#but i somewhat have a system that they rarely fall off the bed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daanilion · 2 years

Text

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Mitski Legacy Challenge *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

do you love mitski? do you love legacy challenges in the sims 4? i have the perfect legacy challenge for you! this is a legacy challenge where each generation is inspired by a mitski song. this is heavily inspired by @draeyad 's Crybaby Whims Legacy Challenge so please check their content out & play their legacy challenge as well! also just a trigger warning; generation 7 discusses the topic of eating disorders & generation 4 somewhat discusses alcoholism (not explicitly but it's implied) so please don't play this challenge if those are triggers of any kind! thank you <3

general rules:

• lifespan should be normal (generation 10 can be long as you're going to college)

• heir can be any gender

• minimal cheats (can use freerealestate for first home, etc.)

• mods that are recommended: Basemental drugs mod (this would be best for generation 4 & maybe generation 2), MCC Command Center (in order to cheat for twins, etc. you need this mod; also good for risky woohoo/unplanned pregnancies), & Wonderful Whims (it's just a nice mod to have as it has an attractiveness system)

• can live anywhere, unless stated in generation's rules & can have as many pets you want

• have fun! this challenge is kind of depressing in some areas but it's ultimately something to have fun with

generation 1 - bag of bones

"just move the stuff up off the bed and do what you came here to do"

after a messy breakup with your high school partner, you have fallen victim to hookup culture. the book you had been planning to write your entire time at high school has been untouched ever since they left. you let people in almost every day, even though you hate it. you're a mess, you don't know what to do or what you want or who you are... but maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel?

aspiration - writer

traits - gloomy, slob & creative

hook up with at least 4 different sims a week

have an accidental pregnancy with one of your hookups (can have multiple)

have an ex that you despise (can try to rekindle the relationship)

write at least 10 books by the the time you're an elder

keep home a mess & rarely clean up

fall in love with a sim that is family-oriented and/or neat & marry them as an adult or elder

master the writing skill

generation 2 - class of 2013

"mom, is it alright if i stay for a year or two?"

adulthood is hard and being a struggling artist doesn't make it any easier. due to a lack of money, you decide to move back in with your parents. what's so wrong with living with your parents? but, your dependence on your parents has made you completely stop performing or working hard enough for a promotion. is this really helping? or is this just making things worse?

aspiration - musical genius

traits - outgoing, music lover & lazy

live with your parents (keep them alive for a while so this is possible)

neglect your skills / career while living there; party, dance & go out instead

be kicked out by your parents (have negative relationship with them after)

perform for tips, join the entertainment career & participate in every karaoke contest

meet another musician, get drunk & have a one-night stand with them (get pregnant with them)

master the singing & guitar skills

get married to a same sex sim as an elder

generation 3 - me and my husband

"me and my husband, we're doing better"

financial struggles as a child instilled the thought that you needed to marry a rich person in order to be successful. money isn't just easily handed out, and in order to not be the poor person you always were, you decided to marry a rich detective. however, no one tells you the truth about who they really are, and your partner is no exception to that.

aspiration - mansion baron

traits - materialistic, good, family-oriented

as a young adult, marry a rich sim whose career is the detective career (sim should have hot-headed and/or mean trait)

have as many children as possible

argue / fight with partner multiple times a week (have negative relationship with them)

meet another sim (who is also good like you) and emotionally cheat on your partner with them

be a stay-at-home mom/dad (can do freelancer careers or odd jobs)

end up leaving your partner for the good sim & take a good amount of their money with you

master parenting skill

generation 4 - townie

"i want a love that falls as fast as a body from the balcony"

seeing your family be torn apart as a child made you crave the intimacy your parents never had. what was it like to be loved? to be held? to be cherished? you want to know, but before you do know you go through similar things; drinking, messiness, heartbreak. you fill the void with party-filled nights just to go home and feel even more empty than before. you're missing something... but you just don't know what it is quite yet.

aspiration - party animal then change to big happy family as an adult

traits - clumsy, glutton, self-assured

party often as a teenager/young adult

have multiple friends with benefits relationships

have a friend group (club) that is for partying

as you reach the adult age, start figuring out a sim you would want to marry

have 2 part time jobs (you can decide which ones)

as an adult, enter the politician career

get married as an adult and have at least 2 children

master the dancing & charisma skills

generation 5 - i bet on losing dogs

"I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place by the ring where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down"

because your parents were older when they had you, you didn't really have a connection with them. but you did have a connection with the dog you begged to get for your birthday. dogs became a huge part of your life, you even wanted to own a veterinary clinic so you could be surrounded by them for forever. so, that's exactly what you'll do.

aspiration - friend of the animals

traits - dog lover, genius, cheerful

own a dog as a child

own a vet clinic

have at least 2 dogs of your own

train dogs with every command possible

successfully run the obstacle course for dogs

marry a sim that also has the dog lover trait

have at least 3 children

master the vet & pet training skills

generation 6 - working for the knife

"i start the day high and it ends so low cause i'm working for the knife"

inspired by your parents' abilities to raise children, take care of dogs and run a whole business, you decided you wanted to be just like them. but, that isn't always the case. although you want to be a fashion designer, your parents forced you into the world of business. but, you're not happy. you want to design, to paint, to create, and your boring business job isn't doing it for you. but you can't quit! or.. can you?

aspiration - painter extraordinaire or lord/lady of the knits

traits - creative, art lover, & ambitious

paint and/or knit whenever you can (list on plopsy instead of selling directly)

get promotions slowly (don't get promoted right away)

be in the business or salary person career

in hopes of getting a promotion, romance your "boss" (while there isn't a determined boss in any job, have a sim that is level 10 of the career you're in and pretend they're the boss) and accidentally get pregnant with twins (cheat this!)

master the painting & knitting skills

fall in love with a sim in the painting career, and have them help you get the courage to leave your job

once you quit your job, stay unemployed (pretend that you have to apply to jobs and you're having issues getting any offers) until finally you get your dream job as a style influencer

get married as an adult & have one more child with partner

generation 7 - brand new city

Warning: Mention/Implication of Eating Disorders!

"if i gave up on being pretty i wouldn't know how to be alive"

growing up with social media, you always felt this pressure to be beautiful. you wanted to be skinny like the models you saw in magazines, flawless like the actors in your favorite movies. you're not that, but you want to be, you HAVE to be. you become obsessive, exercising constantly, eating only healthy foods, posting to social media constantly. you're exhausted, but beauty is pain right?

aspiration - world-famous celebrity

traits - vegetarian, active & self-absorbed

eat only healthy foods (nothing baked, no cakes, nothing sweet or sugary)

exercise constantly (at least 10 times a week)

master fitness & media production skills

go to the spa a lot (get pedicures/manicures)

wear a face mask at least 5 times a week

live in san myshuno (move around apartments a lot)

make videos with the media production set & become at least a 2 star celebrity

post to simstagram story constantly

be in the social media career

adopt 2 children & never marry; you're too focused on being pretty for that

generation 8 - goodbye, my danish sweetheart

"i don't blame you if you want to bury me in your memory, i'm not the girl i ought to be"

raised by a single parent who was too obsessed with themself to take care of you and your sibling, you aren't who you want to be. of course, you didn't know this for a while, but one day when your high school sweetheart broke up with you, you realized you were the issue. you yearn for them, you miss them, but you know if you want them back you have to be a better person.

