, and you almost understand why. It’s not like the two of you are close. Everything you know about him, you’ve gleaned from information you’ve received indirectly. You understand now, why he keeps you at an arms length.

You catch up with Solhee and Jiyeon over brunch. The two are bright eyed, fresh off their honeymoon. Hands entwined under the table, giggling. You laugh along with them, forgetting for a minute about your situation, that is, until Solhee brings it up.

“So how’s Yoongi?” The question is casual, but you know it’s a loaded one. Solhee isn’t just asking how Yoongi is.

“Fine,” you pick at your food. “He’s asleep right now — worked till late.”

“Hey he’s the DJ at Tropical right?” Jiyeon asks, leaning forward. “The popular one.” You’re dazed. Six months of living with him and you don’t even know which club he works at. You nod anyway, not wanting to appear clueless. “I heard he’s really good. Taehyung knows of him through Seokjin.”

“Kim Seokjin?” You ask, surprised. It’s one of Yoongi’s friends. Jiyeon nods. “He owns the club.”

“Hey we should go check him out one night!” Jiyeon is excited, and clueless. You smile half-heartedly at her and Solhee sighs. “Tae can get us into Tropical on the day Yoongi works — when does he work?”

“Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays,” you reply. Jiyeon nods.

“So… who’s down for it tomorrow?”

The club is sweaty, and crowded. You’re here without telling Yoongi, a fact that already makes you feel guilty for some reason. The strapless number Solhee had forced onto you clings to your skin as you follow your friends towards the bar. You haven’t been to a club since university and you can’t help but feel a little out of place.

“There he is!” Jiyeon screams, pointing towards the small stage at the other end of the dance floor. Sure enough, Yoongi stands there, two laptops in front of him. His hair is tucked into a baseball cap, but other than that he’s dressed the way he usually is, in jeans and a silk button up. The music is loud, and your heart thumps in your ears. “Let’s go closer!”

The three of you make your way closer to the stage, maneuvering past the sweaty, drunk bodies. You can barely make out the music he’s playing, and you know barely anything about music to know what’s good and what’s not. He must be good though, if the crowd is anything to go by.

Solhee pulls you and Jiyeon into a corner next to the stage with a good view and the three of you stand there bopping along to the music. Even though you barely know him, you have a strange feeling of pride curling up inside you. He’s incredible.

Your eyes glaze over the crowd until they land on a woman, standing only a few feet away from the three of you, one arm crossed under her chest, the other caressing her chin. She’s also watching the stage, a smile on her face. The world seems to spin for a second because your eye catches the mark on her wrist, and you don’t have to double check to know that it matches the dark haired man on the stage.

The night goes from bad to worse when Yoongi jumps off the stage after finishing his gig, and she runs up to give him a hug. You feel like throwing up, but nothing compares to what you feel when his eyes find you over her shoulder.

Things quickly sour after that. The peaceful relationship the two of you shared previously is shattered. You avoid him on the nights he’s home, preferring to crash at Solhee’s, who’s more than happy to accommodate you. Jiyeon apologizes profusely but you cannot blame her, not when none of this is her fault in the first place.

“Don’t you think you should let him explain?” Solhee asks one day over dinner.

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say automatically. “Their marks are there — it’s self explanatory.”

“What a harsh system,” Jiyeon adds softly. You nod. If there was a way for Yoongi and his soulmate to be together, you’d want it to happen. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel like an awkward third wheel. “Do you think they found each other after the deadline?”

“Definitely,” Solhee nods. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have been matched.”

“I don’t want to come in between anything,” you say softly.

“Oh honey you’re not,” Solhee says. “None of this is your fault.” You bite your lip, holding back tears threatening to fall. You haven’t cried in front of people in years. “It’s not Yoongi’s fault either. You should really go home and talk it out. He probably misses you.”

You choke out a laugh at that. The idea that Yoongi misses you is ludicrous. You were a nuisance to him at best, even though he’d been nothing but respectful of you and your space.

“What the two of you need is to spend time together,” Jiyeon says, and Solhee nods. “Get to know him, tell him he needs to come clean with you with everything. Maybe then things will see peace.”

You decide to go home that night. You know it’s a Tuesday and Yoongi should be home. Stomach in your throat, you shakily unlock the door to his—your— apartment. The TV is on, and Yoongi is curled up in the corner of the couch, swaddled up in a blanket. It’s only been a little over a week, but you find you’ve missed him. You find you’re also surprised he’s actually here. A part of you had almost expected him to take off. He turns to look at you and starts, hurrying to turn the TV off. It’s oddly clumsy from someone who you thought was aloof, and it almost makes you giggle. Almost.

“Hey.” You say lamely.

“Hey,” he replies back. It’s awkward. This is such a bad idea. Who decided confrontation was healthier than hiding from your feelings? You’d like to prove whoever it was wrong. You sigh, slumping a little, mind wandering again to the pretty girl that is his soulmate. You don’t usually hate how you look, but in this moment you can’t help but draw comparisons. Yoongi’s pretty too after all. Giving him a curt nod, you begin to make your way to the bedroom.

“I’m sorry.”

You pause, and turn to look. He’s standing up now, blanket still around his shoulders. A closer look tells you he looks tired. His ears are devoid of earrings for the first time, hair unkempt and greasy. He’s not wearing his usual bracelets — you suspect he only did it to hide his soulmate mark from you. You must be staring at him with a dumbfounded expression because he repeats his hushed apology.

“For what?” Your voice is just as shaky.

“Everything.” He says instantly.

“Do you love her?”

“No.” his reply is instant again, and you find yourself believing him. There’s no lie in his eyes. “I met her a month after we… moved in together,” A month after the government threw the two of you together against your will.

“Do you want to try things with her? I promise I won’t come in between that, I know how wonderful it can be to—”

“No.” He says again, his voice firm. He takes a tentative step towards you.

“Why not?” You’re genuinely curious. He shrugs, almost as if he doesn’t know the answer himself.

“Don’t want to.”

“Why not?” You turn to face him completely now. The two of you glaring at each other. He’s struggling to find the words and stares up at the ceiling in defeat.

“I don’t wanna leave you alone alright?” He snaps. You scoff

“Don’t pity me. I can take care of myself just fine. Did it before you came along too.”

“Don’t act brave when you don’t have to,” his voice is softer now. “You think I don’t hear you cry to yourself at night when you think you’re alone? Or when you hang out with those friends of yours and get suddenly quiet?” You open your mouth, then close it. Yoongi had attended a total of one party with you and your friends. You were surprised he picked up on it at all.

“But she’s your soulmate,” you say, confused. He shrugs and sits back down on the couch, flicking the TV back on.

“Yeah, she’s also someone I don’t know, and someone I’m not going to bother to know” he says easily. “I’m not gonna chase after her if it means losing a friend.” You didn’t even know he considered you a friend.

“B-but that night at the club?”

“Didn’t know she’d be there,” he says. “I’d told her to never contact me again the day I met her. Just because she thinks its okay to be unfaithful to her partner doesn’t mean I think its okay too. I’m not about to live that kind of life, especially with someone who thinks something like that is okay.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You take a hesitant step forward.

“What’re you watching?”

“Sky Castle.”

“Can I— can I join you?” He nods, patting at the empty spot on the couch next to him. “What if you regret this down the line?” You ask at last, sitting down on the other end of the couch. It’s your worst fear and you can’t believe you’re voicing it. “What if one day you wake up and wish you’d gone after your soulmate instead of settling for me?”

He smiles faintly, more to himself than anything. You think this is the first time he’s probably smiled in your presence.

“I made a choice already 5 months ago. Haven’t regretted it yet,” he says simply. He doesn’t deny that he settled for you, not when it’s the cold hard truth. You settled for him too after all.

The couch feels like home for the first time since you’d moved in.

Things change again quickly after that. You and Yoongi fall back into that seamless schedule, but now there’s a little something to it. The two of you are still far from a couple, but you find yourself curling up next to him in front of the TV more often. He waits for you to eat the meals the two of you are able to eat together. The two of you even do activities outside the apartment. You meet more his friends and he meets more of yours. Its progress. You don’t mention his soulmate again, and neither does he.

You find Yoongi’s actually a really easy person to get along with. He’s funny in his own dry, sarcastic way, often saying jokes with the straightest of faces. He snappish and straightforward and has an incredibly low tolerance for bullshit. His friends baby him, probably because of his smaller stature and childlike features, and although he grumbles, he lets them. You even think he enjoys it. He smiles more in front of you now, gums on display, and you know that his cold persona in the beginning was just a front. In reality Yoongi is a shy, awkward boy that finds it hard to make friends, and so he comes off aloof, but is anything but

It also makes sense to you why Yoongi had been so firm in staying with you all those months ago. He’s steadfastly loyal, never going back on his word, and even honest to a fault. Sometimes, when you’re in one of your self-deprecating moods, you think he only chose to stay with you because of his principals, and not because he actually cared for you beyond a friend. But you’re glad he’s here nonetheless. With all your friends paired off, you’re glad you have someone to do things with. Someone who, in a way, belongs entirely to you.

You marry Yoongi exactly one year after the two of you met. Non-soulmate matches don’t have the deadline to wed as soulmates do. As long as Big Brother (as Solhee so lovingly calls the federal government) knows you’ve been matched in their system, you can take things easy and get to know one another. How sweet of them to allow that, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He looks smart in his plain black suit, hair neatly parted, showing off his forehead and well marked eyebrows. He looks older like this. You wear a simple white dress, and carry a bouquet of lilies down the aisle. Yoongi doesn’t cry with happiness at the sight of you, but his slight grin warms your heart. You know that whatever the case, you’ll be comfortable with him.

He plants a simple kiss on your lips, a formality more than anything else. You and Yoongi aren’t physical. What you share is a platonic friendship, and you try not to let your mother’s suggestive wink cloud your mind. While you like Yoongi, you’re not sure you think of him in that way, and he definitely has never thought of you as anything more than a friend. Yoongi’s hands are warm and calloused and familiar, and you think you can learn to make a home in them.

“My parents are soulmates,” you tell him on your wedding night as the two of you lie on your shared bed staring up at the ceiling. “They met when my mother was 27, my father 32.” You don’t know why you’re telling him this. You’ve changed into your comfy PJs, but Yoongi is still in his dress shirt and trousers, top buttons undone, tie loose. You want him to know you.

“Mine were too,” he hums. You turn to look at him. You’ve never met his mother. His father and brother were at the wedding, but you weren’t sure if the topic of his mother was a sensitive issue. “Until things didn’t work out and she left him.”

“Oh?” Stories like that were rare. This is your first time hearing one. Yoongi doesn’t elaborate on his mother’s life and you don’t ask, grateful that he’s entrusted you with this information.

“I guess that’s why I don’t really believe in the whole soulmate thing,” he continues, sitting up and pulling his tie off. “There’s no such thing as fate or destiny. It’s all about choices and commitment.”

His soulmate mark is visible to you now as he gets up to take his shirt off and change into something comfier. It almost looks like a tattoo, a small fish, not unlike the one he wears in his necklace. The mark is familiar to you now, but it doesn’t carry the same pain. His words are new to you, having grown up around talks of fate and destiny, but you find comfort in them. Hearing him say it like that makes your heart warm. The two of you fall asleep easily that night, facing each other, but still a few feet apart

Yoongi’s eyes flash as you enter the bar. You’d gotten dressed at Solhee’s place and she’d sat you down in her chair, eyes devious, and done your makeup. You feel uncomfortable in your skin, face heavy with everything she’d slapped on it and you pull down your skirt.

“Cheer up, you look hot as fuck,” Solhee hisses beside you as the two of you make your way to the reserved table where the rest of your friends are. “If Yoongi doesn’t get a boner after this, I don’t know anymore.” You shush her hastily, ears going red as you sit down across from your husband. He’s still staring at you, something dark evident in his eyes, and you try to ignore the roaring in your ears.

Marriage had treated you two well. You still weren’t physical, but sharing pecks before heading off to work, or cuddling and hand holding weren’t foreign concepts anymore. You weren’t sure how far Yoongi wanted to go, and you didn’t know what you yourself wanted.

Yoongi looks good today. He’s wearing his infamous dark silk button up, with the top three buttons undone so you can see the column of his throat. His hair is parted and in the dim lighting he almost looks like a feline ready to pounce on his prey. You swallow.

Your husband’s beauty is not foreign to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before after all. You’ve seen his hands as they glide over piano keys or when they pluck at his guitar. Yoongi is beautiful and you can’t deny the attraction you have grown to hold for him. Your insecurities however, prevent you from verbalizing your thoughts. There’s just no way he’d be attracted to you, not in that way. Next to Yoongi, you look painfully average.

He doesn’t say much, just sits across from you and sips on his whiskey, occasionally leaning forward to snag a nacho from the shared plate the table has ordered. You wonder if he’s angry at you about something.

Halfway through the night, the several glasses of wine you’ve drunk catch up to you and you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You’re trying not to stumble and you’re thankful you make it to the bathroom in one piece.

When you come out of the stall and are washing your hands, you jump when you see Yoongi enter the bathroom.

“Yoongi!” You hiss. “This is the girl’s bathroom—.” Yoongi raises a well-marked eyebrow, and walks up to you in two quick strides. Before you know it, he’s crushed his lips to yours. You’re taken aback but you melt into the kiss quickly, hands roaming up to grasp onto the front of his shirt. His hands settle on your hips before moving to grab your ass. You gasp and he takes the opportunity to explore your mouth with his tongue.

Dimly you’re aware that this is technically your first real kiss. He tastes like whiskey as he pulls you closer to him, shoving a leg between your thighs. You let out a whimper, and you can feel him smile against your mouth. He lets go with a pop before latching his lips onto your neck. You throw your head back with a groan, freely grinding on his thigh now as he licks a thick stripe up your neck and nibbles at your ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” he groans, voice deep. “Before I fuck you in this disgusting bathroom.” You moan at his words and make a voice of complaint when he pulls himself away. You straighten your skirt hastily and eye him, his lips swollen and smeared with your lipstick. He grabs your arm by the wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom, out of the bar and into the crisp night air. The two of you giggle as you walk to your apartment, Yoongi stopping you periodically to steal kisses.

You unlock the door hastily, and he pushes you in, slamming the door behind him and latching onto you immediately. You moan as his hands reach your skirt and pull it up over your ass.

“God,” he groans in between kisses. Your shaky hands are unbuttoning his shirt. You push it off him. “Please tell me you want this.” He walks you towards your bedroom, shoving you onto your bed.

“Yes,” you respond instantly, breathless, looking up at him. “Yes, oh god, of course I do.” He’s climbing on top of you now, leg back between your legs. You grind onto his thigh, wild moans escaping your mouth as he sucks a bruise onto your neck, his rock-hard erection prominent against your core. Your hands find his belt and take it apart, undoing the buttons on his jeans. He sits up to push his pants off him before reaching over to tug your top over your head. You’re left in a bra and underwear, your skirt bunched up at your waist, staring at him expectantly.

That night is simple, the two of you moving in unison, finding what the other likes. Your hands disappear in his hair and he makes a home in the crook of your neck as you reach your respective highs.

You fall asleep blissful and satisfied, curled up in Yoongi’s arms.

Your relationship takes yet another turn after that moment. Now its like the two of you can’t keep your hands off of each other. Consequently you do it on every surface in the apartment. It’s funny, you think, you haven’t even said the L word to each other yet, and you’re not even sure if you do. Growing up, you were taught that one came after the other, but your relationship with Yoongi is anything but conventional.

At night, he holds you, curling his body around you like a child. You can hear his heartbeat this way, and nights soon become the things you look forward to the most.

It still doesn’t make the relationship easy. You argue, slam doors, ignore texts, but at the end of the day when you crawl into bed, apologies evident on your tongue, he pulls you in and kisses the crown of your head wordlessly.

You and Yoongi are solid; a team, almost. You think you work well together. Growing up you were taught that finding your soulmate meant ringing bells, and puzzle pieces feeling like they were slotting into place and you spent your entire adolescence craving that. But whatever this is that you share with Yoongi is special, in its own way. There are no sparks, no flashing lights, and definitely no bells. Now you know what Solhee meant all those years ago about the feeling of coming home. There isn’t any other way to describe this feeling.

There are many more turning points in your relationship that you look back on fondly — the day you told him you loved him is one you remember vividly. It was nothing special, just casual conversation over dinner. He’d given you a blinding smile and returned the sentiment.

“Do you regret it?” You ask, out of nowhere. You’re washing dishes and he’s beside you helping you dry them.

“Hm?”

“Choosing me, back then. Do you regret it?” You know the answer already. Gone are the many months you spent belittling yourself. It’s been a few years with Yoongi now and you know exactly where you stand with him.

“I wonder sometimes,” he hums. “How differently things would’ve played out.” Don’t we all, you muse to yourself. You could’ve been matched with anyone but somehow it was Min Yoongi that stood in front of you on that cold, snowy that day, unsmiling and unfamiliar. It feels like a lifetime ago. When you look at him now, he’s heartbreakingly familiar. You know him like the back of your hand. “But there hasn’t been a single day where I’ve regretted you.” You grin and poke his cheek with your soapy hand.

“Go wake Sunhee up,” you laugh. “It’s time to feed her.”

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you dutifully and you watch as he shuffles into the second smaller bedroom. Gone is the studio equipment, replaced with pastel green walls and a small wooden crib Yoongi had crafted himself. Sometimes, when you look in there, you can still see a dark-haired boy with his eyes closed, playing on that old brown piano.

#kwritersworldnet #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #min yoongi #yoongi fluff #bts #bts fluff #yoongi #suga #suga fluff

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wtf-yoongi · 4 years

Text

“I need one of those baths”

pairing | yoongi x reader

genre/warnings | literally how can giving a bath to yoongi have any warnings except for it’s 100% fluff and i’m 100% soft

words | 2,576

note | i had this idea and i’m sorry in advance oh man

Your head instinctively turns.

The TV is on. You’re sitting down with your legs close to your body when you hear a sharp noise coming from the door. You know it all too well – it’s Yoongi’s keychain hitting the wooden door with the many other keys he just has to carry around with him.

From the moment he walks through the door, you know it’s been one of those days. His hair is sticking to his forehead a little bit and he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even more so than usual.

It’s that time of the year again. Deadlines are almost here.

You know that not just because he casually mentioned it like it was nothing a few weeks ago, but also because of the way his shoulders don’t really fit into his usual posture and he seems to push every single body cell to just drag himself to the sofa and collapse next to you.

You notice there are little pen stains on his fingers that he couldn’t wash away.

“So I’m guessing it was a productive day at work,” you start slowly, waiting for an affirmative response. “It’s past 10 p.m.”

“I guess you could say that,” he says with his eyes closed, his voice small and calm despite looking like he just crossed the whole desert to come home. “I’m sorry for being so late, but there’s still some adjustments and…”

“How much time left now?”

“Ah, a couple more days, I guess… Until we have to send some things for them to hear.” Yoongi moves his body slightly, trying to make himself more comfortable. “I don’t wanna talk about that, I’m sick of talking about work.”

He laughs lightly at his own statement and opens his eyes, right hand looking for yours. When Yoongi finds it, he immediately intertwines your fingers and brings them closer to his chest.

“I need to ask you something, though.”

This guy has plans. You nod your head for him to go on.

“I need one of those baths,” he confesses in a very low voice and a small smile appears on his lips. He knows you know what he’s talking about.

“Wanna spend the bath card so early in the month?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. “Must be serious.”

“It is,” he agrees. “Very serious indeed. Literally, the whole next album depends on this.”

“I thought you said it was almost finished,” you scoff, turning your whole body in his direction.

“Yeah, but the finishing touches are like the icing on the cake, I can’t mess it up now or everything will be ruined.”

You both laugh lightly, almost as if you’re trying not to wake up someone sleeping right next to you.

“I’m so tired, and tense, and stressed out from work, I just need it now,” he tries to convince you, kissing your knuckles for better effect.

Even if it is supposed to sound exaggerated, you know with a heavy heart that it is actually true. He’s just making fun of his own misery as he usually does. It’s a self-defense mechanism.

“Come on, it’s my bath card, I can use it wherever I want.”

“Yeah, and a week after this you’ll forget you’ve used it already and ask for a bath again.”

Yeah, that has happened, like, a thousand times before.

“Can’t I just get an advance from the months I won’t be home?”

“You’re getting advances for as long as I can remember, how is that fair to me? I don’t get advances ever.”

“I’ll give you ten baths before going on tour, I promise,” he holds onto your hand a little bit tighter and smiles again. “Please, I just need it.”

You take a deep breath and close your eyes, faking an annoyance you both know it’s not there. You love giving him baths – it’s just one of those intimate things that no one knows about. It’s like waking up in the morning and lazily dragging yourself closer to him as he whines a little bit from wanting to sleep more and not be disturbed, but welcomes you in his arms anyway; or Yoongi brewing coffee and serving you a mug exactly as you like it even though he doesn’t and could never understand how you take your coffee with one and a half teaspoons of sugar (“it’s disgusting, you’re ruining it by trying to make it sweet”).

Without saying a word, you’re the first to move, reaching for the remote to turn the TV off and leave the sofa, dragging Yoongi by the hand he is already holding. When you look behind you, he’s still moving his feet like he doesn’t really want to move his feet at all, but at least he has a shy smile on his face – the smile of contained victory.

Upon entering the bathroom, you leave him for a moment to open the hot water tap on the bathtub and check the temperature until it becomes warm so can you can close drain. Meanwhile, Yoongi is slowly but surely moving his hands to reach for his toothbrush.

