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moonstruckme · 8 months

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can i request some poly!marauders where reader tells them they love them for the first time… but like sooo passionate and sappy, maybe some tears of relief.. ugh i love your writing sm 😭😭

Of course you can sweetheart, sorry it took me a bit to get to it!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Lately it’s like you can hardly stop yourself. You’ll get off the phone with James, or Remus will let you run your fingers over his scars, or Sirius will braid your hair for you, and you’ll want to say Ugh, I love you.

In some ways, you feel a bit silly for agonizing over it. You know the boys have been saying it to each other for years, platonically before romantically, so sometimes it feels like you’re a bit behind the curve. Sirius flings it about like he has love in endless supply (and from what you can tell, he does). Evans, you know I love you, but that hat is a crime and You have a great personality, Prongs, but I love those big shoulders most of all and Is that drink for me, Marls? I knew I loved you for a reason. And it’s such a small thing, objectively, just three words in their natural order, but it also feels like sort of a big deal.

You do love them. So much it sometimes feels like your heart swells until it crowds out your lungs and steals your breath, but telling them is no simple matter. Do you tell them together? That feels like making a big deal out of things, like calling a family meeting or something. But if you tell them separately, you’d have to pick an order, and that could only go poorly, too. You don’t want it to be an announcement, though you don’t just want to blurt it out like it’s nothing, either. Maybe it is to some people, maybe even to them (although you don’t think so), but it’s not to you. You’ve never loved anyone like this before, let alone three people. The severity of it had hit you like a truck, all at once, vaulting you into love faster than you could catch your breath.

It's a new feeling to you, this romantic sort of love, but you have enough acumen to recognize magic when you feel it. No matter how much you hate being at the center of attention, you aren't going to trivialize that.

The confession tempts your tongue now, sitting on the bathroom counter with Sirius between your legs and James sitting on the floor beside him.

“I just think you would look cute with a couple little braids.” Sirius’ breath fans your face as he speaks, one hand on your cheek to keep you still as he does your eyeliner.

“I don’t want to look cute,” James argues. “And everyone else thinks my hair looks great as it is, thank you.”

“Cute isn’t the right word. Rakish. Kind of like a pirate.”

“You can’t change the terminology to fool me. I look rakish every day, don’t I Moony?”

“You do.” Remus comes to lean in the open doorway, pulling on his socks. “Though I do think a braid would be fun to try, sometime.”

Sirius takes only a moment to relish in this small triumph before he's frowning. “You are not wearing that to the party.”

Remus looks down at his faded green sweater. “It looks like I am. I don’t intend to shiver during the walk there.”

Sirius scoffs, and James, spotting a pot to stir, says, “I like you in that sweater, actually.”

Remus knows exactly what his boyfriend is doing, but he smirks anyway. “Thank you, Prongs. It’s like we’re his little projects, aren’t we? At least someone doesn’t want to change me.”

Everyone’s eyes find you, waiting to see what side you’ll pick. You burn under the spotlight. “I think you look great either way.” You shrug, but stop when Sirius hisses sharply, his grip tightening on your face.

Remus eyes you, something searching in his gaze that you don’t like. You can never hide a thought for long before he susses you out. But to your surprise, it’s Sirius who says, “You okay, sweet thing? You’re being even quieter than usual. You still want to go, yeah?”

“Yeah, I wanna go,” you say quickly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, finishing up with your eyeliner and stepping back to look at you. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You squirm, pinned like a butterfly beneath his gaze. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

A poor choice. Now you have everyone’s full attention.

“I’m sure it’s not silly.” James smiles at you encouragingly. “What is it?”

You start to pick at your nails, but Sirius' eyes narrow at them, and you stop. “I just…I’ve been thinking lately.”

A beat passes before Remus fills the silence. “That’s always a good thing,” he says slowly, amusedly. “C’mon, dove, out with it.”

This isn’t how you wanted this to go. You’re on the spot. It’s going to feel like a forced confession. They’re expecting something silly and light—I just don’t feel like my outfit is going to work for tonight—and you feel like you’re about to drop a bomb on them in comparison.

In the end, you give yourself away before you say the words. “Okay, I’m gonna tell you something, and I just need you to know I mean it, but I don’t need it to be…reciprocated.”

Sirius cocks his head at you, and you decide to burst the bubble of tension before it can expand any further.

“Just, I love you.”

And maybe you wanted it to be like when Sirius says it, like he’s thrown confetti and everyone seems brighter and happier for it, but each word falls heavily from your lips, landing at the feet of your boyfriends for them to decide what to do with. Why did you add in a “just”? There’s nothing just about this. It’s a humiliating attempt at downplaying the phrase, and painfully ineffective too. You feel like you could light yourself on fire with the intensity of your embarrassment.

"Argh, sweetheart,” James says after an impossibly long beat, “I wanted to say it first.”

“No fucking way.” Sirius whirls on him. “You were gonna say it and you didn’t tell me? I was waiting for one of you to do it first.”

“Dove,” Remus says, relaxing against the doorframe, “I think we’ve all been feeling the same way for some time. Thank you for having the confidence to say it first.”

You beam so hard your cheeks start to hurt almost instantly. “Yeah?”

“Color me impressed,” Sirius says. “This whole time you've played coy, but you’ve got more balls than any of the rest of us, haven’t you?” He pauses. “Wait, are you crying?”

“Oh, um, I guess so,” you reply when you touch a fingertip to your lower lashes and it comes away wet. “I’m just relieved, I guess. I was pretty nervous.”

Sirius grabs some toilet paper, pressing a wad under each of your eyes. “Well shit, don’t fuck up your eyeliner, baby. It was never that dire, not like anyone wasn’t going to say it back.”

“Well, I wasn’t going in with any expectations,” you mumble, holding your makeshift tissues.

“Sweetheart,” James whines, his bottom lip beginning to tremble sympathetically. “How could you think we wouldn't? I love you so much.”

“I love you so much,” you counter, laughing even as the paper under your eyes grows damp. “I’ve been wanting to say it forever. I feel so lucky to have you guys, you know?”

Remus crosses the room, forcing you to discard your toilet paper clumps as he takes your face in his hands, kissing your salty cheeks. “We’re lucky to have found you,” he says, and the words are even, sure. “I don’t say it often enough, but I love you all too. You’re everything to me.”

“Oh, fuck all of you,” Sirius says, blinking rapidly to save his own sparkly eyeliner. “Obviously you’re the best things that’ve ever happened to me. Pricks.”

Your laugh is wet, and you wonder if you’re peaking right now or if you’ll be this happy forever. With the three of them around you, you’re betting on the latter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Think you could fix my makeup before we go, Siri? Please?”

He huffs, but the kiss he presses to your lips is syrupy sweet. “We are going to be well past fashionably late.”

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 months

Text

The Eye of the Hurricane [9] - Engagement

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A marriage decision leads to an honest conversation about expectations.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, he gawked at you in complete silence before he managed to pull himself together.

“You—you’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Please don’t ask me again because I have this feeling that I’ll change my mind if I think about it longer than a second,” you stated and he nodded fervently.

“Right,” he said. “Sure, I…wow. Okay, we’re—we’re getting married then.”

“Don’t say that either, I am not ready to hear it out loud,” you said with a sigh but before he could answer, a soft voice reached you both.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes shut for a moment as he scrunched up his face and you turned your head to look at the top of the stairs where a pretty girl in an oversized shirt –his shirt, if you had to guess— was leaning to the steel handrail.

“Hi,” she said. “Um, who are you?”

“His fiancée,” you stated, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of jealousy in your stomach and her eyes widened.

“Oh I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

“Neither did I when I woke up today,” you said with a click of your tongue. “Can you leave us please?”

“Sure!” she said as she rushed back to what you could only assume was the bedroom and Bucky shot you an apologetic look.

“Charm I’m sorry, if I knew…”

You walked past him, looking around the huge living room. Even you had to admit it looked incredibly beautiful and sleek, and the clear view of the city that you could see from the floor-to-ceiling windows was absolutely breathtaking. It was exactly what you would come up with if someone asked you what Bucky's apartment would look like; luxurious yet dark.

It didn’t mean you would tell him that though.

“I’m not moving in here by the way, this place is a dump,” you forced yourself to say, “If I wanted industrial interior, I’d buy myself a factory.”

“Right, sure—”

“That could be a fun project though,” you muttered more to yourself as the girl appeared at the top of the stairs again, and rushed downstairs, grabbing her coat off the rack.

“Sorry again,” she said without looking you in the eye and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a deep sigh.

“None of this will be happening from now on by the way,” Bucky said in a haste and you rolled your eyes, then turned around to look at him.

“I don’t care about you enough to have that conversation with you,” you said. “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck, but you’re not going to make me look like an idiot in front of other people so when it inevitably happens, you’ll keep it a secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that at all,” he said, his voice firm and you crossed your arms.

“So then,” you said. “I feel like we should both talk about the conditions before taking it to the families and the lawyers and everything.”

“I’m good with your conditions,” he said and you shot him a glare.

“You don’t even know my conditions.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You kept your eyes on him, a slight frown pulling your brows together before you took a deep breath and took off your coat to throw it over the couch.

“Either way, I think we should talk about it,” you insisted and leaned on your hip. “So do you have actual booze in here or are you going to pull out a homemade barrel or something?”

He smiled slightly.

“Take a seat sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“And put a shirt on!” you said as you made your way to the table, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat. “This is a business deal, honestly. There has to be a dress code.”

When Bucky came to the table, he did in fact have his shirt on and he was carrying a bottle of wine with two glasses. He filled one and handed it to you, then filled his own and sat down. You took a sip, pleasantly surprised at the taste and lowered your glass, leaning back.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me your conditions.”

You swirled the wine in your glass, deep in thought.

“Well first of all, we need to have a time table,” you said. “I don’t want to stay married to you for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure you share the sentiment.”

A small smile twitched the corners of his lips but he didn’t comment on it.

“But we can’t get a divorce as soon as I take over because that will lead to a lot of questions and I won’t have the time for distractions, the taking over process is chaotic enough,” you said. “I can’t be making any mistakes, especially considering I already have a rival.”

“Calling Ian a rival makes him sound more important than he actually is,” Bucky commented. “But I agree. We already know some of the families can disagree with this idea.”

“Stark?” you asked and he nodded.

“At least,” he said. “We have Steve and Sam’s support, my family and your family of course, but the rest…”

“You think Romanoff would disagree?”

Bucky thought for a moment.

“Probably, but I can talk to Nat I think,” he said. “She’d hear me out.”

“Barton?”

“Barton is not going to do anything Nat disagrees with,” he said. “If we have Nat, we have Clint.”

“So that leaves us Stark,” you said, pursing your lips. “Who talks to him, you or me?”

He shot you an apologetic look.

“I mean we may try to sell it as love but at the end of the day, everyone will think about the business side of things,” he said. “It could be better if your father talked to him actually. He already dislikes me enough, and we’re changing the power balance in the city by doing this.”

“Alright,” you said. “My dad could do that.”

“Next?”

“I want your word that I will be included in everything,” you said. “None of the bullshit the earlier generation pulled. I will be in every meeting and I will be included in every single decision.”

He nodded. “Yeah, figured as much.”

“I mean it Bucky,” you said, looking him in the eye. “We will be equals completely.”

“We will be,” he assured you. “I swear on my honor.”

“And I’m not changing my surname.”

He threw his head back. “Charm…”

“Out of question.”

“Charm if I’m going to get you into those meetings, you need to have my surname,” he insisted. “You know the rules. We need to give them an actual reason if you can’t be there as an heir.”

You thought for a moment and cleared your throat.

“Hyphenated it is,” you said. “I’ll keep mine and add yours.”

“It’d be better if—”

“I can’t take over my father’s territory if my last name is Barnes,” you pointed out. “I’ll use both, it’s fine.”

Bucky thought for a moment, then licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbled even though his tone signaled it was anything but fine. You sipped your wine, leaning back.

“Goes without saying that we won’t have any children in the meantime so should we even talk about it?”

“I think we should,” Bucky said, a small smile curling his lips. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” you repeated and he rolled his eyes.

“It’ll be on the prenup just like everything else,” he reminded you. “And our families will see those prenups, so it’d be better if we covered it beforehand.”

You huffed out and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fine,” you said. “The usual, right? The first born is the heir…”

“The second born is the spare, yeah,” Bucky said. “Although, if you’re keeping your surname…”

“Our children would as well,” you finished his sentence for him and let out a dry laugh. “So then, is the firstborn yours or mine?”

“Maybe it’ll be twins,” he joked and you shook your head.

“We’ll say that the firstborn rules both until the second born is ready, and then divide my territory and yours accordingly,” you said and Bucky raised his brows.

“But until then, both territories?” he asked. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“That person doesn’t exist and will not exist,” you reminded him. “It’s just gonna be a hypothetical article in the prenup, that’s it.”

“And if we want a divorce—”

“When we have a divorce,” you corrected him and Bucky hummed.

“Any specific reque—”

“The weekend house,” you cut him off and he let out a small laugh.

“How long have you had your eye on it?”

“Oh, so long,” you said with a grin. “It’s really pretty.”

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “It’s yours then."

“I mean I know I can’t just get it without giving something in return so how about you? What do you want in the divorce?”

“Nothing.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“You want nothing?” you asked him. “Bullshit. Say your price.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re going to get me in the business and help me take over and you want nothing?” you insisted. “No fucking way. What is your game here?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why are you doing this then?” you asked with a frown. “Seriously. What’s in it for you?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Bucky…”

“But I do have one request now that you mention it,” he said and you nodded your head.

“Yeah tell me. What is it?”

“Throughout the time we stay married,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “No sleeping with other people.”

“…I’m not going to sleep with you,” you managed to say after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re going into war with an outsider while pushing you to the top,” he said. “Any kind of issue in our marriage, including a whisper of a rumor could work against that. We need to present a united front to all the other families and our people. Can’t fight a war on that many fronts, you know that.”

As much as you hated to admit, as it turned out, Bucky was actually smart when it came to how things worked in business. You nibbled on your lip, trying to put your thoughts in order before sticking your nose in the air.

“That’s a two-way street,” you told him. “If I’m behaving like the perfect wife, you’re going to behave like the perfect husband.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your mistresses.”

“Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your boyfriends,” he replied and you took a deep breath, then downed your wine and stretched out your hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said and he chuckled, then reached out to take your hand into his, sending a pleasant warmth from your hand to your whole body.

“Likewise,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s make you the queen, princess.”

You and Bucky decided to tell your family about your decision that weekend at their favorite restaurant. It would at least give you some time to get your story straight and you figured it would play into the lie; that you and Bucky had something for each other all along and once you got together you didn’t want to lose any time to get married.

Of course your closest friends were going to know about it, it would be impossible to keep it from Becca, Sarah, Steve and Sam because they’d had the first row to every single fight whenever you were within each other’s sight not to mention heard about how much you two disliked each other for years now.

But as far as anyone else was concerned, it was the happy ending to a decade long crush on both parts.

That night, you decided to stay in a hotel until the weekend. Not only did you not want to talk to Ian or your father, but it would also work in your favor; it was Bucky’s favorite hotel, it was in his territory and he would make sure to stay with you in the honeymoon suit every night until the weekend so you were pretty sure the rumors would reach your families way before you told them.

Your bodyguards were still on your father’s payroll after all.

You sipped your champagne, your feet propped up on the small coffee table across from the couch you were sitting on, the fluffy bathrobe wrapped tight around your body as you changed the channel on the TV but the knock on the door made you turn your head. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and went to the door, then put a bright smile on your face and swung open the door.

“Finally!” you exclaimed, then gasped at the huge bouquet of roses Bucky was holding. “Oh my God!”

“Hi beautiful,” Bucky said with a smirk and you stole a look at both your father’s and Bucky’s men in the hallway, then turned to him.

“You shouldn’t have!” you giggled as you grabbed his arm to pull him into the suit, and closed the door behind him.

“Flowers are a nice touch,” you commented, the lovesick smile disappearing from your lips even if your heart did a happy flip and Bucky winked at you.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said as you took them from him, then walked to the open kitchen to pour water into the empty wine decanter before putting the flowers into it.

He leaned back to the kitchen island. “Did you talk to Becca yet?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I slept the whole day away today, barely did anything. Must be the stress after yesterday.”

“Is she serious with that girl by the way?” Bucky asked you. “Leila?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything about Becca.”

He tilted his head. “You and I are going to get married—”

“And she’s my best friend so she’s still above you on my loyalty list,” you pointed out. “Marriage is one thing, friendship is another.”

“Should I at least threaten the girl so that she doesn’t break her heart?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“No, Leila is a sweetheart,” you said as you walked past him, then threw yourself on the couch to grab the remote. He followed you and rested his hands on the back of the couch you were sitting on, the closeness of his body making your stomach do a pleasant flip for some reason.

“So what are we watching?”

“We are not watching anything,” you said, trying to focus on the screen. “I’m watching The Bachelor.”

He let out a groan. “Seriously?”

“There’s another TV upstairs, go watch whatever you want to watch there,” you said, grabbing your champagne glass again and tilted your head back so that you could look at him, and Bucky shot you a mischievous grin.

“Marriage requires quality time together, Charm.”

“Who told you that lie?” you asked, turning your glances to the TV and he chuckled.

“Steve sent me an article about it today when I told him the news.”

“Not Sam?”

“No, Sam sent me the address of a great psychiatrist,” he said. “For couples therapy and marriage counseling.”

“That’s much more useful than an article,” you pointed out and he squeezed at your shoulder making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said as he walked to the hanging stairs and someone knocked on the door, making you frown and look at Bucky over your shoulder.

“Room service,” Bucky answered before you could ask. “I already know your favorite so I ordered for both of us.”

“How do you know my favorite?”

“I pay attention,” he said as he started climbing the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t open the door yet though, will you? Wouldn’t want my men to think I last five minutes.”

“I’m sure that would be an improvement for you,” you said with a scoff and he tsk tsked.

“If you want to see just how wrong you are, all you gotta do is ask nicely princess.”

“That will never happen!” you called out and slipped a little on the couch when you heard him close the bathroom door, then heaved a sigh.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself as the water started running. “My honeymoon should be so much fun.”

Chapter 10

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob boss!bucky #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob boss bucky barnes #mob!au #mob au

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strangelittlestories · 1 year

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It was in the 6th year of the Wars of the Real that the anti-magicians and their Realis project (that all should act in accordance with certain physical laws) were truly challenged. This was due in no small part due to a singular invention from a family of forest witches.

Their discovery was as ingenious as it was stupid. And it radically changed what a disparate collective was able to accomplish in the face of both overwhelming force and abstract certainty.

It also caused a truly historic amount of epic shitfuckery.

From “I Fought the Spore and the Spore Won: a history of Realis and Resistance”

- - -

“So, you’re the new recruit, huh?” The woman who spoke wore strange armour that looked like it had been grown out of wood. The helmet alone glinted with metal spikes.

“I … uh, I guess? Sorry, I’m kinda new to this whole ‘magical kingdom’ deal you’ve got going on here…” The recruit in question was wearing dull red overalls and a ‘what-the-fuck’ expression.

“No worries, kid. We put out a multiversal call for aid - so anybody with a latent magical destiny or a strong subconscious hero fantasy got pulled in. Very much a ‘To Whom It May Concern’ type of spell.”

She patted him on the shoulder. Up close he could see that the spikes on her helmet were actually the shards of a broken crown.