aspiration - inner peace (then freelance botanist if completed early)

traits - mean, loner, gloomy

have an ex-partner that you don't talk to often

have a negative relationship with multiple sims (mend these relationships as you begin to heal)

start to meditate regularly, go to therapy (go to the spa for this) & learn to take care of yourself

develop a love for gardening & have a beautiful garden/greenhouse full of plants of all kinds

through time, change sim's traits (mean turns into good, loner turns into loves outdoors, gloomy turns into cheerful)

as an adult, get back with your ex & have at least 2 children with them

join the gardening career

master the gardening & wellness skills

generation 9 - i will

"all i want is always you, it's always you"

your parents love story was romantic and sweet, and always kept you daydreaming. you want that kind of love; you want that kind of passion. you want to have someone you love and cherish with you always. but sometimes we don't always get what we want, and you can attest to that.

aspiration - soulmate

traits - romantic, family-oriented, loner

struggle with romantic relationships throughout teens / early young adulthood

join the critic career

fall in love before adulthood, have an unplanned pregnancy and move quickly (get engaged, married & moved before the baby is born)

gain the soulmate relationship status with partner

catch your partner cheating on you with your best friend; instead of breaking up, try to stay together for your child

meet someone new, start a romantic relationship with them, get pregnant & lie to your partner saying it's theirs

stay with your partner no matter what, even if you cheat on them & vice versa

have 2 or more children (1 with partner, 1 not with them; can have more with partner or without)

complete postcard collection & chat online often

generation 10 - remember my name

"i need something bigger than the sky, hold it in my arms and know it's mine"

looking for an escape from the hell your childhood was, you became immersed in the world of Sixam. Sixam comic books, pictures of Sixam, viewing Sixam through the telescope, you wanted to be there. in hopes of one day being the first astronaut to land on Sixam, you go to college and work hard. you build a rocket in your backyard, you communicate with aliens, hell you've even been abducted before! and finally, all of this hard work... it's going to have a reward.

aspiration - tech guru

traits - geek, bookworm, & ambitious

go to college & major in physics

join the astronaut career

build a rocket ship and upgrade it to full capacity

get abducted (& possibly impregnated)

read science fiction books only (even if you've read them before)

master the rocket science & logic skills

land on Sixam, meet an alien & fall in love

go to Sixam multiple times to see them, and on your 3rd visit propose to them

once married, move alien into your household and give them a more human-like appearance

have 1 child together

gain fame from being the first sim on Sixam (at least 4 star celebrity; cheat this but you have to maintain the fame level

#sims 4 challenge #simstagram #sims4 #ts4 #simblr #the sims 4 #sims #sims 4 #legacy challenge #ts4 legacy #mitski #challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 simblr #the sims #sims 4 cc #sims 4 custom content

90 notes · View notes

seijorhi · 3 years

Text

nostos.

well it’s not exactly monster fucking but um... here there be monsters.

Kuroo Tetsurou x female reader

TW implied non-con, nsfw-ish, blood, gore, minor character death, animal death, um somebody gets munched...

Every good writer needs peace and quiet. Fresh air and a change of scenery.

You’re not running away, it’s more of a… tactical retreat. Two weeks disconnected from well meaning friends, pushy family members and your eternally irritating editor, with nothing but the beautiful, sprawling forests to keep you company.

The mountains are familiar, if isolating, you think, leaning against the porch railing with a warm mug in hand as the breeze picks up and the tall maple and birch trees rustle in response. The leaves are turning vibrant reds and gold with the falling temperatures and even in the eerie quiet of the cold morning, you can’t deny that it’s breathtaking.

It reminds you of your childhood, the countless vacations you’d spent here with your family, always in autumn, always in time to watch the leaves change before the first snows of winter set in. Fond memories of running through the trees chasing after cute little bunnies, giggling even when you tripped up and scraped your knees. There was something mystical about the forest back then, something special. But it’s been years since you’ve been here last, and the first time you’ve ever come alone.

And yet it feels different somehow, colder despite the nostalgia. You’re no longer a child, looking at the world through innocent, wondrous eyes. The forest is just a forest.

Of course, you weren’t an idiot; disappearing off the grid was one thing. Disappearing off the grid without anybody knowing where you were going was another entirely. They’d been surprisingly supportive of the plan – until you told them where it was you were planning on running off to.

‘Why go back to the mountain, honey?’ your mother had asked, her smile wavering and an odd tightness in her eyes. ‘Why not go to the coast instead? Or spend some time in the city?’

But this isn’t a fun little vacation. You don’t want to be distracted by beaches and crowds, you need space to finish your book and time to work through your mess of an emotional state without any interruptions. You want to be untraceable, at least for a week or two.

God knows the last thing you need right now is your ex tracking you down to try and apologise again.

Part of you had thought – somewhat naively, perhaps – that by coming back you’d spark… something. Your memories of the mountains are full of warmth and happiness, but as you stare out into the wilderness, all you feel is a cool chill that runs down your spine and the goosebumps that prickle at your skin.

Setting your now empty mug down, you pull tighter at the thick knit cardigan draped over your shoulders. Enough reminiscing, your manuscript awaits.

—

The mountain’s too quiet. You don’t notice it so much during the day, the sound of music softly pouring from your laptop and the gentle clacking of keys as you type enough to distract you from the eerie stillness outside the cabin. Even at night, you’re preoccupied with dinner, and then curled up on the couch with a warm throw rug watching reruns of your favourite shows on Netflix.

It’s only when you lie down, burrowed into the blankets to try and sleep that you notice just how silent the forest at your doorstep truly is. At first you think it’s simply being away from the hustle and bustle of home. There’s no cars driving past, or the sound of neighbours floating through your open windows, there’s not even the distant hooting of owls or dogs barking.

But it’s more than just quiet. There’s nothing. Even the trees seem to still once the sun falls beneath the horizon. And it shouldn't bother you, shouldn’t unsettle you, and yet…

The first few nights, you don’t sleep well. Tossing and turning in bed. When you do sleep, your dreams are plagued with unpleasant things. Not nightmares as such, but an uneasiness that bleeds into otherwise pleasant thoughts. On the fourth night you wake, gasping for air. Whatever dream you’d been in the grips of fades like smoke, and as you draw in another shuddering breath your throat itches and burns.

Water. You need water.

You don’t switch on the lights as you fumble your way down to the kitchen, trying to preserve what little remnants of sleep are still in your system. Even with the moon almost full and the night sky clear, the canopy shrouds it.

And it’s in that darkness, as your eyes flicker up from the faucet, that you see it for the first time.

A shape, huge and looming, silk shadow against black.

For a moment, as your heart hammers against your ribs, a chill creeping down your spine, you don’t dare trust your eyes. Maybe you’re asleep still, dreaming, or your mind’s playing tricks on you, because there’s nothing that should be lurking in the woods outside of your window that size.

Two golden, cat-like eyes peer back at you.

They’re still there when you race to flick on the lights, unblinking, curious as you skitter backwards, hand over your racing heart.

You’re tired, emotionally drained and this–

This is nothing more than a figment of an overactive imagination, a child creating monsters from the shadows in their bedroom. Yet even as you run back to the safety of the bedroom, yank the curtains shut and huddle under the meagre warmth your blankets afford you, squeezing your eyes shut, you feel it out there still, watching.

And in the stillness of the mountains outside, you swear you hear footsteps.

—

You wake to fresh snow, too early in the year, even at these altitudes. It dusts the ground, covering the mossy paths in glittering white, clings to the branches of the trees – the red leaves looking like droplets of blood scattered across a grey sky. The snow will undoubtedly melt as the sun rises, turn to slush and mix with the dirt, but for now it’s a thing of beauty.

For a moment, you allow yourself to forget how tired you are, how unsettled, venturing out from the cabin with wide, excitable eyes. It never used to snow when you were here as a kid, and while you get the occasional snowfall back home, it’s nothing like–

You stop dead in your tracks.

