Tumgik
#since here's kind of a masterpost heads up on all the exciting things coming !
silvermuffins · 2 years
Text
Seward Summary!
It's been a while since we've gotten something from him, huh? A reminder of what this is, since it's been so long - Dracula is over a hundred years old! The understanding of mental health and ethical medical healthcare represented in the book are, resultantly, not so great, and may be uncomfortable, upsetting, or triggering for some people to read. Of those people, some might want more than the day's memes to catch up, so I make these posts to summarize what happens in each of Seward's entries, doing my best to pare them down into something less likely to distress someone. You can find the other entries with my tag #seward summary or through the masterpost I have pinned!
The first part of today's entry is from Mina, so that's safe to go read. Then we get to Seward's part, which features a little less thinking and a bit more action than we've seen from his parts so far. Let's dive in!
WARNINGS: vague drug reference, implication of restraints
Something is different about Renfield's behavior! He got very excitable and started sniffing around.
The attendant, aware of Seward's particular study of Renfield, tried to get him to talk.
Renfield is usually polite to the attendant, even servile, but was suddenly very haughty and wouldn't talk to him.
All he would say was that the attendant is unimportant now because "the Master is at hand".
Seward and the attendant think it's a religious mania of some kind, and Seward is concerned that that's a dangerous combination with Renfield's existing habits.
Seward expects Renfield to soon believe that he is God, because he treated Seward with no more respect than the attendant. Clearly differences in status between people mean nothing to him at this point, which Seward takes as vanity.
Renfield continued to get more and more excited. Seward watched carefully, but without being too obvious about it (at least, that is how I'm reading that, the exact words are "I did not pretend to be watching him, but I kept strict observation all the same.")
Suddenly, Renfield's body language suggested he got an idea of some kind, and then went to sit quietly on his bed apathetically.
Seward tried to get him to talk about his pets/snacks. Renfield's reply is that he doesn't care about them.
When asked about that, he gives a cryptic answer about how bridesmaids delight eyes waiting for the bride, but when the bride comes up no one is looking at the bridesmaids anymore. (I'm paraphrasing.)
He refused to explain further.
Seward went to bed sad and lonely with Lucy on his mind. He considers taking a sleep aid if he doesn't nod off quickly, but felt like it'd disrespect Lucy to mix thoughts of her with the sleep aid.
His insomnia proved to be useful because around two in the morning he got word that Renfield had escaped.
Seward hopped up and threw on clothes quickly because he doesn't trust Renfield to be roaming or meeting people.
Renfield had escaped within the last ten minutes by ripping the window out, and the attendant was quick enough at hand to watch which way he went. Seward is thin so he could fit out the window and go after him.
Seward spotted a figure, presumably Renfield, climbing the wall that separates the asylum from the abandoned house.
Seward called for backup to head onto the grounds of said house, a place called Carfax. Then he got a ladder to go over the wall and keep following Renfield.
He finally caught up to Renfield while the man was pressed against the door of the chapel, speaking as if to someone.
After a few minutes, Seward saw that Renfield was mostly unaware of his surroundings, and got close enough to hear what he was saying, which I'll put down exactly.
"I am here to do Your bidding, Master. I am Your slave, and You will reward me, for I shall be faithful. I have worshipped You long and afar off. Now that You are near, I await Your commands, and You will not pass me by, will You, dear Master, in Your distribution of good things?"
Seward has some uncharitable thoughts toward Renfield's focus on being rewarded.
When Seward's backup arrived and they approached him, Renfield fought hard. He's a very strong man.
Seward doesn't want to deal with anyone being that angry and wild again, and is glad they caught him when they did because he could do some serious damage if left to it.
Seward took measures of the time period to make sure Renfield wouldn't escape again or harm himself or others while in this state. Renfield isn't happy about this.
Renfield has some coherent words in this fit of rage - "I shall be patient, Master. It is coming--coming--coming!"
At which point Seward promptly decided it was bedtime.
31 notes · View notes
whumpfessional · 2 years
Text
Sweetness
Pt 11 of Circe’s Story, other parts in Masterpost.
No brutal violence here, just sweetness.
Only to make the pain later so much more bitter
CW: Slavery, minor whump
“So.. uh…” Ghorek scratched his head slightly as he stood by the door, “what do you want from shore?”
The girl looked up from the huge pile of different sized bolts she was sorting through. The raiders tended to just throw everything in a bag while looting ships they boarded and she was often stuck organizing the random assortment of gear. She furrowed her brow at the question, confused. 
Ghorek let out a sigh looking down at her. “Come on, help me out here. It’s an inter-species port, I’m sure there’s something there for you.”
The girl looked confused still. Something there for her? Was that a threat? He didn’t look very threatening, hadn’t even thrown anything at her since Balak had talked to him. She shook her head, of course she didn’t want anything. She was given everything she needed and deserved. If there was anything lacking, that was her fault. She turned back to the pile in front of her, sitting cross legged on the ground. 
“Hey, kid.” Ghorek stepped forward, snapping to get her attention. She jerked her head up quickly, fear lighting up her eyes. He stopped suddenly, putting up his hands in front of him. “It’s okay. Just… do you want something sweet? Kids like sweets, right?” 
Sweets. She had sweets a couple times, stolen off of platters returning to the kitchen from banquets. There were bowls of them in some of the guest areas in the compound but she hadn’t dared touch them. 
Was it a test? The girl looked him over again. He was impatient to head out but wasn’t mad, didn’t seem to be concealing something. She had noticed that he was not as good a liar as Balak, often rubbing the bottom of his nose when he did. 
She took a risk. She gave a quick nod, making eye contact with him, before turning her eyes down again, focusing on the task. Ghorek gave a grunt, heading out the door into the hallway. Laughter trickled in as the door opened but the noise was cut off as the door slammed shut. 
Click. The lock. She was safe. Her shoulders dropped as she relaxed slightly, happy to continue sorting uninterrupted. 
Once the bolts had been properly sorted and filed away, the girl stepped back, admiring her work. All those years of keeping Balak’s quarters maintained had given her the skills needed to keep a clean and organized engine room. The bins weren’t labelled but everything had its place and the system made sense to her. Sometimes Ghorek would file things in the wrong place and she had to fix it. But that was okay. She was being useful. 
Humming a song she had heard on Ghorek’s holoscreen, she turned back to a second pile, this one of random widgets that had been collected. Plopping herself down, she happily lost herself in the organizing. 
So lost that she jerked upright when the door hissed open however many hours later. Her heart raced for a moment before Ghorek stepped through, carrying a small bag with him. She lowered her eyes, turning back to her work. 
Ghorek cleared his throat as he stepped closer. The girl lifted her head again and noticed he was holding out the bag to her. She tipped her head to the side in confusion. 
“It’s.. uh.. for you.” Ghorek cleared his throat. When the girl made no move towards the bag, he dropped it in her lap. “I found a human vendor. She said they are some kind of bean bun.” He grumbled again, shrugging awkwardly.
The bag was warm in her lap and the most incredible smell wafted up from it. The girl slowly reached for the opening of the bag, peeking inside. 
A puff of steam rose up and beneath it, she was able to see three beautiful large white buns. She looked up quickly, trying to hide her excitement. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely, folding the bag back up. 
Ghorek gave a nod then turned to leave. “I’m going to go gamble and drink away my credits. Don’t blow up the ship while I’m gone.” He gave a wave as he stepped through the door which hissed shut with a snap. 
Click. The girl waited a few more moments for the boot steps to recede before ripping open the bag again, taking a deep sniff. Slowly, she reached in, pulling a hot bun out into her hands. Her calloused fingers absorbed most of the heat but she still held it lightly, admiring it. 
It was made of perfect white flour, none of the brown cracked grain she was used to being served. She pinched it slightly, the airy dough compressing between her fingers. Pinching off a piece, she popped it into her mouth. 
She couldn’t resist letting out a hum of contentment as the sweet bun melted in her mouth. Her stomach grumbled loudly and she caved, taking a bite right from the bun. 
Something warm and sweet filled her mouth and she pulled the bun back, revealing a red paste filling. She closed her eyes, savouring the taste until it had left her mouth before taking another bite. 
The girl tried to stretch it out for as long as possible but the first bun was gone much more quickly than she wanted. She made herself hide the other two in her little alcove, saving them for when she was hungry again. 
She tried to return back to sorting but her stomach grumbled again. It couldn’t hurt, she reasoned, to have half of another one. She set the half on one of the pipes, the heat radiating off of it warming up the bun again. 
The girl took her time with the half, forcing herself to sort a section of the pile before she delicately took another bite, letting it dissolve in her mouth instead of chewing it. 
It was still over too soon but the sweetness lingered in her mouth until she lay down to sleep that night, still dreaming about that kindness.
3 notes · View notes
Text
Songs of the Summer, 2022: Late to the Party Awards
[masterpost]
Intro
This is a category I've had in my personal Best Of lists for a while, because I always feel bad that I’m super slow with music--I usually don’t fall in love with songs until long after the buzz around them has passed. The way I see it, songs become truly special by finding us at that specific moment when we need them and finally, fully get them--I think that's what it means to say something "aged well". So this list is dedicated to those songs: those that haven’t made it onto any of my previous lists, were released during the 2021-2022 school year (the time period covered by my last Best Of list), and finally caught my eye this summer. This is my [after]party, and I'll be an obnoxious gg stan if I want to!
1. Alive by Lightsum (May 24, 2022)
Before listening to "Alive", I had managed to ignore Lightsum completely. This, I'll admit, was mostly because of petty annoyance at yet another group debuting with a single (I understand that business things influence this but also... come onnnnnnnnnnnn). So yes, I knew "Vanilla" existed, but I didn't listen to it, and I didn't even know about their second song, "Vivace" (very regrettable, as I would have liked it's WJSN-esque sound on first listen).
But then that tiny but explosive sound bite of "Alive" kept showing up in k-tube videos, and after about two weeks of "YOU MAKE ME FEEL ALIVE" blaring randomly in my brain, I caved in and listened to the whole song. "Alive" is delightfully audacious music, fully embracing both the Itzy and the Gfriend sides of the girl-group spectrum so that even if you don't like it, the song will definitely be stuck in your head. It turns out their whole discography is full of dance music that manages to be both crisp and wild-sounding in a way that doesn't let me ignore it any longer--I was missing out last year, and I'm so glad "Alive" wormed its way into my brain and finally won me over!
2. In My World by Rocket Punch (February 28, 2022)
When I first listened to this album, all my attention was on "Red Balloon". I have a preference for the simplest Rocket Punch tracks, ones like "Lilac" and "Ring Ring (Acoustic Ver.)", but "In My World" got to me eventually. TheBiasList sold it as synth in the tradition of "Take On Me" in a review from back when it was first released, and, though it didn't click with me on first listen, "In My World" built a little nest in a back corner of my mind because of this description, waiting for its moment.
And here I was this summer, craving sweet, high-energy girl-group music after Yena won my heart with her summer album. "In My World" was exactly what I needed, and it hasn't lost its grip on me since. The whole song is decorated with fast-moving, shiny things--melodies and synth riffs and high notes--that make it so, so exciting. It's as glossy as "Bim Bam Bum" (yes, I like that one, please don't murder me), but with a kind of energy their other tracks could only dream of!
3. Good Boy Gone Bad by TXT (May 9, 2022)
I formally apologize for not getting this one at first--I was younger then, and I've learned from my mistakes since. My excuse is that I was distracted by the b-sides (hi, "Trust Fund Baby", you still make me unreasonably sad), but I recognize now that "Good Boy Gone Bad" is probably just the best noise ever??!? All the textures--the whispering, the crunchy syllables, the layers of scream-along shout-singing--combine to create something that makes my heart race like the loudest noise music without feeling overwhelming or desensitizing me by the second chorus. The production knows how to be quiet without slowing the whole song down, and the contrasts in volume (can you tell I just really love the whispering in the prechorus?) push some little happy-button in my brain. I think this is the most I've replayed a song in this style since "God's Menu"!
4. In the Mirror by BOL4 (April 20, 2022)
As a huge BOL4 fan, I was bored out of my mind by this years' album. The day it came out, I sat down to listen to Seoul and just zoned out for a while. I still can't remember what "Seoul" sounds like (my mind just replaces it with RM's track of the same title), and "What Make Us Beautiful", though it did make its way onto a few of my playlists because it sort of fit the mood I was going for, isn't a track I can say I enjoy. So imagine my surprise when I realized I had completely missed "In the Mirror" the first time around (looking back, I'm guessing I just quit the album halfway through and went back to obsessing over Filmlet, the release that got me into BOL4 in the first place).
"In the Mirror" is classic angsty alt-rock, and Jiyoung navigates the transitions between soft, bouncy vocals (think: "Some" and "Hug") in the verses and all-out wails in the choruses excellently. It embraces my favorite parts of the genre by making my heart stop in the moments before the chorus hits, as if I can't help but breathe in deep and prepare to scream along, and by leaving plenty of space for guitar in the postchorus (look, I just really like intense guitar! there's a reason "Blank" is my favorite BOL4 song). I could listen to this one forever--"In the Mirror" manages to fit alongside the best BOL4 fluff (I'll give Jiyoung's performance the credit for that one!) while also coming off as a very genuine exploration of new musical and emotional territory.
5. Super Yuppers! by WJSN Chocome (January 25, 2022)
I thought this one was fun from the first day it came out (that bridge is both hilarious and very satisfying to listen to!), but it didn't find any lasting spot on my playlists during winter & spring. Similar to "Alive", though, YouTube forced me to hear the same sound bite (shuPEO shuPEO geuREOmyo) over and over again, and by the time summer rolled around, the chorus had imprinted itself in my mind and I realized what a triumph of performance this song is. "Super Yuppers!" is no brain only pink dresses music, and each member of Chocome fully embraces the shallow, Mean Girls-esque vocal stylings that entails (NO BUT DID ANYONE ELSE THINK OF "SEXY" FROM THE MUSICAL WHILE LISTENING TO THIS??). "Super Yuppers!" is all aesthetic, and I couldn't appreciate it more.
3 notes · View notes
Text
Harry Prince and the Philosopher's Stone - Chapter 2 - The Last In A Long While
prev chapter || masterpost || next chapter
read on AO3 | word count: 2,930
--
When Harry wakes up on the thirty-first of July, he finds himself in an odd mix of excitement and sadness.
Naturally, as has happened each year for as long as Harry can remember (and he tries pointedly to not think about the years he cannot remember right now, and the fact he would have lived in a different house and grown up to have different friends there had he been able to stay) Chris, Micky and Mandy will all come around for his birthday. Auntie Maggie and Catherine will spend the day tucked into the kitchen, baking Harry’s cake fresh for later in the day, and Harry and the other kids will spend all day playing while trying not to pester the adults to let them lick the bowl free of batter afterwards.
He’s still super excited for it, of course! His leg is jumping beneath the table as he eats his breakfast, and his eyes keep darting to the door as if expecting everyone to burst through early. It doesn’t matter that most of his friends live directly next door, and the rest he has seen every school day for the past six years, he’s still always beyond happy to see them…
Which is why today will be so hard. 
His leg bouncing shifts between enthused impatience and a way to pretend away the growing dread. One thing he had not thought about, until he’d had that clipped conversation with his dad over the dining table about what pets would be preferable for Hogwarts, was that he wouldn’t be seeing his friends for long stretches of time. The idea was practically unbearable, no matter that his dad had assured him that, even should Harry not get his own owl to bring to Hogwarts, he had an owl he could use or there were the school ones he could borrow to keep in touch with his friends. 
Harry has seen Chris in particular, his best friend, in person almost every day for so long that he can’t imagine not going to school together anymore. Sure, that will be the case for a year anyway, no matter what, since Chris is in the year below him, but he won’t even be living nearby. He’s going to be all the way across the country! 
Harry curls his arms around himself, unable to think of how he was going to break the news to everyone.
“Harry?” a voice calls from the other side of the dining table and Harry’s head snaps upward on instinct. His father clears his throat a little awkwardly. “I know you usually wait until your friends are here before opening presents, but I think this one might benefit from being opened away from a crowd of giddy children.”
With that, Snape pushes up from his seat and leads Harry to a decent-sized box on the coffee table. It’s wrapped in green wrapping paper with little frogs in party hats on, and Harry’s lips quirk upwards in an amused smile despite himself.
“There’s no bottom to this one, the box is just covering your gift so you only need to lift it up.”
Shooting his dad a confused frown, Harry reaches over to lift the box off of his present. Then, he promptly gasps.
Beneath the covering is a tank mostly full of some kind of bedding and with a few sparsely placed decorations. That isn’t what steals Harry’s breath, though. No, he’s staring in wonder at the little snake curled up towards the centre of the tank, peering back up at him.
“Maggie said you’d been looking at her when she took you to Diagon Alley. I hope that you’re alright with this as your companion for Hogwarts.”
Harry lets out a gasp, glancing between the man beside him and the little snake, still staring back uncertainly.
“Erys?” he asks, uncertainly, somehow not sure that this could possibly be the same snake, and that his dad had put in such care.
The little thing’s head turns more towards him upon hearing her name.
“Friend Harry,” the snake hisses, tongue flicking out as she speaks.
“She’s an emery kenyan sand boa,” his dad fills in, sounding slightly nervous which makes Harry blink up at him in surprise. “Only a baby – though she won’t get too big so you took a liking to a great snake to take to Hogwarts; I doubt having to house a huge snake would be simple in the dorms. Do you have a name for her?”
“She told me her name,” Harry tells him. “It’s Erys.”
“She… told you?”
“Yes,” Harry frowns. “Didn’t you ask her?”
“Harry, I don’t understand snakes.”
“Well, she’s probably a magical snake, right?” Harry tries, puzzled. “I mean, she was at the menagerie.”
“Yes,” Snape agrees; “she was at the menagerie. But that wasn’t because she’s a magical creature. Your snake – Erys? – is just the same as any muggle could procure. They’re sold at the menagerie because there is something of an appeal to snakes – especially in certain magical families.”
Harry frowns.
“So… you really can’t understand her?” he turns to Erys. “Can other people not understand you?”
The snake gives a minute shake of her head. 
“I am not able to sssspeak to many humans at all. Only Friend Harry.”
Harry blinks in surprise, not even shrugging off the hand that lands on his shoulder despite the vague awareness that he’s still mad at Snape for lying to him. 
“Harry,” Snape presses gently. “Do you really understand her? It’s okay for you to tell me if you can.”
“I can,” he nods, smiling indulgently as Erys pipes up with a little: He can. “Is that weird?”
“No, not weird,” Snape dismisses. “Just rare. It’s a skill not many possess to be able to speak Parseltongue; I can only think of a few wizards known to be Parselmouths, and not a single muggle.”
“Parseltongue?”
“Snake language,” Snape fills him in. “It’s probably best if you don’t tell your friends that you have the skill, just as you can’t tell them of your magic.”
Harry nods compliantly.
“But I can keep Erys?”
“Of course you can.”
Without the festering grudge poisoning their relationship with tension, Harry likely would have thrown his arms about Snape and pressed his face into the comforting familiarity of the man’s clothes. As it was, though, Harry just manages a wide smile, keeping his arms firmly to his sides. 
For a moment he feels a fleeting stab of pain at missing that closeness he’d had so freely before. In little moments like this, since learning the truth of his past and the depth of Snape’s deceit, it has been so difficult to keep that distance between himself and the man who raised him. Sometimes he even wonders if it’s worth it – this is his dad – but then he reminds himself that Snape technically isn’t; …so that’s better, right? And, more importantly, he didn’t tell him about how important his parents were, how important he supposedly is, that he’s got living family he’s never let him meet.
The door swings open as Catherine lets herself in and Harry’s qualms go forgotten.
“Hey, tiny!” Mickey is calling as he leads his siblings up with his longer stride. Harry rolls his eyes – Mickey is very glad of his little growth spurt he had last month, it doesn’t matter that his sister is actually taller than him despite being a year younger.
Mandy scoffs and elbows her brother in the side.
“Hypocrite,” she chides, pointedly looking down on him.
“Hey, guys,” Harry is grinning before turning solely to his best friend. “Chris! Come look; my dad got me a snake!”
“Woah!” he enthuses, rushing up to peer through the glass of the tank. 
“Not quite a dinosaur but cool, right?”
“So cool,” Chris easily agrees, leaning in close enough that his nose is practically pressed to the side of the enclosure. 
“Hello,” Erys greets with a flicker of her tongue and Chris watches, enraptured, though Harry supposes Snape must’ve been right and he doesn’t understand her.
“Okay, that’s awesome,” Mickey is enthusing and even Mandy is peering between the boys’ shoulders, though more apprehensively. “What’s his name?”
“Her name is Erys.”
“Like the Greek goddess?” Mickey turns to him. “I’ve checked out a library book on Greek mythology at the minute –  it’s cool!”
Harry shrugs.
“It just… felt right for her.”
“Okay, kids,” Catherine admonishes. “Leave the snake to adjust to its new home. Why don’t you guys play hide and seek while you wait for Harry’s school friends to show up.”
They agree easily and hurry off to find hiding places as Chris starts to count, though Harry suspects that’s just a reason to let him gawk at Erys a little longer. Not that Harry minds, since Erys seems to preen under the attention before burrowing through the bedding of her tank.
-
Harry’s birthday goes along rather brilliantly, as always.
The group of kids – made up of Harry, his neighbours, and his four friends from primary school – play plenty of games as the enticing smell of baking chocolate cake drifts through from the kitchen. Harry wins a few games of hide and seek, though in a few instances he was sure the seeker looked straight through him, and then loses several games of tig and duck duck goose. It’s all great fun, and everyone is laughing breathlessly by the time the adults call them into the kitchen for lunch. 
They nibble on cheese and tomato sandwiches, and cocktail sausages before hurrying back out since the adults are ready to let Harry do his presents.
Maggie and Adeline watch on happily, though Harry knows the gifts they got him are waiting in his room to be opened away from muggle eyes, alongside a couple of smaller gifts from his dad. Chris is a lot less patient, and pushes the parcel he clearly wrapped himself into Harry’s hands – it’s a set of lizard figurines, which Harry grins at his friend for; at some point, the younger boy’s interest in anything scaly became mutual. His friends from school got him some sweets and hotwheels. Mandy and Mickey each got him some books that he unwraps with much enthusiasm–
Until he is cut off by everyone erupting in singing Happy Birthday, since Snape has returned from the kitchen – which Harry didn’t see him even leave to – carrying the cake. The candles are blown out and everyone pauses to take cake, because that always takes precedence over opening more presents.
When they get back to it, though, things take something of a turn.
“That one’s from me, Harry,” Cath smiles at him as he picks up one of the last presents.
Harry thanks her, pulling at the bright-coloured paper to reveal a pad of nice paper and a beautiful fountain pen.
“I thought it might help you keep in touch,” she explains. “For when you move away.”
The other kids’ heads shoot up.
“Move away?” Ben from his maths class is asking, half-frantic.
“What do you mean, mum?” Mandy pleads.
Mickey is blinking like he can’t even comprehend what is being said.
“Yeah,” Harry confesses, toying with the edge of the torn paper. “I’m going to a boarding school in Scotland for secondary school. The same one my dad went to.”
The other kids erupt into confused and excited questions. He answers the best he can without admitting anything he shouldn’t, and is doing so when Chris starts shaking his head.
“No.”
“Christopher, hun-” Catherine is trying to placate, but it’s too late. Chris’ face is scrunched up like it does sometimes when he gets overwhelmed, tears in his eyes.
“No. That’s not fair, you’re not going away.”
“I have to,” Harry defends, voice wavering. “I don’t want to say goodbye but I’ll see you in the holidays and I’ll write, I promise.”
“No!” Chris shouts, and then he storms out, walking himself home easily.
Catherine starts fussing, apologising profusely, and rounds up her other kids to take home. They give Harry a crushing hug like they might never see him again. Once again, he’s reminded about the fact that this one of the last times he will be seeing his friends in a long while and tears streak down his cheeks, crumpling his face into an ugly sob.
Harry casts a desperate look between his dad and Maggie, silently pleading for help. After which they start tidying up all the mess and helping the other parents wrangle their own kids to head home. 
He lingers just long enough to throw himself into a sorrowful hug with his classmates before he’s dashing up to his room. The door is slammed behind him, though his hands never touch the wood of it. Instead he rushes straight for his bed and collapses there, face pressed to the plushness of his pillow to stifle his sobs as best he can.
He’s not going to see his friends for so long, and Chris hates him for it– What is he meant to do? How will he make new friends at this new school? Who would even want to be his friend at all – maybe he’d just been lucky to make the friends he has here and no one really likes him that much. Maybe Chris won’t ever write to him, either, because he was so mad and he hates Harry now and—
“Harry?” comes the hesitant call from the other side of his door.
“Go AWAY!” Harry yells back, pulling his face away from the pillow just long enough to snap at Snape waiting in the hall before hiding away again. His head is pounding from the force of his tears and his nose is running and he just wants to be left alone.
“Harry…” Snape sighs and Harry’s temper boils over.
“Leave me alone! You’re not my real dad – you’re a liar and I don’t want to talk to you.”
As soon as he hears the silence that follows, guilt takes his heart in a crushing grip. Stubbornness overrules it, though; he’s not going to apologise. This is the worst birthday ever, and Snape is the worst dad ever and–
The door creaks open and Harry turns to glare daggers over his shoulder, not caring about how puffy his eyes are. It’s not his dad, though. His dad just left, apparently – didn’t even try again. Instead, his Auntie makes her way slowly over to his bed, looking at him with sorry eyes.
“You okay, kid?”
Harry gives her a sour look and she sighs.
“No, of course not. Your friend’ll come around – he just can’t deal with how much he’s going to miss you.”
Harry sniffles and presses his face back into the pillow. He doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t even know if he believes it. Harry’s seen Chris get overwhelmed, and upset, and mad a lot but he’s never seemed that mad at Harry. He’s not sure if they’ll ever be friends again – his breath hitches painfully – which is an awful thought. Tears sting back in his eyes and he can’t blink them away fast enough. His breath shudders as they race back down his face and join the wet splotch on his pillow.
Chris is– was his best friend. 
Maggie lays a gentle old hand on his shoulder, making him meet her eye.
“He will come around,” she repeats. “And until then, your dad’s really worried about you. He’s pacing down in the kitchen, wondering what to do – and he’s real hurt because of what you yelled at him.”
That feeling twinges in Harry’s chest again and he has to look away from Maggie’s eye. 
“I was right, though,” he insists, not entirely sure who he’s trying to convince. “He lied to me, and he doesn’t really care. Because of him, I grew up muggle which means that I’ve made all these friends I’ll have to lose. If I’d grown up in the wizarding world like I was supposed to, then this wouldn’t happen! I- I wouldn’t have met anyone that I have to leave. This is his fault.
“Besides, he left right away when he came to check on me, so can’t have really wanted to talk to me.”
The huff Maggie lets out is agitated.
“Now that is enough of that, mister,” she scolds. “That man loves you a great lot, you hear me? And when you realise how much you’d better run straight to him and apologise, you listening, kid?”
Harry flushes under her reproach, but stubbornly looks away and doesn’t agree.
When Maggie sighs, it’s half-resigned, half-angry.
“Well, if it weren’t your last month here I’d make sure your dad grounds you for that. But he won't, because this is your last chance to spend all your time with your friends, so you’re a lucky brat right now.” 
Something in her seems to deflate and she leans down to press a kiss to Harry’s hair, despite how he squirms away from the affection.
“Enjoy this time with your friends. You’ll keep in touch with them, I’m sure, but I know you’ll still miss them. Don’t you dare spend all August sulking, because as soon as September starts you’re off to Hogwarts and your time will be wasted.”
She pushes to her feet from where she’d been perched on the edge of his comforter. Stretching her joints, she lets out a groan. 
“Get some rest, kid. Being upset’s got you all tuckered out. I’ll see you soon.”
And then she sweeps from the room, leaving Harry alone with his grief again.
0 notes
nunchiimagines · 3 years
Text
Choco Bun: 3
Choco Fudge
Tumblr media
— Summary: When you moved to Korea after finishing college to continue pursuing latte art and baking, the last thing you were expecting was to open up your very own coffee shop under BTS Corp, Korea’s biggest entertainment service company for idols, models, singers, and more. Thanks to your hard work, creativity, and approachable personality you managed to become friendly with some pretty big named individuals as well as up and coming talent. As exciting and fun as it was for you, you slowly began to realize how much your 7 bosses weren’t particularly fond of this, acts of jealousy, pettiness, and aggression poking through in the most unsuspecting of ways. But what could 7 big named dragons want with a little foreign bunny?
HYBRID TYPES: Reader-Bunny Namjoon-Earth Dragon Jin-Water Dragon Yoongi-Moon (Dark) Dragon Hoseok-Sun (Light) Dragon Jimin-Wind Dragon Taehyung-Ice Dragon Jungkook-Fire Dragon
— Pairing: ceo!mythical hybrid!bts x poc!curvy!hybrid!coffee shop owner!reader
— Genre: fluff / poly!au / ceo!au / hybrid!au / mafia!au (if you squint)
— Status: Completed
— Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, verbal insulting (bullying), underlying threats, mentions of murder
— Word Count: 7.7k
~MASTERPOST~
CHAPTERS: Prev _ Next
**AUTHORS NOTE**
Here’s chapter 3! If I’m being honest...not a huge fan of this chapter. That’s why it took me so long to finally post for you all. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it for what it’s worth and look forward to future chapters! :D
Also this is like completely unedited...so please forgive any mistakes T_T I’ll come back an fix it soon, promise!
______________________________________________________________
When you walked out of your apartment you were met with none other than Mr.Choi again. He looked just as happy and cheerful as always, him unexpectedly and unexplainably becoming your chauffeur since the first time you met him. You had protested to Namjoon the following day, claiming that you didn’t deserve such illustrious treatment, but you caved when he dismissed you and those irresistible dimples appeared. Curse that face of his and his way with words. So here you were being driven around in a car you had to look up to find out how expensive it was. Luckily though, Mr. Choi never made you uncomfortable and always eased your worries and concerns. Ultimately, if nothing else you made a really nice friend from the whole ordeal.
When Mr. Choi finally reached the estate; you weren’t surprised by how extravagant and vast the property was. Given the amount of money they make hourly as well as the fact they house seven grown male dragon hybrids, it only made sense their home was so large. Add the fact they host gatherings and meetings and you’d expect nothing less. However, where you used to live, houses this big did not exist anywhere in sight. They were gated off similar to this but they looked more like mobile homes compared to the mansion sitting in front of you.
Traditional decor cooperated beautifully with a modern touch with every architectural design your eyes laid on. Hints of the lawn, the roads, and the surrounding garden were made clear that a professional hand took great care of it daily. Their driveway felt like another street and the amount of security that you could witness probably was minor compared to what was really surrounding the property. They may not have shown it so openly to the public that they were rich but their home definitely did. You would’ve thought a government official lived here or someone else with an even higher status.
“Madam Y/n, are you alright heading in by yourself?” Mr. Choi asked you, snapping you from your thoughts.
You quickly turned to him and bowed apologetically. When you looked back up, you held a sheepish yet somewhat overwhelmed smile on your face.
“Y-Yes sir! Thank you so much for escorting me here. I truly appreciate it.” you said before offering him one last goodbye for the time being.
He nodded with a kind and gentle smile, pleased to see you brave enough to continue by yourself. Getting back in the vehicle to pull off, you turned to the large double doors now towering over you. Getting ready to ring the doorbell, one of the pristine wooden slabs opened on their own to your surprise. You first saw two cat ears atop a large tuft of dark brown hair. The person in question was very tall, very thin, and very young looking. He held sharp features and wore a butlers suite that fitted his figure nicely, slightly accenting his muscles underneath. His tail swooshed back and forth as he examined you closely, golden frame glasses glowing under the rays of the sun. It was a brief pause of silence before he smiled gently at you in recognition.
“Madam Y/n, correct?” he asked.
“Yes sir!” you squeaked out.
The tall cat hybrid just chuckled at you, smelling your anxiety from a mile away. Opening the door wider for you to step in, he bowed to you first.
“My name is Junghwa, I am the head butler of this estate. It is my utmost pleasure to finally meet you in person. If you may,” he said gesturing towards a row of maids standing in front of one of the largest set of double staircases you'd ever seen.
“Our staff here has quite a few options of attire at your disposal, provided by Master Park himself.” he stated.
From what you already knew, and what you managed to continue to learn about the guys individually, was that Jimin, specifically, took clothing very seriously. He was always dressed to the nines, not a single wrinkle or stray strand in sight. You were more than a little bit curious to see what Jimin had personally handpicked for you.
“Thank you Mr. Junghwa.” you bowed politely before following the staff up the stairs.
The man bowed in return before making his way off into one of the neighboring spaces, unsure of where it led. You didn’t really have time to ponder over it as the maids rushed you up the remainder of the stairs and into a room a few hallways down.
Entering the dressing room, the older of the four maids began instructing the others to retrieve the options Jimin picked out for you. You waited patiently to be revealed to some of the most beautiful dresses you’d ever seen in your life. The older maid must’ve found your adorable yet astonished gaze on each of the dresses amusing, concluding that you’ve never worn something so expensive before. And she was definitely correct about that. With a rising smile on her face at the evident indecision in your eyes, she finally spoke up.
“Madam Y/n, would you care to try on all of them to see which best suits your taste?” she asked kindly.
“Oh! Y-yes! May I?” you asked for clarification with a clear flustered expression.
All the maids started to giggle at your child-like reaction, amused by your genuine question.
“Of course my lady. Master Jimin spent quite a few days finding something he thought you might thoroughly enjoy wearing. He took good care of keeping a lot into consideration. You should give them each a try before deciding.” she urged.
You smiled happily at her words, yet again another gesture you weren’t used to especially by a male. You nodded your head in agreement, preparing yourself to try on the first dress. You had requested honest input from the maids, as you ended up being just as indecisive as you were in the beginning. They were more than excited to gush over their reasonings for the dress they thought suited you better. In the end, though, you all settled on an off the shoulder a-line ball gown that sparkled beautifully under the light, different speckles of colors pointing through each time you moved. Your hair and makeup were styled simply so as to not distract from your natural beauty and the elegant fit of the dress. You were more than pleased about that as you were not one who liked wearing too much makeup or standing out either.
Regardless, you were overall pleased and thankful for the final result, truly appreciating the opinions of the maids who aided you every step of the way. And even though you thought you simply looked a bit prettier than normal you were entirely unaware of how you affected the men you were going to eventually come across on your way to the ballroom, the location of your booth for tonight. First was Jungkook and Namjoon, who were notified first of your arrival.
When you descended the staircase with the oldest of the maids, whom you found out was the head maid of the house and named Mrs. Choi (Mr. Choi’s wife), you were unaware of the two approaching males from the opened space Junghwa initially exited through. Too busy admiring the lavish decor within the walls of the foyer, you failed to notice Namjoon and Jungkook staring so openly at you. Their eyes shamelessly traced over your figure as the sunlight from the windows radiated your very being, giving you an ethereal glow that was too attractive to look away from.
Mrs. Choi immediately bowed to the duo before a sly smirk found its way so perfectly upon her lips. Eyeing the three of you in wait, wondering who was going to finally make the first move, her patience at the lack of action dwindled down relatively quickly. Straightening herself up, Mrs. Choi broke the settling silence, snapping the guys out of their daze and redirecting your attention to their presence.
“Master Namjoon. Master Jungkook. Doesn’t Madam Y/n look beautiful?” she asked, urging the three of you to converse.
You twirled, unaware of the elegance within your sudden gesture. You beamed happily at the two before caving under their overbearing yet enthralling demeanor. Your heart skipped a beat and your joyous smile turned shy instantly. You could spend all day going through a dictionary to find the appropriate words to properly describe the alluring charm leaking off of them but you were too magnetized by it all, feeling small and unworthy to be standing in their presence. You were absolutely certain the others looked as pleasantly handsome.
“Yes, she looks absolutely gorgeous.” Namjoon spoke first, breaking your train of thought.
A small blush spread across your cheeks as the compliment slipped from Namjoon’s lips. He grinned lovingly at you while he too seemed to be blushing slightly. Jungkook was still at a loss for words, unsure of what to even do. On one hand he wanted to take your hand and spin you again to show off how you make the dress more exquisite than it could ever look on anyone else. But on the other hand, Jungkook’s nerves were ceasing his muscles, his train of thought, and his ability to utter a single word aloud. It was pure torture and he truly didn’t want to stand there like an idiot, so he mustered up all his bravery to finally perform some kind of action.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t even know if gorgeous is the correct word. But i definitely agree with hyung. You look really amazing Y/n.” Jungkook finally admitted, smiling to hide his obvious crimson flush.
You felt undeserving of such kind words, the attention being unfamiliar and too much for your poor sensitive heart to handle. Regardless, you tried to stay brave by smiling and nodding, even if it was obvious you were somewhat embarrassed. Namjoon couldn’t help but chuckle and Jungkook couldn’t maintain eye contact for much longer. Mrs. Choi had disappeared quite a while ago, dismissing herself privately.
“You both look more or less handsome.” you joked trying to calm your nerves, giggling shortly after.
“Sorry we couldn’t chock up to your beauty love, some of us weren’t as blessed to be as bewitching as you.” Namjoon smirked back.
You about choked on air, unsure of what to say. Jungkook just laughed, silently agreeing as you weakly attempted to hit them both in their arms out of distress. Curse Kim Namjoon and his way with words! He always knew what to do and say to provoke your emotions, even when you tried so damn hard to be as confident and clever with your own. Jungkook slyly captured your hands within his own before twirling you around playfully.
“Woah there princess! Can’t have you getting too riled up now. What would we do if we lost our little choco bun to such silly tricks?” Jungkook teased, boldly intertwining his fingers with yours.
You were a bit surprised by the sudden change in demeanor but summing it up to being part of his usual playful self. You pouted up at him, his height towering over you making you feel small. Yet you couldn’t deny the view you were blessed with, an opportunity to admire his handsome face up close more so than usual. He held such a spirited look, content with the dynamic you shared. Before falling deeper into this haze you politely took your hands back and turned away from them both, hoping to gain the upper hand over the situation. They each eyed you curiously, waiting in amusement for your next course of action.
“Well I made a promise so I’m not going anywhere. You’d have to do more than some childish teasing to get me to yield to you.” you chided back, a slight smirk on your face.
Though you just wanted to join in on the teasing you were met with darkening gazes and a quick flicker of an iridescent color in both of their eyes. You couldn’t make it out entirely but you definitely knew something in their eyes changed for a brief moment. The atmosphere was slowly feeling more and more suffocating, like you were being placed under a trance. Your skin was raised and your senses felt heightened. It was like you were staring into the eyes of unforgiving predators who would maul you without so much as thinking twice. Your inner animal was on high alert but at the same time, in that very moment, you wanted them to take that chance because you knew. You knew deep down that it wasn’t the fear of dying by their hand but it was the exhilarating possibility they’d rip off your clothes and take you where you stood. Holding you, marking you, pushing deep inside you; the mere thought of it drove your senses mad. But you needed to control yourself. These were your bosses, not your lovers.
Namjoon and Jungkook could smell you. And just like you knew, they knew too. They knew they were the ones to make you stay in place. They knew they were the ones that made your skin crawl. They knew they were the ones that made you just slick enough in between your thighs to smell that irresistibly sweet yet pungent scent. And they knew that if they kept up this dynamic any long they were going to lose all sense of self restraint. Namjoon cleared his throat first, forcing your attention on to him and allowing for Jungkook to compose himself.
“Well Y/n, we understand that you have to get going. Junghwa asked us to pass a message along to you. Head into the kitchen to retrieve your identification badge. Then follow the head server into the ballroom where your booth is located.” Namjoon explained.
You straightened yourself up and smiled, bowing in thanks. Waving goodbye to the duo and also to that extremely unexplainable atmosphere, you quickly scurried off with their eyes watching your every move until you left out their sight. It didn’t take long for you to find the kitchen, having to only follow the striking smells that lured you to the doors. Upon entering the area you spotted both Yoongi and Seokjin instructing a few staff members on where to be and what to serve based on a set up of tonight's guests.