“So, uh, do I get any kind of training?”

“You already did, buddy. The spell should’ve planted a ‘potential seed’ inside you. When you’re exposed to trauma, then just in the nick of time it’ll suddenly sprout into the skills you need to survive. Very dramatic.” She paused for a second. “Or you’ll die. Also very dramatic.”

“So … either I’ll be awesome or I’ll die?”

“Well, you would die … unless you have one of these.” She threw him a small vial. He fumbled the catch, but grabbed it on the second try. Inside the vial swirled a glowing grey-green mist. “You catch a mortal wound, drink it. Or smash it on the injury. The fungus inside will patch you up.”

“Fungus?” The man was a pretty even split of horrified and fascinated. He simultaneously wanted to throw the vial away like poison, or guzzle it like forbidden candy.

“Yeah, you ever hear of ‘ophiocordyceps unilateralis’?”

“The weird zombie ant mushroom? Yeah, I saw it on a documentary!”

“Well, a family of witch-mycologists - real wyrd scientist types - they brewed up this variant in their forest. They turned it from a parasite to a symbiote. If it knows who you are, it’ll heal your wounds, get your heart pumping, even move your limbs for you.”

“How do I get it to know who I am?”

“You feed it.” She grinned ghoulishly. “Chuck in some hair, some blood, whatever bits of you are going spare. Anything to sync it up to your DNA. Think of it as your very own cannibal sourdough starter.”

“And people actually use this?”

“Oh yeah. Folks swear by the stuff. They even had an argument over what nickname it should have. The winner was the truly cursed phrase ‘resurrection juice’.”

“...really?”

“Oh yeah. The juice brigade are pretty smug it caught on. Some smart alec tried to give it a mushroom name, but they got one-upped by the juice thing.”

“I’m not sure I’m a fan of sharing my body with a fungus.” He tried to find the right words to articulate the niggling philosophical nuances of the idea and failed. “It feels like, I dunno, a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a terrible idea. A real crock of stupid. Pure idiot-fuel. But sometimes, when the world’s against you, the truly bad idea is the only one you have.”

“But, I mean, once the fungus takes over … would I still even be me?” The urge to gobble up the taboo canape had begun to be edged out by the existential dread.

“Look at it this way: you’d be mushroom food anyways, right? Why not let it be mushrooms who think they’re you? I think it’s kinda comforting that when the time comes, I can just relax and let fungus take the wheel.”

The man paused for a second, pondering the nature of life, decay, and resurrection.

“Anyways, they’ll be summoning the portal to pipe us out on our first mission soon. So best get ready.” The princess (for that’s what she was) thought for a second, then asked: “By the way … what did you do before you got sucked up into this particular asscrack, anyhow?”

The man gulped.

“I was a plumber.” He said.

#a long one but hopefully worth it #writing #flash fiction #I realised halfway through writing that this read like a grimdark mario bros fic and I just leant into that #still contains at least two puns for those keeping count

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andromeda-nova-writing · 4 months

Text

My Favorite Actor Is…

Fem!Reader

Summary: Infatuation over a film star. It’s a very common thing to have happen. There’s not much to be done over it besides talking about said infatuation over that actor. And if there is jealousy to be had at least handle it as healthy as possible.

Words: 975

AN: I wrote almost all of this on my phone as I was dealing with the holidays when it was written. Just when I thought I would have time to myself to edit the fic and make sure things made sense, I got a new puppy. So it was either edit the fic and be unsure if things made sense or get help. Thanks @milkstore. You are the best. Puppies are tiring but very cute.

“Ayaka had me and Thoma go with her to see a film earlier today,” Y/N explained as she poured herself and Ayato a cup of tea. The two of them were still warming up after coming back to the estate from Inazuma City. The winter air had been so chilly with flurries landing on them but not sticking to the ground.

“Did the three of you enjoy yourselves?” He took a towel trying to dry off his hair. Even though it was flurries, being out there long enough meant that two of them were a little soaked. They had hurried in quickly changing into something dry leaving just hair affected by the snow.

“Yes. It was quite exciting. But I did have one gripe with it.” Ayato could hear the disappointment in her voice changing so fast from the happy one she had started the conversation with.

“What would that be?” He left the towel wrapped around his shoulders to avoid his hair dripping. Ayato grabbed the teacup and took a sip embracing the warmth it brought him.

“There was a new actor in the film. He had the most gorgeous eyes but only had a few lines of dialog.” Y/N rolled her eyes before she frowned. “It was an absolute waste of perfect talent. And to make matters worse, that's the only film he's in.”

Ayato remained silent before letting out a single word in judgment, “Oh.” Now he wasn't one to let jealousy affect him. That was a silly emotion filled with insecurities that he didn't have. But to say he wasn't the slightest bit affected by her words was a lie. One that he would tell because who was he to dump feelings he should process on his own onto his lover.

Any understanding of his emotions was ignored. “Ayaka had told me he even turned down a role that would have given him more screen time. It’s such a crime really. What I would give to see him on screen for those two hours rather than just two minutes.” He could practically see the hearts in her eyes.

Ayato didn’t think there would come a day where he’d be annoyed even if it was just slightly by the look she had in her eyes. There wasn’t anything to feel threatened by though. If she had to stand by his side while someone tried to openly flirt with him while he and Y/N were holding hands, he could at the least let her fantasize about someone she would never meet.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and he will get cast in another movie.” He did his best to remain engaged in the conversation. When he looked down at his cup filled with the most gorgeous green tea he hated the reflection that looked back.

“I wish. Sadly he’s too busy with other projects to even think about acting.” Ayato enjoyed the small victory he had gained even though Y/N was upset at the fact she was telling him. Who knew her love of the arts would betray him?

“Well just be glad that he was able to appear in this film.” He comforted her. Maybe the lack of rest was getting to him if such a disgusting emotion as jealousy was trying to make an appearance.

“I am. I do wish I could at least meet the actor and tell him how well his performance was. Thoma said you’d be able to make that happen.” Y/N had placed an empty teacup on the table. He hadn’t even noticed that she was drinking it this entire time.

All Ayato knew was Thoma who he thought was filled with so much loyalty had betrayed him unknowingly earlier. Now he had to compete for his wife’s attention with some mystery actor that he would do his best to never let her meet. “If they are busy it might be easier to get an autograph.” He hoped that Ayaka would be okay with him using her as a way to talk through these emotions later.

“Really? But even Ayaka agreed that he would find the time to talk.” Y/N spoke with a frown that hid the smirk she really had. Not that Ayato could notice at the moment.

How do you ground your adult younger sister and man who grew up almost like a second sibling to him? “That’s not guaranteed dear. It’s a bit of wishful thinking. Ayaka and Thoma don’t even know the man. Who even is this actor anyway?” His composure was finally beginning to break. He wasn’t proud of it.

Y/N laughed. “I didn’t even tell you the movie we saw. I’m sorry. The movie was The Two Musketeers.” It wasn’t often that Ayato felt embarrassed. “The actor was a man named Kamisato Ayato. You sure I won’t be able to meet him?”

It was at moments like this that he was reminded why he and Y/N had wed. It was also moments like this that reminded him one of the reasons they wed was that they both enjoyed a bit of mischief and teasing each other now and then. It was something that lately he had been catching her off guard with. And here he was getting a taste of his own medicine at the moment.

“Y/N.”

“Yes.” She answered with a laugh.

“I would prefer if you would try to not make me jealous of myself.” Ayato requested with a sigh.

“You know I was wondering when you would catch on.”

“It’s been a long day. A long week.” He explained. She could see the tiredness on his face.

“Why don’t we get my favorite actor to bed then instead of trying to hold a conversation about the day?”

“That would be smart.”

#kamisato ayato x reader #kamisato ayato #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #ayato x reader

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hellfirenacht · 6 months

Text

Wing Man Part 5

Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wingman for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Part 1 2 3 4

a/n: I wanted to get this chapter out before Flight of Icarus on Halloween. I am MILKING that preview we got for all it's worth. I want y'all to know in this chapter I am projecting HARD on what I think the book will be like and how it will affect Eddie. Also say thank you to @hellfiredarling and @crocwork-clockodile because without them, this wouldn't have gone past 2 chapters. Also shout out to @hellfiredarling for letting me borrow her OC Tara for this fic as well. 💜

WARNINGS: This chapter discusses the Ozzy Osbourne Bat Incident. Nothing is really talked about in graphic detail, but I figured I'd throw that out there, just in case.

Eddie Munson would never consider himself a homewrecker. He was a lot of things; a freak, a metal head, the occasional dealer, a musician, but never a homewrecker.

But he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy flirting with you as Steve was right there. Steve hadn’t even made any sort of move to make it clear that you were actually on a date anyway. Eddie had expected some sort of reaction from Steve from the banter that bounced between the two of you, but he’d only sat back and watched.

You were far too good for Harrington anyway.

But he could have figured that out the second time the two of you had met so many years ago. You didn’t remember Eddie, and he didn’t blame you too much for that. You had been in a rough state that time, shaken up and worried out of your mind. Hell, Eddie himself could barely remember the first meeting it had been so long ago.

He couldn’t help himself though, not when you showed an interest in his band, his club, and (he was starting to hope) him. The back and forth between the two of you had excited him. He swore (lied) to himself that he was only flirting and chatting with you to annoy Harrington, and the last thing he had expected was for you to start flirting back. It was night and day compared to Sidequest Day. Eddie completely forgot about Steve the second you mentioned WASP as a favorite band. He probably could have stood there all night, asking you how you fell into the genre, what songs you add to your mix tapes, and bragging not-so-subtly about his band and guitar skills.

But reality always shows up, and Eddie was needed to fix the amp again. It was old and beat to hell and back, but it was all he could afford to fix. A new amp would always be out of the question unless the Hideout decided to start paying the high schoolers for their performance every week.

He made his way to the van to grab his toolbox (Wayne’s toolbox, but he insisted that Eddie keep it in his van) when he realized that he was an idiot. Shit, he’d offered you a ride home, and he was really hoping you’d take him up on that offer, intoxicated or not.

The back of the van was gutted, making it far easier to transport Gareth’s drum set, the amp, and all of their other equipment to their weekly gig. There was even room for two of his friends to (very illegally) sit back there while one person sat up front with him.

Would you even want a ride home like that? Eddie had no problem forcing everyone else to ride in the back while you rode shotgun. Then it was the long ride to Gareth’s place to drop everything off, then dropping off Jeff and Zack.

He could drop you off first, but that would defeat the purpose of offering you a ride.

Shit.

Whatever, he’d wing it. He’d figure out the details later after the show. Right now he had to fix the amp again and focus on the music.

There was a moment before every show, when the janky spotlights would turn on and temporarily blind Eddie, that transported him to another world. Any time he picked up his guitar, be it his electric one or the acoustic, he could feel a charge in the air. Music was as natural as breathing to him, something that just was.

Someone once asked Eddie, why music? Why this music?

Because it’s fucking badass. Because it’s an escape to a different world, a different dimension.

When Eddie played, he didn’t have to be in Hawkins. He didn’t have to be a freak. When he felt the sharp strings press into his fingers he became a Rock God. His music made him feel badass, indestructible, a fucking hero in his mind.

During a really good show, Eddie could lose himself completely. He could imagine that there was a large crowd cheating his name, his band. The sound of his guitar screeched like a demonic bat, and he could imagine that the audience was looking through a portal to another dimension, watching as Corroded Coffin used their music to kick ass and take names.

Eddie never thought about what it would be like to look through the other side of the portal. To look back and see someone looking at him the way he imagined it. That was, until the first song started and his eyes met yours through the near empty bar.

There was a smile on your face, and an intense look in your eyes as you watched him play. The excitement in your eyes couldn’t have been mistaken for anything else. It was the same look that Dustin had given Eddie the first time he made the kid a mix tape, it was the look that his bandmates had when they booked their first gig ever that wasn’t some talent show or open mic night.

It was the look Eddie had when he held a guitar for the first time.

Sure, Eddie had fans. At least 5 people would drunkenly cheer for him on Tuesdays. They were mostly older though, blue collar workers who were reliving their youth through Corroded Coffin. Occasionally he could even have a semi-coherent conversation with them about music after the set. Not often though. The sets usually ended with high fives from the band, maybe a pat on the back and a beer slipped over to Eddie.

The way you were smiling up at him was different though. Even with the drink in your hand you were alert and paying attention to every song and every lyric. Eddie’s voice wasn’t the most well-trained but he let his guitar do most of the work. As they worked through their set, his eyes kept falling back to you. Of course it was easy, considering the fact that you were a cute girl sitting front and center, and most of his other ‘fans’ were by the actual bar on their fourth or fifth round for the night.

Paige had once mentioned off-handedly that he had the look and the stage presence. She’d even said that he looked good once and that was a compliment that he had ridden the high of until everything came crashing down again. When that dream disappeared along with her, Eddie had gone back to just being the Freak of Hawkins. But, fuck, when you were looking at him like that he could almost believe it again.

When the echoes of the final chord faded into the air and the portal closed, Eddie was left smiling at the one person in the bar that bothered cheering like they meant it. You.

He took his pick and tossed it to you, and you caught it between your hands like you had with the air hockey puck just a few days ago. Eddie felt a sense of pride as your cheeks darkened, and he hoped it was because of him and not the drink you had been nursing for the past hour. Your eyes darted between him and Steve- oh right. Harrington was here too. Right.

Eddie turned away and started helping with packing up. The sooner they got the equipment to the van the more time they would have to hang out before curfews for everyone else hit.

During the summer they had gotten away with staying out a bit later, but it was now the school year. That meant they had about twenty minutes to mingle, pack, and head out. The last thing he needed was to piss off Gareth's parents (again) and lose their place to practice.

Eddie was already on thin ice with the parents of his bandmates and club members, except for Zack’s. He wasn’t gonna push it.

With everything tucked securely back in his van, Eddie made his way back inside to find you.One of his regulars gave him a clap on the back for a good show and handed him a beer which he gladly accepted. He should back off, stay away when every time he’s seen you in recent memory was with Steve Harrington. But when he caught a glimpse of you sitting at the table still fiddling with the pick between your fingers and finishing off your drink he couldn’t stay away. Steve was nowhere to be found.

“So, did you enjoy the show?” Eddie asked, taking a seat next to you. You had been lost in thought and jumped slightly. When you realized he was there, you smiled at Eddie as if he was the one person you wanted to see in all of Hawkins.

“Holy shit, you guys are good!” You said brightly. There was the tiniest slur to your words, made noticeable by how fast you were talking. “Your amp makes a weird sound with your guitar but I don’t think that’s a bad thing and you were going so fast! How’d you get your fingers to do that?!”

Eddie laughed and had you been in a more sober state of mind he might have made some sort of dirty joke about that. “I’ve been playing since I was a kid, and I practice so much it’s second nature to me.”

You glanced at his calloused fingers and nodded, before looking back at your own. “I don’t have the finger dexterity for that.” you said, moving your fingers around. “See? My pinkie is kind of fucked up.” You gave your fingers a wiggle and your pinkie definitely moved in a more jerky fashion than the rest of your finders.

“It’s because you don’t use it enough.” Eddie said, grabbing your pinkie and shaking your hand around, making you laugh. “Just start playing guitar for about four hours a day until your fingers bleed and I’m sure you could fix it.”

“That sounds like a lot of work that I don’t have the passion for, so I think I’ll leave all the fingering to you-” You closed your eyes and took a very deep breath as your brain caught up to your mouth. Eddie watched in amusement as you slumped your head to the table. “Can I get a do over?”

Despite the embarrassment you were laughing, which Eddie took as a good sign. His next move was risky, but he was going to go for it.

“If you had a g string I could show you how to finger it.”

“Nooooo!” you groaned through your laughter as you sat back up. “Low hanging fruit, Eddie! That was too easy!”

“You handed that one to me on a silver platter! I don’t think I’d be allowed to play guitar anymore if I didn’t go for that joke!” Eddie said in mock offense.

“Eddie, did you know that when you order one drink here, they actually give you three drinks in one glass?” you asked, motioning to your empty cup. “Because I did not.”

He looked over at the bar, and then back to you. “Sam’s working. Yeah, he’s pretty heavy handed with his drinks. Are you good?”

You gave a nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, I can’t drive probably but I’m not blackout wasted or anything.” There was still a slur to your words, but your eyes were still alert enough that he felt confident that you weren’t going to make any decisions that weren’t completely your own.

“So how come I’m the one who offered you a ride home and not your date?” Eddie didn’t want to bring up Harrington, but curiosity always got the better of him in one way or another.

“Date?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before realization dawned on your face. You looked at Eddie with such intensity that it made him feel nervous for a second. “I am not dating Steve Harrington.” There was firmness in your voice. “He’s dating every other girl in Hawkins.”

“Do you... want him to be dating you?” Eddie wasn’t sure where you were going with this and he took a sip of the beer that he’d been neglecting for the past few minutes. .

“Ew.”

That one word had him nearly choking on his beer as it went down the wrong pipe. He made a strained sound between a cough and a laugh and you smacked him on the back a few times with concern before he waved your hand off.

“‘Ew’?” He managed to finally choke out, looking at you in disbelief. “So you’re telling me that you and Steve Harrington just happen to hang out but you aren’t dating?”

This had to be a joke, some sort of prank where Harrington would pop out of the bathroom, throw his arm around you, and laugh at Eddie for believing for even a second that someone as cool as you was single.

“We’re just friends and we have a kind of deal going on.” you said, messing with the ice in your empty glass. “I help him and he uh...” Eddie watched as you hesitated and your mind looked for the words. “He helps me get out of the house.”

“I thought you said coming out was your idea?” Eddie tilted his head, watching as your expression changed to one of a kid who’s hand was caught in the cookie jar.

“I lied.” You said bluntly. “I had no idea about you playing or that you had a band or even that the Hideout had any live music ever. It was Steve’s idea.”

Eddie watched your expression carefully for any sign that you didn’t actually have feelings for Steve. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, knew better than to get his hopes up. The Munson’s weren’t exactly known for being lucky in love, and he was no different. Eddie could count on one hand the amount of times he’d had any sort of romantic connection to a girl and most of those had crumbled to dust in his hands.

“Harrington brought you here?” He said slowly. “To get you out of the house?”

“I pretty much live at work and home.” you shrugged, sucking the last bit of moisture that had melted in the bottom of your glass. “He’s a good friend. And that’s all he is.”

Even Eddie wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the blatant flag that you were waving over your head.

SMACK

Two drumsticks came crashing down on the table between the two of you. Eddie didn’t even realize how close you two were getting until Gareth managed to squeeze himself between the two of you, banging his sticks rhythmically on the table.

“Eddie we gotta go.” Gareth said. “Mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late tonight. Grandma’s visiting.”

“Shit.” Eddie muttered to himself and then looked at you. “Do you still need a ride?”

He hoped you’d say yes. He hoped you didn’t mind his band while they all drove home so illegally.

“I think I can’t say no.” You glanced at the drink. “Because that was waaay stronger than I expected it to be and I can alway bully Steve into helping me get my car in the morning.”

“Why was Harrington even here?” Gareth asked, looking at you with confusion. He glanced at Eddie in a questioning manner and a sharp look from Eddie shut him right up.

“He’s my friend. He left. Said he wasn’t feeling well.” You replied nonchalantly.