There’s two human footprints imprinted on the snow – only two – right outside your bedroom window, crisp and clean, as if they’d been left just moments before.

—

Your mother sounds worried when you call her. Of course, you don’t tell her about the lone footprints at your window, or the creepy pair of eyes you’d seen through the dark, you know how that sounds. You’re not crazy, and even if some part of you truly believed what you’d seen, your mom is the last person you’d admit it to.

Once upon a time, when you were little, she’d indulged in stories of fairies and spirits, but that was a long time ago. Now she turns up her nose and sneers at the myths and legends that your grandma still spouts, dismissing them with a scoff.

It’s not the kind of thing well-adjusted adults talk about in polite conversation.

She’s a good woman, but you can’t tell her this.

And you’re not even sure you’re entirely sold on it either. The eyes could have been from a wild animal – big cats might be rare in Japan, but they do exist here. You were half asleep (half terrified) when you had seen them, you don’t want to make a fuss over nothing. The footprints are less easy to explain away. If there’d been tracks leading away, you could convince yourself that it was a lost hiker and nothing more.

But there weren’t any tracks leading away; just the two footprints. And what kind of hiker doesn’t wear shoes in weather like this? It’s possible that this is some kind of prank, a mean spirited trick designed to unsettle you – a job well done, by the way – but you can’t quite bring yourself to believe that either.

In any case, you’re hardly going to admit over the phone that you’re freaking out over some footprints in the snow. God knows she’s already worried enough about your mental state, has been ever since the breakup, and you’re not going to give her any more ammunition.

But perhaps there is something to that maternal instinct, because despite your best efforts to reassure her that you’re doing just fine, that your novel’s going great and you’re so glad you came out here, she still sounds entirely unconvinced.

“Honey, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong,” she tells you, her voice strangely hesitant. “You don’t sound yourself, are you sure everything’s okay?”

You don’t know why you called her at all. You always have been a shitty liar, and she’s always been able to see right through you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Honestly the fresh air’s doing me good,” you tell her. “It’s weirdly quiet here though, I’m not used to it,” you laugh, and even to your ears it sounds hollow and fake.

There’s a heavy pause on the other end of the line, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture it, your mom leaning against the kitchen counter, teeth worrying into her bottom lip–

“I just don’t like you out there all by yourself.”

Relax, what’s the worst that could happen?

The words almost, almost slip out, an instinctive reaction to a mother’s well meaning but overbearing concern. But it feels like tempting fate, and whether or not you’re fully convinced that there is something strange happening, you’re not that bold. Instead you begin to tell her (again) that everything’s fine when she suddenly speaks again.

“Bad things happen in those mountains. Just… just promise me you’ll be safe.”

Abruptly, the line goes dead.

Pulling the phone from your ear, you glance down at the illuminated screen, only to frown when you see the little ‘SOS Only’ flashing in the top corner. Huh, you’d had a few bars when you’d started the call, but…

The weather’s gotta be messing with your signal. Stranger things have happened, right?

Shaking your head you resolve to give her a call tomorrow. And yet, even as you try to put her parting words from your mind and throw yourself back into your writing, you can’t help but feel that familiar sense of cloying unease seeping through your skin once more.

What the hell had she meant, ‘bad things happen in those mountains’?

—

A good night’s sleep can do you wonders.

Well, theoretically speaking. You can’t remember the last actual decent sleep you’d had, but regardless, the point stands. All you need is an uninterrupted eight or nine hours, and this… paranoia will go away. Things’ll be clearer in the morning, so long as you sleep.

The mantra doesn’t help you any, of course.

You don’t need to peer through the window to feel those watchful eyes staring. And maybe it would be easier to ignore the prickling sensation at the nape of your neck if it weren’t for the noises.

Music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound of the mournful wails, like a wounded animal crying out in pain. It’s incessant, inescapable, reverberating inside of your eardrums until it’s all you can focus on.

It’s instinctual, you think, the urge to creep from your bed and try to find the creature making that sound and help it. But even as your feet touch the cool floorboards, your gut clenches, hackles rising. Something deep inside of you warns you from leaving the safety of the cabin.

Whatever creature is making those noises, it’s not calling for help.

You don’t feel like you’ve slept at all, but you must have because at a certain point in the morning you blink your eyes awake, exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin.

And this time it’s not snow that greets you, but the mangled remains of a doe ripped apart on your porch. Deep, jagged gouge marks run along its flank, organs spilling from the cuts and there’s little left of its neck, the whole thing torn out with teeth. Yet for the gruesome injuries, the only blood you find is congealed, pooled beneath the poor creature.

Whatever happened to it, it didn’t happen here. The knowledge doesn’t soothe you like it should – the park ranger you spoke to on the phone mentioned that while it’s rare, sometimes bears venture a little too close to buildings, though he sounds doubtful even as he says it.

He sounds even less interested when you tell him this doesn’t look like a bear attack, but promises they’ll send someone down in the next few days to check everything out. In the meantime, he suggests, it’s best to stay indoors.

Yeah, not gonna be an issue.

And so with no feasible way of moving it, you’re left with the butchered corpse of a doe just outside your front door. And the thing that bothers you isn’t so much the body, though you still can’t look at it without wanting to throw up, but the fact that it was just… left there.

Not eaten. No, aside from the missing throat, the deer’s all there. Ripped apart with its guts spilling out, but otherwise untouched. Growing up you had a cat, the sweetest little thing, but every once in a while she would get out of a night, find some poor little creature to torment and without fail, she’d bring it back home, leaving it half dead on the doorstep like a gift.

‘See what a good hunter I am?’ she seemed to say, smugly sauntering back inside.

It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t hunger that drove her, but instinct. As you stare out the window at the doe, at the milky white emptiness of dead eyes, you wonder whether that’s the same here. There’s no tracks in the dirt, no blood smeared across the ground – it wasn’t dragged here. No animal could’ve done this.

A gift?

Or perhaps something less benevolent. A threat. You’ve crossed into territory you don’t belong and the deer, cruelly ripped apart and left to bleed out on your doorstep is a line in the sand.

Either way, as tears fill your eyes, a sob tugging free from your chest, you realise that it was a mistake to come here. You don’t know whether you trust your eyes and your ears anymore, but there is something deep inside of you that tolls like a warning bell and as much as you’d like to bury your head in the sand and pretend there’s nothing wrong here, you can’t.

Bad things happen in those mountains.

You need to leave.

The next ferry to the mainland doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning, but it’ll have to do. Once you stop shaking and calm down enough to carry a conversation, you call the local cab company to arrange a pick-up first thing.

You can survive one more night, you just need to throw yourself back into your writing… if you can only just ignore that sense of foreboding prickling at the back of your neck.

—

There’s a boy running through the trees, giggling as he glances back at you. His hand’s outstretched, wrapped ‘round yours tugging you along as he laughs at you to hurry up.

It’s late, the sun dipping below the horizon, but you don’t wanna go back just yet.

You’re having fun, playing in the forest. And the light is golden, filtering in through the pretty red leaves, your sides burn a little from all the chasing and laughter but it’s a good kind of ache. You don’t want today to end.

His name is Kohsuke, you remember, and he lives down in the village by the valley. He’s only one year older than you, and you’d follow him anywhere.

You think you might be a little in love with him.

‘C’mon, hurry up! It’s only a little further!’ he calls, and you nod, scrambling over the fallen trunk of an oak tree. There’s old spirits who live in this forest, he’d told you, and today you’re finally gonna see one.

It’s dark now. Cold too. You’re tired and hungry and you kinda want to go home, but Kohsuke won’t let you. ‘Just a little longer! Don’t you wanna see them?’