“You wanna wash your hair?” You ask casually, picking up the products from where they usually stay inside the shower. Looking over at Yoongi, he slowly nods, so you pick up his shampoo and conditioner too.

Looks like he’s going to fall asleep at any moment now.

You move over to him as he just finishes wiping his lips to get rid of the leftover toothpaste. He looks so soft and sleepy you just can’t resist leaving a kiss there when you get close enough to start stripping him out of his day clothes. Everything is so calm and natural it’s almost like you rehearsed it a thousand times – and you kind of actually did if you count the times this has happened in the past.

“If you fall asleep in the water, I’m gonna have to wake you up and you don’t like that,” you warn him with a smile, one he promptly, but lazily mirrors. “I don’t want you mad at me so you better keep yourself at least 10% awake.”

Yoongi nods slowly again while he helps you free his body of the ripped jeans. “I’ll do my very best.”

As soon as he’s in the water, you turn the tap to slow the flow. There’s a bath cup you bought for the only purpose of helping you give baths to Yoongi and that’s the first thing you reach for to aid you in bringing the warm water to his shoulders. He immediately drops his head in front of him and you can almost feel the tension starting to leave his body.

“Yeah, I really needed that,” he admits, taking a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t even shampoo your hair yet,” a small laugh leaves your lips and you lean in to kiss his left shoulder. “I’m sorry about work, I know it’s too much sometimes.”

“It’s part of the deal,” he simply says, and you finally pour enough water to wet his hair. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. How cliché is that?”

“Ninety seven percent cliché,” you agree, picking up some shampoo in your hands to start massaging it into his hair. “But it’s true.”

“How do you think my hair is holding up after being bleached yet again?” He suddenly asks, mocking the state of his own hair. It’s not even a joke anymore, it just needs a break.

“Definitely holding on for dear life,” you both laugh on queue. “Not as bad as last time, though, I think this new shampoo is helping with something.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t feel as bad.” Yoongi inhales deeply, really enjoying the moment. “I love it when you wash my hair, you do it better than anyone else.”

“This is the epitome of idol who doesn’t even know how to wash his hair anymore because other people do it for him,” you mock him, taking your soapy hand and touching his face with it.

He turns to stare at you with the most unbelievable smile. “It was supposed to be a compliment, you know?” He moves his hand to his face to wipe it off. “You do everything better than anyone in the team… But I think my opinion is biased.”

“Oh, really?” You ask with an unsurprised voice.

“Yeah, because you sleep in my bed and there are things you do that no one else in our team does to me.”

“Well, good to know, I guess?”

You smile and keep working on his hair for a few minutes before asking him to close his eyes so you can rinse it properly. Next, you apply the conditioner in silence, turn the tap off completely and move on to scrub his back with that grapefruit-scented thing he loves too much. You can feel him starting to lean forward a little bit.

“Hey, don’t sleep on me,” you try to get his attention and Yoongi soon scratches his eyes. “Just a few more minutes, huh?”

Yoongi slowly turns his head to look at you while you soak the sponge with more water. “Could this last forever?”

“Your fingertips would turn into a pudding and the water would become cold and you would have a sore throat. And all of that in less than 17 minutes,” you smile at him as he pouts. “Come on, wash the rest of your body while I do your back.”

Yoongi is not exactly satisfied with it, but he does as you instruct and moves his hand to reach for the body soap while you massage his shoulders. He isn’t lying, he is tense. You try your best to relieve some of it and all of a sudden he corrects his posture to crack his spine.

He laughs at your look of horror.

You absolutely hate it when he does that. It sounds like he is going to break into two completely separate pieces.

“Ah, that felt nice,” he fully smiles now, knowing pretty well how you feel about that.

You don’t open your mouth to give him the satisfaction of a reply. Instead, you just move your hand to rinse the conditioner – and his shoulders in the process. Only a few minutes pass before you’re standing up again to grab a towel.

Opening your arms, you spread the towel to welcome him in. When he stands up, you immediately press the towel against his chest, then shoulders, then arms, only stopping when his still wet hands reach for your face. Yoongi leans in for a sweet and delicate kiss.

He doesn’t say anything – and, honestly, he doesn’t really have to. The way he holds your face in his hand protectively and looks into your eyes are probably worth hours upon hours of deep conversation. Nothing needs to be said anymore at this point, so he just moves his hands to circle around your whole body in a tight embrace.

You can’t count the moments you stand in the same position, but long enough so that his hair is dripping on your white oversized shirt, wetting the left side of your hair as well. His body is now growing cold even in the warm bathroom.

“You should get dressed,” you suggest, not having enough courage to actually move.

“I think I folded that t-shirt I wore to bed yesterday and put it in the second drawer, can you get it for me?”

He doesn’t move either.

“Sure,” you say, but nothing moves, not even the air around you. “You have to let me go, though.”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m gonna stay here, freeze to death and get a sore throat, I don’t mind.”

“Stop being silly,” you laugh lightly and take a small step backwards. “You’re really gonna get sick.”

Yoongi reluctantly lets you go, clutching the towel so it doesn’t fall into the water. As you move into the bedroom to get his clothes, you can hear him leave the bathtub and finish drying himself off.

You get back and hand over his change of clothes. “Are you going to blow dry your hair?”

“Probably should, but I don’t wanna,” he says, doing his best to take the excess water off with the towel and shaking it with his fingers. “Too lazy, too sleepy.”

“It’s gonna be a mess in the morning,” you warn.

“It’s gonna be a mess anyway,” he corrects. “Who cares? I’m just going to the studio, a hat can cover it all up.”

After getting dressed, he looks at himself in the mirror and you know he’s wondering if it’s too bad to skip skincare for a night. The bags under his eyes are begging for some rest.

“Just moisturize and go to bed,” you laugh at the internal battle he is struggling with. “No one has to know.”

Yoongi finally gives in and picks up some of your own moisturizer for whatever reason. You don’t actually mind and help him out with some leave-in for the hair.

“I know you don’t really like to bleach it, but this color looks so good on you,” you compliment, both of you looking in the mirror. “I think this dark gray is my favorite.”

“It’s so close to black, though. I wish it was just black.”

“I think this is sexy, honestly.”

“Don’t try to change my mind.”

“I’m just saying!” You raised your hands in the air before washing them with warm water to get rid of the leftover product. “You don’t need it, but it looks good on you.”

“Come on, you can’t just say those things,” Yoongi whines, somehow finding a way to hug you from behind and kissing your half-exposed shoulder in the process. “I’m too tired for that now.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you laugh briefly, his movements tickling your neck, while trying to turn both your bodies to finally go to bed.

“Oh, but you did. You can’t just say something is sexy and move on like it’s nothing.”

“It’s just hair.”

“You said I didn’t even need it. Did you mean I’m already sexy enough?”

“I wish I had your self-esteem sometimes.”

You move closer to the bed and try to pull the covers, but Yoongi is just making things difficult by not letting go of your middle. You’re not complaining, just… Mentioning.

He finally lets go for a few seconds, just enough for both of you to get under the thick comforter. As soon as you pull it to you neck, Yoongi is once again turning to your side, raising one leg to rest on top of yours. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“This isn’t because you just gave me a bath, but I really do love you.” He has a shy smile on his lips and opens his eyes again just to stare into yours. “I also love you for giving me a bath, but I want you to know I would love you regardless.”

You can’t help but smile back. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Are you feeling better?”

“Much, much better,” he nods.

“Good,” you say, adjusting your face on the pillow to rest in a more comfortable way.

“Say you love me back before I fall asleep,” Yoongi asks, slowly closing his eyes.

“I love you.”

“Good.”

He immediately drifts off.

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#man i'm so soft rn #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi oneshot #suga fluff #suga fanfic #suga oneshot #bts fluff #bts fanfic #min yoongi

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝓞nly one more chapter to go after this omg!!!! Honestly, I considered giving up on posting this story so many times, but I’m really glad I didn’t because it’s been such an incredible experience thanks to all of you guys! This chapter is my personal favorite out of the entire series so I really hope you guys like it!

If you’d like a preview of Chapter 13 right now, you can join my patreon here! All current proceeds will be donated to the Marsha P. Johnson Institute. Thank you so much for all the love and support with this story ❤️

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER TWELVE: SLAVE TO THE WAY YOU MOVE (6.2K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

When her phone rang the next morning, she didn’t exactly get to it very easily. Not when she tried to roll away from Harry and he groaned, holding onto her even tighter.

“Leave it,” he whispered in a raspy version of his voice, eyes still closed, arm still firmly curled around her waist.

“It’s probably Will,” she reminded him, attempting once again to move away from Harry.

But he just groaned again like he was some kind of possessive dog. She huffed, falling against his chest when he showed no signs of giving up. Which remained true until she dug her hands into his side and tickled him away from her.

“Oi! Stop it!” He whined, finally letting go and pushing her away from him until he rolled over on his side and she was free to answer her phone.

“You cheating fucker,” he mumbled half into his pillow while she sat on the edge of the bed and took care of Will’s call before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you're still at Harry’s right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m out front. Sorry I didn’t call before I got here, it’s just been hectic.”

She immediately shot up from her spot on his bed and Harry opened his eyes again, turning onto his back to watch her as she raced to retrieve her clothes.

“Oh, um... I was just going to get an uber or something.” She held her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she grabbed her bra and then her dress from Harry’s floor.

“It’s no big deal. I’m headed back to pick up a few things anyways because I’m going to stay with Sasha the rest of the weekend.”

Y/N had been too lost in her panicking that she forgot why she’d ended up where she did last night in the first place. “Is she alright? Her mom I mean.”

Will sighed through the receiver, “Yeah. She was having chest pains yesterday. They kept her overnight for observation. I just got them home about an hour ago, but I’m literally still in my clothes from last night.”

Y/N glanced over her shoulder at Harry, who stared at her concerned, waiting himself to know what was going on and why it seemed like she was leaving him already.

“Okay, um, I’ll be there in a minute.”

And then Harry shut his eyes tight and wished they could just rewind and go back to sleep.

“He’s waiting outside.” She spoke softly and Harry opened his eyes to her, finding her phone in her hand instead of at her ear.

Harry nodded, knowing she didn’t have any other options. She stared at him for a moment, growing sadder by the second, before she reluctantly took her clothes to his bathroom with her and changed back into them.

When the bathroom door shut behind her, he rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into his hands because her leaving was not at all in his plans for the morning. He had so much more to say to her, more kisses to give her.

He didn’t want her to go home and never come back again because, in his experience, saying I love you wasn’t always enough to get someone to stay.

She crawled onto the bed behind him once she was changed, placing his t-shirt onto his bare shoulder to get his attention. Once he looked at her, she smiled apologetically.

“I’ll be back, I promise.” She leaned down, pressing her lips to his. She pulled away quicker than he would have liked her to and she looked at him almost like she was about to cry when he pouted and reached for more. She hated leaving him like she was, with so many words hanging above them still, but Will left her no choice.

“Sorry for bailing on you like that.” Will said while he drove in a hurry, breaking the speed limit on every street it took to get back to their building. She couldn’t blame him though.

Shaking her head, she quickly shot him down. “Don’t worry about it.” And she really wished he wouldn’t. After the night she had, she should be thanking him for leaving her at the party.

“Guess Harry owed you anyways for that one time he got drunk and you let him sleep in your bed.” Will smiled, glancing over at her while she nodded in agreement. Her heart fluttered thinking back to that time and how far she and Harry had come since then. She wondered if he’d liked her back then too, in the same way she had liked him, and just how long she was blind to it.

Will explained everything that happened with Sasha the rest of the way and she listened quietly, respecting his need to release all the anxious thoughts even though she sometimes found herself getting distracted. It was Harry’s fault, she figured, he’d said he was in love with her, and kissed her when he was sober, and she didn't get the chance to say a single word to him yet.

Y/N and Will split ways when he rushed to his room to pack a bag and she sat on the edge of her bed, waiting until he left again before she called Harry. A text might have sufficed, asking what time she could come back, but she wanted to hear his voice again. Desperately.

Her phone dinged in her hands before she got the chance, however.

(Harry, 10:03 a.m.)

Just got called to a meeting until five. I can pick you up afterwards?

Her shoulders dropped and a frown pulled on her lips. Five o’clock was so far away she had no clue what she was going to do until then. She had no plans for the day besides spending the entire thing with Harry.

(Y/N, 10:03 a.m.)

Okay.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” Will poked his head in her room and she tried to pretend like she didn’t just get the worst news of her entire life.

She nodded and he hesitated a moment before he left, wanting to ask if she’d be alright by herself in the apartment all weekend, but he refrained. She wasn’t a baby and he needed to stop worrying so much. His lips fell into another apologetic smile just before he took off. She listened to his footsteps and then eventually the front door as he shut it behind him.

Falling back on her bed, she already wished she was in Harry’s again. She still felt his arms around her, his lips on hers, his breath as he said those words.

When it was nearing five, she was just about ready. Harry had texted that he got out early and was on his way right as she got out of the shower. With her towel wrapped around her, she walked over to her dresser to figure out what to wear and put her focus on that, which calmed her nerves about seeing Harry again.

She dug through her underwear drawer first, realizing she hadn’t done laundry in a while when she only had a couple clean pairs left. But in her attempts to choose between the bright purple pair with pictures of cats on them or the stripey one with ‘Wednesday’ printed on the back, her eyes fell to something much more appealing at the bottom of her drawer that she hadn’t seen or thought of in a long time.

She’d never had a need for a nice set of lingerie, not even when she’d bought it just after graduating college. No one was going to see it besides her, but that really hadn’t mattered because it was for her. Picking the lace bra and panty set up in her hands now, it reminded her of when she’d first saw it online and then opened it up in person. When she tried it on and looked at herself in the mirror with all the hope in the world that it would make her see her body differently. It didn’t quite work out that way, however. It wasn’t an instant fix to her problems as she dreamed it would be, but even though she didn’t care for how she looked in it, it still made her feel better about herself, so she hung onto them.

And she was glad for that because if something were to happen with Harry, she was not doing it in kitty cat undies and a bra she owned since freshman year.

She had no clue if they would even get to the point of Harry seeing what was underneath her clothes, but just the thought of it made her restless in the passenger seat of his car. Then there was just being in his car at all that had her in a fit of butterflies as well because it was the first time they’d been out in public like this together. They weren’t around friends, not in the comfort of either of their homes anymore and while it used to scare her to potentially be caught with Harry, now she was wishing someone would. It would make telling her roommates, and especially Will, that much easier.

In order to keep her thoughts and her body under control, she focused on the mundane things instead. Everything she wanted to say to him was going to have to wait until they were at his house because that was the only place she felt comfortable enough to be completely vulnerable with him.

“How was your meeting?” She asked after he pulled back onto the streets again and although it was a boring question, it still made her just as nervous, possibly because she knew it was just her stalling until they walked through his front doors.

“Alright,” he mumbled, “would have rather spent the day with you.”

Looking out her window instead of at him, she quickly hid the blush on her cheeks. The lingerie on her skin under her long-sleeve and jeans became all-too apparent again. She needed to calm down, that much she knew, because she didn't even know what Harry wanted yet and she definitely wasn’t doing anything until she’d said what she needed to say.

She sighed shakily, “Well you can have me for the rest of the weekend.”

He grinned at her words, not sure if she was hiding an innuendo in them or not, but he didn’t risk asking. She was staying, at least until the weekend was over, and that’s all he cared about.

Once they’d reached his house, and she glared at the stupid For Sale sign again, she realized why she hated it so much. It wasn’t just a house to her anymore, it wasn’t some place that made her feel like a stranger. It held her most personal objects and most precious memories. It had become home to her, way more than her apartment ever did.

She placed her things down on the island in the kitchen and it was clear he had hired someone to clean up while he’d been gone. There was no chocolate cake smeared into the countertops and no empty bottles of beer laying around anymore. It was clean again with absolutely no telling if a party had even happened last night. She’d almost forgotten, too, since the only part of last night on her mind was when they’d gone upstairs together.

Watching him pour two glasses of water, it took her right back to their first night together. So much had changed since then. She wasn’t even the same person anymore, she was sure of that.

Although she was possibly the most nervous she’d ever been, she knew she had to just spit it out. Rip the band-aid off and tell him everything she felt about him. She cleared her throat and hoped for the best.

“I liked you all this time too, you know.” Her confession wasn't nearly up to par with his, but he’d take it anyways. Grinning, he glanced at her sideways while closing the fridge.

“Could’ve fooled me.” He slipped her one of the glasses across the counter, knowing very well that she did, in fact, fool him into thinking otherwise. Until she kissed him this morning and promised she’d be back, he still hadn’t been convinced.

A slew of apologies rested on her face, in her furrowed brows and flared nostrils, “I didn’t think you liked me so it was easier for me to just push you away.”

He leaned onto the counter, facing her but not looking at her. His mind went in all different directions then. First to the time he told Will he thought he’d made his feelings for her obvious and now realized Will had been right. Then, and most prominently, his mind snapped to quite possibly the worst day of his life, or at least since he’d known her. His heart broke all over again when her previous words rang in his head as clear as they had several weeks ago. When she told him she didn’t care if he saw other people. When he cried in the exact same spot he was standing in now because he thought she didn’t have a single feeling for him at all. He never thought she just might be pushing him away in order to protect herself and he felt stupid for not realizing that.

But… hiding her emotions seemed to be Y/N’s specialty.

“You were really good at that… pushing me away.”

She sighed again and all the words in her brain finally just spilled out for him to hear and for the kitchen walls to absorb. “I’m really sorry about that Harry, I think I was just too afraid of you rejecting me… and you never really said anything either so I assumed… But I was heartbroken when I found out what you did in New York, I just,” she paused for a moment to look into his eyes again and the way he looked at her with so much care gave her enough confidence to continue, “I didn’t want you to think I liked you, or that I was jealous, because I didn’t think you would ever feel the same about me.”

Harry remained quiet when it was written all over her face that she still had more to say and all he wanted to do was listen. “But then, um,” she began once more, “then I didn't really want you to like me or for that song to be about me or any of it because I felt like you would be better off with someone else who could be more open with you.” Her next words came out in a whisper, “I just thought it was best to leave you alone.”

He nodded, averting his eyes to where he ran his fingertip over the edge of his glass, figuring out everything he wanted to say first but when he looked at her again, he realized that was part of their problem. Not just saying how they really felt without thinking of the consequences.

He took the two steps needed to stand right in front of her, to be able to reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear and fill his senses with everything he loved about her. Her soft skin when his thumb brushed past her cheek, her coconut-scented shampoo, and especially her eyes that cared about him and trusted him.

“That’s not what was best, I hope you know that.” He began softly and she nodded before he continued. “Also hope you know how sorry I am that it took me so long to say anything to you… but I realized I was falling in love with you after you told me about your past. So when you said you didn’t like relationships, I didn’t want to hurt you so I kept it to myself. But I still foolishly fell for you anyways, didn’t I?” He glanced between her eyes, watching the crinkles appear on the outside of them as she smiled.

“But Y/N?” He started up again and her smile faded when his did too, “There was never anyone else I wanted. I can’t even tell you how sorry I am for making you think that and upsetting you. That was never my intention.”

She hesitated a moment before swiping a few stray strands of hair from his forehead. “It’s okay. I know that now.”

There was still a look of uncertainty in his eyes, like he didn’t deserve to be forgiven and like he still wasn’t sure she was actually going to stay, and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want to.

“I’m not going to leave again, Harry…” she assured, practically reading his mind in a way she had never been able to. “Not unless you want me to of course.”

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he grew closer, close enough to press his forehead to hers and swipe his thumb along her cheekbone, “No, I don’t want that. I never wanted that.”

Although he was still smiling, sadness fell over his eyes that he quickly hid by flicking them down to her lips. She had already been in love with the way he looked at her mouth, but if it was even possible, she liked it more now. Now that they weren’t being idiots and wasting time. Now that both of their mouths had said things they’d been meaning to for a long time now.

He glanced back to her yes, all sadness stripped from his face now, “S'alright if I--”

She cut him off, already nodding before he had a chance to ask. She didn’t want him to ask that question ever again. She didn’t want him to worry about being too forward, about hurting her, about crossing a line. There was no line for him to cross. She just wanted him to kiss her without thinking about it.

And he did. It took him another few moments, but his lips were on hers again and it felt just as amazing as it did last night and then again this morning. She hated that she could have been kissing him for a long time now, but she tried not to dwell on her mistakes too heavily. Not when he was kissing her the way he was and all she wanted to focus on was his lips and his tongue and his hands.

His hands that fled from her face moments after she brushed her tongue against his and things took a turn from innocent kissing in his kitchen to needy hands sliding up the back of her shirt and wet moans from his lips when she pressed into him. It helped her confidence knowing his fingertips were inching closer to her bra, the one she was grateful she had on right now.

And then she wrapped her hands around his forearms and backed away before he got any further. But when she saw the look on his face, she wasn’t sure that was the right move. He was absolutely terrified. He pulled his arms from her grasp quickly and put an inch or two of space between them again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Again, she put a halt to his train of thought with a simple gesture. She shook her head and reached her hand up to his face, wrapping it around the back of his neck and pressing her thumb where his dimple should be.

“Don’t be… just meet me upstairs in ten minutes.” Her voice was soft, but her eyes might as well have been undressing him right there in the middle of his kitchen. Although that would have been nice, she really didn’t want him to see her in her lacy underwear in his fucking kitchen. The lights were too bright for her liking and she never got the chance to warm up to the space as much as she did his bedroom.

His body eased and then he nodded slowly, never looking away from her while she pulled her hand from his face, grabbed her bag and walked away from him.