Harrington just left you drunk at a bar?! Eddie looked at you with wide eyes and his mouth hung open. What kind of bullshit friend was that? Henderson had spent so long talking up Steve Harrington, and how he was a total badass and not a dick and he left a friend drunk at a bar? He had been willing to play nice for Dustin, but any chance of that was thrown out the window.

Eddie stood up, the chair scraping behind him as he tried (badly) to hide his frustration. “We’re giving her a ride home. She gets shotgun.”

“What?!” Gareth protested, looking at you like you’d personally offended him. “If my parents see me get out of the back-”

“They won’t unless you plan on telling them to wait up for you.” Eddie said firmly. “She’s shotgun.”

There was a look of guilt on your face as you sat there awkwardly. “Mom, Dad, I can sit in the back or I can just stick around her for another hour with some water and I’ll sober up.”

Eddie grabbed you by the scruff of your jacket and hauled you up quickly. “Nope, you’ve already had one person ditch you tonight. I’m not leaving you drunk in a bar alone.”

He winced internally at how roughly he’d just handled you. Eddie was so used to handling and rough housing with his club that he forgot that he shouldn’t be doing that with other people. But it was so easy with you. The few conversations you’ve had made him feel like you should have been part of Hellfire to begin with. If he ever saw Chris Morrison again, he’d deck him in his smug little nose.

There was no time for protesting from either you or Eddie as he pushed the two of you out the door and towards his van. It was chilly out, the autumn air biting his skin as he pushed Gareth towards the back of the van. He released your jacket and stepped to open the door of the van for you.

“After you-” He did his best to give what he hoped was a charming smile as you hopped into the van. He heard Zack mutter something in the back of his van followed by a round of snickering between his bandmates before he closed the door and hopped into the driver side seat.

Metal came blasting out of the speakers and he fumbled to turn it down so that it didn’t blow your eardrums.

“Wait no, turn that back up!” you said, reaching for the knob to elevate the voice of Ozzy Ozbourn as it thrummed through the van.

“So uh, this is my new friend.” Eddie said, hating how that sounded as he tried to break the ice.

You turned around in your seat immediately and stuck your hand in the back, introducing your name. Eddie was amazed as you wasted no time launching into how great the set was and asking a million questions as to who they were, how they started playing music.

You weren’t shy, that was for sure. Actually the buzz you had going on made you even more interested in talking to everyone. Soon there was a lively conversation happening, enthusiastically about the tape that was playing.

“My mom hates Ozzie.” Jeff said. “Says that he’s an animal abuser because he bit the head off that bat.”

“Everyone wants to talk about that, but no one wants to talk about how that happened!” You threw in.

“What do you mean?” shot back Gareth. “With his fucking teeth!”

“That’s not what I meant, Dingus!” you snorted. “Where do you think the bat came from?”

Eddie gave pause and slowed his driving down just a touch. He was already going slow to avoid any cops out, but you had asked a question that he’d never even considered.

The question gave pause to everyone as they looked at each other with confused shrugs.

“I thought he just pulled it out of his pants.” Said Zack

“His pants?!”

“Why would he keep a bat in his pants?!”

“To pull it out and bite the head off of it, duh!”

“Where else would he keep a bat?”

“I don’t know, a cage?!”

The conversation was delving into chaos and Eddie could see you grinning out of the corner of his eye as you watched them squabble amongst themselves.

“Maybe it just flew in?” Eddie threw that out there, wishing that he didn’t have to be driving so that he could focus on the mischievous glint in your eyes.

“It was a closed auditorium, actually.” You smiled at him. “I highly doubt that a bat is just gonna fly into a random building filled with screaming people.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just a random building. It’s a building where Black Sabbath was playing.” Eddie laughed, glancing between you and the road. “Maybe it was a metal fan.”

“Not anymore.”

“Jesus, Zack”

“Alright, I’ll bite-”

“The head off a bat?”

“No! Okay, so you clearly know what happened so just spit it out!”

“Like Ozzy did with the bat head?”

“ENOUGH!” Eddie yelled out, hitting the breaks just enough to make the van jerk and you all to have his attention. You laughed as he resumed normal driving, thankful that it was almost 10 pm on a Tuesday night and the roads were dead and empty. “Let her talk.”

The van went quiet after a few apologies and you reached over to turn down the radio.

“Alright, so,” you started. “I’m just gonna start from the beginning and if you all hear me rant about this once, you’ll probably hear me rant about it a hundred times in the future because this is my go-to drunk rant.”

You glance at Eddie, and he could see the excitement in your eyes that you got to talk about this with fresh people who would actually appreciate it.

“So we’ve established that this was a closed auditorium that he was playing in, and this wasn’t planned at all.” you continued. “So the question everyone needs to ask is where the fuck this bat came from. Everyone always talks about it like he reached up and grabbed a random bat out of the air and ate it whole but that’s not what happened. What happened is that a fan threw the bat on stage- mind you, he has no reason to believe that it’s a real bat. He thinks it’s a rubber bat! Who in their right mind would think that someone would throw a real bat on stage?”

“Isn’t Ozzy on every drug ever?” Jeff asked from the back.

You turned around in your seat to look at him, your finger extended. “You... are absolutely correct and make a very valid point. That aside though, let’s think about this. What kind of person managed to get a live bat, sneak it into a concert, and get close enough to the stage to throw it at Ozzy?”

They were pulling up into Gareth’s neighborhood now, and Eddie drove under the speed limit, stopping fully at every stop sign just to prolong this time together. He was fully invested in the excitement and passion in your voice as you told this story.

“Who was it?” Eddie asked.

“Get this- a seventeen year old high school girl.” You said. “A fucking junior in high school, managed to get a live bat, sneak it in, and throw it at Ozzy! That’s insane, right?!”

“What?!”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“I have absolutely no clue!” you laughed. “The two interviews I read about it didn’t talk about who she was or anything. They just talked about how Ozzy saw the bat and didn’t realize it was alive until he took a bite! It’s actually kind of fucked up, and Ozzy did not deserve that but holy shit right?”

Eddie pulled into Gareth’s parent’s driveway, and everyone in the back went into band mode as Gareth immediately hopped out of the back and hoped that his parents weren’t watching. You moved back in your set and glanced at Eddie who had to pretend he wasn’t staring a hole into the side of your head.

“Need any help?” you offered.

He shook his head, “Just hang tight while we unpack. It’ll only take a second.”

The boys made quick work of unpacking the drum set and rearranging the back so that the remaining two club members could more comfortably fit for the final leg home. Thankfully Jeff and Zack didn’t live too far from each other. You stayed in the van, zoning out pleasantly to the end of the tape.

In the garage, Eddie was getting roasted.

“So now you’re taking home girls after shows, Eddie?” Jeff asked with a shit-eating grin.

“Next time warn us so we can get a different ride.” grumbled Gareth.

“She seems nice.” Zack added.

“Look, it was a last minute thing and she was left alone and drunk in a bar.” Eddie tried to explain as they put up the drum kit.

“So the only girl you can get is a drunk girl?” ribbed Jeff.

“A drunk girl who was ditched by a jock- ow!” Gareth rubbed his arm where Eddie had socked him.

“I told you, it was a last minute thing.” Eddie said more firmly, narrowing his eyes at Gareth. “I’m just making sure she gets home safe.”

“Wasn’t she also at the arcade last Saturday?” Jeff asked. “Weird how she keeps showing up.”

“If it means we get someone else watching our band, who cares? She liked the set and we need the support.” Zack added. “Night Gareth”

“Night.” Gareth said before closing the garage door.

They all made their way back into the van, just in time for the cassette to be spat back out for you to flip it over and push play again. The drive to drop off the remaining two members was quieter, as the school day plus the set caught up to them. Eddie was still wired, and he was looking forward to having a joint when he got home to calm himself after everything that had happened tonight.

When the van was just the two of you, and you gave him directions to your small apartment, there was a comfortable silence between you. Eddie watched you from the corner of his eye at a red light, taking in the way your eyes were closed and your lips were upturned as you soundlessly mouthed the words to the song playing.

“So, where’d you get your tattoos?” you asked after a few minutes.

Eddie grinned. “Why? Are you looking to get some ink done?”

“Well, the last time I checked tattooing was illegal in Indiana.” you replied, glancing at the colony of bats flying up his arm. “So have you ever left the state or should I be concerned about whatever shady basement you visit to get those?”

He scrunched his face and blew a raspberry. “Don’t worry about the legalities, are you gonna tell Hopper on me?”

“Scratcher tattoos?” you frowned. “You are so lucky that those didn’t get infected.”

“She did it as a favor for me, she wasn’t some sketchy dude I met in a bar.” Eddie said defensively. “Her name’s Tara, she moved her from California where tattooing is legal, and she’s still technically licensed.”

“Just not for Indiana.”

“Not even a little.” he laughed. “But I helped her and she repaid me with these sweet ol’ tatties.”

You snorted into your hand at his verbiage. “How many you got?”

“Three on my arm and two on my chest. I got my first about three months after I turned eighteen when Tara moved in.” He explained.

“Damn, and here I am looking at leaving the state to get something done legally like some sort of square.” You laughed.

“So you are looking for some!” Eddie pulled into the parking lot you pointed to, right outside your building.

“What can I say, I’m a rebel at heart. I shouldn’t be telling you this but I did jaywalk last week.” You smiled up at him, not bothering to move yet from the passenger side seat.

“Jaywalking? Shit, and here I thought you were a quiet goody two shoes.” He shook his head. “I think you’re gonna be a terrible influence on me.”

“The worst.” you agreed.

There was a silence that seemed to crackle with the old stereo. Eddie’s eyes met yours and he felt something that he hadn’t felt in almost two years.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Flashes of his first senior year raced through his mind as he felt something begin again. He would have hoped that when he felt that jolt in his stomach again he’d be alright. Eddie looked at you, his mind racing a million miles per hour over what to do now.

He had to get out of there.

You were reaching out for him, shit- he wasn’t ready. Your hand was reaching across for his and gripped it, pulling it towards you. You were making a move and-

Pop

The sound of a maker’s cap reached his ears. Eddie felt the tip of the felt glide over the skin of his forearm, the temporary ink sinking into his skin and spelling out your name and phone number.

Jesus Christ. What the fuck was that about?

“We should hang out again, on purpose.” you said, putting the marker back in your bag.

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded. Fuck, he needed a joint now. “Fifth time’s a charm.” he said.

Without another word you gave him a wave and hopped out of the car, towards your unit. He watched to make sure you made it inside before smacking his head against the steering wheel as the night replayed in his mind.

Sweet ol’ tatties?

Freaking out when he thought you might kiss him?

He knew that everything that happened two years ago would have an effect on him. Anyone who was close to Eddie knew the toll it took on him. He’d always been cynical, but ‘84 changed something deeper.

Eddie didn’t want that to affect you.

But he looked at the dried dark green ink on his arm with a sigh. “Dammit.” he muttered to himself before pulling out.

He shouldn’t drag you into his problems. He should turn around and leave it at that- just four meetings between the two of you. Four odd, awkward, and admittedly nice meetings.

The fifth meeting was inevitable.

---

“So, I think you need to leave, Steve.” you said as you watched Corroded Coffin pack up their instruments.

“Wait, what?” he looked at you with wide eyes, glancing down at the guitar pick that you were fiddling with between your thumb and forefinger. The smooth plastic and the slightly sharper edge had a nice contrasting feeling as you played with it.

“Steve, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I do. But I think if you stick around I’m gonna lose this chance.”

“You’re really gonna go for it? For him?”

“Yeah, I think I am.” You watched the man on stage and gulped down the last of your drink. It was a bit stronger than expected and you had a nice buzz happening, but nothing alarming. You could easily hang out for another hour with some water and some pretzels and be perfectly fine to drive home if needed. But playing it up just a little wouldn’t hurt, would it? It had definitely loosened you up and relaxed you enough that you were starting to feel excited about talking to Eddie again.

“How sober are you?” Steve glanced at the drink and back at you. “I need to know that you’re of sound mind and body before I leave you alone with some guy we barely know.”

“Awww, look at you caring about me.” you teased and pinched his cheek as he swatted your hand away. “If Dustin vouches for him, I’ll trust the kid’s judgment. And I’m fine, the worst I’ll do is run my mouth worse than normal and rant about things you won’t understand.”

“How’s that different from normal?”

“Ha ha. Okay, seriously. I love you, but you’re cockblocking me.”

“Okay, okay I’m going, sheesh.” he stood up. “This is the thanks I get for introducing you to a guy.”

“Did you, or did you not get laid at least four times since we started this?”

“Don’t forget to use protection.”

“Thanks Mom.”

---

You liked Eddie’s friends, you decided. They were just as weird and loud and rowdy as you expected a bunch of high school boys to be. Gareth kept challenging you every few sentences, but the conversation didn’t feel as awkward as you were worried it’d be after being manhandled to Eddie’s van. Maybe even if this didn’t work out, you could at least be friends with them.

And when the band was dropped off, it was just you and Eddie in his van. Talking to him was easy, almost as easy as it was to talk to Steve. You never had anything to prove to the jock, and you wished that you could feel the same about Eddie. You wanted him to like you, you wanted him to like you so much.

Eddie parked and there was a charge in the air that made your stomach flutter. For the past two months you’d actually avoided moving ahead with Steve’s end of the bargain. As much as you wanted companionship, putting yourself out there was scary. But when you were next to Eddie, making small talk, awkwardly flirting, and screaming about music it wasn’t as scary.

You wanted to move forward.

You wanted to know him, and get out of this damn rut of home and work and little else. You were tired of hearing about everyone else living while you just coasted.

So you decided to go for it. You wished you had grabbed a napkin from the bar, but all you had in your bag was an old green sharpie that you were praying still worked. You reached for his arm and you jotted down your name and phone number, putting the ball firmly in his court. You’d made your move, and now it was his turn.

“We should hang out. On purpose.” you said, releasing him.

“Fifth time’s a charm.” Eddie said.

You gave a wave and made your way back to your small one bedroom apartment. As you dropped your bag and kicked off your shoes, that’s when you realized something.

Today. Saturday. That was-

You looked down at your hand and put down two fingers.

“What did he mean, five?!”

A/n: Drop a comment of what you'd want to see Reader get as a tattoo and I might add it later. See you all on the other side of Flight of Icarus.

Part 6

Dividers by @strangergraphics

Tag List @k8loo @terrormonster55 @sp1dyb0y1008 @crocwork-clockodile @ali-r3n @mxcheese @josephquinnschesthair @gagasbee @peaches-roses-sins @witchwolflea @vintagehellfire @royale1083 @cumslutforaemond @prestinalove @browneyedgirly93 @perpetualmess @thebook-hobbit @mistook @cultish-corner @grishaversecaptivated @sortagaysortahigh @halialex1119

Please reblog 💜

#nacht fic #wing man #eddie munson x reader

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aseaofyoongi · 2 years

Text

rivals academia | knj

pairing: knj x reader (f)

genre: slight angst/smut

rating: mature audiences ONLY (strictly 18+)

wc: 4.2 thousand

summary: you and kim namjoon absolutely hate eachother but after you’re both paired for a school project — things get rather interesting at the school library.

warnings: enemies to one-night stand (potential fwb) unprotected sex (wrap it up yall); penetrative sex; hand job; fingering; brief nipple play; teasing; dirty talk; public sex; foul language; dirty talk; bickering; thigh riding; slight degradation; praise kink; i think thats it ??; namjoon’s fucking thighs; i was having a moment of weakness please; college au

posted: sunday september 11th, 2022

Repulsed.

That’s precisely the word indicative enough to portray exactly how you felt. Repulsed, repugnant, nauseated, revolting — it all came rushing in like a wave of rage aggressively meeting the golden shores.

It was overwhelming yet still - here you sat across from him and his absolutely irritating aura. It excluded an intoxicating amount of cockiness and an irritating deal of arrogance.

His presence was so irritating.

So fucking irritating.

“Are we supposed to finish this whole project today?” He asked exasperated - as if putting off the project until the last minute wasn’t his exact idea and now he wants to treat it as a nuisance?

“The project is due Monday, Kim. And it is 8:00PM Friday,” you briefly examined the watch sitting on your wrist, “and I’m guessing you have plans for the entire weekend?”

Namjoon nodded eagerly, picking up his phone for the thousandth time but you snatched it right out of his hand.

“What the—”

“It’s time to get to work. For real this time, Kim.” You shoved his phone in your purse, “I'm tired of you just pretending to do things.”

“Can I have my phone back?” He uttered through gritted teeth.You could’ve sworn you saw clouds of smoke emitting from his ears as his usually chocolate eyes turned red hot with anger, “Now!.”

“You’ll get it back when you actually fucking do something for once.” You snapped back — standing your ground.

He slouched back on the wooden library chair and scoffed typing away at his laptop.

Kim Namjoon.

If it wasn’t obvious he wasn’t your first choice for a project partner, however, your Intro to Art History professor thought otherwise. And now you suffered the consequences; bearing the temper tantrums of a man baby.

“What was the year for Venus of Urbino again?”

“1534.”

“Artist?”

“Titian.”

“Interpretation some believe?”

You huffed — he was truly insufferable, “did you even read the cards she passed out?”

He rolled his eyes, “does it look like I did?”

“Kim, do I really have to do your part of the project too?”

He quirked a brow as he shrugged, “you’re the one holding me hostage.”

“I’m not holding you anything. You have a responsibility to this project as my partner. This doesn’t just fall on me.”

“And yet here I am contributing absolutely nothing and you’re already doing both our jobs so you might as well excuse me.” He pushed his chair back in an attempt to stand-up.

“I swear if you so much as take a step, Kim,” you stood up from the table from him — your eyes sternly set on his. You were not afraid of him, “your name will be removed from this entire fucking project and word on the street is you’re current GPA isn’t really securing you a place on the team. What is the athlete’s magic number again? 2.5 right?”

“Ouch!” His full lips curved into a smile. His chasmic dimples on full display. You could sense the sarcasm even in the simple phrase your attention was averted towards his lips. It’s rather nice. His smile that is. You didn’t really see it often but his smile — fuck — it was picturesque; similar to the sunset as it kissed the deepest depths of the cerulean sea when nighttime lurked behind in its shadows.

“Don’t hold back now.” he uttered, taking a seat once again.

“I don’t intend to.”

“Tell me, doll. Are you always this dense?”

You ignored him and continued typing your section of the project. Just pretend he’s not even here — you repeat in your head.

“Are you going to answer my question on Venus about the depiction or should I spend the next hour researching it?”

You looked up at him and there it is again. The soft strokes of curvatures of his golden cheeks painting a delicate smile.

“It is literally a five minute search,” You cleared your throat in an attempt to be clear and to avoid having to repeat yourself, “but to save you the trouble; we're focusing on sexuality through the ages she is theorized to be masturbating, Kim.”

“Masturbating?”

“Precisely, with the way she’s laying naked and the placement of her hands — it’s only been assumed by some and obviously our professor as well considering she included it.”

Namjoon huffed. “Interesting.”

“Not at all,” you pointed at his laptop, “now write it down.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Where is this going, Kim?”

“Well,” he began, “I don’t mean to be lewd—”

“You already are, Kim.”

“It’s Joon,” Namjoon smirked, “but have you ever?”

His words were brief but they were tainted with a vivid carmine hue — all of it backtracked with sexual intent. And truly you despised the kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting at the pit of your stomach.

“That is none of your business.”

“—but it is something to be curious about.”