You do. Of course you do. It’s just that you’re starting to get a funny feeling in your stomach… Can he hear the footsteps too? Is somebody following you?

There’s a voice in your ear, a soft, silky purr that makes a shiver roll down your spine, but you can’t make sense of the words, they’re not in any language you understand. You don’t tell Kohsuke – he can’t hear it, otherwise he would have said something. You just clutch his hand tighter, skipping closer.

‘W-we should go back, Koh,’ you murmur, wincing when it comes out in a childish whine. ‘We’re gonna get in trouble.’

You aren’t supposed to stay out playing after dark, he knows it as well as you do. ‘You trust me, don’t you? Stop being such a chicken!’ he snickers as your cheeks heat.

The voice at your ear growls, low and threatening. You need to go back, now.

You blink, and the scene changes.

You’re curled up on the forest floor, hands covering your eyes. Somebody’s screaming – Kohsuke – crying out your name through ragged sobs, pleading–

There’s a crunch, a ripping sound, a wetness sprayed across your cheek.

Kohsuke’s not screaming anymore.

Something warm and heavy touches your head, drags through the locks of your hair and you just huddle tighter, eyes squeezed shut, shaking like a leaf as more tears spill. You don’t wanna die here.

The crunching sounds continue, and you keep your eyes tightly shut. It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.

It can’t hurt you if you don’t look.

It can’t–

A loud knocking jerks you back to consciousness, your body jolting upright, almost swiping your laptop off the table as you try and gather your bearings. Right, you’d been working on your novel, sitting up at the kitchen table, you must have dozed off… A quick glance out the window tells you that you must have been out of it for a while – the late afternoon shadows are starting to creep in, the sky a golden orange.

What the hell was that dream?!

“Hello? Uh, anybody home?” a masculine voice calls, another loud knock sounding. “We got a call about a wild animal attacking deer…”

Oh, you think, trying to shake yourself out of your stupor, the wildlife people, yeah. You feel a little nauseous, feverish and trembling, though maybe that’s just the result of your erratic heartbeat.

Swallowing down the bile in your throat, you turn your attention to the door. Truly you hadn’t actually expected that they’d send anybody out to investigate, much less that they’d arrive before you left, but you can hardly turn him away now.

Especially not when there’s a freshly butchered deer corpse lying only a few feet away from your front door. Quickly, you run a hand over your hair, taking a moment to try and collect yourself before you answer.

It doesn’t work – there’s a knot in your throat and for every step you take towards the door it feels like your legs are gonna give out from under you. You move in a daze to unlock the door, only just remembering to school your features into an expression slightly less alarming as it swings open.

A ranger, tall with a shock of black, messy hair that reminds you oddly of a rooster greets you with an easy grin. “Oh good, I was starting to think nobody was home. You the one that called?”

Distantly, you nod, fingers clutching at the edge of the doorframe. The ranger glances over at the remains of the deer, still lying in a pool of half dried blood, studying it for a moment, hazel eyes sweeping over the deep gashes in its side. You can’t bear to follow his gaze, you’re not sure you can look at that thing again without throwing up.

He whistles lowly, shaking his head, “Well you don’t see that every day,” he laughs.

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly. It’s not his fault, you know that, but you can’t help the flicker of irritation that sparks at the cavalier attitude. This is just his job, you get it, but you don’t exactly feel like laughing right now.

“You still think a bear did this?” you retort, the words coming out a little sharper than intended.

But the ranger takes it in stride, shrugging as his smirk widens. “A bear, huh?” Amusement glitters in his eyes, sharp and mocking. “Why don’t I come inside and you can tell me all about it?” he offers, stepping closer towards you.

And there’s no reason for your heart to skitter, your blood running cold as he looms over you in the doorway, still wearing that stupid, irritating smirk. There’s no reason for your insides to clench either, or for the tiny, jerky step backwards you take, your body moving of its own accord.

The ranger pauses, head tilting to the side as he stares at you.

Really stares, like he’s waiting for something. And as discomfited as you are (and as much of an asshole as this guy is), a weary apology is halfway to your tongue when he shifts slightly, propping an arm up against the door – the last, dying rays of light catching his face.

It’s just for a second.

A heartbeat.

But long enough for you to watch those hazel eyes shift to gold, pupils elongating into slits.

You stumble backwards, breath coming in a short, ragged gasp as your eyes widen into saucers. “What are you?”

The ranger before you chuckles and you catch a glimpse of his teeth; pearly white and glinting, sharper than they had been only moments ago. “Why don’t you let me in and find out for yourself, kitten?”

You shake your head, retreating further into the cabin, heart pounding.

“No? You don’t like this body, is that it?” he asks, a cruel edge to his smirk as he takes a half step backwards and slowly spreads his arms. “Something more familiar, then.”

And you don’t think there’s any room left in your heart for more fear, your stomach already twisting in sickening knots, but you blink and standing right there in front of you is Kohsuke.

It’s a punch in the guts, a knife slipped between your ribs, yanked ruthlessly through your still beating heart. He’s beaming up at you, those same adorable dimples, the same ridiculous bowl cut, bleeding youthful innocence. “How about now?” he asks, holding out his hand and wriggling his fingers like he expects you to take it. “You’ll let me inside now, right?”

A strangled noise escapes you as you fall to your knees. Tears fill your eyes, blurring your vision – you blink them away but more take their place.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asks, and you wail in response.

It’s too much. You shake your head, hugging yourself tightly, as if your arms are the only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely.

He calls your name – not in Kohsuke’s childish lilt, but that deep, ancient purr that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Let me in.”

“Go away,” you gasp through tears. “Please– please go away.”

The creature shifts again, the dark haired ranger back in Kohsuke’s place. He eyes you, those unnatural gold irises watching with utter enthralment as you sob pathetically on the floor, still pleading – though you know it’ll do you no good – for him to leave.

“Last chance, kitten. Let me in, or I’ll make you come out.”

He – it – doesn’t sound nearly as put out by the prospect as it should be.

And you don’t know why giving permission matters, all you know, all you care about, is that it’s keeping that thing at bay for now. It can’t come inside and so long as you don’t leave the safety of the cabin, it can’t hurt you. The words are nothing but an empty threat.

Right?

You shake your head, defiant even as your voice hitches and trembles, “No.”

“Stubborn little thing,” the creature croons, the smirk on its face widening until the visage no longer resembles anything human – mouth splitting its face in two, rows of long, sharp teeth revealed. “So be it.”

A low growl resonates in its chest, and you can only watch, petrified, as thin, vein-like black marks begin to appear over pale skin, growing thicker, cracking as shadow curls from underneath. The creature itself starts to grow too, limbs elongating as muscles ripple and swell, claws bursting forth in place of fingernails, shoulders broadening – until it’s towering over you, wreathed in thick shadow, grinning with that terrifying mouth.

This is the thing you’d glimpsed that first night. A creature ripped from nightmares and primal fears, strong enough to tear you apart with a single hand. That’s what it’d done to Kohsuke, to the doe, what it’d do to you if you gave it half a chance.

“You wanna play, kitten?” it asks, head tilting to the side.

Slowly, it backs away from the door, keeping its gaze fixed firmly on you. For a moment, you think that it’s going to disappear back into the forest, or plant itself by your window to watch for another night, waiting you out till dawn, but instead it stops by the old oak that overhangs the porch and stills entirely, simply… waiting.

“Let’s play.”

Abruptly, the oak beside it bursts into flames. It takes only a heartbeat for the entire thing to be engulfed, red and orange flames licking along the trunk, the gnarled, spindly branches, even the leaves are alight, burning away into ash and floating off in the breeze. The heat from one tree alone is searing, the crackle of burning wood and your own horrified, shuddering breath the only sounds in the night.