Ten minutes was way too much time to be away from her and he spent the whole spanse of time staring at the clock, wishing it would go faster but also wishing it wouldn’t. He had no idea what she was up to and even though his mind went crazy with all the endless possibilities, he just hoped that whatever it was, she knew what she was doing.

She squeezed her hands around the arms of his chair when she heard him heading up the stairs. She didn’t move, however, just focused on her breathing as she convinced herself not to run into his bathroom and hide before he made it to her.

Ten minutes was four minutes too long. She sat down and realized that once every piece of her body was set aflame with anticipation. She knew what she wanted, but she still wasn’t sure about him. What if he didn’t want her?

The events from last night flew past her eyelids. He kissed you because he wanted to, not because he was drunk, she reminded herself. And he kissed you again, moments ago in the kitchen, also not because he was drunk. She thought about his touch on her skin, slowly inching up her back. She thought about his words from last night and they settled her nerves down to a minimum.

That was until he appeared in the doorway to his bedroom.

He sucked in a breath of air seeing her in that familiar spot in the middle of his room. Sitting on her throne and looking out over Los Angeles like she owned it. But it was hardly what he expected when she told him to meet her here. Especially when she didn’t even look at him, just tensed up her shoulders and her grip on the chair when she noticed his presence.

“Everything alright?” He asked and she continued to just stare out the windows, nodding and trying to regain whatever courage she had in order to ask him to do this in the first place.

He furrowed his brows, confused as he walked over to his bedside table and removed his phone and wallet from his back pockets and then each of his rings from his fingers, knowing that whatever she was planning, he didn’t want anything weighing him down. It also gave them both a moment to relax.

Right when he began removing his watch, the last thing on him besides his shirt and jeans, she stood and took a few steps in his direction. He froze and looked at her while she hugged her arms around herself. He realized then that she was wearing a robe which looked an awful lot like one of his. If the lighting was better, he’d be able to make out the stitching on the left breast of his last name and confirm that she had, in fact, slipped into his robe while she made him wait downstairs.

“What are you--?”

He stopped talking, and stopped thinking and probably stopped breathing when she untied the belt around her waist and let both halves of the robe fall open to reveal what she’d been hiding underneath. His watch hit the floor instead of the table.

He swallowed thickly, not sure how long was too long to stare at her like he currently was with his jaw slightly ajar and his eyes refusing to blink in case he might miss something.

When he snapped out of it, he walked over to her finally, not giving a single shit about his watch. He stood in front of her and kept his hands to himself even though it was painful to do so. Instead, his eyes flickered to the embroidery on the silky fabric draped over her shoulders and he grinned, “S’that my robe?”

It was a dumb question, because of course it was his. It had his name stitched into it.

“Hope it’s okay that I borrowed it.” She ran her fingers up the hem and made him light-headed. Her matching pink lace underwear was one thing, but the robe was almost too much for him to process.

He dragged his eyes reluctantly from her breasts, the transparent material showing off more of her than he’d ever seen, and back up to her eyes. “If I say it isn’t, will you take it off?”

She smiled at him and then took one step closer. “Why don’t you,” she began, grabbing his hands and placing them on her bare hips, “take it off yourself?”

Her voice was shaky and even though her actions exuded confidence, he knew her anxiety must be through the roof. He knew her too well. He knew she didn��t like being touched, didn’t like being seen when she wasn’t covered. Didn’t like being open. It soothed his own nerves to know that all of the things she didn’t like became things she did, as long as it was with him. The only thing on his radar now was making her as comfortable as he possibly could.

When she let go of his hands, he kept them there, pulling her in to close the gap she’d left between them until his mouth found hers again. He’d daydreamed through his entire meeting about kissing her the entire rest of the night, but that was no match to the reality of it. Never in his wildest dreams did he expect her to be standing in front of him like she was, putting his hands on her body in a whole new way than ever before.

His fingers slid gently up to her shoulders where he slipped them under the silk until it fell right off her skin and gathered into a pool at her feet. He pulled away for a moment, resting his forehead on hers when she reached for more. He smirked at the way she pouted impatiently.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear and he didn’t give her much of a chance to respond, but the blush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes said more than enough.

Once his lips were on hers again, he backed her up slowly, stepping right on top of his, now irrelevant, robe until they reached the chair.

She pulled away from him this time and when she spoke next, there wasn’t a stitch of hesitation in her voice, “I want you.”

Swallowing, he nodded in understanding. She knew exactly what she was doing and she wanted him. His hands were back on her hips as he gently coerced her into the chair.

“Sit,” he whispered and she did exactly what he said without a second thought.

She was back in her chair in front of him, her hands gripping the armrests while she looked up into his eyes eagerly because she had no clue what he was planning but she trusted him to know that whatever it was, he wouldn’t hurt her. He was Harry and he’d never make her do something she didn’t want to.

He sunk to his knees then and she already felt the pool between her legs before he even touched her. He never took his eyes off of her when he lifted his hands to her knees and slowly slid them apart to fit himself in the middle. He waited for any signs that he should stop, but when she glanced down at his hands that sat idly on her thighs, he figured it was a good time to move them.

“Is this alright?” He asked after he’d hooked his fingers under what little fabric there was of her panties and paused to make sure. When she nodded, he proceeded and began pulling them off. He went slow, almost painfully for her, but she was appreciative of it. If he went much faster she wasn’t sure how she’d respond and ruining everything right now was not on her agenda.

Again, his eyes stayed planted on hers as he tugged the lace over her hips when she adjusted slightly to give him room to do so. They went the rest of the way down her legs with ease until they, too, were on his bedroom floor. Her legs fell back into place around him as he slotted into his previous position. She focused on everything physically here and now as best she could, whether it was the way he looked at her, or the way the fabric of his shirt felt on her knees, the rough texture of his jeans on her calves. Just knowing that it was Harry sitting in front of her like this, while she was this exposed, calmed her right back down. Well, at least, it calmed the nerves, but she still felt the surge of butterflies in her stomach every time he made a slight movement and she could nearly puke with excitement.

“You okay?” He asked quietly, and her eyes bounced from his down to where their bodies connected and then back up and she nodded. It reassured him because even though she had said she wanted him, she had every right to change her mind.

“Let me know if you want me to stop.”

She nodded again, positive that if she opened her mouth to say something nothing would even come out. Her lack of ability to speak made him smile, though, as he slowly descended down her body.

He kissed her from her collarbone down to her belly, pulling her legs out around his waist so that she slouched in the chair and gave him better access by the time he reached his destination. His hands gripped her thighs tight as he sat back on his knees and let his mouth do the talking.

She tensed up the second he licked the tip of his tongue into her and he immediately backed away staring up at her in shock that he’d already done something to hurt her.

Instead, she finally opened her own mouth, “I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just… didn’t expect… you can keep going.”

He fell back into place hesitantly, but this time he kissed his way up her inner thigh, making sure to keep at least one eye on her at all times. When he had his tongue on her again, though, she sunk into her seat with a sigh and he wasn’t as worried.

When he spread her open with both his hands planted on her inner thighs, his tongue explored even more to the point of finally managing a moan out of her. She didn’t give him a whole lot, but he didn’t really need it the way he watched her like a hawk to make absolutely sure she was really okay.

And she did seem that way, she seemed more than okay, in fact. Everytime he flicked his tongue over just the right spot, her eyes rolled back into her head and so he made mental notes of everything she liked best. Even though she never closed her eyes completely, never looked away from him for more than a second, what she did do was more than enough. Although he normally got off on verbal praise, just the way her body reacted to him seemed to do all the tricks he needed it to. The way she moved against him, the way her eyebrows furrowed and her lips pouted and she sucked in shaky breaths, he didn’t need anything more than that.

What she did next had him moaning, however. She dug her fingernails into his scalp and tugged his curls, leaving him in stinging pain that felt so fucking incredible. It was just another reminder from her that what he was doing was good and that he made her feel good enough to have her hands at the back of his head trying to get more from him. He fidgeted and shifted his weight just to get some relief himself while he looked at her with darkened green eyes and his tongue suddenly picked up the pace.

She gasped and leaned back into the chair, her eyes fluttering shut. He let her do it for a moment until he slowed to a stop and pulled his mouth away just far enough to speak.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, catching his breath, and she felt the heat of it on the sensitive bits his tongue had just been getting to know. She, again, did as he asked without question. His voice wasn’t filled with anything but care for her so no matter what he asked, she’d probably do it.

“Don’t stop looking at me, okay?”

She agreed, nonverbally, before he even considered continuing where he left off. It wasn’t that he needed to see her face, although that had been a huge factor in telling him what he needed to do. It was mostly that he didn’t want her to close her eyes and have a single stitch of an intrusive thought leak into her brain. He didn’t want her to see anything besides him, not the trauma she’d been through or the face of the asshole who had done it. He wanted her to see him; his green eyes, his dimples, his curly brown hair that tickled her skin and framed his sweaty forehead. He wanted her to see that it was him on his hands and knees in front of her and that his touches would not make her hate her body. They wouldn’t betray her or disrespect her. Her body was safe in his hands and he wanted her to see that.

When he knew she was close, he found her hands digging into the cushion below her and slipped his fingers through hers instead, letting her squeeze the life out of them and dig crescent shapes into his skin. By this point, he’d become obsessed with her body, in love with the way it said everything her mouth didn’t. He didn’t need her to say anything, though, he never really did. Just being near her had always been more than enough. The only thing he would need her to say now though, was if she wanted him to stop.

But those words never left her lips and he stopped expecting them to as he watched her face contort with pleasure. He wondered if anyone had ever made her feel as good as he was and it made him sad to think she’d gone so long never being treated the way she deserved. He adjusted again and gave her everything he was capable of.

Her body moved against him like a tidal wave and he’d probably let her drown him if it meant feeling her buck her hips up into his mouth the way she was and he’d most definitely die at the hands of her body if it meant feeling her heels dig into his back for an ounce of mercy. He didn’t give her very much though, mostly because the look on her face told him that if he stopped now, she might actually kill him.

Even so, he worshiped the fuck out of her in every sense of the word. He never looked away, he watched her mouth as it fell open. He watched her eyebrows as they furrowed. And most importantly, he watched her eyes until she couldn’t take it anymore and they crossed back into her head, while her whole body shivered against him. He felt her coming more than he heard anything about it at first.

But then she whispered and he completely forgot what he was doing.

“I love you so much, Harry.”

He blinked, looking up at her so much more in love than he ever had been before. He wanted to kiss her, to hear her say it again ten more times at least. When her hips shifted upwards again, he snapped out of it and scooted closer to her to gain some control while she was losing it, using his forearms on her hips to keep her in place. That had only led her to squeeze his hands tighter than ever before while her thighs got him in a choke hold, but he loved every single second of it, which is why he didn’t take his tongue away from her until she settled down.

She breathed heavily for a few moments while he watched her come down from her high as he rested his cheek against her thigh and stared up at her, still holding onto her hands and rubbing his thumb across the back of one of them. He heard her words over in his head again and they became his most favorite words ever.

“So you do love me?” He asked quietly, not wanting to miss too much of the sounds of her catching her breath because of what he’d just done to her body.

She laughed and fluttered her eyes shut again. After a moment, she shook her head and changed the subject, “Please don't ever leave this house.”

He chuckled, sending cool air against her core again while he leaned over to kiss her thigh softly, “Whatever you say.”

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ourloveisforthelovely · 4 years

Text

Tease

Harry Potter

Pairings: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Sirius was too old for you, too dangerous, and had too much baggage. That is until you go on a date with someone else and everything changes.

Rating: M- smut

____

“He’s looking at you again.”

You didn’t even bother looking up at Tonks’ comment. You didn’t have to look up to know that Sirius was looking at you. There was no point in getting excited though.

“Tonks, I already told you that he isn’t interested. He already said that he was, and I quote, I am too old and too dangerous for you. There was some other stuff but I stopped listening at that point. When I heard that I’m too old for you part I stopped being hopeful.”

Tonks rolled her eyes and shot Sirius a scowl.

“I don’t know what the hell he is talking about. The age difference between the two of you is the same as Remus and me. Once we get a hold of Pettigrew, Sirius will be able to be a free man.”

“Yeah, well go tell him that.”

You muttered, trying to focus on the parchment that Madeye had put in front of you. Tonks' eyes rolled up to Remus and gave him a small shrug. What the two hadn’t told neither Sirius nor yourself was the fact that they were trying shamelessly to set the two of you up. So far they weren’t doing so well.

Meanwhile,

Remus watched as Sirius’ eyes stayed locked on you.

“Y/n is very pretty, huh?’

Sirius quickly turned in his friend’s direction.

“What are you two playing at?”

Remus shrugged with a careful grin.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I simply stated that Y/n is a very pretty young woman. A very pretty single young woman who has had her eye on you for some time.”

Sirius glanced up again. Your violet eyes had rolled up to meet his grey ones briefly before looking away quickly.

“She thinks that I’m an asshole and she doesn’t need someone like me.”

“Someone like you?”

Remus questioned. Sirius wanted to smack Remus. If he wasn’t afraid of hurting his remaining best friend the other man would have been popped.

“I have too much baggage.”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, mate. You’re missing a great opportunity. Y/n is kind. She honestly reminds me of her cousin, Lily.”

Sirius sighed. He didn’t want to think about how much that you reminded him of Lily. Maybe that was why Sirius’ heart ached every time that he looked at you.

“Can we not bring James and Lily into this? I don’t want to make them roll over in their graves.”

“I’m tired of telling Y/n that you suffer from asshole disease. She’s going to stop holding out hope for you one day and move on. You’ll be stuck in your bedroom with only your left hand for company.”

It took all that Remus had not to die of laughter at the expression on Sirius’ face.

“Well, I have to get going.”

Your voice pulled both Remus and Sirius from their conversations. Sirius was internally pleading with you to stay.

“Where are you headed?”

Madeye snapped. He hated admitting it but he had taken a fierce paternal liking to you. From the moment your little sunshine self came into his office to be trained as an Auror; Madeye took extra care to be almost a second father.

You sighed, miserably.

“I have a date with some guy.”

All eyes rolled nervously in Sirius’ direction. He was scowling angrily and if it wasn’t for Harry being beside him; Sirius would have been a total drama king and walked out.

“Does this guy have a name?”

Tonks asked, grinning. You shrugged.

“I’m sure he does but I don’t know it. Some girl that really needs to get a life set me up with him.”

“That’s the beginnings of a beautiful relationship.”

Sirius said in an icy tone that made you blush. If he would only grow a pair and ask you to be his girlfriend; you wouldn't have to be going out with these clowns that Tonks set you up with. You could be devoted to Sirius and have the lover that you so desperately wanted.

“I don’t know about beautiful, but he knows that I’m alive. That’s promising.”

Remus quickly came in before Sirius could say something sassy.

“We can make an excuse for you to get out of it. I got hurt. That’s believable.”

“It's okay Remus. The poor fool has been drooling over me for ages. It’s kind of obnoxious. Oh well, I’ll see you all later”

You turned and walked to the doorway followed by Tonks like an over-excited puppy. What you didn’t see was Sirius had slowly followed along too. He remained in the shadows as you pulled on your coat.

“Andrew isn’t that bad.”

Tonks said as she reached out fluffing your red curls. Your eyes rolled up to your friends.

“I haven’t been laid in months. Is it too much to ask for some halfway decent looking guy to just throw me over his shoulder or fuck me against a wall? This guy I’m going on a date with isn’t even cute.

Tonks giggled.

“Well, I am sure we can find you someone...somewhere”

You groaned. Why you had such shitty luck dating was still a mystery? Maybe it was because you worked too much or the fact that you didn’t put up with shit? It could also be the fact that you played tough but wanted some guy to have his way with you and pull the alpha card. Again...not asking for much.

“I’m beginning to think that it will take a miracle. There is hope, however, and it has batteries.”

You were relieved when Tonks continued her laughing fit.

“You’re just adorable...now go spread joy.” You gave her one final scowl before walking out the door muttering about people being crazy and lesbians having the right idea.

The next two hours were the longest and most boring of your life. Andrew asked you literally every question known to wizardkind. Your nickname for him was now “the question man.” Maybe it was Andrew being nervous but he was driving you crazy!

I need to stop comparing every man that I go out with to the man that I want.

You thought after drinking your third cup of coffee.

“So is that your real red hair?”

You looked up at Andrew from your drink.

“Uh, yeah. It came with me when I was born.”

Andrew nodded.

“Does the carpet match the drapes?”

Your mouth dropped at that question. That was the last question that you expected to come out of the man’s mouth. That was something that Sirius would ask to make you blush. Funny how it wasn’t near as witty coming from this man (who probably lived in his mother’s basement).

“Excuse me?”

You asked. Andrew motioned down your body suggestively with his eyes.

“You know...does the carpet match the drapes?”

You stood up and poured what was left of your coffee on the man’s head before storming out of the restaurant.

5 minutes later, you stood outside of Sirius’ house. You were ready to strangle Tonks! The woman was about to get tackled.

When you walked in, you didn’t notice Sirius sitting on the couch as if waiting for you to come back. He quickly stood up knowing that pissed off expression well. After all, he had seen Lily wear it many times.

“You don’t look happy.”

You nodded.

“Good job. Where is my dear friend Nymphadora? She and I are about to fight.”

Sirius closed his book.

“She and Remus are asleep. I take it your date didn’t go so well.”

You started laughing hard. Maybe it was your reaction or not being around other people for some time but Sirius was confused.

“What happened?”

“Well, I went on a date who is now known as the question man. We ended the night by him asking if my red hair was natural and if the carpet matches the drapes. I poured a cup of coffee on his head then stormed out. All in all, it was a lovely evening.”

Sirius only blinked as he took in what you said.

“Well, he kind of asked for what he got.”

You nodded.

“Oh yeah. I am never dating anyone again.”

“So if I asked you to consider being mine the answer would be no?”

That simple question made you freeze in your steps. You turned around looking at Sirius stupidly. He was leaned against the back of the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. You swallowed as you looked him over. Had his black jeans always been that tight and left so little to your already vivid imagination?

“We both know that isn’t going to happen. You have already made your feelings clear.”

You finally replied. Sirius smirked before rolling up the sleeves of the green sweater that he was wearing.

“Maybe I was wrong?”

He suggested. Sirius was going against his better judgment now. You were young, and whether you wanted to admit it or not, innocent. So much for trying to protect you from the negatives of his past. Sirius was ready to throw all of that out the window.

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know if anyone has told you this or not, teasing a girl’s feelings isn’t nice. You aren’t 16 anymore.” Sirius closed the gap between the two of you. His eyes were on your legs. The dress that you wore had been teasing him from the moment that you walked into the room.

“I know how old I am, love. I also know that I want nothing more than to get my hands on you.”

Your eyes were wide. Were you actually hearing this correctly? Sirius was hitting on you! He actually wanted you after all.

“You may just have to prove that.”

You said with a teasing smirk as your upper arms squeezed your breasts together discreetly. Sirius raised an eyebrow. He knew exactly what you were doing and, god damn it, you were winning.

“Why don’t you come here?”

When you didn’t move fast enough, Sirius’ hands were wrapped around your waist pulling your body to him. You moaned into the kiss as his tongue teased yours. How far this was going to go? You weren't sure. All that you knew was you were ready to go as far as Sirius wanted. You didn’t care if anyone walked in on the two of you either.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as Sirius lifted your leg over his hip.

“I want you.”

You gasped against his lips. Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Lucky for both of us. I want you too. Now, why don’t you get this dress off and get on my lap.”

When he pulled away from you, you wanted to cry out until it registered what you were instructed to do. You quickly tugged the silver dress that you were wearing off as Sirius yanked his own shirt over his head.

Sirius quickly sat back down on the couch; waiting patiently for that damned dress to come off. He palmed himself through his jeans as he watched the bra and knickers fall to the floor.

“Come here, doll.”

You didn’t wait to be told twice before taking your place on Sirius’ lap. His mouth was on yours in an instant; kissing you hungrily. When he was able to pull away, Sirius smiled at how your lips were already swollen.

“If I didn’t want to be inside of you so badly I could spend hours nestled between your legs. I like the idea of you being a weepy moaning mess.” You rocked your hips against him as Sirius reached between your bodies to undo his belt and jeans.

“I think you are a little bit of a tease.”

You moaned as his mouth wrapped around the nipple of your right breast. Sirius gently nipped the sensitive flesh a few times as he was able to get himself free from his remaining clothing. Your head fell back as Sirius rubbed the head of his cock against your already sensitive clit.

“A tease that knows what he wants.”

Sirius growled. You kissed his nose before getting off of his lap. Sirius looked at you with worried eyes. If you cut off the love supply now; he would be crushed. The moment that you knelt down in front of him to tug his jeans down further; Sirius sighed in relief.

“I have been wanting to feel those pretty lips around me for a long time now.”

He moaned as your mouth closed around him. Sirius closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the couch.

“That’s a good girl. Damn, you’re good at this.”

You took your time sucking each and every inch. Sirius wrapped his hand in your hair, gently tugging.

“Get back up here. I can’t wait.”

You quickly got up and laid back on the couch. Sirius spread your legs before giving you an eyebrow wiggle.

“Time to make you come, pretty girl.”

The moment that he pushed in the both of you moaned. You lifted yourself off the couch to take as much as he had to offer. Sirius kept his eyes clenched while giving you time to adjust.

“I think that I am going to like spending a lot of time inside you.”

You bit your already swollen lip as you felt incredibly and deliciously full. Sirius remained motionless for a moment before that feral need to make you his returned full force. Your head slammed into the couch as Sirius remained balls deep fucking you as hard and deeply as possible.

“Feel good, baby?”