“I don’t see why,” though the library was completely vacant and you both sat in a private study area for some reason you could feel a swarm of watchful judging eyes — all of them condemning everything you've ever done. Everything right down to that very question. You shifted in your seat clearly affected at the utterances of his beguiling words, “and the next artwork on the list is The Swing. Figure it out.”

“Truly, has a girl like you even —” he chuckled, “never mind.”

“What could you possibly mean by that?” there was a feeling bubbling deep inside but you couldn’t quite decipher what it was. Anger? Annoyance? Bashfulness? .

“I just mean you’re innocent.”

“Innocent?”

“You could barely say ‘masturbation’ without a stutter a couple minutes ago,” he shrugged and you knew that in his own twisted way Namjoon was using this as another thing to hold over you.

“Have you ever thought that maybe I just don’t feel like discussing those things with you. This has nothing to do with how innocent you think I am.”

“I think. .” He drifted off. His chin was now propped up on his palms.

“You think?” you emphasized the word ‘think.’

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Is it that maybe you should shut up for once so we can get this project done already?”

“In fact,” he scoffed, beginning to share his theory anyway, “I think you’re a virgin.”

“That’s a great observation, Kim. Now let’s move on to what we’re actually here for.”

He slouched down in his chair, his arms now crossed at his chest, his eyes laid intently on you sitting right across from him. His watchfulness was kind of — intimidating to say the least.

“Kim, it’s 9PM. Can we please?” you sighed your eyes, never leaving the brightness of your screen.

“I would but it’s just so hard to concentrate.”

You sighed, “what will it take for you to finally move on and finish this project once and for all?” You shut your laptop, your eyes finally meeting his once again,

“Answer my question. Have you ever masturbated?”

His cavernous voice was bottomless like the deep sea and the obscenity in his words sent a glacial shiver down your spine. Was his voice always this low? You’d never really noticed before.

“I know you may think I’m familial to freaks of some sort but like any normal person I have in fact masturbated Joon,” you let out all in one breathe.

“You called me Joon,”

“I did,” his smile beamed brighter than sun rays — the rapid thumping of your heart beat aggressively thumped against the walls of your chest and you were afraid he might just be able to hear, “Are we done or do you also need a demonstration?”

“Let’s make your proposition a bit more sensible,” he began.

“I was kidding.”

“It was your idea,” The air in the room grew thicker. It constricted your airway and for a minute you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Were the air vents even opened here? You checked and they were, “are you already backing out now?”

“Joon. .”

“Tell me,” his voice was provocative and you feared one more soft utter would have you stripped bare with little to no command.

“Tell you?” your leg is bouncing under the wooden table and you could feel your palms growing clammy.

The soft glimmer of the luminous moonbeam was casted upon him accentuating his sun-kissed tone and the striking features staring back at you intently — his glistening cherry lips, the way his dimples formed at the mere appearance of the smirk on his face and his stern amber gaze still so intimidating. It made you feel small but you are not going to show him the power he could have over you.

“What do you wanna hear?” your tone now masked in thin layers of silk.

He panted softly, “I want to hear it all.”

“You wanna hear about how I lay completely bare with my head propped up against my pillows. Eyes shut tightly as my hands explore every single inch of my body pretending it’s someone else?”

“Fuck-” His hands dug under the waistband of his sweats. Your eyes now casted on the way the cotton light grey fabric rhythmically moved up and down repeatedly. His chest heaved as his breathing became uneven — and in that moment you could not think of a more captivating sight. Like an erotic painting right out of the renaissance era. You remained at your previous position behind his chair, “but when I get tired of that I have to resort to other measures as you may know.”

“I d-don’t know..” he groaned. His tone expressed frustration and arousal combined. The repulsion you once felt ceased and all your mind could become aware of was the vast ocean accumulating between your thighs; staining the fabric of your underwear as the sight of Namjoon stroking himself in the campus library became imprinted in your mind.

“Sometimes, I also like to mount my pillow placing my thighs on each side as I move my hips steadily against the soft fabric. Slowly rolling my hips back and forth until I’m finally able to reach that high,” you whispered.

His soft pants filled the stillness and furnished the serenity amongst the vacant tables and chairs right outside the private study room. The sounds so addicting it looped within the walls of your head like a vinyl on a broken record player.

“Y-You—” was all he could manage as he became enthralled in his own pleasure, the sweat forming at his temples could attest to it.

“Can I touch you Joon?”

“Please.”

You placed a velvet kiss on the nape of his neck. Your hands found their way up to his dark strands — you softly tugged at it, pushing his head back, “well I’m not the one with my hands in my pants. Am I?”

A thunderous chuckle rumbled within the four walls of the secluded study room, “Please believe you are the clear cause of this.”

“I didn’t do anything, Joon.” you let out an airy laugh, “just provided details of a scenario per your request. Remember?”

“You’re a fucking demon.”

“And you’re too easy. Just like every other horny dude on this campus.”

“Please—” He begged, grabbing onto your wrist before you could walk away. This tone was husk and as much as you hated to admit it. It was like an alluring song to your ears all of it shooting right down to your core just like everything he did. “I need you.”

I need you. The three words invaded your tympanum serving as a command for his needed pleasure and you felt as if your feet vacated their stance on the ground. His honey voice was lulling and if he continued to say anything in that tone, you’d fear your dignity would rid itself and follow every single thing he’d bark without objection. Every bone in your body already begged you to comply; to do it for you and chase your own pleasure — and as much as your mind screamed at you to leave. You listened to the throbbing between your legs instead.

“Pull it all down,” You ordered and Joon quickly rid himself of the pesky fabrics standing between him and utter vulnerability. He didn’t even bother to get up, just allowed them to pool at his ankles. His rather massive erection now on full display — shocked wasn’t the word you were looking for. After all, Joon always exuded the aura that he was considerable in size but nevertheless it was a pleasant reaffirmation to your lingering rumors.

Joon cleared his throat pulling your eyes away from his erection — your trance was essentially amusing to him, you could see it painted on his smirk, “You can come closer you know. If you want to.”

“Closer?”

Joon softly tapped on his bare thighs. His thick fucking thighs. Having attended numerous of his soccer games you were constantly given a sneak peak at his toned legs. His upper thighs often lolled you into a fantasy that was now taking play right before you and instead of following the script your head had created for you on multiple occasions; instead you sat here salivating at the clear view of his lower half without the burden of shorts being in the way.

“Come sit. Please,” his pleading made your legs turn to jello — the way his tone so delicately continued to voice his intricate needs was fucking sexy. Although you’ve only been sitting on top of his left thighs approximately 30 seconds now you couldn’t help the way you were throbbing at an uncontrollable beat. You were certain he could feel it too — it was plastered all over his shit-eating grin.

“Can you be a good girl and move for me please?” His tone still velvet to the touch.

Your underwear were already drenched and you were terrified he would notice — the lack of shorts under your skirt left only the thin cotton fabric of your underwear to meet his thighs. But you were not going to back down. Not now.

“Have you done this before?”

“No,” you simply stated.

“Just follow along.”

You nodded.

Initially, the mere feeling of his hands secured around your waist clouded your thoughts entirely. His warm grasp sent waves of electric currents down your spine but nothing prepared you for the feeling that bubbled in your core as soon as his sinful hands instructed you to move. The pace began agonizingly slow and you followed his motion moving forward and backwards against his thigh.

You whimpered, “It feels so good. .”

Joon laughed — the sound drummed at your eardrums and without a stutter in his rhythm you were being guided to move against him faster and faster as he continued flexing his thigh muscles causing all that more friction against your lower half.

“N-namjoon,” You moaned holding on to his chest for support; your head rolled back as you grew consumed by pleasure.

His hands vacated their place on your waist but you continued the steady pace against him chasing a high you knew you were very close to achieving. Joon’s attention was diverted into your clothed chest.

“Can I take your shirt and bra off?”

“Mhm,” was all you truly could manage.

Though, you were breaking a sweat going at it against his thighs as soon as your top half was stripped you felt a draft of cool air meet your perky nipples. The slight frigidness you briefly felt subsided and instead you were met with Joon’s warm touch once again except now it was taking a hold of your breast — his slender finder massaged one while the other was taken care of by his plump lips. Your hands traveled to the back of his neck as the rhythm of your hips stopped against his thigh. Your senses now focused entirely on the way he swirled his tongue against the sensitive bud.

He paused for a moment looking up at you through hooded eyes, “did I say you could stop?”

“No.”

“Then, continue riding my thigh until I say it’s enough.”

The switch off between his pleads for consent and the way he barked orders in your direction shot straight down only adding to the piled up sexual frustration bubbling deep within you but nevertheless you obeyed — now taking on a slower pace against him as he continued his attack on your breasts.

Locked away in a retreat of arousal and between slurred words and dazed moans you asked Joon if he was in accordance with receiving some attention as well.

“I want to focus on you.”

“And I on you,”

“If you insist,” he gave in, “just stay on my lap.”

His words set a stump in wanting to suck him off but ultimately you settled for using your hands. After aiming down to use your saliva as lubricant you could see the shock sitting behind his lust induced eyes. Your hands began working at his length mimicking his earlier motions — there was nothing more you wanted than to be on your knees in front of him but you were glad you fought against those urges when you felt his hands traveling under your skirt to move your panties to the side.

“Fuck.” He hissed, “you’re drenched.” Joons words only affect you in the worst way possible. Causing the pool between your thighs to deepen, “you claim you’re so fucking quiet but that’s all a facade you know. You’re a fucking slut.”

You never thought a word would affect you as much as being called a slut but you fucking loved it.

“Call me that again,” you whined, “call me that again, please.”

“You’re a slut — you know that?” the soft pads of his fingers finally arrived at their destination and quickly began massaging your clit . . lento. An eruption of lights fired in the back of your mind as Joon continued to immerse himself in bringing you utter satisfaction. You were levitating — your body vibrated which only accentuated the feeling of his heavenly touch.

“Your slut.” your lips ‘fessed up before your brain could register what you actually said.

“My slut.” He sat-up on the wooden chairs but his fingers abandoned your bundle of nerves and traveled further down resting at your entrance, “You know what you’re doing to me right?”

His face was just inches away from yours but your eyes were set on his lips — you leaned forward. Both of you began composing a magical piece in the way your lips danced against each other. His kisses were drug induced and you were already addicted; making it impossible to even pull away so you didn’t and he certainly didn’t either. Under your skirt his phantom touch ceased until you felt his pointer and middle fingers push past your entrance.

“Your fingers are blessed Joon. . They’re fucking blessed. .” you rambled on, “Blessed.”

“You think so?” He pushed them further in causing a strain of moans to fall from your swollen lips.

“Hmm.”

Joon’s pace picked up as he continued to move in and out of you repeatedly. Truly, all the words you could make out were stuttered strings of praises toward his fingers. They were fucking blessed and right then you swore you could write a million poems just on how delectable they felt inside of you.

“Uh, J-Joon. I’m so close. . so so fucking close Joon.”

“Come for me,” he whispered against the nape of your neck as he continued peppering you with silken kisses.

“Shit. .”

His fingers continued moving at a rapid pace as they finally met that spot that drove you over the edge. If you were levitating before you could easily confirm that now you danced amongst the twinkling stars.

“You were so good for me.” He was panting, his chest matching your heaving as you came down from your high, “so fucking good for me.”

His words were always so intricately sensual and you could feel your arousal throb at his dulcet praises.

Why did you hate him again? You couldn’t recall ever having such a feeling for the man you were currently straddling.

You didn’t hate him. You craved him.

After Namjoon removed his hands from underneath your skirt he brought his fingers up to your mouth and smeared your juice on your lips like lip gloss. Before you knew it you were welcoming his digits past your cerise lips tasting your sweet nectar right off his fingers.

“You are so hot.”

“Did it really take having me half naked on your lap for you to realize that?”

“Actually, no. . only one of us in this room actually hated the other.”

“I didn’t hate you.” you blurred out.

“I didn’t say you did, doll. But since you practically snitched on yourself I think it’s safe to say you despise me. ”

“I despised you. As it's in the past,” you corrected him.

“Dick is all it took to change your mind?”

“Hmm,” you took Joon’s cock in your hand slowly pumping at his shaft once again. And he just looked so good— slouched on the chair, his hair disheveled, a slight glow taking hold of his forehead and chest as sweat ran down his tan skin tone. His grin showed the way his teeth sparkle even in the darkness of the room. Namjoon is pulchritudinous and you are under his spell, “I would need to actually have you inside me to make that deduction.”

“I-I didn’t bring protection,” he let out in-between pants.

“I mean I’m clean. Are you?”

He nodded eagerly. But that didn’t suffice. You wanted to hear his raspy voice as confirmation. You tightened your hold on his erection just a bit, “I didn’t hear you.”

His jaw was clenched but still managed a soft, “I’m clean.”

“Perfect.”

Joon welcomed you back on his lap now accompanying him in complete nudity after you had finally decided to rid yourself of the clothes still covering your lower half. His keen gaze felt like it cut right through your confidence like a knife. And although it was a bit intimidating you didn’t let it set a stumble in your actions. His hand landed back on your waist like earlier that night and he guided you towards the tip of his erection.

“Hold it while you go down.”

You complied. Taking him inch-by-inch, your mouth forming into an ‘O’ immediately after his tip pushed past your entrance.

“Y-you’re so fucking big,” you could’ve sworn his length was sucking the air right out of you like a vacuum.

If you thought Namjoon’s thighs and fingers are graces sent by God himself, there was absolutely nothing in this world that could compare to his cock. There was nothing in this world that could feel so—

“J-Joon,” you moaned, attempting to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure driven by the guidance of his clammy hands as you bounced on his dick.

“You feel so good, doll. You’re doing so well.”

His praises you discovered are your weakness — his words were dipped in honey and they fed your ears affirmations you could not get enough of. Your head grew hazy at the duality in his words.

That alone drove you closer and closer to the edge. Not to mention the way his thrusts met yours was a sufficient contribution to your demise — you are about to crumble at the mercy of Kim Namjoon’s massive dick.

“R-right there,” your temples glisten with sweat and you could feel the scratchiness in your throat take flight after the past hour you’ve just had, “don’t— please don’t stop.”

“Mhm. .” His thrusts are harder. Deeper. You could feel the way he continued meeting you right where you needed him most. His eyes never lose contact where your bodies meet comforted in the way he disappears inside of you entirely.

And he continued fucking you so good. Fucking you into oblivion.

The silence that once tip-toed around the both of you was gone never to be seen again. Instead it was replaced by the squeaking of the chair (which you continued to pray it wouldn’t break), Namjoon’s groans and your slurred obscenities. It was like that for a while until your legs began to shake and your moans became too loud to suppress. Until your juices coated his cock and his filled you up.

“The Swing-” he managed after catching his breath, “Jean-Honoré Fragonard, 1767. It symbolizes the ideas of infidelity, desire, eroticism and love. The guy on the bottom left is peeking up her dress right?”

“Huh?”

“The next one on the list for our project.”

You stared at him wide-eyed, a bit stunned by the realization, “You knew the information this entire time?”

“I had to get your attention somehow right,” he snickered.

“I hate you, Kim Namjoon,” you laughed playfully, landing a punch on his arm.

“After tonight, I think we both know that is simply not true.”

authour’s note: it took me forever to finish this for a lot of reasons but the main being that thisismyfirstsmutandiwassupernervoustopost so lol sorry if its — bad — i do apologize in advance. I tried and am using it as a way to break out of that shell and explore uncharted grounds. either way i hope some of you enjoy it lol

thank you for reading <3

- em

#kim namjoon #bts rm #bts #namjoon drabble #namjoon smut #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #joon smut #rm smut #bts au masterlist #bts college au #bts drabble #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #bts x reader #bts angst #poc kpop #em stories

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upat4amwiththemoon · 1 year

Note

helloo! could you write high school wandanat x reader where they’re enemies to lovers? wandanat are already a couple. wandanat and r are part of different friend groups in school, and there’s a lot of tension between the two groups, maybe because of a past event. wandanat and r have a class together and are put in a group, forcing them to work together and spend time with each other. eventually the 3 start to become friends, and end up falling for each other

Group project

Summary: Proximity warms hearts.

Pairing: WandaNat x female!reader

Warnings: everyone is a bit mean, cursing, a bit steamy in the end I suppose

Word count: 3186

a/n: I’m sorry I’m not very good at writing enemies to lovers, so I don’t really know what this is

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore

“Why are they staring at us?” Kate mumbles as she shoves food into her mouth. “They are like, obsessed or something.”

Y/N glances to the direction Kate is staring at. It’s the popular table. No one really understands what their deal is, they just don’t like people who aren’t part of their group. No one knows if they just think they’re better than everyone or if something happened. But at the end of the day, pretty much all the groups are like that.

“I don’t know.” Y/N shrugs, turning back to her lunch. “You look kinda obsessed with them right now.”

Kate looks at Y/N with her mouth open and brows raised. “I am not.”

“Okay.” Y/N mumbles with a slight smile.

“I am not!”

Taking a bite out of her food, Y/N nods slowly, not looking at Kate, but still knowing what kind of look she has in her face. “I heard you.”

Kate humphs, annoyed by the grin on Y/N’s face. She stabs her food and eats as angrily as she can, just to show Y/N the level of annoyance she is at. However, all this just amuses her even more.

“So, you’ll be doing the project with me that Ms Harkness said we’ll do, right?”

“I don’t know anymore.” Kate shrugs. “Maybe I’ll do it with Yelena.”

“Oh, come on. You hate doing school work with Yelena.”

“The only thing she does is slack off.” Dropping her fork to the empty plate, Kate turns to look at Y/N. “I’m doing it with you.”

“Listen up, students!” Ms Harkness claps her hands, quietening down the classroom. “We are trying something different today. I’m going to assign your project’s groups.” The whole class starts groaning and whining, all of them having made plans with their friends already. “I know, I know. This is the ends of the world for you. Anyways,” she takes out a list, “I have the groups written here, so listen closely.”

As Ms Harkness lists off the groups, the students start moving into said groups. The more time goes on without her saying Y/N or Kate’s name, they get excited as the possibility of them being in the same group grows every second.

“Next group. Kate Bishop…” Kate and Y/N’s ears perk up, both waiting anxiously for the latter’s name to appear. “Yelena Belova and Gwen Stacy.”

The two deflate, sending each other disappointed looks before Kate moves from the desk next to Y/N. She looks around the classroom, trying to see which students are still without a group. When she notices everyone but two people with their own groups, her eyes widen.

“And last but not least, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff and Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Shit.” She whispers to herself. With her luck, of course she gets paired up with the couple. Y/N sees them sitting on the dow in front of her, unmoving, so she grabs her bag and makes her way over to them.

She moves a desk bit closer to them, but far enough so it doesn’t touch either of their desks, and sits down. “Now that all of you have your groups, pick a subject and start working on the project. We’ll be doing it this whole class, but after that it’s a thing you have to do on your own time.” Everyone starts groaning again. “I know, I’m horrible. Start working.”

Before Y/N can even think about saying something, Wanda opens her mouth. “We already decided the topic to be how AI was doomed from the start, because they learn from biased people.”

“Okay.” Y/N mumbles. “Uhm, what should I do?”

Natasha shrugs, opening her laptop. “Just look some info on AI. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Nodding silently, Y/N opens her laptop and starts searching any kind of information on AI and its future. She stays quiet the whole class, not finding any openings in Natasha and Wanda’s conversation.

When the class ends, Y/N’s mood is on the floor. She is not feeling good about the project. “We’re going to our dorm after school ends to work on the project, so see you there, I guess.” Wanda says as she puts her things in her bag.