It was absolutely intriguing to see them speak so eloquently to the servers, impressed with the clear cut instructions they gave. It was a few more minutes of watching in awe before the group was dismissed to take up their positions. Yoongi was the first who noticed you, blinking several times in astonishment before stepping away from an oblivious Seokjin. He had a shy smile when he approached you, looking over your appearance with such admiration.
“You look beautiful Y/n.” he said bashful.
You always did find it endearing how sweet and soft Yoongi was despite what so many believed. He was the type of person who was very sensitive on the inside and hid it through stoicness. That often came across as uncaring, cold, and icy; labeling him under the misconception of being intimidating and cruel. But it took all of maybe a few visits to realize just how incorrect that was. Being a fan, you always had your suspicions but it only served to prove you right the longer you hung out with him.
“Thank you Yoongi. As expected both you and Seokjin look as handsome as usual.” you said, feeling a bit braver.
Seokjin perked at your compliment, beelining his way towards you as soon as he recognized your sweet voice. Seokjin may not have admitted it but he was entirely enamored with your voice. So sweet, so soothing, so angelic, so cute. You were the epitome of the soft girl aesthetic, at least personality wise, and it drove him mad. As Yoongi was desperately trying to mask his rosie tinted cheeks from your previous complement, Seokjin took the initiative to lightly grasp your hand before kissing it.
“My, you’ve always been easy on the eyes but you sure know how to stop a crowd when dressed like this. I fear our guests will be a bit too enamored with you.” Seokjin chuckled, twirling you around to take a look at the dress fitted to you.
“Jimin really did an excellent job picking out your dress.” he added.
“I think Jimin could’ve given her a potato sack and she’d still somehow make it look gorgeous.” Yoongi admitted.
Your group laughed at that, you shaking your head in disagreement.
“I think you’re giving me too much credit! Pretty sure no one would want to see me naked in a potato sack. That wouldn’t be all that appealing I'd assume.” you giggled once more.
Just like Namjoon and Jungkook, Seokjin and Yoongi’s eyes darkened at your words. Seokjin smirked at you, eyes filled with a challenging gaze.
“Babe, if I’m being honest, I’d think the world would fall to their knees if they saw you naked, with or without the potato sack.” Yoongi states matter-of-factly, eyes shamelessly yet slowly looking you up and down, lingering over your more intimate areas.
Babe? Did he just call you babe? Yoongi has never done that before. And why was his tone so provocative? Your heart began to race and your skin felt chills run through it. It was just like with Namjoon and Jungkook. It terrified you so badly yet turned you on so intimately.
“I’m going to have to agree with Yoongi, my little bun. But if you truly didn’t want to wear such an outfit, we’d have no problem with you going without anything really.” Seokjin stated flirtatiously with a raised brow.
Your heart skipped a beat before lodging itself deep within your throat. It was getting hot, uncomfortably so and it felt...weird to say the least. Something you weren’t sure how to explain. You fidled with your dress before shyly looking away at a loss after hearing such captivating exclamations. Seokjin found that to be cute, wanting to tease you more. But just before he even had a chance, a slight cough interrupted the thick atmosphere. Capturing all of your attention, there stood a young woman with a flat expression. She looked a tad bit older than Seokjin and was very pretty. She didn’t seem all that bothered with her master’s actions and stood there as if she hadn’t just heard what they said.
There was a quick flash of irritation in Seokjin’s eyes before it disappeared just as fast as it came. He sighed a bit before recomposing himself. Yoongi spoke up first.
“Y/n, this is Ms. Chun Hei. She is our head server and the one who will escort you to your booth this evening. With her she will explain the basics of what to do and what to expect. She also has all of the identification you will need to enter and exit the ballroom in case you have to.” Yoongi broke down.
Oh yeah. You almost forgot. You were here to work. You were getting paid for your services tonight. Nothin less and nothing more. For some reason you hated hearing Yoongi remind you of that. Remind you that at the end of the day you are merely their employee and they are your bosses. Nothing less and nothing more. And yet, deep down, your heart sunk at the thought of that, remembering the inevitable barrier between you and them. You were you and they were, for lack of a better word, amazing. You tried to hide your faltering smile by bowing to Chun Hei and following her out the doors. Both Yoongi and Seokjin noticed it immediately but chose not to voice anything. After you waved them goodbye, you eventually made your way to the ballroom, which was far more vast, more beautiful, and more extravagant than any other room you’ve come across so far.
She guided you through the large enclosed area where a decent sized table with your equipment laid sitting. You were stationed right next to the opened balcony which provided you with a beautiful view of both the sun and the large flower maze garden they had down below. You had noticed there were various tables with exquisite embellishments and food prestinely placed on silk woven cloth. It looked like a scene straight from a fairy tail.
You thanked Chun Hei and started to prepare your special dish for tonight; chocolate fudge cubes and hand roasted coffee. The fudge cubes were to act as the sweetener while not overtaking the bitter nuttiness that coffee is birthed with. The fudge itself was constructed to not be overly sweet and can be eaten separately or together with the hot beverage. You had actually pretested this item beforehand and were given the immediate greenlight to serve it for tonight. The chocolate was done prior to your arrival and placed in a mini cooler to keep it from melting before guests arrived. You also were given a more advanced coffee machine that allowed you to make fresh batches on the spot. You were beyond thankful for the offered equipment, it’s uses taking away stresses you needn’t worry about.
Everything in front of you served as a nice distraction from the last two encounters, slowly feeling like yourself as you fell back into your element. However, that also served to block you from the duo that had immediately taken notice of your presence and, instead of approaching, had observed you the past couple of minutes. You looked absolutely dazzling to them. From your styled hair, to your elegant accessories, down to the end of the glittering gown. It shaped you perfectly, accented your brown skin beautifully, and only served to enlighten your graceful features further. Saying Jimin was proud to witness you in his choice and looking as fine as you did was a bit of an understatement. And he wore it like it was second skin.
“She’s a bit too pleasing to the eye. But I willingly have to say Jiminie, you did an excellent job picking out a dress.” Taehyung admitted to his friend, his eyes never once leaving your working figure.
Jimin was beyond pleased with this situation. He smirked triumphantly, your delicate features being more than enough of a reward for his efforts. Swishing the deep colored liquid around in his wine glass, he took a swig before walking forward.
“I know.” he simply stated, moving directly towards you without hesitation.
Taehyung wordlessly followed after his smaller friend, taking all of a few strides to reach your location. It took a second but you finally noticed the duo who were eyeing your station before they landed on you almost seductively. Was this going to be a reoccurring theme today or were you going crazy? You may not have been experienced but you sure as hell weren't blind or oblivious to the way they’ve all been looking at you. To be fair, you could argue there was no hidden intent behind the odd rise in sexual tension but you’d be more of a fool to disregard it. So, instead, you opted to push the intrusive thoughts to the side and take their overly touchy advances with a grain of salt. Even if your body responded in less than appropriate ways.
“Jimin. Taehyung. I didn’t think it was possible to look even more handsome than usual.” you jabbed playfully.
“Say’s the one who looks like a goddess when she usually looks like our cute little princess.” Jimin smirked back, cocking his head slightly.
There it was again. Those subtle endearing yet possessive terms they kept throwing out. God it was hard not to crumble under their words, their eyes, their presence. It was suffocating yet intoxicating. You couldn’t get enough of it yet your senses screamed at you to bolt.
It didn’t take much for your cheeks to heat with a burning vengeance. You always did lose your confidence around these men and all you could manage to usually do was shyly look away from them as a response. Taehyung licked his lips just before a smirk played on his perfectly symmetrical face, bathing in the way your innocence always riled him up. Stirring an uncontrollable need, a desire, to claim you so intimately, so passionately. But he needed to be patient. He and the others promised they'd be patient with you. But you always made it so damn hard sometimes. If only you knew how badly you screwed with them, then you’d realize that you actually had more power over them than they’d care to admit.
“You’ve all been giving me so much more credit than I deserve. I appreciate the kind compliments but I truly don’t deserve them.” you bashfully stated, playing with a loose lock of your hair.
“Love, it’s not nice to speak so lowly of yourself. Come,” Jimin said, gesturing for you to take his hand.
You placed your smaller hand in his as he played with your knuckles down to the tips of your fingers. He watched as you fell even more nervous under his touch almost identical to the wine from his cup earlier.
“I think it’s less of us giving you too much credit and more of you not giving yourself enough of it.” Jimin explained kissing the top of your hand.
Taehyung slipped the tips of his fingers underneath your chin, turning your head to face him.
“If only you could see the beauty we see and crave in you my little choco bun. I guess that’ll just have to take a little more time.” Taehyung stated before separating from you and walking away.
“We have some business to attend to before tonight. See ya later my sweet bunbun~” Jimin cooed, waving you a goodbye.
You waved back at the retreating duo, completely confused by the odd change in demeanor from all of them thus far. As much as you would like to mule over it, you couldn’t. You had far more important things you needed to handle before guests started to arrive. You’ll figure all this out later or at least at some point down the line.
As the night was slowly approaching guests poured in like crazy. At first all they did was admire their surroundings and speak to one another and you weren’t sure rather to be grateful for that or nervous that no one had approached you yet. However, as more and more people filed in, more and more of them slowly spread out within the ballroom, groups of hybrids and humans alike mingling closer to your table. It wasn’t until you had spotted a familiar figure.
“Y/n!” a voice called out excitedly.
You turned your head to a tall woman with long crimson hair. She had tanned skin, untouched and practically perfect upon first glance. Sporting a form fitting bright red dress with matching red lipstick, you knew exactly who it was. Carmen.
Carmen is a latina from South America, her real name being Maria Francisca. She had created a never before seen makeup line that had a shade for practically all skin tones, worked as a perfect SPF, water and sweat resistant, and lasts 8+ hours with light reapplication depending on what it is you're doing. Safe, cruelty free, and using all natural products; her line blew up like crazy. What made her really stand out was the fact she refused to fall prey to mass production that would normally lead to lower quality. Quality over quantity was always her motto. However, she had received quite a lot of pressure from big named brands and it wasn’t until BTS Corp came and asked to partner with her that she was finally allocated her freedom for creativity again.
When the partnership was announced publicly the world went crazy. So many people loved her makeup and many of the idols, singers, and actors under BTS Corp often used her brand anyway. It was a perfect match. So, naturally, you managed to meet her. Being one of few foreigners who often was there doing business with the company on a daily basis, she naturally gravitated towards you on that like minded term. You guys became friends relatively quickly, you also being an avid fan of her brand. You talked quite a bit when she stopped by if she could and you guys often shared little gifts with each other from your homeland. So if anything, you were happy to see her here.
“Well if it isn’t Meu fofinho~!” she endearingly called to you, kissing both your cheeks.
“Carmen! You look so gorgeous! I’m starting to think red was made for you!” you giggled.
“Why thank you love. But I have a competitor. Mr. Jung Hoseok is a very fine man in red. Especially tonight.” she pointed out, directing your attention to Hoseok who was speaking with a small group of individuals.
And boy was that an understatement. He looked just as stylish and suave as they come and he added a more breathtaking style than it should have had. You two giggled like school girls, impressed with how nicely the 7 men had dressed for tonight’s events as you individually picked out each one from the crowded room. Shortly after, you carried on a brief conversation about your beverage, which led Carmen into tasting it. Her eyes had grown wide and she began spending more time downing the drink than saying anything else. You’d assumed that was a good sign but you weren’t entirely sure at first.
“Is it…?” you started off, implying that you needed a response.
“It’s amazing! This is some of the best coffee I'd ever tasted. And this chocolate...uh what is this love?” she asked for quick clarification.
“It’s frozen chocolate fudge cubes.” you responded giggling.
“Yes! These….these are a godsend! It’s like a perfect amount of sweetness mixed with a hot bitterness and it's exceptionally divine together. And look at the gorgeous brown color and the scent…*mwah*!” she gushed loudly.
Her exclamations caught the attention of a few of the younger clients who recently signed on to the company. They approached your table in curiosity, allured by the fragrance and convinced enough to go through with their destination thanks to Carmen. And as more and more people gathered to taste your beverage, you were flabbergasted by the positive responses that you’d received. You felt a swelling sense of pride from your work, something you came up with on your own, an original recipe, and you had never received such feedback so quickly. You were happy, pleased, and confident in sharing your intent and you met some really amazingly kind people along the way. You felt bad for assuming they’d all, for the most part, be snobby and standoffish. Scoffing at you and your work. Instead you were met with such inclusive and interested individuals. At least, for a vast majority of the night you did.
You actually weren’t surprised by this. A small part of you knowing that there was going to be at least one person who always had something to say. In this case it was a small group of high class investors. 3 women, 2 men. 1 man and 2 women were predator based hybrids; jaguar, tiger, and rhino. The other two individuals were human. They each were adorned with their own expensive dresses and suits, lavished with large and extravagant accessories that made it well known they had money. The way they carried themselves, the air that followed them, the arrogance that swallowed them up. Yeah, they were your stereotypical snobby rich kids. Too young to even know what to do with their money but old enough to act like they did.
“What is this, a cafe?” the female jaguar hybrid mocked.
“I bet it’s instant. Who would dare to allow someone to serve flavored tap water?” the human female laughed.
“Bold of you to assume it’s tap water. More like toilet water.” the rhino male hybrid proclaimed.
The group laughed amongst themselves, finding humor in their lame excuse of bullying. You could come up with far better insults than that, disappointed with how cliche it was. But despite all of that, you could not deny that it was irritating, no matter how lackluster the insults were.
“Can’t believe they hired some foreigner. At least pick a pretty one.”
“Like who? Carmen? Please, people like that are few and far between.”
“Then at least pick a thin one! Jesus, it’s like no one even cares about their body shape anymore. I thought rabbit hybrids only ate vegetables. Why’s that one so fat?”
“You know how those westerners like to be a bit more...rounder. Maybe she thought her exotic looks would enthrall some of the men here.”
You’ve briefly had people comment on your figure before in the past and just like this group, they weren’t always kind things. If you were being honest with yourself, you were in the inbetween stages of having thick skin while also being a bit sensitive. You had dealt with a lot of your past trauma on your own but you were still recovering from some of the more deep rooted things, like your view on your body. So even though you could handle the initial comments, it did start to bug you a little when they poked at your figure. Throw in the fact they brought up your bosses, 7 eligible bachelors who could easily snag any woman they wanted, 7 eligible bachelors who you were slowly starting to crush on for individual reasons...yeah it made you feel a little less than. The slow rise in anxiety started to make you drift back to their touchy encounters from earlier, analyzing each interaction. Your overthinking forced you to doubt there was any underlying intention, even if it was clearly borderline inappropriate a good 80% of the time.
“Well, what’s a cute little bunny girl like you doing being forced to serve such self-important lowlifes?” a sudden voice asked, ripping you from your thought.
The words the man had spoken completely shut the small group up almost instantly. They’re make-up caked, pristinely put together faces contorted in perfect reflection of their ugly degrading attitudes. It was a comical sight if it weren’t for the fact this man had said it loud enough for more than just them to hear it. Not once did he even bother to throw them a glance and only kept his blazing iron colored eyes on you. You admit that you were a bit lost, unsure of what to do or say in the moment. However, he didn’t really seem to mind waiting for a response, perfectly content with observing you, patiently.
“I...I uh...I don’t mind offering my services. If anything I’m happy to share my creations with so many people, despite their status of course. I just like making people happy with food and drinks.” you said, trying hard to swallow your rising fear.
You couldn’t exactly explain why there was a feeling of concern deep within your being but the animal part of you recognized it all too well and all too quickly. Upon first glance, this man, who you realized was roughly around Seokjin and Yoongi’s age, gave no indication of alarm. He was very tall, muscular, and held sharp facial features. His hair was jet black, slicked with a shine from some type of strong scented gel. He wore an outfit that was fit more to a gangster than what you’d seen most males dress tonight but it wasn’t too out of place. Despite his above average appearance, his eyes were what was the most enticing characteristic about him. They were a mix of lime green and forest green and his pupils were a sharp thin diamond shape.
You had a hard time at first figuring it out due to the heavy scent of his cologne but upon closer inspection you could tell he was a snake hybrid. A tad bit different from other snake hybrids you’d seen before but nonetheless, definitely one of some kind. In fact, what you had originally thought was a unique tattoo were actually unique scale protrusions on certain areas of his skin. It was oddly beautiful in it’s own way. But despite all of that, it was the way he carried himself. It was similar yet different. Arrogant yet approachable. Charming yet dangerous. And even though you could feel it, you knew it deep within your prey based DNA that he was bad news, he was also enticing as he continued to lure you deeper and deeper in to him.
“Look at that, passionate and good hearted too. How adorable you are. Such a shame not that many people here can see that.”
He sideyed the still present group of individuals, looking them up and down shamelessly before scoffing in their direction. His uncaring demeanor was somewhat admirable but unfortunately, the action came off as more adherent than anything else. You admit it made you feel a bit more uncomfortable than you cared to admit but tried desperately to cover that up. He looked back at you with a captivating grin, almost knowing what kind of mood he was setting and relishing in it.
“No matter. Not many days I get to lay eyes on someone as gorgeous as you. You were one of the first people I took notice of when I stopped by this evening. I almost didn’t come here tonight. But you darling. You made it oh so worth it.” he overly shared.
You sheepishly smiled, shaking your head in disbelief.
“I assure you there are plenty of amazingly beautiful women here who’ve surely caught your eye at least once today. I’m not so special, but I appreciate your kind compliment.” you giggled lightly.
“Surely you jest babe. I’m surprised more men aren’t here swarming your table. Such a shame those bosses of yours are too fucking blind to court your fine ass. Unless they’ve already love tapped you. In that case I’d like to get in on th-”
“Mr. Lee Jihyun. Wasn’t expecting a visit from you tonight. How unexpected of you.”
Both you and, who you now know as, Jihyun turned to the intruding voice. You were a bit relieved to have seen Hoseok standing there, feelings of uncomfortability fading away slowly from his presence alone. Hoseok flashed you one of his signature and radiant smiles your way, bypassing Jihyun without so much as a second thought. Jihyun looked irritated but controlled his rising temper, not wanting to make a scene.  
Hoseok offered his hand to you which you gladly placed in his. You smiled with a slight warm feeling radiating from your cheeks, your heart beating like crazy from his touch alone. He was the only one who hadn’t spoken to you since your arrival and in this very moment it was all worth it. Something about him always eased your rapid thoughts, feelings of reassurance and comfort coming to mind. You didn’t notice it but the small group that still lingered around watched in jealous horror, unknowing of the close relationship you two shared.
“Hey there cutie. I was told you looked beautiful tonight but I think the guys did a poor job at addressing that.” he laughed, charmed by you already.
“Hoseo- I mean Mr. Jung, thank you so much. You’ve all done so much for me and I wouldn’t have been able to wear something so amazing if it weren't for you all. Or more specifically Mr. Park.” you smiled shyly up at him.
Hoseok kept staring at you, enamored with the way you tried really hard to not be so nervous around him but more so with how truly beautiful you looked before him. He could tell right away you were entirely unaware of it, oblivious to how many men had truly eyed you, spoken highly of you, even going as far as to gamble with asking you out. He had no shame in admitting he was one of those men, albeit he kept most of that to himself.
“Why are you so cute? You drive me crazy.” Hoseok boldly admitted, lowering his voice and ignoring all the people around him.
You puffed your cheeks at him, a pout forming from his open flirting. You held a scowl on your face but he knew it wasn’t serious.
“Don’t say things like that. Especially when you don’t mean them.” you whined, your ears slumped in disappointment.
Hoseok was about to retort, hoping to assure you that he was far from being false with his words, but Jihyun butted in, annoyed with being ignored.
“Well good thing I’m no liar sweetheart. Unlike this one, I have a reputation for keeping all my promises. The good, the bad, and the ugly ones.”
You flinched at the hidden implications behind his words, knowing that there was something far more insidious with that.
“Is that what you see your self righteous snake charming ass as? Last I checked you had a little slip up the other night. Failed to get you princess from her castle, right? Wonder what hindered you?” Hoseok shot back.
“Hah. Would’ve been an easy job if she wasn’t so heavily protected by her fucking lizardmen. Dragon’s have always been greedy motherfuckers haven’t they? Once they’ve laid claim to a treasure they’ll do anything to keep it. Even if they destroy it in the long run.”
“We’ll see who destroys who in the end. And if the line get’s crossed again, you’re going to regret the day your mother didn’t swallow you instead.”
Jihyun just smirked at Hoseok, sizing him up before turning his attention back to you.
“See ya sweetheart. Maybe we can meet again and make due on some pretty amazing promises.” he said winking before walking off.
Hoseok’s eyes never left the retreating figure until he was out of sight. You, for lack of a better word, were very confused. The little conversation that took place made no sense whatsoever to you, or to anyone else who happened to hear it for that matter. You admit it was a little hot seeing Hoseok so dominant and angry, but you weren’t clueless enough to recognize they were speaking in code for a reason. You, of course, were not going to pry into it but you were starting to reach your social limit and kinda wanted to go home.
You and Hoseok had spoken for a little while longer, guests slowly making their way out the door and to their homes. Both Hoseok and you started cleaning up your table, cute little jokes and intimate touches taking place while you did so. It didn’t take long for the others to crowd around and join in. You felt most happy when you were with the seven of them and were grateful you could bask in their presence. With them here, the clean up went by significantly quickly and all the guests had somehow left the ballroom already.
Stretching your arms out in exhaustion, you yawned. Your feet hurt, your body ached, and your mouth felt dry. You were hungry, too nervous to eat or drink anything during it all, and after the nerves had subsided you felt starved and dehydrated. Yoongi had noticed it first, coming to your side to support your figure. You gave him a nod of gratification, opting to lean against his sturdy frame for relief.
“Did you tire yourself out today?” Taehyung asked, grabbing an extra piece of fudge you had stored in your small portable freezer.
“Yeah, just a little. I think I was running on all of the excitement tonight. I was too nervous to move away from here or to even eat and drink anything. I’m so tired. Hahaha, I’m sorry I think I’m rambling now.” you said sinking further into Yoongi’s warmth.
Jimin came up and took your other side, squishing you between the two of the smaller males. It was nice and comforting actually, kinda like how you used to burrow when you were little. The reminiscent feeling lulled you softly into the caresses of sleep.
“Little bun, you can’t fall asleep here. You need some proper rest.” Jungkook softly scolded, taking your hands into his.
“I know, I’m sorry. You guys must be just as exhausted having to talk to so many people tonight. I should head home so you could finally get some rest.” you mumbled back, attempting to stand on your own.
“H-How about you spend the night here?” Jimin offered up, a bit jumpy.
He made swift eye contact with the others, unbeknownst to you of course.
“What!? Oh no no. I couldn’t do that. I’ve already intruded on you already. I couldn’t ask to stay the night.” you argued back.
“It’s pretty late. It’s no big deal. You can leave first thing in the morning.” Seokjin added.
“Plus you’re in no way intruding Y/n. I promise. It’s probably much safer to stay here for the night.” Yoongi said.
You chuckled at their odd rise in concern, not understanding why they were so worried when Korea is known for being pretty safe at night. But god you were too tired to argue back.
“If it’s really not a big deal...I don’t mind being a bit more selfish.” you chuckled, giving in.
“You can be as selfish as you want with us my love.” Namjoon assured, guiding you by taking your hand and leading you out the room.
Just before that though, he shot Hoseok a look who pulled out his phone as soon as you were out of ear shot. Taehyung and Jimin stayed behind, bidding you a goodnight before calling in a group of men dressed in all black suits. They were adorned with holsters that held the guns they looked ready to use. They stood still in perfect rows, ready for the orders the three men had to offer. As soon as Hoseok got off the phone he straightened himself up.
“We have an unexpected infestation problem.” Taehyung started off, scoffing with annoyance.
“I’m sure we don’t need to discuss what it is you all need to do.” Jimin added with irritation laced in his voice.
“And boys, make sure all the snakes have been dealt with. If even one of them reaches our precious little bunny, there will be hell to pay.” Hoseok announced before exiting with the other two.
“Yes sir!” the crowd called out before immediately departing out to search the perimeter.
______________________________________________________________
932 notes · View notes
watchmegetobsessed · 3 years
Text
TO LOVE AND BE LOVED - Part Four (Harry Styles)
a/n: happy TLABL day!! can’t believe we are already on part 4! im not sure if part 5 will be the last part, im still very much writing the rest so we’ll see! thank you so much for all the love you’ve been showing the series, i love reading your reactions! feedback is very much appreciated this time as well!
pairing: CEO!Dad!Harry X Reader
warning: mentions of death, cheating and divorce
word count: 11k
SERIES MASTERPOST masterlist
Tumblr media
You wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck or at least consumed a whole bottle of tequila. Your head is pounding and it’s probably with all the crying and stress, so you are quick to take some pills to ease the pain. Sitting on the edge of your bed you stare ahead of you blankly, trying to gain power to start the day.
Though today is Sunday, so you are not working, you’re still worried to face Harry after whatever it was that happened last night. What were you thinking, kissing your boss out of the blue? And what was he thinking kissing you for the second time? It kind of feels like a dream, but you know it really did happen.
You try to stay in your room as long as possible, avoiding to face Harry, but soon enough you can’t postpone it any longer, because you are starving. Peeking out of your room you hear voices coming from downstairs and as you reach the stairs you recognize not just Harry’s and Izzy’s voice, but Niall’s as well.
Arriving downstairs you see Niall and Izzy sitting on the stools at the kitchen island while Harry is cleaning the dishes after their breakfast probably. He is wearing a pair of light-washed jeans and a black hoodie, the sleeves bunched around his elbows. He looks so casual and yet just looking at him makes your heart skip a beat. You are in some big trouble.
Niall spots you first and he perks up waving in your way happily.
“Good morning, Y/N!” he beams, his accent sounds so comforting in such a stressful moment, for some reason.
“Hi, good morning,” you breathe out. Harry turns around, his eyes fall on you and a shiver runs down your spine. He just looked at you and you already want to run away and hide in your room a little longer.
“Morning,” he greets you with a nod before turning back to the sink to finish the dishes.
“Daddy and Uncle Niall are taking me to the park! We are picking Yara up too!” Izzy shares the news with you excitedly.
“Oh, that sounds great!” you smile at her, giving her cheek a gentle pinch before moving to the fridge.
“Do you want to come?” she invites you and your eyes immediately flicker over to Harry who looks at you the exact same time, making your stomach drop right away.
“Um, I have some work to do, maybe some other time,” you smile at Izzy, grabbing yourself a yoghurt and a banana before shutting the fridge closed.
“So how was yesterday?” Niall asks and you freeze. Does he know what happened? Did Harry tell him about last night?
Niall sees your frightened look to which he shoots you a confused one.
“The wedding, Harry told me earlier you had a wedding yesterday.”
“Oh, it went… fine,” you nod shortly, peeking at Harry who is now staring down at his feet awkwardly. This was starting to get painfully ridiculous, the two of you dancing around each other, pretending like you weren’t down each other’s throats just a few hours prior.
“Alright, let’s leave, we need to pick Yara up in twenty,” Harry claps his hands. Izzy jumps off the stool and takes Niall’s hand as they all head out of the house. “We’ll probably have lunch somewhere and then go grocery shopping, so we’ll be away for a while,” he informs you without looking your way before leaving without even waiting for any reaction from you.
Yeah, this was straight up the most awkward conversation you’ve had in a long time.
Tumblr media
“Here, Izzy. Play some games on my phone!” Niall passes his phone to her with a sweet smile, but Harry smacks his bicep.
“What are you doing? She has enough screen time already!”
“Yeah, but I needed her to be busy so I can ask you what the fuck was that in the house.”
Harry curls his lips into his mouth, his eyes glued to the road ahead of him as he tries to come up with a good answer, but he knows he could never fool his best friend.
“Don’t stop, even if she is busy with the phone,” Harry scolds him, glancing at Izzy through the mirror, but she doesn’t seem to be listening to them. Niall rolls his eyes, but lets his words uncommented. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, you exactly know it. You and Y/N were like scared little bunnies around each other. She looked like she was about to faint any moment when you looked at her.”
“Maybe she was just tired,” he shrugs, but Niall laughs at his weak attempt to fool him.
“Now tell me the real reason, I know something happened.”
Harry chews on his bottom lip, debating whether he should come clean or not, but he knows Niall won’t leave him until he finally tells him so he is not left with many choices.
“We kissed.”
“What?!” Niall snaps, a little louder than Harry expected, his voice makes him flinch. “Sorry, that was a little too dramatic, but what the fuck? Why were you keeping this from me?!”
“Because I knew this is how you’d react,” Harry mumbles under his breath. “And… I don’t think it will ever happen again.”
“What do you mean?”
“The whole thing was a mess,” Harry sighs. “She came home late, pretty upset because she met with her ex at the wedding.”
“The one that cheated on her?”
“Mhm. The dude was an asshole and… she was crying in the kitchen when I came down. We sat on the couch, talked, I tried to calm her down and all that and then… she kissed me.”
“Wait, she kissed you? Wow, she’s got balls!” Niall laughs.
“Yeah, but it was, like, really short and she pulled back, shocked at herself for doing it. I think it was just all the emotions that got her a little confused. But then she tried to apologize and… and I kissed her.”
“What?! Oh my God!” Niall’s mind is blown and he doesn’t even tries to hide his excitement hearing the news about last night. “Was there tongue?”
“Jesus, Niall!” Harry scowls. “I’m not sharing the details with you.”
“Okay, but was it like a solid, short kiss or you guys went right at it?”
Harry doesn’t answer, but it tells enough about the situation and Niall can’t help but whistle as he claps his hands.
“Stop acting like a horny teenager, Niall,” Harry growls rolling his eyes at his friend.
“So you guys snogged, what’s the matter with that?”
“It got awkward. We just pulled back and I think we both were pretty shocked about it and… she just stood up and said that she is going to bed. End of story. And then you were there in the morning, so… yeah.”
“Tell me why the hell we are heading to a playdate then when you should be talking to her?” Niall asks, arching an eyebrow at Harry.
“There’s not much to talk about. It just happened in the heat of the moment, that’s all,” Harry shrugs, but deep down he knows it’s a blatant lie. At least on his side.
Unlike you, who fell asleep right away, Harry spent about an hour lying in his bed wide awake, not able to think about anything else but your lips on his. He replayed the whole thing in his head about a million times, he was starting to feel ashamed of it, but he just couldn’t stop.
Your abrupt leaving left him puzzled and he thought long and hard about why you felt the need to run away. The only thing that made sense to him is that you regretted it the moment it happened, that it really did just happen in the heat of the moment so Harry thought it’s best to act like it didn’t even happen.
“Please don’t be an ass and just… talk to her. We both know we can never know for sure what a woman thinks about. You can’t just assume and think that your assumption is one hundred percent right.”
“I find it funny that you’re such an expert in this stuff, but you haven’t had a stable relationship since like, we finished college,” Harry scoffs as he takes the corner and starts driving down the street to Yara’s moms’ house.
“Me not having a relationship doesn’t mean that I’m not good at them. It’s a choice,” Niall smirks.
“Yeah, whatever.”
“But back to the topic, you wanted to kiss her, right?”
“I mean, yeah? It kinda threw me off as well, but it was… nice.”
“Please don’t refer to a kiss as nice again,” Niall gags, but Harry just chuckles at him. “A kiss is hot, passionate, pant tighteni—“
“Okay, that’s enough!” Harry cuts him, earning a cackle from him.
“Just talk to her, don’t be a pussy.”
“I really do need better friends,” Harry mumbles under his breath as he pulls up to the driveway.
Tumblr media
You really didn’t feel like staying home alone in that big ass house so you invited yourself over for an early dinner to your mom’s. You haven’t been over since the little fiasco with Trevor so you thought it might be a good idea to spend some time with them. Trevor said they’ve been trying to keep the fighting down to the minimum and not let it turn into a screaming match, so your speech worked after all.
It’s past three o’clock when you leave, no sign of Harry or Izzy and you feel like they won’t be back for a while either, so you lock everything up and head out.
You have a genuinely good time. It’s obvious that your mom feels guilty about her past behavior and is trying to lure you into forgiving her, though you already did that. But you’re happy your little speech worked. At least Trevor can have his peace now.
After dinner your mom disappears in her room and then returns with a nicely wrapped box and you sigh, rolling your eyes.
“Mom, I told you I don’t need gifts.” You give her a look. Your birthday is coming up next week, but you were never the kind to celebrate. You never felt comfortable with all the attention and fuss birthdays come with, so you’ve always liked to keep it down. These past years you didn’t even ask for anything, though your parents never listened and this year doesn’t seem like an exception either.
“Oh hush. You can’t expect me not to celebrate my baby!” she shakes her head, sitting back to the dining table. “And besides, I didn’t pay a dollar for it,” she then adds and now you’re curious what she got you.
Removing the lid of the box you peek inside and your lips immediately part as you see the stack of polaroids inside.
“I know how much you like old photos and when we sold Grandma’s house back in August, I found these in my old room. I got a polaroid camera for graduation, just in time to take tons of pictures of you,” she explains with a soft chuckle as you start going through the pictures from when you were born and the next few years. Whenever you are done looking at a photo you hand it to Trevor so he can take a look at them too.
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep these, mom?” you ask glancing up at her over the stack.
“I took out a few for myself,” she admits with a sneaky smile. “You can have the rest, I know how much you love these stuff.”
“Thank you, mom,” you smile at her, hugging her from the side, feeling touched by this gift.
It’s nearing eight when you arrive back home, the lights are still up and if you had to guess you’d say that Harry is trying to tire Izzy out enough to put to bed, as usual. Walking in, your guess is proven right, the TV is on in the living room while Harry is sitting on the couch, Izzy all over him in her pink pajamas, playing around with his hair like she always does.
“Hi Y/N!” she calls out happily when she spots you.
“Hi Sunshine, did you have a good time today?” you ask with a soft smile.
“I did! And guess what!”
“What?”
“Yara invited me over for a sleepover!” she beams, clearly ecstatic about the invitation.
“That’s amazing!”
“What’s that?” she curiously asks pointing at the gift box in your hands. Harry turns to see you, his eyes falling on the box as well.
“Oh, it’s a gift I got from my mom,” you explain, stepping closer.
“Is it your birthday?” she questions, knitting her eyebrows together.
“No, not yet. But it will be next week,” you admit with a soft chuckle.
“Really? Are you having a birthday party?” she gasps, getting way too excited already. Harry eyes you without a word, holding Izzy by her hips so she is not losing her balance standing on the cushion of the couch.
“I’m not, sorry. I don’t like having birthday parties,” you pout at her apologetically.
“Oh, okay. Can I see what you got from your mom?”
“Izzy, don’t be nosy,” Harry warns her, but you just smile at the curious girl.
“Sure,” you nod, joining them on the couch. You sit on the opposite end than where Harry is, Izzy in the middle as she watches the box in awe. You set it down to the cushion and take the lid off, revealing the stack of photos.
“What are these?”
“They are called polaroids. They are old pictures, taken with a special camera that kind of prints the picture out right away,” you explain to her as she takes the first photo from the top, a picture of your mom holding you as a newborn. She was so young, practically a child herself, yet her pride was undeniable, it shone all over her face.  You spot Harry looking at the picture as well over Izzy’s shoulder, still keeping his silence.
“Who are these people?”
“That’s my mom and that’s me as a baby. And… this is my dad,” you hold up another photo that features your dad.
“They really were young when they had you,” Harry speaks up for the first time, surprised by the photos.
“Yeah, they were.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Izzy questions, dropping the photo back into the box as she leans back to lie on Harry’s chest.
“Not sure yet. I might make an album from them,” you shrug. “I really like polaroids, I love that they are one of a kind.”
Izzy nods, though you’re not sure she understood what you meant by that. Fidgeting with her fingers she pushes down a yawn and Harry takes that as a good sign.
“Alright, time for bed, Love. Say good night to Y/N.” He picks her up as he stands from the couch. Izzy waves at you smiling with tired eyes.
“Night-night, Y/N,” she singsongs as Harry carries her towards the stairs.
Putting the pictures back into the box you head into your bedroom too, feeling like the time when you and Harry talk about what happened yesterday will never come. It’s pretty clear that he doesn’t want to acknowledge it, so you’ll just let it slip. It happened just in the heat of the moment, didn’t mean a thing, you better forget about it.
After a speedy shower you are getting ready to just go to bed, read some and have a relaxing evening, something you didn’t have the luck to have the day before. But right as you’re about to make yourself comfortable in bed, there’s a knock on your door.
“Hey,” you breathe out as you open it and find Harry standing in the hallway.
“I hope you weren’t sleeping already.”
“No. Come on in,” you invite him inside and he walks in. As he awkwardly stops in the middle of the room you realize he hasn’t even been in here since you’ve moved in. He takes a look around, examining what you’ve done with the room and you feel thankful you decided to put your laundry away just yesterday, so no dirty underwear is littering the floor anywhere.
“How can I help you?” you ask with a soft smile.
“I, erm… I just wanted to clear some things,” he starts, clearly feeling nervous about the conversation and that makes the two of you for sure. Nodding you let him know that you’re waiting for him to carry on. “What happened yesterday…” he starts and your breath gets caught in your throat. “You were very emotional, a lot happened and it was a very confusing moment probably for the both of us. I really like working with you, I’m very happy with the way you’ve been taking care of Izzy and I would hate to ruin it with anything.”
You can feel your stomach dropping even though you were bracing yourself for this version of the situation. It was very likely that Harry would want to keep things professional, like before, but it still makes you feel like shit.
“I’m sorry for stepping over some boundaries, but I really hope that… we can put it behind us and that we can move on.”
He is using his business tone. It’s the same tone he used with Sarah and his assistants and now he is using it to talk about the kiss that happened between the two of you.
“Sure,” you answer quietly nodding. “Moving on sounds… great,” you nod, forcing a smile to your face, but it couldn’t be more fake.
Harry nods as he runs his tongue over his lips, looking around a little awkwardly now that it’s been discussed.
“Alright, then… good night, Y/N,” he nods in your way before heading towards the door.
“Good night, Harry,” you mumble after him as he walks out and closes the door behind him.
As soon as you are on your own, you let out a shaky breath, falling to your bed, lips trembling as you try to even make out what you’re feeling. Because part of you is glad he didn’t make a fuss about it and you didn’t lose your job, that’s great news. But another part, which is vehemently bigger than the first one is upset and sad and… disappointed?
You were hoping it meant something for him, you wanted him to want it, to feel the same craving for you as you feel towards him, because you haven’t really stopped thinking about what his lips felt like against yours, what it was like when his fingers dug into your thigh, how it sent a shiver down your spine when his tongue met yours.
But this conversation just made it awfully clear that he wants nothing to do with you. And it hurts probably more than it should.
 Harry doesn’t get too far from your door when he feels the all too familiar pain in his chest he has been forced to live with these past over three years. It’s like something is gripping his heart and lungs in his chest so tight, even breathing is a hard task.
Rushing into his bedroom he closes the door behind him and slides down to the floor as the tears flood from his eyes. The past twenty-four hours have been rough on him, the guilt has been growing immensely since he let himself slip and give in for his desires and eventually kiss you.
It’s not that he didn’t want it. Because he’d be lying if he said it meant nothing to him and that he hasn’t been craving it these past weeks.
But his guilt, this evil little voice in the back of his head wouldn’t let him enjoy it even the slightest.
How dare you kiss another woman after your wife? Are you insane? You don’t deserve to feel this way with anyone else. Not when you were the reason your wife ended up dead!
Heartbreaking sobs escape from his chest as he pushes himself up from the floor and heads into the bathroom. He strips out of his clothes leaving them all in a pile on the marble tiled floor before he steps into the shower and lets the hot water pour down on him, almost burning his skin, but he doesn’t change the temperature, as if he was trying to punish himself. His salty tears mix with the water as he stands still, chest heaving as his vivid memories from that night come crashing down on him all at once.
Tumblr media
“Are you giving me the silent treatment now? Really?” Harry sighed at his wife when she failed to answer his question about the whereabouts of his sweatpants. Maggie sat on the bed with the recent maternity book she’d been reading these past days, not even paying her husband a look at his question.
“Mags, for fuck’s sake, I’m not in the mood to play this game right now,” Harry sighed in defeat. Maggie looked up at him, closed the book slowly and put it aside to the bedside table.