It snowed only a few nights before, but the fire spreads with unnatural ease, flames racing across the canopy, embers lighting up the undergrowth, and in the space of a few seconds there’s an inferno raging through the forest before you. And through the smoke and the red, burning haze, the creature watches, smirking.

The heat from the wildfire sears painfully at your skin, the air around you suddenly thick with smoke, stinging your eyes, choking your lungs, and yet you can’t seem to tear yourself away. It’s like a dream, a nightmare, some kind of… hellscape.

And for a moment you forget that there was a purpose to this, too lost staring in mute horror as the forest you’d played in as a child burns–

At least until a single leaf from the oak tree, edges curling as it’s consumed by flames, falls, carried by the breeze and lands on the wooden railing of the porch. With a soft whoosh, the old wooden beam catches fire, and with your chest heaving, panicked breaths falling from parted lips, you rise to your feet as flames spread, the fire eating everything in its path until the entire porch is alight, burning.

Run.

You don’t know if the voice in your head is yours or not, you don’t have time to care. You scramble for the back door, throwing it open, and you run.

Run until your lungs burn, til’ your bare feet are scratched and bleeding, run, pushed forward by the sweltering heat at your back, the chilling crackle of laughter that follows. You run through tears, through pain and air so thick with smoke that it hurts to breathe.

And you know the creature’s giving chase, you know that you won’t – can’t – outrun it, nor the inferno that blazes around you. You know that it’s futile, that you’re probably running to your death, but that’s human, isn’t it?

To run when you’re scared?

The sky’s awash with a hazy red glow when it catches you, throwing you to the ground, and still you try to crawl. Desperate, choking on broken pleas and sobs, nails raking through the dirt as you try to pull yourself forward.

And when your pants are ripped from your legs, a puff of warm air ghosting over the nape of your neck as you’re shoved back down, those long, black arms settling either side of you, caging you in – you know that you’ve lost.

“Mine,” the creature growls, and you barely have time to scream before its cock shoves into you with one brutal, merciless thrust. “Mine.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo tetsurou #yandere kuroo tetsurou x reader #monster fic #horror fic #tw noncon #tw: noncon #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: minor character death #tw: animal death #i am sorry #except not really tho

608 notes · View notes

thinkingoutlouddblog · 3 years

Text

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist /// Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

517 notes · View notes

demonicheadcanons · 4 years

Note

Haha and okay I just saw that your askbox is open and read your rules, so if you don't mind, could I please request some hcs for Beel, Mammon, Asmo and Belphie and how they like to cuddle with mc? Cuddle hcs basically lol. If four is too many please feel free to adjust this! Thank you so much and I hope you have a wonderful day 🥰

The Obey Me Brothers: Cuddling / Sleeping Headcanons

AN: Sorry this took a while!! I decided to write for all the brothers because I have a tiny rough draft of cuddle headcanons back from like, the first week I started the game. Mammon’s was the first I came up with, and I filled in the rest from my impressions of the boys from the first 4 lessons. They’ve evolved since then, and I hope they’re alright!! Take care 💙

Brother x reader writing style. Gender neutral reader as always. Written on mobile primarily so excuse any formatting mistakes please ;u; I only go on PC to add finishing touches and a read more

Some things may come off as suggestive, but aren’t really intended that way except for Asmo’s - this is fluff through and through

Lucifer

- Ideal cuddles: Likes to have you lay on his chest in his bed. He doesn’t want his brothers intruding and annoying him or pulling his attention away from you, so his room works best. There’s something about being able to look down and immediately see you there that almost gives him butterflies. It settles him immediately. He’s canonically not a morning demon, but waking up to that sight and knowing you trust him and feel comfortable around him gives him enough motivation and hope to do anything. Getting through the days becomes a breeze when he knows he can return to that most nights. He’s also a real delight to see on those early mornings - tired, but his smile brightens up his eyes, and his hair is a mess over the pillows. He’s not stressed out yet, so he’s fully relaxed and looks quite elegant.

Sadly, he’s often busy, and regularly misses out on sleep. At times like this, he likes having you curled up in his lap whilst he works, so long as you don’t distract him. He’ll press occasional kisses to your temple and you can nap or read or just lay there and listen to the music he always has playing when you’re in his study.

- He has to be very close to the MC to let them cuddle up to him, and initially he’s a bit stiff and awkward because he kind of forgot what this feels like. For the first while he’s quiet every time you cuddle him, wrapping his arms around you and leaning his head against yours and staring off into the distance. He’s touch-starved. Give him a moment.

- Once he settles and starts to get used to affection, if you two are alone he’ll walk up and put his arms around your shoulders and pull you in for hugs, leaning his chin against the top of your head. One time, months into whatever relationship you have, he does it in front of his brothers without thinking, and whilst he feels embarrassed after he realises he doesn’t mind - somewhere between him seeing it as staking a claim, because he’s still the avatar of pride, and between feeling comfortable enough in your presence that he can’t bring himself to care how they’ll react.

- On his rare days off, will absolutely whisk you off somewhere else for a day out in the Devildom and a night in a cabin or hotel or something where no one will bother the two of you and he can hold you in his arms for as long as he wants to and talk to you about everything that comes to mind, completely free and relaxed. He’s one to mumble about something or other when cuddling, unless he’s working, so when the two of you are just relaxing together he’ll ramble about something or ask you questions and listen to you talk.

- Once Luci said something that made you laugh whilst you were laying with your head on his chest and he knows he’s never going to forget about it. Will intentionally try to make you laugh so that he can experience that again. He was an angel once and yet, nothing feels more like heaven to him. Only thing is he’s not above teasing and tickling you to get a reaction out of you, so long as it’s one that might end in you laughing and smiling up at him, and you’ll feel his own laughter rumbling about in his chest.

Mammon

- Ideal cuddles: In your bed - it smells like you and it’s tidier than his room, probably. He likes to have his arms wrapped around your midsection whilst facing each other, on your sides. He also doesn’t mind if you use his chest or shoulder as a pillow, so long as you both have your arms around one another. Often times he’ll bury his face in your hair to take in your scent and because it’s soft and calming. By the time you wake up, he’s going to end up wrapped around you like a koala.

- Adores cuddling on days off when the two of you don’t have to leave for longer than a few moments at a time, especially in a place where his brothers won’t bother you; think, staying in a cabin where it all feels so domestic, you two can wake up whenever you want and make breakfast together and stay practically attached at the hip the entire time, sinking back into bed or laying together on the sofa whenever you want. No responsibilities, no pressure.

- Plays with your hands, or runs his fingers along your side, or tucks one arm up behind your back to hold you really close and play with the strands of hair at the base of your scalp / top of your neck. So long as it doesn’t disturb you heavily, he tends to have some kind of motion, not one to stay still for long.

- He’s quite warm, almost rivaling Beel, so you might have to ask him to loosen his grip on you if you get warm easily. If you do, he pouts and suggests he lowers the temperature of the entire room instead, or buys thinner blankets or gets rid of blankets all together.

- He tries to stay up until you fall asleep because it feels so peaceful and he really feels like he’s protecting you. Also, no one can criticise him or be rude to him when they’re sleeping. Even if you don’t ever talk down on him, his brothers weigh him down, so watching over you whilst you rest in his arms makes him feel so much better without worrying that you’re judging him.

- One time you two were cuddling and he just started crying quietly, because damn, he’s the luckiest demon in all the Devildom and even Lord Diavolo would be jealous of him right now. He’s an emotional cuddler, and will randomly tear up or start chuckling to himself. He’s quiet and doesn’t usually voice his thoughts when cuddling but you can tell he’s thinking constantly and always really happy.