“Where is your dorm?”

Natasha sighs. “Building B, fourth floor, dorm number 405.” She tells in a quick manner, leaving immediately after.

Y/N looks after them with a dumbfounded look until Kate comes up behind her, wrapping her arms around her neck. “How’d it go?”

“Awful.”

Yelena walks to them, laughing mockingly at Y/N’s misfortune. “Our project is going great.”

“That’s because you didn’t do anything.” Kate frowns, letting go of Y/N’s neck only to lock their arms together. “Me and Gwen did all the work so far. Your contribution was whining.”

Yelena shrugs, following the two as they start walking to their next class. The three are tight together, though out of the two Kate and Y/N are clearly like sisters, because while Yelena has other friends, the pair have stuck together their whole life.

Y/N giggles quietly at their squabbling. They never seemed to agree on anything, but that was just their way of showing that they care about each other.

“Well, at least I don’t have Yelena on my group.”

Scoffing, Yelena punches Y/N’s side lightly.

Standing in front of the dorm room 405, Y/N takes a deep breath. She’s holding one of her fists up in the air, ready to knock. Music can be heard through the door. Wanda and Natasha are already there.

She knocks.

The music quietens down and Wanda opens the door. She says nothing when she sees Y/N, only widens the gap so she can step inside.

“Hi.” Y/N mumbles, almost too quiet for the two to hear. She looks around the room. The two single beds have been pushed together to form one big bed to the left side. There’s a bookcase on the end of it and two desks against the opposite wall.

The floor is neat, it only has a rug on it, but the walls are full of decorations. There’s pictures of people from the school and celebrities, posters of different movies and artists, even some vinyls are pinned to them.

Y/N clears her throat as Wanda goes back to sitting by the desk, right next to Natasha. “Cool room.”

Natasha nods in acknowledgment. Wanda did most of the decorating, but she likes it too. “We don’t have any more chairs, so, like sit on the floor or something.”

Too tired to fight against it, Y/N sits on the floor and takes out her things. “Me and Nat already started on our slides, we thought it’d be best to just do them individually.”

“Okay.”

And so, they start working on the project. Like during the class, Wanda and Natasha discuss points together, while Y/N stays quiet and does her own thing. It’s uncomfortable, but she’s not about to start a conversation with the two.

It goes like this for the next three meetings.

Y/N’s head is laying on the cafeteria table. She’s not feeling too good and the loud conversation going on isn’t helping at all. “Shut up.” The words come out more quiet than she wanted to.

Someone’s hand goes to her neck. “You’re really hot.” Kate frowns.

“Thanks.”

Kate groans and Yelena laughs. With a roll of her eyes, Kate ignores the comment. “I’m serious. Should you even be in school right now?”

“I can’t miss anything, plus I have to go work on the project today.”

“Can’t you skip this one time? I’m sure they won’t mind.” Kate’s hand goes to lay on Y/N’s back, rubbing it softly to bring some comfort.

Y/N scoffs. “Have you seen how they look at me? They’d kill me if I didn’t show up.”

“Well,” Kate cringes, “yeah. Probably.”

“Why do you care?” Yelena speaks up. “You’re a hard worker. You deserve a break, especially when you’re sick.”

“I don’t have time to be sick. Gotta keep my grades high.”

Yelena shakes her head. “You’re crazy.” She mumbles, going back to her lunch.

Once again, Y/N is knocking on Wanda and Natasha’s door. Her nose is stuffed and there’s loud bounding in her head, but she tries her best to ignore it.

Natasha opens the door and lets her in before going back to her seat. It’s the same as it has always been, Natasha and Wanda sitting beside their desks, while Y/N is on the floor.

Y/N isn’t sure if time is moving fast or slow, or if it’s moving at all. She feels like she has been writing forever, but the small clock on the bottom of her laptop screen hasn’t moved in ages. The conversation going on between Natasha and Wanda is muffled. It sounds like they’re much further away than they truly are.

She has been breathing through her mouth for some time, as her nose isn’t letting any air through. Leaning her head against her open palm, Y/N closes her eyes, just for a moment.

“Y/N?” Someone is shaking her shoulder. They’re doing it gently, but to Y/N it feels like her whole body is going through turmoil. “Did you fall asleep?”

Opening her eyes, Y/N sees Wanda in front of her. “Uhm,” she looks around the surroundings, catching up her brain on what’s going on, “no?” She mumbles.

Natasha furrows her brows together. She’s still sitting on her chair, but her attention is fully on Y/N. “Are you okay?”

“I am, yes, sorry.” Lifting up her head, Y/N shakes it to wake herself up. “Sorry.”

The back of Wanda’s hand goes to lay on Y/N’s forehead. It should be surprising, but her brain is too foggy to register it. “I think she’s sick.” Wanda turns to look at Natasha, talking to her rather than half awake Y/N. “Like really sick.”

“Do we have a thermostat?” Natasha mumbles, going to look for one in their bathroom. As she finds it, she brings it to Wanda and crouches down next to her.

Wanda presses on Y/N’s jaw to open her mouth and stick the thermostat under her tongue. Y/N grumbles at the feeling of it, but lets it be there.

When the thermostat beeps, Wanda takes it out, frowning at the number on it. “She has a fever.”

“I’m fine, you guys.” Y/N rubs her forehead, hoping it’ll lessen some of the pressure. “Lets keep working on the project.”

“No.” Natasha glances at the laptop screen, it’s showing the project’s slide show. “You have spelled every other word incorrectly.”

Humming, Y/N squints her eyes to look at the small words on the screen. She frowns as the words don’t come any clearer, realizing she must be sicker than she thought.

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Where are your friends?”

“Kate and Yelena are working on their project in the library in town, I think.” Y/N starts coughing. It racks up her whole body and hurts her throat. She misses the way Natasha and Wanda look at each other.

Wanda helps Y/N up while Natasha cleans up her things. She brings her to their bed, moving the cover so she’s laying under it. “Go to sleep.” She mumbles.

Natasha and Wanda stay by the bed next to Y/N until evening, when Kate comes knocking on their door, worried when Y/N still hasn’t come back to their dorm.

Over a week goes by, during which Y/N heals properly and starts working on the project again. However, after being sick, Natasha and Wanda have started to sit on the floor with Y/N, and even engage in conversations with her.

Now that her mind wasn’t so foggy, she started to notice the little things. Sometimes the couple looked at each other with a certain look when they were with her, it wasn’t bad, so to say, but Y/N doesn’t know what it is. And sometimes their eyes linger on her just a bit too long for it to be considered normal.

Although, all these things make her wonder what it all means, she ignores it all. Or at least tries to.

“Hey, Y/N.” Wanda’s hand sets on Y/N’s shoulder

Kate’s eyes are wide as she watches Y/N turn to Wanda and Natasha. “Yup?” It feels weird to have someone like Wanda touch her, still, she puts on her best smile and tries not to reveal how tense she is.

“We though we should finish the project today, so we can have the weekend free. Is that okay?”

It’s the first time they ask her opinion on their plans.

“Sure.”

Natasha smiles, grabbing Wanda’s hand. “Great, see you later.” The two walk away.

Kate stares at Y/N with an open mouth. She leans closer to her to whisper yell. “They totally have the hots for you!” She laughs quietly, so the other people in the library wouldn’t hear her.

“What?” Y/N’s brows scrunch together as her whole face turns into a grimace. “No they don’t! Are you crazy?”

“Oh, come on. Did you not see they way they were looking at you?” Kate gasps, looking at the book she is currently in the middle of. “This is the perfect lesbian, enemies to lovers story!”

“No, Kate, I’m not in one of your spicy sapphic books.”

Kate raises her brows, glancing at the cover of her book. “You could be.” She mumbles with a shrug. She is pretty sure Y/N looks just like one of the main characters on the book cover, but she denies it every time. Glancing at the clock, she grins. “You better go get ready to go to their dorm and have hot, hot sex with them.” Kate whispers the last part of the sentence.

Y/N stands up with a huff. “I am not going to have hot sex with them!” She says it just a bit too loudly, making someone on the next table turn to look at them. “I’m not having sex with anyone!” Grabbing her bag, Y/N walks out of the library while Kate giggles after her.

Natasha opens the door with a small grin. “Come on in.” Y/N smiles and steps in, sitting to the floor where Wanda is already. She takes out her laptop, getting it ready for working. Natasha sits right next to her, which makes Y/N freeze momentarily.

“Do you usually work even when you’re sick?” Wanda asks suddenly. They haven’t really discussed what happened that day yet, not that Y/N really wanted to talk about it. She’s still mortified that happened. She nods quietly, making Wanda frown. “You really shouldn’t.”

Y/N shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“No.” Wanda says quite assertively. “Don’t do it again.”

“Oh, okay..” Y/N doesn’t know why Wanda is being so…worried, she also doesn’t know why she is agreeing with her. She misses the shared smirk between Wanda and Natasha, turning to her work instead, so she could escape the overwhelming feeling.

They start working on the project, only having two slides left to do. They swap ideas and talk through their points. Y/N actually feels good with them. They’re nice now that they are including her.

It only takes them thirty minutes to finish the project, mostly because Natasha and Wanda hurried it for some reason.

“So,” Wanda starts as they pack away their things, “do you want to stay here for a while?”

Tilting her head, Y/N closes her bag. “Do you want me to stay?” Her question comes out very doubtful.

“Of course, детка.” Natasha’s voice is right by her ear, it makes Y/N shiver. “Why are you so nervous?” She can hear the teasing tone behind her words. Natasha’s hand goes to Y/N’s back, just staying there innocently, though it feels anything but.

Before she can answer, Wanda moves closer to put her hand on Y/N’s bare knee. “You don’t have to be nervous with us, you know that, right?” Her thumb rubs it lightly, happy that Y/N decided to wear a short skirt today.

“Right.” Mumbling, Y/N stares at the hand on her knee intensely. The touch makes her skin feel hot and tingly.

Wanda’s hand travel up to her hip, while Natasha’s goes under Y/N’s shirt. Natasha’s cold hand makes her gasp quietly.

“Can I kiss you?” Wanda’s voice is breathy and sultry.

“I guess.” Y/N’s voice is quiet and anxious, her mind is going everywhere at once and she still isn’t 100% sure if this all is actually happening.

Tutting, Wanda shakes her head. “It’s a yes or no question, sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

Wanda grins. “Good girl.” Her hand goes to Y/N’s neck, pulling her closer to kiss her. It’s soft, but still dominant on Wanda’s side. Natasha starts nipping Y/N neck gently, now moving both of her hands up her shirt.

“Holy shit.” Y/N mumbles when Wanda’s mouth moves from her lips down to her collarbone.

Seeing the opening, Natasha combs her fingers through her hair, gripping it and pulling her head back. She smirks at Y/N’s expression before taking her turn in kissing her. Natasha’s lips are more rough, but it still feels out of this world.

When Natasha pulls away, one of her hands go to rest on Y/N’s throat, while the other wraps around her waist and pulls her close, so Y/N’s back is against her chest.

“Fuck.” Natasha grumbles. “You are so hot.”

All the attention on her is making Y/N feel extremely warm. Her breathing is ragged as Wanda’s hands go under her shirt and up her chest. “We like to be a bit rough, but you don’t mind that, do you?” Wanda looks at Y/N with a grin, holding eye contact with her.

“I don’t mind.”

“Good.” With that, Wanda rips Y/N’s shirt open.

“You had hot sex with them!” Kate squeals right as Y/N steps inside their dorm. “I knew it.” Y/N shushes her, slamming the door closed so no one in the hallway could hear her. “I can’t even be mad at them anymore. Are you like, theirs now?”

“I’m no ones.”

Kate stares at the hickeys littered all over Y/N’s neck and the hoodie, that definitely isn’t hers. “They definitely think you are.” She can’t even keep her giggles in as Y/N shuffles over to her bed, tired by what happened. “They really did a number on you.”

With a loud groan, Y/N throws her pillow blindly towards Kate, who dodges it easily.

“I can’t wait to tell Yelena.”

“Don’t you dare!” But it’s no use, Kate is already out the door.

Y/N sighs, laying her head to the, now pillow-less, mattress. Closing her eyes, she lets a giddy smile come over her face.

She’s definitely theirs now.

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graceshouldwrite · 10 months

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4 Ways to Get Back Into Your WIP

You know when you might have taken a long break, worked on other projects, talked to other people about it, and basically did EVERYTHING to get yourself back into it, but it’s not working?

Even though you still want to LIKE your WIP and work on it?

These tips are based on my own experience dealing with that feeling. I went through something like that for around a year, but now, I’m getting past it and returning to my main WIP more excited than I’ve been for a long time!

1. List out WHAT you don’t like and fix it

COMMON CORE ISSUES:

Plot + Subplots?

They might seem too (among other things):

lackluster

complex

unnecessary

confusing

You might not know how to:

develop the plots

make them believable

add the scenes you want without giving the book 800+ pages

choose scenes to cut to fit the word count goal...

Characters?

A BIG ONE: some writers try to force themselves to like X character for whatever reason (e.g. based them on a specific aesthetic, felt forced to add specific rep, etc), but they just DON’T.

Or, maybe:

you don’t know how to develop your characters

their group dynamic is too difficult to write/doesn’t make a lot of sense

your character voices, personalities, or appearances might not be distinct enough

Prose?

You might:

want to add more humour (prose is too depressing and atmospherically dark)

want to add more gravity (prose is too comedic and romantic)

want to shift from past to present tense, want to tell story from another POV, etc.

Organization?

OFTEN, the book’s just TOO COMPLEX with all the characters, subplots, etc. and it’s too intimidating to try to sort out all the mess that’s your WIP

SO…

The lists I gave you are most of the big, common issues. Once they’re sorted into SPECIFIC types of problems, don’t they get less intimidating to look at?

I know you might think, gee, Grace, these problems will take [insert comically large time frame] to solve.

Well, if you genuinely want to like your project again and work on it, DO IT.

Slowing down your WIP finish date is worth it if it helps you get back into it. If you never get back into the project, you’ll NEVER FINISH IT. Late > never.

Heck, you might not even be too late—you might find yourself back in the passionate fever you were when you started it, and be in the headspace to write furiously :)

I think you know how to solve these broken-down problems. Some require more sheer line-editing, while others require big executive decisions (e.g. getting rid of a character or rewriting an entire subplot/the plot). But, it will be worth it when you start to love your project again.

2. Remember why you started it

Before each project, write a STATEMENT OF PURPOSE at the beginning of your doc to remind you why you’re writing this story in the first place. If you didn’t do this, it’s not too late to start one now!

It could be something as close to heart as “I want to express how unrequited love feels,” or something as grand as like “I want to write a tragic allegory of the political and economic state of the world that explores human nature” (I am projecting in both of these examples, but you get it).

Something SPECIFIC is a lot better for this than things like: “I told X this story idea and they liked it,” or “I promised to write this for X,” or “I want to tell this story just cuz.” These latter examples probably won’t fill you with passion.

3. Listen BEYOND your WIP playlists. Look at images BEYOND your WIP aesthetics

Many people think revisiting your old playlists / boards help, but that often contributes to the staleness!!!!

Instead, by purposefully expanding your scope of consumed media, you open yourself up to more inspiration and ideas of where you want to take your project. New images and new songs will give you new ideas on atmosphere, mood, scenes, and so much more.

4. Compare your WIP to a similar book you like

You know THAT BOOK that comes to mind whenever someone asks you which book is your favourite/impacted you deeply? Think of how your book will impact readers in the same way. All the emotional turmoil and mental enlightenment That Book gave you is what YOU will give to the readers who resonate with YOUR book one day!

The author of the book you’re thinking about went through drafts, edits, and maybe even wanted to give up at some point, (LIKE YOU!) but pushed through it. Now, their book is on the bestseller list/on a bookshelf/a classic (whatever appeals to you)! Don’t stop before YOUR book is there, too.

∘₊✧────── ☾☼☽ ──────✧₊∘

instagram: @ grace_should_write

A LOT of this comes from personal experience; I had this mental tussle with my main WIP a while back, so I hope this helps anyone else dealing with the same problem :)

Hope this was helpful, and let me know if you have any questions by commenting, re-blogging, or DMing me on IG. Any and all engagement is appreciated <3333

Happy writing, and have a great day!

- grace <3

#writers on tumblr #writing #writing tips #booktok #writer #writeblr #novel #writerslife #writergram #wattpad #creating characters #wip #ya fantasy #plot holes #characters #writing ideas #writing a book

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cloudcountry · 10 months

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SUMMARY: You realize how much Trey Clover has helped you while brushing your teeth.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bad self care (not eating, not drinking), Reader is very depression-coded.

COMMENTS: hi you guys might think i'm stupid for this but that's TOO BAD!!! i am projecting myself onto mc so hard right now because this is personal.

trey clover is literally the reason i take care of my teeth even though i never had the energy for it before. he's the reason i brush my teeth twice a day because he was my first twst obsession (although it wasnt romantic ^^") and i was like "hey wouldn't it be silly if i took care of myself?"

cue me months later actually falling into a routine of taking care of my teeth. he pioneered my self care journey and its so STUPID because he isn't even REAL but i cannot thank this fictional man enough. he got me out of bed when i felt like i couldn't get up.

It hits you like a ton of bricks as you’re brushing your teeth in Heartslabyul’s bathrooms.

The toothbrush in your hand suddenly feels a lot heavier, the minty taste of toothpaste in your mouth shocking you out of the hazy sleepiness you’d been enveloped in. You look up from the point where the mirror meets the sink and stare at your reflection, bubbly white foam lining your mouth and eyes wide.

When did this start?

You didn’t use to care for yourself like this. There were days when you would go without eating for long periods of time, days when you wouldn’t drink any water. There were times when your body screamed for you to stop, to sleep, and you didn’t listen. There were times when you knew you needed to talk to someone but kept it all in.

There were days when you couldn’t even do something as simple as brushing your teeth twice a day.

And now you were.

You had been brushing your teeth twice a day for weeks now. You were even flossing. You grip the edge of the sink and try to hold back the rush of emotions that floods you, creeping up your throat like you’re going to be sick. Great Seven, it shouldn’t have been this big of a deal. It was so small, so stupid and insignificant but it was so confusing.

“Hey, sweetcakes? What’s wrong?”

You barely register the bathroom door closing behind you and the sleepy green-haired boy that comes up behind you, resting his hands on your arms. You shake your head and clean down, spitting out the toothpaste in your mouth and wiping away the excess around your lips.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just thinking.” you mumble, washing off your toothbrush.

“What were you thinking about?” he murmurs, resting his chin on you, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but it looked serious.”

“I...I don’t take good care of myself. I never have. But lately I’ve been trying and I didn’t even know it. I used to barely have the energy to brush my teeth once and now I’m doing it twice a day, every day, and sometimes I even floss and I didn’t even know I was doing it? It used to be so hard before, but now it’s like second nature.”

Trey laughs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“That’s a good thing, honey. That’s very good.” he says, and his voice is gravelly with sleep and it makes your heart flutter because he’s proud, he’s proud of you for doing something you should have been doing anyway because he knows it's hard for you and—

“It’s gross. I’m gross.” you huff, gripping the toothbrush tighter, “Don’t you ever get tired of it? Taking care of me? I know I’m hard to work with and it must be even more work for you.”