“So the question of expanding our family is just a game to you?” she asked calmly, but her anger and disappointment in her husband was soaking through her tone.
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“No, you are not talking about anything, because you refuse to have a fucking conversation with me!” she retorted, letting all her bottled up anger out that’d been boiling inside her.
“I already told you that I can’t think about having another baby right now. Izzy is only six, I’m in the middle of a huge project, I don’t have the capacity to think about having another baby, Maggie. I thought I made it clear, why are you still onto me then?”
“Because it’s not something we can put aside for too long! I don’t want to have another baby when I’m in my mid-thirties, but if we go with your plan, we won’t even have another one!” Maggie jumped to her feet, pacing the floor back and forth next to their bed as Harry stood with his hands on his hips, getting irritated that they were fighting over the same thing again.
“I never said we can’t have another baby, but why can’t we wait a little? When Izzy is older and more independent? Do you have any idea how hard it is to take care of a baby and a toddler? It’s a fucking nightmare!” Harry growled rolling his eyes.
“So our family is just a pain in the ass for you?” Maggie questioned, folding her arms on her chest and she was really getting on Harry’s nerves, twisting his words completely.
“That’s not what I said!” he snapped. “All I’m asking for is you to be a little patient and give me some time!”
“I don’t have time, Harry! I want it as soon as possible!”
“Why are you so fucking difficult?” Harry groaned, running his hands through his hair. “Why can’t you wait just… one year at least? Is that too much to ask?”
“And is it too much to ask to focus on your family? We are supposed to come first!” she turned it back around and Harry was not having the dirty games she was playing, putting all the blame on him when she could have been a little more understanding as well. He was feeling like his opinion was put aside and didn’t matter at all.
“You do come first, you don’t have the right to question that.” Harry pointed at Maggie, his blood practically boiling at this point.
“Then why do I feel like work is always more important to you?”
“What are you talking about? You know I’m home as much as I can, but we still need the fucking money, Maggie! Or how do you plan on paying the bills of this fucking mansion?!”
“I don’t need a mansion! I just need my family and that’s all!” she argued, but Harry rolled his eyes at her.
“Well you seem to enjoy this mansion a lot when you sit by the pool and watch movies in the fucking movie theater in your own home!” he snapped back feistily. “Stop acting like I don’t do shit for our family when I work my ass off to provide the best possible life. And all I’m asking for in return is some fucking time before we bring another baby into the picture!”
“You are so fucking unbelievable,” Maggie shook her head as she marched past him, walking away from the fight that just grinded his gears even more.
Just as Harry was about to go after her, he heard the faint crying through the baby monitor. Groaning he headed into Izzy’s room and as he took her out of her crib, he heard the front door open and shut.
“Aw, baby, I’m sorry, did we wake you up?” he cooed, hugging the crying little girl to his chest who clung onto him immediately. Even at such a young age, Izzy was already a daddy’s little girl.
Soon her cries died down to just little hiccups as Harry soothed her, patting her bum and back gently as he moved around the room. Holding Izzy in one arm he grabbed his phone with his free hand and typed a message to his wife.
Harry: Where did you go?!
Maggie: I’m going over to my sister’s. Don’t wait up, might get home late.
Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. She called him out for running away from the conversation, but when they were finally talking about it she just decided to disappear when it didn’t head in the direction she wanted, seeking comfort at her sister, as always.
He managed to lull Izzy back to sleep, putting her back to her crib before going back to the bedroom. As time passed by and he calmed down more and more he wished Maggie was home so they could talk about it without jumping at each other’s throat. There had to be a compromising way to solve the situation that would be fine for the both of them.
Harry: Please come home and let’s talk about it.
Maggie: So you can bite my head off again?!
Harry: Mags, please. You have to understand my point of view too!
Maggie: I understand it, but I don’t agree with it. And you don’t seem to understand mine…
Harry: I do, but there are more things to consider. Please come home, I don’t want to have this conversation over the phone!
Maggie: Okay, I’m heading home now.
Harry put his phone down to the nightstand with a long sigh, already tired from everything that happened that day and he knew this conversation would be a hard one too, but they needed to be on the same page when it came to their family.
It was late getting late and Harry grew a little more restless with each passing moment. Paisley, Maggie’s sister lived about thirty minutes away from them and it’d been forty minutes since she sent her last text. At first he figured she maybe stayed and talked for a little longer with Paisley, or stopped for some fast food which he knew she liked so much whenever she was upset, but when an entire hour passed by he was getting worried.
He kept sending her texts that didn’t even get delivered and when he tried to call it went straight to her voicemail. Harry was losing his shit so he decided to call Paisley to see if she knew anything about her.
“She hasn’t arrived home yet?” she asked, clearly surprised.
“No, and she is not answering my calls and texts. When did she leave from yours?”
“A long time ago. Almost right away when you texted her to go home.”
“Fuck,” Harry breathed out, anxiously pacing the floor as he held the phone to his ear. “Okay, can you please call your parents in case she went there for whatever reason? I’ll try her friends.”
“Yeah, sure. Let me know if you got a hold of her,” Paisley told him before they ended the call.
Harry was scrolling through his contacts, trying to decide who Maggie would go to first in this situation and just as he was about to call the first person, his phone started ringing with an unknown number.
“Hello?” he answered the call unsurely, his heart beating fast in his chest as he stood in the middle of the room.
“Mr. Harry Styles?” a male voice asked on the other end.
“Yes, it’s me. Who am I speaking to?”
“I’m Officer Field speaking. You were listed as the emergency contact for your wife, Margaret Linn Styles.”
Blood rushed out of Harry’s face faster than he could even process what was happening. He stood completely frozen, his hands were getting clammy as he started sweating as if he just ran the marathon.
“What happened?” he asked weakly, barely even finding his own voice.
“Mr. Styles, I have bad news…”
Tumblr media
Harry makes his way down to the entertainment room, walking like a zombie, only thinking about the bottle of vodka that sits in the minibar down there. Following his skin burning shower he tried to go to bed, but his head was starting to spin from everything that’s been swirling in his mind and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it if he didn’t numb himself somehow. Unfortunately, his only way of doing it has been drinking, nothing seemed to help him the way alcohol did and though he knew he should never solve any of his problems with drinking, he still couldn’t help himself sometimes. When the pain was growing immensely, taking over his whole body, he chose the easiest way to get rid of the guilt or at least stop himself from… feeling.
Grabbing the bottle from the mini fridge he snatches himself a glass as well, not drinking straight from the bottle at least, and plopping himself down to the couch he pours a generous glass, drinking it without any chaser.
He winces as the alcohol burns down his throat, but at least it’s a different kind of pain, that takes the focus away from the one he is feeling in his chest.
One glass chases the other and since he is not particularly used to the heavy drinking, he is more like the ‘let’s nurse this pint for an hour’ type of guy, the raw vodka kicks in pretty quickly.
 But he is not the only one who can’t fall asleep tonight.
You tried everything in your power to end your misery and finally fall asleep, but your mind and body was plotting against you and made you toss and turn until you couldn’t take it any longer. Making a good cup of tea seemed like a good idea, so you headed down the kitchen.
As you round the corner after the stairs and you’re about to walk into the kitchen, you notice how the lights are on down in the entertainment room. You stop in your tracks and try to think back if anyone was there before you went upstairs, but you don’t think it was the case.
You figure since there are only two adults living in the house, it must be Harry down there and right now, facing him doesn’t sound like a good idea, so you decide to leave him be, but that’s when you hear the voice of some kind of glass breaking, followed by a heavy accented cursing and it changes your mind right away.
“Harry?” you softly call out as you walk down the stairs, not sure what to expect down there. He is crouching down, his back in your direction as he is trying to get the pieces of the broken glass up from the floor, but he is too disoriented to succeed in the task and it’s obvious that an injury is deemed to happen sooner or later.
“Harry, you’re gonna cut yourself!” you warn him, and walking over to him you pull him up from his squatting position and when he looks at you is when you realize that he is drunk out of his mind.
“Y/N, oh shit, did I—Did I wake you up?” he slurs, knitting his eyebrows together as he tries to focus his vision on you.
“You didn’t, but let me just—Why don’t you sit down for a moment while I clean this up, huh?” you suggest, pulling him towards the couch, making him sit. He falls to the cushion like dead weight, letting out a tired sigh while you rush to get a broom and a dustpan to get rid of the broken glass on the floor as fast as possible before someone cuts themselves.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he breathes out closing his eyes.
“It’s okay. I’ll just clean it up quickly,” you assure him, getting down to business.
“Not about the g-glass. Well, about that as well…”
“Then why are you sorry?” you ask, as you sweep the shards onto the dustpan and throw them into the closest trashcan.
“About being… a pain in the ass,” he hiccups.
“You are not a pain in the ass,” you chuckle softly as you sit beside him.
“I am. I fucked things up,” he nods with a painful expression all over his handsome face.
“What do you mean?” You know you shouldn’t make him talk in this state, but you can’t help your curiosity. It seems like drunkenness makes his tongue run wild and you are desperate for the tiniest crumble of information about what’s going on in his head.
“I just… I kissed you,” he breathes out, his eyes popping open, but he is staring at the ceiling, not you.
“And?” you ask, trying to act cool, though your pulse is rapidly increasing.
“And I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh.” You lick your lips and try not to show how much that hurt. But even drunk, Harry notices the disappointment in your tone. His glassy eyes snap over to you and his face falls right away.
“That’s not how I mean it!” he gasps, reaching for your hand and you’re surprised by the sudden physical touch, but it feels kind of nice, so you let him hold your hand between his arm palms. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it, because fucking hell, it was amazing!” he bluntly tells you and you can already feel the heat crawling up your neck.
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Then why did you tell me all of that in my room just earlier now?”
Harry pulls his hands back and moves his arms across his face, covering his eyes as he slides down the couch, his legs spreading out in front of him. He lets out a shaky whimper and seeing him like this worries you a lot. Harry is always in control, he has never let him fall apart like this before.
“Because… I don’t deserve to feel this way,” he confesses, confusing you even more. What is he talking about?
“Why wouldn’t you?”
He shakes his head under his arms, biting into his bottom lip as he inhales deeply, like he is trying to keep something inside, something you shouldn’t know about, but now you are desperate to find it out.
“I’m a fucking mess,” he breathes out, letting his arms fall to his sides, but he keeps his eyes closed, shutting you out in a way. “I don’t deserve to have these feelings,” he repeats again and it appears he is more likely talking to himself, rather than to you.
“Harry, what are you talking about?”
“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you, because if I did, you’d never be able to look at me again.”
Now he is crying. Tears are rolling down his cheeks and his lips are trembling and you’ve never seen him in such a vulnerable state and quite frankly, it scares you. You knew him to be a strong and stable man, but now he resembles a frightened little boy, so lost in this big world.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad, Harry.”
“It is,” he winces, as if it’s causing him physical pain to even talk about it.
“Harry…” You breathe out and moving closer you place a hand on his knee, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He turns to face you, his eyes all watered and glistening, he looks so heartbroken, it almost pains you as well.
“Promise me you won’t see me as a monster,” he whispers.
“I-I promise,” you nod, already bearing yourself for the worst, judging from the look on his face.
Taking a deep breath he looks around, as if he is making sure no one else is listening. Then his eyes fall down to his hands in his lap, he fidgets with his fingers, his tongue running along his pink lips before he takes a deep breath and speaks up again.
“Maggie’s death… It was all my fault. I fucking… killed my own wife.”
His voice dies down at the end of the sentence, staring into the void, completely zoned out as you sit beside him, shocked at his words. This was not exactly what you were expecting him to say. Harry starts sobbing again, the hot tears running down his cheeks as he starts crying and panic sets in you. He is so out of his own world, you have no idea what’s happening to him. Rushing over to the mini fridge, you grab a water for him, thinking it might help him at least after all the alcohol he has consumed.
“Here, drink some water,” you softly tell him, taking the cap off as you hand him the bottle. He takes it with a shaky hand and raising it to his trembling lips he takes a few small sips. “Harry, what do you mean it was your fault?” you ask, knowing well you probably shouldn’t push it, but you can’t just ignore what he said.
“Exactly what I said,” he sobs shaking his head vigorously. “It was all my fault, I was a fucking coward and that’s why she died! I could have stopped her! I should have gone after her!”
He is not answering you, not entirely. He is speaking thoughts that have been planted in his head a long time ago and they seem to be on repeat whenever he is feeling down. As much as you want to get more details out of him, he needs to rest, especially because he is working in the morning.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed, H,” you tell him as you stand up and reach out for him to help him to his unsteady feet. It turns out to be a little harder than you expected, but you manage to get him up from his sitting position, and throwing one of his arms over your shoulders you start to walk him up towards his bedroom.
“You fucking hate me now, don’t you?” he slurs, his other hand reaching out towards the wall to steady himself a little more.
“I don’t hate you, Harry.”
“But you think I’m a monster, right?”
“I’m not sure I know enough to think anything about you. This is a conversation we should have when you’re sober,” you suggest and he huffs.
“M’sorry for getting drunk in the middle of the night.”
“It’s alright. But I think you’ll have a mean headache in the morning,” you tease him as you finally reach the upstairs and head down the hallway towards his room.
“You’re a fucking angel, Y/N. You know that?” He just keeps talking and talking and you find it funny how different he is from his reserved and quiet self in this state.
“Am I?”
“Yeah. You are. You are so good to my daughter and to me as well… I really don’t get why your fucker ex cheated on you,” he huffs and you can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips. “What was his name? Kyle?”
“Keith,” you correct him.
“That fucker, Keith!” he spats making you laugh as you push his bedroom’s door open and walk him inside finally. “I bet he had a small dick.”
“Why does that matter,” you chuckle, making him sit on the edge of the bed.
“Because guys with small dicks are always out of touch with themselves. They think they are just better than everyone for some reason.”
“Do you have any scientific research to prove that?” you tease him as you push him down, tugging him under the covers, like a little kid.
“No, I just… know shit,” he sighs, his eyes falling closed the moment his head rests on the pillow.
“Alright. You can tell me more about what else you know when you’re sober. Now get some sleep, because you have work in the morning.”
You make sure he lies on his side as he hums his response. Reaching down you brush his messy curls out of his forehead as he breathes out harshly through his nose, probably about to fall asleep any moment.
Tapping on the screen of his phone on the nightstand you make sure that he has set up his alarm and you see the little alarm clock icon at the top bar so you are just about to walk out when you turn back around.
Seeing how he pushed so many things down inside of him, you’re not convinced he’ll be willing to give you the answers you are looking for. You’re afraid he might talk himself out and give you some kind of bullshit answer, so reaching for his phone you sneakily take his thumb and open the device, all whilst he doesn’t even move an inch.
Scrolling through his contacts you find Niall’s number and send it over to yourself before deleting the message so you leave no trail behind. You set the phone back to his nightstand and head out finally, going to bed as well, right after sending Niall a quick message.
Y/N: Hi! It’s Y/N, I got your number from Harry’s phone. Can you come by sometime tomorrow? I need to talk to you about something.
Tumblr media
When you come down in the morning it’s pretty obvious that even though Harry had his alarm on, he snoozed one too many times and now he is in a rush, trying to get everything done and leave on time.
“Good morning,” you greet him and Izzy upon walking into the kitchen. Harry’s head snaps up from the half-made breakfast in front of him and judging by his expression, he more or less remembers what happened last night. “Rough morning?” you ask teasing him to ease the tension.
“Uh, yeah. Woke up a little late,” he nods, finishing up Izzy’s sandwich just the way she likes, without the crust on before handing it over to her. Izzy grabs the plate and marches over to the dining table, quietly munching on her food while Harry quickly tries to make himself a coffee, but he is a hot mess, still in his night clothes when he is supposed to leave in about ten minutes.
“I’ll make you the coffee, go and get changed,” you offer, taking over the machine.
“Oh, thank you,” he nods and for a change, he doesn’t try to argue with you, he just disappears upstairs.
You make his coffee just as he likes and leave it on the counter for him before joining Izzy at the table with your own breakfast. She is babbling about how excited she is for her piano lesson today, because she’s been practicing a lot lately. When Harry appears again he is dressed for work, but still looks a little disoriented.
“Hey,” you softly say as you join him in the kitchen.
“Hey, thank you for the coffee,” he nods, moving around the kitchen.
“No problem. How are you feeling?” you ask, hoping you’re not crossing any boundaries. Harry opens his mouth to answer, but then closes, probably not sure how much he should share, though he didn’t have too much problem with that last night.
“I’m… A little hangover, but I’m… fine,” he nods shortly. “Y/N, about last night, I—“
“We can talk about it later, okay? Don’t stress about it.” You give him a reassuring smile and you can tell he is sort of relieved he doesn’t have to have this conversation right in this moment.
“Thank you.”
“No worries. And I’ll clean up in the kitchen, don’t be late,” you smile at him warmly. You can tell he wants to protest, but he also knows he is running late so he doesn’t have much choice.
“Thank you, I’ll… see you later.”
Storming over to Izzy he presses a kiss to her forehead before grabbing all his stuff and leaving.
Niall texts you back not long after breakfast that he is free to drop by when Izzy is having her piano lesson. You carry on with the morning as usual, trying your best not to dwell on everything that happened last night.
Just as Rosaline and Izzy get settled for the lesson you hear a car pulling up outside and a few moments later the doorbell rings through the house.
“Let’s get one thing straight, is it a booty call?” Niall questions right away as you let him inside.
“It’s good to see you again,” you chuckle, shaking your head at him.
“So no sex is gonna be involved?” he smirks and you know he is just teasing you.
“No, sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, you can never disappoint me, darling,” he winks at you before walking into the kitchen to serve himself a drink. “So why did you need to see me so desperately?”
“Well, I know I shouldn’t be discussing this with you first, but I feel like I need to know some basic information that Harry might not give me so I thought you could help me out.” Niall nods as he pours himself some soda and joins you at the kitchen island, sitting on the stool next to you. “I uhh—I need to ask how much Harry shared with you about… about me—and, um what—“
“Save the stuttering, I know you two kissed,” Niall cuts you off and you breathe out in relief that you don’t have to be the one breaking him the news.
“Oh, okay,” you nod with an awkward smile. “Yeah, so that happened. And last night he and I had this conversation how we should just keep our relationship professional and all that. We both went our own way but then later I found Harry down in the entertainment room, drunk and basically having a meltdown of some sort.”
“How drunk was he?” Niall asks, knitting his eyebrows together.
“Pretty drunk. He broke a glass and he was… crying and talking about a lot of stuff.” Niall takes your words in as he inhales deeply, just nodding for you to continue. “He started telling me how sorry he was for fucking things up and he was a mess, like a huge fucking mess. Then he told me about how he shouldn’t be feeling the way he does, because he doesn’t deserve it…”
“Jesus…” Niall shakes his head, probably already knowing where this is heading.
“And then he told me that his wife’s death was his fault. That was… pretty intense.”
“I can imagine.”
“I know I have to talk to him about it, but I’m really afraid he might shake it off, but it seems like he is having some serious issues and I wouldn’t want things to get out of hands. That’s why I thought I would talk to you, maybe you know what to do or how to approach him with such a sensitive subject.”
“Yeah, I get it. It’s nice of you for being so considerate,” Niall nods, scratching his chin. “Alright, I’ll tell you what I know, but please also let him tell you if he decides to share it with you.” You nod and turn all your attention to him. “I didn’t find this out until about two months after Maggie’s death, but apparently, the night she died they had a fight. Maggie had been nagging Harry to have another baby, but he wanted to wait a little longer, until Izzy is older so they don’t have two babies at the same time. Harry said they had another big fight about it, said some pretty nasty things to each other before Maggie just stormed out to go over to her sister’s. She made it there, but… never made it back home.”
A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of how devastating it must have been, losing your partner after an intense fight without ever making up.
“Understandably, Harry completely lost his shit. For weeks he was barely functioning and we all knew he was grieving, but we didn’t know that he was blaming himself for what happened. When he wasn’t getting any better we somehow convinced him to go to therapy which luckily helped him immensely, but he stopped going a while ago. I thought he got things straight in his head about this whole Maggie situation, but I guess he is still hung up on that.”
“What about the drinking, did that happen a lot?”
“Not that I know of. I mean, yeah, he got wasted quite a few times, but only at the beginning. I don’t think you should be afraid that he might turn into an alcoholic. I think he is just really struggling right now because of the conflict he is having because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“Yeah, he is clearly very confused about his feelings for you and he has convinced himself he shouldn’t feel this way towards anyone ever, but then you came,” he chuckles softly giving you a knowing look.
“Niall, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you breathe out, worry and fear slowly taking over your judgment.
“First and foremost just… be patient with him, okay? This is genuinely the first time he has taken an interest in anyone since Maggie and I think he has already taken some big steps, which is a good sign. Try to talk to him and be open, but don’t push him. I know it can be really annoying when he keeps things, but let him tell you everything at his own pace.”
You nod, understanding the importance of not rushing Harry into anything. Just because you want to get over the awkwardness of the current situation, you can’t push him over his own boundaries.
“Okay, I’ll try to do that,” you nod taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Niall.”
“Oh, and don’t let him give you the ‘you work for me, we shouldn’t be doing this’ bullshit alright? He’ll try to make it out to be some kind of business, but it’s not. He needs to get himself out there and I genuinely think you’re the right person to help him with that.”
His words touch you and you’re not even sure how to react. Niall is clearly someone who stands close to Harry and if he thinks that you and him should give it a try, that must mean something. You can only hope that Harry will come around and think the same at one point.
Tumblr media
Izzy gets a little fussy by the end of the day and it takes a lot of persuading to get her to bed in the evening. Harry arrived back home on his usual time and because it’s been such a hot day outside, he took her out to the pool. The problem with that is that Izzy never wants to get out of the water, so when Harry said it’s time for dinner she threw a bit of a tantrum as Harry brought her inside and her mood didn’t get any better later either.
You spent most of your night in the living room just watching TV and working on your laptop, updating your schedule for the upcoming weeks and doing some editing. Harry stays upstairs with Izzy for a long time when her bedtime comes and you figure she is still a little moody, but then you eventually hear his footsteps approaching. Harry pads his way into the living room and joins you on the couch. When you glance over at him you know he is trying to find a way to start the conversation you both know you need to have, so you put your laptop aside and turn your attention towards him.
“Y/N, I’m really sorry about last night. I’m honestly so terribly ashamed you had to… see me like that,” he starts, clearly nervous to bring it all up.
“It’s fine, happens to everyone,” you assure him and it’s the genuine truth.
“It’s not a regular occurrence, really. I usually know my limits and try to stay within them. I’m really sorry for making you uncomfortable.”
“Harry, don’t worry about it,” you tell him again with a warm smile. “We can get past it. I think what we really should talk about is… what you said. Do you remember what we talked about?” you carefully ask.
“I do…” he nods, awkward diverting his eyes away from you. “I’m sorry I told you all that in that state, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to just pour it all on you so suddenly.”
“It’s alright.” “No, it’s not,” he protests shaking his head. “I dropped a bomb on you because I couldn’t deal with my own problems the right way, and it’s not okay. So please, just… accept my apology.”
“Okay, I accept it,” you nod.
“And about the whole thing with… What I told you about Maggie…”
“Just know that you don’t have to talk about it now if you don’t want to. I’m happy to listen whenever you are ready to, but I’m not trying to push you.”
“I know and thank you for that, but I feel like… I owe you an explanation,” he admits and you nod, happy that he is willing to talk instead of closing himself off entirely. “The day Maggie died, we got into this huge fight and she ran off to her sister. It was… a whole mess, we both said things we clearly didn’t mean and I texted her, tried to get her to come home so we could talk things out. That’s when… she was on her way home when it happened and… I still feel like it was my fault.” His voice dies down at the end, just like it did last night when he was talking about her. It clearly left a deep scar on him that’s still not entirely healed and you can’t blame him.
“Everyone keeps telling me that it wasn’t, that it was just all one big coincidence, but all I can think about is that she would still be here if we didn’t get into the fight and I didn’t piss her off so much she felt the need to leave.”
“There was no way for you to see what would happen, Harry. It’s not like you did it on purpose, you had no power over the drunk driver or where Maggie chose to drive home. It really was a coincidence.”
“I know, I mean… I understand, but somehow, my mind keeps telling me that it was my fault.”
“Have you thought about… getting professional help?” you ask, trying to be polite and cautious on the topic.
“Actually, I just called my therapist today to see if… she can fit me in for some sessions,” he admits and you’re surprised at how great he is dealing with the matter. “I feel like I might need some guidance again, before things get out of my hands.”
“That’s great! It really is good to go a bit ahead of problems.”
“Yeah. About us…” he exhales nervously, his eyes meeting yours and you can tell this is the part that’s got him the most anxious. You take this as your queue to take over the conversation.
“Harry, I’m going to be honest with you,” you start and he nods, chewing on his bottom lip. “I… I have feelings for you. You haven’t been the only one making realizations,” you add with a soft chuckle, that brings a smile to his lips as well. “I know that the situation is not quite ideal, but it’s not impossible. But I just want you to be honest with me, do you have feelings for me?”
The conflict is clearer than daylight in his eyes as he is trying to figure out what to say and you really hope he isn’t gonna try to mask his feelings.
“I do,” he then admits and it’s like a giant rock has been lifted off your chest and shoulders. “It’s just… I’m not sure how to deal with it.”
“That’s alright,” you tell him. “Let’s just… take it slow. We’re not in a rush, we obviously have a lot to figure out and that’s completely fine. The pace is completely up to you, I know that you need to get a lot of things straight in your head and I can wait, okay? I’m not going anywhere, I really like where we are now and… I just hope that we can move this forward whenever you feel comfortable with it.”
Harry stares back at you for a moment like you’re some alien creature. Like what you just said wasn’t normal or even human and that’s quite heartbreaking, because somewhere along the way he managed to convince himself that he is not worthy of the most basic decency.
���I-I can’t ask you to wait around while I figure my shit out, that’s not—“
“You’re not asking me, Harry,” you smile at him softly. “This is my decision.”
His eyes are shifting between yours and he is most likely looking for any sign of doubt or qualm, but there’s none, you genuinely meant everything you said.
“So, where does this leave us?” he then asks and you shrug your shoulders.
“Everything goes on like it used to and… whenever you are ready to take a step, just… let me know.”
You can tell he is filled with questions, but he just nods with a weak smile and leaves it at that. This will be a bumpy ride, but at least you are more or less on the same page now.
Tumblr media
You haven’t been a big fan of birthday celebrations. You just never understood the big fuss about it, throwing a party for surviving another year? Seems a little weird. This is why you never treated this day any different.
The morning starts off as usual, only that you wake up to a few texts from friends and family, wishing you a happy birthday. Your mom has sent you a whole damn paragraph about how you made her life complete and it wouldn’t be the same without you in it. She does that every time, gets a little too sentimental about it, but you guess it’s because it reminds her of getting old herself as well, which is a sensitive topic in her book these days.
It’s a Sunday, so a day off for you. Coming downstairs you find Izzy and Harry sitting at the dining table, already having their breakfast as usual, but when she sees you, she jumps in her seat in excitement.
“Good morning, Y/N!” she beams with a wide smile, buzzing more than she usually does.
“Morning, Sunshine. Slept well?” you ask as you pour yourself some cereal and join them at the table. Izzy nods and then peeks at her father as if she is trying to hide something with him from you.
“Daddy, can we do it now?” she asks in a whisper, but it’s not quiet enough for you to not hear it.
Your eyes lock with Harry’s over the table and the butterflies in your stomach start dancing around right away when you see the tiny smirk tugging on his lips.
It’s been almost an entire week since your conversation with him and things finally seem to get in place for now. Harry had his first session with his therapist on Wednesday and though you can tell he is still trying to find his own boundaries, he doesn’t worry as much about the situation as he probably did before. He isn’t walking on eggshells around you, unsure how to act. More or less it’s the same as it was before the kiss, but there are tiny little things that still make it different. Stolen glances, lingering touches and sweet smiles are making your days more colorful now and it’s gotten you all giddy and… happy.
“What are you two plotting, huh?” you ask, pointing at them with your spoon before digging into the cereal. Izzy glances at Harry one last time and when he nods shortly, she turns to you and throws her arms in the air.
“Happy birthday, Y/N!” she cheers as Harry reaches over to the chair next to him and pulls up a box from under the table, handing it over to Izzy so she could give it to you. “This is for you!”
“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything!” you gasp, truly surprised by the gift. You were not expecting it at all.
“It’s not a birthday without gifts!” she giggles excitedly as she hands the box over. You push your cereal bowl to the side and set the gift to the table in front of you. “Open it!” she urges you, her little hands curled into fists as she watches your every move, as if it was her who just got a present.
Your eyes meet Harry’s green ones over the table once more and he is watching you with a small smile, probably enjoying that he could surprise you.
You pull on the bow on the top and then carefully take the wrapping paper off until the box is revealed underneath and you gas as soon as you realize what this is.
“Oh my God!” you breathe out in disbelief as you take a better look at the gift. Harry didn’t just get you something, he actually listened to what you were saying and remembered that you’re a big fan of oldschool cameras and you have a special love for polaroids. And now, in front of you in the box is your very own polaroid camera, something you’ve been really wanting to buy for yourself for a long time, but you just never got around to actually do it.
“Do you like it? Daddy said you’d really like it!” Izzy asks with big eyes, watching your reaction.
“Oh, I love it!” you breathe out, feeling all mushy and melted from the gesture. Izzy climbs over to your lap, hugging your neck. You wrap your arms around her in a bone crushing hug and you’re so thankful for having them both in your life.
Izzy sits on your lap as you get the camera out of the box and figure out how to work it. She then hops off your lap and poses for the first ever picture taken with your new favorite camera.
“But it’s blank!” she furrows her eyebrows when the photo comes out.
“Because you have to wait for it to develop. It’ll show up in a few minutes,” you smile, setting the photo down on the table.
Izzy sits in her seat, excitedly waiting for the photo to develop and in the meanwhile you join Harry in the kitchen where he is washing the dishes. He spots you and turns the tap off, turning to face you as he dries his hands off.
“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” you tell him softly, but really feel touched by the gesture.
“No, but I wanted to. Do you really like it?”
“I love it!” you chuckle in disbelief. How could he think you wouldn’t like it?!
You move forward, aiming for a hug out of instinct but then stop yourself, not wanting to cross any boundaries, but Harry notices the motion and for your surprise, he wraps you in a warm hug on his own. You melt against his hard chest, your nose buried into his shoulder as your arms circle around his waist.
When you lean back, you both keep your arms around each other, eyes meeting and you realize just how close you are to each other. Without even knowing, your gaze flickers down to his lips and you’re dying to kiss him, to feel them again, but you don’t move, wanting to keep your word about letting him set the pace.
But what you didn’t expect is Harry leaning down and capturing your lips in a sweet, innocent kiss. It’s so different from the last time, that was a hot mess, but this one… this is light as a feather but still makes your stomach somersault as you taste his lips, cupping his face in your hands.
“Daddy! I’m thirsty!” Izzy calls out from outside and it kind of ends the moment. Harry pulls back and when you look at him you see that his eyes are still closed. They flutter open a moment later, finding your gaze and you look for any kind of regret or fear in them, but they are nothing but shiny.
“Just a moment, baby!” he answers her, a small smile tugging on his lips as he leans down and pecks the corner of your mouth again before his hands fall from your waist. “Happy birthday, Y/N,” he breathes out before grabbing a bottled water and heading back to Izzy.
You bring your fingertips to your tingling lips as you take a moment to really process what just happened and you can’t push down the smile that spreads across your face. Harry finally took the first step and now you can’t wait to see what’s coming next.
Tumblr media
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!
-
taglist
Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!
@mariamuses​ @pastequeharry​ @f-vasquezp​ @jgtfvhsg​ @trulymadlykiki​ @bookwormandtea​ @sltwins​ @kakaym​ @cherryruins​ @fairysums​ @styles217​ @reidsgubbler​ @meredithhuntt​ @hereforreid​ @kinda-ravenclaw-kinda-slytherin​ @harrystyle-ish​ @whitetigerlover17​ @popluckbih​ @mellamolayla​ @shamelessfangirl-3​ @runway-to-my-aid​ @battlegground​ @harrystylescherrie​ @sunsetcurve-h​ @wellfuckmylifethen​ @mroy-l0l​ @percysaidnever​ @sweeetcreatvre​ @shawnsblue​ @jackiehollanderr​ @lo-harry-ve​ @harrystylesisbaeee​ @goldenngracee​ @sunflowerryvol6​ @harryscherrysugar​ @niallbestie3​ @youngpastafanmug​ @dolcecheerie​
872 notes · View notes
youbloodymadgenius · 3 years
Text
Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3
Tumblr media
Moodboard by @quantumlocked310
Ivarello's masterpost here
A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖
A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂
A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩
In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.
Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!
Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊
Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.
Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.
Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)
Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.
Enjoy 🙂
🛡⚔️🛡
With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.
"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.
"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."
Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"
"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"
"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.
Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.
"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.
Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."
"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."
But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."
"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"
"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."
"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.
"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.
"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.
Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"
He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.
"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"
Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"
Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"
Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.
Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."
Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.
"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"
Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"
Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"
As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"
***
Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.
A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.
He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.
Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.
Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.
Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.
He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.
Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.
He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"
Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.
"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.
His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.
Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?
"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.
Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"
Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.
And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.
All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.
Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.
That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.
And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.
Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.
"Hello!"
His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?
"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"
Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.
Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.
"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.
Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?
"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."
"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."
Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.
Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.
Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.
He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"
He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.
"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."
Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.
"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"
Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.
He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."
Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.
That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.
But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.
"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.
Fuck.
That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"
He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.
He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.
Fuck.
His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.
Fuck.
Y/N.
Fuck.
🛡⚔️🛡
Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88
Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73
113 notes · View notes
garbagevanfleet · 3 years
Text
Brightest Blue (series)
PART ONE
Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  None yet.  Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Here we are everyone. This fic has been a long time in the making, but I’m pretty dang happy with it so far! I made Josh extra lovable and squishy for you all. I hope you enjoy! This fic is edited by the amazing and gorgeous, @lantern-inthenight. And big thanks as always to @myownparadise96. I literally could not have found the motivation to do this fic without you. 
MASTERPOST 
taglist: @myownparadise96 @n1-party-anthem @valleyd0ll @bigblack-catattack @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @oblvions @hansonobsessed​ @satingrass-maidensfair​
Tumblr media
The scenery in Michigan was vastly different than back home. You were used to and comfortable with the nearly unforgiving heat of the American South West, but the farther away you got from home, the more foreign everything seemed. The scrubland slowly started being replaced by emerald green grass and dense forests of towering pines. Once you hit Illinois, little farmsteads were scattered along every road you took, boasting fields thick with corn and beans. 
It was a bit over a full day’s worth of driving. You had originally thought you could just drive right through - after all, you were young and you had plenty of caffeine at the ready. In reality, you wound up digesting the trip over two days. 
You were a fortunate enough person that you had a reliable car, which made up for the fact that it wasn’t very pretty to look at. It didn’t exactly sip gas, but that had never even been a concern before this - it wasn’t very often that you left home, let alone make a trip across the country. But you were able to breathe a sigh of relief when you started seeing the exit signs for Ann Arbor. 
Your parents had been a bit judgemental about you picking a school so far away - they were even worse homebodies than you, and they knew that you being across the country meant they wouldn’t be seeing you until the school year was over - but there was no way you could turn down an opportunity like this one. You had worked your ass off to qualify for a scholarship, knowing full well that there was no way you could afford higher education otherwise. MU hadn’t been your very first choice but with one of the better programs in the country for your desired field, you just couldn’t turn it down. 
You had to pull over into a McDonald’s parking lot to pull up the address you were looking for and program it into your phone’s GPS before continuing further into the city. Your mother had been particularly wary about your living situation. See, she was a woman that adamantly liked to have a plan and then stick to it - she didn’t see any value in just letting things happen. “Go with the flow” wasn’t in her vocabulary, but you’d always romanticised the idea. Which was why, when you pulled up to the apartment that you were going to be living in for the next year, it was the first time you’d ever seen it. 
You had found the listing on the Facebook marketplace for the area, looked at a couple of pictures, and signed the lease agreement online - all without knowing what you were really in for. You’d been informed that you’d have a roommate when you’d contacted the landlord, but she hadn’t mentioned a thing about the person other than that. All she really said was “no pets, no smoking, and one month’s rent for the security deposit. You had told yourself that it didn’t really matter what the situation was as long as the other person wasn’t outwardly malicious and the place wasn’t infested with pests or anything, even though you knew it mattered a little. 
An audible sigh of relief left your lips when you pulled into the apartment parking lot and found that your new home looked well kept. The building had old, slide-up windows, but the brick siding was clean, and the shrubs that lined the property were trimmed and neat. You and your back seat stuffed to max capacity with house plants had made it - and with only a bit of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters for damages. 
After you got out of the car, you grabbed your very favorite potted cactus and found your way into the building, meandering down the dim hall until you came upon the door marked 6. You hadn’t been given a key yet, so you knocked with your free hand and waited until you heard someone shuffling around inside.
You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous - obviously, you were - but more than anything you were excited. Anxious, maybe? That seemed like the right word. 
The door opened to reveal a boy, around your age, hair a mess of curls on the top and shorn tighter to the sides of his head. You were immediately taken aback by the depth in his eyes, chocolatey and warm. 
“What’s up?” he asked casually, leaning against the door frame, a pair of old-school headphones dangling from his hand. 
You frowned at him slightly, suddenly terrified you’d gotten the wrong apartment number. You weren’t sure how you’d live with that embarrassment, especially if you had to live next door to him - you’d just be that stupid girl that didn’t even know where she lived.  “Oh, I think I’m your new roommate? This is number six, right?” You peered around the other side of the open door, just to confirm.
A beaming grin spread over his soft face, showing you his blindingly white teeth and the deepest pair of dimples you’d ever seen. “Oh, cool, yeah. Come on in.”
He stepped aside, giving a dramatically flourished bow as a gesture for you to enter. You obliged, and even though this was your new house too, you paused and waited as he shut the door behind you. 
“Sorry, I was expecting you yesterday, so.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile and then extended his free hand to you. “Anyway, I’m Josh.” 
You shifted your cactus to one arm so you could shake his hand. “Y/N. Yeah, sorry, it took me longer than I expected to get here. Which is why my stuff apparently showed up before I did.”
You eyed around the apartment, spotting boxes of your things in piles. The original plan your parents had come up with was to have you rent a U-Haul, but since you’d never driven anything bigger than your Camry, you had quickly shot that idea down. After some expert negotiating, they had agreed to hire a moving company. You hadn’t had the balls to ask what a service like that had set them back - decided instead that it was better if you didn’t know. 
“Oh yeah,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It all showed up yesterday at like noon. One of the boxes was open a little, and I saw records so I looked through them to make sure you weren’t some kind of freak.”
It was more of a statement than a warning, and the smile he gave you showed not even a shred of an apology so you just smiled back. “Find anything you like?”
He turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen - connected to the living room by a huge square archway. “Your music taste is,” He paused, opening a cupboard and pulling down two mismatched glasses. “Eclectic.”
You laughed at him, bending to gently set your plant down on a side table. “That’s true.” 
“But I found plenty I could listen to, so I guess you’re okay. You want some juice?” he asked as he held up a paper carton of store brand orange juice
“That would be lovely,” you agreed, standing stick straight the way you did when in the presence of new company. “My dad used to take me to a lot of thrift stores and we’d go home with a minimum of two records per trip.”
“I love thrifting,” he said simply, giving you an alarmingly serious look. “There are three here, I think. Every once in a while you can find something really worth keeping. I have kind of a ‘catch and release’ policy where if I don’t instantly know what I’m going to do with an item, I leave it there, but I think - like - a third of my wardrobe is from thrift stores.”
You listened, feeling oddly entranced by the way he was handing you thoughts as they came to him. There was something truly honest about it - a quality people back home didn’t seem to have. It was charming. 
He brought your glass of juice to you and then motioned to the rest of the apartment. “You want the grand tour of Casa De Joshua-” He gave you a pointed look and a cheesy grin. “And Y/N?” 
You breathed a laugh at him, nodding as you sipped. “Please.”