You could only not. You weren’t coherent enough to put actual words together.

“Fucking you so good that you can’t talk, huh? I can do better than that.”

Sirius increased his pace. Your eyes were rolling back in your head as the knot in your stomach began to form. Sirius closed his eyes as your body began to tighten around him.

“No coming yet.”

He said in a commanding tone before pulling out. You were left a gasping spasming mess as he laid down on the floor. Sirius put his arms behind his head and motioned to his cock.

“Come here and ride me like you mean it. Fuck me sore, baby girl.”

You slid off the couch (more like fell off the couch but who cares) and quickly took your place on top of your lover. Deciding to tease him a bit first, you gently rocked your wet core against the head of his cock. You leaned down gently nibbling your way from Sirius’ lips to his neck. He groaned beneath you.

The realization that he could do this with you every day was a pleasant one. You were as desperate for his touch as Sirius was yours. He was ready to throw whatever reservation that he had about the two of you being in a relationship away. As far as Sirius was concerned, you were now his.

“You like love bites, baby? You’re about to get a lot of them.”

Sirius didn’t even give you time to fully take him in again before flipping you onto your back. You cried out when his cock was back inside fucking your mercilessly. His mouth was one your neck leaving you gasping inaudible words as his teeth bit down on your sensitive flesh.

The knot in your stomach quickly began to form again as Sirius’ own movements became a little more erratic.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’m not lasting much longer.”

You felt what sense of control failed you as Sirius used his middle finger to press firmly on your clit. Two seconds later the two of you were coming apart at the same time. You couldn’t move as the ecstasy flowed through your veins making you feel finally pleased. Sirius meanwhile, continued to lazily rock into you until rolling to his side to cuddle you.

“Believe it or not, I really didn't plan that.”

He said, kissing you gently. Your eyes rolled up to meet Sirius’ gaze.

“I’m glad that it happened and I am fine with it happening as much as you would like.”

Sirius wrapped himself around you as much as possible.

“With you being my girl now, I would hope that it would be that way.”

______

@brokencasbutt67-writer

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#Harry Potter #harry potter oneshot #Sirius Black #Sirius Black x Reader #Ben Barnes as Sirius Black #smut warning #request fic #Remus Lupin #nymphadora tonks #harry potter fan fiction #Sirius Black AU #Tease

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wlfkssd · 3 years

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Midnight Caller

based on the prompt ‘hvithelred + midnight / early morning hugs’ sent in by @issadoragreen <3

summary : after a rough week, and with hvitserk not answering his calls, aethelred (thel) visits the lothbrok house at midnight to see him.

warnings : smoking, brief mention of ragnar yelling at hvitserk, mentions of divorce and a bad impression of gimli from lotr. a little bit of angst, not much though.

pairing : hvitserk x aethelred. small appearances from alfred, rollo, ubbe. as well as a tiny flirtation between ubbe and thel.

words : 2,380.

notes : aethelred is referred to as thel a lot in this fic. just because it’s a little more modern.

The dial tone continues in its monotony and Thel shakes his head, lowering the phone from his ear before he hangs it up again. He stares at the screen and his brows instinctively pull close and tight.

Why aren't you picking up, Hvitserk?

"Any luck?" Alfred, his younger brother, stands in the doorway. He looks anxious; hands buried so deep into the single, long pocket of the oversized, borrowed hoodie to keep him from picking at his fingers in worry.

"No. It just keeps ringing." Thel's defeated and to pretend otherwise would be idiotic. Perhaps Hvitserk doesn't want to talk to him. Perhaps he doesn't want to see him anymore. "I should go over there and see if he's alright."

"At this time of night? What would mum say?"

That's hardly a threat and they both know it. Life at home hasn't always been plain sailing, especially with Alfred's illness and the fact that it's clear he's the favourite. But Thel doesn't mind. Quite the contrary; sometimes that leaves him free to do just about whatever he likes without much fear of repercussions.

Still, this? Maybe his brother is right. It's no time to be showing up unannounced.

"You're right, Alfie." That garners a smile from Alfred - nickname having been with him, practically since birth - and he turns to leave for his own room just as the dial tone strikes back into life.

Some seconds pass, long and unnecessary in Thel's opinion. He can only imagine what the excuse will be.

"Hello?" Ubbe's voice is quiet, softer even than usual and something about it sends a tingling jolt straight up Thel's spine. They're best friends - more like brothers, really - but some things just can't be denied.

"Is Hvitserk alright? He's not answering his phone."

There's a silence and Thel hears the heavy sigh come through loud and clear. In fact, it's far too close to the receiver for comfort.

"Our father came home." Four short words that set the scene for the whole conversation and the coming night. So easily let out and yet their weight now holds itself in the space between the two boys. "He has a way of speaking that isn't always what you would call nice."

And that's putting it lightly. In truth, Ragnar had come home after three long years of globe-trotting and demanded to know which of his sons intended to take over their family business. It was sudden and off-putting and had ruined the last of everyone's Sunday night.

He'd barely spoken to Ivar, choosing instead to focus on Ubbe and Bjørn as his successors. And why not? They are the oldest of his sons. Why wouldn't they want to inherit his empire, his wealth, his standing in Scandinavian society?

Because, for one, Ubbe had told him, he was still in school and wanted very much to become something other than what had come before him. Bjørn had said much the same; giving details that he was going into business with their uncle Floki for a while.

That left Hvitserk and Sigurd and being faced with a father he hadn't seen for years, yelling into his face and asking if he's man enough, wasn't the ideal reunion.

It also explains exactly why none of the brothers have been at school for the past two days. Now Thel understands and his heart eases off its hammering just a little.

"Do you think Hvitserk would see me, if I came over there?"

For the first time in the conversation, Ubbe seems to relax. The sigh slips into something more amused and he hums, lowly. "I think so, yes. It's a shame you like him so much. I could use someone like you right now. Calling at midnight and asking to come over, just to see me."

Shame indeed. Were it not for the fact of Ubbe's younger brother's charm, Thel might have eventually fallen out of friendship and into love with him, instead. But both know it's not to be and there's a moment of comfortable silence.

"I'm on my way, then."

They hang up and Thel takes a deep breath, relieved that the sudden silence isn't anything he's done.

Dressing warmly, Thel makes his way down the stairs and out into the night with a single thought; how can he cheer up his boyfriend?

Several different ideas run through his mind as he walks the short distance from one house to the other. He could pick a flower from each of the gardens on the way and present them to Hvitserk. He could jog to the 24-hour corner shop and buy him some sweets or a large bag of popcorn. Or he could just bring himself and the space between his waiting arms that so perfectly encompasses the one he's chosen to show and give his heart to.

That sounds about right. Sappy as it is.

Coming to the Lothbrok house, Thel slows and considers his ways of entrance.

Knocking on the front door is definitely out. That's far too obvious, isn't it? Plus, he doesn't know who might be sleeping. There is a light on in the living room but the windows blinds are all the way down and disturbing whoever is inside might not end well. Especially if it's Ragnar.

As he's standing there, looking at the house, a throat clears and sends him almost out of his skin.

"Staring won't get you anywhere." Flame of a lighter flickers into life and, for a few seconds, the identity of the voice shows itself. Then it's gone. Thel stands his ground, though, relief filling his veins now instead of fear.

"And scaring the shit out of teenagers won't get you anywhere, either."

Tongue kisses teeth in a gesture of disappointment at the language and Rollo stands up, causing the lamp above the side door to come on, illuminating him. The sterile shade reminds Thel of a hospital.

"What are you doing here, Aethelred?" Rollo asks on the exhale of his cigarette, smoke blown in a steady stream as his eyes focus on the boy before him. "It's a little late for studying, isn't it?" His expression holds so much knowing.

"I'm here to see Hvitserk." And that's all the explanation he's going to give.

"So it's true then? The two of you-" Rollo cuts himself off as he takes another drag on the cigarette, which now looks as though it's due to be snubbed out any moment. He holds in the smoke to delay but lets it out as he comes closer, towering over Thel the way one does when he should be feared.

Flicking away the cigarette gives a single notion.

Threat.

Instead though, it's an embrace that passes between them. A hefty one in which Thel is lifted quite literally off of his feet. And a hearty laugh bellows uncaring from Rollo's chest, still rumbling as he lets go and claps both hands to the teen's shoulders, looking him over.

"You're both terrible at hiding things, you know. Anyone with eyes can see your affection for each other." Maybe in the dark it's easier for him to say things like this; the veil of night covering all manner of distress at discussing affairs of the heart. Lagertha and Siggy have both torn him apart in their own ways but love spreads just as much as anything else. "Now," he sniffs and clears his throat, squeezing one of Thel's shoulders. "Do you need help getting into his window?"

"What?" What, indeed. Thel blinks up at Rollo, brows coming together as they had earlier over the screen of his mobile phone. "I was going to use the front door." He lies and hopes it's convincing.

It isn't.

"Nonsense. You English need to have more adventure." Rollo observes, all the while leading Thel towards the overhang beneath Hvitserk's bedroom window.

They come to stand, looking up at it together. From on the ground, it doesn't seem too daunting but Thel isn't keen on breaking a bone when he's got a big game at the end of the week.

"You expect me to climb up there?" Thel shakes his head, wishing he had asked Ubbe to wait up and let him in. Better than risking life and limb for the sake of adventure. In fact, he's sure Hvitserk would prefer he arrive in once piece and upset Ragnar than show up and immediately have to spend the next day and a half in the hospital with him because he fell.

"Come on. I'll help you."

Bending at the knees, Rollo widens his stance and lays his hands palms up in front of him, interlocking his fingers. He gestures for Thel to come closer with a jerk of his chin. Silently his eyes say he'll never forgive Thel if he doesn't find the courage to at least try it.

"Oh, fine. Fine." Thel huffs and, putting one hand firmly on Rollo's shoulder, he lifts a foot and places it into the waiting hands. One swift motion sees him launched up and onto the overhang. No problem whatsoever.

Rollo gives him a thumbs up for good luck and disappears, presumably to smoke some more.

Then it's just a glass pane that separates him from the one he loves. It feels strange to think, let alone to say, especially given that each of them is so young but, apparently, when you know, you know. And he knows.

Crawling on his hands and knees, uncaring as to the scuff to his black jeans, Thel gets close enough to see his own breath fog up the window and he pauses to peer inside. One hand cups over his eyes, blocking out the light of a nearby streetlamp.

Hvitserk is on his bed, curled around his blanket. One leg on top, one beneath. He wears only a pair of bottoms - Thel's, he notices. They're a loose fit and black and the pull strings are frayed from years of play and fretting. They're old but, somehow, Hvitserk makes them new. He makes everything new; vibrant.

The catch is unlocked so he doesn't even have to struggle with it before he's pushing up the window and slipping through. Hvitserk would say he's like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible but that's difficult to believe.

Cool air moves the curtains and breathes life into what is otherwise a morbidly still room. Hvitserk's mobile phone lays dormant on his bed, placed in the concave created by his rounded position. As though he just watched Thel calling and calling and chose to ignore it.

No.

Maybe he couldn't bring himself to answer. Shock does strange things to people. Aethelred's own parents almost divorced when his father found out Alfred wasn't his. But they worked through things, eventually. So he's all-too-aware of just how debilitating that emotion can be.

"Hvitserk?" Thel whispers into the dark. It's the softest he's ever spoken and thinks, perhaps, he didn't actually make any sound at all. So, he tries again, not wanting to startle Hvitserk too much if he wakes.

"Mmm?" The noise is an obvious sign of exhaustion and Hvitserk doesn't turn over, immediately. He clearly thinks it's one of his brothers; come to disturb what little sleep he's managed these past few days. "What is it, Ubbe?"

Chancing the gesture, Thel sits on the side of the bed and tentatively lowers a hand onto Hvitserk's exposed shoulder. "It isn't Ubbe. It's me."

"Hello... me." For the first time in days, Hvitserk smiles. His eyes are still closed but that simple touch to his shoulder - naked skin prickling at it - is enough to lift his spirits from even the deepest of depths. "How did you-?"

"Your window was unhooked. I've told you about leaving it that way. Strangers could get in." The hand moves from bare skin to sandy braids and Thel's long fingers gently sweep through, earning him a contented sigh.

A contented sigh that precedes Hvitserk's eyes opening heavily. He blinks, adjusting to the light. "Did you climb up here?" His brows furrow at the thought and he turns over fully now, onto his back. The side of Thel's face that is visible looks to be smiling but it's hard to tell.

"Your uncle tossed me." Doing his best impression of Gimli, Thel ducks his face and laughs. It's almost silent but the moment is one of utter closeness, despite the humour, and after a minute, even that dies away, leaving nothing but the gaze of a sad boy looking into the face of the one he knows can rescue him.

Abruptly, Hvitserk embraces Aethelred's waist; not sitting fully but no longer laying as still and placid as he had been.

"I'm sorry I didn't answer you before. My father-" The very fact that Hvitserk buries his face tells them both all they need to know about the life of that conversation. It needs to be cut short.

"Ubbe told me everything. So you don't have to explain."

It isn't made clear exactly what it is Hvitserk has to do but by the way Thel directs him steadily with a hand at the back of his neck, the other having moved now from soft hair to rubbing at the space between his shoulder blades, and kisses him, it doesn't appear to be anything too taxing. Just be kissed. Even he can manage that now.

For a long moment, there's nothing in the world but them and it's blissful. All the heavy decisions in their futures and all the things they've done wrong in the past just melt into nothing. They're living for the moment.

Lips leave their tender mark on one another as Thel pulls away, briefly, nose bumping Hvitserk's, along with a touch of their foreheads to bring about the signal of parting. Not that it lasts long. Tiredly, Hvitserk shuffles further towards the wall, letting the blanket tangle itself even tighter into his legs and Thel kicks off his shoes and strips down to his shorts.

As they get comfortable, skin presses against bed-warmed skin; the soft, downy hair of Thel's soft tummy tickling the small of Hvitserk's back. Naturally, a groping hand reaches and finds an arm to pull over and a hand to hold in the darkness. The same lips, too, now part and breathe as one, chests rising and falling together.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" The question comes around a yawn and Hvitserk hugs Thel closer to him, looking back briefly and offering himself up for another kiss. Aethelred gives it, freely, leaning in for a series of small, affectionate pecks. Each brings about a satisfied sigh.

"I will stay until you fall asleep."

#hvitserk #aethelred #hvithelred #vikings fic #issadoragreen #requests #/ finally posting this !!!!!!#ubbe #rollo #alfred

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crystalk17 · 3 years

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What to Expect vs. Reality/ Lone Survivor

Lone Survivor is a book I have been working on for awhile. I think it’s about time I start positing it on here. Basically Lone Survivor is about:

Human looking people who are at least 80 feet tall appear on earth. Reports are they just appeared. No human knew where they came from, or why they were there. So natural reaction is to retaliate. Since humans could not "share" the plant the human existence is left to only one. One measly boy. From a young age he has been placed into different homes with giants. Each home has either "fostered" him for the money or free access to a family pet. At 14 he is going to his fourth home now. He is being told it's with a " nice" family out in the country. A giant couple with an eldest son.

So just like every home. He moves there, goes to school, oh, and maneuvers living with a family who is not event the same species or size. Let's see if this family will be different from all the others. He really doubts it.

Let me know your comments!

" Why! Just Why!?" Chesher shoved a handful of dirty and scrapped up clothing into a bookbag that he usually used for school. He didn't even attempt to fold or organize any of the clothing. He knew there was no point in going through any of his items. One of two things was bound to happen.

One, he would keep his already tattered up clothing because the caretakers wouldn't even give him new ones. They would tell him he had enough items already and that he would not be getting anything else, the heads of the family would not want to spoil him. Or there was option two. Option two was that the heads of the family would cast out his old items. Every last one of them, always stating the same thing.

" You don't need reminders about your past. This is a new life." Just the thought of this option made him gag. In reality, both the caretakers and he knew what that really meant. What it really translated to was " Get rid of those rags. You will not look like an outcast. You must fit in with your surroundings and your surroundings were----"

Chesher angrily grabbed a pair of pants he made holes in. He got angry one day and took scissors to them, making perfect in them. Honestly, he did this out of pure rage and defiance, but the style grew on him. He can't remember how many times Miss Garcia scolded him for having these...what did she say...Oh, yeah " Raggedy pieces of junk that just proved he was trash." Yeah, well now he wasn't only keeping them, he was also bringing them with him. Chesher gave the pants one look then bunched them up into a ball. There was only one thing left to do. He plunged the wadded up jeans into the bag and then pressed down on them with all of his strength to make sure they fit.

He marched across the room grabbing any little thing he owned, and then some. He knew he would eventually be back anyway so it wasn't stealing.

He marched over to his dresser contemplating if he should even take the trash with him too. Yeah, that would show them. He stole trash! He grabbed a single chip bag, the smashed alarm clock pieces, and a pencil, tossing them into his bag with very little care, when his eyes caught a shimmering gold object. The light streamed in through the opening of the window just right, so when he tossed the trash into the bag, the gold beam of light struck his eye just enough to catch his attention, breaking him from his trance.

Chesher cautiously approached, looking down as if the object was going to suddenly move if he got to close. Taking several small steps he finally reached his "packed bag" on top of his bed. He grabbed both sides of the bag and ripped them apart, making an opening big enough for his head just so he could reach in. Scrunched up against the side, about to fall to the bottom of the bag, was a golden locket. Before the precious yet tiny item slipped to be lost in the abyss, Chesher grabbed the chain, hoisting it out into the open. He watched as the chain of the locket twirled around in his hand reflecting even more light across his room like a disco ball. Quickly shielding it away from the world, with one hand, he wrapped the chain twice around the opposite hand and allowed it to dangle like it was a bracelet. " They are not getting this."

Tugging on it one more time to make sure it was secure, he proceeded to pack his bag in anger.

"Let's go Cheshire!!" He heard a loud voice from outside of his home. He knew they were not meaning to be so demanding, but that's how all giants were.

" I'm coming!... Plus its Chesher!"

" What?" the loud female voice asked sincerely. It's likely didn't even fully hear him from within the house.

Chesher grabbed his bag, swinging it around one shoulder, marching out of the house he currently was residing in. He knew it was time. " I said!... Nevermind." he knew it was no use to correct her. If she hasn't got his name right after living here off and on for six years then she never would.

" I'm ready." Standing in front of him was the kind, Miss Garcia, the woman who arranged for these families to take him. When he wasn't living with a family he was cared for by many staff, but she was the main one. Out of all the giants..No, he shouldn't call them that, their species are called Zuvain. She was the nicest he has ever come across. She was defiantly no Marry Poppins(TM) but she actually cared for him like a person. At this point, that is all he could ask for.

" Hey! I said I was ready." Chesher corrected the strap on his shoulder before it fell down, then waited patiently for the thirty-something woman to grab him.

Standing in his presence was a woman who was actually pretty short for a Zuvian. Most of their kind toward over his head at a whopping 80 feet, she was only 56 feet. Yes. I know what you are thinking. That is not short. Not at all. Even thinking about it Chesher couldn't tell the difference either. A giant was a giant, but if she stood by a regular-sized Zuvain then you could tell. It was like looking at a 5 foot 4 person standing next to a 3 foot 6 person. Big difference now.

In reality this woman didn't even look like she should work for the government. If Chesher saw this woman on the street he would assume she was an elementary art teacher, with her white shirt that was purposely stained with paint splatter, jeans, and dirty blond hair that was pulled back in a bun.

She finally noticed the tiny Chesher approach her on the surface, which to her it was just a table, but to him it was a sidewalk. Miss. Garcia gave him a kind smile and laid her hand down for him. " Are you sure? You don't have much?"

Chesher didn't even hesitate. By now he was so used to the size difference he didn't even flinch. He walked right on to her palm and sat down, crossing his legs and placing his bag in his lap. " Yeah well I'll be back anyway. I won't need much." In reality he didn't own much to speak of.

The boy instinctively grabbed onto any surface he could. The thought that the surface he was grabbing was soft skin should have freaked him out, but it didn't. He has figured out by now each giant had its own texture of skin and stride. If one thought about it...it was actually very fascinating. Each person he has ever lived with he could probably tell you who they were by the way they carried themselves and walked. Miss Garcia never really watched how fast she went. Chesher would never catch himself standing on her hand because she walked like a jerky eighty-year-old man. He tried standing before and he about fell off her hand because every step made vibrations travel through his body and fling him from side to side.

Miss Garcia looked down at the boy in her hand, instead of watching where she was going.

" Come on Cheshire I am telling you, this family will be the one. I have a really good feeling about them."

" Yeah well you said that about the last family and look where that got me." He looked up noticing the woman looking to the side in embarrassment.

" This one will be different. I promise. There is-"

" Yes. I know. I read the files to Darleen." Chesher rolled his eyes knowing he was getting a glare from the woman for using her first name. He then looked over her hand then back at her in confusion when he felt her suddenly stop her motion and clear her throat. " What?"

" Cheshire. You need to give them a chance. This family was really interested in meeting you."

" Yeah well I didn't meet them, they just adopted me. In human terms that is not allowed."

" Yeah well you are no longer in a human world anymore are you." Chesher looked down at that statement. It literally felt like she stabbed him in the heart just with that one sentence.

" Yeah don't remind me."

" Look, they are a very nice couple. From what the reports said they were not involved with the human war, neither of them were. They also live out in a remote area. Not many people within walking distance, so not too many of our kind to bother you."

" Or scream for help," he mumbled

Miss Garcia rolled her own eyes and continued to walk once more. " They are a couple who has one son at home right now."

" Great siblings. Cause that always worked out." This time Miss Garcia ignored his snarky comments and continued to talk.