- He gets shy easily enough but he’s also possessive, and he’s not one to turn you down. Because of this he honestly doesn’t care where the two of you cuddle, or who sees. His grip gets a little tighter around you if his brothers walk in and you’re curled up together on the sofa or something, but he wants to be held 24/7 and any mild temporary discomforts are more than worth it when he’s with you.

Leviathan

- Ideal cuddles: Please lay on top of his chest. Literally just lay on top of him. He melts every single time. His bathtub bed is perfect for this, because there’s really no other way to lie unless you want him to lay on top of you, so he prefers cuddling there - that, and it helps him stay cool, and he gets to be in the safety of his own room. In an actual bed, he’s the little spoon all the way. It’s hard to convince him you truly like him, but when you cuddle up against his back and wrap your arms around him he feels a little safer believing you might be telling the truth. It also makes him feel really safe and comfortable, a barrier from the outside world that he rejects daily.

- It doesn’t happen very often, but Levi is one of the brothers most likely to sleep in his demon form, and occasionally when you’re cuddling he’s so relaxed he takes on his demon form without really thinking about it. He says sorry and, half asleep, offers to turn back, but if you’re not uncomfortable then he starts to do it more often. He’s mindful about his horns and prefers to cuddle in his bathtub so he doesn’t tear any of your pillows or accidentally jab you with his horns.

- He’s somewhat cold to the touch unless he forces himself to raise his internal temperature. You’re unlikely to overheat whilst cuddling with him, but you’ll need a thick blanket or you may end up shivering after a few minutes, at which point he’ll try his best to be warmer and apologise profusely. He hates being warm, though - best to just go for the layers of blankets.

- Y’know that one thing where (usually) a girl goes up to her boyfriend and climbs into his lap whilst he’s gaming? Adores that. Oh, it makes him so, so happy. The first time you do it he drops his controller and after a minute of startled silence where you wonder just how red his face can get, he wraps his arms around you tight enough that you feel your spine click, and he buries his face into your neck and stays there for as long as you let him. He’s so flustered and yet, you can tell he’s happier than he’s ever been. It instantly cheers him up no matter how bad his mood is. It’s even better if you’re playing a game on a handheld system whilst he plays or watches something and the two of you are just, wrapped around each other but still doing your own thing. He just wants you close to him. He just wants to know you like him. Please give this boy cuddles.

Satan

- Ideal cuddles: Like Mammon, in a bed he likes to have his arms around your waist and for the two of you to be facing each other. Your room would be ideal but he would really rather be in his so much he ends up cleaning all the books off his bed just so he can cuddle up with you. He also likes the idea of cuddling up under a tree somewhere, or in one of those plush window seats, where you two can look out over the Devildom and he can point out different places and talk about them all - Satan has connections everywhere, and you’ll feel like you know everyone by the time he’s done.

- Satan isn’t particularly warm or cold. His temperature varies with the seasons, but he’s mostly just lukewarm. This means you’re unlikely to overheat or be too cold when you cuddle, which is always good.

- He likes to read to you or have you read to him, or ask questions back and forth to prod at each other’s minds a bit. A talkative cuddler - there are brief moments of silence, but he’s thinking constantly and he wants you to be involved in that, just like every aspect of his life. There’s usually a clear connection between one of his thoughts and the next, and he’ll have calm discussions about thinks with you in his arms.

- Only falls asleep first if he’s really, really tired. Otherwise he’ll stay up and read or talk to you until you fall asleep. Like Mammon there’s something about the peace, something about knowing you trust him, that you don’t see him as his anger, nor as his false personality that he puts on to please the others and maintain a decent status in comparison to Lucifer. You just see him as he is. He thinks about this a lot as he pets your hair.

- Speaking of petting your hair, he has a tendency to run his nails over your scalp when you’re in his arms. If you’re uncomfortable it would be best to tell him early on before the habit is set in stone. His main source of affection comes from the stray cats he feeds outside, so he just uses whatever knowledge he’s gained from that. This also means he’ll take one of your hands in his arm press gently into your palm with his thumbs, like he’s pressing the pads on a cats paw.

- Feels close to normal when he’s cuddling. Like he was never born solely of one emotion, because he feels so many in those moments that he really could be a whole on his own. He’s not one to hide this, and will openly vent to you about it. As well as this, he’s quite likely to come straight to you if he isn’t feeling well and needs cuddles to settle down. The only exception is if he’s really angry and is worried he might hurt you by accident. Even then, if you can get close enough to take his hand or wrap your arms around him, there’s a large chance he’ll settle enough to hold you in kindness and he can begin to heal.

- He doesn’t talk about it openly but one time he’s in an awful mood and you grab his head and hold it against your chest until he lets out all his emotions and feels better and it becomes his favourite thing in the world. He loves to cuddle with his head against your chest and your fingers running through his hair. You can tell that he adores it because he ends up purring and nuzzling his face against you. Unlike Luci, he hasn’t been to heaven, but he’d be able to describe the feeling of it much better than God himself could using just that embrace as his reference point.

Asmodeus

- Ideal cuddles: “Whatever you want, honey.” He isn’t picky, he just wants to be touching you in any way possible. However, he really likes laying with his head on your stomach or chest - especially if he can press light kisses against them. He wants some skin-on-skin contact, even if its holding hands or one of you burying their face in the other’s neck, or pressing feathery kisses to the insides of your wrist. It soothes him. He can’t stop himself from grinning if you nuzzle into his neck.

- He’s just the right temperature for cuddles. He’s on the warmer side, but whatever the perfect temperature is for you, he’s there. When he sleeps on his own, he likes to have a lot of blankets piled up, and then have a fan on to balance out the temperature, and he’ll push for the same setup when you’re cuddling together.

- One of the brothers who will go up to you when he wants attention. He’s the least shy, and will happily throw an arm around you anytime, anywhere. Honestly if it doesn’t bother you, he’d pull you into his lap in public or in front of his brothers and cuddle you close to him. The only problem he could possibly imagine is that other people are jealous of the two of you, so you’d really have to sit him down and explain if PDA isn’t at all your thing. Happy enough to link pinkies if that’s all you’re comfortable with, but he needs a lot of affection, so expect him to essentially trap you in his room later so you spend time with him.

- King of gentle kisses and soothingly rubbing your arms / back if you’ve not had the best day. He doesn’t mind whether you two talk or not, but on bad days he’s the best to go to - he’ll listen to everything you have to say, and verbally destroy anyone who’s annoyed you, all whilst holding your head to his chest and tracing shapes against your back.

- Loves loves loves listening to you talk about your day and then filling you in on his own. He’s a gossip but harmlessly, and will talk about whatever’s trending currently, keeping you up to date on everything. If he really wants to show you something or take a photo with you he likes to cuddle up with an arm around you and hold his phone in his other hand, scrolling through whatever social media he’s found this really interesting or horrible thing on. Otherwise he’s quiet enough, with mumbled words of affection and some suggestive jokes (and touches, if you’re comfortable. He won’t go anywhere with it if you’re just cuddling). He’s just happy and he wants to soak in it for as long as possible; he finally understands how people feel when they fall for him, he says

Beelzebub

- Ideal cuddles: Big spoon. Preferably in his bed rather than yours. He wants to wrap his arms around you, especially if you’ve already got your arms wrapped around yourself so that he’s essentially holding your hands at the same time. He buries his face at the base of your neck / top of your spine. He also really, really loves just having you cling to him in some way, and will carry you around like that - usually he loves having you curled up in one arm whilst he goes about his day or eats.