“Okay, try not to get lost - this is obviously the living room. I do most of my living here as the name would suggest. I found this couch on the side of the road - actually almost all of my furniture is adopted.” As he explained, he was gesturing to items like Vanna White.
The couch looked. Well-loved. You could tell just at a glance that it was probably past it’s prime when Josh had stumbled upon it, but it did look comfortable, and it wasn’t like you had a couch to offer, so you were happy with it. 
“I have this TV but it’s really only for movies and stuff because I’m twenty-two and I’d rather die than pay for cable. But there are literally hundreds of DVDs in the TV stand that you are welcome to peruse at your leisure,” he informed, his hands gesturing almost arbitrarily as he talked. 
You followed as he moved on through the archway. “This is the kitchen. All of the food lives here. There’s lots of stuff, but I try to just make two bigger meals per day. I don’t have a real ice tray so I’ve been using a chocolate mold- Well anyway, our ice will be in the shape of wiener dogs.”
You were shocked at the laugh that escaped you, genuine and uncontrolled. He grinned over at you, clearly also surprised - but pleased with himself for getting the reaction he was aiming for. 
“I think I can live with that.” 
“Good,” he agreed simply, giving you a new kind of smile - something sweeter. After a beat, he motioned down the hall with his eyes, letting you lead. “The bathroom is this way. The water takes like three or four minutes to get hot. I realized that I have a lot of products for some reason, but I condensed them all into this one area in the corner just in case my new roommate was a girl, and you are so that’s great. I’ll probably get a shelf.”
There was a proud quality to his voice like he felt gentlemanly for letting you have all the space you needed. For some reason, that made you feel warm and fuzzy. 
“And what if your new roommate had been a boy?” you inquired with a smirk. 
He put a finger on his chin, taking on a contemplative look for you. “Hmm. Then I guess I slowly would have moved my stuff back to the cabinet - probably just one thing per day so he wouldn’t notice. Unless he had a lot of makeup or something, then I’d just let him have it.” 
He grinned as you teasingly shook your head. 
“This way is the sleeping quarters. My room is there on the right and yours to the left.”
You stepped into your new room and let a sigh of relief. Two huge windows took up a lot of the far wall, framed underneath by large sills. The space was bright and roomier than you’d pictured. Your bed was set up in the very middle of the room, but you already knew exactly where you wanted it to go. For some reason, you had been concerned that you wouldn’t like the space, but it was kind of perfect. 
“This is great,” you breathed, turning to him and giving him a sly grin. “Wanna give me a hand moving my furniture around?”
He pretended to consider for a moment until you spoke again. 
“My mom sent money for pizza while I get stuff unpacked,” you said coyly. “If you needed any convincing.”
He laughed, showing you his teeth. “You drive a hard bargain. Okay, I’ll help as long as I get to look through your stuff while we move it.”
You gave him a questioning look, earning a one-shouldered shrug in return. He looked benign enough standing there, propped against the door frame with a goofy upturn to his lips, so you relented.  
“Deal,” you agreed.
You were positive you would not have been able to move stuff without his help. For being a slender boy, he seemed to easily be able to get things where they needed to be. He dutifully helped you shove your furniture into place - your bed against the window wall, your desk and vanity on the wall with your closet door. Then, bless his little heart, he helped you move it all again when you decided you didn’t like the arrangement (but not without some light griping). 
One by one, you brought in your boxes from the living room and you allowed him to poke through them, perched on your bed. He flipped through your books, thumbing pages of ones that piqued his interest - you could only imagine that he was already planning on borrowing some of them. He reacted similarly to your framed photos, as he unwrapped them from their packing paper.
When you got your record player set up, he put on a vinyl and started to hang your art prints on the wall where you instructed him to. The look of concentration on his face was rather endearing as he held a few nails between his teeth and hammered them into the wall, one by one. There was a time or two you were convinced that he was going to mutilate his thumb, but he didn’t, and when the last picture was hung, you breathed a sigh of relief. 
You called in a pizza, adorned with his requested toppings as you hung your clothes into your closet, your phone tucked against your ear and shoulder for maximum efficiency. 
Plants collected on your bed until there was no more room for them - after that, he started setting them on the floor as he brought them in from your car. He didn’t seem to be judging the sheer amount of them, even though he had every right to. 
“It’s going to look like a jungle in here,” he stated finally as he took a bite out of a slice of pizza that he was holding like a taco, his eyes raking over all of the foliage scattered around your room. Rather than sounding like he was teasing, his tone seemed excited. 
You grinned at him, starting to arrange them on the window sill and your bookshelf that had only ever served you as a plant shelf since you’d bought it. “Plants are my passion. Botany major,” you explained as you fluffed up your Monstera’s huge leaves. 
“Ooh.” He raised his eyebrows at you, pulling one of his legs up underneath him on your bed - now fitted with sheets. “I think that’s going to be nice. Give it some life in here.”
You grabbed another slice from the pizza box on your nightstand and tried to think of the right tone of voice to use to ask the next question. “How long have you lived here by yourself?”
He hummed, eyes flicking around distantly as he thought. “Well, I’ve lived here just over a year, and my first roommate dropped out and moved back home about...six months ago?”
“Have you been lonely? You seem like a social guy.” You gave him an empathetic look but he just shrugged at you. You hadn’t known him long enough to know for sure, but you suspected he was more affected than he was letting on. 
“I mean, a little lonely. But I got used to it for the most part.” He paused for a good couple of seconds before a smile spread across his lips. “And Penny’s kept me company.”
“Oh, does your girlfriend stay here too?” you prompted, trying to remember if you’d seen any feminine looking items lying around that weren’t yours.
“What? No,” he said under a chuckle and stood, gesturing for you to follow him across the hall. 
The second you walked through the doorway, you were met with the smell of incense sticks and linen. His room was dimmer than yours and kind of cramped with all of his mismatching furniture, but he had a huge bed - you thought it could easily fit three people in it. There were some clothes strewn about around a laundry hamper by the door and you tried to not be jealous that his closet seemed to be about twice the size of yours. 
He crossed the room to crouch in front of a coffee table that he seemed to be using as a catch-all. The varnish was worn off the top of it in rings because sitting on the coffee table was a globe of water and a calico colored goldfish swimming around aimlessly inside of it. 
“Ah, so this is Penny,” you giggled as you bent over next to him. When the fish spotted him, it rose to the surface of the water, opening its mouth in demand for food.
He grinned down at it. “Light of my life. We’re not allowed to have pets but I figured that a fish didn’t count.”
You hummed, admittedly a bit charmed by the whole situation. “But don’t goldfish require a lot of space?”
The smile fell from his face, adopting a level of concern you hadn’t yet seen from him as he peered over at you. “Do they?”
Immediately, you felt guilty for putting that look on his features. Your brain kick-started - trying to think of a way to make it right again. “I think so? Maybe we can find her a small tank? Put a few little plants in there for her?”
Josh nodded at you, stroking his fingers over the glass with a frown. “I’m a bad dad.”
“No, no!” you assured, putting your hand on his head but then removing it instantly when you realized that you didn’t really know him, he’d just already made you feel like you did. Either way, you figured it would be inappropriate to touch him. “You’re great. She looks really happy.”
“She’s great at begging for food, so don’t get tricked,” Josh instructed after a moment, seemingly able to put his concerns aside to jest you.
You nodded in agreement. “I’ll be ever vigilant,” you promised, making him smile again. 
He stood back up, so you did as well. 
“Well, I’ll give you some time to get comfortable in your room,” Josh said, sitting back on his bed. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 
“I promise I will,” you assured, tapping your hand on the doorframe on your way out. 
By the time the sun was set, your room was shockingly well put together. The emotional rollercoaster that was the album Rumors helped you keep on task, losing yourself in the music so it didn’t feel like work at all. You hadn’t been expecting it to come along so quickly, but you guessed that was because you hadn’t anticipated such a friendly roommate. The nesting had always been your favorite part, so you took your time to enjoy placing out all your knick-knacks and photos. 
You took a break to shower when you decided you were done for the day, reveling in the feeling of the water after such a long time in your car - He was absolutely right about how long it took to warm up from ice cold. When you got out and changed into your pajamas, Josh was sitting in the living room with a laptop across his legs. 
“You wanna chill?” he asked when he heard you padding down the hall, shutting the lid of it and setting it on a side table. “Or if you’re too tired, that’s okay too.”
“No, no. I’d love to talk.” You sat next to him, leaving a comfortable amount of room between you as you pulled your knees up to your chin. “Tell me more about yourself,” you requested, tugging a blanket from a beat-up wicker basket on the floor and wrapping it around your body.
“Hmm, okay,” he started. You wondered how long it had been since he had to introduce himself to someone new. “I’m from a tiny little town here in Michigan. I’m the oldest of four - two brothers and a sister. My brother, Jake, also attends MU and lives just off campus.”
You frowned at him. “Wait, why wouldn’t he live with you?” you asked through a disbelieving laugh. 
“He lived with me long enough,” Josh explained in a humored tone. “There are only so many people where I’m from and well - we wanted to meet new people, you know?” 
“I guess I should be grateful for that.” 
“Yeah, probably,” he teased and then paused to think. “I’m in performing arts - I’m actually putting on a production around Christmas with some elementary school kids.”
You suppressed the aww that was threatening to pass your lips. “You like kids?”
He beamed you a smile, shaking his head. “Love them. I want to have like ten of them someday.”
The thought of him surrounded by kids made you soften. You were genuinely shocked about how easy he was to talk to - how easy he was to like. You had never thought in a million years you’d get along with your roommate so well, let alone the first day meeting them. 
“I hope you get to,” you said as genuinely as you could muster, prompting him to give you a grateful smile. 
A yawn escaped you before you could hide it, and you quickly breathed an apology, but he just waved you off. 
“You must be exhausted from that drive,” he said, his voice soft. “You should get some sleep.”
You nodded in agreement and gave him a thankful smile. “Is it okay if I sleep out here?”
The look on his face was quizzical, forcing a laugh from you. “Why would you do that?” 
“I have this tradition where whenever I’m in a new place, I always sleep in the living room on the first night. It’s good luck.”   
“Whatever you say.” His lips pulled back into an unconvinced smirk. “Well, yeah, you live here now too, so you can sleep wherever you’d like.”
He disappeared into his room for only a moment before popping his head back out, fingers wrapped around the door frame.
 “Do you mind if I join you?” 
You tried not to look too taken aback by the question, but you could feel your cheeks flushing warm. You raked your eyes along the couch, entirely positive that there wasn’t enough space for the two of you to lay out on it together fully - at least, not without being pressed flush against one another. However, his face looked innocent and soft - not a single tint of mischief colored across his features.
“Yeah, that-. I guess that’s okay,” you agreed sheepishly with a shrug. “But I’m not sure we’ll both fit if I’m being honest.”
He frowned questioningly at you, his brows lacing together until he realized what you thought he meant. His face instantly turned a light shade of pink to match yours. “No, no,” he quickly assured in between a breathy laugh. “I’m not going to sleep with you - I’ll take the recliner.” 
“Oh, right.” You gave a nervous laugh of your own, cursing yourself out in your head for being so dull. 
You were still well embarrassed as you made a nest of blankets on the couch and he brought out a pillow for you when you realized yours were still tucked deep in your bag of bedding. When each of you was situated on your respective pieces of furniture, he flicked the light off with a comfortable sigh. 
It was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice taking on a tone that was far too smug for your liking. “You were awfully quick to agree to sleep next to me. You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” 
You knew he was teasing, but your heart rate still managed to pick up under the pressure. You had never been particularly good with awkward social situations; you rolled your eyes in the dark, thankful he couldn’t see how red you were. “No, Josh. I do not have a crush on you.”
“Okay,” he said through a melodic laugh, and you got the feeling that he’d gotten the reaction he was aiming for from you. “Should we be best friends though?”
You snorted a laugh of your own, wanting to be annoyed at how likable he was, but falling short. “You are the most peculiar person I’ve ever met, I think.” You curled up, clutching your blanket tight to your body. “But yes. We can be friends.”
“Okay, cool - I’ll order matching t-shirts for us.” You could hear the pleased grin he was wearing, making you feel warm and cozy. You pulled the worn blanket up to your chin.
“See to it that you do.” 
Author’s Note: okay, I hope you guys like it! please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or removed from it. I’m using the same taglist from my Jake!fic, so no hard feelings if you don’t want to be tagged!
392 notes · View notes
Text
an icarus and his sun: chapter 3
A/N: seablings headcanon? seablings headcanon. (i adore jimmy and lizzie's dynamic, they're siblings ur honor. and joel makes a pretty great in-law tbh)
Warnings: arguing, flirting, teasing/banter
AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost 
-
Katherine was extremely serious about the “no weapons” thing. Not a single tool was allowed, not even shovels or hoes. She had everyone place their weapons and tools in specifically marked chests, assuring each of them that they could get them back after the meeting, and that her iron golems would protect them from any threats if they were to arise. Besides, the chests were just at the entrance of her castle, visible from the meeting table. They could easily rush to their weapons if need be. It didn’t mean anyone was less jumpy about it, though. And Jimmy was particularly antsy- Fwhip was practically glowering at the table, and while Sausage looked outwardly cheerful, there was an edge to every word he spoke. Jimmy couldn’t fight the paranoia that one or both of them had snuck weapons to the meeting, and was just waiting for the right moment to strike.
And then there was Scott. There wasn’t anything outwardly shifty about the winged elf, but… there was definitely… something. Jimmy wasn’t sure what it was, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Scott. He was perfectly poised, as always, every hair in place and wings mantled. There was something elegant and serene about Scott as he listened to Katherine speak with a gentle smile. His gaze was focused on her, and Jimmy tried to search those icy blue eyes for any hint of malice. He found nothing but kindness, and that was what worried him. Surely Scott should be up to something… right? He had seemed so hostile the other day, but then they both apologized to each other… maybe he had nothing to worry about. But then there was that strange, soft yet calculating look he had given Jimmy, like he could finally start seeing the complete picture a puzzle would make. Was that something bad?
Jimmy’s thoughts were interrupted by Scott’s eyes suddenly meeting his, one eyebrow raised. Jimmy tried his best not to jump as he quickly looked away, focusing on Katherine. He could still feel Scott’s eyes on him, and absurdly, Jimmy felt like he was melting. Figures that Scott would have secret laser eyes or something. He wouldn’t even need a weapon, that was his plan all along. Surely that’s why Jimmy felt like he was going to implode, he definitely wasn’t embarrassed. Definitely. Thankfully, Scott’s eyes shifted away as Katherine spoke again.
“Now, there is one very important thing I wanted to discuss at this meeting. I don’t know if any of you have heard, but there are some new empires rising up. I think we should do our best to welcome the new rulers,” Katherine said. For the first time in the whole meeting, Fwhip looked interested. Somehow that scared Jimmy more than when he was grumpy and despondent.
“What would you suggest?” Fwhip asked, voice smooth and suspiciously charming. Jimmy didn’t like his tone one bit, but Katherine seemed to fall for it, beaming at Fwhip’s sudden interest.
“I would like to hold the first ever House Blossom Ball. All rulers will be invited, and it will be held in honor of the two new empires in our lands,” she explained.
“Oh that sounds wonderful!” Gem exclaimed, and excited murmurs of agreement circled through the room. But Jimmy felt uneasy. He did like the idea of a ball, dancing and dressing up fancy with friends sounded fun! But Fwhip’s excitement didn’t sit quite right with him, and there was the other issue of the two new empires. How did they know they could really trust them? Establishing a good relationship was important, yes, but was inviting them in so openly the best idea? Jimmy had tried being so open before, but look where that got him. A war over a disc, and a ravine on the outskirts of his empire. And now whatever was happening between him and Scott. Then suddenly, as if just thinking of him prompted him to speak, Scott brought up one of the very things that Jimmy was worried about.
“What do we know about these empires? Do you think we can trust them?” he asked. The excited murmurs stopped, something uneasy settling in the air instead. Katherine faltered for a moment, but kept her head high.
“The House Blossom Ball will hold the same rule as our meetings now do: no weapons. So unwarranted attacks will not be an issue. And not a lot is known about the other empires… they are just starting out, after all. One of them is in the jungle, and his empire can only be found if you are lost. The other empire seems to have sprouted up from nowhere, but its ruler has come a long way to settle here. In a way, both are lost. As the ten ruling powers in this land, I think it is our duty to welcome them so that they won’t have to be lost anymore,” Katherine said firmly.
“Poetic,” Fwhip said, voice a little overly saccharine for Jimmy’s liking. Katherine seemed a little put off by his tone as well, but didn’t comment on it. A determined frown came to Jimmy’s face. His skepticism be damned, he was going to support Katherine. He turned to her and smiled, reaching out to gently clasp Katherine’s hand, not unlike how she had after the last meeting.
“I agree with you, Katherine. Let’s help them be found,” Jimmy said softly, giving her hand a light squeeze before letting go. Katherine smiled at the touch, seeming grateful that Jimmy backed her up.
“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Jimmy,” Scott said dryly. Jimmy looked to Scott in surprise, expecting more of a fight, some clever retort or thought-out reason for why the ball couldn’t happen.
“Thank you, Scott,” Jimmy said, unable to keep a small smile off of his face. Scott’s nose scrunched up in irritation- and yup, there was the Scott he knew. Always looking at Jimmy with disdain or irritation.
“I was more supporting Katherine here than anything else,” Scott pointed out with a huff.
“But you specifically mentioned me…” Jimmy trailed off with a teasing grin. Scott’s cheeks tinted pink, just ever so slightly- but he still glared at Jimmy in frustration.
“Shut up,” he muttered. Jimmy grinned wider.
“Make me,” he teased, parroting Scott’s words from the last meeting. Sausage gasped, excitedly tapping Pearl’s arm as she shushed him and muttered something about how we had talked about this, Sausage.
“Well… we definitely have two supporters of the ball, any other thoughts?” Katherine asked, not-so-subtly changing the subject.
“I am absolutely in support, it sounds fun!” Gem replied, elbowing Fwhip. He jumped, and nodded in agreement.
“If Scott and Jimmy are going to be there, I definitely want to see what goes down,” Sausage chimed in with a grin. Scott and Jimmy both made an offended sound, but Pearl spoke up before either of them could say anything.
“And it’s a good diplomatic foot forward with the two new empires, Sausage. I think the ball is a lovely idea, Katherine,” Pearl said, offering an apologetic smile to both Scott and Jimmy for Sausage’s comment.
“I’m in too! I’d love a chance to dress all fancy and dance with Joel,” Lizzie added, linking arms with Joel and gazing up at him with a charming smile. Joel blushed a bit, and nodded his agreement as well.
“Well, since it seems like everyone else is going to this dance, guess I’d better show up too,” Pixl said with a nonchalant shrug and a grin. Katherine clapped her hands in excitement.
“Oh wonderful! I think I’ll cut this meeting short then, I have a lot of preparations to take care of, and I will send out the invitations soon!” Katherine said, rising from the table. The other rulers followed her lead, each of them bidding her goodbye before they went to their respective chests to retrieve their weapons and tools.
“I look forward to the ball, Katherine. I’m sure it’ll be a blast,” Fwhip said with a bow of his head and a cocky grin. Katherine beamed in response.
“Thank you! I’m glad to see you’re excited!” she replied, bowing her head to Fwhip as well. Jimmy still wasn’t sure how he felt about Fwhip’s sudden interest at the meeting… but then again Fwhip was only really Jimmy’s enemy. He and Katherine were on good terms, after all. He should trust Katherine’s judgement, even if he didn’t like Fwhip. He did, however, wait until Fwhip left to walk up to Katherine and bid her goodbye.
“See you later, Katherine! I’m excited for the ball, I’m sure with you in charge it will go great!” he said with a grin. Katherine laughed, blushing slightly.
“Aw, thanks Jimmy! And who knows, maybe the ball will not only forge new alliances with the new empires, but will strengthen or fix the bonds of the current ones,” Katherine said, glancing pointedly at Scott, whose back was to them as he looked over his weapons, before she looked back at Jimmy. She smiled not-so-innocently, and Jimmy’s face flushed in embarrassment.
“I- well, I dunno about that. But… maybe. Today’s meeting didn’t go too bad, right?” Jimmy asked with a hopeful smile. Katherine giggled.
“Right! You guys are really turning a corner here, I can feel it!” she chirped. Jimmy laughed, shaking his head.
“Whatever you say, Katherine. I’ll be off now,” Jimmy said, bowing his head.
“Bye!” Katherine replied, bowing her head too and offering a little wave as Jimmy left. He waved back, and was still smiling to himself as he met Joel and Lizzie outside. The two of them had their elytra on, and there was a smug grin on Lizzie’s face that Jimmy didn’t like one bit.
“What’s that smile for?” Jimmy asked with a laugh as he equipped his elytra.
“Oh, I was just thinking about how you couldn’t contribute anything to the first half of the meeting because you were making eyes at a certain elf,” Lizzie said with a teasing lilt.
“I wasn’t ‘making eyes,’ I was making sure that he wasn’t up to anything!” Jimmy spluttered.
“Sure you were,” Lizzie crooned, taking off before Jimmy got a chance to respond. Joel sighed, smiling sympathetically at him before following after Lizzie. Jimmy took off too, the conversation far from over, in his opinion.
-
Jimmy wasn’t quite fast enough to keep up with Lizzie, but she and Joel waited for him on the dock outside of his house. The three of them had often hung out and chatted on the dock, long before Joel and Lizzie had gotten married or even began courting. Their empires had been much smaller then, but the bond between the three of them hadn’t changed. Which was why Jimmy was (affectionately) furious with Lizzie for implying something about himself and Scott. He sat down beside her, feet dangling over the water.
“Explain yourself, right now,” Jimmy huffed, trying to put on an angry act but couldn’t really keep it up with Lizzie. She smiled far too innocently at him, and okay. Maybe he could manage a frustrated expression pointed at her.
“I mean, she’s got a point. Plus I heard about that uh- scuffle, you two had,” Joel said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned forward to look past Lizzie at Jimmy.
“Ooh yeah, Katherine did tell us about that. You’d better watch out for those land boys, Jimmy. They’re trouble,” Lizzie said with a mock-concerned tone, but her playful grin gave her away. Joel shifted to look at Lizzie with an offended noise.
“Babe, I’m right here,” he said, near pouting.
“I know what I said. You’re trouble, King of Mezalea,” Lizzie teased.
“Like you’re any better, Ocean Queen,” Joel replied with a laugh. Lizzie giggled, playfully swatting at Joel's arm.
"You may be right, but this is about Jimmy’s troublesome land boy," Lizzie pointed out as she turned back to Jimmy.
"He's not my land boy!" he protested, face heating up slightly.
"Aww, that blush says otherwise!" Lizzie teased.
“He could be your land boy if you weren’t so busy trying to kill each other,” Joel chimed in.
“That’s exactly why he’s never gonna be ‘mine,’ he hates me, and I hate him! There’s nothing else going on!” Jimmy protested.
“Are you sure you two hate each other? You seemed pretty friendly at the meeting today,” Joel pointed out, voice a bit more gentle than the teasing tone it had been before. Jimmy sighed.
“That’s only cause Katherine insisted on us apologizing to each other when we uh. Fought. We’re only playing nice for Katherine’s sake,” Jimmy said sheepishly.
“Uh huh. Or you’re playing nice because you think Scott is pretty,” Lizzie teased, elbowing Jimmy playfully.
“I don’t think he’s pretty! I- I mean objectively he looks nice I guess but it’s more irritating than anything! How can a guy be so perfectly poised and elegant all the time, it’s annoying!” Jimmy spluttered. Joel and Lizzie exchanged amused, bewildered looks before looking back at Jimmy.
“Wow, you really do have it bad for him, huh,” Joel commented with a disbelieving laugh. Jimmy made an offended sound, opening his mouth to retort but was halted by Lizzie patting his arm comfortingly.
“It’s okay Jimmy, I’m sure Scott will come around and see what a sweet swamp boy you are,” she crooned, Jimmy flushing at the childhood nickname Lizzie always used for him.
“You two are impossible, nothing’s going to happen between us! And I’d prefer it that way!” Jimmy shot back with a frown.
“Methinks the cod boy protests too much,” Joel said dryly.
“I’m the Codfather, thank you very much,” Jimmy huffed.
“Hey, maybe if things work out really well, you’ll be a Codhusband,” Lizzie replied with a sly grin. Jimmy buried his face in his hands, trying to hide how bright red he was.
“Stop iiiit,” he whined. Lizzie only laughed, but threw an arm around his shoulders to give a small hug in apology. Joel reached around Lizzie to pat Jimmy’s back, and despite the teasing he had endured from them, Jimmy felt pleasantly warm and comforted all the same. Although to be fair, Joel and Lizzie always playfully teased him. But it would often end like this, the three of them nestled close together on the edge of the dock, watching the sun set over the water.
-
Taglists below! Ask to be added or removed!!
MCYT General Fic Taglist: @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @gattonero17 @hetapeep41 @space-ace123
AIAHS Taglist: @anty-kreatywna @devilwoodkitty18 @riobug 
103 notes · View notes
ladyfogg · 3 years
Text
Another Round
Another Round
Fic Summary:��You and Colin have been avoiding each other ever since the two of you were interrupted the other night. However, when Mare calls you to come to the bar to pick up Colin, you’re left with no choice but to deal with a very drunk Detective Zabel. Love Exists Masterpost. The Evans Fics Masterpost.
Fic Rating: Mature
Pairing: Colin Zabel/Female Reader
Warnings: Language, mild spoilers
Tumblr media
All you want is a quiet evening at home.
The investigation into Erin’s death had shaken everyone to the core in Easttown, and you are no exception. In a place where everyone knows everyone, to have such a sudden and violent crime happen is enough to put the citizens on edge. You are feeling it and you sure as hell know Mare is feeling it. You’ve been doing everything in your power to be there for her and do what she needs but it’s hard since you’re not a full-blown detective. At least, not yet. You hope to be one day once you’ve had enough training and gone through all the proper channels.
For now, you’re content on being Mare’s trainee. Well, more like assistant but technically you’re a trainee. Actually, your exact title is Junior Detective but it makes you feel like you should be wearing a badge made of construction paper attached to your shirt by a safety pin. So you stick with trainee. Though that hasn’t stopped Mare from calling you ‘Junior’. Whether it’s to keep you at arm’s length or she just enjoys annoying the shit out of you, you’re not sure. You assume it’s a little of both.
Anyway, back to the quiet evening thing. You’ve been home for a few hours, settled into your tiny apartment with a slew of snacks and the latest crime docuseries on Netflix when your phone goes off.
You see it’s Mare and immediately pick up. “Hey, everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.” You can barely hear her over the background nose. Tons of people are talking over each other with loud music thrown into the mix. “Sorry to call you so late but I need you to come down to the bar.”
“Do we have a lead?”
“Not exactly. It’s Zabel.”
Instantly your heart drops and you get to your feet, immediately scouring the floor for your discarded shoes. “Did something happen? Is Colin alright?”
In the background, you hear, “Heeeey, hey, Mare! Is that her? Are you calling her? Lemme talk to her.”
You hear her struggle for a moment before telling him to knock it off. “He’s fine. Just drunk as shit,” she says once she manages to get the phone back from him. “Can you come pick him up and take him home?”
“Oh, um…alright.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. No, not at all.”
“I just figured since you two—”
“Oh we didn’t end up…we haven’t…” You stop yourself from going any further and embarrassing the both of you. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Ever since Mare interrupted you and Colin about to go at it in his hotel room, things have been more than a little awkward. Despite confessing how much you like each other, neither you nor he has made another move. Before it was spontaneous and a spur-of-the-moment decision, fueled by passion and excitement. By now, you have lost yourself in your own head and you get the sense he has too.
The two of you can’t even make eye contact without him quickly looking away and blushing. It’s adorable, yet incredibly frustrating to say the least. But the case is more important and you’ve been more than happy to forget about the embarrassing incident.
When you get to the bar, you’re faced with a vastly different Colin than you’re used to. The second you walk through the door, he calls your name excitedly and stumbles over, beer in hand.
“Oh my gosh you’re here,” he slurs, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Mare! MARE! She’s here!”
“Yeah, I know, Zabel, I called her.” Mare’s face is as stoic as ever, and yet you can still see the corners of her lips twitch up into an amused smile.
“You wanna shot?” he asks you. “Yeah! YEAH, let’s get shots! Imma get you a shot!”
“No, Colin, I’m good,” you say but he’s already stumbling away. “Colin? Colin! Oi, whatever. How long has he been like this?”
“Since I got here,” Mare says, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Sorry, I thought you two were…I mean, the other night…”
“Nothing happened,” you say. “Since, you know, you interrupted. Things have kind of been awkward and we haven’t really talked about it.”
“Well, he’s certainly in a talkative mood tonight,” Mare says as you both watch Colin flag down the bartender and loudly ask for two shots. “Just make sure he gets back to the hotel in one piece, alright?”
“Will do, boss.”
“Thanks, junior.”
“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that.”
She smirks, patting you on the shoulder as she walks by. “I know.”
You make your way through the crowd to the bar where Colin is currently leaning. “Come on, Colin. I’ll take you home,” you say.
“Not before you do a shot with me!” he insists.
“Can’t, I’m driving. Besides, I think you’ve had enough.”
“Come ooooonnnn,” he slurs, nudging you with his shoulder. “Just’the one lil one? Then I’ll go…scout’s honor!”
You can’t help but chuckle, not used to seeing him so carefree and silly. After a moment of contemplation, you ease yourself onto the nearby stool. “Fine. Just the one.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Colin exclaims, sitting next to you. “Shottttsss!”
The bartender slides two shots over and you make a subtle motion for him to cut Colin off. He gives you a nod of acknowledgment, slyly swiping Colin’s half-full beer bottle as he moves on to take care of someone else.
“Okay, okay, okay, we need a toast,” Colin says, handing you one of the shots.
“Oh really? To what?”
“Hmmmmm…” Colin’s face scrunches adorably as he tries to get his drunk mind to think. “How ‘bout to us?”
You raise your eyebrow. “Us?”
Colin leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice dropping low. “Us. You know, me an’ you.”
“Didn’t know there was a me and you.”
“Could be. Should be. We did almost…you know.” He leans in close to your ear and loudly whispers, “Have sex.”
“Yes, yes we did almost have sex.”
“So?” he gestures with his shot, spilling some in the process. “To us?”
“To us then.”
You clink your shot glass against his before knocking the drink back, trying to hold in a cough as the liquid burns your throat. “Dear god that’s strong.”
“YUP.” Colin slams his shot glass down on the countertop, then winces when he realizes what he did. “Oops. Is’okay. S’not broken.”
“And we’d like to keep it that way,” you say, sliding the glasses off to the side. “So, what you say I take you home?”
“Wait, wait, wait, not yet. Let’s talk.” He puts his hand on your arm to stop you from standing. “We need’a talk.”
“About?”
“I’m sorry about the other night,” he apologizes, head slumping on your shoulder.
“You don’t have to apologize, Colin. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I did. I did. I should’a talked to you about it after but I chickened out.”
“Yeah, well, I could have talked to you too. I guess I also chickened out.”
“Here’sa thing. I jus’…you’re soooo beautiful and I get all tongue-tied around you and say stupid shit and I know you’re going to realize there’s someone better for you, and I just…”
Realizing he was way too far gone to be having such a serious conversation in the bar, you slide your arm around his waist. “Hey, hey, let’s talk about it later, okay? Come on. Let’s get you home.”
“Home’s too farrrr.”
“I meant your hotel room.”
“I don’t like it there. Take me to your place.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I won’t try anything. Swear. I jus’…I don’t wanna go back to my empty hotel room.”
Your heart aches at the puppy-dog eyes he gives you and you find yourself relenting. “Fine. But you’re sleeping on the sofa and I’m not cleaning it up if you get sick all over yourself.”
“Thas’fair.”
You help Colin settle his tab with the bartender and then you escort him out of the bar, your arm still around his waist. His arm goes around your shoulders again but it’s mostly so he can attempt to walk straight. Eventually, you are able to load him into your car before climbing behind the wheel. The shot didn’t do much of anything and with your place being so close, you know you’re okay to drive.
Colin reclines his seat back, shutting his eyes. As you make your way towards home, you’re sure he’s fallen asleep until you hear, “Y’know, y’er really pretty.”
You smile to yourself, keeping your eyes on the road. “Thanks, Colin. I think you’re pretty too.”
“Really???”
“Yes.”
“Ugh, I’m so stupid. Should’a called you for a date the day after all that happened.”
“It’s okay.”
“NO! No is’not. I ghosted you.”
“Colin, I don’t think it’s ghosting if the other person doesn’t reach out to you either.”
“It’s not?”
“Not really. Pretty sure that just ignoring each other.”
“Oh. Okay good. Well, not good we ignored each other. Good you didn’t think I ghosted you. Cuz I would NEVER do that to you.”
“Good to know.”
“And you won’t do that to me. I know you won’t. You’re too sweet. You wouldn’t break up with me two weeks before our wedding.”
Your heart sinks when he says this. Chancing a glance at him, you notice how sad his eyes are. Truth be told, you don’t know much about Colin, mostly because with the intensity of the case, the two of you haven’t had time to properly get to know each other. But his drunk words are way too specific to be a hypothetical scenario.
“Is that what happened to you?” you ask tentatively.
“Yup. Not sure how it happened. Or why. She just woke up and said, ‘hey, I’m not in love with you anymore’. And I’m like ‘s’ok, can I put my bagel down first?’…” he babbles, head rolling to the side so he can look at you. “Jus’ like that. Done. No more.”
You reach over to take his hand. “I’m sorry, Colin. That’s…that’s really shitty.”
“Isn’t it? I mean…I don’t know wha’ happened. But…whatareyou gonna do?” He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his lips so he can place a sloppy kiss on your knuckles. “We’ve been driving for a loooong time.”
“It’s been five minutes.”
“Really?!”
“Just close your eyes. We’ll be there soon.”
“M’kay.”
Not long after, you pull into your driveaway, letting go of his hand so you can park the car and shut it off. You sit there for a minute, admiring his side profile as he lays there with his eyes closed. He is a handsome man. You can stare at him all day. Every time he greets you with that wide smile, your heart skips a beat and your stomach does a little flip-flop thing.
He must feel you staring because he opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile. “We there yet?”
You smile back. “Yeah, we’re here. Let’s get you inside.”
“Okaaay.”
With you guiding him and doing most of the work, you help Colin up the walkway to your place, pausing now and then when he sways and puts too much weight on you. Once inside, you dump him onto the couch before going back to lock your front door. Briefly, you pause to send Mare a text letting her know you’re both safe, before shutting your phone off and tossing it onto the counter. You shrug out of your coat and shoes before rejoining Colin in the living room where you left him.
“This is a nice place,” he says, sprawled out on the couch with his head nearly hanging off the armrest. “Looks homey.”
“If by homey you mean small, then yeah. It’s real homey. Come on. Sit up so we can get your coat off.”
“Tryin’a strip me down, you saucy minx,” he slurs, leaning forward as you try to pull the long coat off his arms. “I know your game and I accept.”
Laughing softly, you manage to wrestle him out of the coat before he flops backward. “No games tonight, Zabel.”
“Fine but at least a kiss?”
“That’s definitely not a good idea.”
“Jus’a lil one…come on, lil kiss…” he says in a soft voice, trying to lean in. “Jus’a peck. Lil smooch.”
Still laughing, you gently force him to lay back down. “Not while your drunk. Maybe in the morning if you’re feeling better we can have a little smooch.”
“Been thinking about kissin’ you for days,” he admits as you start to untie his shoes for him. “And picturing you on top of me. That was nice. I liked that. Let’s do that.”
You toss him a grin as you slide the shoe off his foot. “Like I said. Maybe…If you’re a good boy.”
His smile widens and he wags his eyebrows. “I’ll be’a good boy for you.”
After ridding him of his other shoe, you tuck a blanket around him. “Sleep it off, Colin. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Wait, wait, wait, don’t go,” he urges, grabbing your hand as you make a move to stand. “Not yet. Don’t go yet. It’s jus’…I wanna talk to you.”
“Okay. About what.”
“Everythin’. Anythin’. LIFE! Let’s talk about life.”
“It is way too late and you’re way too drunk to talk about life.”
“It’s just…the thing is…I’m getting to that age, right? I’m getting to that age where I’m starting to look at my life and I’m going…well, here’s what I thought it would be and…here’s what it actually is…” He throws his hands up with a sigh and a shrug, letting his thought hang there. 
You’re all too familiar with that feeling. And yet, you have no idea how to respond. He’s not the only one looking at his life and wondering what the hell. There you are, living in the same town where you grew up, a detective in training living in a shitty, tiny apartment with neighbors who press their noses to the window every time you set outside. You haven’t had a relationship in years, mainly because you know every single guy in town and have grown up with them. The thought of dating and settling down with any of them does not appeal to you in the slightest. Never did. Not that that’s the only way to live your life but it’s something you would like to do someday. With the right person.
“Am I making any fucking sense?” he asks, more to himself than to you.
“Yeah, yeah, you are.” You reach up to lay a hand on his cheek. “Get some rest, okay. I’ll be just in the other room if you need me.”
“Mmm, okay. Rest sounds good. Sleep good.”
He rolls onto his side, taking your hand with him and almost pulling you across his body. You manage to wiggle free with a chuckle. By the time you get up to shut off the living room light, he’s already snoring.
You have too many questions and not enough answers. This man, this big hero detective that is supposed to help solve the case seems just as lost and alone as you feel. You wonder if that’s why you were drawn together. Two lost, lonely souls who found each other among such darkness.
Too tired to go down that train of thought, you slip away to your room, wondering just how much Colin will remember in the morning.
198 notes · View notes
winchesterxxi · 3 years
Text
Ner Little Tracyn (Din Djarin x Reader)
Tumblr media
Rating: PG-13
Type: Fluffity fluff.
Request: “Could you please write something (doesn't have to be long) about Din and the reader thinking of marriage after the latest events (last episode 🤠) because I am HEARTBROKEN and I desperately need some fluff ”
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: CH.16 SPOILERS
A/N: I’m on my period so forgive me for the influx of emotional content.
MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI
✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸
It was the morning after your last goodbye to Grogu. The night had been rough, there was no denying that - your lover was broken. The man whose beskar armor had label as indestructible for so many years was shattered in pieces clutching your body against his.
That’s how he fell asleep, you know? His head laying on your chest, tears wetting your night shirt and his arms around your waist, as you fingers weaved through his dark brown curls.
You try to sneak away from his embrace, as you needed to use to go take a shower but it only results in him clutching you to him even more. You smile and pull his hair back,placing a kiss on his forehead.
“Good Morning.” your lips whisper.
“Morning.” You can feel the vibrations of his voice making their way through your body. “Where were you going?”
“Well I was going to take a shower, but maybe I can run a bath... and have you join me. What do you think?” your fingers resume their trails in his hair.
Din hums in response and releases you from his embrace, allowing you to sit, feet dangling from the bed, him doing the same. It was a comfortable bed, there was no denying - unlike the cots in which you’d slept for the past year or so.
After yesterday’s events Boba Fett insisted to pay for a suite in this inn in Sorgan, so that you and Din could have some rest. You couldn’t thank him enough.
You look back at Din and he just looks...tired and, like before, broken - dark circles under his eyes and disheveled hair. He didn’t even put his helmet back since he took it in front of Grogu. 
You stand from the bed and extend your hand to him “Come.”
He takes it and the both of you walk to the fresher connected to you room.  You turn on the tub’s water tap and motion Din to sit on the edge. As soon as he does so, he reaches for your waist, pulling you close to him.
Physical touch had never been a big thing with him, at least until yesterday - he just wanted to be held. 
His hands, sneaked between the opening of your robe and around your waist, just as you drape the sleeves down your shoulders, making the piece fall to the ground, leaving you completely naked
You pull his hand so that he stands up and you turn him around, taking your time to undress him, piece by piece.
With him turned away from you, you sneak your hands from behind and wrap your arms around his waist, bringing your lips up to his shoulder blade and kissing him there.
You both stand there for a minute in each other’s embrace, until you step away from him and into the tub, sliding down and sitting there.
You reach your fingers to Din’s and pull him to join you and he does so, stepping in, one leg at a time in front of you and he then carefully sits down between your legs, resting his head on your shoulder and his back against your chest.