" Now I will warn you he is about twenty years old. He graduated, attempted to go to College as you humans called it, but didn't really like it. The reports say he is currently living with parents to find his way in life. You know find a job, get a house, all of that."

" So basically I am going to a house full of adults and one is a drop out party boy. Great."

" Just give them a chance alright."

" Yeah whatever you say." Chesher looked to the side, tired of looking up and having this conversation. She seemed sincere but they had this type of conversation three other times now.

Miss. Garcia crouched down so she was closer to the ground. She then tilted her hand so he could easily slide down, without forcing him. " Look if you have any trouble just call me...alright?"

" Again that's what you said the last few times too." He grabbed his bag and slid off like she was requesting. He knew the procedure by now. He would wait for the giants outside of the building. Miss Garcia would stand off to the side that way if something did happen or they try to walk by she could step in, but he was on his own when meeting them. Chesher threw his bag to the ground and sat down on the concreate. " Great first impression they're ten minutes late" he replied stretching his neck and back a few times, looking up to the sky.

That's when a car that was about the size of the tallest skyscrapers drove up. He would never get used to things like this. When Zuvains started to take over they did not destroy everything. Some items they were intrigued by, they made versions their size like phones and cars.

In a rush, a couple who seemed to be in their early fifties stepped out of the vehicle. The father figured seemed to come out a bit too quickly, causing Chesher to stumbled back a bit, just to make sure he wasn't stepped on. Obviously he was in a hurry. Great, one of those that cared about time and appointments. Probably was the stricter one of the house. He then heard a female voice boom out that was even louder then Miss Garcia's. He didn't even think that was possible. " I told you to leave earlier! This was not how it was suppose to go!"

Chesher was honestly just trying to take in all of this within a few seconds. This was all too much. These two were more expressive then all of his past families combined. He looked from one person to the other in total confusion. That was when the last figure stepped out of the vehicle. Well more like fell out. Chesher assumed the door was stuck or something because it suddenly swung open causing the man inside to fall to the ground, the only thing stopping him was one hand grabbing onto the door and the other extending straight out to catch himself. " We are taking my vehicle next time." Chesher watched as the male stood up to his full height, slamming the door shut to make sure it closed all the way. This was the moment Chesher had to physically take a few steps back. This...well giant was the largest he has ever seen in his life. How could someone who was only twenty years old be this tall? He was a whole foot, maybe even two, taller than his parents. In human terms it was like looking at someone who was 6 foot eight compared to a regular 5 foot 6. This was not what he planned for.

Me, my OC’s and the Sander Sides that appear in my book Mouse of a Life are always open for questions. Please don’t hesitate to ask!!!! We love answering questions!!!! Let me know your opinions on the new story and one shot.

#oc #giant and tiny #family #adopt #human #alien?#we are doing this again?#new family #gt #g/t #largest man ever #first meeting #lone survivor

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vanaera · 5 years

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Of Cliches and Romcom Tropes

Synopsis | You find yourself literally living a classic Romcom trope by being the nerdy introvert in love with her unexpected friend, Kim Taehyung, your university’s golden theater boy and campus heartthrob. It only turns more disgustingly cliché when you learn he part-times as a prince actor in the same carnival where you work as a ticket booth attendant. Trusting on the clichés you’ve watched in numerous Romcom films, you embark on a plan to get your crush to like you back this Halloween. Pairing | prince actor!taehyung x ticket booth attendant!oc Genre | So much fluff, slight angst, humor that’s close to being crack Wordcount | 10,184 AU | Carnival Prompt | “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.” – “I bet you tell everyone that.” Warnings | None A/N | This is for @foreverpark’s Halloween Writing Challenge! It’s my first time joining a challenge like this so thank you so much Sarah for giving me an opportunity to experience this! For my hons out there, here’s my Halloween fic for you! Please also check out Sarah’s fics and the other fics for this challenge, they’re all great! Happy reading!

At every start of success story speeches, there is a ninety percent probability you will hear “Fake it ‘til you make it.” How Mark managed to chance upon an idea of an app, How Sarah snagged the director position she dreamed of, how introverted Kim developed progressive networks–it is an imperative that saying will pop out in every single one of these stories. Well, except yours, because it’s the other way around in your life. At times “Fake it ‘til you make it’ does makes a cut, but in most of your major life events where you desperately wished for it to work, it doesn’t really work. You know because you’ve long tried to fake you’re so invested in your part-time job, only for you to cry out at night that you didn’t want to do it anymore.

Sitting on an uncomfortable stool with a small fan on your right as reprieve from the heat, you spend most of your day with cramped legs inputting number of tickets sold, handing over ticket stubs, becoming an instant customer service attendant, and smiling through clenched teeth at the people that stop by your booth. Working the most boring job in the carnival is not something you can fake to enjoy until you make enough savings for your college tuition. That is, until Kim Taehyung came.

“Wonder boy” is an extreme understatement to describe that guy. Kim Taehyung is cute and has a model-esque body and his voice sounds so nice when he’s in his prince costume entertaining the kids who enter the Fairytale Land booth. Okay, maybe you’ve been staring at him too long than you’re supposed to when you’re at work. But in your defense, you’ve known Kim Taehyung long before you discovered he also part-times at the Enchanted Carnival–long enough for you to harbor a massive, embarrassing crush on the boy.

Kim Taehyung studies in the same university as you and you first saw him the day you didn’t attend your history class just so you can prepare for your midterms in the said subject–the irony of college students’ philosophy. That day, you just entered a classroom you frequent for study purposes, knowing it will be empty during your history period. Except for that day because the moment you pushed open the door, a stable vibrato echoing within the rooms’ walls halts in an awkward coughing fit.

Your anxiety-driven nerves immediately take over you. “Uhh, I’m sorry I just barged in I didn’t mean to interrupt you–”

“No, it’s o-okay,” the boy coughs, hitting his chest repeatedly. “I was just su-surprised.”

“I’m really sorry for interrupting you,” you take a step back, your hand grasping for the knob. “Continue on, I’ll just find another room–”

“No, it’s okay, you can share the room with me.”

“A-are you sure?” you squint, still rooted at the door. “You don’t have like, a class in here or something? You have a projector set up on the teacher’s desk.”

“Nah, it’s just my prop when I do my final runs.” He walks to the projector and flips down its lens cover. A picture of a wooden fort set in what looks like cobble-stoned streets of 18th century France flashes on the white board. “See?” The boy turns to you, grinning. “I’m cutting just like you. No pressure, mate. Stay.”

“B-but you’re practicing, I may distract you.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind some audience–unless, you get distracted from studying by music, then I’ll go and find–”

“No, it’s okay,” you chuckle. “I don’t get distracted by music. I love music. Actually, I like listening to songs while I study so yeah, go on.” You set your papers on the nearest seat and plop down.

“You do?” The boy asks and you find yourself smiling at his beaming face. You’ve never seen someone who smiles so bright like him on a constant-interaction basis.

“Yeah, I do. By the way, what are you singing for?”

“Oh yeah,” the boy scratches his nape, reds forming on the tips of his ears. “uh, this is for my Drama club. I’m still in the application process and we have this task to play and perform as a theater character tomorrow Friday. I wanted to do Jean Valjean from Les Miserables.”

“Wow, that’s great,” you smile, “actually I’m studying for my History midterms, so yeah, your practice is very timely. You can be my background music,” you chuckle, “to give me the better feel of what I will be crying over later back at my home.”

Taehyung laughs and you chuckle before going back on your own devices. An hour and a half passes with you flipping furiously through your reviewer in time with the instrumentals behind Taehyung’s velvet voice. When the bell rings and the afternoon class scheduled in the room starts to form a mini clique outside, you scramble out the door with a mess of papers pressed to your chest and a new name to mull over during your breaks: Kim Taehyung.

Unlike what you predicted, that encounter was not the last you will have with the theater boy. You had a couple of classes with him in the next semester and he sat next to you in each lectures. You also became partners for a pair project in your Communication Theories class. Kim Taehyung became a regular presence in your college life that at the end of your sophomore year, you knew his dream of becoming a theater actor, all his likes, dislikes and insecurities, and even his secrets he said his friends knew none of like “Y/N, do you know I used to dream of becoming a Disney prince? Not used to, actually I still low-key dream of playing Shang from Mulan just so I can sing ‘Make a Man Out of You.’” You never imagined you would hit up such a friendship with someone who’s the total polar opposite of you. Taehyung’s a social butterfly while you hate going out of your house. He knows almost three-fourth of the total population in the university with him getting to manage nine clubs while still maintaining his academics. In total contrast to you who never got to join any organizations, too afraid of making commitments you neither can fulfill nor prioritize over staying at home and reading your fiction books. Not to say Taehyung’s on the top of the strata with his handsome looks, blessed physique, impressive talent, and wide range of friends. While you’re someone who easily blends with the crowd’s background noise, with nothing too much to offer but a small group of friends and a fascination for critiquing movies–especially those that are really bad.

You guess that people say, “Opposites attract” for a reason because when you and Taehyung move on to sophomore year, you find yourself crushing hard on the boy. However for you, the attraction is definitely going to be one-sided. You’re sure of it because how can Taehyung ever like you back? You’re the epitome of average-ness that you even became the stepping stone for the girls who want to snag a date with Taehyung. Of course you wouldn’t let Taehyung miss out on cute girls he can probably date when he can have any girl he wish to be with. And, you’re too chicken to act out even a hint of your feelings for him. Clammy hands, jumpy heart, and equipped with an instinct to run to the opposite hall when you so much as glance at Taehyung’s approaching figure, you are sure he will be the death of you. Everything turns worse when you learn he part-times this summer break in the same carnival you work pathetically.

“Yo, Y/N, you work here, too?” Taehyung nears you, clad in a white polo dangerously unbuttoned down his chest, navy trousers that cinches his narrow hips, and brown combat boots. He is also wearing an unbuttoned red military jacket, its shoulder pads making his shoulders look broader than they’d ever been. A rich red cape embellished with golden details flows behind him, complementing the gold tassels on his jacket and his golden crown that makes him look impossibly more ethereal. He fucking looks like a brunet Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle.

You consciously glance down at your outfit: sweat-stained purple polo shirt with Enchanted Carnival’s logo embroidered on its breast pocket, tucked in generic black slacks that doesn’t fit you well. When you reach up to tuck the stray strand of hair that escapes your ponytail, you’re reminded you’re still wearing the silly mandatory headband with pink bunny ears. Your face feels oily, your hair’s unwashed, and you just remembered you’re not wearing any makeup on. Great, you fucking look like all college students’ worst job nightmare.

“Hey, you’re still there?”

“Ye-yeah, uh, hi, Tae,” you smile awkwardly, snatching your headband off and hiding it behind your back. You tried to make yourself look less embarrassing but it backfired when all short strands of your hair messily spill down to your cheeks. You smile wider. Okay, this is the worst day ever.

“I didn’t know you’re also working here,” Taehyung says.

“Umm, yeah. I forgot to tell you, I’m sorry–”

“No, no, no, it’s okay!” Taehyung waves his hands, laughing. “In fact this is great!”

“Great?” You want to jump off from a cliff right on.

Taehyung remains oblivious in your self-pity and just grins. “Yeah, it means I get to see you everyday even when we’re outside uni!”

“We do see each other outside uni. I tutored you for six months straight in the library.”

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s nice we get to be co-workers. It’s good to have a familiar face around so work wouldn’t be so boring. Say, Y/N, why don’t we have lunch at the cafeteria later? I have so many to tell you and–”

“Yah, Kim Taehyung! You’re up next, what are you doing outside?” you glance behind your friend and see Jimin, dressed in the same uniform as you minus the silly headband, wildly waving for the boy in front of you. When Jimin notices you, he breaks into a smile, “Oh, hi, Y/N,” and then he returns to his agenda. “Taehyung come here quickly! The batch of kids is nearing the Princess’ Castle, boss is gonna chew us out if you didn’t get back to the booth in three!”

Taehyung sighs and looks at you with shoulders drooped. “I have to go back now. Guess, I’ll see you later?”

“Okay, later, then. Have fun, Tae,” you wave at him with a smile.

When you head back for your booth, you cross your fingers and hope you don’t see him later. How can the universe do you this dirty by placing him so near you right when you are at your worst?

At the end of the day, you learn the universe just does you dirty for the hell of it. Taehyung bounds your way for lunch break in his prince costume, grinning stupidly just when you’re about to sneak off to the comfort rooms. Nevertheless, you accept the lemons life is giving you and decide to relish in your crush’s presence as you joke over lunch. You just didn’t expect that day will start an unannounced routine with Taehyung eating lunch with you and him walking you home after your shifts for the rest of your summer break. The seemingly grey area in your friendship with Taehyung turns more mind-boggling when the man keeps up with the routine even after the summer break has ended, with you two continuing your part-time jobs at the carnival every weekend.

Truth be told, your set-up with Taehyung is a blessing in disguise. He may see you greasy-faced, constantly suffering at work, and daily pissed at your cramped station with poor ventilation but at least you get to see the man you fell in love with everyday. Not just the Taehyung who’s the campus crush and the talented actor every kid in the carnival loves. But the Taehyung who stays up with you until three in the morning talking about what you want for yourselves, who genuinely laughs at your puns and memes everyone else finds corny, and who tells you he’s enjoying himself in his job because finally, he gets to act like a Disney prince.

So when you find yourself only falling for Taehyung deeper, getting over him becomes the last resort in your to-do list. You start to let yourself get ahead of you and assume that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance Taehyung likes you back. Or else he wouldn’t do all those things with you with his stare lingering on your face, and his hand brushing against your own on multiple occasions you swear are not conjured up by your lovesick heart. Right?

With the Halloween season closing in and your part-time contracts at the carnival nearing its end, you are compelled to finally make a move on Taehyung. The carnival is the only place where your social and visual gap matters the least. You’re going to get an answer from him before this perfect chance expires. All you have to do now is have courage for the things you’re about to do and you pray that this time, the universe lets you successfully fake it ‘til you make it.

***

Plan 1: The Makeover Montage

You’ve watched enough Romcom films to know that a good makeover montage creates an obvious statement that a woman is about to claim her man. And so, you started making your wallet cry and your fingers ache by splurging on cosmetic brands and watching YouTube makeup tutorials. You’re proud of yourself when by the time Monday rolls in, you are confident you can pull off the cat wing and coral peach color scheme you learnt in exchange of sleep-deprived nights.

You wait by your locker and glance at your watch. 7:48 A.M. Great, just in time. You look down on your outfit: a white ruffled blouse tucked in a pink and yellow plaid skirt. Spending three hours planning today’s outfit was totally worth it, you mentally pat yourself.

Three minutes pass and then the bell chimes. You stand up straight and crane your neck to look for your target. Amy from History, Dave from Economics, Amanda from the College Secretary’s Office, Jimin from Arts and the Enchanted Carnival–There! Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung catches your eye and waves at you. He whispers something to Jimin before he bounds toward you. “Hi, Y/N. Didn’t know you’re an early bird now. I thought your first class today is later at eleven thirty?”

“U-um, I have so-something to pass to Ms. Terry at the Department of Arts and Communication,” you laugh awkwardly.

“Oh is that so? Wait,” Taehyung looks at you, eyes wide. “Is it a homework I may have forgotten to do at home?”

“N-no! There’s no homework! It’s just uh–a follow-up on a project!”

“A project? Did Ms. Terry announce any project? I’m sorry, I’m just confused because we take her class together and–”

“It’s a personal project!” you interject with a grin. “I…uh, I’ve been working on it since last month. I forgot to tell you about it, but it’s not much, just a collection of…news clippings.”

“News clippings, hmm, that sounds interesting. Tell me about it at lunch, I will go ahead now to my first period,” Taehyung steps back and makes a salute, his alternative of a goodbye wave to you. “Good luck with your project!”

“Wa-wait, Tae!”

Taehyung halts in his steps and looks at you. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“I–uh, did you notice anything new today?”

“New?” Tehyung tilts his head. “Is it a new promo for the diner we frequent?”

“Uhh, no.”

“Umm,” Taehyung bites his lip, “is it a new movie you sent to me in our Discord?”

“Uh, also no. And, I will gush about a movie first to you in person before I send it to our Discord.”

“Oh, right,” Taehyung chuckles. “Is it a new book then?”

“No.”

“New supplies in the bookstore you love?”

“No.”

“A new flavor of coffee in the vending machine?”

“No.

“A new–”

“Goddamn it, Taehyung, you know what, just go to your class,” you purse your lips and Taehyung gawks at you.

“W-why? Did I say something wrong, Y/N?”

“No, it’s just, you’re so obliviou–UGH!”

“‘Obliviou-ugh?’” Taehyung looks more confused than ever he’s been in his life.

You take in deep breath and take it as a signal for you to retreat. “Don’t mind me it’s just my mood swing!” you holler as you turn your back and walk fast to the exit. Following-up with a faint “See you later!” to the bewildered boy by the time you step out the hallway.

After what happened today, you guess Taehyung won’t easily notice your makeover with just one encounter. You decided to keep it consistent for the rest of the week, waking up earlier to curl your hair and apply makeup before going to your classes. And every day you kept trying something new – a change of shade in the lip gloss, a swipe of a bolder eye shadow, a shift from preppy to sophisticated clothing styles–Taehyung still fails to notice anything. Even when you turn up for your shift in the carnival with full-on makeup for the very first time, Taehyung just passes you by with his usual demeanor.

“Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi Tae!” You cringe at how chirpy you sound. “Umm, you look exceptionally good today!”

“Yeah?” Taehyung looks at his clothes, the same Howl costume he always wears in his shift. “Well, I look like this everytime in my shift so thanks?”

“But, have you noticed anything new today?” you bat your mascara-laden lashes for emphasis.

“New?” Taehyung leans closer to you and this time you feel your heart pounding in suspense. Of course he’ll notice it now, you never wear this much makeup at work–

“Oh, your ID lace!” Taehyung snaps his fingers, grinning. “Right, you changed your ID lace, how can I miss out on it? You always complain about the neon orange you used to have and now it’s black just like how you always want.”

You balk at him. “Uhh, it’s still the ones provided by the staff. They just changed the color.”

“Yeah, isn’t that great? You’ve always wanted a black ID lace! Remember when you used to tell me you’re gonna file a petition to change the neon orange lace to black? It’s finally black!” Taehyung claps you on the back and then makes his signature salute. “See ya later at lunch Y/N. And congrats to the ID lace!”

You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance. You’ve done such a good job perfecting your makeup and all he notices is just your ID lace?! What the motherfucking–

Okay, maybe Taehyung doesn’t get makeover montages. You cross Plan 1 out and step up to Plan 2.

Plan 2: The Assertive Approach

If Taehyung can’t notice physical changes, maybe this time, he can notice behavioral changes. In the films you have watched, you’ve seen countless protagonists be successful in catching the eye of their love interests by changing their flirting style. You’ve always dreamt of becoming like Julia Roberts in her hit romance films: confident, bold, and unafraid to make the first move. So this time, you get to finally be the woman of your dreams and you hope she can also entice the man inside your heart.

You started your metamorphosis by sitting closer to Taehyung during lectures, leaning closely to him whenever he’s talking with you, closing the space between your faces with a mere inch of breath. You also let your hands do the speaking for you whenever you walk home from work, masking the frequent brushing of your fingers against his, an obvious open invitation for him to hold your hand, seemingly accidental. But whatever you do, Taehyung still can’t get any hint. He’ll just smile at you and proceed to what he’s doing without even a waver in his tone.

Fueled with desperation, you decide to cross the boundary from subtle to blatant assertion in your lunch break with Taehyung.

“Today’s a pretty beat day,” Taehyung remarks, taking off his sweaty cape. “Some teens decided to not go with the usual flow of the booth and visit the stops in reverse. I felt sorry for Jimin. He looked so stressed manhandling each teen out of the booth and giving them a stricter run-over of the booth’s rules.”

“Yeah?” You slide closer next to his seat and cross your legs. “Then what about you, did the teens made fun of you? I heard from Seokjin that Lisa almost broke down when they poked around her unicorn costume.”

“I’m glad I’m the last stop. Jimin already entered the booth when the kids made the ruckus at Lisa’s stop.” Taehyung sighs, running his hand through his damp fringes. “I couldn’t imagine myself dealing with such troublesome people. If I were in Lisa’s place, I would have already been screaming at them for being bastards at such a young age. It’s a relief, it didn’t happen. I would have lost this job.”

“I’m glad, too, you didn’t get hurt.” You lean towards him, resting your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen in his seat and you smile. “I would have been so worried, you know. I don’t know what I will do,” you grab his hand, intertwine it with yours, and look up at him, “if I don’t see you around here anymore.”

“Really?” Taehyung turns to you and you nod. He smiles. “Thanks, Y/N, for your concern. I would feel the same if you were to experience that. Oh, we should probably eat now, our food’s getting cold.” Taehyung immediately detaches his fingers from yours, leaving you gaping in your seat.

Your lunch proceeds like usual and the awkward hand-holding you pulled off was never brought up again. Like Plan 1, you kept Plan 2 consistent for the week. However, Taehyung still remains painfully oblivious.

Plan 2 is unsuccessful so you cross it out and decide it’s time to take your game to the full notch.

Plan 3: The Vixen’s Touch

If Taehyung can’t recognize physical and behavioral changes, he cannot miss out on a temptation handed over on a silver platter. Plan 3 is the ultimate overkill. No one can resist the seductive vixen. You already braved through doing a Julia-Roberts-character. Going for the longest mile with Megan Fox shouldn’t be a problem. This is probably just your ego talking but you’re not gonna let the smallest bit of shame creep in to you now. Not now, when you’re putting all your cards on the table for Taehyung’s heart. This is all or nothing.