“Honey, look at me.” Trey demands softly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him in the mirror, “You are not gross. You’ve made a lot of progress and you’re taking such good care of yourself. You’ve told me before how hard it is and I’ve seen it firsthand. I do it because I love you. You’ve never forced me to be here.”

Fuck. Your eyes are starting to burn and there’s a lump in your throat and you have to force yourself to look away from those warm eyes or else you’ll burst into tears right here. Trey understands, and he makes no move to get your attention again. He allows you to collect yourself, doesn’t comment on your soft sniffles, and keeps holding you.

“It’s because of you.” you whisper, furiously wiping your eyes, “I’m only doing these things because of you. You—”

“Now, don’t say that. If you didn’t even realize you were doing it, how could it have been because of me?” he asks, holding you impossibly closer, “Trust me, love. I’m happy to have helped you along, but you can’t credit me for your hard work. And even if you don't feel like it, someday you’ll do these things for yourself, I know it.”

Your eyes are glassy as he turns your tired body around, and you offer no resistance when you’re pulled into his chest. Slowly, you lift your arms, and your hands cling to the material of his pajama shirt as you softly cry into him.

“It’ll be okay, love. I’m so proud of you.” he murmurs, kissing your forehead, “I’m so, so proud.”

#UNEDITED BECAUSE I AM EXCITED #SHUT UP!!!!! SHUT UP OMG #auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disneys twisted wonderland #disney twst x reader #disney twst #trey clover x reader #trey clover #trey x reader #trey clover angst #trey angst

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queen-haq · 9 months

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Fic: Grudgingly Yours (Part 6)

Summary: You are a general surgeon, working in a hospital that’s slowly sucking the life out of you when one day you’re given the offer of a lifetime.

A.K.A - An arranged marriage fic :)

Pairing: Billy Russo x You

Rating: R

Masterlist (contains links to my other stories and this one)

PART 6

You were sitting at your desk in the home office you made for yourself, focused on projections for the urgent care when a knock on the door interrupted your focus. Billy walked in with his usual arrogant gait, his gaze locked on you.

“You look busy,” he drawled, coming over to where you were sitting. Standing beside you, he leaned back on the desk, casually flipping through the excel printouts you’d been reviewing.

“I am busy.” You grabbed the sheets from his hand and placed them back on the desk. “What do you want?”

“What’s all this stuff?”

“Work.”

“Didn’t you cash me in as a golden ticket? Thought that meant you never had to work again.”

“I used you to quit the hospital, not my entire career.”

“Could’ve just switched jobs instead of dragging me into your mess.”

“Then I’d be working for another soul-sucking board of assholes.” You sighed with resignation. There was so much to be done and it felt like time was running out. Part of the reason you’d agreed to Alistair’s plans wasn’t just for financial gain, but also to have access to his wealthy contacts who could be of use when it came to permits and donations. Unfortunately Alistair was still mad and you were drowning in bureaucratic red tape. “At this rate, that’ll happen anyway.”

“What are you trying to get done?”

“Like you give a shit.”

“I don’t. I’m just killing time.” He cocked his eyebrow. “So tell me.”

Sitting back in your chair, you cast a wary glance at the task list on your laptop screen. “Build a clinic in my old neighbourhood.” Dejected, you bit the inside of your cheek. “But that’s gonna be a lot tougher than I thought.”

“Why? Not enough funding?”

“Permit issues. I was hoping Alistair would help with that-

“But he’s pissed.” Billy tipped his head to the side. “And he’s a vengeful old prick.”

“Now you tell me.”

“I know people who can help.”

Surprised, you returned your attention back to him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Same family friends, remember?”

“How could I forget,” you muttered, angling forward. “But why would you help me? What’s in it for you?”

A small smile played across his lips. “Maybe I’m doing it out of the goodness of my heart.”

“You don’t have one. So what do you want?”

The smile transitioned into a fully amused smirk. “There’ s a wedding I have to attend. A good friend of mine. As much as I want to keep this shit between us a secret, he found out about you.”

“Aw, he wants to meet your wife.”

“Something like that.”

Laughing, you stood up. “Will we need to hold hands? Kiss? Pretend we’re newlyweds madly in love?” Looping your arms around his neck, you taunted in a sing-song voice. “Is this a ploy to get me to fall in love with you?”

“You’ve watched too many romcoms.” Despite his grumbling tone, his eyes twinkled with delight. “None of that shit is gonna happen, no matter how badly you want it.” He unlocked your arms from around him but didn’t let go of your hands. “You help me out, I’ll help you out. We have a deal?”

“How do I know you’ll hold up your end?”

There was that perfectly arched eyebrow again, questioning you. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not even a little bit.”

He squeezed your hands, the heat from his touch pulsing through you. “I should be the one doubting you. You tried to seduce me in my sleep.”

“Still telling yourself that lie? You know it’s bullshit.”You tried to back away but his grasp on you remained firm, pulling you closer. You wanted to kick yourself. Yeah you liked toying with him, it was fun seeing him get all worked up, but recently he stopped responding in anger and started pushing your buttons instead, and you didn’t like it. Not when the deep, dark pools of his eyes fixated on you, as if he was trying to absorb all your thoughts and feelings and secrets, and his proximity played havoc with your thoughts.

“Hate to ruin your fantasies, sweetheart, but we’ll be getting separate rooms at the hotel. I don’t want you attacking me again.”

You gave him a forced smile. “Fuck off, Billy.”

He laughed, finally releasing his hold on you. “And when we come back, I’ll introduce you to my contacts.”

“You better.” Needing distance from him, you exited the office and headed to the kitchen to grab a drink. Unfortunately, he followed suit. You did your best to ignore him but it was hard to do that when his gaze followed your every move. “Your friends know the real reason we got married?”

“You mean did I tell them you’re a golddigger?” he remarked dryly, grabbing some pretzels from a jar, and throwing them back in his mouth one by one. “Obviously not. Don’t want to look like a chump.”

“Great,” you groused. “That means I have to be nice to you.”

“Yes, sweetheart. It does.”

“Your friends are gonna be assholes too, aren’t they?”

“Curtis and I served together.”

Shit. Now you felt like an asshole since you’d assumed they were his high society friends.

“He’s saved my ass a few times over the years. I’ve saved his. Now he’s getting married and wants me to be his groomsmen.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“This weekend. In California.”

“Why so soon?”

“I didn’t ask.”

You scowled at him. “I thought you guys were friends?”

“Doesn’t mean we share every fucking detail about our lives. He asked me to be there, so I’m going. Not gonna fucking interrogate the man about it.”

Men, you huffed to yourself. Taking a sip of your drink, you watched as he languidly munched on the pretzels. By now you should have gotten used to his lingering stare but it still caught you by surprise when you found yourself scrutinized by him. These days he was checking you out more and more, and each time it left you unsettled. You contemplated calling him out on it, but with Billy being Billy, he’d probably claim you were being delusional.

Billy slid the pretzel jar back on the island before moving to the sink to wash his hands. Drying them, he sauntered over to where you stood, smoothly reaching over to grab the drink from your hand.

“Hey!”

A mischievous smile curved his lips as he took a sip of your drink. “Whole event’s gonna take place over a few days. Bachelor party on Thursday-”

“-Guessing I’m not invited to that?”

“Rehearsal dinner on Friday. Wedding on Saturday.”

“I have an important meeting this Friday.”

“Fly out after. We can meet up there.”

“Hope your friends are not boring, Billy.”

“You can always get them drunk and get ammunition on me.”

You rubbed your hands together with glee. “Oooh, there’s an idea.”

“And I’ll do the same with your friends next time I see them.”

“Absolutely not. Never gonna happen.”

He booped your nose, moving closer. “It’s only fair, don’t you think? You meet mine, I meet yours.”

It dawned on you how intimate the whole encounter was. The two of you teasing each other, being flirty, like an actual couple. And you liked it. You liked this side of him. The realization was unnerving, leaving you feeling suddenly awkward. “I have to get back to work,” you said, feigning a relaxed pose as you quickly put some distance between the two you.

“You alright?” he asked from behind.

You didn’t answer.

***

You swiped the card and entered the hotel room. Immediately the stunning view of the lush green rolling hills caught your attention. The room wasn’t big; however it was exquisitely designed with bespoke furniture and a Bohemian aesthetic. After unpacking your luggage, you hopped into the shower and got ready for the rehearsal dinner. Your outfit for the night was a chocolate brown cocktail dress that fit you well, with simple jewelry, latte makeup and red lipstick. Gold sandals with midsized heels provided the finishing touches for the look that left you feeling sexy and beautiful. No doubt Billy wouldn’t appreciate the effort but maybe there’d be other hotties in attendance. Hooking up was out of the question but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the view.

You followed the signs to the restaurant venue, drawing closer to sounds of laughter. Nervousness flitted through you as you walked in, taking in the group of strangers mulling around. You didn’t know these people, and they were bound to judge you as soon as they found out you were married to Billy – it was painfully obvious you weren’t the type of woman he would ever choose.

Taking a deep breath, you gave yourself a mental shake and a pep talk.

So what if others thought Billy was too good for you? It didn’t matter. It’s not like you had feelings for him or anything, so their opinion didn’t matter. You were here just to put on a show so he’d do you a favour. That’s all. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for Billy, when you were approached by a tall, black hottie.

“Hey.”

You flashed him a smile. “Hi.”

“You looking for someone?”

“I’m here for Curtis and Jessica’s rehearsal dinner?”

“You’re in the right place. I’m Omar, Curtis’s cousin. You must be one of Jessica’s friends?” He asked, reaching out to grasp your hand.

Oh, the man had game, with his gorgeous smile and the subtle way his eyes trailed down your body. “I’m married to one of the groomsmen.”

“Too bad. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Me.” Billy seemed to come out of nowhere, sauntering past Omar to stand beside you.

He may have worn jeans for his own wedding but Billy had put in effort tonight, wearing a perfectly tailored maroon collared dress shirt and trousers. His hair was slicked back, his facial hair perfectly groomed. Everything about him screamed gorgeous.

“Omar, why you still holding my wife’s hand?” Billy demanded.

Immediately Omer eased his grip on you, pressing his palms together in an exaggerated show of apology. “Sorry brother, didn’t know she was yours. Just saw a beautiful woman, and I had to introduce myself.”

“I’m not his,” you emphasized. “I’m just married to him.”

Billy turned toward you. “So you do remember you’re married?”

“Kinda,” you smirked, centering your attention back on Omer. “Billy won’t introduce us, so I guess I’ll have to. I’m Y/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” Omer winked, casting Billy a mischievous look.

Immediately you stiffened, taking in his expression. Maybe to everyone else the smile on Billy’s face was teasing but you sensed his agitation right away. Something was wrong. You could practically see him crawling out of his skin. And he was no longer looking at you, instead his focus was directed at another woman across the restaurant. You felt an unexpected wave of jealousy hit you. He appeared to be completely enthralled by the attractive brunette, he couldn’t stop staring. And the spark of envy you felt turned into something much more fierce. “Who is she? An ex-girlfriend?”

Omer raised his eyebrow. “Dinah’s here already? Thought she was coming tomorrow.” His gaze followed both yours and Billy’s. “Oh, Maria.”

“Yeah, Maria.” Billy’s voice was brittle, a stony expression on his face.

You didn’t know what the hell was going on but you absolutely hated the seething rage that flooded over you. It was crazy and made no sense. You ran into many of the women he slept with over the past few months, but they didn’t arouse such strong emotions in you. Probably because he never looked at them the way he was looking at this one. “Gonna introduce me or what?”

Finally Billy shifted his gaze from her to you. Eyebrow furrowed, he stared at you blankly. “Fine. Let’s go.”

It’s like you no longer existed, you were simply baggage he had to carry around. He walked ahead of you, only stopping when he finally reached the brunette. Next to her was another man who bore a striking resemblance to Omar. Based on that similarity, you deduced it was Curtis.

Curtis and Maria both looked up at Billy, flashing him a smile. You observed the trio quietly, noting the absence of intensity on Maria’s face. Whatever Billy felt for that woman, she didn’t reciprocate.

“Billy,” Maria greeted him with a smile.

“How are you, Maria? You look great.”

You noted how deliberately he masked his reaction with the woman. Carefree, jovial, he was all smiles while he hugged her – yet you saw through the ruse. It was all an act; he was more tense than before.

“And this must be the woman who finally nailed down Billy Russo.” Curtis wrapped his arms around you in a big bear hug, surprising you. Unlike his cousin Omer, there was nothing flirtatious in his smile as he greeted you warmly. “Never thought the day would come.”

You returned his smile. “Me neither.”

“Should we be offended we weren’t invited?” Curtis asked.

“Curtis, stop teasing her.” Maria sent her a friendly glance, seemingly oblivious to the way Billy was still watching her. “Congratulations, Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You offered a small smile, casting Billy a quick glance. Did no one else notice how on edge he was? His anxiety was through the roof yet Curtis and Maria appeared oblivious to it. It was ridiculous that the false smile on Billy’s face had actually fooled them.

“How did you and Billy meet?” Curtis asked, poking Billy in the chest. “He won’t give us any details.”

“Same old story. His grandfather came to the hospital, I operated on him, and while Billy helped him recuperate the two of us fell in love.” It was the story they had both agreed on and seemed to do the trick.

Maria shot Billy a quizzical glance. “I thought you didn’t get along with him.”

“I don’t.”

“But now they’re best buddies,” you piped up.

“Really?” Curtis asked, taken aback.

“She’s just pulling your leg,” Billy replied dryly. “She does that a lot.”

Curtis laughed. “I can see why he likes you.”

For the first time since you walked in the veil of tension lifted from Billy’s face. An amused smile marked his lips. “May need you to remind me, brother. Sometimes she gets a little too mouthy.”

“Yeah, but you like that,” you retorted.

Curtis chuckled while Maria simply smiled. There was a sadness to her you hadn’t noticed before, and you wondered what she was thinking of. A quick peek at Billy’s uneasy face revealed he noticed it too.

“Maria, can we talk for a minute?” Billy asked. He glanced at you. “In private?”

Th jealousy from earlier returned with a swift vengeance but you kept your face devoid of any emotion as you turned your attention back to Curtis. “Why don’t we get a drink while these two talk?”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

You walked away with Curtis, trying not to let Billy’s close exchange with Maria bother you.

***

Later that night you were dressed in silk camisole and shorts, braiding your hair, when there was a knock on the hotel room door. You glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. You walked to the door and opened it a crack to see who was on the other side. Billy stood there, hair ruffled, eyes red, the first couple of buttons on his maroon shirt undone.

“Let me in?” he asked.

There was hesitancy in his voice, like he recognized this was an imposition. You contemplated telling him to get lost but couldn’t ignore the wild desperation in his eyes. You swung the door wider, allowing him to swagger past you, watching silently as he strode over to the mini-fridge and pulled out a few small bottles of liquor. “You’re paying for that, Billy.”

“Paying for the whole trip, sweetheart.”

You shrugged your shoulders, and sauntered over to the bed. Sitting down with your back against the headboard, you stretched out your legs and studied him as he finished a bottle. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird the entire night.”

He turned around to meet your gaze, watching you for the longest time. Finally he approached you, taking a seat on the mattress, next to your feet. “No one else noticed.”

“They don’t know your bitchy moods like I do.”

“Guess I can’t hide shit from you.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You’ve hidden plenty of things, Billy.”

He glanced down at your feet, making you feel self-conscious all of a sudden. “Your chubby toes are weird.”

“So are your demonic eyes,” you snapped.

This time a genuine smile curved his lips. “Weird but cute.”

His fingers pulled at your toes gently, and you started giggling at how ticklish his touch was. “Stop, Billy!” You smacked his hand lightly.

The smile on his face faded away, his eyes glued to your feet. He seemed to be caught in deep thought again, his mind somewhere else.

“The way you were looking at her, I thought Maria was an ex-girlfriend,” you said quietly.

Billy looked up to meet your eyes. “No, definitely not an ex.” Before he spoke again, he scooted forward, drawing closer to you. “She’s… was my best friend’s wife.”

“Curtis told me. Said you, him and Frank did multiple tours together.”

“He tell you Frank’s dead?”

You nodded your head. “What happened?”

“Frank and I got caught in enemy territory.”

Heavy silence followed, the air thick with tension.

“Held hostage for days.”

You didn’t know what to say, feeling queasy at the unimaginable horror he must have suffered. The cars and burn marks on his body flashed through your mind; you flinched instinctively.

“What?” he asked, meeting your eyes.

“Did they kill him?”

“Something like that.”

The darkness in his eyes made your heart ache. Whatever he lived through had been pure hell, but it was apparent from his lack of explanation he didn’t want to talk about it with you. Unsure of what to do, you started braiding the wavy strands that had come undone back into a braid again when Billy’s hand clamped over yours.

“Don’t,” he commanded, his fingers curling around your hair. “I like it down.”

He stared at your hair as if he was spellbound, his eyes vacillating between your face and strands, leaving you completely unsettled. The air rushed out of your lungs when he moved closer, his breath humming against your skin as he began to pull apart the braid and run his fingers through your hair.

“Don’t flirt with Omar tomorrow.”

The abrupt change in topic caught you by surprise. “I was being nice, not flirting.”

“That’s not what it looked like,” Billy murmured.

Despite the softness in his voice, you could hear the warning behind his words and it pissed you off. “So what? Who cares?” you fired back.

His eyes locked with yours, the intensity in them so potent you felt trapped. “I care.”

“Why?” You regarded him closely. “Jealous?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, babe. I just don’t want my friends to think my wife is a cheater.”

His refusal to admit the truth irritated you, especially considering how he reacted around Omer. “That’s all it is?”

“Yeah.” Billy’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his eyes affixed on your lips. He tugged you towards him, his pull gentle. The invisible connection between you and him was palpable, making your heart race in your chest, electricity jolting through you. Everything was moving at lightning speed yet time had slowed down. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing did.

“So if I told you he walked me to my room tonight and gave me his number, it wouldn’t bother you?” you prodded.

The glint in his eyes hardened, his jaw clenched. “Of course it would. I don’t want him to start asking why we’re not staying in the same room.”

“So nothing to do with you being jealous?”

“Nothing at all,” he drawled.

The magnetic hold he had over you dissipated instantly. You grew up under the stigma of rejection, your own father choosing to abandon you than claim you. And here was Billy, doing the same. There was no way in hell you were going to settle for someone treating you like that. Using every bit of resolve you possessed, you pulled away. “I want you to leave.”

“And risk having Omar find out the truth about us? I don’t think so.”

“Fine. Stay here but keep your distance.”

“You’re the one who crawled into my bed.”

“And you’re the one who almost kissed me just now.”

A cocky smile covered his face. “Wishful thinking on your part, sweetheart?” Like the arrogant jackass that he was, he moved away from the bed and strolled over to the bar. Pouring himself another drink, he leaned back against the furniture to face you. “Any other fantasies you have in mind?”

“This is so fucking pathetic. You don’t even have the guts to own up to what you want. Instead you hide behind mixed signals so you don’t have to risk anything. You’re a fucking coward, Billy.”

His eyes turned cold as ice.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #grudgingly yours

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tuliptic · 1 year

Text

Messages From The Divine

This Pick a Card/Pile is for you and me to hear the messages from the divine. Who wants to talk to you? What are the messages they bring?

Close your eyes, meditate on this topic and ask yourself the question. Breathe in and out, make sure your mind and heart is calm. Then, open your eyes to see which pile talks to you the most/draws you in the most. Once you’ve found your pile, scroll down to the respective parts to see what are the messages for you.