If it were a normal day, your roles would be reversed - Din would be the one holding you and playing with your hair while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
“How are you feeling?” you ask, sweetly and cautiously.
“Better than last night, I think.” he answers, once again, his raspy voice sending vibrations through your body. Underwater, his hands find your legs and he rests his arms against them, feeling how soft your skin is.
“Y/N?” You hum in response, tracing patterns over his skin.
“Last night, after...after what happened, it got me thinking.”
“Thinking about what.”
“About how short lived the good things in life can be. How in one moment the things you cherish the most can be...gone.” His voice cracks when he says the last.
“He’s not gone, Din.”
“This isn’t about the kid, Y/N, this is about you.” he says in a sterner voice.
Behind him, your heart skips a beat and you furrow your brows not knowing what he is referring to “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I’m not. I’m staying with you until we either die...or get killed.” you chuckle out the last words, thinking back at the times when the both of you almost didn’t escape alive from some missions.
He laughs with you, the first signal of the old Din being back - and oh, how you missed that laugh.
“So...” he threads carefully “if I asked you to become my riduur, would you say yes?”
What now? You were definitely not expecting this question. Not from him. Not to you. 
“As in becoming your wife?” he hums “Can’t you only marry other Mandalorians?”
“No. Mandalorians can marry anyone as long as said marriage is life-long.”
You and him, married. Husband and wife. He notices how you don’t say a word, as your mind races a thousand miles per hour. It’s not that he proposed to you or anything -  Well, he kind of did - but just the thought of it, of the rest of your life being spent with him, made your heart race.
He shifts in the bathtub, causing a little water to go overboard as he sits to face you. He reaches underwater and grabs your hands in his.
“I love you, cyar’ika. And last night made me realize that if I have anything good in my life I want to keep it, forever. And that something is your love. It’s you. I want to marry you.” his brown eyes look deep into yours in a mix of pleading and adoration. “Will you marry me, ner little tracyn?” 
Will you marry me, my little fire? You smile at the mention of your nickname that dates back to the day of when Din finally admitted his feelings for you. When that bounty tried to flirt with you but you punched him in the face causing him wince in pain and call you fiery. Only for Din to grab him by the collar, slamming him against the wall and growling “Yes, but she is my little fire.”
You smile up at him, moving forward in the tub, so you are laying your chests together. “Yes. I will marry you.”
His heart feels like it’s about to combust as excitement flows through every vein in his body, reaching down to place his soft lips against yours in a passionate kiss. Suddenly, you pull away.
“Quick question, how does one go about marrying a Mandalorian?” he chuckles at your question.
“It’s simple, really it’s usually a private ceremony between only the two people involved and we just need to recite a pledge.”
“Do you want to do it now?” you blurt out, catching him by surprise
“Unh...Now? Here?" he stumbles over his words with your eagerness
“Yes, now, here. Hey, you were the one that gave the idea! There can only be the two lovers present, check, and we just need to recite a pledge, which I think we can do exactly where we are.” you laugh. Din considers your words, thinking that it’s not that bad of an idea. “Din, if marrying you here and now, means that we don’t waste anymore time I want t do it. I want to be with you. Now and forever.”
“Now and forever, is it?” he caresses the back of your hands.
“Now and forever.” you agree.
“Alright then, sit up.” he instructs and you do, both of you now, surrounded by soapy water, foam all around and covering you from your chest down. Din and you, sit face to face, holding each other’s hands. Your eyes looking adoringly at him, which he returns.
“Repeat after me, cyar’ika.” he says, bringing the back of your hands up to his lips, kissing them, before he starts reciting the pledge. “Mhi solus tome,”  he starts, and you repeat after him.
“Mhi solus tome,” We are one when together.
“...mhi solus dar'tome,” 
“...mhi solus dar'tome,”  We are one when parted.
“...mhi me'dinui an,” 
“...mhi me'dinui an,”  We share all.
He stops, before the last part of the pledge. This was it, the person that he adores the most, the one that,  out of all the people in the galaxy, he would have never imagined to find. His best friend and one true love. He promises to himself to never forget this privilege, to marry you, no matter how many years of your lives go by. He takes a deep breath before the last part, which comes out a little shaky.
“...mhi ba'juri verde." 
We will raise warriors.
“...mhi ba'juri verde." you smile at him. A genuine smile like you haven’t displayed for a long time, not with the recent events. But now... now you just couldn’t contain in, as he grabs the back of your head, smashing his lips against yours in a deep and passionate kiss, the first as husband and wife.
If he lost something last night, he gained something this morning: A promise of eternal love that he would fight and die for if of him that was required.
“I love you, Din.” You whisper against his soft lips.
“I love you too, my beautiful wife.” you can feel his smile against your mouth as you pull him in for another kiss.
You were complete and his heart hurt a little less. All was good. All was beautiful.
✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸
Want a completely personalized imagine just for you? Click here!
423 notes · View notes
nugnthopkns · 3 years
Text
it all pours out after dark
word count: 5.8k
warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, mentions of alcohol (but no consumption), expressions of self doubt
recommended listening: the knife | maggie rogers
series masterpost: here
a/n: first installment of hiiapl!! very excited about what’s to come. here is some bffs/roommates to lovers with petey :))
Tumblr media
Elias’s friendship was a welcome surprise.
You hadn’t expected much when you met the Swede – after all, you were serving at the annual Canucks charity gala and he was the rookie poised to win the Calder trophy. There were a million other things you would have rather done than spend a Saturday evening walking around in sky high stilettos and passing out flutes of champagne, but the catering company paid generously, and you needed to come up with the funds for your next tuition installment. Vancouver may be beautiful, but it’s incredibly expensive.
So you spent the night with a kilowatt smile plastered on your face, staying silent in the background and making sure no one’s glasses were ever empty. You were barely legal to handle alcohol, freshly nineteen and waiting for an opportunity to experience the city’s nightlife for yourself. There was no way you should be regulating the alcohol consumption of adults but you were doing it anyways. The tips were very generous, more than you should have probably been receiving, but you accepted them with a smile because the athletes making millions could certainly afford it.
No one paid you any attention, but you didn’t mind. The night was beginning to wear on you and the event didn’t plan on stopping for another couple of hours. You debated on what to do with your tray while you tried to work out the knots that were forming in feet from standing for so long.
“Let me hold that for you,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you.
When you turned around you were face to face with Elias Pettersson. “That won’t be necessary,” you stated, tone kind but firm. If your supervisor caught you, you would have been fired immediately.
He didn’t take no for an answer. “Please,” he urged, thick accent ringing out in the space between you. “Your feet are going to cramp. Take your shoes off for two minutes.” The English was broken, but you appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to help.
After a little more insisting from the blonde you agreed, and he diligently stood watch to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble. It was a relief to be out of the torturous constraint of your shoes for a few moments, and you thanked him profusely.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a small smile on his face. Shouting erupted from some other players then, looking for him.
“You better get back before they miss you too much.” You nodded in the direction of the voices, to which he begrudgingly agreed. Elias handed you back the tray of champagne flutes before taking one for himself.
He was about to fade into the crowd when he turned to face you again. “I never caught your name,” he stated.
“It’s Y/N.”
“Elias.”
With that he disappeared into the throng of people. You never expected to hear from him again, chalking it up to a kind interaction with a stranger, but a day later he had messaged you on Instagram after searching through the countless profiles that shared your name and were located in the general Vancouver area. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you became fast friends.
☼☼☼☼
That first meeting was nearly four years ago, and countless memories had been made since then. You treasure your friendship with Elias, and truthfully it’s the one you hold closest to your heart. This could be because over the years you’ve developed a small crush on the lanky blonde, but it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No one knows of your true feelings for Elias, and no one ever will.
“E? I’m home,” you shout into the quiet apartment, wondering if he’s home from morning skate yet.
After you completed your undergraduate degree and your lease ended, Elias insisted you move into his spare bedroom. The offer was too tempting to resist – you got to live with your best friend and continue your education in a city you adore. Moving your stuff had been a bit of a pain, but your life fit seamlessly into Elias’s. The two of you worked well as roommates, and over the past few months the space began to reflect not just Elias, but you as well. Hair ties were randomly thrown on counters and the bookshelves began to fill.
You’re setting the few groceries you picked up from the local market on the counter when he comes down the hall.
“Hi sunshine,” Elias says softly, voice riddled with sleep. He must have returned home earlier than you thought and had a quick nap.
You smile at the nickname. Elias had gifted it to you early in your friendship when you were in a terrible mood. He had meant it sarcastically at first, but it stuck. Now he hardly calls you by your name.
“How was practice?”
“Really tough,” he admits, moving behind you to place the apples in the fridge. “Coach is being hard on us because we aren’t performing well.”
You frown but hold your tongue. Your degree in sports psychology tells you that isn’t the way to improve players’ morale, but Elias doesn’t like it when you lecture him on what the Canucks staff are doing wrong. He knows things aren’t perfect within the organization and hopes desperately the situation will improve when they start winning again.
The two of you put the rest of the food away in comfortable silence and then unwind by watching numerous episodes of House. You had recently decided to give the medical drama a rewatch, and Elias’s interest was piqued by the snarky physician who always saves the day. It’s become your favourite way to relax and it seems that both of you need it today.
“How does Wilson do it?”
You’re perplexed. “Do what?”
“Put up with House,” Elias sighs. “He’s an asshole.”
Laughter tumbles from your lips. “The same way I deal with you, grumpy.”
“No,” he scoffs, tossing a pillow in your general direction. “You’re House and I’m Wilson, sunshine. Being an asshole is how you got that nickname in the first place.”
You couldn’t argue with Elias’s point – he was right. Between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to be snarky with your anger and he’s more likely to shut himself off from the rest of the world. “Fuck off,” you giggle. 
When Elias crawls on top of you and drops his weight you don’t flinch. You’ve become accustomed to his casual yet spontaneous displays of physical touch, and by now the two of you can frequently be found with your limbs tangled together. 
The rest of your afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. You fall asleep a few episodes in, and you assume Elias did as well because when you wake up his body is still pressed against yours. Once your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice it’s well into the evening. Your stomach rumbles and you decide you have to get up. 
“E,” you say softly, not wanting to completely disrupt his rest. The season is off to a rougher start than everyone hoped for, and he hasn’t been sleeping well. 
There’s no response from the boy on top of you so you try again, voice a decibel or two louder. “Elias, please let me up. I’ve gotta start dinner.”
“Mhmm,” Elias murmurs, not opening his eyes. “Or you could just stay here. You’re so warm.”
You roll your eyes. “Dude, we’ve got to eat. Come on.”
He doesn’t move. In fact, he presses more weight on you, effectively trapping you on the couch. “We can just order food in a bit,” Elias suggests. “Please just stay and nap a bit longer.”
That’s all it takes to convince you, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. In the comfort of your best friend sleep comes easy, and neither of you move far from the couch for the rest of the night. 
The next few days are incredibly busy, and you don’t see Elias much. School is heating up and you’re struggling to stay afloat. In an effort to get the team to put up a few wins, the Canucks organization is holding extra practices and development workshops in between games, so Elias is barely home. When he is he’s exhausted and spends most of his free time in his room, chatting with friends at home or playing video games. 
You do your best to not let the distance bother you, but not being able to have a conversation that lasts more than fifteen minutes before one of you is running out the door is wearing you down. You miss your best friend. 
Elias is set to go out with some of the younger guys on the team this evening, and though he invited you, you’re in a graduate student society meeting until well after they’re supposed to be leaving. He deserves the time to unwind, but a part of you is jealous he actually gets it. Both of you have been running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it seems like Elias can finally slow down. You on the other hand cannot. 
Approximately twelve million things go wrong throughout the course of the day. First, you left your lunch and wallet at home, leaving you unable to eat. Then your advisor was late to your meeting and insisted it was your fault. To top everything off, the graduate student society dismissed your proposal for more funding into public outreach programs. You really, really wanted to be at home.
The door to the apartment is unlocked upon your arrival home, which you find strange. Elias isn’t one to forget to lock it on his way out the door. Brock was terrible about remembering that sort of thing, so you assume he was the last one out. You open it with a sigh and kick off your sneakers. It has been a long day, and you’re looking forward to opening the bottle of wine you picked up with groceries last week.
It doesn’t dawn on you that Elias’s shoes are still by the door or that the living room light is on. You’re so preoccupied with getting comfortable you don’t realize you aren’t alone until you hear a voice from down the hall. 
“Rough day sunshine?”
Elias is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at you intently. It’s as if he can sense the tension rolling off your shoulders. 
“Yeah,” you sigh. “I thought you were going out with the guys?”
He just shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like it. Besides, I knew you were having an off day because you didn’t text me on your lunch break so I wanted to be here for you.”
You nearly tear up from his words. Elias is a lot of things, and kindhearted is certainly one of them. “Go have a shower,” he insists, “And I’ll start dinner.”
“Thanks E.”
A hand comes up to ruffle your hair on his way by. “Don’t mention it.”
The two of you spend the night tucked against each other, eating pasta and telling stories. You never make it to the fridge to get that bottle of wine, but you don’t mind because during your shower Elias made hot chocolate for you both. Conversation flows into the early morning, and by the time you head to bed you can’t remember why you were upset in the first place. 
☼☼☼☼
The season drags on. The Canucks still aren’t playing well, and it’s beginning to wear on Elias. He’s spending more time in his room, reviewing tape and tweaking his workout regime to achieve maximum results. You worry he’s beginning to isolate himself and that it won’t be good for his mental health. 
“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” you ask him at dinner. The team has a rare day off, and the coaching staff want them to decompress before leaving on a long road trip. 
Elias shrugs, not looking up at you as he continues to cut his vegetables. “Not really sunshine. I have some clips I need to watch.”
You sigh loud enough to make him feel bad, and his eyes meet yours. “E, you need a break. Let’s go to that trail you like and just relax for a while. I’ll pack a lunch and we can just go slow.”
Whether or not he’s just appeasing you or genuinely wants to go you aren’t sure, but Elias agrees. He places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks before loading his plate into the dishwasher and retreating to his bedroom. You take it as a victory, however small, and are glad he didn’t completely shut down the idea. The rest of the night is quiet, with you finishing a book and falling asleep on the couch. 
Neither of you are quick to rise in the morning but it doesn’t matter. There’s no timeline for your upcoming adventure so long as you’re back before dark. You make it to the kitchen before Elias and take it upon yourself to make breakfast for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy, just oatmeal, but your best friend appreciates it when he finally makes an appearance. Elias looks like he slept for a maximum of three hours, and you have half a mind to tell him you’ll take a rain cheque, but you know he needs a change of pace. 
The two of you chat idly throughout the meal but it isn’t tense or awkward. Neither of you are completely awake, and both like time to reflect in the morning. It’s nearly an hour later when you meet Elias at the door. You grab your keys, much to his surprise. 
“What?” you shrug.
Elias cocks a brow in your direction. “You hate driving on the highway.”
He’s right – you have no issues navigating the traffic riddled streets of Vancouver, but as soon as you get out of the city and onto the freeway you freeze up. 
“Gotta get over my fear at some point. Come on superstar.”
There’s no complaint from Elias, and you suspect he’s secretly relieved. Driving isn’t his strong suit either but you know he does it so you don’t have to. The ride is quiet, and once you hit the city limits the car feels lighter, as though Elias left all his stress behind. Some lo-fi playlist trickles through the speakers as you get closer to your destination. It isn’t your kind of music, or Elias’s for that matter, and you’re pretty sure Brock gave him the link. The parking lot is empty when you arrive, and you back into a spot with ease. 
Usually Elias would comment on your driving quirk, teasing you because ‘no one under the age of sixty-five backs into a parking space’, but he’s quiet. You wonder if he even noticed. Nerves about the possibility of a far-away look in Elias’s eyes subside when he scrambles to get out of the car. 
“First one to the top wins,” he shouts, metres ahead of you as you double check to make sure the car is locked. You let out a full laugh but don’t try to catch up – he’s going to win anyway so you might as well enjoy yourself. 
The hike does wonder for Elias. Just being outside, in the fresh air that doesn’t hold any expectation of who he should be, is enough to lighten his mood considerably. You trail behind him the entire time, allowing yourself to marvel at his beauty from afar. The longer you live with Elias, the harder it’s becoming to mask your feelings. A couple of times he pauses to wait for you to catch up, and once at the top of the small summit he lifts you into the air in triumph.
“Alright E, put me down,” you giggle, squirming out of his grip. He obliges and places you back onto the rocky surface as though his previous act was the easiest thing in the world. 
The two of you marvel at the view from the top of the mountain for a bit longer before making the trek back down to the car. Halfway down the trail you fall behind significantly, exhausted from not only hiking up a mountain, but worrying about Elias and stressing over some school deadlines that are rapidly approaching. Elias slows his steps so you can catch up, and insists you jump up to piggy-back the rest of the way. You try to protest but he isn’t having it. Eventually you give in and doze off with your face tucked into the crook of his neck. 
You let Elias drive home, too worn out to think about the traffic you’ll inevitably hit. When you get home you allow him to tuck you into bed, and don’t tease him when presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 
The road trip both flies by and drags on. At home, you're busy with school, work, and taking care of Brock’s dogs. Coolie and Milo have become a welcome responsibility, and truthfully you love having them around. They make the absence of Elias less apparent. Each night you curl up on the couch, a dog on either side, and watch the game intently. The Canucks seem to be on the up, winning the first three games with ease. It’s like something has clicked between them and on-ice communication is no longer a problem. However, that changes quickly, and they lose the entire back half of the trip. 
You do your best to comfort Elias from afar – sending him periodic text messages of encouragement, random memes you find on instagram, and calling after every game. The streak of misfortune is getting to him, and it’s beginning to affect his play. He adds only one point the entire trip, an assist that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things since they were blown out of the water. When you talk to him it’s easy to hear how upset he is, and you imagine he’s hearing a lot worse than what you’re telling him from the coaching staff. It makes your blood boil – how they’re treating him – but you’re helpless. Nothing you can say will undo the potential damage. 
The Canucks get back late, and you’re tucked into bed with the dogs, nearly asleep. You’ll return Brock’ pets in the morning. If you hadn’t had a disastrous meeting with your advisor you would’ve met them at the airport, seeing as it’s Friday and you often don’t go to bed until well into the morning, but your body is thoroughly exhausted. 
You don’t hear the door open and are only alerted to a new presence because the dogs perk their ears. Footsteps echo through the silent apartment, and you think you can hear Elias grumbling in Swedish. He makes no attempt to find you so you assume he thinks you’re sleeping. You should be. Up until three minutes ago you were on the verge of sleep, but now you wait with baited breath to see if you can hear any indicators to Elias’s mood. 
A door closes and seconds later the shower turns on, so you assume he’s feeling alright. Most certainly not great, but well enough to maintain his normal routine. You don’t try to move, knowing you’ll talk to him in the morning, and finally allow yourself to commit to sleep. There’s a few minutes of bliss where you’re almost unconscious, but your slumber is disrupted by a quiet knock at your door.
“Sunshine?”
Elias’s voice sounds like a different type of exhaustion that you’ve never heard, and you know right then that you won’t deny him entry to your room.
“I’m awake E,” you mumble, praying he can hear you because you spoke so softly. The door creaks open and you can just make out his facial features in the dark.
Standing tentatively in the doorway, Elias looks at you with tear-rimmed eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m going to get benched.”
☼☼☼☼
His suspicions were, unfortunately, right. The decision to bench Elias had apparently been made on the plane ride home, but he wasn’t informed until the team meeting after practice the next morning. You knew something bad had happened because when he came home there was no conversation. He slipped through the door like a ghost and disappeared into his room. You knew better than to go after him right away – Elias is the type of person who needs to process his emotions alone before sharing them with others.
You busy yourself with editing the chunk of your thesis proposal that has occupied your brain for the past few weeks. It’s getting closer to the end of your first year of graduate school, and you need to get approval for your topic soon. You hope to research the effects of locker room speech on athletes’ mental health. The focus group will be the Vancouver Whitecaps, and you’re excited to work with them. Your advisor has some personal connections and pulled a few strings to get you the gig and you’re extremely thankful.
An hour or two passes before Elias pads his way into the main living area. Wordlessly he flops onto the couch and holds his arms up in the air. You can read Elias like a book – you know he wants you to stop working and lie on top of him. The action brings him comfort, which he desperately needs in this moment, so you don’t have an issue with it. On your way over you grab a banana from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He takes it, but sets it gently on the coffee table.
Once you’re settled, Elias wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. You absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms for a while, letting the silence soothe him.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
It’s a shot in the dark, you know, but you try anyway. Elias doesn’t answer, instead asking you what you did while he was gone. You indulge him, knowing it’s the only way to take his mind off the heartache, and narrate the menial chores you did in painstaking detail. It seems to help, and eventually Elias brings his own anecdotes into the conversation, telling you something dumb Brock had whispered in his ear at practice.
Eventually Elias has to get ready to go to the rink. Though he isn’t playing he’s expected to be there, dressed sharply and watching from the press box. You help him as best you can – ironing his favourite tie and filling his lucky mug with just the right amount of coffee.
He gives you a short hug in thanks before bending down to tie his dress shoes.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” you ask. “I can easily get a press pass and we could sit together.”
Elias shakes his head. “You have work to get done. I’ll be fine sunshine,” he says, doing his best to convince himself along with you that everything will be alright.
You watch him open the door and gingerly blow him a kiss as he turns to wave goodbye. It’s a silly ritual the two of you started a few years ago, before you’d moved in with Elias. He insisted you spend time with him before each home game, which meant you wound up cooking dinner and making sure he drank enough water. To annoy him you started blowing him kisses as he left, and the tradition continued once his place became yours. Elias catches it with his left hand and blows one back.
Not much work gets done while Elias is gone. You’re too worried about him to focus on your proposal and end up with your eyes glued to the television as you watch the game. The Canucks desperately need a win, something you hope they can get so your best friend can be put back into the lineup. Your eyes zero on Elias every time the camera pans to him sitting in the rafters, and your heart breaks each time you see the defeated look in his eyes. It seems to have worsened since he left home.
The game does not go well for the Canucks. It’s as if the team isn’t communicating with one another on the ice, and a lot of passes don’t connect. Shots aren’t on goal either – you know Elias is fuming from within the press box. He feels responsible for the team’s deterioration even though he isn’t playing. You watch the rest of the game with furrowed brows and think of ways you could support Elias. 
After sharing a space with him for almost an entire trip around the sun, you know Elias doesn’t like ‘grand’ gestures. He’ll hate if you draw him a bath, and besides, that’s not something roommates or best friends do for each other. That’s strictly reserved for romantic partners – something you’re sure you will never be to Elias. Ordering food is out of the question because he refuses to eat after nine-thirty, and sure it’ll be past ten before he walks through the door. You settle on warming up his favourite blanket in the dryer and making the both of you a cup of tea. If he wants to take them into his room to spend time alone and decompress that will be okay with you. 
Your phone chimes from its resting place on the kitchen counter. Wondering if it’s a friend wanting an explanation to Elias’s absence from the game, you grumble on your way to the device. The notification is from Elias himself, and you open it with baited breath. You know he’s devastated and pray he’s only letting you know he’s on his way home, not sharing bad news. 
Heading out now. Probably going to get stuck in traffic, got any sad song recommendations?
The message makes your heart break, but you respond with a playlist link that features your favourite songs to cry to. A short message is tacked on to the end to let him know you’re always ready to support him. 
Hopefully this fits the mood. I’m here for you. 
Elias’s response fills you with a small bit of hope. 
I know.
You set your plan into motion, and finish pouring the boiling tea into your favourite mugs as the door opens. 
“Hey,” you say tentatively, not sure what Elias’s mood will be like now that he doesn’t have to have his guard up. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a blanket in the dryer that should still be pretty warm.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t make his words any less sincere. You can tell Elias is drained in every sense of the word by looking at him, and you decide you aren’t going to push him to talk tonight. The communication can come a bit later. 
The blonde trudges down the hallway to the small room where you keep the laundry and reappears moments later wrapped in the plush navy blanket you had prepared for him. Elias doesn’t even bother to change, too exhausted to get out of his suit. You blow some of the steam away from his mug before picking it up and padding over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Elias takes the mug gratefully, and tries to smile at you in thanks. It comes out more like a grimace. 
It’s silent as the two of you sit side by side, staring out the large window at Vancouver’s skyline. The absence of noise isn’t as unsettling as you feared but it still puts you on edge. You can tell Elias’s emotions are beginning to boil over, and you aren’t sure what to do about it. 
“It’s my fault,” he says, voice small and fragile. 
When you turn your head to see him, you’re met with two ice blue eyes brimming with tears. Your heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Elias, listen to me,” you urge, grasping his hands in yours. “The game wasn’t your fault. You not being on the ice did not cause the team to lose.”
Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes. For a split-second, hurt seeps into your bones, but you dispel it because you know he’s upset and didn’t mean to be so abrasive. 
“Not the game!” he shouts, anger clearly winning the mental battle of what emotion to present. “The entire fucking season. We’ve played like shit all year and it’s my fucking fault.”
“Elias,” you say as calmly as possible, knowing it’s important for one of you to be rational. “You’ve consistently put up points all season, and you’re only going through a short dry spell. You pick up the slack where needed and try your hardest to succeed. You’re a damn good teammate and the best hockey player I know. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”
It’s then he breaks, collapsing into your wide open arms and sobbing. You hold him close to your chest, afraid that if you let him go he’ll disappear in front of your eyes. The sounds of his ragged breathing and your gentle encouragement bounce off the walls until all you can focus on is his heart rate returning to something in the ballpark of normal. Elias cries for an unknown amount of time and you don’t even bother to calculate it. He needed to let everything go – hopefully he can now turn the page on the past couple of months. 
When he seems like he’ll respond again, you speak. “I know they put a lot of pressure on you, and I know that you’re a professional athlete, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right. E, you don’t deserve to feel like this, regardless of how you’re playing or where the team is in the standings.”
“I just don’t know what to do,” Elias hiccups. “Everything has become a lot lately, and it keeps piling up. It’s affecting my play, and I just want the team to be successful. I want to be successful.”
You wrap your arms around him tighter and card your hands through his hair. “You are successful, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m always available to talk, but if you’d like I can book you an appointment at the clinic and you can talk to someone who’s actually qualified.”
“You’re so close to being fully qualified,” he encourages, always wanting to make sure you matter too. “But that would be really nice. Thank you.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
That phrase had first confused Elias when you first directed it towards him, but he now understands it’s your way of saying ‘Of course. I’d do anything for you’. You rarely use the phrase with anyone else, and it makes him feel special inside. 
Eventually you untangle your limbs from Elias’s, getting up to refill your mugs and insisting he change into clothing that’s more comfortable. He’s gone a lot longer from the couch than you are, and you begin to worry he won’t be reappearing. The creaking of a hinge wrangles you free from your thoughts. Elias pads back into the living room, dressed in a pair of ridiculously patterned pyjamas you had bought him two Christmases ago. 
“Hey,” he practically whispers. “Can I tell you something?”
You do your best to keep the alarm you feel from appearing on your face. After the conversation you just had, his mind could be going in a million different directions. “Always,” you reply, volume matching his. 
“If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if I’d still be playing hockey.” You make a sound of protest, but Elias doesn’t let you form it into a thought. “I’m dead serious. The night we met? I was a wreck. Sure, I was in the middle of a rookie season most players dream of, but I was so miserable. I cried every night on the way home from the rink and felt completely alone. You were the first person in Vancouver that didn’t expect anything of me, that still doesn’t. I’m so fucking thankful for you. I love you.”
Tears flow freely from your eyes and you raise the sleeve of your sweater to wipe them away. Elias isn’t one for heartfelt confessions – that’s much more your style. He shows his appreciation through random acts of kindness, so you deeply treasure his words. 
“I love you too E.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he insists. “I really love you. I don’t mean it platonically, and I never have.”
You’re sufficiently shocked. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you mumble, pushing off the couch to go hide in your room. 
It’s Elias’s turn to grab your hand. His grip is gentle but still firm enough to let you know he isn’t going to drop the conversation. 
“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”
“Because,” you sigh, “You’re Elias fucking Pettersson. You’re the star centre of an NHL team and there’s a million other people better suited for you than me! Sure, I might be head over heels for you but we aren’t on the same level. I’m your best friend E, and that’s okay. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is you letting emotion get the better of you and confessing something that isn’t true. You’re grateful for my support, and I think we should just leave it at that.”
He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision Y/N,” Elias says. “I’ve been debating telling you for months, but the season kind of derailed my plans and got in the way. I love you.”
Before you can process the gravity of his words, Elias is pressing his lips to yours in an effort to show just how sincere he is. You falter for a split-second, shocked that this isn’t a dream – your best friend, who you’ve had a crush on for years, is in love with you and you’re in the process of kissing him – but you recover quickly. Kissing Elias feels like a long awaited homecoming. It’s as though you’ve found true peace, and nothing will ever be as good as your lips connecting. You lose yourself in him quite easily, and only focus to your surroundings when he pulls away to look in your eyes.
“So,” Elias sheepishly tucks a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear. “Think I could take you out, like on an actual date?”
You beam at him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That can most certainly be arranged.”
☼☼☼☼
taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)
227 notes · View notes
watchmegetobsessed · 3 years
Text
Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 5)
uh ohh, part 5 baby! im quite enjoying this story so far and i have some fun things planned for it, so i hope you’ll stay with me for them! in today’s part, our fav new celeb couple takes it all the way, though i chose not to include the actual sex part, however im still treating you all with some dirty stuff so enjoy!
pairing: Harry x actress!reader
word count: 4.6k
warning: NSFW content
SERIES MASTERPOST
masterlist
Tumblr media
New couple alert?
Harry Styles and Y/N Y/L/N have been spotted having lunch and grabbing coffee several times in the course of the past few weeks. All the outings looked casual and friendly, they gladly stopped for fans that approached them and the word has it that they’ve been getting closer to each other, though neither of them confirmed anything.
Harry Styles has been known to be single for a while now, only faint rumors swirling up sometimes, but none of them were proven to be true, the young actress is the first woman he has been linked to in a long time. Y/N Y/L/N has been focusing on her blooming career and has been single since her split from long time exboyfriend and fellow actor, Levi Hudson. The pair dated all through 2018, splitting in the beginning of 2019. Hudson has admitted their hectic schedules made it impossible to maintain their relationship while Y/N did not confirm anything.
Styles is going on his world-wide tour soon, while Y/L/N is currently between two projects. The young celebs seem to be enjoying each other’s company and fans have been quick to jump into speculations about their alleged romance, however there is no evidence as of right now.
“Thank you so much for your time, it was a pleasure to talk to you,” the young interviewer smiles at you, holding her hand out and you shake it with a warm smile.
“Thank you for having me! And I really like your shoes, by the way,” you point down at her electric blue pumps that you’ve been eyeing since the start of the interview.
“Oh, thank you! Got them from a vintage store,” she beams, a slight blush playing on her cheeks clearly a little starstruck from your compliment.
“Love those little stores.”
“Me too,” she giggles collecting her papers and notes. “Someone will contact you and your team soon about the photoshoot and I’ll email you a draft of the interview in about a week.”
“That’s perfect, thank you so much,” you nod at her grabbing your purse from the side table next to you. Grabbing your phone from the depth of it you smile to yourself upon seeing the text from Harry.
“Call me when you’re done with the interview Xx.”
You say your goodbye to everyone before heading out of the building. Lawrence is at the front waiting for you in the car and he greets you with a warm smile when you sit into the backseat. As he starts the car and heads back to your home, you call Harry, who picks it up after the second ring.
“Hey! How was the interview?” he beams brightly, his voice immediately making you smile.
“Great! This young girl did it and she had some exciting questions.”
“Sounds lovely. Can’t wait to buy a Cosmopolitan with you on the cover soon,” he says and you can hear the grin through his voice.
“Will look good in your hands for sure,” you chuckle.
“Right. So I have a question for you.”
“Go for it.”
“I’m doing this very small show at Beacon Theater this weekend, kind of a practice before the real tour begins and I was wondering if you’d be up to come. Would love to have you there.”
“When is it exactly?”
“Saturday at nine. I know it’s a short notice and I get it if you have something else going on, just wanted to ask.”
“I think I can make it work,” you smile, thinking back at what your day looks like on Saturday. “Can I bring someone?”
“Of course! Just let me know how many people so I can have the tickets sent over to you.”
“Thank you. It’s sweet of you to think about me.”
“You know I always think about you,” he murmurs and his voice sends a shiver down your spine. Crazy to think how much he can affect you with just his words, he just has a special spell on you, it seems.
“Still such a flirt, I see,” you chuckle, feeling your cheeks heating up as you hear his soft laugh on the other end of the line.
“For you, always.”
“Alright. I’ll text you about the tickets and thank you again. Can’t wait to see you perform finally.”
“It’s been due for a while now, right? Kind of promised you some tickets on Ellen, if I remember correctly.”
“You did!” you laugh thinking back at the time you met him. How funny that just one short game on a talk show led the two of you here. You have to thank Ellen though.
“Now I’m finally keeping my promise. Talk to you later then, Love. Have a great day.”
“You too, Harry.”
 You manage to convince Sydney to join you for the concert, she sounds excited when you ask if she had anything to do on Saturday. Seeing Harry perform before his tour kicks off is a thrill for her she wouldn’t pass on for anything, so she is really grateful that you thought of her as your plus one.
Harry has your passes sent over to your place on Friday and it comes with a bouquet of flowers as well as a card.
“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. What’s your favorite song? I’ll make sure to perform it just for you. –H”
He never fails to make you feel like the only woman on the planet and you can definitely see why so many fall for him even without meeting him. The man has all the power to charm anyone with just a smile.
You put the flowers into a vase and leave them on your dining table before grabbing your phone and sending him a quick text.
“It’s Only Angel,” you simply write, hoping he’ll get it why you just wrote that. Luckily, he does.
“Straight to the setlist. Dedicated to You.”
 Finishing up the last touches to your makeup you bop your head to the song blasting through the stereo. It’s Only Angel, of course. You’ve had it on repeat all afternoon and now you can’t wait to actually see Harry perform it live.
Just as you are about to get changed, Syd arrives so you let her in with a beaming smile and when she hears the music upon walking into your place she cheers in excitement.
“Yes! This is such a jam!” she smirks, doing a little dance as you lock the door behind her.
“You look fantastic, Syd,” you tell her. The black short dress looks amazing paired with the lilac oversized blazer. Her makeup matches the same color and you are obsessed with the fishnet tights. She will surely make men wish she was into them.
“Thank you! Spent two hours figuring out what to wear, so I hope I look fantastic,” she giggles.
She helps you put together your outfit as well. Wide legged flaming red pants that make your waist look snatched, a black sheer top tucked into it with just a black bralette underneath. You already know Harry will be a fan of the skin you’re showing, you can’t wait to see his face when he finally spots you.
You quickly pack your essentials into a black Chanel purse along with stuff you need for a possible sleepover if things might take a pleasant turn, and you finish with everything just when the doorman calls up through the intercom that Lawrence has arrived.
“So, what’s the deal with you and him, if I may ask?” Syd questions in the car, not in a nosy way, more like a curious, friendly way.
“We are… getting close,” you say, tasting the word on your tongue. You haven’t labeled whatever you have going on with Harry, nor do you really know what it should be called. You’ve been trying hard to make time for each other as much as possible, making small lunch and coffee dates a regular thing. He came over to your place one evening for a movie and that’s the only time you were able to be alone with him, though nothing sexual happened. Yet. The real deal is yet to happen and if you are being honest you are running short on patience. It’s getting harder to hold yourself back and keep your hands to yourself as well when you are out with him, but you agreed to keep it lowkey out in the public.
Tonight, however, you have a feeling what you’ve been waiting for so long might actually happen and you can only hope Harry is planning the same thing. You are absolutely ready to bluntly ask if he wants to spend the night at your place.
“But you’re heading… somewhere, right?”
“I hope so,” you smile shyly.
“That’s amazing. I think you two are a match,” Syd smirks at you.
By the time you arrive to the venue the gates have been opened so people are busy getting inside, giving you the chance to walk inside through the backdoors without any fuss.
“Miss, Harry requested me to usher you to his dressing room when you arrive,” the girl at the door smiles at you with a clipboard in her hands and a headset covering her ears.
“Oh, alright,” you nod, turning to Syd. “You go ahead and get us a good place,” you tell her and she nods walking away with a wave as she heads up to the second floor that’s fully reserved for friends and family.
Following the girl down the hallway you are led to a room that has Harry’s name on it. She gently knocks on the door and a few moments later it flies open, revealing Harry in a colorful suit and a simple white button-down shirt. He looks breathtaking, hair fixed perfectly and the wide grin stretching across his lips when he sees you standing there.
“You’re here!” he breathes out, grabbing your hand and pulling inside, snatching you away from the preying eyes. Once the door clicks closed behind you, he is quick to press his lips to yours in a sweet welcoming kiss. Ever since your first official date he hasn’t passed on any chance to kiss you whenever you had the luxury of privacy to yourselves, which hasn’t happened too much, leaving you both with a growing hunger for each other every time you meet.
“Mm of course I am,” you smile against his lips before pecking them one last time and leaning back. “Looking great, Mr. Styles,” you grin, taking your time to wander your eyes down on him.
“Yeah? Like the suit?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I love your outfit as well. M’gonna have a hard time not thinking about you on the stage.”
“Please think about me,” you breathe out with a coy smile.
“Don’t fucking say that to me, you are giving me a hard time,” he groans and you just chuckle at the tortured look on his face.
“Sorry,” you mumble, but your face doesn’t meet your words. He squeezes your waist gently, pecking your lips in a rush before he lets go of you.
“I need to go over a few things before we start, so just go ahead and join Syd. Meet me here after the show?”
“Yeah, perfect,” you nod smiling. “Good luck out there,” you wink and he grins at you with bright eyes. His hands grab onto yours before you head out, pulling you in for one last kiss before you leave.
You feel flustered and you take a few deep breaths on your way up to the gallery to find Syd who managed to get an amazing spot at the front on the left side.
They offer everyone up on the gallery some champagne before the show starts and looking around you see a few familiar faces, but no one you specifically know. You stick with Sydney who is over the moon about the show and you are kind of sharing her excitement.
When the lights go down and the music finally starts, you can’t help but join in with the screams that fill the theater.
You’ve seen videos of him performing, in One Direction and solo as well. You’ve seen pictures and you’ve heard the words about how amazing he is on stage, but none of those live up to the actual experience. The sensation that takes over you just by seeing him appear on the stage as the whole theater chants his name as one, it completely sweeps you off your feet and for a second you wonder how you could live a life without this experience.
When his voice starts to flow through the massive speakers you need to take a deep breath, a shiver runs down your spine and you chug down the rest of your champagne so you could get rid of the glass and hold onto the railing with both hands because you feel like you need to ground yourself before you shoot into the sky.
Song after song, he performs perfectly, bringing every single person in the audience to that euphoric state they’ve been probably seeking their whole life. The experience is surely one of a kind, something you’ll definitely be thinking about for a long time.
Time seems to stop, though it cruelly carries on even when you forget about it completely. The concert is nearing its end and Harry takes a breather as he places his guitar to the stand behind him. You watch his every move as he walks back to the microphone, his gaze moving up to the gallery, roaming through the people until they find you.
“This last song is dedicated… to my Only Angel,” he murmurs into the microphone as the audience erupts, blows up at once and your heart skips a beat when his eyes linger over you for a little longer before the music starts to play.
You faintly hear Syd screaming next to you, probably aware that the dedication was addressed to you, but you can’t tear your eyes off of the man on the stage.
He nails it perfectly, looking like an absolute rockstar that he truly is and for a moment you can’t believe you have his attention and interest. How can such a precious and unbelievably talented man be in your reach?
Because I deserve great things in life, you tell yourself, a little mantra you’ve gotten around to repeat every time you found yourself doubting your success and happiness.
The concert eventually ends and though no one in the room desires the end of it, Harry leaves and you are abruptly brought back to reality.
“That was… something else truly,” Syd breathes out as the two of you linger around a little longer, trying to come down from the high you just experienced.