You see, the Vixen’s Touch is the epitome of all Romcoms’ super power move. Just one scene is enough to turn the tables around and let the heroine achieve whatever outcome she desires. However, such great power comes numerous setbacks. One can only do a vixen move once and never more because if it’s overdone, it will lose it’s mystery, charm, and power–everything that makes it an effective Romcom move. So, you planned your Vixen Touch meticulously.

You can’t do a Megan-Fox-move at school because you’ll attract too much attention, especially with Taehyung who’s already at the spotlight of social interactions. Instead, you will pull it off in the carnival, where you can have your crush all to yourself without worrying about ambitious bitches intruding your scenario. You’ll enter the Fairy Tale booth during your break time and sneak to the backstage from the “Authorized Personnel Only” door on the left of the second stop. From there, you will do Lisa’s advice to take a right turn and then a left. It will lead to a connecting hallway that ends with the red curtains behind the Princess’ Castle. There, you’ll surprise Taehyung, who’s waiting for the princess’ cue, with a tingling touch against his spine and a sexy and breathy, “Hi, Tae.” Taehyung will be shocked and you’ll close the gap between the two of you. With the dark setting and the seemingly scandalous set-up, the thrilling mood will compel you to lean towards him and he will close his eyes and interlock his lips with yours in a passionate kiss. If you make it fast to the connecting hallway, you will have enough alone time with Taehyung before the batch of people even reaches the third stop from the princess’ castle. You grin to yourself. Your plan has never been this perfect.

Weekdays pass with you continuing your Assertive Approach. Taehyung’s still clueless, making the transition to Plan 3 much more thrilling. When Saturday finally rolls in, you set your game-est face on.

It’s a week before Enchanted Carnival’s Halloween Party, which means the management is lenient on the part-timers’ work uniforms. After all, you only have one week left before you end your contracts. And so, you pull out your fanciest casual outfit–a little red dress with off-shoulder sleeves, partnered with fishnet stockings that go well with your black combat boots. You also perfected your makeup: eyebrows on-fleek, cat wings on-point, deep brown smoky eyes, and blood-red lips. To top off your look, you put on a thin, black choker. You smile at yourself. You did a good job making yourself look hot. You know it’s not just your ego talking because when you arrive at the ticket booth, Jimin compliments your look.

“Yo, Y/N, I never knew you could look this pretty,” Jimin grins at you.

"You also look good today,“ you return, taking note of how well his striped buttondown fits his frame. “I didn’t know today is leg day,” you add, admiring how his ripped jeans accentuate his legs you never knew were this muscular.

Jimin smiles, “Say it for yourself, Y/N. You look a solid twelve.” He rocks on the balls of his feet back and forth. “I guess the management did a good job letting us wear our casual clothes. You don’t know how bad I wanted to take off our horrendous uniform whenever we work.”

“That’s…highly inappropriate but I guess you do you,” you point finger guns at him. Jimin chuckles and waves goodbye to you, heading for the Fairy Tale booth. You seat yourself in your work station. Today’s a good start. You hope your luck continues until break time.

Lunch passes by and so far everything’s a breeze. You haven’t seen Taehyung today, probably caught up with the kids who frequent his booth in large batches as Halloween approaches close. Nevertheless, it’s good news. Your surprise will totally knock him off his feet.

The clock chimes two. Seokjin comes over and takes over the ticket booth as you take your break. It’s show time.

Just like your plan, you head for the Fairy Tale booth in quick strides. Lisa manages the entrance to their booth today and she lets you in without any ado, already used to you and Taehyung crossing to and fro your respective booths. Greeting Val, the Elfen soldier of the first stop and Yeji, the mermaid from the second stop, you head for the “Authorized Personnel Only” door and push it open. It leads to a darkly-lit hallway with a heavily carpeted flooring. You follow Lisa’s tips, taking a right turn and a left. True to her word, the connecting hallway ends with the thick red curtains. And there in the corner, is your dream man facing the curtains and waiting for his signal. You don’t hear any clamor of people nearing the Princess’ Castle, even the faintest of chatter inaudible. You thank the universe for this luck. You made it in time.

The seconds seem to slow down into minutes as you stepped closer to Taehyung. Your heart pounds loud and fast against your ears. This is it. You’ll finally make Taehyung realize you have your heart laid out for him. And if you’re lucky, he will also give his to you today.

With a mere foot left between you two, you reach out for him.

“Hey, Taehyung–”

“What the fuck–”

Everything happens too fast. Instead of Taehyung’s surprised face, a hard punch straight to your nose is what greets you. Intense pain spreads over your senses and you reel over, feeling your entire face on fire.

"Oh my fucking, God, I’m sorry! Oh my God, Y/N, I didn’t see you–are you alright?!“ Taehyung catches your arms as you stagger backwards, pulling you to your feet to prevent you from falling.

You nod and waved dismiss-ally to his panicked state.

Just right then, you feel something wet trickle down your lips.

"Oh my God, Y/N, you’re bleeding!” Taehyung screams and he immediately leads you to a chair propped on the corner. He frantically pulls out tissues on the table nearby and dabs the wetness that seeps on your skin. “Shit, what are you even doing here?! I thought you were a ghost, I’m so sorry I punched you!”

You’re too dazed to register everything that has happened and your lack of response causes Taehyung to panic more.

"Fuck, Y/N, I’m so, so, sorry! Oh my God, this is all my fault. Just sit right there, I’ll call for help!“ Taehyung rushes to the end of the hallway and you hear him scream for Jimin. Pounding footsteps follow and then it’s not just Taehyung fussing over you, but also Jimin.

"Do you think it’s broken?” Taehyung asks Jimin, voice trembling.

"I don’t think so. She’s not bleeding that much. Taehyung, relax, I already called for first aid–”

"How can I relax when Y/N’s in pain?! Which I inflicted on her! You know what, let’s call the ambulance!–”

This is not what you planned for. This is not how you imagined you will spend your last shift at the carnival with Taehyung.

Wetness trickles down your cheeks and before Taehyung can rush over and wipe your tears away, the Carnival’s first aid team has already barged in and crowded over you.

You were led to the small clinic of the carnival where you were given a tissue to stick in your nose. The physician told you your nose was luckily not broken and your body has just undergone shock. Once the bleeding has stopped, you’re good to go. Seokjin also called you he already informed your boss about what happened, telling you he’ll take over your shift and you’re now free to go home. The next few minutes pass in silence and you sink further onto the foldable bed. However, the universe decides it’s not yet done fucking up your day when the door opens with a loud bang and there stands Taehyung, huffing and drenched in sweat.

"I’m sorry I only got here now. Boss scolded me for what I did to you,“ Taehyung sighs deeply as he sits on the chair next to you, leaning his elbows on your bed. “I’m really sorry, Y/N. All of this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t overreact.”

"I-it’s okay, Tae. You didn’t know I was there.“

"What are you even doing at our booth? Much more creeping in the dark?”

You bit your lip and look away. “It’s my break, it’s just,” you sigh, “I thought of surprising you today and well, it didn’t go as well as I planned it.”

"Plan? For what? Is there something we’re supposed to celebrate today?“

You turn back to Taehyung and meet his eyes. His eyes are focused on your face, waiting for your answer.

Well, maybe not all Romcom cliches work just like how they appear to be in movies. Maybe not all romantic gestures need to be grand in order to convey the sincerity of one’s feelings. Maybe it could be as simple like this– two people staring at each other in a clinic, uncaring of the world happening beyond your little bubble.

And as you stare at Taehyung’s face and see the reflection of yourself through his eyes, confused and tired, you decide it’s time for you to finally say it. No more orchestrated pretenses. No more intricate plans.

"Today is our last day in our work and I wanted to surprise you by finally being true to my feelings. I no longer look at you as a friend, Taehyung. I’m in love with you.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply. He just stares at you. You slowly feel the air getting squeezed out of your lungs, and it’s not just because of your stuffed nostril. Another beat of silence passes and then Taehyung’s face falls as he gapes at you, confused, shocked, and for a moment you see disappointment flash across his face. “W-what? Y/N, when did you-I, I don’t know what to say, I-why now?”

You bite your lip, feeling the tears well in your eyes. “Why not now, Taehyung?”

"Because–” Taehyung sighs and he purses his lips, dragging a hand over his face. “Y/N, you’re my friend, but I–”

"You know what, Taehyung, I get it,“ you turn your back on him, tasting blood on your lips from biting too hard to keep the tears at bay. You won’t cry because of him and in front of him at the same time. He doesn’t get to see you this weak. “You can leave me now.”

"But, Y/N, I–”

"Does punching me in the face not enough for you?! Just leave!“

You hear Taehyung sigh. The mattress of the bed puffs up again as the weight leaves. A faint “I’m sorry” resounds in the stifling silence. When the door closes with a soft click, the tears finally fall.

You stifle your broken sobs on your pillow.

***

You’re back in your old cycle: Eat, sleep, study, and lie low at the background. You steered clear from Taehyung in your classes, seating far away from your usual seat. You neither stopped by his locker in the mornings, nor waited for him in front of your own locker for lunch. You even went as far as avoiding your common friends, the thought of people asking about what happened between you and Taehyung makes you reel back to the embarrassment and disappointment of that day.

As much as you wanted to hate Taehyung, you find it hard to admit that every single thing that has gone wrong points back to you. You assuming anything more than what you already have with him, you doing outrageously unnecessary things for him, you bending yourself backwards in your desperation for him – it has always been yourself.

You tried to stay as identical to the background as you can be, away from Taehyung and anything that is associated with him. Because as much as you feel like an empty vessel for every single day, you cannot find it in yourself to erase Taehyung from your mind. Even when his last words with you kept on re-opening the wounds you’ve been trying hard to stitch back together. And, you can’t have that. You can’t run back to him and let him kick you back to the curb. It’s time for you to learn your lesson.

But no matter how successful you were the past days in running from Taehyung, you know you cannot avoid him forever. Especially when Enchanted Carnival has required the part-timers to attend their annual Halloween Party tomorrow, arranged by their permanent staff. After all, it’s the day you’ll terminate your contract and receive your last salary for your job.

You have never sorely regretted your past decisions like this before. You’re love-fool state of mind back then has induced you to buy an expensive costume. A fancy dress that has a carnation pink rayon bodice and full skirt, layered with delicate purple cotton voilewhich looks like soft rose petals that perfectly cinch the waist. It has long, glittered see-through sleeves that ruffle at the end of your arm, and it is adorned with golden intricate curvilinear details that go around the bust area and matches the golden flower belt on the waist. It even came with a faux golden crown with a short pink veil attached to the back. Yes, you fucking bought a princess bride costume just to match with Taehyung’s usual work attire because of course, Taehyung will come looking like a Disney prince. And now that everything you planned has gone downhill, the excitement is over and the only thing you feel is bitterness and a desperate wish to get things done and over with.

You reached the carnival at seven and by that time, the party is in full swing. Enchanted Carnival looks like a cirque-esque other-world. Small Jack o’ Lanterns replaced the usual light bulbs to light the carnival in an alluring tangerine glow. Signboards of “Happy Halloweens” range from small cutouts that hung from the poles, to gigantic illustrations pasted right on the walls of the some stalls. Pumpkin and ghost-shaped candies were sold at almost every corner and the people that pass by, carnival staff or not, embody the fantasy and surrealism of the carnival. You’ve seen pirates, sirens, faeries, and even witty realistic horror such as Jung Hoseok, the roller coaster attendant, wearing casual jeans and shirt with electric bills pasted on his chest and back.

“Hey, Y/N! I thought you weren’t coming.” You look to your left and see Lisa in a No Face costume. Seokjin follows close behind, dressed like Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender.

“Uh, yeah–I mean,” you clear your throat “how can I not come when I get to be paid at the end of the night?”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit,” Seokjin chuckles. “The salary is my only motivation when I lost a bet to Yeji and agreed to dress like…this.”

“Hey, Sokka’s not bad!” Lisa frowns. “Avatar: The Last Airbender is the best show ever and Sokka’s like a perfect ten.”

“Yeah, but it would have been better if you know,” Seokjin huffs, “I get to be Toph. So I can finally un-see Hoseok’s stupid’s antics, especially his dumb electric-bill costume tonight. It doesn’t get to be low-cost, witty, and funny all at the same time. It’s unfair.”

You laugh, feeling your jaw hurt a little from smiling so wide. It’s been a while since you smiled, with the past days spent crying and moping around in your room. You’re grateful for Lisa and Seokjin who tried to cheer you up throughout the night, distracting you from thoughts that revolve around Taehyung by pulling you into ride after ride, playing games in stall after stall, and stuffing your mouths with delicious treats.

You were having the best night of your life, until you find your group stopping in front of a booth – The 13th House.

You turn to Lisa. “Hey, you didn’t tell me a horror booth is included in our itinerary.”

“Because I don’t need to,” Lisa grins. “Horror booths are a classic! How can Halloween be Halloween without some spook?”

“Right, and relax Y/N,” Seokjin says, “It’s not like we’re gonna leave you. And trust me, it’s not that scary. I already visited this booth to prank Jungkook. Too bad I was unsuccessful that time with Jungkook already immune to jumpscares from manning the effects and all.”

Except it is scary. The 13th House is the only booth you didn’t dare to visit during your entire work period. Your remember how your legs turned to jelly the first time you saw its front: An old gothic mansion with dilapidated walls and broken windows, its wooden main door covered in bloody handprints, and its gray, dry lawn surrounded by amputated body parts. You know all of it were just manmade but it doesn’t lessen the creeps you get when every detail and props are fashioned too realistically.

Nevertheless, you went along with Lisa and Seokjin and get your ticket-bracelets scanned by the booth marshal. Even if you feel like running away the moment you hear the loud, sinister creak of the main door when you start for the first stop, you stood your ground and wear your big girl game face on. It’s your last night in the carnival, might as well do everything you were never able to do before.

The first half of your trip in the booth were somehow a smooth ride. Although you almost jumped at the scream of the bloody Victorian bride from the first stop, almost backed out on the second stop because of the swinging headless knight, and almost cried on the spot because of the wailing man with its guts ripped apart from the third stop, you’re still far from getting scared out of your wits.

That is, until you reach the middle stop.

The fourth stop required you to do an easy escape-room task with a ghost kid guiding you through a fake Ouija board session. You quickly finished the activity and the wooden walls shifted to reveal a small passageway with thick hanging cobwebs. Lisa leads the way and you find yourself gripping her hand and Seokjin’s tighter as you enter a dark hallway lit only by torches fastened to gray, blood-splattered walls.

And then, out of nowhere, foreign hands cover your eyes. You scream and thrash around but your suffering is only momentary when you find yourself back in the hallway with no looming figures behind your back. Okay, maybe it’s just part of the booth experience–Wait. Where’s Lisa and Seokjin?

“Lisa! Seokjin!” You call for your friends’s names. They were just with you earlier. You were holding their hands for Christ’s sake! “Where are you, guys?! This is NOT funny!” You bite your lip and wring your hands in anxiety. “Guys, I swear to God, this is not fun–”

The lights of the torches flicker. The background music starts to grow louder, and eerier as it now plays with Latin incantations. And then there’s a loud bang.

The lights were blown out. The blood-splattered designs on the walls turn neon. And, the rest of the hallway goes complete dark-out.

“Holy shit!” You run, straight ahead. Heart pounding loud on your ears, you don’t think anymore and just run. Surely, there will be some end to this hallway, right?

Except there’s none, because a forked path greets you just right when you thought the hallway is getting too long. The two paths stare at you, the neon designs on their walls starts to get disturbing with child-like drawings of disfigured people and morbid beasts.

You slump on the ground. This is a complete nightmare. You wish you didn’t go with Lisa and Seokjin. You wish you didn’t let your loneliness get to you and spent the whole week crying about your crush who doesn’t like you. Because now you’re trapped in this hellish booth and you’re gonna die alone and pathetic. You didn’t even get to experience at least the “moving on” happy ending alternative of Romcom films. You didn’t –

Just right then, there’s a flash of light from the end of the left path. A second later, a voice echoes loud. You didn’t understand a word from the echo. Hell, you’re not even sure if it’s from a human. But at least it seems to have a light that is nothing part of 13th House’s props. Before thinking twice, you’re already running toward the direction of the light. You run and run and never dared to stop. The light’s getting near, you’re gonna get help soon! You won’t have to die alone because you’re gonna get out of here and–

Light blinds you.

"Ahh!“

"What the fuck-! I’m sorry!”

You feel the light on your face dim down. And the moment you bring down your raised hands, you can’t seem to speak.

"YN?“

Taehyung stands in front of you, flashlight in hand, and looking handsome as always. But, it’s not his presence that makes your heart still. Enchanted Carnival’s purple polo shirt, generic black slacks, and the silly headband with blue rabbit ears atop his head–Taehyung’s wearing the carnival’s ticket booth uniform.

And Taehyung’s jaw is ajar seemingly for all the same reason. Pink princess gown and glittering princess crown–you were an open book to him now.

"You…you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

All of a sudden, everything that has happened in the last weeks comes back to you and you feel your eyes stinging with tears as the dam of bitterness floods your chest. “I bet you tell everyone that,” you scoff, “since you’re such a disgusting flirt.”

Taehyung’s mouth hangs in shock, “Di-disgusting flirt? You’re the only one I told you that!”

You stand back to your feet and meet his eyes with a steely glare. “I find it hard to believe that, Kim. Especially your type of guys.”

Your eyes seem to do tricks to you when you see Taehyung wince at your tone, but that wasn’t for long because Taehyung now sounds defensive. "What are my type of guys?“

You scowled. "The type who leads on girls and cruelly rejects them after they’re done playing with them.”

"What rejection are you talking about? I did not reject you! How could you-“

"What else could your reaction mean when I told you I love you?!”

"I was trying to move on from you, okay!“ Taehyung screams. "And that day, you just–dropped the bomb like that. How do you expect me to react huh? Especially, when I fucking spent one year trying to make you realize I see you more than as a friend and you just ignore me as if my feelings don’t matter to you. And then, when I finally decide to move on from you, you act weird for a couple of weeks. And out of nowhere you’re telling me you love me. How can I even react properly? You didn’t even wait for me to process things,” Taehyung’s voice breaks, “You just up and go and shut me out!”

"W-what?“

"I liked you, Y/N. For so long. And you never turned my way–you wave off my advances as if they mean nothing to you, you keep on setting me up with other girls, and you run away from me whenever I so much glance at you. You don’t even let me see you properly when we’re at school. You hide from me and run away as if you’re gonna die just by being with me. And last week, you’re suddenly telling me you love me? So, how can I be a disgusting flirt when you’re the one who’s sending me mixed signals?!”

"Mixed signals?“ you frown. "For the past year I’ve been your friend Tae, I tried to love you in my own way. I stayed up late with you as you told me all your problems. I’ve been there with you in whatever shenanigans you thought of. I spent almost every break I fucking have with you talking about whatever we want. They are blatant signals, Taehyung! So I’m sorry if I have to hide or run away sometimes, because if you didn’t fucking know, we don’t belong in the same world.”

“What do you mean we don’t belong in the same world? Fucking hell, Y/N, you’re not an alien–”

“In your world, I am! In your world, you are the star, the life of the party. People who belong in your world live their fucking fantastic lives as the star of their own stories. They achieve their dreams, they get whatever they want, people look up at them for being so great. But, people like me? We spend our fucking lives looking into your world from the outside. Pathetic side characters of their own pathetic lives. People just pass us by, some even run over us. No one even remembers our fucking name. So, even if these don’t matter when I look at you, I can only love you from afar because people will look at us and all these shits will come back for me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Taehyung huffs, carding a hand through his hair in frustration. “There are no worlds separating you from me because people are just different! And these differences cannot dictate who should belong with who because guess what? We’re the only ones who can let other people in or out of their lives. So can you just stop for a second and see that there’s nothing that actually separates you from me? I thought you would already know this by now since we’ve been friends for so long.”

You feel tears blurring your eyes and you look away from him. “But still, that’s not enough to explain all the shits that’s happened this past week. Okay, we may be different and I tried to express my feelings in my own way. But I tried to change it up, Tae. I worked so hard to pattern my advances to every Romcom clichés and of course they all went wrong when it came to you.”

“W-wrong? Y/N, what Romcom cliches–”

“The cheesiest Romcom clichés!” You snap. “You know, the makeover montage, the Julia Roberts’ Assertive Approach, the Megan Fox Vixen Touch. You were telling me how oblivious I were to your advances but you never fucking noticed how I changed up my advances just for you. You ignored how I dressed up pretty-to-the-tip for you. Even after I came to you and blatantly asked you if you noticed something new. You don’t take the cue when I freaking hand over my feelings for you in a silver platter. Hell, you even punched me in the face when I tried to be sexy!”

“God, can you let it go? I already said I’m sorry!” Taehyung huffs and you look down on your feet. Taehyung sighs, “I was trying to move on from you during those weeks you’ve acted really, really weird. So obviously, I will be very confused. Secondly, Y/N,” Taehyung sighs, “Romcom clichés are called like that because they only happen and work the way they are portrayed to work, in Romcoms. Romcom is a film genre. Sure, they may reflect some aspects of reality, but Y/N, they are planned out, manipulated in a controlled environment. They’re not your life. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sorry, I just–” you bite your lip but it’s not enough to prevent a tear slip from your eyes. “This is my first time feeling like this and I don’t know what to do. I absolutely have no fucking idea what I should do next and I–I’m just so sorry for dragging these shits up and made our lives messier than it should be. I’m sorry for probably making you feel guilty about yourself for this past week I ignored you like the plague. I’m sorry for being so stupid, I just–I’m so sorry, Tae!” your voice breaks at the end and before you know it, your tears have already consumed you to the ground.