- He is so warm, but if you’re laying down he’ll insist on having a blanket because it keeps him safe from the monsters in his closet :( You’ll definitely need something to cool you down, and he gets into the habit of getting you a glass and a large jug of water before you cuddle up together because you have to stay hydrated and it should help you cool down at least a little. Get him a thin blanket and a fan of some kind and it should just about balance it out.

- He’s the opposite of Belphie, in that he doesn’t tend to cuddle for long periods of time - he wants to, and pouts any time he has to get up, but even if you help him not feel quite so hungry, he still needs to eat regularly. If you’re asleep he’ll move as slowly and carefully as possible so that he doesn’t wake you up. If you’re awake he’ll gush out apologies and then ask if you want to be wrapped up in the blanket and carried along with him. If you say no he pours a fresh glass of water and rushes out and back because he really wants to spend time with you.

- Sometimes he just gets really excited and happy and he’ll grin at you wordlessly.

- He’s quiet but in the early morning, when he wakes up, even if you’re not awake he’ll press soft kisses against your shoulders and the back of your neck and whisper whatever comes to his mind. He tends to repeat over and over that he really cares about you and that he’s really glad you’re here.

Belphegor

- Ideal cuddles: In the attic on his nest of pillows and blankets, curled up so that you’re both mainly on your backs but somewhat facing each other. No matter what he’s going to end up curling up against your side by the time he wakes up anyway. He also really likes sleeping on top of you, but this is a bit risky because he sleeps like a log and its hard to wake him up when you need to get up to eat or use the bathroom. If you’re not in the attic, the only other place outside of your rooms that he likes to cuddle up together to sleep is the planetarium, looking up at the stars together.

- He’s on the cooler side, but likes being warm - he’s used to the kind of warmth Beel produces. Because of this, he’s liable to snuggling in as close as he possibly can to you to absorb some of your heat. You’re going to become his own personal radiator.

- Unlike Beel, he will cuddle forever. There are very few things stopping him from just sleeping constantly, with the main reason being that he wants to spend time with you and Beel. In fact, you’re going to have trouble getting out of his grasp once he wraps his arms around your stomach and pulls you down onto his pillow nest. Its best to devise a system and let him get used to it - tapping on his arm or hand 3 times, or something like that, and he’ll release you. He’ll also push for you to wake him up. The only other thing that will make him release you is if he brushes a hand against your side and you’re ticklish and laugh, in which case he’ll grin and start tickling you instead.

- Like Levi, if relaxed enough he’ll slip into his demon form. It takes less energy to be in that form anyway, and he likes letting you play with his tail when you’re cuddled up together. Acts annoyed if you start poking and prodding at him because you don’t often get to see the boys relaxed in their demon forms, but he really enjoys it. Purrs if you pet his horns.

- He’s not at all talkative but likes to listen. However, he’s liable to falling asleep very, very quickly, so it’s not worth saying anything too important to him; he’ll listen, and he’ll remember when he wakes up, but he’s not going to respond effectively in a timely manner.

- Belphie smirks and grins a lot, but sometimes he wakes up earlier than you and he looks at you until you wake up too, and you’ll see his lopsided smile as he beams at you, content. Mornings are okay like that, he decides, even if he grumbles and complains when you tell him you have to start getting ready for class.

#obey me headcanons #fluff #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #my headcanons #my writings #cuddles #pda #ask #request #angeloflovedemonoflust #angel-of-love-demon-of-lust

3K notes · View notes

yurimother · 4 years

Text

LGBTQ Light Novel Review — I'm in Love with the Villainess

A stunningly profound, entertaining, and queer title that eclipses other isekai and Yuri series

There are few titles the general public seems to be as excited about as Inori and Hanagata's I'm in Love with the Villainess, as it has been sitting at or near the top of Amazon's LGBT Manga list for months and Twitter is consistently abuzz with the latest news on this isekai Yuri series. I was somewhat more skeptical, as I have had relatively poor experiences with isekai and fantasy Yuri. Still, my excitement went through the room, and I eagerly boarded the "hype train" upon the cover reveal for the third volume. Yuri families, where two women raise children together, are one of my greatest desires and something I rarely see portrayed in the genre. However, I still had mostly low expectations for the series going into the first volume. I looked forward to some light meandering comedy and typical boring trope-filled isekai shenanigans. However, I'm in Love with the Villainess more than exceeded my expectations. No, even this statement is far too moderate to describe how utterly stunned and blown away I was by Inori's creation. I'm in Love with the Villainess is completely shattering and easily one of the greatest light novels I have ever read. Thus, I have no choice to award a perfect 10/10 score, my first ever for a light novel.

After waking up in the world of her favorite otome game, Revolution, protagonist Rae is ecstatic to be faced to face with Claire Francois, the game's villainous rival. However, Rae never played Revolution for the thrill of romancing any of the three attractive young princes. She was always in love with Claire. She attends the academy and studies magic in the fantasy world alongside Claire, the princes, and various other supporting characters. Using her skills from the modern world and her encyclopedic knowledge of Revolution, Rae manipulates the situation to be close to Claire, becoming her maid, and garnering status and money along the way. As an inevitable conflict looms closer, Rea begins to enact plans to protect herself and Claire, many of which are not fully understood or explained until the finale fantastically reveals the reasons for her actions. There is a natural and steady pace to the narrative that awards readers’ predictions and attention to detail.

I'm in Love with the Villainess has some excellent supporting characters, all of whom have unique personalities, histories, and abilities, some of which are revealed by Rae's exposition and others naturally throughout the novel. However, the stars of the show are the central couple, Rae and Claire. Claire is an elite aristocrat and extremely bratty. She often sneers at commoners and makes her disdain of Rae very clear from early on. On paper, she sounds like the perfect villain and someone all readers would despise. However, Rae's utter devotion and infatuation with Claire is so sincere that we cannot help but be pulled in and adore Claire and all her tantrums. Rae is a delight herself, continually flirting and poking fun at Claire, which gets her verbally berated, much to her masochistic pleasure. However, she is also exceptionally cunning and intelligent, and some of the light novel's greatest joys are listening to her analyze a situation or watching one of her plans fall into place.

“Ah, I’m… Well, it doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s irrelevant to cuteness—because, Miss Claire, you are cute.” “Huh?!” She pulled away. It was perfect—such a pure reaction. “Miss Claire, you hate me, right?” “Of course!” “That’s fine. Please keep teasing me. I love it.”

The beginning of the book does not immediately clue one into its brilliance. Sure, Claire and Rea get some great one-liners as they bully each other, and the scenarios are authentic and fun, but it is nothing shattering. I was feeling pretty relaxed and having a lot of fun with the characters, their relationship, and the various slice-of-life style scenarios they encountered until one section, I remember the exact page, 81, as it stopped me dead in my tracks. I was flabbergasted and briefly frozen before shooting up out of bed, shouting expletives as I ran to my office to immediately record what I had just experienced. It all begins with the line, "Hey, Rae. Are you what they call gay?" What followed was one of the most thoughtful, condensed, informative, and nuanced discussions of gay and queer identity (both terms used in this scene) I have ever seen in Yuri. Everything from representation in media, the perceptions of and prejudices against gay people, and the role gender plays in romance for bisexual and gay people are analyzed. Its commentary is succinct yet so respectful and forthright that it could have only come from genuine experience, thus selling the book and its characters so much more.

"Queer people were still overwhelmingly closeted in this world, which was rife with prejudice and nurtured little understanding. As I noted, the queer people depicted in the story were either the sex fiends Claire imagined or the free-loving sort Lene had in mind. Diversity and acceptance were a long way off.”