“Yeah. He is so fucking talented it’s almost unfair,” you chuckle running a hand through your hair.
“This tour will kill thousands of people all around the world,” she muses and for a moment, reality sets in and you realize that Harry will leave for his worldwide tour very soon, leaving you behind.
You get rid of the thought, not wanting to stress over something that’s not relevant just yet and you don’t want to ruin the evening either. Fears and stress can wait a little longer.
The two of you make your way backstage, walking into a bit of a chaos as all close friends and family want to congratulate to Harry and the band as well. Standing at the side you let everyone have their time, barely even seeing Harry in the sea of people in the spacious green room. Syd keeps you company as you wait and about thirty minutes later it seems like the crowd is starting to loosen up.
Harry spots you and excuses himself immediately from his conversation with a couple, heading in your direction with the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his pretty face.
“Congrats, that was mind-blowing,” you smirk as he reaches you, a hand curling around your waist as he leans down and places a kiss to your cheek, keeping it as moderate as possible, though you both just want to jump at each other.
“Thank you, Love,” he nods, a blush tinting his cheeks from your words. “Hello Sydney, so great to see you again,” he greets the girl next to you and they share a short hug.
“Hi! Loved the show so much!” she giggles in excitement.
“Thank you for coming.”
The three of you chat for a while before Sydney says she is gonna call herself an Uber, so after saying her goodbye she leaves you alone with Harry, as much as you can be alone with a bunch of other people around.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he clears his throat as his hand finds its way back to the small of your back.
“Go for it.”
“We are gonna grab a drink at some bar, but nothing over the top and I wanted to ask if you would want to join.”
“Sounds good,” you smile, feeling a little disappointed. This is not exactly what you wanted him to ask. Luckily, he is not done with his questions.
“Also… I-If it’s cool by you, I thought that… maybe you could come over?”
“Mmm, go over and do what?” you tease him, your smile stretching wider with each passing moment.
“I have plenty of ideas, Love,” he breathes out, making you laugh. “We could drop by your place if you need anything to stay over.”
“No need. Packed a bag,” you slyly grin at him, taking him by surprise clearly, but it’s surely a pleasant one.
“Always a step ahead of me, huh?” he smirks, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
It takes some time to actually leave the venue and head off to the bar with a close group of friends of him and the band. A secluded area was already reserved for you that has its own bar, so you could enjoy the evening without worrying about preying eyes of strangers or fans. You really weren’t in the mood to keep your distance from Harry, this way at least you were able to touch each other in a more intimate way without speculations swirling up immediately.
You get to know his band and some of his friends, they are all genuinely amazing people, but you weren’t expecting anything else. You figured he only surrounds himself with people like him. His hands often find your waist and he doesn’t shy away from kissing your cheek or giving your hips a gentle squeeze, just letting you know you have his attention and he appreciates that you’re there.
It’s nearing one am when the guests start leaving and soon enough you find yourself in the back of your car with Harry, heading to his place, while you try your best to keep your hands away from him. You wouldn’t put Lawrence through the trauma of having to see or hear something he shouldn’t.
But that doesn’t stop you from kissing, something you’ve been dying to do all night. Your hand rests on his thigh while he has an arm curled around your shoulders, keeping you tight by his side, delicately brushing his nose against your hair every time your lips are not connected.
“Thank you, Lawrence. I’ll call myself a taxi in the morning, have the day off,” you tell your driver who smiles in your way thankfully while Harry grabs your and his bags from the back of the car.
“Thank you, Miss. Enjoy your night,” he nods in your way as you shut the door closed.
You try to take your duffel bag from Harry, but he insists to carry it as the two of you walk inside his house.
“Want something to drink? Water, tea or something?” he asks, setting the bags down near his giant, comfortable looking couch. Your thoughts immediately wander to a dirty field, picturing him sitting on that very couch as you kneel in front of him, pleasuring him so good that his eyes roll back…
“Yeah, water please,” you say clearing your throat. Some hydration will come handy after the drinks you chugged down at the bar.
You follow him as he shuffles into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and a bottled water from the fridge for you, pouring some into the glass before handing it to you.
“Thank you. You have a nice place for yourself,” you tell him, looking around in his home.
“Thanks. Been working on it for a while,” he chuckles softly. “Feels a bit too big for just myself though.”
You finish the water and set your eyes at him, feeling your hunger for him grow with each passing moment. Placing the empty glass to the marble counter you take a step closer to him.
“You feel lonely often?” you question in a low voice. His eyes return to you and you are happy to see the same lust in them.
“Would say so, yes,” he nods, running his tongue over his pink lips before he reaches out and grabbing you by your hips, he draws you close to him. Leaning down his lips brush against the shell of your ear, a shiver runs down your spine when you hear his whisper in it. “Hope it’ll change soon.”
At a loss of patience, you grab his face and angle it perfectly so you can kiss him hard. And by hard, you mean real hard. He stumbles back from the force, but manages to keep his balance, returning the kiss just as vehemently as he receives it, a tug of war starting between the two of you.
His hands work fast on the sheer fabric of your shirt, pulling it out from the waistband of your pants, getting rid of it eagerly as his lips wander down on your neck, collarbones and chest. He easily turns the two of you around so you are pushed against the edge of the countertop, his hips pushed against you and it’s clearer that daylight just how excited he is to have you here tonight. Your eyes flicker over to the couch again and the desire to please him with your mouth just bursts, you can’t hold yourself back anymore.
So you push him away from you, grabbing his wrist and yanking him after you, heading towards the couch. You push him down and his lustful eyes follow every move of yours as you kneel in front of him and he realizes what you are about to do. He doesn’t stop you when you work to unbutton his pants, but his hand finds your chin and he pulls you up for a swift, but passionate kiss.
Once you successfully undid his pants he lifts his hips and you spare some time and energy, pulling them down along with his underwear, leaving him only in his vintage printed t-shirt as his cock springs free. You push your thighs together just at the sight of him, the way his eyes burn down on you, how his lips part when your gazes meet and the way he sucks on his breath when your fingers dig into his thighs near his crotch as you situate yourself closer.
“I believe I owe you an orgasm, don’t I?” you ask with a cheeky smirk before wrapping your left hand around the base of his shaft, giving it a gentle squeeze, just enough to get him even more excited. A whimpered moan slips from his lips and you lean closer, giving his cock a lick from bottom to top, wrapping your lips around the head as you swirl your tongue around it.
“Fuck hell!” he breathes out, clearly enjoying himself, hands fisting the cushion next to him, but you bet they’ll be buried in your hair soon.
You’re not an expert in the field of blowjobs, but it’s been your thing to come barging right through the door and jump the easy teasing whenever you were on your knees for a man. So with your hands fixed on his beautiful face, you sink down on him, his cock gliding into your mouth right until the tip reaches the back of your throat, earning the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. Shutting your eyes closed you keep him like that for a second until the urge to gag starts to set in, so you slide him out, your saliva dripping down his erection as your eyes meet his and you can tell you shocked him with your bold first move.
“Do that one more time and I won’t last for a minute,” he warns breathing heavily and you just smirk up at him before going into action again, this time only taking a smaller portion of him, pumping the base to make up for the lack of deep throating, but it appears that he enjoys just the simple part of it equally. As you keep bobbing your head, taking as much of him as you can without gagging, his right hand flies to your hair, taking a handful of it as he gently guides your head, keeping it in the rhythm that works the best for him and you happily let him do whatever makes him feel good.
When your free hand goes to gently massage his balls your name erupts from him in the most voluptuous way you’ve heard him call out for you. As if he just cried out for God himself.
“Y/N, fuck, I won’t last long,” he warns you, but that’s all you want. You need to see him come undone under your touch, you want to be the reason his breath hitches. Picking up your pace you see him whimper some more, head falling backwards to the back of the couch. It’s a heavenly view and you wish you could take a picture of his beauty as he enjoys himself on this intimate level. You’ve never wanted to please a man more than him and just seeing him in this blissful state makes you wet through your underwear.
When his breathing starts to get uneven, chest heaving wildly, you take all of him again, his head poking the back of your throat and you push your tongue against his length as you slide him out, picking up the same pace that you kept before, both hands working hard on him.
“Fuck! I-I’m gonna cum!” he warns again and just a few seconds later, you feel the evidence of his satisfaction spurt into the back of your throat, eyes falling on you as you give him one last lick before swallowing everything that’s in your mouth.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out pulling you up, eagerly kissing you without a second thought, his hands cupping your cheeks to keep you in place. “You surely know how to kill a man, yea?” he huffs making you chuckle.
“Think you can go for a second one?” you sheepishly ask, blinking up at him from under your long lashes.
“I’ll have enough time to recover while I eat you out like you’re my last meal,” he bluntly replies, and a moan almost slips from your lips.
“Show me what you got, Styles,” you challenge him and he doesn’t need more, he easily picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he heads straight to the bedroom.
“As you wish, Angel,” he mumbles against your skin, peppering your neck and shoulder with featherlike kisses along his way until he throws you to his bed, ruthlessly tearing the remaining of your clothes off your body.
PREVIOUS PART
NEXT PART
1K notes · View notes
zirkkun · 3 years
Photo
Tumblr media
❤️ULR Speed Date Event Results - Part 5/5!💙
And, very unsurprisingly, Ace is in first place for the amount of submissions he received, that being 82! Due to the fact that there was so many submissions, he has a lot more I debated between (and even though one of these was a joke response... it was still pretty story worthy):
❤️ Ary 💙 dragon anon ❤️ din 💙 Vee ❤️ Yours~ 💙 ya know, nyah :3c ❤️ Chaomingo 💙 Lilianna ❤️ Orly
And last but not least is the winner of Ace’s date will be revealed. You can read the date either under read more or on AO3!
🖤--✨--❤️
Undertale (c) Toby Fox Underlust by @/nsfwshamecave Underlust Reimagine by myself
Thank you for your support, but do remember to support and read Underlust (18+) if you can!
ulr masterpost || ulr main tag || ulr ask box || ulr comic beginning || kofi?
... the anon who submitted under the name Lilianna!
❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙
Sans still didn't want to be a part of this. He didn't want to be doing this at all. But, unfortunately, his brother wouldn't take "hell no" for an answer. So now he was stuck on a date. With a human, no less. Oh joy. Despite the fact that living on the Surface was so saught after, he really wasn't finding it to be appealing.
At least, for the start of this, he was by himself. Maybe a long time ago, he would have been bothered by someone being late to an event like this, but for now, he was indulging in the silence.
She, Sans's date, decided that she wanted to meet at this park outside of the city, late at night, for a chance to watch the stars. Frankly, he didn't really care one way or another. But, he did eventually find himself standing at the ledge of a bridge, watching the stars twinkling in their reflection on a river. That and the dead silence, only bug noises chirping here and there; was shockingly more relaxing than Sans had anticipated it would be.
"There you are! Sorry I'm late!!"
And the relaxation was cut short. Oh well. Not that he didn't expect that.
Sans turned his attention towards the direction of the voice, spotting the human running up to him as fast as she could. Panting as she caught up to him on the bridge, she exclaimed, "I'm so, so sorry, things were backed up getting out of the city and --"
"i don't really care," Sans cut in. He turned his attention back to the river.
The human, a little taken aback, tried to brush over the harsh comment. She took a step towards the edge of bridge, holding on to the railing with a tight grip. The silence echoed in the park once more, but for the human, this was more awkward than anything else. She didn't really know what to say... is there a topic she knew offhand he'd be willing to discuss? Um... no, not really. 
"hey."
Oh! He said something first! "Yeah?" the human responded.
"do you think a fall from this height into the river would kill me?"
A brief moment of silence. It held both shock and interest from each halves of the conversation.
"What -- I don't know?! I don't really want to know!! That sounds painful regardless and I really don't want to find out!!"
But Sans just laughed at her sudden panic. "relax. i was joking."
"Th... that's a bit of a dark joke, don't you think?"
He shrugged. "It happens." He didn't elaborate, leaving the silence to once again consume the conversation into nothing. The human shifted uncomfortably where she stood.
She debated back and forth on another topic to talk about. Anything to ease the tension -- especially since it got worse with his topic of choice.
"Um... so, on that form thing, you asked me about stuff I like to do... but what about stuff you like to do?" she prompted, hoping it wouldn't be another dark joke response.
"hm." Sans pondered the question for a while, not really knowing what to say. When's the last time he did something he liked doing? Probably when he was working with the other Royal Scientists. Which was over ten years ago. "i dunno," he answered instead. "haven't done anything just 'cause in a long time."
"Oh." The human frowned. "Well, maybe we could do something together sometime then, and you can find a new hobby? Only if you'd like, of course."
Sans raised a brow as he flicked his gaze to her. "like what?"
"Oh, um... well, I like to bake, draw, and read... but those are all pretty boring so maybe not those..." she responded sheepishly.
Sans didn't react negatively, but he wasn't exactly enthusiastic either. He's practically read every book from the Underground cover-to-cover with how much time he's had on his hands, and his drawing skills were... not to be admired. And Papyrus has always been on his case to eat more. So... "i dunno, baking?" he blurted.
The human blinked. "As in, you'd want to do some baking together?"
"yeah, sure, whatever."
"You really don't sound all that interested."
"i'm not interested in most things, what's your point?"
The human shuffled back into silence for a brief while as she herself started to stare at the river, her eyes trailing down the reflection until they met the sky, full of crystal-clear stars. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she added. "I know you're already... not super excited about this current date, so please don't feel like you have to force yourself further."
Ah. There it was. The same kind of consideration that made him pick this person over everyone else in the first place. Some people had acknowledged him not wanting to deal with this, but their responses were things like, "Then why be here?" which only irked him enough to toss them aside. Some disacknowledged it, which he prefered, but something about when she said... "You seem like you don't want to do this anyways, which is all good," really hit him in a way he didn't expect.
Sans, however, did not even consider responding out loud, and instead just pulled his scarf up tighter on his face. Sans? Being honest and clear with his emotions? Haha. How funny. Easier to just push them aside. A void of feeling is much easier to deal with.
Well, he did give a sort of grunt of acknowledgment to her comment. But... it was really far after she'd said anything. So she thought he was prompting something new.
"What's that?" she asked.
"nothing."
"Then...?" But the human just shook her head. Maybe talk about something else. "You know..." She'd started a sentence, but didn't actually have anything to say. In a frantic moment to try and finish what she'd started, she said, "Time is a precious thing, isn't it?"
There was a pause.
"what'd'ya mean?" Sans asked.
"We only get so much of it. It's so limited and can be taken from us in a second."
"... yeah, and?"
"I just... I like spending time with people," she finalized. "There's only so much time I have available, and I want to be able to spend as much of it as I can with people I care about and doing things I've wanted to do. Thinking about it all is a bit scary sometimes..."
Sans debated the crass comment of "so what you're saying is i should leave and do something i'd rather be doing," but he figured now was not the time for something like that. He waited a moment to see if the human had more to say about the topic, but when she didn't, he decided to jump in with his own response. "worrying about what you might lose out on is kinda pointless," he said bluntly. "sometimes shit ain't gonna work out, and you'll miss out on something you'd have rather wanted. sometimes people are taken away from you when you least expect it and you're left wondering if you did enough for them or with them. but it's not the end of the world. you've gotta just work with what you're dealt with."
The human didn't expect such a long, nor deep, reply from him, and was a little taken aback by it. While these may have been things said before, or maybe she'd even considered them, it was different to hear them coming from someone who two seconds ago wanted to jump off the bridge. Frankly... does that mean she should take his words with a grain of salt, or...?
"sorry," Sans blurted. "said more than i shoulda."
"Wh -- n-no, don't worry about that!! I just... didn't expect you to have a lot to say on the topic. Or, I guess, to really reply lengthy at all. But it's okay! I'm glad you let me hear your thoughts."
He pulled his scarf tighter as he grunted a response, staring still at the reflection in the river.
138 notes · View notes
bonvoyagenoona · 3 years
Text
Countermelody (M) | 05: Harmony
Tumblr media
Countermelody | Masterpost
Word Count: 21,628 (lol oof) | read on ao3
Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature
Pairings: Yoongi x Reader
Playlist: Updated with final songs! Seeing as this is a fic about music and all 😏
Summary
This new city has already invigorated your tired bones and shy heart. The people here seem kind and exciting. All sorts of interesting silhouettes are always shuffling about, and you write little stories for each person who passes you by. Even the stationery shop next door is warm and inviting, and you’re grateful that Mr. Kang offers you the manager job on the spot. But you get a funny feeling about things when he shows you the boxes in the back, the ones marked with red tape and the name MIN YOONGI scribbled on top. You wonder what makes this customer particularly special. You don’t know that the process of finding out will make you question why you ever moved here in the first place.
Chapter Excerpt
Even when saying one word, and through the phone, no less, your voice is like an instant shot of adrenaline into Yoongi’s system.
The support of his firm mattress feels good on his aching back, but he wishes you were there next to him. He licks his lips and looks up at the ceiling, reaching up for his beanie and sliding it off of his head. He lays it on his chest and runs his fingers along the fabric.
“Hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I wanted to wait for you.”
“I’m sorry I kept you.”
“I wanted to wait for you,” you repeat, laughing softly. “How’d it go?”
Yoongi relays some of the information. He gives you a heads-up about Yaeji, even though he knows you wouldn’t have paid much attention to anything she said anyway. And then he says, “I’ve got a question.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about turning Suran’s debut song into a duet?”
Content Warnings: Soft and hard smut, semi-public sex?, ass slapping (oof), oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex
Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld @greezenini @missbickerbocker @dearbambideer​ | countermelody @adventuresinwonderlust @min-yus @dearbambideer (taglist for this fic now closed!)
Special Shoutout: Chapter 05 mood board and title art by @purplehearts1996! A perfect moodboard to wrap up this story! Thank you so so much for creating and sharing!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
05: Harmony
“I like these freckles on your legs,” Yoongi comments. 
“What freckles?” you ask, confused.
“These ones, all over,” he says, with a charmed smile. He pokes at a few spots. “Boop. Boop boop.” He smiles. “They’re so cute.”
You find it ironic that he says this as he runs his perfect hand up your calf and down your shin.
“Those aren’t freckles,” you say shyly. “Those are my, um, h-hair follicles.” Your cheeks start to turn ruby red, and your voice gets quieter as you give a quick summary of all the beauty and medical articles that you’ve read since you were a teenager. “My hair is dark, but the skin on my legs is light, so you can see the follicles, and anyway I’ve been researching laser treatments, and they’re all kind of expensive, but I’m hoping to get them done as soon as I’ve saved up enough money---”
“Whatever they are, I like ‘em,” Yoongi replies.
He raises your ankle to his lips and kisses it, grinning at you.
Your smile comes out crooked, still puzzled and bashful. You’re quickly learning that Yoongi is one of those enlightened, magical beings who truly mean it when they say that they don’t believe in holding people to any standards. Who love and accept others for who and what they are. Who finds beauty in what others consider to be flaws.
Yoongi sighs and nestles into the cushions. You’re propped up on one end of his couch, and he’s propped up on the other. You’re lying there, naked, sharing one of Yoongi’s throw blankets, still tangled up in each other. You’ve slept on and off without moving an inch from your long night together, devoting the entire weekend to reconnecting all the wires that had been crossed.
The view from Yoongi’s apartment stretches out in front of you, a map of a sleepy Sunday in the city. It occurs to you that you’ve rarely seen his place, or this city, in the daytime.
You want to see more of it, but then you say, “I have to go in a couple of hours. Unnie and I are going over the final version of the contract.”
“You can do that here.”
“I don’t have a copy with me.”
“Knowing Noona, she has a copy with her.”
That’s right, you think. And then you smile at Yoongi’s words. “Knowing Noona.” The fact that he knows her. The fact that she is also his.
“How about some food?” Yoongi asks, patting his stomach. “I’m starving.”
“Sure,” you say, reaching over to the coffee table for your phone, “what do you want to order?”
“How about I cook?” Yoongi asks.
You laugh. “No, really, what do you want to order?”
Yoongi playfully frowns. “I cook!”
“You work, like, 20 hours a day.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t cook. Maybe I haven’t been doing it as often, but I’m actually really good.”
You smirk. “Prove it.”
“I will,” Yoongi says plainly. “I mean. I was offering.”
You go back to your phone. “OK, then. So, what do you want to order for when you botch this meal?” 
He rips the throw blanket from you as he stands.
“Hey!” you say, shivering.
Yoongi scoffs. “That’s what you get.” He wraps the blanket around him, covering him completely. “Plus my thingy’s cold.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And you look good lying naked on my couch.”
You try to fight your smile, but when Yoongi bends down to kiss you on the forehead, you melt. You lean your head back, and he snickers into the kiss that he places on your lips. You threaten to pull him back to you, mostly because he’s turned you on, partially because you want that blanket, or some kind of body heat. But then he rips his lips from yours.
“Hungry,” he grunts again, disappearing into his room.
You lie there, stretching, and smiling to yourself. 
Yoongi returns just a few minutes later, having showered quickly and changed into sweats.
Over his arm hangs another pair of his sweatpants, and his softest, warmest hoodie.
For you.
He leans down and kisses you again, setting the clothes on your stomach. 
“Take your time. I’ll make something yummy.”
He heads over to the kitchen and starts cooking, and you realize that whatever he makes will be yummy, because it was made for you, by him. 
You get up and head to the bathroom. You luxuriate in his shower, taking time to exfoliate, shave, and moisturize. You pause for a moment to enjoy the feel of his plush towels against your skin. You even bask in the heat from his hair dryer. Everything feels perfect on your body, just like he does. Though, you do admit that being in the afterglow may be blinding you to anything that’s not up to snuff.
As you step out of the bathroom, you notice Yoongi setting the kitchen table. He’s made some sort of beef stew and improvised a few side dishes to cut the richness of the sauce. It smells divine.
You walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing giddy kisses into the base of his neck and nestling into him. You’ve never been cared for like this. Not really. Eomma wasn’t the doting type. Unnie did the best that she could but eventually had her own life to lead. And all of your friends have been like you, more than happy to fend for themselves.
“This is amazing.”
Yoongi chuckles, setting the last plate down and turning around in your arms.
“Told you I cook,” he says, his voice low and rumbling. 
You grin. “Not just this.” You hold him close to you and kiss him as slow and long as your shower was, as long as it must have taken him to whip up this meal. And then you pull back and look him deeply in the eyes.
“This.”
He sighs and finds your lips for more, until his stomach growls again.
Cradling your face in his hands, Yoongi whispers, “We should eat before it gets cold.”
“Cold like your thingy?” you laugh, as he pinches your cheeks.
He reaches over and pulls a chair out for you before sitting across from you. You eat, quiet, and happy, and so comfortable that it feels like you’ve been doing this all your life.
At some point during the meal, though, Yoongi’s eyes become sharper.
“That was a record, I think,” you reply, grinning at him as you polish off your serving of stew.
“Hmm?” Yoongi asks, placing more vegetables in his bowl.
You grin. “You’re thinking about work.”
Yoongi blushes a little. “Sorry.”
You smile and think of an observation that he had shared with you before. It was reaffirming to hear how attractive you were in your natural state. So you share one of your own.
“I fell for you, seeing you in the studio,” you say. “Working so quickly like that. Gears spinning. It was incredible.” 
Yoongi blushes more as he squints and tries to hide his smile. He actually looks a little shy. Which is making you gush even more.
“So don’t apologize for that,” you add, your words tickling him.
He shakes his head, grinning at you. And then you feel his feet touch yours under the table, rubbing and shuffling against you.
“What were you thinking about?” you ask. “Did you get an idea?”
“Kind of,” he says, staring at the bowl of stew. “I was thinking about how nice and warm this stew is. How filling.” 
He looks up at you to see if you understand, and he sees you still staring at the bowl, matching his gaze to try and follow his train of thought. 
It sounds crazy, but you try to look past the actual sight of the stew. You focus on its elements. The meat is so tender, perhaps a sign of just how long your shower really was, but mostly an indication of Yoongi’s prowess in the kitchen. The chunks are falling off the bone, and you barely even have to chew it to eat it. You notice the interplay between texture and taste. The spice and warmth lovingly cooked into those delicate fibers.
“...Strings?” 
Yoongi’s heart pitter-patters when your eyes grow light with realization.
You smile and look up at him. “Strings to warm up the chorus?” you ask. “Bring some of the retro feel back?”
He nods. He’s a bit shocked. No one has picked up his train of thought that quickly, or with as few clues. Not even Hobi or Namjoon.
“Sunday,” you chuckle.
Yoongi cocks his head, thrown off.
You jump at the chance of being the first one to a realization, for once.
You walk over to Yoongi’s computer, bend down to the keyboard and mouse, and you pull up a song. 
He chuckles as the song plays, a slow, sweeping, jazzy ballad with an earnest plea. 
Etta James’ A Sunday Kind of Love.
Maybe you did think of it because of the day. What’s more likely is that you thought of it because you had found what she was singing about. What you had been looking for as well.
Your hips start swaying along to it, and then you feel Yoongi’s hands on you, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him. He kisses you, and you fall into a little bit of a lumber, a little bit of a dance. And then you settle into the groove, as you lay your head on his shoulder and feel so fuzzy.
“Did you say something about needing to go?” he reminds you, teasing you, kissing the top of your head and resting his chin there.
Yoongi’s forearms are on your still-swaying hips. You feel that his wrists are placed on top of each other. His right palm sits on top of the back of his left hand, fingers interlaced, hands locked behind you, as if to keep you from leaving.
But he doesn’t have to worry about that. 
You smile and breathe him in. 
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The oddest thing about saying it is that you really do mean it.
Tumblr media
The Lamy 2000 fountain pen leaves its trademark beautiful, swirly, jet-black stream. 
“And here.”
You follow Sejin’s finger to the last line requiring your signature. After you sign, you look up at the rest of the attendees in the boardroom. Sejin. Si-hyuk. Their lawyers. Your lawyer. Well, Unnie’s lawyer, who’s a friend of a friend. Namjoon, Hobi, and Yoongi. They’re all smiling, the room’s emotions ranging from relief that this happened to be such an easy negotiation, to absolute ecstasy at the result.
You feel so proud of the job you did. Including the work you’d done on that Lamy.
Everyone claps and tells you congratulations.
You hand Yoongi back his pen, and he takes your hand in his, smiling at you warmly.
It feels amazing to be able to hold hands like this in front of Si-hyuk. There are a couple of stipulations that you asked for in the contract, but the only real stipulation that you had worried about was the one regarding Yoongi. You feared that disclosing your relationship with him would cause your short-term contract with the company to be voided, or that this full-time contract offer would be rescinded. Thankfully, when you, and Yoongi, and Unnie’s lawyer, all gathered in Si-hyuk’s office to discuss that particular matter, Si-hyuk laughed and said, “Of course you’re in a relationship. I’ve got eyes. Is that all that this meeting’s for?”
There’s also plenty of room for opportunity. Si-hyuk is more than willing to support any of your creative endeavors. And he even throws in some resources for your weekly gig at the jazz lounge, expanding your permissions to allow you to perform your own work as well as covers. He likes that you’ve stayed loyal to this gig. He says something about this satellite office being set up to support local talent, and he finds that they are truest to that mission when sharing that talent directly with the community. 
“And the raise?” Unnie asks you on the phone.
“I’m sorry, I thought I called Unnie, not Eomma,” you reply jokingly.
“I know you find this stuff soul-sucking to discuss, but I’m not checking to see that it is any particular number,” Unnie clarifies, “just that you’re happy with it.”
“I mean, I signed the thing, so yeah,” you point out. But then you smile to yourself. “And the number is larger than the number that we talked about during the last soul-sucking discussion.”
After officially signing the contract, you’d made your way back to what is now one-fourth your studio to get started on the day’s work. You spent the morning laying down guide vocals for the brand-new song that Yoongi showed you, Hobi, and Namjoon in the elevator. You’re still seated in the recording booth as Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi are setting up for your afternoon session with Suran. 
Your conversation with Unnie stays in your earbuds as the guys use your speaking voice to help set the sound levels, and you jot down more reminders in your notebook for the upcoming session.
Unnie laughs. “How’s it feel to be a fellow cog in the machine of corporate greed?”
“Greed my ass,” you respond, grinning at your notebook.
In your periphery, you see Yoongi tweak a couple of dials as he moves his lips. 
Namjoon smirks and clicks on the comms. “Yoongi says that if you’re talking about your ass, he needs this conversation to be on speakerphone.”
Hobi gags.
You hear a chime at the door, and Yoongi gets up to answer.
Suran shyly joins you, greeting everyone happily, and clutching her Domo laptop case close to her chest. She brightens when she sees you, and you smile proudly at her.
She and the other trainees are getting ready for their first major stage, where they’ll start getting practice performing in public. You plan to use one of the demos that you’ve recorded as her debut song. That’s the song that got you the contract, and you all collectively hope it’ll be the song that launches her career.
“How are you feeling?” you ask.
“Nervous,” she admits. “But thrilled that you’re here, Unnie.” Her jaw drops open. “Oh! I, um, I-I hope I can call you that. I’m sorry if---”
You grin happily, and your heart flutters.
“No, that’s… I’m touched,” you say, beaming. “Unnies are really nice things to have.”
Suran smiles at you.
“I heard that,” your Unnie tells you. You had forgotten for a moment that she was there, but you’re glad that she heard, and you know that her heart is fluttering just the same. “I’ll let you go. Bye. I love you.”
You point to your earbuds to signal that you’re talking to someone, and you reply, “Bye, love you too.”
You hang up, pull out the earbuds, and look back out at the control room.
“Are we set to start?” you ask.
“All good, Boss Lady,” Hobi replies, turning his chair to you.
You look out at all of them, and then you realize that you’re still sitting in the recording booth.
“Sorry!” you say, embarrassed. “Old habits die hard. Lemme just---” 
You quickly gather your things and switch places with Suran. She looks a tad more nervous as a result of your awkward snafu, but as she steps into the booth, you place a hand on her shoulder and smile warmly at her.
“I’m so glad we’ll be working together. You’re going to be amazing,” you tell her.
It’s all she needs to shine even brighter during the session.
Being in the control room is an interesting experience. You realize that you hadn’t really spent much time in the control room with the guys, as you were always in the booth. Now, as Suran focuses on singing, you can hear the chatter that goes on between them, the conversation behind their muted lips. Excited and proud outbursts from Hobi. Thoughtful, whispered questions from Namjoon. And deep, firm responses from Yoongi, the mastermind behind it all. 
You chime in with your own input now. Suggestions on riffs and ad-libs. Notes on how to make Suran’s naturally sparkling voice and richer. How to evolve the sound that Yoongi heard in his head. The sound that you had inspired.
By the end of the evening, you feel amped up. You thought you’d feel utterly drained, but the mix of adrenaline from the morning, and the delight you felt being in the control room with the guys, are propelling you forward. You understand why Yoongi usually comes back to the studio after their late dinners. You end the session with more ideas than you started with, and you’re desperate to get them out of you and into the world, where you can do something with them.
It may also have to do with the fact that you can sit next to Yoongi as you work, taking him in, even flirting a bit and poking at each other when you reach over one another to point to a section of the board or adjust a level. And when you’re waiting on quick edits that Namjoon and Hobi are in charge of, you and Yoongi can hold hands, or lean against one another, or just look at each other, suspended in time.
You look over at Suran, and she seems slightly tired.
“I think we’re good here,” you say, prompting the others to take notice, “right, guys?”
Namjoon smiles, as Hobi nods along. “Yeah,” Namjoon replies, “let’s pick this up tomorrow.”
Suran smiles gratefully, but she adds, “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do before we wrap up?”
Hobi shakes his head. “Just make sure you get a good night’s rest.”
Suran smiles and starts packing up her things as you all start shutting down for the evening. You’re ready in a flash, so you steal a moment for yourself, nestling into the couch.
“Dinner?” Yoongi asks the group, as he pulls on his jacket.
Suran blinks owlishly, and you all laugh at how adorable she is. 
“We usually get dinner all together after work,” Namjoon explains.
Suran nervously fidgets. “Oh, I, uh, I have more practice and homework and stuff…” She sighs. “Besides, I kind of, um, don’t really have much money…” 
The guys exchange nostalgic looks, knowing a bit about what it’s like to be a trainee. 
“It’s an open invitation,” Hobi replies. “Any time you’re free, you’re more than welcome to join us. And it’s always our treat.”
Hobi’s words seem to have put Suran at ease.  “Wow… really?” she asks.
You all nod and smile at her. “Of course,” Yoongi says.
She straightens and shyly tucks her hair behind her ear. “Cool. Maybe on a Friday night? That’s when things are usually less busy for me.”
“Won’t be the case for much longer, if you continue to perform like you did just now,” you say, smiling encouragingly at her. “Thanks for your time today. You did an amazing job.”
You watch her internalize the compliment, letting it soothe the last wisps of anxiety that remain. As you watch her go, you also get a sense of nostalgia. You know a bit about what it’s like to join a new team, especially since you had done exactly that not too long ago. 
You also know a bit about not knowing how to gauge your own talent. If you’re doing things right or not. How thrilling it is when you find people whose validation you trust.
And, if you’re being honest, you’re a little sad that one by one, the layers of your vocals have been replaced with hers. But you remind yourself that there are other things, more important things, and all that really matters is that you stay true to your art, no matter what form it takes.
As Hobi and Namjoon start listing possible places for dinner, Yoongi joins you on the couch. And, as usual, he knows what you’re thinking.
To help soothe your last wisps of anxiety, Yoongi brings you close, arms keeping you safe, that deep voice dripping slow and sweet like molasses. 
“I missed seeing you in the recording booth, but putting you in the control room might’ve been the best idea that I---”
Yoongi tenses, thinking about the meaning of his words. How Jimin said that Yoongi would sometimes hold on too tightly.
He tries again.
“Today was really, really nice. Getting to be with you. Out here. Working with you. Getting to feel you and touch you instead of just look at you.” He blushes. “Even though I also really like looking at you.”
You smile. “I like feeling and touching and looking at you, too.”
You lean over and give him a kiss on the cheek. A quick one. A peck, really. Just before Hobi and Namjoon turn to let you know where you’re going for dinner. 
Just for the two of you to feel and touch and see. 
When you get to the hotpot restaurant that Hobi and Namjoon have picked out, you and Yoongi slide into one side of your booth, and Namjoon and Hobi slide into the other. You place some orders, get some other things from the food bar, and eventually settle into your meal.
“Do you want an egg?” Yoongi asks you.
“Sure,” you say.
“Hard-boiled? Soft-boiled?”
You smile and look across the table at Namjoon and Hobi. “Look at him, showing off.” You turn to Yoongi and look at him affectionately. “He just cooked for me for the first time. Apparently, it’s going to happen again.”
Namjoon swallows his mouthful of food and smiles fondly at you. He wipes his mouth with his napkin before saying, “Damn. He must have it bad.” He looks at Yoongi. “I don’t think you ever cooked for Yaeji, did you?”
Yoongi smiles and shakes his head no. He looks back at you. “And I’m trying to cook for you again, right now. What kind of egg do you want?”
“Poached,” you say, smirking.
You think he’s cute when you challenge him.
He thinks you’re cute for thinking that anything is a challenge for him.
He takes the ladle next to the hot pot and balances it just above the meat and veggies already swimming in the boiling water. He uses his free hand to take an egg and crack it on the table. Then he gently lifts his hand above the ladle, holding the egg with his strong knuckles, and lets the white of the egg slowly drip into the ladle before all that’s left is the yolk. He separates the shell by delicately spreading out his fingers and stretching his palm, and the yellow yolk drops pleasantly into the ladle. He sets the shell in a used bowl, and he carefully eases the ladle into the boiling water, smirking at you coolly, even triumphantly, as it starts to cook.
All he did was crack an egg, and it might be one of the sexiest mundane things you’ve ever seen a person do. 
“Oh shit,” Hobi sighs.
“Yeah,” you say under your breath, running your hand up the inside of Yoongi’s thigh as you look deeper into his surprised and willing eyes.
“Ugh, not that,” Hobi says, brow knitted and serious. “This.”
He shows you his phone. 
There’s a picture of Jimin being harassed by photographers as he enters a building. He looks upset, his mouth hanging open. Mid-yell. The camera lights would blind him if he weren’t wearing his Chanel sunglasses.
Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “What’s the article about?”
“Apparently, some info leaked about his family’s money problems,” Hobi says, turning the phone back around as Namjoon leans into him to read along.
Namjoon perks up, and he turns to Yoongi. “This sounds like serious trouble.”
Yoongi nods. “I hadn’t told you yet, but he came to me and explained some stuff.”
“Is he OK?” Namjoon asks, as Hobi lowers his phone.
Yoongi tells you all about the night that Jimin came to visit him. The situation with his parents. The reason he stole those songs. The misunderstanding about Yaeji. The reluctance to bring the trio into the loop on what was going on.
The fact that when he came to see Yoongi, that he was wearing his old track sweats and sneakers.
Namjoon, Hobi, and Yoongi all seem sadly resigned. Like it isn’t the first time they’ve brushed up against this kind of stuff. Like it might have been something all too familiar.
“He’s safe?” Namjoon asks. “His parents too?”
“What can we do to help him?” Hobi asks.
You melt a bit at how quickly they let go of all the resentment.
“I don’t know,” Yoongi replies, nervous. “I mean, when we spoke, he said things were alright.”
“Maybe financially, if that’s what you were talking about,” Namjoon replies, looking at the picture of Jimin again. “But what about otherwise?”
Yoongi takes off his beanie and runs his hand through his hair before replacing it. He looks so stressed.
They all do.
You think about Jungkook’s advice to you, from the diner.
“You won’t know unless you ask him,” you say, your hand still on Yoongi’s leg from earlier, but instead of running up his inner thigh, now resting on his knee.
Yoongi nods. He looks at the guys. “She’s right.”
Hobi swallows. “I feel terrible. We ignored him for so long. Fuck. Some of the stuff I said.” 
“I said some fucked up shit, too,” Namjoon tells him. “And just because he was in trouble doesn’t mean what he did was right. But,” he adds, as he raises his eyebrows in concern, “it’s Jiminie.”
Hobi nods.
“So, how do we do this?” Namjoon asks, looking at the group.
“We probably shouldn’t call the label,” Hobi says warily.
“Does anyone have his new number or address?” Yoongi asks. “Or maybe Taehyung’s? Anyone’s?”
Hobi and Namjoon look dejected. The freeze-out has taken more of a toll than they realized. How could no one have Jimin’s contact information?
“The front desk,” you say, suddenly.
They look at you, puzzled.
“He’s been by a couple of times now, right?” you reply. “Well, they ask for your contact number at the front desk, when you check in.”
Yoongi smiles, hurrying to pull out his phone from his pocket. “She’s right.”
You turn to him and grin. “Y’know, I really like hearing you say that.”
“Think they’ll give it to us over the phone?” Hobi asks nervously, his knee bouncing just before Yoongi calls the front desk, introduces himself, and explains that he needs some information.
Yoongi listens, then frowns and puts his hand over the receiver. “No,” he says in a hushed voice. “We have to be there to request the information. Something about confirming our identity.” His frown sets deeper into his jaw. “And guess who’s on duty?”
He gets back on the line and requests a car to pick you up to take you back to the studio.
The security guard meets you at the front desk with a smirk. 
“Need to see your badges,” they reply, with a sneer that settles on you. “All of them.”
You all pull your badges out from your coats. The security guard even takes the time to check every detail. Front and back.
“Really?” Hobi mutters under his breath.
The security guard rolls their eyes and hands over the logbook, turned to one of the pages where Jimin signed in. Hobi quickly enters the number into his phone and calls it immediately, rushing back outside with Namjoon.
Yoongi looks up at the security guard. “Thanks.” He mumbles, but he means it.
The security guard takes note, and they watch with some empathy and concern as you all head back outside. 
The car that had picked you up from the restaurant is still parked outside. Hobi paces around as he texts Jimin’s phone. Namjoon stands with his arms folded and lips pursed, watching Hobi tensely. 
“He says he’s been staying at Tae’s for a while to wait the paparazzi out,” Hobi tells them.
“He answered right away?” Yoongi asks, surprised. “How does he know it’s really you?”