"Oh shit Y/N, don’t cry.” Taehyung panics as he kneels next to you. You shield your face from him with your hands, but Taehyung pries them away and cups your face in his large, warm hands. You feel the pads of his fingers wipe away your tears and when you look up at him, Taehyung’s face is too close to yours. Too close that you can practically see the deep, dark circles under his eyes despite the darkness. The thought that you caused him this made you tear up more.

Taehyung goes frantic. “Y/N, do-don’t cry. Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Y/N, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry–”

“C-can you just h-hug me?”

“O-okay,” Taehyung hesitantly loops his arms around your shaking frame. “Thi-this is fine with me.”

You close your eyes and lean on your friend’s chest. You don’t care if Taehyung’s shirt get wet with your tears. He’s partly at fault for making you cry. But still, you squeak out a muffled. “Thank you, Tae.”

Taehyung hums. “It’s okay.”

Amid this night’s horror and breakdown, silence, for the first time in a while, envelops you in comfort. Even with no words, Taehyung easily dries away the tears. He just pats your back and rubs soothing circles on your tensed muscles, leaning closer to you when you hug him tighter.

“I hate fighting with you, Tae.”

Taehyung turns his head closer to yours. “Are we already fighting?”

“W-well yeah,” you hiccup. “Somehow.”

“Okay…Next time we’ll understand each other better so we don’t need to have unnecessary fights like this, okay?”

“Okay,” you mutter. You sink deeper into Taehyung’s arms and he holds you tighter in his embrace.

Even if you can’t see his face, you know Taehyung’s smiling.

It doesn’t take long for your sobs to die down that you’re now slowly disentangling yourself from him.

“Are you okay now?”

“Y-yeah. Thank you.” You lean your back against the wall and Taehyung sits next to you. You look at him and he smiles at you. For a moment you stay like that, staring into his eyes, falling deep in the little world you’re sharing with him. And then, it hits you. Taehyung’s still here. Even after you blurt out every insecurity and self-doubt you have that others may find petty and invaluable, Taehyung’s still here. Even after he voiced out his disappointment of you and things you’ve done him wrong, Taehyung hasn’t walked out. He didn’t run away, he didn’t leave you. Taehyung stayed.

And so, you take the cue the universe is giving you and put all your cards on the table again. You cross your fingers as you ask the question that has plagued your mind ever since Taehyung confessed he has long liked you. "Tae, Ha-have you already moved on from me?”

Taehyung sighs and for a second, you don’t breathe. But, you don’t have to hold it for long because when Taehyung looks at you again, a soft smile is on his face. “Unfortunately, no. Because even after all the shits you put me through, you still occupy my heart–and mind.”

“S-so, can I kiss you?”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to say that, but, ye-yeah you can kiss me. Anything for you, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and lean forward. Your lips meet his in a soft peck and everything suddenly stops. You don’t feel the perspiration on your back from all the running in the booth. You don’t think about the dust and dirt soiling your dress. All you could feel was Taehyung’s soft lips. All you could taste is the sweetness from the crumbs of cherry tart left on his lips. All that fills you nose is Taehyung’s smell that’s so naturally his and his ocean mist spray you gifted him on his birthday. All you could hear is the loud pounding of your heart, and even with your eyes closed, Taehyung’s face is all you could see. And, you can’t think of anything but Taehyung–him and him alone.

The world suddenly moves again when Taehyung leans deeper and interlocks his lips with yours. You immediately let your heart take over. You mold yourself closer to him, kissing him with every ardor you’ve kept locked in yourself for so long. You fist his shirt and Taehyung caresses your cheeks and puts his hand on the back of your neck as he kisses you deeper. You loop your arms around his neck and return the vigor of his kiss. Teeth bumping, fingers reaching and clutching onto anything, sloppy interlocking of lips–you don’t care. Even if you have your first kiss in a gloomy, creepy horror booth, nothing else mattered but the boy in front of you. Taehyung’s here and he’s finally in your arms. You don’t have to long for him from afar anymore because now he’s here with you and he’s not leaving you. He’s finally yours.

The same thought probably runs into Taehyung as you feel him grin into your lips before kissing you again. And even when the creepy background music of the booth starts again, you can only focus on the gentle way Taehyung’s thumbs coursed over your cheeks while tenderly pecks your lips as your kiss comes into a close.

As you draw back a little to look at your friend, your crush, and now your lover, Kim Taehyung, in the hideous purple uniform you used to wear in the ticket booth with silly rabbit ears perched atop his hazel locks, you can’t help but smile. Taehyung may be the center of the world while you watch him from the side, but at the end of the day, he’s right. You’re just two people who are happy being with each other. There’s no boundaries, no walls separating him from you and you from him. You just have to see him for what he is and take the leap. You don’t need to re-enact Romcom clichés just to bring him towards you because he’s never been away from you from the start.

Taehyung leans his forehead on yours and smiles. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve waited for so long for this.”

“Me too,” you grin, “And, I love you too, Tae.”

Taehyung chuckles and presses another peck on your lips.

Just right then, you can feel a vibrant white light on your face.

“Yo, lovebirds, are you finally together?”

You turn to the direction of the voice and it’s Jimin. Behind him are Lisa and Seokjin, walking from the right pathway while making kissy faces at you.

It all clicks in: Lisa and Seokjin hanging out with you, leading you to the 13th House, and disappearing like smoke the moment you reached the longest hallway of the booth. It’s to get you alone with Taehyung and finally talk everything out before you leave your part-time jobs.

You frown at your friends. But, before you can voice out how can they just up and leave you like that, Taehyung beats you to it.

“Jimin, you bastard! You pushed me towards the backstage passageway, shoved a flashlight into my hand, and just left me in the middle of this fucking scary booth. Is this how you treat your best bud?!”

Jimin laughs. “But at least you got the girl!”

“Yeah,” Lisa says. “Watching you two stupidly tiptoe around each other for so long started to make me sick.”

“And we know you two can’t sort out your stupidity alone, so we decided to give you a little push.” Seokjin looks at Taehyung. “Quite literally in your case.”

Taehyung scowls and opens his mouth but Jimin cuts him to it.

“Thank me later, lover boy. It’s time we get out of this booth. Jungkook’s gonna piss me out for practically renting the 4th stop without paying.” Jimin heads to the right path where he came from. “So let’s take our exit now so you two can finally ride together into the sunset.” He turns to you and Taehyung and smirks, “Well, literally and figuratively.”

Taehung attempts to hit him but Jimin scampers away and hollers, “You’re welcome, bro. And you too, Y/N!” Lisa and Seokjin laugh as they follow Jimin, leaving you and Taehyung walking at the back.

Taehyung turns to you. “So…are you free tomorrow? I realized I haven’t taken you to a date yet. Like, a date date”

“Yeah, I’m free. But, where will we go?”

Taehyung rubs his nape. “Well, I don’t know yet…I’m sorry I asked you when I don’t have any plans yet, I just want to be with you tomorrow–”

“It’s okay,” you smile. “We can meet at the carnival, then.”

“The carnival?”

“Yeah. Not as the prince and the ticketbooth attendant or vice versa. Just Taehyung and Y/N.”

Taehyung smiles. “I would like that. Pick you up at your house on five?”

“That’s alright with me,” you lean into his arm and look up at him, “boyfriend.”

Taehyung blushes and you giggle. You let him hold your hand as you make your way out of the horror booth to spend the rest of Enchanted Carnival’s Halloween Party with a salary waiting for you, happy and giddy, and most importantly, in love.

In every success story, there is a ninety percent probability you will hear “Fake it ‘til you make it.” Sometimes, it worked out for you, but most of the time, it didn’t. Like how you tried to use this tactic to get your crush to like you, your plans don’t usually go the way you expect them. But it’s okay, because life doesn’t work that way. It took you stressful planning days, frustrating reactions, and tearful nights for you to realize that life is not always a stage where people can just “fake” everything ‘til the script is fulfilled. Roles can be changed and mistakes can happen. What’s important is: You may have not “fake it ‘til you make it,” but at least you worked for it ‘til you made it.

A/N pt. 2 | I wrote this fic after having a massive eureka moment and I haven’t edited this out yet because it’s 2 A.M. and we die like brave men here. Anyway, planning this story was really a challenge! This is the first time I tried this AU so I researched stuff and had to like, fix and re-fix some of my plot points as I write through. Second, I wanted to incorporate the adorable prompt in a completely unexpected way so I hope it did what I intended for it to do. Also, I enjoyed making up the names of the Romcom clichés OC used. They are literal Romcom clichés but I can’t find what they’re officially called (aside from Makeover Montage) so I just made the rest up AHHAHAH. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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yodawgiherd · 3 years

Text

Red flag pt.3

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Soon brothers.

Just not yet. :D

In the following week, Mikasa learned more about sex than she ever did before. While the internet itself was a fickle teacher, giving facts and hundred and more opinions from anonymous users, Eren was an endless well of knowledge. It was her who asked first too, he didn’t even try to talk about it before Mikasa brought it up. And how could she help herself, with such an insane bomb being dropped on her!

First things first – she googled the name of the agency he worked at, just to be sure that he was not bulshitting her, but everything he said seemed to be true. The website was there, displaying the “ wide variety of services done by long-term professionals”. Although Eren’s name was not there, he told her that he is listed as Master E, a thing she immediately questioned. Over messenger, of course.

Master E? Damn that’s lame.

You wound me :(

I mean seriously, couldn’t you be something cooler?

Such as?

I don’t know! Master Evil. Dungeon Master. Lord of the Night?

Yea, I’m sure that dungeon master would be turning heads

….. Orgasminator?

Mikasa pls

Lord horsecock

Stoooooop I beg you!

Fine fine, you’re just jealous I’m that much better at naming than you

Sure am.

When he didn’t continue, Mikasa took the initiative.

Sooooooooooo, gonna tell me where the Master E came from?

Simple. Annie wanted to be Mistress A so I just latched onto her vibe

Uh-hu. So you are just that much unoriginal

:( sadly

Just imagining Eren pouting at his phone made Mikasa’s evening that much brighter. She wanted to see more of it.

Latching on Annie, you do that a lot don’t you?

Why is that?

Well, she’s the one who introduced you to this whole thing and even today she is the best at your agency, most advertised one too. Playing catch up your whole life? Maaaaaaster E? :P

Hey, it’s not my fault that men are bigger pervs than women.

Excuses

To be honest, I don’t mind being behind Annie, she’s good at this. Also, don’t tell her this, but she scares me sometimes

Scares you how :O

Annie can be really brutal when she gets into it. Nothing the clients don’t ask for, mind you, but still. If you’d see her victims….. the wounds……

Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat.

Are you serious?

I don’t know…. Am I?

Dork.

She frowned at her phone, but still looked when the answer pinged in.

I am partly serious though. She can be a nightmare, sometimes I feel like she’s on a one-woman crusade against the male population. And she’s getting paid for it too!

She sounds like a hell of a woman.

You bet :)

Master E also had several scenes online, to be bought and watched, and a few times Mikasa almost clicked the button and spent her hard-earned cash on kinky porn. It was the promise of a live show that stopped her from doing so. She didn’t know if she’s going to go yet but buying a video of something she could watch happening in real time was a waste of money. No, she wouldn’t spoil that surprise.

She learned much anyway, way too much even, things that made her blush and hide her face, things that made her quickly hide her phone. In moments like these, she was grateful that the communication was being done over the internet, as Eren was way too intense of a person to be talked about this face to face. Here, hidden behind her screen, she could pester him for ages, joking and making fun of whatever he gave her. And, during these conversations, she learned another important thing.

For a guy who was more or less a professional perv, Eren used a lot of emojis in his messages.

It caught her off guard, how normal and easy to talk to he was. She didn’t think that he was a monster or something, but Eren was right when he said that her opinion of him changed fundamentally once she found out about his job. Mikasa found herself texting to him, a lot, and he texted back, snapped photos until she started doing it too, and overall just had a great time. Levi was giving her sidelong glares when he kept catching her while she stared at her phone, grinning like a maniac, but she simply ignored him. How was she supposed to not laugh when Eren just sent her a photo of his cup from a coffee shop with a crying emoji. Apparently, they spelled his name wrong again and kept calling him Aaron.

What’s the most common thing they ask you to do?

She half hid her face in the pillow, already dreading the answer. The three dots that appeared in the corner indicated that he was typing an answer, and soon enough there was a ping.

I feel like I’ll disappoint you here.

Most of my clients are easily satisfied - basic bondage/dominance stuff works wonders

They could do that with literally anyone else

Like their boyfriends and stuff

Mikasa frowned, typing an answer.

Why don’t they then?

Ping

Sometimes it’s the professionalism I bring to the table, and then I understand them.

But often it's just a lack of communication

You’d be surprised how many things can be solved if two parties talk to each other.

I usually advise it too, tell them that they could be doing this with someone they love and not me

You undermine your own clientele like this? Mikasa wrote Why would you do that?

A few dollars ain't worth if they could be happier. Then again, not every one of them takes my advice, it's difficult to open up about things like these.

That gave Mikasa a perfect chance to poke at him.

Not for you, apparently :p

Ping

:D true, but I work in the business

The range of things they discussed was wide. Save for her past, which she did not want to talk about, and made it crystal clear too, Mikasa shared a lot. She told him all about her brother and the gym, sent him snaps from her workouts and then typed back angry emojis when he called her sweaty tryhard. His overall ignorance towards something that was a big part of her life did raise a question. Grabbing her phone more firmly, she quickly typed it out.

Haven’t you thought about doing any martial art yourself?

You deff got the figure for it.

A ping later there was an answer.

Bold of you to say that when you never saw me shirtless :P

But nah

I’m a lover, not a fighter

Plus, you’re just trying to recruit me to your gym, aren’t you?

Levi promised you a bonus?

Spill your beans, Ackerman

Damn spammer. Yet Mikasa was smiling again, which made Levi, who just happened to be passing by, groan.

“Don’t you have a client coming?”, he asked.

She shook her head.

“In an hour, I’ve got plenty of time to get cleaned up.”, she made a gesture with her hand, “Now shoo, I’m having a conversation.”

“With Sasha?”

“Huh?”, she looked up, puzzled, “Why would it be Sasha?”

“Cause I never saw you smiling this much before.”

One week turned to two, and suddenly the day of Eren’s show was here. He remained true to his word, never bringing that event up, keeping it completely in her hands, if she wanted to show up or not. Mikasa was uncertain. The mystery pulled her in, she wanted to see these things for herself. Watching it on the internet is one thing, but live show….

All the stories Eren told her only fueled such a flame. He always omitted names and such, for the discretion of his clients, but he didn’t hold back on the details. To be fair, Mikasa did ask for those.

Sasha wasn’t much help in her decision process either, because Mikasa didn’t want to share all the details about Eren yet. She told her friend that the guy from the bar invited her to a strange-looking place, and wanted to know if she should go.

“Did you two fuck?”

Mikasa frowned, realizing that Sasha can’t see her over the phone.

“No Sash, we didn’t. He’s a friend.”

“Oh, okay.”, there was a crack on the other side as she probably munched on another potato chip, “And is he a friend-friend, or friend-you-would-like-to-fuck?”

“Why is that the question?”

Sasha giggled.

“Dunno just wanted to ask.”

“You’re not helping at all….”

“Because it's easy! You either trust that guy and go or don’t trust him, block his number and never see him again. Boom, solved!”

If only it was so simple.

Yet when the day rolled around, Mikasa woke up with a decision in her mind. She’s going to go there. Eren was a great friend, and she was curious about this whole thing. She will be masked, anonymous, and if there is something she won’t like, the door will be there. This raised another question, however, of what does one wear to a BDSM club.

Mikasa, in her vanilla life, did not feel the need to buy anything made of leather or latex and wasn’t about to start now. There was one pair of leather paints she used to own until one day a completely random guy on the street told her that her ass looks really good in them. Mikasa threw those pants right out that evening. Public exposure was something she was NOT looking for. So, she had a small variety to choose from anyway. Mostly jeans, one or two skirts and a single dress that she wore to prom and that probably wouldn’t fit her anymore. Standing in front of the wardrobe, she contemplated calling Sasha again but ultimately decided against it. Mikasa Ackerman is a grown woman. She can choose her own clothes, damn it.

In the end, it was just a simple shirt and jeans combo. She reasoned that it added to her secretiveness, as anyone could wear what she was wearing. Satisfied with her completely basic appearance, she headed for the door, grabbing the keys and popping her head into the kitchen.

“I’m heading out.”, she announced, “Borrowing the car too.”

“Oh? And you tell me now?”, Levi tsked, shaking his head, “Damn brat, you really have no manners. When will you be back?”

“Later, maybe tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”

The words were already forming in Levi’s mouth, but Mikasa spoke faster.

“I’m an adult, so please. Just don’t.”

And, to her surprise, he didn’t.

“Fine. But if there is even a single scratch on the car, I’m taking it out of your paycheck.”

“That’s fair. I’ll see you later then.”

“Later.”, he was already half-turned back towards the Tv, before he added, “Drive safely.”

And that’s how, an hour and a half later, she was standing in front of a completely unassuming building. The door was just like any other, with a small sign and everything, not strange in the slightest. The security guard might have been a bit of a giveaway. He was tall, wide and dressed in a tailored suit that fit him perfectly. When Mikasa approached, he sized her up and down.

“I’m afraid that this is a members only club.”, he spoke in low barytone, “Do you have a card?”

“I uhh... I was told that I can come in. I’m a friend of Eren, my name is Mi-…”

The guard raised a hand before she could finish.

“No names, please. We pride ourselves on anonymity.”

Seeing Mikasa nod, he continued.

“Mr. Yeager did tell me that someone might be coming and that I should let them straight in. So I will do just that.”, he stepped aside, “Once you enter, the masks will be to your right, and after choosing one please don’t forget to return it. Enjoy your stay.”

Mumbling her thanks, Mikasa dipped inside, finding herself in a small room. There were the masks, just as the guard said, and another door that led to the club itself. She could hear muted music coming through. First things first, she stepped closer to the selection, casting an inspecting eye over it. There were several types, all possible shapes and sizes form full hoods to tiny eye-masks. After a bit of healthy consideration, she grabbed a black one that covered the upper half of her face, more than enough to remain anonymous. It was not likely that she would meet anyone that knew her anyway, let’s be honest. Masked, ready as ever, curious and wanting to see more, Mikasa took a deep breath and entered the door, stepping right into Eren’s world.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #see you in 2021 #maybeh

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mrsalwayswritex · 4 years

Text

Your Prize

A/N: Ok so this was actually the frist Ben Hardy thing I had written, I had shared a prompt list with a friend and she chose these!

Pairing: Ben Hardy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe a little angsty, some mentions of past abuse (but no detail), out baby ben being the literal best as always, Smoking (looks good, but no good for you)

Word count: 2500

Prompt: okay, i would like "hey hey it's just me" "oh don't cry i hate it when you cry" and "don't push me away" with ben boi (46&42 h/c and 26 a)

Written for the best hype man in the world @borninslumber

Ten months ago

Your friends had finally talked you into going out with them, after you had been too busy for weeks with your new job, successfully guilt tripping you into it.

“Come on, y/n! Just one night! It'll be fun to have the group back together!” Your best friend shouted at you over the phone so loud that you had to yank the device away from your head.

“I already said I would go!” You laughed at her and she let out another howl of happy laughter before announcing to the rest of the room that you had agreed to go, followed by even more laughter and shouts of happiness.

“Seven oclock! Don't be late!” She spoke softer now but you could tell it was for your benefit. “Wear something cute, were gonna get you a date tonight!” Before you could protest she ended the call with a loud laugh.

It had been just under a year since you had broken up with your last boyfriend who you had been with for years. It was tiring having friends who were single and happy about it when you were still crushed. Glancing at the clock and realizing it was already 4:30, you huffed to yourself as you shuffled towards your bathroom for a shower.

After showering and brushing your teeth you wrapped the towel around you and padded into your bedroom, pressing play on your phone and smiling as your favorite song came on. ‘I have no idea what something cute means.’ you thought to yourself as you flipped through hangers in your closet. Shrugging slightly, you found a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a plain black long sleeve shirt with the shoulders cut out.

Standing in front of the mirror and inspecting the outfit, you chose a simple pair of grey converse to go with it and you left your hair falling in waves down your back. Stealing another glance at the clock you saw it was just after six when your phone rang. Seeing your best friends face pop up you rolled your eyes as you answered it.

“I still have time!” You said as soon as you heard the commotion on the other end.

“Not anymore you don't! The cutest guy just came in and he’s with a group of just guys so you had better get down here before he’s snagged away!” she chirped happily. “Your uber should be there in just a few minutes!” and then the line went dead.

“Wait, what?” You asked to a dead silence. Your phone buzzing alerting you to a text message with a picture of the uber order confirmation. Glancing outside you saw the car parked outside of your building. Sighing heavily you grabbed your small backpack and ran down the stairs to the waiting car.

After a short ride you got to the bar that your friends were at and walked through the front door and looking around for the group.

“Y/N!” You heard a chorus of your name being shouted from the corner, girls standing up and waving excitedly towards you. You smile and wave back at them, blushing slightly at the attention from the other bar patrons, shuffling over to them quickly.

“You guys are ridiculous you know that?” You smiled at your friends and they all whooped louder as you sat down. Your best friend since middle school scooted over towards you and pointed to a group of guys at a hightop table near the bar.