Piles go from left to right.

Disclaimer: This is solely for my entertainment purposes. Take only whatever you feel like it. If it doesn’t resonate, it means I’m not the reader for you and it’s okay to just drop it. Besides, I do not consent to my work or images being used by third partis on this platform or other websites as well.

Decks used: Luna Cat Tarot Deck (Major Arcana), Linestrider Tarot Deck, Sweet Dreams Oracle Deck, Starcodes Astro Oracle Deck

Pile 1

Message from the goddess Selene

My dear… -sighs- You’re strong, you’ve fought so hard for everything to be in place, you’ve fought for the world to be in your hands. What does that feel like? You realized that achievement isn’t everything, correct? You realized that you needed more strength to face more things that you used to love, right? I’m not saying you're wrong, I’m just… I just want you to be happier, to be more at peace with yourself.

You are starting a lot of new projects and you’re slowly draining yourself out. I’m worried about you. Starting one or two is still alright, but the more you start, the more you have to see through it until the end, and that’s slowly eating you up. What started as fun is starting to become a burden, a responsibility you’ll need to bear. Success will be coming your way, but please do not let it lose your sense of fun, please do not let it lose your sense of self.

-Sighs again- I see that you’ll be very busy from now on, with how many projects you’re having with you, and that things are going to be moving at a very fast pace, probably faster than you can catch up. When this happens, know that I’m here for you along with your higher self, and we’ll be communicating with you in your dreams to help you with whatever life has for you. You are divinely protected, especially by me. And as much as changes come, you just… Embrace them, no matter how fast they are, and you adapt.

As much as I worry for you, you seem pretty excited with all these movements. I believe they come as a pivotal change for you to transition into a new phase, into a new you. I am happy for you but I can’t stop worrying about how much you’re starting to put on you. Please remember to take care of yourself, alright? I’ll be here for you all the time, even when you can’t see me. Just look up in the night sky and tell me your happiness, your fears, your success, your worries. I’m listening. I’m here for you as your greatest supporter.

Pile 2

Message from the goddess Athena

How does it feel like? To finally regain the balance that you’ve always wanted? To finally accept the changes that came your way and make peace with it? You had so much fear, but you still managed to do it. Spectacularly, I’d say. You did a great job and I’m so, so proud of you for getting through those hard times.

Betrayals are such painful things to deal with, especially when it’s people you trust the most being sneaky and backstabbing you. However, fear not, my child. There’s always an end to a tunnel. Trust the process and keep running. Don’t let past disappointments stop you from having hope in this world. Continue giving, and you shall receive. Balance is what keeps the world moving, what keeps the world in a harmonious state. You give, and you shall receive. Even if it’s not now, it will, eventually. Believe that good karma will come back to you when you’re generous with what you have, including time and love.

You should also take some time for yourself, my child. Spend some time with me, meditate and think about where you want to go, what you want to achieve, what you want to let go, who you want to spend your energy on. It is a new phase, a new chance for your own growth, for you to challenge yourself to step outside of your comfort zone as you head towards illumination. You are a warrior, my child. You know that you’re the co-creator of your life and destiny, and you’re ready to take matters into your hands.

Whenever you feel tired or you need help, come to me. If you’re willing to receive help from me and the Universe, help shall fall upon you. Believe. Trust. Love. Live life to the fullest. I am with you.

Pile 3

Message from the goddess Demeter

My dear child, I’d love to give you a huge hug. Whatever time of perils shall be over soon. Fate is now smiling at you, and the Sun is coming out to give you a warm hug. Do not fear the Sun, for it gives out light and heat to the world, for it gives warmth to the soul. The Sun is always there for you, let its rays kiss your forehead and remind you that you are very much loved.

Whatever painful times, whatever heart-stabbing moments are coming to an end. The swords are falling out and you can finally let yourself be healed. Stop treating your pain like it’s something you imagined. If you see the wound is real, then you can heal it. Be kind to your wounds, spend time and tend to them gently. My dear, I know you tend to have an overly rational approach to your day to day problems, and over-rationalize a lot of things. But my lovely child, reason itself isn’t the answer to everything. Let yourself and your emotions run. Accept that it’s alright to be unreasonable, that it’s already a time for you to let yourself loose.

It may be very difficult right now, but trust that whatever that’s happening to you right now is intending to build you up to face the future stronger. You’ve been creating strong emotional connections with the important people in your life, haven’t you? Those people, they are here for you. They are always with you, physically or emotionally, and they are determined to bring you to wonderful places that are filled with wonder, delight and joy.

My beloved child, your family may have disappointed you at times, but you have to remember you’re never a disappointment in my eyes, in the eyes of the people who love you unconditionally. I’m here to nurture you, to bring you to a place where warmth and light resides, to let you be able to release that warmth and light to the people you care for as well. I’m here for you, always, and forever.

Thank you for reading until the end! Feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

#tuliptic #🌷#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #tarot #tarot reader #tarot readings #idk what to tag anymore #this is one that i had fun doing #and it was relatively easy and natural for me to do them #i feel like.... message channelling may really be my thing #idk #but eh #i had fun doing this #i hope yall have fun reading it too

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wambsgansshoelaces · 5 months

Text

Turmoil; Chapter 4

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I’m back on that grind guys. enjoy x

Word Count: 2.744k

“You’re fucking lucky Y/N was there,” Kendall says, struggling not to raise his voice. “You’re so fucking lucky your vote didn’t tip the scale.”

You’re back in Kendall’s office, you and him perched on his sofa while Roman is stood, leaning against the wall.

“I… I just couldn’t,” he says meekly.

“Then why’d we agree to a vote of no confidence?” you ask. “Roman, I get if your feelings are complicated about this, but you almost fucked us over.“

“Why am I doing this again?” he asks, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Kendall scoffs. “You need to think about what you want. Dad’s a horrible person doing horrible things. You can go run to him, but I’m staying here.”

“We go to Norway tomorrow. How about we just have a good time?” Roman suggests. “There’s nothing we- or he, for the matter, can do while we’re abroad. I need… I just need a break.” You roll your eyes and get to your feet.

“Whatever, Roman. I’ll see you at home.” You give Kendall an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder before going out and finding Greg in the bullpen.

“Oh, hello, Y/N.” He finishes whatever it is he was doing and turns in his chair to face you. “I could hear the… commotion from all the way over here. And I saw the police, and, uh, Kendall’s still alive, so…?”

“Yeah. It worked, surprisingly. They had to escort Logan out the conference room.” You drag a hand over your eyes. “Instead of dinner, want to go out for lunch? I like you, Greg, but my brain’s going to be fried by the time the work day’s over, and I don’t want to subject you to that.”

He smooths his dress pants at the knee before getting up. “Yeah, no, yeah, that’d be great.” He glances over your shoulder. “Uh, is he okay?”

You follow his gaze, peering into Kendall’s office to find Roman facing you both, watching intently with his hands folded behind his back. “Don’t mind him. He’s neurotic.” You touch your thumb to the cool gold of the ring sitting on your finger.

“Well, then, after you.” You walk across the street to a quaint brunch spot that’s hailed for it’s food. “I love this place,” Greg tells you. The conversation pivots, however, when you both are seated. “Shiv told me you need some, what should I say… favors?”

“We do, and I’m sorry it’s all been dumped on you.”

“No, it’s okay. It makes me feel important.”

You laugh. “What do you have in mind? Shiv tell you anything?”

“I’ve been thinking- and it’s completely valid if my voice isn’t relevant to you, but I’d like to share my thoughts -that instead of whaling so hard on Logan directly, why not try to get access to him through Marcia? Or any past… connection?”

“Do you think we’ll be able to find anything?”

”I heard, through the grapevine, of course, a few rumors about Marcia and a… new friend.”

“If you find anything,” you say carefully, “I think you know what to do.”

“I also have heard a lot of complaining from people who work directly under him. Or, used to, I guess.”

“I think the general consensus is that he’s a criminal piece of shit. We just can’t find any proof.”

“I think I’ll be able to find something.” He tentatively picks up the menu laid out in front of him.

“Do you think you’ll make it out to Norway?”

“Me? I think Roman would shoot me.”

“You should come, after you deal with things here. Everyone could use a break.”

“I’ll try. I do really need to get out of here for a while.”

“If Roman’s giving you trouble, you can tell me, you know.”

“Oh, it isn’t anything new. I don’t know what it is with him. He has his own issues he doesn’t know how to deal with, so sometimes he projects.”

“That’s profound,” you say. “You’re right to not think anything of it. I know him well enough by now to say I don’t think he thinks before doing anything.”

You both order, and conversation comes easily to the two of you. Greg’s a wholesome guy, you think. He makes you comfortable, and you know you can trust him.

“I wanted to tell you something,” he says after a while. “I haven’t seen Connor in a bit. But last time I did see him, he was on the phone with some lawyer, talking about a lawsuit. And I’m almost 100% sure it wasn’t you, because I know your name isn’t Brad.”

You give your drink a slow stir. “Did you catch what the lawsuit was about?”

“All I heard were the words ‘negligence’ and ‘innkeepers law’.”

You press your lips together. None of this seems right. “Is it possible you can figure out the firm he was speaking with?”

“I’ll do my best. I figured you’d want to know.”

“I do. Thank you, Greg.”

Eventually, after a fight over bill(which you won), you hail a taxi and make your way back home. You kick your heels off by the door, Roman’s dress shoes haphazardly strewn in the same vicinity. You pad into the kitchen and toss your keys onto the counter, clocking Roman sat on the couch.

“Greg, huh?”

“What about him?” You pull a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s respectful and I can trust him,” you say acridly.

“I respect you. A lot, actually.”

“You don’t show it. It’s not a competition, anyway. Why do you care?”

“We’re engaged.”

You roll your eyes at his childishness. It’s starting to get on your nerves. “We’re just friends, remember? Your words, not mine.” You leave the kitchen and wander into your room. You don’t think Roman’s ever slept in the bed- he’s been living on the couch. He gets up and follows you. “Even if I was into Greg- which I’m not -what’s your deal?”

“I lied to you. That morning.” You’re sitting at your desk now, and stare up at him.

“About?”

“What I remember.” He takes both your hands. “I remember everything I said. I meant it.”

You can feel your face begin to heat up. “Are you drunk?”

“Sober. I swear it.” He uses his finger to draw a cross over his heart, still gripping your hand in his.

“What’s your point here, Roman?”

“I want to try being something. I want us to try being something.”

“Are we just ignoring the fact that you threw us under the fucking bus?”

“Yes, we are. We’ll talk about that later, I promise.” He gets to his knees, resting his cheek on your thigh as he looks at you. “I want to do something right, for once. I want to do this right.”

You’re sat frozen in place. You force yourself to card a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face.

“You were on the news, once. Giving some legal advice before my father went on air for some propagandist bullshit. I thought you were so fucking hot. I mean, I still do-” He cuts himself off. “What I’m trying to say is, I like you, you’re fucking gorgeous, and while the situation we’re in is less than ideal, I want to make something out of it.” You stay silent. “You’re kind, funny, you’re brighter than the fucking sun. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, but I’m just some piece of garbage who keeps making things between us worse. Friends? I was lying, then, too. I’ll never be able to accept you as just a friend. I’ll never stop wanting you.”

“Really?” is all you can manage.

“Yes, really. And I know I’m an asshole. I’m proud of it, 90% of the time. That last 10% is when I’m with you and I feel so fucking guilty I made that precious smile of yours disappear. It eats me alive that I piss you off. That you don’t like me. But that’s all I’ve ever been capable of doing.”

“So change it. Make me like you,” you say quietly. Reluctantly, he pulls himself to his feet and instead hooks his arms under you, hoisting you up. He takes your place in your desk chair, settling you on his lap.

“You deserve lots better than me, Y/N.” Roman keeps his arms wound around you, one tight around your waist, the other across your back, anchoring you to him. “I don’t know what I was doing this morning. I get so scared of him, Y/N. It’s like he was looking into my soul.”

“If you think I deserve better,” you begin, “become better.” You let yourself lean into his chest. “As for the vote, I still think you’re an asshole.”

He sighs. “And that’s fair. Kendall ripped me a new one after you left.”

“Good.” His hand wanders idly up and down your back, gently massaging knots of tension that he can find. “Roman Roy, realizing the consequences of his actions.” You drag a finger across his jaw. “Am I dreaming?”

”If we are, I don’t want to wake up.”

“So, what now?”

“We be all lovey-dovey. I mean, we’re already engaged.”

You snort. “You can’t stop saying that.”

“Who wouldn’t, when engaged to someone who looks like you?” He gives your ass a quick pinch.

“Roman!”

“Sorry. Had to,” he says, grinning stupidly. “Jokes aside though, I want to take it slow.”

“I… Yeah. Let’s take it slow.”

“You do want this, right?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve wanted you since the minute we made eye contact.” You stifle a smile. “You’re sexy when you have a stubble. What happened to it?”

“What, I’m not sexy now?” He absentmindedly draws a hand over his smooth jaw. “I’ll grow it back for you.”

“Hey, I’m just kidding. You’re sexy now, don’t worry.” Roman grunts and moves the two of you to bed.

“What? My back hurts.” He sinks into his side of the bed. “Please don’t make me sleep on the couch again.”

“You’re always welcome here.” You sigh happily and roll out of bed.

“Where are you going?”

“To brush my teeth and get ready for bed, unlike some slob I know. No outside clothes on my bed, Roman.”

You duck the pillow he chucks at you.

As you progress through your nightly routine, eventually, he comes to stand with you at the sink. You make a face at him before returning to your business. For a bit, he just watches you, happy to just be in your presence. When he starts brushing his teeth, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

You protest halfheartedly, and he rolls his eyes at you before spitting his toothpaste out. “Quit whining,” he tells you, giving your hip a squeeze.

“I’m building a wall between us tonight,” you threaten lightly.

“I was a rock climber as a kid.” He pokes you gently. “Now that you’ve let me into your cold, shriveled up heart, I’m not leaving.”

“You still have a lot of work to do, Roman,” you chide. “Just because you got onto your knees for the first time in your life doesn’t mean everything’s magically okay.”

You both pad back into your bedroom, crawling under the covers together. “I thought we could kiss and make up,” he says, propped up on his arm, facing you. You curl up on your side, also facing him.

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You’re going to sit here and explain yourself. Or you’re sleeping on the floor.”

He sighs, pulling up the blankets so that you’re both covered. “It’s like I blacked out. I was so scared, Y/N.”

“Why? He can’t do anything to you, Roman, especially now that I’m involved in all this.”

“It’s complicated,” he mutters.

”We have time,” you urge gently.

“It’s the way I grew up, I guess.” He collapses onto his back. “He’d snap over the smallest things. My entire childhood I was walking on eggshells. I don’t… It’s such a bad excuse. God, I feel horrible.” He covers his face with his hands.

You crawl over, close enough to him where you’re able to set your cheek onto his chest and still lay comfortably. You’re still facing him, and one of his hands moves to sit on your hip. “I think I was too harsh on you,” you murmur. “Don’t get me wrong, it still was a dick move, but I get it. Just promise you’ll do better, okay?”

He peels his other hand off of his face to wind it through your hair. “I promise. I promise.” You press a kiss to his chest, to which he stiffens. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t.”

Hesitantly, you pull away from him, settling on your side of the bed and facing the other way. You fall asleep without saying anything else.

You wake up to an empty bed. You thought it was going so well, too. You drag yourself out of bed and find him in the kitchen. Wordlessly, he pushes you a mug of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs.

“I felt bad. But then I remembered I don’t know how to cook,” Roman says meekly. “I’m sorry. It’s getting too real for me.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I, uh, ‘ve never been in a serious relationship. Not with someone I like this much. I don’t… I don’t want to fuck this up, Y/N.”

You try wiping the bleariness from your face. “I don’t understand you, Rome.”

He reaches out, wiping a bit of coffee from your lip. “I hope you can learn to.”

“As long as you put in the effort, too.” You look up at him. “I don’t mean to pressure you into anything you don’t want. I just mean I want you to actually try.” You take a sip from your mug. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t exactly been… proactive the last week.”

He leans against the counter behind him. “Who’s the one who went out with another man?”

“Roman, that doesn’t have anything to do with anything.” You laugh as he jabs a hand into your side.

“I’m not going to let you forget it.”

“It’s Greg. Wholesome, kind, Greg.”

“You should’ve been out with me.”

“Take me out, then.”

He bridges the small distance between you and fits his hands into the curves of your waist. “I’ll be all over you in Norway, don’t worry.” He takes the heel of his palm and massages circles into the skin of your hip.

“We need to leave soon,” you tell him. You want to kiss him, but you know you can’t.

“I haven’t even packed,” he says lightly.

“Roman!”

“God, I’ll never get sick of hearing that.”

You drag him into the closet and roll his suitcase over to him. “Get to it.”

☾𖤓

At the airport, Roman carries all of your bags for you. He even demands to hold your purse, a cute short strapped Prada you’d treated yourself to the first big check you’d received. He holds it by the handle over his shoulder the same way one would hold a jacket. He looks silly with his sunglasses on and your purse sitting on his back. It’s endearing, and you smile softly at him.

In the car out to the private jet, you and Shiv make plans to go out shopping your first day in Norway. Willa sits cramped next to Connor, and you feel bad, so you and Shiv invite her. Kendall’s practically snoring on Roman’s shoulder. The poor guy’s been working dusk till dawn this whole ordeal. He deserves the break.

You’re glad Logan won’t be taking the same plane as the six of you. You wouldn’t be able to handle it- the paranoia, his snide comments, and hell, even just his voice would set you off.

You and Shiv settle across from each other on the plane, her feet propped up in your lap. Roman’s slumped against you, asleep, and you think he’s drooling. Kendall sits across from him, also asleep, neck pillow and sleeping mask on like the sleeping beauty he is.

You sigh contentedly.

If you close your eyes, you can pretend like the threat that is Logan Roy isn’t dangling over your heads.

If you close your eyes, you can pretend like you’re just travelling with your chosen family.

If you close your eyes, you can pretend like you’re at peace.

#turmoil #wambsgansshoelaces #roman roy #roman roy slowburn #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #succession #succession fic #succession hbo #succession x reader #romantic drama

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pancakes4two · 1 year

Text

baby please come home

happy holidays everyone! i wanted to write something short for @watchmegetobsessed‘s fanficmas to close out the year. i’ve had the best time writing a bunch of concepts these last few months so... here is an ode to the first harry i wrote this year & the most recent 💗 enjoy!

preview: Harry disappears from public view until January, wanting to close out the year in private. He does, however, decide to share a photo of the three of you sitting under the tree on Christmas. You’re grinning at the camera, leaning close to Harry. Beau is sitting in your lap, fuzzy antlers sitting atop his head. His entire body is turned towards Harry, big brown eyes glittering as he stares as his dad and reaches for him with tiny hands. Harry’s smiling so wide his eyes may as well be closed, his face flush with nothing but pure joy.

He captions the photo: Christmas Morning. Harry’s House. December, 2022. It gets 10 million likes in 24 hours.

MASTERLIST | TALK TO ME

1. christmas with dadrry (from this blurb!)

Harry is playing his last show of 2022 when he decides to have a little fun. He’s been in Brazil for the past couple of days, closing out the Latin American leg of Love on Tour. Three stops ago in Argentina, he’d sent you and your son off on a plane home to London. With the two of you now being 5,000 miles away, he can’t help but ache for home a little more than usual, despite the fact that he’ll be joining you at home soon. A sign at the barricade reminds him of this fact, as he prepares to give a speech to lead into his encore.