“Good question,” Hobi says, texting Jimin back. And then he looks at all of you with big, sad eyes. “He says that he knew it has to be us because everyone else in his life is only concerned about whether the story is true,” Hobi replies. “No one else has checked in to see if he was OK.”
“Will he see us?” Namjoon asks.
Hobi starts to text a reply. “Got his address,” he says, and you all climb into the car. 
He reads the address to the driver as he pulls onto the main street.
But you interrupt and ask if he can drop you off at yours first.
“You don’t want to come?” Yoongi asks, worried.
“It’s not that,” you reassure him. “I just think you should have some privacy for the conversation. It’s been a while since the four of you have talked. You need some time.” 
Yoongi softens.
“She’s right,” Namjoon smirks, mimicking Yoongi’s tone, and making Hobi chuckle.
As you pull up to your apartment, you kiss Yoongi sweetly and say, “Call me later. I’ll be up.”
He nods, and as you watch the guys drive off, you wish them luck.
Yoongi feels your warmth growing in his chest as he sneaks a peek at you out the rear window of the car. The comfort you provide him is mesmerising. He sometimes wonders if he can still do things without you in mind. And, he realizes, that even if he can, he’s not sure if that’s what he wants to happen, anyway.
He’s still kind of wishing that you had come along when they reach the front of a high-rise building. They head inside, navigating quickly to the right apartment and knocking on the door.
Taehyung greets them with a solemn expression, and a quiet, almost shy, “Hey.”
He takes a step back and lets them in. Jimin’s sitting on the couch, his arms wrapped around his legs, which are folded to his chest. 
He looks like he’s been crying.
Hobi, Namjoon, and Yoongi gather around him wordlessly, Hobi on the couch beside him, and Namjoon and Yoongi curling up on the floor in front of him. They sit together like that, Taehyung standing in the hallway and leaning against the wall, watching over them.
And then Jimin sniffles.
“Thanks for coming.”
Namjoon’s forehead creases. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jimin shrugs. “I’m assuming you know everything.”
“Well, we know what’s been put out there, and what Yoongi told us,” Namjoon replies. “But we wanted to know how you’re doing.”
Jimin brightens a little. Everyone he’s reached out to for comfort has said that they know everything from the tabloids and shared their assumptions about what’s going on. No one’s asked him how he’s been feeling.
“I’m a little scared,” Jimin admits. “Paparazzi have surrounded my apartment building, so I fled to Taehyung’s. It’s been like this for a week.” He sniffles. “They go through my trash. They’ve reached out to people I’ve dated. They’re even harassing my parents. People just want to get their hands on anything they can find about me. Want to squeeze more money out of the people close to me.” His voice thins and wavers. “People think I’m tied up with gangs and stuff. People think I’m a criminal.”
Hobi bites his tongue and instead chooses to say, “Who cares what those people think?”
Jimin raises his eyebrows. “What about my team? My fans?”
“We only care about you,” Yoongi says gently.
Jimin shakes his head. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We’re behind on production. I’ve canceled all my upcoming performances. I’ve even---”
“Are you eating?” Yoongi asks. “Sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Barely,” Taehyung says quietly. He looks at the guys. “Have you eaten? Would you like something to drink?”
“We’re good,” Hobi says. “Thanks.”
Taehyung nods. “Then I’ll give you all some time. Help yourself to anything that you need, and let me know if you need anything else.”
He walks down the hall and softly closes the door. 
The guys all turn back to each other.
“He seems like a good friend,” Hobi reflects.
“He is,” Jimin says. “He reminds me of you guys.” And then his face crumples together as a sob pours out of him.
Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi tighten their circle around him. 
“We’re all here now,” Yoongi says comfortingly. “What’s going on?”
The night stretches on, and Jimin catches them up. How he feels unsafe wherever he goes. People would sometimes follow him before, during errands or on a run. But now that he’s blown up, and especially now that this faux intrigue has reared its ugly head, demons are starting to follow him, too. An ex from a bad breakup has said that she wouldn’t be surprised if he were involved with back door kinds of deals. A slighted record label employee feeds the press lies about Jimin lacking talent, including an invented story about trainees dubbing his voice. And there’s an overwhelming fear that once the paparazzi figure out where his parents live, which they inevitably and unfortunately will, people will come swarming back to take more of their money. 
Or worse.
“It’s starting to seep into your shit, too,” Jimin admits. He looks over at Yoongi warily. “Yaeji’s spreading rumors online. She’s saying that she dated you, and sharing pictures. Saying random stuff about all the late nights we had at the studio. Suggesting things about you. About all of us.” He huffs. “I think she’s trying to get a TV appearance.”
Yoongi shakes his head. “I’m sorry that she’s piling on.”
Jimin smiles a little, touched by Yoongi’s concern for him and only him. 
“What would help?” Namjoon asks. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know if anything can salvage my reputation now,” Jimin says sadly. “I think this is it for me, guys.”
Once they’re all talked out, and Jimin’s eyelids are heavy, Namjoon, Hobi, and Yoongi say their goodbyes and promise that they’ll call, text, and check in. Jimin sees them to the door, and the rest of the guys each give him hugs, reassuring him that they’ll help figure out a way through this.
Yoongi’s already got an idea of how when he reaches home and calls you.
“Hi,” you greet, warmly.
Even when saying one word, and through the phone, no less, your voice is like an instant shot of adrenaline into Yoongi’s system. 
The support of his firm mattress feels good on his aching back, but he wishes you were there next to him. He licks his lips and looks up at the ceiling, reaching up for his beanie and sliding it off of his head. He lays it on his chest and runs his fingers along the fabric.
“Hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I wanted to wait for you.”
“I’m sorry I kept you.”
“I wanted to wait for you,” you repeat, laughing softly. “How’d it go?”
Yoongi relays some of the information. He gives you a heads-up about Yaeji, even though he knows you wouldn’t have paid much attention to anything she said anyway. And then he says, “I’ve got a question.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about turning Suran’s debut song into a duet?”
Tumblr media
You think that Mr. Kang’s going to take the news about your contract badly, so you put it off until your full-time employee start date looms nearer. You wait for a moment when it’s just the two of you hanging out in the store, dusting, cleaning, and organizing on a gray, snowy morning. But it might as well be a summer day, with the way Mr. Kang’s eyes light up with pride.
He beams at you. He pauses for a moment, letting the hand holding the feather duster fall slightly. 
“I’ve never been so excited to get someone’s resignation before.”
And then he pulls you in for a hug.
“I’m so happy for you.”
You melt.
“Thanks, Mr. Kang.” You can’t help but start to tear up. “But I’m going to miss working with you. I wouldn’t have gotten this opportunity if it weren’t for you.” You smile. “You completely changed my life.”
He sighs heavily. “Well, isn’t that a wondrous thing to say.”
Mr. Kang pulls away and wipes your tears with his thumbs. He has tears collecting in his lashes as well, and you both are doing your best to keep it together. You have a full day of work ahead of you, and it requires clear eyes.
“It’s true,” you say. “You made my dreams come true. This job led to Yoongi and the gig. It all happened because you gave me a chance.”
“It happened because you gave yourself a chance,” he replies. “You moved to this city. Into that apartment.”
“But you gave me a home,” you say softly. “A family.”
You don’t know that when you say it, a hole in Mr. Kang’s heart, one that has been empty for nearly thirty years, starts to heal, ever-so-slightly.
“We are a little family, aren’t we?” Mr. Kang asks you.
You smile happily.
“Well, we should do what we families do to celebrate. A family dinner,” Mr. Kang replies. “Bring Yoongi. And, of course, we’ll have to invite---”
You hear the faint beeping of the keypad out back, and you both happily wait for Jungkook to join you in the store. He shakes the snow off of his clothes before making it all the way inside, and he stares nervously at you when you both meet him with teary eyes.
“W-what’s going on?” he asks, his voice whiny and trembling.
“I just told Mr. Kang about the contract,” you laugh. 
Jungkook smiles and sniffles. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. And when that doesn’t quell his overwhelming emotion, he takes off his gloves and wipes his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Oh.”
“And we’re planning a bit of a family dinner to celebrate,” Mr. Kang says happily, looking at you. 
Jungkook grins. “Oh!”
“So, let me know what weekend you’ll be free,” Mr. Kang goes on, turning back to Jungkook.
Jungkook beams warmly, tears spawning so easily yet again. “...Oh.” 
He laughs happily, sheepishly, as he lets the tears roll freely. You walk over to him and wipe his tears, and he places an arm around your waist. 
He takes a deep, shaky breath, and then he’s fine. 
Chuckling, he says, “Any weekend! What should I bring?” He looks at you. “Are you going to make the guacamole? Can I try it? I’ve been practicing!”
The day is spent reorganizing store inventory, as you and Mr. Kang had noticed that customer patterns were starting to change. Given your schedule, this will probably be the last time you ever do this task with him. Jungkook joins you later, when his day frees up, like always. He takes on more of the heavy work, but you make sure to remember the feel of lifting all of these boxes, taking note of how your arms are just a little more toned as a result. You revel in the scent of fresh ink. You commit to memory the way the light shining through the storefront window changes as morning turns to afternoon turns to early evening. 
But the day goes by so fast. Soon, Mr. Kang and Jungkook are saying their goodbyes.
And, before you know it, Yoongi’s here to pick you up.
He smirks to himself, looking up your loose blouse as you stand on a step ladder and reach up to fix some boxes of die cut machines so that their labels face out. 
“Sorry,” you apologize, oblivious, “I’ll be ready to go soon. I just have a few more boxes to put away.”
“Take your time,” Yoongi mumbles, biting his lip slightly.
Just then, the brass bell announces your last customers of the day. 
Antiques Store Guy and Candle Shop Lady are huddled together, stomping the snow off their boots and onto the welcome mat before looking around.
You and Yoongi lock gazes, eyes wide in surprise.
You quickly shuffle down the ladder and introduce yourself to them both. 
“Is Mr. Kang around?” Antiques Store Guy asks, smiling.
“He’s gone for the day, but I can help you,” you say, leading them to the counter.
Antiques Store Guy looks over at Candle Shop Lady. “Well, I run the antiques store across the street, and unfortunately, I’m going to have to close it down,” he expresses. “I’m just here to cancel my deliveries.”
You smile sadly but politely. “It’s such a shame. We loved your store. I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” Antiques Store Guy replies. “But I’m not too sad about it.” He looks over at Candle Shop Lady. “I’m going to be helping out at Laverne’s candle store.”
Candle Shop Lady grins at him. “You’re not just helping out.” She turns to you. “We’re planning on combining pretty much everything. All his small- to mid-sized inventory will still be available.”
“Now, if you want dibs on some of the larger stuff, I’ll be selling it all this week,” Antiques Store Guy says. “Lots of great furniture pieces and sets. Swing by if you’re interested.” 
You smile. “Sounds great.” 
Antiques Store Guy smiles. “Well. Anyway.” And then he looks at you.
You nod. “I’ll just be a minute. I’ll go get your customer file from the back.”
After you pop into Mr. Kang’s office, you return to see Candle Shop Lady grinning at Yoongi. The corners of his mouth are turned up slightly, and when he sees you, he raises his eyebrows. Candle Shop Lady giggles as she turns back to you at the counter.
When you take a look at the file, you find that he’s already paid for a couple of small stationery deliveries to go out next week. 
“You’re actually over on your account,” you say. “One sec, and we’ll be all settled up.”
You open the register and start counting the sum that he’s owed back.
As you count, the Candle Shop Lady leans across the counter.
“So, uh… forgive me for being so forward,” she begins.
“Hon, don’t,” Antiques Store Guy warns playfully.
“I just have to ask,” she says quietly. “She won’t mind.” She turns to you. “Will you?”
“Depends on what you’re about to ask,” you laugh.
Candle Shop Lady looks back at Yoongi, who has taken a seat on the step ladder and is scrolling through his phone.
“Who is that?” she whispers to you.
“Oh, um, this is Mr. Kang’s friend’s grandson,” you explain, matching her whisper playfully. 
“I see,” Candle Shop Lady replies, though you get the sense that isn’t the information she meant. She grins a little. “So what’s your deal? Are you two… y’know…” She raises her eyebrows. “Together?”
You stifle a laugh at how quaint she’s being. And then you smile. It grows wider than you originally planned. “Yeah,” you realize, as you steal a glance at him. “We are.”
“I knew it!” Candle Shop Lady exclaims, slamming her hands down on the counter and narrowing her eyes at Antiques Store Guy. She nudges him in the ribs with her elbow. 
“I knew Stationery Girl and Beanie Boy were courting!”
Yoongi looks up at you all in shock, jaw agape, and cheeks blushing fiercely, like two big bubbles of gum.
Antiques Store Guy chuckles at your goggle-eyed grin. 
You raise your eyebrows. You’re not quite sure what to say. 
So you just hold out his money.
“Give that to her,” Antiques Store Guy instructs, nodding to Candle Shop Lady. “We had a bet.” He looks at you. “Seemed to me like you couldn’t stand him, but I’ve been told that I’m blind to these sorts of things.” 
He and Candle Shop Lady share a knowing smile. You want to tell them that your smile is a knowing one, too. 
Candle Shop Lady bends the cash that you hand to her into a roll and sticks it into her boot. 
You make a mental note to tell Jungkook. It’s exactly the kind of move that a murderer would make to stash some cash before fleeing the scene.
“I’ll swing by sometime this week to tell Mr. Kang thanks for all that he did for me,” Antiques Store Guy says. “And sorry if we kept you too late.”
“Not at all,” you say, still stunned. “Um, a-and thank you both for your business.”
The brass bell rings with a friendly chime when they leave.
You look over at Yoongi, and he cracks a grin. It grows into a gummy smile. He hides his mouth with the back of the hand that’s still holding his phone. But he can’t hold it in anymore.
“Stationery Girl!” he squawks.
“Beanie Boy?!” you squeal back.
He rushes over to you, but you step out from behind the counter to avoid him. He chases you a bit before catching you and wrapping his arms around you as you’re giggling, your entire body shaking. 
“Courting!” you cackle hysterically.
“What?” Yoongi smiles. “People say courting!”
“Who??” you laugh. 
Yoongi tickles you, making you squeal. 
“I like courting you, Stationery Girl,” he says in a low, teasing voice.
You sigh and melt into his arms. “I like courting you, too. Beanie Boy.” 
Yoongi presses a kiss onto your lips, and you surprise him by amplifying things, pulling him closer to you, and running your hands up and down his back with the kind of pressure that suggests salacious intentions. He grunts as you giggle and moan, and when your hands reach for his fly, he lets out a little yelp. He makes rings with his thumbs and middle fingers, grasping your wrists, but not necessarily moving your hands away. 
You kiss him and walk backwards blindly, leading him further away from the storefront. You laugh with each other, your back crashing into the counter, and Yoongi cooing to soothe your tense giggles and whines, his fingers rubbing where you’ve been hit.
He chuckles and turns you around, bending you slightly over the counter, sliding down into a crouch so that he can pull your blouse out of the waistband of your pants and kiss the spot that hurts.
You moan into his kiss, and then you turn around as he stands, his arms caging you in against the counter. You place your hands on his shoulders and kiss his neck. You run your hands down his arms, and you settle into one another again, tongues wrapping around each other, lips starting to feel raw. 
And then you take his arms, wrapping them around your waist. You smirk and look up at him, running your hands up the sides of his body, reaching under his hoodie and tickling his skin as you go. You kiss him again, sure that you’re going to clear any other obstacles as you lead him backwards again.
“But we said we wouldn’t defile Mr. Kang’s office?” Yoongi whispers. 
“Not the office, then,” you say. 
You grab his hand and look around before leading him to a storage closet that you had reorganized earlier that day.
“Here?” Yoongi chokes out, half-nervous, and half-excited.
You think of how Jungkook phrased things that day at karaoke. “C’mon,” you say, pulling him toward you and walking backwards. “Who hasn’t disappeared into a closet with a co-worker for a quick fuck?”
“B-but I don’t work here?”
You press your back up against one of the now-empty shelves. The force with which you pull Yoongi into you, the force that his body meets yours with, and the responding wobble of the shelf behind you, all tell you to expect to end up on the floor at some point. You just hope that you don’t break something in the fall.
Yoongi sucks in air and drool through his lips and teeth. As he slams into you, his palms slap flat against the shelf, the sharp, metallic sound that they make tingling your spine. He pushes his body against you, and you wrap your leg around him, thigh resting at his waist.
His hands reach down for your hips. Given the way you’ve been knocking into each other and slamming into things, you think that he’s going to pull your hips to him. Instead, he makes quick work of your fly, and he shoves his hands down to his wrists into your underwear and pants, flaying the fabric open around you and making you stomp your foot down for balance, the heel of your shoe stamping a staccato mark on the ground.
He kneels, pulling the fabric down toward the floor.
And then he’s on you, the tinny noises that you’re making sounding so far away now.
His tongue starts at your thigh, the one that was just around his waist, licking the line where your leg meets your mound, kissing it, and sucking it, and mumbling to it. He treats it like it’s his favorite, maybe because it was the one that was most recently around him.
He starts moving from one leg to the other, licking up from your knee, back up your thigh, removing his tongue from you and smirking up at you as his chin barely grazes your pussy, and letting his tongue land on your other thigh, making you groan.
You want to save each hickey that he gives you, mile markers across the map that is your body, his land.
He bites your thigh, and you feel water not only brimming at your lashes, but in your pussy.
“Please,” you whine.
Yoongi growls. And he finally obliges.
He sticks his tongue between your folds and smoothes his hand through his hair, removing his beanie, all in one slick movement. But each slick movement after that is made solely by his tongue, parting you, putting you back together, cocooning you in its warmth and wetness.
You lean back suddenly and hit the top of your head on the shelf, another sharp ring of metal reverberating through the room. He’s tempted to jump up to you and rub your head like he did your back, but he knows not to move. Instead, he reaches up for one of your forearms and strokes it, still finding a way to soothe you as he makes you grind, and come.
A phone starts buzzing. Your eyes flash open, and you just know it’s Namjoon and Hobi wondering where you are. You guess you must be about half an hour late or so.
But when Yoongi stands and moves his hands to his pants, he doesn’t pull the phone from his pocket to answer. Instead, he unzips them, his cock springing out and aching for you.
You go to kneel, but Yoongi holds you by your shoulders.
“Let me fuck you.”
He spins you around and pushes you up against the wobbly shelf. 
“But,” you whine. You want to tell him how badly you want that cock in your mouth. How you want to give it attention. How you want to tell it how good it’s been to you. How perfect it is.
“No time.” 
He kisses your back and shoulders, and he rubs the tip of his nose at the base of your neck. He lets out a questioning growl, so soft and cute. You turn back to him and nod, moving your hair off of your back so that you can feel more of his kisses, and pushing your ass out to him, your hands climbing down the shelf and finding a more stable spot to hold.
Yoongi grunts as you moan “fuck” into the metal as he shoves into you, one strong push.
He gets heated at all the new sounds. Not just the clanging, or the buzzing, but the echo of your skin slapping as he fucks you. He likes the sound library he’s creating in his mind. Your sex is sharper when you’re rushing, especially in small rooms, like this closet, or the elevator to the studio, or that one time in your stairwell after dinner with the guys, when he saw a peek of the underwear you had on under your outfit, and he just couldn’t wait any longer. Your sex is a few tones flatter when things are more open, when you’re taking your time, languid in his bed, or in yours, dreamy and aimless. And he loves that he knows how your collective moans transpose from key to key, each performance better than the last.
You still, your stance firmer, and he knows that you’re trying to account for the fact that you’re about to come, and crumble.
Yoongi’s phone buzzes again.
He groans and braces both of you by wrapping his arms around your torso and pressing his cheek into your back. He’s crashing into you, your body rumbling and shaking as Yoongi pumps faster and faster into you. 
You mewl. And you come. And you have the thought that if Yoongi hadn’t kicked things off by taking you down at your thighs, your body’s strongest foundation, then you might have been able to keep from dropping to the floor.
But Yoongi’s also stronger than he seems, somehow still going underestimated by the world, and even you, when it comes to moments like this.
He holds you tight, able to prop you up as he pushes into you, and slides out of you, at a pace that Yoongi only gives you when he’s absolutely desperate. A rare thing.
When he comes, he lets out a melodic grunt, letting his voice hang in the air. You moan with him as he fills you up, reaching back for him and stroking whatever skin you can get your hands on.
His moan decrescendos into a pleasant chuckle.
“Mm.”
He kisses your back, and he helps you straighten out, your mixed release dripping down your legs.
“Fuck, I didn’t know I’d come so hard,” he says. “You just clenched up and then…” He lets out a long sigh. “Every time is so good, but that was…”
You turn around to face him and kiss him in response. Your eyes shine up at him. 
He sighs again, stroking your cheek.
Part of you wonders if you should have stayed in the storefront. It might’ve been a show to rival the one that Antiques Store Guy and Candle Shop Lady unknowingly put on for you and Jungkook. What you might’ve lacked in props and intensity, you certainly made up for with straight up passion and connection. 
You run upstairs to your apartment to grab your guitar, and maybe clean up a little, the process of doing so distracted by slow kisses that threaten to build into something more.
But eventually, you get on your hazy, dreamy cloud together and float to the studio. 
The team buys your excuse that you needed to take a little longer to help a customer, which is technically true. But Hobi notices the smirk that Yoongi shoots you. You don’t know when it’ll be, but Hobi will come to collect on that debt at some point.
Jimin seems to be on the up-and-up as well. He strides over to Hobi and adds, “And we all know how important it is to---” He shoots you a wink. “ ---service your customers.”
Namjoon stifles a laugh, and Suran turns as red as Domo’s open mouth on the laptop case that she clutches to her chest and uses to hide her face.
Yoongi waves his hands around. “Yeah, yeah, very funny, we’re here now, so let’s get to work, everyone.”
You all take your places, the trio at their stations, you on the couch, Suran in the smaller recording booth, and Jimin in the larger booth. 
Yoongi’s brilliant idea to transform one of your group’s demos into a duet for Suran and Jimin is equal parts creative, and, well, helpful. Everybody wins, you think. Suran gets training, experience, and clout through Jimin’s collaboration, success, and popularity. Jimin earns back a bit of goodwill by helping out a trainee from the very program that trained him, outwardly easing the tensions that he had with the trio, and showing support for your new quartet.
But you’re most grateful to have gotten to see Jimin and the guys reconnect. 
Jimin is the missing puzzle piece of the team at their grandest. His giggly, explosive energy adds a different kind of daring, sensitive excitement to the sessions. With Jimin, highs are higher, like soaring into the stratosphere, and lows are lower, like digging your own grave. And the group produces his sound to capture that. His voice is not like yours, a warm cocoon to hold your most private moments. Jimin’s voice, in fact, is unlike anybody else’s you’ve heard. His voice is a spotlight. A signal. A satellite call to others to show them that they’re not alone. And the guys work hard to beam that call all over the world, for anyone who needs it.
It’s funny that that work can feel so weighted with responsibility, and yet, the work day consists of nitpicking at each other like old couples, making edits and teasing each other on bad or silly takes, often playfully using you as a tiebreaker and complaining when you honestly agree with Yoongi nearly every time.
You’re fond of this stretch of time, and you think it’ll be one of those projects that you’ll remember for the rest of your life.
At the end of the day, you listen to the final track on a loop. Suran joins Jimin and Hobi on the couch, and you, Namjoon, and Yoongi are sitting in the chairs, all of you in a circle, locking eyes with one another when a particularly moving flourish floats through the speakers. 
“How about performing this as your trainee show closer?” Yoongi asks Suran.
She smiles. “Are you kidding?” She turns to Jimin. “You’d perform with me? On stage? I-I’d be so grateful!” 
“I think I have more to be grateful for,” Jimin tells her, nearly making her faint as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You’re being very generous to share your first stage and a whole song with me like this. Thank you.”
You think you see Yoongi smile one of his tiny, proud smiles at his friend, made more recognizable by his humility and excitement.
Suran looks at all of you now. “Please! Thank you for giving me the opportunity.” She’s been grinning this whole time, but that grin starts to fade before she bows her head in good-natured, but uneasy, respect. “I won’t let you down.”
“Aw, Suran. You could never let us down,” Namjoon says softly and happily. 
When she lifts her head, Suran looks so happy. Her happiness is so contagious. The more you see of her, the more you want to watch her. You can’t wait to see her and Jimin on stage together, collectively harnessing their start power for something that is borne out of so much tenderness.
She takes her leave, and you sit with the guys in the afterglow of another fantastically creative and productive session, a tender mix of pride, excitement, and happiness dancing around the room.
Until Hobi wiggles his eyebrows. 
“Now, onto other things.”
He sets his sights on you and Yoongi.
“You two obviously fucked before you got here. How was it?”
Tumblr media
The more you work, the more you find other moments where everybody can win.
“I’d like to introduce you to my friend, an incredibly talented singer-songwriter,” you tell the crowd at your next gig. “You may have seen her around at these gigs. She’s one of our own, and she’s going to do a couple of songs for us!”
You turn to your left and wink at Suran, who’s standing next to Yoongi at the keyboard and wringing her hands.
“I know that from the first note she sings, you’ll love her as much as we do. Let’s give it up for Suran!”
By now, your word is as good as gold. The crowd claps enthusiastically, helping Suran cross the tiny bit of floor separating her from the mic.
Suran is so nervous that she’s shaking, so she does as you’ve advised: she squeaks out a polite “hi”, she shares a kind “thank you for letting me join you today”, she gives a nod to the DJ for the first backing track that your group has prepared for her, and she closes her eyes for the entire first song. 
But even though she’s nervous, she’s so thankful that you’re giving her another chance to practice on stage before the big show. Another chance to share her voice and vision. You no longer see these things as separate from you, or threats to your own art. You revel in the joy that comes from opening yourself up to others, a joy that has made your life so much more purposeful and incredible since Yoongi showed you the way.
You circle the crowd, looping around the side and back, observing Suran from different angles. What she looks like. What her tendencies are. You make notes as you watch, highlighting the success at the things she’s ingrained in her training, and gently encouraging her to work on some of the nitpicky details that have yet to stick. But you also note that even if you didn’t have all of these suggestions, the performance is sublime, overflowing with Suran’s pleasant, natural charisma.
The audience starts swaying and dancing to her cover of Lianne La Havas’s Bittersweet , made a tad jazzier to ease the crowd into more of the R&B and soul feel that Suran has in her voice. It’s a perfect thesis statement for the musical direction that your quartet is taking with Suran’s work. You start to groove along, letting the rhythm wash over your body as you watch her thoughtfully.
As the song rounds the last corner and Suran takes it home, the waiter swings by. “That’s Yoongi’s spot,” he tells you with a sparkling smile. 
You grin, thinking of Yoongi standing there, completely unbeknownst to you, week after week. You update your daydreams of what it was like for him to watch you now that you know the vantage point that he would have had.
And then the waiter gives a slight nod to his tray, which contains a drink and a note. “These are from him.”
You chuckle when you realize the drink is a Manhattan. 
You tell the waiter thanks, and as he moves away and through the crowd, you hold your drink with one hand and unfold the note with the other. 
You look so sexy, dancing like that.
You look up at Yoongi, who raises his own Manhattan in salute to you.
Smirking, you lock eyes with him as you re-fold the note and slip it into your dress, letting it run along your slightly sweaty chest before it disappears into your low neckline as you tuck it into your bra.
You can barely see him do it, but Yoongi bites his bottom lip and slowly lowers his glass, starting to look pent up.
You raise your drink to him and take a slow, satisfying sip, closing your eyes and reveling in the refreshment.
When you look back at him, his eyes have widened, and softened. And his tongue is sticking out of his slightly open mouth. 
Suran moves seamlessly into her second song, Sade’s Lover’s Rock, the more sophistipop and quiet storm elements to her sound starting to really resonate with the audience. You watch with excitement as they gobble every last bit up, leading Suran to open her eyes and immediately fall in love with the sensation of all those kind, happy faces staring up at her as they feel moved by her music. You see the transformation happen within Suran. It’s like a child’s first taste of ice cream. You know that she is changed forever.
Soon, you make your way up the other side of the room and back to the stage so that Suran can bring you on for the closer. 
“Didn’t I tell you she was lovely, folks?” you prompt the crowd, who claps even louder than earlier. 
You smile at them, and you vamp and do some PR as the DJ brings up a second mic stand for Suran.
“Well, if you’ve been liking these gigs, our work, and Suran’s voice, which I now know for a fact that you all do,” you say playfully, making the crowd laugh, “then come check out Suran perform at Big Hit’s Trainee Stage next week. It’s happening by the town gazebo, not too far from here, and we’re showcasing tons of local talent. These trainees are incredible, and like Suran, your friend’s son or daughter might be there, working hard to make this town proud and to share music that its people can enjoy. I’ve even heard there might be some special guests!”
The crowd starts to murmur, making note of the additional details you share, happily taking the flyers that Jungkook, Namjoon, and Hobi start passing out amongst the crowd.
It’s another all-around win that you’ve set up with the jazz lounge owner. The jazz lounge is one of the sponsors, hoping to attract more business by providing food and drinks for the event. And the city is thrilled at the display of arts and community, the quaint gazebo being the perfect backdrop.
You tell everyone thanks for another wonderful night, and then you and Suran launch into the final number, which Yoongi plays the accompaniment for. It’s a duet, a cabaret-like version of Bjork’s It’s Oh So Quiet, a song that you and Suran both love for its swing and jazz elements, and its bright, fun quirkiness. 
You love this particular rendition because you remember watching with intrigue and, frankly, a little lust, as Yoongi came up with the perfect accompaniment on the fly one day in the studio, when you and Suran were just singing with each other for fun.
The entire crowd gets up to dance, with even Namjoon, Hobi, and Jungkook being pulled onto the floor by Mrs. Kangs of all kinds, excited to feel a bit of their youth in their step again.
By the end of the set, everyone is coming up to you, Suran, and Yoongi to adorably request that you sign their flyers and to make sure that they’ve got the details for Suran’s performance correct. Namjoon, Hobi, and Jungkook swing by to let you know when they’re heading out. 
And later, Suran gives you a warm, happy hug on her way out.
“You did so, so great! And that’s wonderful because the stage will basically be like this,” you remind her. “We practiced all of it. A couple songs on your own, and then the duet with Jimin. And some accompaniment with Yoongi, in case the tracks go out.” 
Suran nods, but you feel like she’s not listening.
“Unnie,” she tells you, “no matter what happens, even if the trainee stage turns out to be a real dud, or if I completely bomb… I’m just so grateful for this magical night.”
You hug her again. “You can’t guarantee anything in this business, but I just want to say… I really do believe there are so many more magical nights in store for you,” you tell her. “I just feel it.”
Soon, it’s just you, Yoongi, and the jazz lounge staff cleaning things up. You like the sounds surrounding you. Clinks of empty cocktails as they’re being collected. The bristles of broom brushes bringing dust and scraps to the trash. Murmurs, and then laughter. 
“Hey Boss, will you help me with the keyboard?” Yoongi asks innocently, eyes wide, hands gently lifting the corners by the bass end.
When you get to the back room and set the keyboard gently on the floor, Yoongi unexpectedly rushes you, nearly tackling you into the wall, growling as he corners you and grabs onto your hips. 
You laugh as he kisses and bites your neck hungrily. He reaches for one of your thighs to surround him, which is luckily easy work, given that your dress has a long, flowy skirt.
“I knew that move with the note was killer,” you tell him, pressing your mound against his already-hard cock.
Yoongi kisses at your chest, smiling when he hears the crinkle of paper. “You have no idea,” he mumbles, tracing his line of hickeys with his long, slender finger. 
He looks up at you, still running his hands all over you, panting and excited as you move against each other, grabbing so much of your body because he still can’t decide where or how to begin.
You kiss him gently, and as you give an inch, he takes a mile, ramming his tongue down your throat and grunting so loud that you worry if the other lounge employees can hear you.
“We’re not exactly alone!”
“Mm.”
You giggle, as Yoongi does nothing to take you off-course.
“Yoongi, let’s wait til we get home!”
“No.”
“But I live like literally right---”
“Need you. Now.”
He runs his hands up your legs, both of you enjoying the feel of your skirt hiking up and draping around you.
"What's gotten into you??" you ask.
“Ever since that time in the storage closet, I’ve…” Yoongi begins, but he lets the thought go once he plants more kisses on your neck and shoulders.
He moves his fingers against your folds, rubbing you deeply, sighing as he hears and feels your juices coming for him so readily.
You moan desperately, already so close to release, the entire gig one long session of eye-fucking foreplay that you thought only existed in other worlds for other people. 
Certainly not for you. Never for you.
He picks you up and wraps both of your legs around him, pinning your back to the wall. He slides your panties to the side and undoes his fly as you writhe against him, and against the brick behind you. Your hands slide up the wall, and like at the rock wall with Jungkook, your fingers feel for a sturdy, healthy ledge that you can grasp onto.
Yoongi looks at you and smiles. “How many more closets or offices or back rooms can we do this in?”
You tighten your thighs’ grip on him as you take one of his hands and slap it to your ass. 
“Back rooms, you say?” 
Yoongi falters, letting out a groan. “Fuck. Don’t, d-don’t tease about that right now, I-I might come before I even---”
You push your hips down to him, getting the tip of his cock into your entrance, and milking it slightly with your movements.
“Goddamn,” Yoongi breathes out, pressing his forehead against your cheek and guzzling air through his teeth to stay focused.
He steadies himself and then presses into you. You forget where you are. What you’re doing, even. All you know is the pleasure-filled groan seeping out of you, the one that Yoongi is attempting to stifle with his lips on yours, chuckling and whispering, “We’re definitely going to get caught if you moan like that.”
“I can’t help it,” you protest in a whine, eyebrows crinkling and rising. “I t-tried to get you back to my place, but you--- oh god---”
Yoongi moves in and out of you slowly, helping you adjust to him, getting off on the way you’re struggling to contain what you feel for him. He watches as your throat tenses, burying wail after wail that threatens to leap forth, the muscles in your neck contracting like the walls of your pussy so tightly wrapped around him. He places a hand where your neck meets your chest, and you hear the rustling of paper as he rests his forearm against your breast. Your eyes flash open to meet his, and you bite your lip as Yoongi’s fingers close around the base of your throat slightly, his thumb resting in the notch between your collarbones, where he places a kiss and a nibble for good measure.
Involuntarily, your body starts to move, and a sob travels out through your vocal cords. 
“Your hand.”
“Is it OK?”
“T-tighter.”
Yoongi smirks. “Yeah?”
Your eyes beg him. “Please.”
He presses on your throat just a little more, and you suck on your bottom lip, bringing it into your mouth and gnawing on it as he moves his hips faster.
He licks at your chest, your bodies jostling causing the sleeves and bodice of your dress to hang around you loosely. Yoongi eyes the note peeking out of your bra, and he presses his cheek against it as you arc back and up against him.
Yoongi’s cock, so long and hard, so thick that you wonder how your body hasn’t ripped apart at the seams each time you’ve fucked, has introduced you to so many new feelings. And now, the way you’re angled around each other makes it easy for him to drag himself up against your G-spot, driving you crazy and making you spasm so hard that you not only lose your grip on the wall, but your grip on reality.
You start to really shiver, your orgasm sending a wave of warning of what’s to come before it all fully unfolds. You struggle and gasp for breath, and Yoongi releases his hold on your throat. As you inhale, the air fills you with the same speed and strength that every other sense fills you. The brick digging into your back and fingertips. The heat flooding your pussy and spilling out into the rest of your body. Yoongi’s release, filling you up. His lips on yours, his throat swallowing and muffling your moans. His hand on your ass, still gripping it so hard that you suspect that you’ll see his red handprint when you get home and look in the mirror.
You sigh happily and laugh a little, as Yoongi teeters backwards and pulls your legs with him, before he teeters forward again and presses you against the wall.
He helps you unlock your legs, holding the small of your back as he gently sets you back down on firm ground. 
You help each other start to straighten up, re-buttoning buttons, re-zipping zippers, readjusting to a world where all the atoms within your two bodies aren’t completely entwined.
“You really couldn’t wait,” you observe. You feel so flattered. Desired.
“What we just did,” Yoongi says, kissing your cheek. He brushes some hair out of your face. “That is all that I ever want to be doing. It’s the only place I ever want to be. Wrapped up in you.”
He looks at you, reveling in the way you look, the light under the door illuminating your soft and happy face.
Tumblr media
“Can't they have dispersed the food a little more to keep the crowd from blobbing up?” Unnie wonders aloud. 
Her head is turning every which way, taking in all of the Big Hit logos and labels plastered everywhere, covered in pictures of the trainees with their individual and group names in huge letters. These images come in poster form, huge banners that stretch across the entrance to the town square, as well as standing posters propped up by frames that you had spent the morning helping to assemble. The images come in balloons, with people picking the ones that have their favorite trainees so far, whether based on their performances or their looks and costumes. The images even come in merch: stickers, photocards, long-sleeved t-shirts that are perfect for a crisp day like today, and even EPs of all the songs being performed today. The team has done so much work over the past few weeks, and the event feels like a real launch for a fully-formed artist rather than a trainee showcase. You admire the professionalism of it all, the care that Big Hit is taking to set their trainees up for as much success as they can capture.
But Unnie still has feedback.
She holds up her forearm at eye-level. "And what's with these paper wristbands? Couldn't they have done something nicer, something with RF tagging to help identify movement patterns throughout the park and tie that to---”
“Hon, really? RF tagging?” Jin says, catching Unnie’s gaze. “We’re in a park that has a radius less than a mile long. We’re blobbing up because we’re a blob.”
Unnie blushes slightly and turns to you. 
“Sorry, I was just---”
You smile and nod. “Just finding ways to help make it better for next time,” you say.
If it were any other day, you might feel attacked, or pick a fight. But today, and increasingly over time, these kinds of moments don't really bother you as much. You can look past things that ultimately don't matter and focus on what's helpful.
You can, for instance, look past Unnie's tendency to nitpick and focus instead on the fact that she insisted on driving down to see Suran's stage live, thrilled at your success. Her knowledge and eye for detail have already yielded incredibly helpful feedback for the production crew. You’re appreciative, and even a little proud, that she introduces herself as your sister first before launching into her usual spiel. But the thing that you admire most is the way that she fondly looks around the crowd that you’ve gathered and cultivated, genuinely hoping that everyone is having a good time, desperate for them to see how much you have to offer them.
The crowd parts, and Jungkook joins you, returning from the food stand with three orders of sliders and a six-pack of beers. “Think this will cover us?” he asks.
"Jungkook, you absolute angel," Jin swoons, throwing his arms around him and patting the top of his head.
Jungkook's eyes widen, and Unnie laughs. She looks at you and explains, “I denied him a full breakfast because we were going to be late.” 
She looks at Jungkook and playfully flicks the bun that he’s tied his longer hair into. 
“Thanks, Jungkookie.”
Jungkook smiles warmly. He closes his eyes, scrunches his nose, and shakes his head cutely. “No worries, noona!”  
Jin is already halfway through one of the sliders, some cheese stuck to the corner of his lip. “Let's see if you'll still have this cheery of an attitude after we rematch on the rock wall tomorrow,” Jin says, bits of spit and bread flying out of his mouth. “I have a feeling this isn't the only meal you'll be buying for me.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, hyung, ” Jungkook says, grinning at Jin, still so thrilled at every chance to get to call them as such.
The emcee for the event returns to the stage and announces the names for the next block of performances. You know that Suran is in this block, and when her name is called out, a boom of applause echoes throughout the grounds.
“Ooh!” Jungkook exclaims, looking around. He turns back to you and raises his eyebrows. “Sounds like half of this crowd came from the jazz lounge!”
“Looks like it, too,” you say, smiling at some familiar places. You turn to Jungkook, Unnie, and Jin, smiling happily. “Alright, gang. I’m gonna go join the team now. Are you all good?”
“We’re great! Let us know if we can help,” Unnie tells you, and Jin and Jungkook nod in agreement, their mouths completely full of food. 
You dart through the crowd to get to the makeshift stage and risers that have been set up for the event. You weave backstage, and when you get there, you join Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi by the sound system as they’re triple-checking the levels and backing tracks.
“Everything all set?” you ask.
“All good, Boss Lady,” Hobi says, swinging his arm around your shoulders and baring his teeth as he smiles. 
You chuckle to yourself when you smell the champagne on his breath.