“That one.” She said simply, hooking her arm in yours and dragging you to the bar despite your protests.

“Two shots of Jack, then two more!” Your friend winked at the bartender, earning a laugh from him.

“So you want four shots of Jack.” He smiled back at her and she honest-to-goodness giggled and you rolled your eyes. “Ask and you shall receive.” He gave her a wink back and grabbed the glasses.

“Can I also get a bud light please?” You said to the man behind the bar, who seemed to not even hear you. “Excuse me?” You spoke again, but he seemed to only have eyes for your friend. “Unbelievable.” You threw your hands up and turned your back to the bar.

“Four shots.” The bartender smiled at your friend and she touched his arm lightly before hitting you in the shoulder and pointing to the shots. You gave her a smile as you both picked up a shot and linked your arms together easily, and downed the burning liquid, tapping the empty glasses on the bar twice and erupting in a fit of laughter.

“Could I get that bud light now?” You looked back towards the bartender to find him ignoring you again. “Hello!” You raised your voice slightly but still no response. Getting tapped again by your friend you picked up the second shot and downed in the same way, and then she walked back over to the table to grab her beer. You stayed and tried the bartender again. “You are soooo not getting a tip!” You sang at the man and pulled out the stool to sit down.

“Hey buddy!” A voice shouted from beside you, making you jump a little, laughing at your nerves. When the bartender looked down the bar you waved your hands in disbelief. “I think this lovely lady here is in need of a beer.” The man said looking at you with a smile that you swear could stop your heart if you held his gaze. “Bud Light was it?” He winked at you and the bartender sheepishly set the bottle in front of you, and you snatched it with an angry look at him.

“Thanks.” You smiled at your savior, and he sat down beside you.

“Always prepared for a ‘damsel-in-distress’ situation.” He gave you a smile, taking a sip from his own drink. “I'm Ben.”

“Y/n” you raised your beer to him and he tapped his bottle with yours with a nod.

“y/n” He said back to you, and your name coming out of his mouth sounded like pure honey and sunshine and gave you a smile so big you swore you could see his wisdom teeth.

When he smiled at you, you melted into the chair a little further and let a small laugh escape your lips. You chanced a look at your friend and she was nodding her head furiously and giving you a thumbs up, eyes flicking to the table she had pointed out earlier. ‘This is the guys she had me come down here for’ you thought to yourself with a smile, she always had an eye for the good ones.

You sat with him for almost an hour, mindlessly chatting and laughing together when you heard the bar door open and a group of guys cheered from the other side of the bar, drawing your attention. Taking a sip of your beer you turned to see who the commotion was all about and you stared, bottle slipping from your fingers and shattering on the floor. You turned your quickly so your back was facing the man and your breathing started coming out in short puffs.

“Y/n,” Ben started reaching his hand out to touch you, but you flinched away quickly, eyes shooting towards the ground before you squeezed them closed. “Hey,” He whispered, “Hey, it's just me. It's Ben.” His voice held so much concern that you looked up at him with watery eyes. “What just happened?” His deep green eyes searched your face for any indication of the sudden change.

“Need to- Need to leave.” You choked out, voice sounding raw in your ears. Ben looked at you sadly and nodded his head, rubbing his hand through his short blond hair.

“Yeah, okay, uh well it was nice meeting you.” He touched your arm again and this time you didn't flinch away.

“Please, don't leave.” You whispered, grabbing his wrist.

That seemed to change Ben’s whole demeanor as he nodded his head quickly and gripped both of your shoulders in his hands. “Tell me what to do.” He seemed sincere and you tried to give him a smile but you were sure you looked like a maniac, tears in your eyes and trying to smile. “Let me help.”

“Back.” You didn't trust yourself not to make a scene so you gave short answers and pointed towards the back door. “Smoke.” Ben nodded again and grabbed his beer and then wrapped his arm around your waist, helping you stand and leading you out of the back door, you looked behind you and you saw him clearer this time. Your ex boyfriend, Matt. Shutting your eyes quickly as Ben’s hand slid down your back, leading you out.

Once outside, Ben pulled out a pack of cigarettes and pulled out two, handing you one wordlessly and you accepted it, handing him your lighter with a small smile.

“You probably want an explanation.” You chuckled dryly, taking a long drag before blowing it out and pacing in the small alleyway.

“Not if you don't want to give one.” Ben gave you a small smile, leaning against the building and crossing his legs at the ankle. You had your back to him but turned and smiled back as the back door opened.

“Y/n.” Came a rough voice, and you stopped walking and started shaking. “Y/n. Look at me.”

“No.” Your voice was shaking heavily and Ben looked back and forth between you, standing up and walking over towards you. “You aren’t allowed to be this close.”

“I didn't know you would be here, plausible deniability.” Matt shrugged his shoulders with a dark smile on his face. “I didn't know you’d be out here to smoke either.”

“Y/n?” Ben asked lightly, reaching out for you but you flinched away with a sob.

“Don't bother buddy, Cut your losses while you still can, this one isn't worth a steaming pile of dog crap.” Matt chuckled, taking a step towards you but Ben stepped in between you.

“Hey, don't talk about her like that!” Ben raised his voice but you spun around, pulling Ben’s sleeve as you stepped back. “No, y/n, he can't speak to you like that.” He tried to step forward but you knew what was going to happen, and you knew how to stop it.

“He’s right, Ben.” You spoke so softly and looked to the ground, but you knew what was happening without having to look.

“See? She knows.” Matt smiled at you but it was anything but a pleasant smile, and it churned Ben’s stomach to watch. Matt flicked his cigarette filter onto the ground and walked back inside with a wink to Ben.

As soon as the door clicked closed, a sob ripped from your throat and you collapsed to the ground, tears flowing freely. Ben crouched down and rubbed a hand soothingly over your back and you leaned into him and cried.

You sat in the alley, Ben sitting behind you so you could lean on his chest and you both chain smoked through his pack and started on yours while you told him the story of you and Matt and how abusive he was to you, until you put a restraining order on him. Today was your first time seeing him in over 9 months. Ben listened to you and rubbed his hands up and down your arms when you got too choked up and scoffed in all of the appropriate places in your story.

Present time

Ben woke to you mumbling in your sleep, thrashing around the bed you two had been sharing for the last few weeks. After a whimper left your lips he touched your arm and you let out an ear-piercing scream as you sat straight up in bed, pulling your arm away like you had been burned. When you turned and saw Ben’s worried face, tears threatened to spill over, but Ben was quick to wrap you in his arms and shush you softly, rocking you gently.

“Hush now, love.” He kissed the top of your head and rubbed your arms again. “Oh don't cry,” He rocked you some more as you sniffled a little. “I hate it when you cry.” Ben reached back and grabbed his pack of smokes and handed it to you gently. “Was it the same dream? Him again?”

Not trusting yourself to speak, you just wiggled out of Ben’s grasp and pulled the blanket around your shoulders, lighting a cigarette and handing the pack back to Ben. Ben sighed and took one out too, before leaning back against the headboard, putting the ashtray between you. “Talk to me, y/n.”

“I'm sorry.” You whispered softly, a single tear slipping free. Trying to wipe it away before Ben could see it, turning your head away from him, but he caught your chin gently and turned it back to him. “I'm sorry i'm broken.” Lower lip trembling and more tears sliding down your face. “You deserve someone who isn't broken.”

“Hey, don't push me away,” He rubbed his thumb over your chin softly, using his other hand to wipe your face. “You are not broken, and you are so much more than anything I could have ever dreamed of. Y/n, I love you so much, and even if you were broken, I would love all of the little pieces.” He gave you a smile, and despite yourself you smiled back at him. “There’s my girl.” He leaned in and gave you a soft kiss and you sighed happily.

“What did I do to deserve you, Benjamin Jones?”

“You overcame the biggest battle that anyone could go through, I'm just your prize.” He gave you a cheeky smile and a wink, which made you laugh loudly. Your laugh sounding like music to his ears and he brushed your hair behind your ear. “That is my second favorite sound in the whole world.”

“Second favorite, huh?” You smiled up at him, leaning close and placing small, soft kisses along his jaw, slowly working your way down to his neck, feeling a grumble of happiness vibrating through his chest. “What would your first favorite sound be?” touching his jaw slightly, he tilted his head back just enough for you to continue your ministrations, which you did happily.

He licked his lips lightly before pulling your hands from him and rolling so he was hovering over you, bodies molding together instantly. “Well let me show you.” He looked up at you and you giggled lightly as he kissed his way down from your lips, down your chin and onto your neck until you let out a breathy sigh. “That’s not good enough, I'll have to try harder.” He gave you a cocky smile, and you could see the mischief in his eyes.

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy fanfiction #my writing #not my image #6u #6 underground #borhap #bohemian rhapsody #ben x reader #prompt list

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cherry3point14 · 4 years

Text

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 9

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: One big boy word. Late stage violence (like, literally the last line). Word count: 3,122. Chapter Summary: Guess it’s time to meet your maker. A/N: Dun, dun, dun!!!!!

Ao3 if you prefer

Once again, it was Friday. She woke up a little later than usual because she was working from home on the advise of the Winchesters. She noticed that she was running low on body wash while she showered and added this to her list. She purposefully picked two odd socks to wear—one pastel pink and one baby blue—because under her jeans nobody would notice. Not that she planned on seeing too many people. The day was full of the usual formalities that she expected out of every single day, which she supposed is why she felt so peaceful. Never would she have suspected that this serenity she had found was the calm before the storm. Never would Y/N have thought that this was the tranquility some people experience on the day before they die.

“Like hell, is it,” you respond to the inside of your car as your foot presses a little harder on the gas pedal. Your speedometer zips past the ‘within 10%’ of the speed limit you’d normally drive at until you’re going 90 in a 70. You are, like she says, calm. You’re a great big blanket of calm even speeding along the interstate. Because you know exactly where you’re going. A little suburb that backs onto Lake Easter in Des Moines.

You’d almost hit the road the day before except by the time you’d street viewed the home you were traveling to, memorized three different routes, and talked yourself in and out of going several times; it was too late. What should have been a good day yesterday—a successful rookie mission and an unexpected kiss—had become all about her. Emma Effiel. You’d looked up her social media and scrolled back as far as a Supernatural convention she’d been to some years ago. You’d read an article in her local paper about a pie baking competition she’d won last summer. The paper hadn’t understood her quote as a reference to some books because they had printed it as is: “Dean loves pie.” They hadn’t even questioned who Dean was. Or the reporter must have asked at the time but she’d pretended to know a Dean.

There is a Dean, obviously. The actual Dean. He’s working. He’d called you before you left to tell you they think they have a lead on the shifter. Another death on the other side of town that fits the pattern. They think they can catch this thing now before the insurance claim is even submitted, and put a stop to this. They also think you’re at home, safe and sound, not driving a hundred and something miles to run a quick errand and save your own life.

If everything goes right by the end of the day there will be one less monster in the world and one less voice in your head.

Although it’s not a voice anymore. It’s Emma. She’s in your head.

You slow down when you take exit 9 onto shorter roads with fewer lanes, slowing down is a necessity to not kill yourself on the way to saving yourself. Eventually, you’re chugging along two-lane roads amongst other people going about their lives. A few red lights, some traffic, and then you’re turning onto her road and parking on the street outside her house.

You didn’t know she was home, technically, but there’s a truck in front of her garage. The bumper sticker says ‘driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole’ and you figure it’s a pretty safe bet that she’s inside.

Driving is easy but there’s a lump in your throat when it comes to actually walking to her front door. You’ve been walking since you were 11 months old. This is the hardest it’s ever been to move one foot in front of the other.

Her door is whitewashed wood with a window in the middle. You notice doors because you stand in front of so many, this one just makes you wonder if she’ll recognize you through the glass. If you look how she imagined, or if her brain will be able to even leap to something as crazy as you existing.

She has a doorbell so you press the small rubber button with a lone shaky finger. You hear a classic ding dong reverberate inside her home, although dulled by the walls.

She doesn’t take long to answer the door and once she does you’re paralyzed.

“Hello?”

Even with that one word, it’s her. You’ve heard a thousand or more words in that same vaguely midwestern accent. The interesting thing is actually hearing it outside of your head. Usually, she’s amplified, echoing, taking up the whole of your brain. In front of you, she’s so, to use her own phrase, achingly normal.

“Are you selling something? Because I’m sorry but I’m not interested.”

The door in her hand moves an inch and that triggers you, the thought of this door closing.

“Hi, my name is Y/N Y/L/N, I believe you’re writing a story about me.” You hadn’t planned what to say, you’d been more concerned with getting here, although you suppose that’s not a bad place to start.

She narrows her eyes at you but the corners of her lips curl slightly, caught in surprise and thinking it’s a prank. “Did-Did someone put you up to this? Is this a joke?”

“No-one put me up to this. My name is Y/N and you’re writing a story about me, or about killing me I guess. I’m an insurance adjuster with a crappy car and I drink tea instead of coffee. Yesterday I visited a bank with Dean Winchester. Oh and there’s this.” You lean down and pull the hem of your jeans above your ankles, enough to show her your mismatched socks. One pale pink and one baby blue.

She looks between the two strips of fabric peeking out of your shoes. Her bottom lip trembles and her chest shudders to a stop. And then, when she brings her line of sight back up to your face, she faints.

It happens quickly. One minute she's standing there and the next she's collapsed on the floor like a rag doll. The only thing you can think of is what if someone sees this, so logically you do the only thing you can, you step inside and around her. She's only out for a few seconds, she's opening her eyes by the time you click the door closed.

You go through it again. She's woken up half groggy, half scared, and still questioning who you were. With the addition of now asking why you were inside her home.

The thing is, she knows it's you. That's why she'd fainted. Each time she asks is only confirming the obvious fact. It takes a few minutes but eventually, she admits it out loud. She knows you are who you claim to be, and she knows because an image of you was inside her head. You’d laughed at that, almost certain that she didn’t mean it in quite the same way as you've had to deal with. But that was a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t covered yet.

“How did you find me?” She’s got her legs tucked into her chest and her hands wrapped around a heavy glass filled with some amber colored alcohol. Possibly bourbon but you weren’t going to question her, even if it's still eleven in the morning. She’d made you a tea and although you hadn’t told her, she’d made it exactly how you liked it.

“That, well, wasn’t me actually. I have a friend, Stan, he’s done some work for me before. I asked him to try and find you. I didn’t know if he would manage it, I only had your blog to go on.”

Another gulp of her drink. “My blog? You-you’ve read my blog?”

“Yes. I’ve read it.” You state the fact as simply as possible in short, sharp sentences. She is struggling to some things still by now you’re used to a little crazy.

“But you said you hear-hear me writing it? Did you hear me writing earlier?”

“When you casually mentioned that I die tomorrow? Yes. I don’t hear, God, not all of it. I don’t know why…” you let out this laugh, all strangled and broken. It’s a laugh but you are not happy. The bitterness you’ve buried deep down comes crawling out of your throat. “I don’t know why I hear you at all! I don’t hear all of it though. And there are things I didn’t do, like-like I didn’t sleep with Dean.”

There’s something that looks like relief on her face, which she explains when you pointedly stare at her, “oh I wouldn’t have felt good about forcing you to…you know.”

“You’re planning on killing me.” You deadpan.

She looks like she has no idea what to say to that and you have a thousand things to say, that's kind of why you did the drive, so you continue. “Don’t get me wrong, I kissed him and I think I like him but how do I know when I can hear you? You’re in my head whenever he’s around telling me what I’m feeling and what I’m thinking and… how do I know what’s real and what's your imagination?”

Emma is staring at the melting ice cube in her almost empty glass like she hasn’t heard a word you said, lost in her disbelief. You let her stare. You're trying to be patient, you can appreciate that you’d had a lot longer to get used to this than she had.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you’re sitting there in front of me, drinking my tea. Talking about my story like it’s…”

“Real?”

She nods, afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she opens it again.

You take a sip of your tea. “Now you know how I felt when I read Supernatural and then Sam and Dean showed up.”

“Wait, you’ve read Supernatural?”

“You didn’t know?”

She shakes her head and you realize that she’d never mentioned it. Your imminent death sure, but she’d never mentioned the books you read and how disarming it had been to meet the characters from them. Only that it was disarming to find out monsters existed at all.

“Fuck, that means Sam and Dean are?”

You manage to smile at that and the idea of her finding your existence to be more impressive than theirs. Even with her bumper sticker. “Yeah, they’re real too. They’re hunting the shifter literally as we speak.”

She creases her brow, “they’re not? They didn’t want to come here?” She must be thinking back to Chuck, to the story of the writer in the book, and how Sam and Dean couldn’t help but investigate.

“I didn’t tell them about you. I mean, I kind of thought I was going crazy at first. Even when you were right about everything I only thought you were right because you were a figment of my imagination, or like, a tumor. I only realized you were,” you wave a hand in her direction, tired of saying the word ‘real’ again, “when I found the story. It’s good, by the way. The story I mean. I read a lot of books, I guess you already knew that, and this is up there. That’s not biased because it’s about me. I thought it would have been weird but actually it was nice to see my life through your eyes. You made me more important.”

Emma nods somehow understanding even if she has no clue, “I can’t believe you read it. Although if we’re playing the game of what I can’t believe the most, it’s definitely still sitting here talking to you.”

Your mind goes back to that part of the story you hadn’t heard but you’d read on your phone. The paragraph had stuck in your head when you read it and in the days since it repeats at particularly quiet moments.

Y/N had never considered herself the main character, not even in her own life. Main characters, those in the books she read, were always so interesting. A tragic past or a troubled present and the perfect amount of development for an interesting future. These characters kept her reading in bed till three in the morning because she needed to know how they would handle their next danger or heartbreak. Or how would that particularly brilliant one figure out who the murderer was with nothing to go on. Main characters could be anything or anyone and next to them Y/N felt so helplessly ordinary. She woke up five days a week and went to her job, she paid her bills on time and went for groceries on Sunday mornings. She always thought she was a supporting character, black and white in a world of color.

She was, of course, absolutely irrefutably wrong.

You hadn’t believed it, a part of you still didn’t believe it now, but that was before you saw the way Emma looked at you. Granted she was the person who wrote it, and yet it was still there in her eyes. Awe. Past the shock and disbelief, this woman was in awe of sitting in a room with her main character. And you remember how you felt reading the story, how much you’d wanted to know what happens. Not only because you wanted to know how you were going to die but because in her story you really were the leading lady. Sam and Dean, the characters you’d poured yourself over in the books, were playing second string to your story arc. You remember how beautiful her words had been and by association, how beautiful you’d been.

That's when you decide to ask the question. The one that you've lost sleep thinking about, the one that you came all this way to ask. Except as it comes tumbling out of your mouth you're not quite cautionary. You're eager to find out.

“How is it going to end?”

Your house is quiet when you arrive home. It’s barely dark outside but you’ve driven for more hours than you’re used to. Exhausted does not come close describing how you feel. It’s more than a physical exhaustion—although your back is definitely mad at you—after you’d spent hours talking to Emma you’re mentally ready to check out.

Not check out of life, although, in the end, you’d left that decision up to her.

She let you read where she was up to, which was about ready to finish the penultimate chapter. Then she’d mentioned she’d have to revise it now. Even though it was perfect. Even though you found yourself smiling at the screen because it was that perfect.

In all the work to find her, you never stopped to consider that maybe you shouldn’t find her. You weren’t ready to die but you’re finding it hard to decide if you’d get a better-written death than the one written by Emma Effiel.

Yes, that’s an absolutely crazy thing to think and Emma had told you it was crazy when you’d dare to say it to her. And it is crazy. In the end, you'd argued with yourself while storming around her coffee table, making cases for both endings and neither endings.

There was a reason you'd left this decision up to her. You couldn't make it.

If she killed you then at least you’d live forever in literature, and if she didn’t, at least you might get some peace and quiet. Although, if she does kill you, you told her to find a book publisher already so it would at least be worth it.

You should eat but after weeks of a thousand reasons to not sleep your bed is finally calling you. Which is why your phone rings.

“Dean?”

“You want the good news or the bad news?” He sounds more tired than you, not that it's a competition. He's just winning anyway.

You kick your shoes off, “there’s good news?”

A pause that could be a shoddy connection. “Alright, you got me. The bad news ain’t so bad though. The lead was a bust, the guy had been wormfood for weeks but it's not the end of the world. We'll find it."

There's a knock at your door, "thanks for letting me know. Listen, I've gotta go, someones here and then I am going to sleep for a really long time. Talk tomorrow?”

"Someone's there?" You wonder if he's always so nosy. You don’t remember that in the books.

Pushing yourself against the door, you check the peephole, "it's only Laura, she’s probably dropping off some new case for me or something. I am still supposed to be working remember."

Dean must hear how calm you are at your friend showing up because he sighs all relieved down the other end of the phone and Laura knocks again. "Sorry, I really have to go. I'll call you tomorrow Dean."

There's some muttering with someone else and then a faint, "sure," as you hang up. Not that it matters. You could see Dean tomorrow, you hoped to see him tomorrow. In case it does end up as your last day on earth.

Laura grins when you open up, "Hi Y/N. Had something to stop by and bring you."

"And there I was thinking that you missed me.” You feign hurt in your voice. “It’s fine I've got some paperwork anyway, think you could take it in on Monday for me?"

She follows you inside and the last thing you hear is the lock close and, "sure thing. Perfect actually."

You turn back to Laura with a small stack of forms from the bank in your hands. That’s when she rams the butt of her gun, a gun you hadn't seen, against the side of your head.

Continue to the Final Chapter.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue @ceisbill

#dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean

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