“So…” Harry says, popping out his hip dramatically, “Before we move on to our last couple of songs, there’s a sign up at the front here that I want to address.”

The arena explodes in chatter as a spotlight comes down from above, searching for the flashy poster board. Harry squints and twists his microphone cord between his fingers, (he mentally notes that next year will be the year he finally starts using a wireless mic) and points when he manages to spot the sign he had noticed earlier.

“Right, this sign says,” Harry pauses as a cameraman beside him zooms in on the sign, projecting it onto the large screens behind the stage. “We came here for Y/N and no-one else.”

The crowd bursts into collective laughter and hoots, and Harry sees a few phone shoot up in the front row, eager to capture the obvious fan interaction that’s about to take place. He walks closer to the edge of the stage, and kneels down directly in front of the two fans that had brought the sign.

“Let me just start by saying how could you,” Harry brings a hand to his chest, squeezing his fist and trying his best to school his expression into one of dramatic anguish. One of the fans belly-laughs, while the other takes his reaction more to heart, waving her hands in the air and trying to rationalize the statement that had been written on their sign. “Only joking! But I am a bit hurt. It’s my name that’s attached to the tour, the posters, the merch, after all...”

“Sadly, I do have to inform you that Y/N has left with our son to go back home,” Harry squints out at the audience. The crowd groans loudly at that, and the sound of Mitch’s laughter comes through his in-ear monitors.

“Soooo, you’ll have to deal with it just being me up here!” Harry points a thumb at himself, turning around to give Mitch the finger with his other hand. “It is, however, close to Christmas, and I must admit I’m missing my family too. So we’ll see if we can do something about that.”

Harry gestures for the production lead then, and the fans that make up the first couple of rows in the stadium look to each other curiously, wondering why Harry’s suddenly gone off-script. While they whisper amongst themselves, the production lead runs up on stage and hands Harry his phone. He wiggles it in the air, brandishing it in front of the crowd. They cheer in anticipation for what he’s about to do next. The screen on Harry’s phone turns on in response to all his movement, and the stadium unexpectedly gets a glimpse of his wallpaper. It’s a picture of you and Beau, taken not more than a month ago, posing in front of Foro Sol in Mexico City. Beau’s wearing a Love on Tour shirt that’s comically large on his tiny body, sucking on a pacifier as you hold him to your chest, pointing at the massive screen displaying Harry’s name behind you. The entire crowd coos upon seeing the image, and even more phones shoot up to record the moment. Harry smirks knowingly, as if to say: adorable, isn’t it?

He holds his phone to his chest then, hiding it from view as he types in his passcode and swipes through his apps. He opens up your contact card and presses the FaceTime button, shushing the crowd when the call goes through. It’s late enough at night back home in London that he’s sure Beau’s asleep already, but you’re still awake and will be able to pick up his calls without disturbing the sleeping baby. The screen takes a moment to load before your face pops up, slightly pixellated and makeup-less, but beautiful nonetheless. Harry turns his phone back towards the crowd, and they can’t hold in their excitement when they see your face projected onto the stadium screens.

“Say hi everyone!” Harry waves at his phone, grinning at how the crowd has welcomed you. “Y/N, everyone’s been missing you, and now that I’ve got you here, it only seems fitting that I sing something special tonight...”

You give Harry a confused look through the phone, and he says nothing in response, just smiles and cues Pauli in. Pauli twirls a set of mallets between their fingers and begins to play a xylophone in front of them. They count themself in, and the starting notes to Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You sound through the stadium.

Harry can’t hear you over the noise of the crowd, but he sees you shake your head at him and swears you yell out, “Shut the fuck up!!!” as he starts to sing.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know, make my wish come true... all I want for Christmas is you!”

Harry prances around the stage with you on his phone, directing the lyrics to your smiling face on the screen. The crowd dances along and Sarah points and laughs when Harry passes by, fondly admiring just how much of a hopeless romantic he is. As the song continues, Harry decides to leap across the catwalk, determined to make this performance as extra as humanly possible. The crowd reaches for him, but in this moment he only has eyes for you. He brings his phone out in front of him as he shimmies in front of the camera, reminding you that, “Baby, all I want for Christmas is you.”

When Harry launches into the bridge, he points up at the sky. A loud pop sounds through the venue as cannons that had been rigged onto the stage release tiny pieces of confetti that had been shaped into snowflakes. The paper rains down onto the crowd, blanketing the entire stage and floor into a sea of white. The pretend-snowflakes continue to cascade through the sky, glistening under all the stage lights, and Harry ends the song by running back towards the main stage and collapsing backwards onto it. He moves his limbs up and down through the confetti that now covers the surface as if to make a snow angel. He looks up at your smiling face, still watching him sing through his phone, and it’s almost as if you’re there with him. It’s only been a few days and yet he still misses you like crazy. Harry gets lost in the moment for a second, before the crowd drags him back down into reality. He sits up, brushing the confetti out of his hair, and smiles at the sea of people looking at him adoringly.

“Hope you didn’t mind that little switch-up, there,” Harry beams, “just felt like singing a Christmas song tonight.”

“Now, we’re gonna say bye to Y/N,” he continues, placing his microphone behind his back so he can speak to you privately. The crowd boos in response, and you laugh.

“Let me talk to your fans!” you say, wagging a disapproving finger at Harry.

“You’re a demanding bunch!” Harry jokes, putting his microphone back under his phone speaker. Your voice comes through over the venue speakers, a little tinny, but understandable.

“Goodnight everyone! Hope you had lots of fun tonight, and thank you so much for the surprise. Take care of H for me so he comes back home all in one piece,” you blow a kiss to your phone and Harry catches it, keeping it in his back pocket.

“That was for the fans, you idiot!” You laugh, and Harry throws his hands up at the crowd when they start to laugh at him.

“Okay, no more listening privileges for you lot if you’re just going to make fun of me,” he sighs jokingly, hiding his mic behind his back again. He brings the speaker up to his mouth so you can hear him properly.

“Be home soon,” he says, “love you so much. Sleep well and text me when you’re up.”

“Love you too, goodnight, H,” you smile, hanging up the call. Harry turns back around and sees his crowd looking disappointed at the fact that they weren’t able to hear the last bit of your conversation.

“Don’t look at me like that! Some conversations are better left private,” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Mitch throws a guitar pick at him, having heard the conversation and knowing that it had not gone at all like what Harry was implying. “Anyways, onto the encore...”

LONDON, A FEW DAYS LATER

Christmas morning arrives in a blur. Harry’s finally sufficiently rested after battling with jet lag, though he still finds himself waking up slightly earlier than usual. The sun is only starting to rise, and it had snowed the night before. He looks outside the window to see the landscape painted in a winter glow. The Christmas lights that you’d put up after coming home are wrapped around the trees and shrubs outside, providing some warmth to the otherwise blue atmosphere.

Harry makes his way into the living room, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He finds you awake already in the kitchen, with Beau on your side, heating up a pot of tea. Beau is looking determined, sucking on a baby bottle with force as he clings onto his mother. You both notice Harry at the same time—you look up at him and your features soften, while Beau drops his bottle on the counter and reaches for Harry, babbling for his dad.

“Alright, alright; there’s more than enough me to go around,” Harry laughs, taking Beau from you. “Good morning. Happy Christmas.”

“Mm,” you hum while Harry kisses you. You pour two cups of tea, putting milk in sugar in one mug for you and just milk in the other for Harry. You hand his mug to him, and the two of you head over to the tree. It’s placed right in front of the largest window in the living room so it catches the most light. In the early morning, the entire space fills with a cozy light, the ornaments shining softly under twinkling lights. Both of you had decided on not giving each other gifts this year, preferring to absolutely spoil Beau rotten instead.

“Let’s open your presents now, Beau-bear,” Harry coos, bouncing the infant gently in his arms. It’s crazy, how much his life has changed in the last year. He looks at Beau, who’s looking curiously at the box in Harry’s hand, and you, quietly sipping on your morning tea. Harry’s chest swells with a whole host of emotions that he doesn’t necessarily know what to do with—but he does know that this is exactly where he belongs. He’s spent the better half of the year away from home and written an entire record exploring the idea of home. But he knows now that this is it. This is home: Christmas morning spent with the love of his life and his child. The presents that fill the entire space underneath the tree, a Christmas album playing over the sound system in the living room, Beau in a reindeer onesie, you wrapped up in a wool scarf, the snow that’ll decorate your lashes later when the three of you go out in the snow.

Harry disappears from public view until January, wanting to close out the year in private. He does, however, decide to share a photo of the three of you sitting under the tree on Christmas. You’re grinning at the camera, leaning close to Harry. Beau is sitting in your lap, fuzzy antlers sitting atop his head. His entire body is turned towards Harry, big brown eyes glittering as he stares as his dad and reaches for him with tiny hands. Harry’s smiling so wide his eyes may as well be closed, his face flush with nothing but pure joy.

He captions the photo: Christmas Morning. Harry’s House. December, 2022. It gets 10 million likes in 24 hours.

2. christmas with young harry (from this blurb!)

“Y/N!” You hear someone call out distantly from your bedroom window. “Y/N!”

The voice gets closer, and you realize it belongs to Harry. Abandoning the notebook you were currently writing in, you cap your pen and run down the stairs. Once you’ve turned the corner into your living room, though, you see that your parents have already let him in. Harry waves at you from the front door, pulling off his shoes and dusting snow off of the knit beanie resting atop his head. He hands a tin of what could only be Christmas cookies to your mom, and she pulls him into a hug.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry grins, “Mum said she liked the cookies best plain, but I think they’re better with warm milk.”

“We’ll have to try them both ways, then,” your dad responds, clapping Harry on the back. “Happy Christmas, H. Did you bike here?”

“Yeah,” Harry responds a little breathlessly. You notice that his cheeks are more pink than usual due to the cold, and the parts of his hair that weren’t covered by his hat were curling in all different directions, blown out of place by the wind. “Wanted to give Y/N her present before dinner.”

“How lovely!” Your mom coos in response, “We’ll leave you to it. Don’t forget to keep your door open, Y/N!”

Harry laughs while you roll your eyes exasperatedly at your mom. The two of you head upstairs, him trailing slightly behind you with a careful hand on your waist. You hadn’t realized earlier, but he’s wearing a backpack. It looks rather full, like the zippers are about to burst from the size of whatever he’s stuffed inside it.

“What are you planning on giving me, a bomb?!” You joke, poking at the bag’s exterior.

“Shut up!” Harry groans, “of course not! I couldn’t bring a bigger bag with me on the bike, so like, I had to make do.”

“Only joking,” you giggle, opening the door to your bedroom. Harry takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of your desk chair before flopping onto your bed. He’s wearing a navy-colored crewneck that’s too big for him, and the sleeves go past his hands. His skin is still flushed from the temperature outside, and you think he looks absolutely adorable like this, all cozy in your room. You sit across from him and tangle your legs together. The two of you have been together for almost four months now, thanks to your friends leaving you in a room alone and basically forcing you to confess your feelings to one another at the end of the summer, but you can’t help but still be a little awkward. Harry’s your first boyfriend, and you’re still trying to make sense of the magnitude of what you feel for him. It scares you a little, how much you’ve started to care for him and how you find yourself wanting to know more about him always, from the big things down to the tiny mundane details of his life. But it also brings you comfort, knowing that you can hold so much fondness for someone else, and have those same feelings be reciprocated.

The two of you have been looking forward to Christmas—you got together too late in the year for Harry to be able give you what he had called a proper, boyfriend birthday gift, and Harry has yet to celebrate his own in February. Both of you were excited to exchange gifts as a couple for the first time, somehow, they just meant so much more to you now that your relationship had evolved beyond just friendship. October had barely ended before you started thinking about his gift. You wanted it to be absolutely perfect.

“Were you doing homework before you came?” Harry asks incredulously. He must’ve caught a glimpse of your notebook when he set his backpack down. “How do you still have work left to do?”

“It’s for next term,” you reply sheepishly, “I got bored and wanted to plan out the classes I’m taking starting January... I figured I might as well get a head start while I’m home...”

“Ever the bookworm,” Harry looks at you fondly, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You loved that about him, the fact that he never made you feel badly about anything you did. Between the two of you, you were definitely the more academically-inclined one. While you sat diligently at the front of class taking notes, your boyfriend preferred to sit near the back, cracking jokes until your teacher got annoyed and focusing more on making the setlist for his band’s latest gig, instead of his assignments.

“Wonder if I can convince you to do my homework for a month as a gift,” Harry pulls you closer to him, cupping your face in his hands. He’s about to kiss you when you turn around suddenly, forcing his lips to meet only your cheek.

“No can do,” you smirk when he pouts at you, obviously disappointed that his act of affection didn’t go as originally planned. “We both know you’re meant for bigger things than school, H, but you just need to stick it through for a few more months and before you know it, you’ll be all done with GSCEs.”

“I suppose,” Harry huffs childishly, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning up at you. You kick at his arm with a socked foot, giggling at him. He reaches for your hand and unzips his backpack, pulling out a large, misshapen object that’s been tied together with ribbon. You’re not sure what the gift is meant to be—the Christmas tree-patterned wrapping paper is folded and bent in ways you didn’t know were physically possible, and there’s several pieces of tape stuck to the sides of it, patched on in an attempt to cover places where the gift wrap had ripped.

“I wanted to wrap it myself,” Harry explains, pulling at a non-existent thread on his sleeve, “but it obviously didn’t go too well.”

You laugh as he hands the gift to you, looking sufficiently deflated. “You get full marks for effort.”

“Before you open it,” Harry adds, watching you pull at one end of the ribbon. “I tried my best to get you something you really wanted, but I didn’t know if, like, someone else had already bought it for you, or anything... so there’s a receipt in there for you to exchange it for something else if you’d like.”

“Don’t be silly,” you reassure him, taking extra care to tear the paper carefully. The gift feels delicate in your hands, as if the item inside were made of something soft and pliable. You pause on opening the present for a moment to press a gentle kiss to your boyfriend’s knuckles: the last thing you’d want is to make him think you’d ever be disappointed in anything he gifted to you.

You finally manage to pull away at the gift wrap and tape, and your hands land on a cream-colored cardigan. You gasp and look at Harry, who’s looking between you and the object in your hands fondly, like he’d known exactly how you’d react all this time.

“There’s no way...” you say, turning the cardigan over in your hands, running your fingers along the careful stitches and admiring the tortoiseshell buttons. “But this is so... it costs so much... how?!”

Harry smiles at you, watching you unbutton the sweater carefully. “Well, I remember how much you liked it when you tried it on in the shop, so I worked some extra shifts at the bakery at the beginning of Christmas hols. I made Gem drive me down to the city yesterday and got it for you. It took a lot of convincing. She’s making me do her laundry for the next month.”

“It’s so perfect,” you say sincerely, enveloping Harry in a hug. You wish you could stay like this forever, safe in the embrace of a boy who makes you feel so massively, his arms locked behind your waist and his heartbeat steady against your chest. “I love it so much. You’re just the best.”

“Glad you love it,” Harry says softly, kissing your forehead and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He watches you intently as you reach under your bed and procure a holiday-themed bag. You hand it to him, tapping on his knee while he plays with the tissue paper inside.

“Your turn.”

“Did you gift me a bomb?” Harry jokes, weighing the bag in his hand and pretending to drop it because of how heavy it is.

“Like I’d kill you off after that incredible present you just got me,” you retort, kicking at him impatiently. “Enough stalling. Open it!”

Harry pulls away at the tissue paper and pulls out a large vinyl record, covered in plastic wrap. He shakes his head and looks at you with wide eyes. “Y/N. You didn’t.”

“I did,” you reply, grinning at him as he continues staring at you in amazement. Over the summer, Harry’s parents had accidentally donated his copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours to a charity shop along with a box of his old clothes. You knew how much that record meant to him, so you’d gone to a small record shop the last time you were in the city and picked up a replacement.

“Y/NNNNN,” he drags out your name dramatically, peppering your face with chaste kisses.

“Come on, look at the bottom of the bag, there’s more,” you say, playing with his hair. Somehow, the two of you had ended up shifting closer and closer to each other in your excitement, and now you’re basically sitting on top of Harry, eagerly waiting for him to finish opening his gift.

“No way, two gifts?” Harry clutches his chest dramatically, “you must really like me.”

He pulls out a book from the bag, checking to make sure there’s nothing else inside that he’d accidentally overlooked. The cover is made of linen and bound together with ribbon. Stuck to the front is a polaroid of the two of you on Harry’s bike, you sitting behind him as he poses for the camera, both of you brandishing massive scoops of mint chocolate ice cream.

“What is this?” Harry whispers, flipping through the pages. Each page is covered in memories of the two of you, filled with pictures and tiny souvenirs from places you’d gone together.

A picture your mom had taken of the two of you asleep on the living room couch, your head enveloped in Harry’s chest. There’s a blanket covering the two of you, and in the distance, a TV is playing the ending of The Notebook--you’d obviously fallen asleep before getting to the best part.

A ticket stub from the first concert you’d gone to together. You still remember how you felt that night, colorful lights streaming down from above as music filled your ears, Harry dancing and singing loudly from right next to you.

A picture you took on your computer when the two of you were meant to be studying together in the school library, Harry sticking his tongue out at you while you flip him off playfully.

A picture your friends took of the two of you holding hands on the bus. The two of you dancing in Harry’s garden. The two of you running through a corn maze at the local farm. Harry waving at you from outside your bedroom window. A photobooth strip of the two of you: a vignette of him looking at you, a vignette of him turning your chin towards him, a vignette of your lips meeting.

“I figured, next year, when you’re off to the X-Factor and you get all big and famous, you can keep this with you when you’re away and it’ll remind you that I’m always thinking of you,” you say shyly. “You know, so you don’t forget me while you’re away.”

“How could I ever forget you?” Harry asks, and his voice is so sincere that it cuts straight to your heart. “I’d never get big or famous enough to forget about you. But this book, Y/N, it’s amazing. It means so much to me that you made this for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Mhm,” you respond, smiling at him.

“Of course, you’re going to feel silly when they send me home right after auditions, and it’s back to me being your average boyfriend.”

“That’s not going to happen,” you say, and you mean every word of it. “Whole country’s gonna know your name soon.”

“Well, then I couldn’t be more grateful that you were the first one to know,” Harry says, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “Let me take a picture of us and tweet it to my two fans.”

You laugh then, and run your fingers through your hair to tame it. You pull yourself into Harry’s chest and he brings his phone out in front of the two of you. He kisses the top of your head, smiling through the action, and the digital camera clicks. You watch as he attaches the photo to a tweet and begins to type up a caption.

Christmas with my number one fan. Lucky she doesn’t know I’m her biggest fan, too.

Harry presses send on the tweet and locks his phone. For now, no one sees it except for his sister, and the four other friends who actually follow his Twitter account. But twelve years later, when the whole world knows his name, a fan will find the tweet on his account, buried under thousands of other messages, and tag him in it. He’ll open it in the morning, with you asleep still beside him, and smile to himself as he remembers your first Christmas together. He’ll pull you a little closer as snow falls silently outside, brush your hair aside and listen to you breath steadily in his arms. He’ll lean in and whisper, Told you I could never forget you, and count himself lucky for all the holidays he’ll get to spend for the rest of his life with you right there beside him.

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