“Having fun?” you ask, hugging him back and leaning your head on his shoulder.
Hobi frowns. “What? It’s a concert. I can’t have a little fun?”
You squeeze your arm around his waist, charmed by his slightly slurring voice. “Of course you can! I requested that specific champagne for you. When I took the poll for backstage refreshments, Sejin mentioned that you liked it.”
He smiles again. “Amazing.” He plants a kiss on the top of your head, and he says, “In that case, then, let me go get two more glasses.”
He unwraps himself from you, and you look around for Suran.
“Is she still getting make-up done?” you ask Namjoon.
“Final touches,” Namjoon confirms, fiddling with her mic.
“I’ll go check on her,” you say. “You guys need anything?” 
“I don’t, but maybe he does,” Namjoon replies, nodding over to Yoongi. 
You turn and see Yoongi standing perpendicular to you, staring at a mess of wires, furrowing his brow and scratching his head.
As you walk up to him, you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your chest on his shoulder. “Can I… help?”
Yoongi grunts. He turns his head slightly to let you press a kiss onto his cheek. He’s mad about something, but you squee at the way he leans into your kiss. Like it really is helping him feel better.
“What are you trying to figure out?” you ask.
“I just need one more aux cord for the back-up-back-up mic in case Suran’s mic and the back-up mic short or break,” Yoongi tells you, “but there’s no way to tell which of these cords is free and which are in use.”
You grin. “Why are you so worried?” 
“Namjoon dropped Suran’s mic just before rehearsals, and the sound’s been a little fuzzy since then.”
“Really?” you ask. “I thought it sounded fine.”
“Well, it was fuzzy.”
You look back at Namjoon, who rolls his eyes.
After you shoot Namjoon a reassuring smile, you turn back to Yoongi and kiss his cheek again.
“I think we have enough working mics, and that you don’t have to worry about this at all,” you tell Yoongi.
He sighs, and you spin him around to face you. 
“What’s this really about?” you ask.
Yoongi shrugs. “I’m… I’m maybe… j-just… a little… nervous.”
You smirk. “But why? Suran’s been so amazing, putting in the effort and time, always showing up and giving it her all. And the tracks, especially the---” You look around to make sure no one else can hear. “---the surprise track. It’s going to be monstrous.”
“I know,” Yoongi tells you adamantly, and though it comes across as a bit whiny, you can’t help but find it cute, as well as be attracted to his confidence. “I just want to make sure everything is perfect for her.”
You place your hand on his heart and rub his chest. “That’s so sweet.” You slide your hand up and around his neck, pulling him close. “But maybe, since she’s going to go on in a little while, we stop worrying about being perfect and just try to have fun with it? Help her enjoy things?”
He pouts, and you kiss his cheek again, but this time, he wraps you up and kisses your lips as he runs his hand through your hair. You don’t know how long you stay there like that, fully in that moment with him, but the sound of the next trainee beginning their section of the show calls you back to the bigger world around you. 
Yoongi sighs at your touch as Namjoon rejoins you to check-in.
“Thanks for calming me down,” Yoongi says.
“Yes, thank you,” Namjoon tells you pointedly, finally setting Suran’s mic in its case on the designated table. He folds his arms, but his expression softens. “Although, honestly, he’s not being as bad as he gets whenever you’re about to perform,” he says, smirking a little.
Your eyes widen, and you look over at Yoongi, who’s blushing.
“Aw, really?” you gush.
Hobi reappears, gleefully skipping over some wires, the champagne sloshing precariously in his two plastic cups. 
“Easy!” Yoongi exclaims, and you press your lips to Yoongi’s cheek to help him reel it back.
Hobi scoffs and stands next to you, taking a sip from one of the cups.
“Aw, thanks Hobi,” you say, grinning at him and reaching out for the other one.
Hobi dodges your grasp. “What? These are both mine,” he tells you seriously, making you laugh, and even, finally, making Yoongi grin.
“I’m gonna check on our star,” you tell them, rubbing Yoongi’s back a couple of times before heading deeper backstage.
There are a series of tents that the back of the stage leads down into. In one tent, there’s a green room, the holding area for artists who are about to go on, or who have just finished performing. There’s all sorts of snacks and drinks on display, and you smirk at the sight of Hobi’s champagne bottles. 
You weave your way through the hustle and bustle of artists, stylists, and crew to get to the next tent. There, you find makeup and wardrobe. Suran is sitting in a makeup chair, her main stylist using a tiny brush with a long, wooden handle to dab foundation onto some spots on her face. You know that this isn’t really your area of expertise, but you swear that this part is overkill, especially for someone who has Suran’s complexion. 
She turns to you excitedly when she sees you in her periphery, and the stylist working on her grumbles and nags her to face forward.
Suran takes the chastising with a grin, asking you, “How are things looking out there?”
“Seems like things are looking beautiful both inside and out,” you tell her, and she squeezes her eyes shut at your compliment.
“Don’t!” the stylist reprimands, but it’s too late. “Great, now I have to clean up the liner.” She digs in her fanny pack, but then looks at Suran. “Shit. I lent it to someone. Please don’t move.” And then she looks at you. “And please don’t excite her. I’m running out of time.”
The stylist scampers off, and you and Suran share some of your giddiest giggles, both of you still so wildly thrilled.
“Alrighty, let’s go through the bullet points,” you say, as you pull your phone out to check the agenda. “Walk me through.”
“When I’m done with final touches, I’ll make my way to the green room,” Suran begins. “At that point, the act before me should be starting, so I’ll have about fifteen minutes before I’m up. Jimin should be arriving around that time, so we’ll have a few moments to go through final notes before I go out and do the first two songs. Then, I’ll thank the crowd and introduce Jimin, at which point, I don’t know, I’ll probably wake up from this incredible un-reality that cannot actually be my life?” She looks at you nervously. “Or I’ll pass out?”
“No,” you laugh, “you’ll sing, just like you’ve been doing this whole time. And it will feel just as thrilling as that night in the lounge, if not better.”
Suran’s eyes sparkle at the thought of chasing that performance high.
“Is there anything else that you need?” you ask, patting her shoulder.
Suran takes a deep breath and smiles. “Maybe we can run through the harmony again?” she asks. “I know that I’ve been nailing it every day at rehearsals, but that’s with Jimin on the backing track. Can we do a couple of the runs to warm up?”
You nod. “Of course.” 
As you sing together, you feel a chill through your body. There’s something about singing here, with Suran’s beautiful voice filling your corner of the tent, her hair, dress, and makeup gleaming and glorious. There’s something about singing while surrounded by this frenetic chaos of crew and creatives. And there’s definitely something about singing something that you and Yoongi wrote together, knowing that in a few minutes, it would be shared with the world.
Or, at the very least, this adorable little town square.
You leave Suran a little more confident and excited than she already was, and as you make your way back to the green room, you find Jimin seated on the couch, watching the current performance on one of the monitors.
“Oh, hey,” you say, smiling and walking over to him.
“Hey Boss Lady,” he says, grinning and standing from his seat. 
You can’t look at him directly. He’s so gorgeous, from his coiffed hair to his full lips to his tailored Chanel suit and its glittery embellishments shining stars all over your skin. You catch a glimpse of his smoky eyes, and you can’t help but blush. 
Jimin giggles, flattered. “So the look works?”
“It works,” you say, your cheeks stinging.
“Thanks,” he says earnestly, also blushing. “I wasn’t so sure.”
You smile. “Did you see the guys on your way in?”
“No, I haven’t been backstage yet,” Jimin says. “I came in through the side over here.” He points to a flap in the tent where he must have snuck in, wearing a Big Hit crew shirt, hat, and sunglasses to hide his identity. “It was kinda cool,” he adds. “It was like a secret mission.”
“I mean, for all intents and purposes, it was,” you laugh, though you think the Chanel sunglasses could have given him away.
Jimin motions for you to sit next to him. When you do, your eyes settle on one of the trainees performing a ballad. You think that they’re only decent, but you also know that you’re strongly biased.
“How’s our star?” Jimin asks, and you wonder if he’s thinking the same thing.
“She looks amazing, and she sounds even better,” you tell him truthfully.
Jimin grins. “Wouldn’t have expected any less. Suran’s an incredible talent.” His smoky eyes find yours. “And so are you.”
You laugh uncomfortably.
“I’m serious,” Jimin replies. “What you and Yoongi have done together. And the video clips the guys send me from your gigs.”
“You’ve seen those?” you ask, mortified.
“You could have easily been up there today, too,” Jimin tells you. “Any stage, for that matter.” He sighs. “I really hope you know that the fact that it just didn’t pan out that way is not because of any lack of talent or star power of your own.”
His words mean something to you. It’s probably because you know that he would know best, especially given the journey he’s recently been on. 
Getting choked up, you smile gracefully, and Jimin flips his hand over on his knee, inviting you to take it. 
When you do, he intertwines your fingers and flips your hands back over, giving you a squeeze. 
“I’m really grateful to you,” he says. 
“I’m so grateful to you,”   you say. “Working with you has been the thrill of a lifetime.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Jimin laughs sheepishly. “But I’m also not just talking about working with you.” 
He wiggles his eyebrows, like Hobi might. 
“Oh god,” you say, trying to let go of his hand.
“None of us have ever seen Yoongi this happy!” Jimin gushes, squeezing your hand tighter, turning to you as you hide your face. “You’re all he talks about. You’re all he thinks about. If we’re all hanging out, and one of us tells a good joke or story or something, he laughs and says that that’s something you would have really loved, and then he pulls out his phone to text it to you.”
“I got forty-something texts last boys’ night out,” you laugh. 
Jimin laughs, and then he softens. And he gives your hand one final squeeze.
“I know you’re the one that got him to listen to me,” he tells you, seriously. “He didn’t tell me anything that you might’ve said or done in particular to convince him, but I just know that you’re the one that got him to do it.”
“And how do you know?” you ask, with a sly smile.
Jimin rolls his eyes. “None of them would give me the time of day until you showed up.”
You share a soft smile as the sound of applause surrounds you.
Eventually, Yoongi, Namjoon, Hobi, and Suran all steadily make their way to the green room. You let Suran and Jimin have the couch to practice their harmonies, and the rest of your group watches fondly as their banter and charisma really start to shine.
The emcee comes back into the green room and checks in. “Are we ready?” they ask.
“Ready,” Suran says, grinning and standing.
“Good show,” Jimin says, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you in ten minutes!”
Suran squeals excitedly, and you watch her as she follows the emcee back outside.
The rest of you stand off to the side, and as she begins to introduce herself, the jazz lounge crowd starts to chant her name. She giggles and falters a bit, but you think it looks sweet and humble. 
When she begins to sing, everything just seems to fall into place.
Suran soars, her voice so multidimensional, soft yet strong, nostalgic yet new, always seemingly two mutually exclusive things at the same time. You realize that one of the keys to her sound is to unlock that multidimensionality, to show the fun in reimagination. The key to her sound is that aspect. How her voice sounds like possibility.
You watch the crowd become mesmerized by her, even growing a little quieter so as to hear her better. By the end of the first song, she’s won them over. By the end of the second song, they’ve completely forgotten everyone else who has performed so far.
During her little conversational interludes, describing her experience as a trainee and what kind of music she hopes to make, you see more and more people making their way over to the merch table to pick up her EP. The one that you had a hand in crafting, with Yoongi’s raw ideas and emotions. And Namjoon’s strength and patience. And Hobi’s brashness and honesty. And Jimin’s special, expertful flair.
Your eyes settle on Unnie, Jungkook, and Jin in the crowd. Jungkook is perched atop Jin’s broad shoulders, singing along with Suran and waving his arms from side to side. Unnie is leaning back on Jin’s chest, swaying along, but looking at the two EPs she’s already picked up. You notice that she’s reading the back of them. 
You realize that the reason she’s smiling is because she’s looking at your name with pride. 
Mr. Kang and Mrs. Kang have arrived as well, standing next to Unnie and cheering Suran on. Mrs. Kang looks darling in her dress and pearls, and Mr. Kang looks so adorable in his newsboy cap that you want to scream.
Soon, Suran is gearing up to introduce Jimin, and you all tense a little. You aren’t sure how people are going to react. But there’s a special mix of innocence in the crowd. It’s full of families, mostly. And the jazz lounge fans add another dimension to things. They seem kinder, untainted by all irrelevant gossip. The only thing that everyone cares about is that Park Jimin is one of their own, he’s risen to the top, and he’s about to treat them to a special performance.
The crowd goes nuts when Jimin jumps onstage, and while he sounds so slick and confident as he responds with gratitude, you know that he’s incredibly touched by the love that the crowd still has for him. He generously reflects it onto Suran, both of them downright luminescent on stage, their performance perfectly locking into place and bringing everyone together.
You’re still riding the high of the afternoon as you spend the evening back in the studio, putting your equipment back and clearing out for the night. 
“Everyone’s heading over to the restaurant,” Hobi tells you, as you and Yoongi finish uploading copies of today’s performance onto your computers.
“Go ahead,” Yoongi says. “We’ll catch up.” 
Hobi shrugs and heads out.
You sigh in admiration as you watch the video of Suran greeting the crowd.
“She did so well today,” you reply.
Yoongi smiles proudly. “She really did.” He looks at you. “You did, too.”
“All I did was stand around,” you laugh.
“She said you calmed her down,” Yoongi says. 
When he leans forward and kisses you, you can tell that he’s impressed. These things matter to him.
You pull away and smile happily at him.
Yoongi grins at you.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Just… I didn’t know about this side of things,” you say, smiling at him, getting teary-eyed. “You were right.”
Yoongi kisses your cheek. “It is better, isn’t it?”
You snuggle into him, and he wraps his arms around you. “Yeah.”
You watch the upload bar moving somewhat slowly.
“I think a lot about why it’s better,” Yoongi says, also watching the bar crawl forward.
“Have you figured it out?”
“I used to think it was less work, but I don’t know if that’s necessarily true. I think it’s a different kind of work.”
You nod. There are different goals and pressures. Different metrics of success. More things out of your hands.
“I think it has to do with the fact that we get to try new things more immediately,” Yoongi replies. “Y’know. Play. Experiment. All in the moment.”
“That’s true,” you agree. “If Jimin wanted to experiment with his look or style, he’d have to get approval from at least five different departments.”
The upload bar flashes, and the progress drops back a little bit.
“Shit,” you say. “Do you think we should restart it?”
“I don’t want to risk losing the footage,” Yoongi says.
You both sigh and watch the upload bar working even slower than it already was.
Yawning and stretching, you wriggle out of Yoongi’s grasp and try to pop your back. Yoongi watches you move and licks his lips before you settle back into his arms.
“I like experimenting,” Yoongi says, secretly ogling you as you focus on the screen.
“I know you do,” you say, grinning.
“And this is the perfect place to experiment,” Yoongi replies, his voice more of a growl.
You sit up and look at him.
“Yoongi!” you scold.
“C’mon,” he says, grinning. “The upload’s gonna take some time anyway.”
You desperately try to keep from grinning, but the grin wins in the end. “So, the elevator, the storage closet at Mr. Kang’s, the back room at the jazz lounge, and now here in the studio? We’re really gonna keep doing this?”
“Why not?” Yoongi asks. “Everyone else has left. And there aren’t any cameras in here.” He looks over at the one you’re transferring Suran’s footage from. “Well. Except that one.”
You laugh. “What kind of experiments are there left to run, anyway?” you ask. “At this point, I think we’ve run the gamut.”
Yoongi shakes his head sadly. Almost pitifully. “Oh, Boss. You have no idea.”
He wraps himself around you, and you moan at his kiss, but you look back at the screen. 
“Yoongi, the bar’s more than halfway full. It’s going to be done any second now.”
“How about this,” Yoongi grumbles, laying sloppy kisses on your neck. “I bet I can make you come before the video’s uploaded.”
Your heart rate increases, and you let out a little surprised gasp. “Are you seri---”
You look over at Yoongi. His determined eyes. The line that his brows form. The parallel line that his lips are set in.
He’s never been more serious about anything in his life.
You smirk. 
Yoongi likes to take his time. He can’t help reveling in the way it feels when he pushes into you, or how your skin tastes, or how good your body feels against him. He’s forced even you to slow your own libido down. Wind can howl, but a mountain like Yoongi will never truly bend. 
“Fine. Loser gets a penalty of the winner’s choosing.” 
“Deal,” Yoongi says, narrowing his eyes at you.
The upload bar moves forward slightly.
Yoongi wastes no time, pulling him onto you and sucking bruises across the base of your neck. He shoves his hand into the crotch of your pants and rubs your lips, pleased at how quickly you douse his fingers with your juices. 
“Get ready for my penalty,” Yoongi whispers up at you, and you whine.
You try to clench every muscle to keep from feeling anything, but it’s having the opposite effect, and even spurring Yoongi on. He picks you up and strips you naked quickly, and you’re dazzled at the speed he’s working.
Before you can tease him about it, he sits on the couch and lays you across his lap. He turns you on your left side, so that you’re facing the back of the couch. You bite your lip and look over at him, unsure of what to expect next. He runs his hands along your curves, smacking your ass and making you laugh. He cups your ass cheek with his hand, and with his right, he rubs up and down your thighs before pressing his fingers against your folds.
You moan and buck your hips forward, pressing into Yoongi’s naked torso. He looks down at you and licks his lips before smiling.
And then he starts to move his fingers.
He slides his middle finger into you and extends his other fingers out to grab the rest of your ass. He pumps his hand back and forth, side to side, pressing his wrist up against you so that you feel his vibrations against your clit.
You cry out, propping yourself up on your elbow and looking over at him. You reach out and claw at his shoulder with your hand, pulling his upper arm to you and moaning with such satisfaction.
You’ve never had it like this. 
It feels tremendous. 
You force your muscles to work extra hard not to fall apart with each pump.
Yoongi can feel you fighting it.
“Play fair,” he orders you seductively.
You smile and bite your lip at him calling you out. You should know better than to underestimate Yoongi. He always has something else up his sleeve. An extra word of wisdom. An extra space in his heart. An extra naughty smirk, like the one he’s shooting at you now, panting at the sight of you writhing desperately against him.
He slips another finger into you, and you know you won’t be able to last much longer. You’re sweating now, sometimes digging your face into the back of the couch and biting the cloth. You hope you’ve lasted long enough. You hold onto Yoongi’s shoulder and try to see the screen.
“We’re only at 78%, Boss,” Yoongi cackles.
You sigh. “Fuck.”
He slips a third finger into you, and you cry out, losing strength in the arm that propped you up, and slamming down onto your cheek as Yoongi rams his hand into you.
You feel Yoongi hesitate, but you plead, “Don’t stop.”
Yoongi cracks another smile and goes harder, deeper, sometimes biting onto your thigh when you lift your leg higher into the air. It feels so good that you hook your leg around the back of his neck, trying to open up for him as wide as you can, letting more and more of him in.
He grunts, and you start to shake.
“I’m so close, fuck, r-right there.”
Yoongi slaps your ass, and you ride his hand, fingers pushed in up to the knuckle. As you moan in delight, he turns to his right and bites at the underside of your thigh, then licking and kissing the bite to soothe your skin. You squeak with each bite, and mumble his name at each kiss. He mumbles things back to you, telling you how gorgeous and perfect you are. How no one drives him crazy like you. How he wants to drive you crazy, too.
You start to come apart, rocking and shaking, feeling your joints separating, and your muscles burning.
“Fuck, Yoongi.”
“Take it.”
You gasp for air, and it propels a devastating groan out of you. 
But you manage to hang on until just after the computer chimes, letting you know that the upload is done.
You laugh through it, and whine through it, going completely limp in his lap as Yoongi groans at his loss, laughing along with you and slapping your ass a couple more times.
He strokes your body, humming as he goes, easing you down from your orgasm. 
And once you’re quiet, and feeling at peace, he chuckles and says, “You came so hard for me.”
You moan in agreement. And then you lick your lips and say, “But you lost the bet.”
“Hey now. It was pretty close.” 
Yoongi rolls you over so that you’re on your back, and he gazes down at you with such lust. He bends down and kisses you.
“But that was worth losing for,” he whispers.
And then he slaps your ass again. 
“I’ll have to try harder next time.”
Tumblr media
You’re working on your last pinky when your phone rings. You sigh and blow at the first coat of polish that you’ve just painted on your hand before carefully setting it to go to speakerphone, only catching that it’s your Eomma one critical millisecond after you swipe to accept.
“Fu---”
“Hello dear,” Eomma says in her usual annoyed tone. “I guess it’s only been one or two eons since you took one of my calls.”
“I’m busy, Eomma,” you mutter, readjusting your seat on your bed.
“You’ve been busy for the past few months?” Eomma snaps.
“Actually, I have,” you say, continuing to do your nails but trying not to get so angry that you mess up your manicure.
“I…” Eomma sighs. “I-I know.”
You pause. You’ve never heard Eomma’s voice get this soft. Or, if you have, you don’t remember the last time she might have let you see this side of her. You weren’t even sure if she had such a side to her.
“I hear your single on the radio every day,” Eomma replies. 
Her voice comes out strange. It sounds like stop-and-go traffic. Herky-jerky. Almost as if she isn’t sure how to talk to you without insulting you. But you can tell that she’s actually trying.
“Oh,” you say. “Well… what do you think of it?”
“It’s fine.”
You weigh the comment in your mind. Technically, that’s the nicest thing she’s said to you in a while.
“Thanks.”
“Seems like it’s a big deal, what with Park Jimin on it. And that Suran girl is very talented.”
You smirk. This is more information that Eomma has ever bothered to learn about one of your projects.
“It’s actually very catchy, and all my friends know all the words,” Eomma admits.
And then you genuinely smile. 
“I was just calling to say that I saw you all hit number 12 on the charts, so… congratulations,” she tells you.
You hear someone knock at the door.
“Thanks, Eomma,” you say warmly.
“Of course,” Eomma says awkwardly, but in her usual purposeful tone.
“I really do have to get going, though,” you say, quickly brushing on the last bit of a second coat of nail polish onto your pinky. “I have a kind of event tonight.”
“Well, then, don’t let me keep you.”
There’s a bit of a silence, but instead of an expectant one, it feels like a hopeful one.
“I’ll call you soon to update you on everything,” you tell her.
“That would be nice,” she says, and you think you can hear her smiling over the phone.
You hang up, and you walk out of your bedroom to go answer the door.
When you open it, you get distracted by Yoongi’s outfit. He’s a little more dressed up, and he smells like your favorite cologne of his. Your mind is wandering, and you’re starting to eye the quality of the buttons on his shirt. You think that you could rip them open without the threads breaking. You kind of want to test your theory, but you don’t want to ruin your manicure.
And then you notice his beanie still on his head. And the face that he’s making.
“Are you OK?” you ask.
Yoongi blushes. He grumbles something, but you don’t quite catch it.
“What is it?” you ask, worried. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Yoongi turns red and says, “I just… it’s… it’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” you say reassuringly, taking his hand and pulling him into your apartment. 
You watch him flop down into his chair at the kitchen table. 
“I just… I wanted to look nice.” 
“And you absolutely do,” you say lustfully, making one of the corners of his mouth turn up.
But then he sighs. 
He yanks off his beanie and looks at you disappointedly, his lips forming one of your favorite pouts. 
“How bad is it?” 
You grin at Yoongi’s new haircut. It’s admittedly not terrible. He looks as kempt as ever, and he’s needed some self-care, given all the time he’s dedicated to helping Suran, Jimin, and the team. But you guess that Yoongi must have gotten his hair cut for free at the label, and probably by one of the stylists in training, because the cut is a little uneven. Teeny-tiny patches in his undercut stick out here and there, and the length on the left side of his head is a tad shorter than the length on the right. But you know that with Yoongi’s high standards, Yoongi’s current weary look, and Namjoon and Hobi’s penchant for taking Yoongi down a notch when the opportunity presents itself, Yoongi’s probably been beating himself up about this for his entire walk over, if not the entire day.
You laugh at the thought of Namjoon and Hobi clowning him, and Yoongi grumbles as he pulls his beanie back on.
“Aw, Yoongi,” you coo, kneeling in front of him and kissing his lips. “The haircut isn’t bad, I promise. You look great. And you smell good. And you---”
“You laughed.”
“I laughed because I was thinking about you pouting in front of Namjoon and Hobi, just like you’re pouting in front of me now,” you explain, squeezing his cheeks with your already-dry hand to try and get him to cheer up. “You know they just like to make fun of you because you’re always on point and so good at everything.”
“I am?”
You kiss him again, and this time, Yoongi kisses you back.
When you pull away, he’s still pouting. “You’re sure I don’t look ugly?”
You adore when Yoongi shares this side of himself with you. The mortal side. The side that is just as unsure and confused as all you regular humans around him. This conversation is just a glimpse into the trust that he has in you, steadily building in deeper and meaningful ways. Looking into his concerned eyes now, you realize with more clarity how deep Yoongi’s emotions and connections are, making you feel honored and valued even when he’s the one asking you for help.
You tell him exactly how not ugly you think he is with your next kiss, raising yourself up on your knees and pulling a grunt out of Yoongi as he moves up and back in response to you. 
“You look so hot that I wanted to rip that shirt off of you,” you whisper, standing now, and leaning down to kiss him again. “I was so distracted. I wouldn’t have even known anything was off about your haircut if you hadn’t said anything.”
He wraps his arms around your waist, and then he reaches for the backs of your thighs to make you sit in his lap. 
“But if you really feel that strongly about it, then you can keep your trusty beanie on,” you say, kissing his cheeks, and the tip of his nose.
Yoongi cradles the back of your head and pulls your mouth to his. You rock your hips slightly as your kisses deepen, but when Yoongi lets out a moan, you giggle and bring things to a stop, pressing your dry hand onto his chest.
“My manicure’s still wet,” you say, showing him your hand, with the slightly fudged pinky. “Besides, Jungkook will be here soon, and you’ve gotta change.”
“I thought you said I looked hot,” Yoongi protests, holding onto you tightly so that you can’t leave.
“Mmm, you do. But it’s time for me to collect on my penalty,” you say, grinning.
And then Yoongi notices what you’re wearing.
You flash him a toothy grin.
Yoongi looks back at you, unamused.
He still has that same unamused look on his face when he’s standing on the Kang’s welcome mat, sandwiched between you in your donut pajamas, and Jungkook in his cupcake ones. Jungkook excitedly dances around a little, bending at the knees and bouncing as he cradles a gigantic bowl of guacamole that he made.
Mr. Kang opens the door and laughs in delight at the sight of the three of you.
His eyes fall onto the pattern on Yoongi’s pajamas.
“Milkshakes?” he asks.
Yoongi’s hands are full with more containers of food that you’ve prepared, but he searches through the red fabric covered in brown plastic cups with straws to find and draw Mr. Kang’s attention to one of the coffee beans.
“Iced coffees.”
You excitedly hold out two gift bags to Mr. Kang, who claps excitedly. 
As Mr. Kang rejoins you in the living room, he has a bit more pep in his step, now that he’s wearing his new avocado-patterned pajamas. His eyes gleam as he shares a bit of his life, pointing out souvenirs from the various places he’s traveled, or telling funny stories about the house. 
He takes you into the kitchen to greet Mrs. Kang. She cheers happily when she sees you, and she asks if you don't mind helping out with a couple of the dishes. After some fumbled instructions, Mrs. Kang elects to keep Yoongi and Jungkook in the kitchen with her while banishing you and the similarly inept Mr. Kang from any additional involvement in tonight’s dinner.
Mr. Kang leads you into his home office, and you marvel at the incredible array of antiques that he’s accumulated over the years. A stack of unused parchment that accompanied some old war communications. Actual quills that still work, their fashions getting more modern over time. A classic typewriter with each key and cog still in pristine condition.
There are also some great vintage pictures. 
“Those are my family photos,” Mr. Kang says, smiling fondly. “My parents, aunts, and uncles. There’s Mrs. Kang. That was taken on our first date.”
“She’s so cute! Is she laughing?”
“I was tickling her right before I took the photo,” Mr. Kang chuckles, and you melt. 
There’s a picture of him and Yoongi’s grandfather from back in the day. Mr. Kang picks up the photo for a closer look. It looks like Yoongi traveled back in time to take this picture with a younger Mr. Kang.
“Just like his grandfather,” you say, smiling warmly at Mr. Kang.
You linger on one such picture, a young woman standing next to a bike.
“Is this your daughter?” you ask.
Mr. Kang’s eyes grow soft. “Yes,” he says. “She and I don’t really get along much these days, unfortunately.”
You smile sadly. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I am too.” He sighs. “It’s hard to be a parent. It’s nearly impossible to be all things to a person, and yet, that’s the one thing that being a parent really is.”
You think of your conversation with your mother. Your relationship. You think about all the expectations you had for her. Expectations for a better mother. And, in a surprising twist, you wonder what kind of expectations you had put on her that she could never meet. 
“If I’m being honest, it’s hard being in that store every day,” Mr. Kang goes on. “I wanted to leave that store to her. But she refuses to come back for a visit, let alone permanently. It’s a shame. I always wanted to keep the store in the family.”
“Well, you say, brightly, “I think you’re missing a few people on this desk here.”
You reach into your purse and pull out a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper. You hand it to Mr. Kang, and he opens it to find a small, gold picture frame. Inside is a picture of you, Yoongi, the Kangs, Jungkook, Namjoon, and Hobi. It was taken the night of that amazing jazz lounge set, when Yoongi played for you. 
“I got the frame from Antique Store Guy’s sale,” you say.
Mr. Kang’s eyes sparkle. He runs his eyes over the embossed embellishments, loops and twirls all around the frame. “It’s beautiful! And this photo. I’m so glad I have a copy.” He looks at you, his heart full. “That was a really fun night.”
“I know. Look at Jungkookie’s face.”
Jungkook smiles out at the camera with a huge, cheesy grin.
“Maybe there’s still a way to keep the store in the family,” you point out.
Mr. Kang grins. 
“Hmm.”
Soon, you gather around the dinner table, digging into the incredible meal that Mrs. Kang, now also wearing avocado pajamas, has prepared. You take turns sharing the various sides and desserts that the three of you had made and brought. You keep the guacamole bowl close to Mr. Kang, and he eats happily as he talks.
“It’s just so addictive,” Mr. Kang says, downing chip after chip.
“I tried to make it really smooth,” Jungkook replies, looking over at you furtively.
“You’ve perfected the recipe,” you tell him honestly. 
As everyone shares their agreement, Jungkook lets slip a small, proud smile.
“In fact, I’ve had an idea,” Mr. Kang introduces.
“Uh-oh,” Mrs. Kang jokes, her fork frozen mid-air. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
“It’s a good idea,” Mr. Kang replies. “Boss here helped me with it.”
“Well, if it’s actually the Boss’s idea, then I have no objection,” Mrs. Kang says, grinning and winking at you before eating her forkful of food.
“Good. I’m giving up the store,” Mr. Kang says.
Mrs. Kang sets her fork down. “Really?” she asks hopefully.
“I’m retiring,” he announces. And then he turns to Mrs. Kang. “I know I should have retired a while ago, darling. But I’m ready now.”
Mrs. Kang smiles at him, her eyes shining. She reaches for his hand, and he gives her hand a little squeeze.
“Congrats,” Yoongi cheers, holding up his glass, as you and the Kangs follow suit.
“Wait, but,” Jungkook interjects, his fingers around his glass but his eyes growing wide, “well, but… but what’s going to happen with the store?”
“I don’t know,” Mr. Kang says, raising his eyebrows.
You bite back your smile.
“You don’t have any plans for it?” Jungkook asks meekly.
“Not really,” Mr. Kang replies. “Why? Do you have any thoughts?”
“I mean… I kinda just… I’m going to miss it,” Jungkook says, tears coming to his eyes. “I like hanging out there. And I like seeing you every day. And, well, where are all of your customers going to go? The whole appeal of your store is the local, small business aspect to it. Your customers love your work, the attention you pay to their needs. Now they’re going to be stuck going with big box stores to manage their supplies? They’re going to hate that.”
Jungkook sighs, his breath shaky. 
“What you do is a dying art, Mr. Kang. I’m sad to see it go.”
“Then it’s a good thing that you’ll be there to keep it going,” Mr. Kang says.
Confused, Jungkook tilts his head. “Huh?”
“I was actually wondering if I could leave the store to you,” Mr. Kang says happily.
Jungkook’s eyes brighten. “What? Really??”
“You know the business,” Mr. Kang replies. “You know the deliveries. You know the customers. You know everything. If you want it, the store’s yours.” He smiles. “Plus, this way, I still get to keep it in the family.”
Jungkook sniffles. “Mr. Kang… I-I’d be honored.”
“Now, don’t start crying at this table,” Mrs. Kang scolds playfully. “I’ve put too much effort into this food to have you sniveling all over it.”
“Yes ma’am,” Jungkook croaks out, wiping his eyes and doing his best to compose himself.
You all exchange warm looks and soft congratulations, tucking into your meals as Mr. Kang urges you to play Suran’s song for him for the millionth time.
You’ve gone through so many movements in your life that have a similar structure. You’ve left so many homes to embark on so many new adventures, broken bread with strangers who became extensions of yourself, and swapped parts of yourselves with each other, like traveling patchwork quilts seeking squares in front of the campfire.
But here, you feel something different. 
Here, you feel the fire in the hearth.
You can easily see yourself spending the rest of your days here, you and Yoongi growing old like Mr. and Mrs. Kang. 
Happy. Comfortable. And complete.
You get home from the Kangs’ feeling full and sleepy, and you and Yoongi collapse into your bed, still dressed in your themed pajamas.
“That was so nice,” you sigh, snuggling next to Yoongi.
He looks over at you and kisses you.
“What was that for?” you ask.
“No particular reason,” Yoongi sighs, nestling deeper into you.
You smile and gaze over at him when you note that it’s only 8:30 PM.
You think fondly again about growing old with Yoongi. But you’re also not in any kind of hurry.
“Are we really about to sleep right now?” you mumble into your sheets.
“I mean, we’re already in pajamas,” Yoongi says lazily.
You blink and sit back up, thinking of Yoongi’s outfit earlier.
“What about that outfit you were wearing earlier?” you ask, starting to get heated. “You looked… good.”
Yoongi smiles and sits up, kissing you again. He runs a finger along the lapel of your pajamas, and down the fabric between the buttons keeping it in place on your frame. He slides another finger in at your chest, and you wiggle at the feel of his cold fingers against your delicate skin.
“Mm,” he says quietly, “where are the toys? I wanna do things to you.” 
You straight-out guffaw, and Yoongi smiles his surprised, gummy smile at you. 
“About the toys.”
You reach over for your phone and play a series of voicemails that you’ve been saving for quite some time.
“VOICEMAIL 1: Hey, it’s Jae,” the first message starts.
Yoongi frowns. “No.”
“Just listen,” you laugh.
You start the voicemail over again.
VOICEMAIL 1: Hey, it’s Jae. I just got to the airport, and I’m about to go through security. I just wanted to say that I really am sorry about how things ended, and I do care for you. And… you know… if things don’t work out with Yoongi, I’m always here. OK. Bye-bye.
“Excuse me,” Yoongi replies. “I don’t know where he gets off---”
“Please, listen, I promise, it’s good,” you say, playing the next one.
VOICEMAIL 2: Hey, uh, so this is Jae again. Currently being held at airport security. They said that they needed to check the box that you gave me? Calling you just in case you can explain? I’m getting a little weirded out.
VOICEMAIL 3: Yeah, it’s Jae. I’m apparently being questioned by airport security. They still haven’t told me anything so can you please just answer any of my calls or texts that I’ve--- Hi, yes, I’m just making a phone call--- No, I’m just making a phone call to--- That’s my phone!
VOICEMAIL 4: Guess who? It’s fucking Jae. I’m being fucking detailed by fucking airport security. Are you fucking serious with this shit? They’re alleging that I’ve bought these toys for resale, so they’re questioning me and having to open the box and go through each fucking one. How many fucking dildos did you need to fucking buy after we broke up?? And you put them back in their original packaging?!  Everyone’s laughing at me. And I can’t even blame them. That yellow one is fucking monstrous, like what the fuck could you have ever needed that for, and I have half a mind to stick it up one of these assholes who are--- Hey, don’t touch me, don’t take my phone, you can’t take my phone! I already told the other--- That’s my property---
VOICEMAIL 5: Hi, Jae here, oh, and, fuck you, and fuck this shit. I don’t even know why I’m calling because you haven’t picked up any of my fucking calls or texts, but I guess I felt like I needed to tell you that I’m being fucking held here overnight. They said I was being too disruptive while they were questioning me, which is totally un-fucking-fair because this wasn’t even my fault to begin with, so fuck you, you’re a bitch, and just, go fucking die. 
VOICEMAIL 6: Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to say all those things… I just… P-please tell Yoongi and your friend Jungkook that I didn’t mean it. Play Jungkook this voicemail, even. Jungkook, if you’re listening, I didn’t mean it, man. Ugh, fuck, what am I doing. You’re going to delete this voicemail, aren’t you. Please don’t delete this voicemail. Please let Jungkook know I’m sorry---
You and Yoongi are doubled over with laughter, Yoongi slapping your thighs as you giggle with one another. You explain how angry Jae had made you. How impulsive you get when you’re worked up. How you switched the boxes. How it was totally unfair, what you did to him.
Yoongi wipes tears from his eyes. “Yeah, totally unfair, but god, that’s fucking hilarious.”
He hovers over you, straddling you.
“Makes me want the toys back even more.”
You smile.
“Well, I did keep one.”
Yoongi’s eyes alight as you reach into your nightstand and pull out a satin, drawstring pouch. You pull out the vibrator that Yoongi had used during your first session.
He smirks at you.
“Mm.”
He takes the toy and sets it on the bed, wiggling his fingers into yours so that you’ll hold him instead. You smile and run your other hand up his jaw, over his temples, and into his hair. You reach up for his ever-present beanie, taking the gray fabric in your fingers, and running your thumb over the cute square housing an unamused face, so adorably similar to the face Yoongi made when you showed him the iced coffee pajamas. So adorably similar to Yoongi’s face in general. 
You pull him in for a kiss, soft and sweet and slow, and then you slip the beanie off of his head.
He lets go and reaches out for it, still self-conscious about his haircut, but you play keep-away, twirling it in your hand. 
“You said your head got really sweaty the first time,” you remind him, smiling. 
He laughs and kisses you again, and then rolls you onto your back.
He unbuttons your pajamas, and you unbutton his. He slides down your body, planting kisses along the way, and teasing you with the tip of the vibrator. 
He kneels on the floor at the foot of your bed, and then he starts to tease your pussy with the vibrator, turning it on and running it in narrower and narrower circles until he gets to your clit. You’re already gushing juices onto the bed before Yoongi thinks to turn up the speed and intensity. You bite your lip and reach down for him, and then he takes your hand in his.
“Hold this here,” he says, grasping your fingers around the vibrator’s handle. He places your wrist on your stomach and positions the vibrator so that it buzzes against your clit.
And then, he places his warm, wet tongue on your entrance.
You shiver as he licks and sucks on your folds, his tongue swiping up at your clit, making him giggle at the feel of those vibrations on his lips. He sticks his fingers inside of you, and he pumps his hand in and out of you, making you clench down around him. You come over and over again, these three delicious things happening to you all at once, flooding your nerves to the point where you can’t make sense of anything else that’s happening. 
Yoongi eases you down from your latest in a string of unimaginable orgasms by licking your folds slowly while carefully moving your wrist off of your stomach and setting the vibrator aside. 
You whine as he kisses your pussy, sucking you nearly dry, if not for the continued waves of release that just keep coming whenever you’re anywhere around Yoongi.
Then, he stands over you, and bends down to kiss you. Every kiss with Yoongi is meaningful, and you love finding the messages in each one. You suspect that this one is a mix of surprise and intrigue at the prank you pulled, an energy that Yoongi seems to be pretty into. But each kiss also has something in common.
His warm, deep, and full love for you.
He slides into you with one long, dreamy, slick stroke.
You move together.
And get lost in one another.
But when you’re with each other, you’re never really lost. 
Not truly.
You’re right where you belong.
Tumblr media
Countermelody | Masterpost
<< 04: Modulation | END
Tumblr media
194 notes · View notes