Thus, Inori's writing's beauty exposed itself, and the book opened itself up to a delightful cycle. The narrative masterfully integrates isekai slice-of-life hijinks, like running a cross-dressing café or battling a giant slime with nuanced and challenging moments that dissect complicated topics. The latter mainly consists of a growing rift between the aristocracy and common people, mirroring real-world wealth gap issues, but the novel also touch on matters such as unequal prison sentencing and segregation. Every scene helped further the complexity of the characters and their relationships or else built onto the world of Revolution. Speaking of which, I'm in Love with the Villainess has some of the best worldbuilding ever seen in a light novel.

Initially, brief exposition establishes much of the world, which is adequate if not exciting. I will mark up to a casualty of the light novel's serialized nature, as it must present readers its setting immediately. However, Inori does not stop here. Through the narrative, new elements are established, such as a magic system and the kingdom's politics. Rea notes and describes how the world, while clearly based on medieval Europe, has many modern Japanese attributes, as Japanese game developers created it. Her pointing out the intersection of the two is fascinating. Furthermore, A great deal of time is spent establishing characters and organizations all have their own wants, agendas, and methods, many of which are not even directly involved with the story. Instead, they act as a background and help further contextualize others. For example, the Church publicly appears to lean towards supporting the commoners in their efforts for equality but has its own agenda of superseding the nobility. While they play little role in Rea and Claire’s adventure, they are one of numerous factors contributing to the unrest of the lower class. All these additions are interesting, and it never feels like the story or characters suffer for their inclusion, quite the opposite.

“The Bauer Kingdom had started a step behind other countries when it came to magical research. They dominated the surrounding countries in military strength, and this had made them complacent, leading them to underestimate the value of new magic technology until the best researchers had all been enticed to other countries. Even after the king came up with his magic-focused meritocratic policy, Bauer lagged behind.”

I can only make complaints by scraping the very bottom of the barrel. Hanagata's beautiful art is too infrequent to add much to the light novel, and many scenes crying for illustrations are left to the readers' imagination. However, Inori so wonderful writes the story that one hardly cares and can easily picture every moment with delight. Besides, the manga adaption will nullify this issue. Where I cannot complain at all is the spectacular translation by Jenn Yamazaki and Nibedita Sen, one of Seven Seas best (which is high praise considering the competition). Sure, I was slightly disappointed at first to see the adaptation left off honorifics, but the more I thought about the setting, the more sense it made. I am sure people much smarter than I gave the issue much more consideration, and I am happy with their decisions.

I'm in Love with the Villainess left me reeling with how pleasurable and powerful it was. The story and characters are such a joy, and I cannot wait to see Rea and Claire bully each other again in the next volume. Astounding worldbuilding and powerful, thought-provoking politics surround their antics and the high stakes plot. Every moment of their journey will enthrall readers as they squeal with glee at its hilarious set pieces or are shocked by its commentary of society's most significant challenges. Inori has created one of the most delightful, heartfelt, complex, profound, and genuinely queer light novel series ever. If you only read one thing I recommend this year, let it be I'm in Love with the Villainess.

Ratings: Story — 9 Characters — 10 Art — 5 LGBTQ — 10 Sexual Content — 2 Final — 10

Review copy provided by Seven Seas Entertainment

Purchase I’m in Love with the Villainess in digitally (9/23) and in print (11/10) today: https://amzn.to/32NEyG1

Supports creators by purchasing official releases.

#yuri #lgbt #lgbtq #reviews #lgbtq+#i favor the villainess #i'm in love with the villainess #girls love #gay #queer #light novel #manga #gl #politics #feminism

2K notes · View notes

what-big-teeth · 3 years

Text

Avatar of Envy (Leviathan)

Monsterlover!MC is gender neutral.

[Part 1 (intro) ; Part 2 (Lucifer) ; Part 3 (Mammon) ]

Please note this is an 18+ blog; do not follow if you’re younger than 18.

Surprisingly, your seeing Levi’s truest form was planned by the both of you. And in part, thanks to Lord Diavolo and his stunning private beach.

The opportunity first came about thanks to a video game boss you couldn’t defeat. No matter how many times you approached the battle in various ways with different equipped skillsets, weapons, and healing items, you were always taken down with just a few hits.

Feeling the tell-tale throbbing of a migraine, you hit the pause button on your portable Sintendo console and flopped onto your bed. You just had to go and take on the Dark Souls franchise, despite knowing it was literally christened “You Died: The Series” by its fanbase. You cursed your undeniable curiosity (and partial masochism).

At least there was one person you could go to for help, even if you knew he’d decry you as a normie for not being able to defeat one of the lower-level bosses. The name-calling would be preferable to throwing your system across the room.

So you saved your progress, got up, and left the comfort of your room. Down the hallways, bare feet falling against the plush carpeting, to stop before a familiar door.

You gave it a series of complex knocks that sounded more like Morse Code than an announcement.

Instead of the usual TSL-related passcode, you heard the door’s lock click. Not one to miss an opportunity, you hurried inside, closing the door softly and relocking it.

As usual, Levi sat before his multi-monitor systems with his headphones on, his eyes flickering across the main screen. Disturbing him wasn’t an option you were willing to take (especially after he nearly sicced Lotan on Asmo for interrupting a rare, one-time raid). So you settled beside his bathtub and leaned against it.

Eventually, the massive boss on the massive screen died in a blaze of glory. Once Levi’s PC collected the fallen rewards, he paused the game and turned his swiveling chair to look at you.

“What’s up?”

You held up your Sintendo and gave him a sheepish grin.

“A little help, please?” You honestly needed a lot at that point, but you didn’t need to tell Levi that.

Taking the system from you, he studied the boss on screen then lifted a brow at you.

“Really? The Hellkite Dragon is giving you problems?”

You were quick to open your mouth, a retort at the ready—

“You know it’s a skippable boss, right? You won’t be able to get to the bonfire or join the Warriors of Sunlight, but you can bypass it altogether.”

—until your mouth clicked shut with a soft snick. You honestly didn’t know, which made the smug look on Levi’s face all the more irksome.

“I guess I could help you out...”

“I’ll buy you an extra large bufo egg tea milk in return,” you said.

His gradient eyes lighting up, Levi continued the game from where you left off. And unsurprisingly, he deftly avoided the dragon’s attacks while landing critical hits. Your eyes are glued to the screen from a slight distance.

At least, until something else caught your attention.

It was a familiar habit of Levi’s that made you remember the fact he wasn’t really human. He poked out the tip of his forked, long tongue while concentrating intensely.

You can’t help but think back to the time he raged against you for knowing more about TSL. Hell, if he wasn’t so angry and you weren’t in danger, you would’ve happily admired his partial-true form. With you two now on better terms, you wondered if you could see what he really looked like close up...

“Done.”

You blinked down at the flickering pixels on your Sintendo screen. Your PC was sitting before the bonfire as if it didn’t just go through a major boss fight.

“Thank you!” you chimed, taking back your handheld. His chest puffed out just a bit from the praise. And since he was in a good mood... “By the way, can I see what you really look like?”

Sputtering, Levi looks at you with wide disbelieving eyes, a blush lighting up his face.

“Wha? But why would you—”

“Because I think you’re really cool so obviously your real form is also really cool and I want to see it. So why not?”

And now, there were two dummies staring at each other with heated cheeks. Whatever courage you mustered up began fading fast and you were close to taking back your words.

“Alright.”

You almost couldn’t believe the mutter you heard.

“B-but not here. Not enough space...”

That small admittance fanned your burning curiosity even more. But you agreed, promising to wait until the right time. Instead of tackling him into a hug, you settled on giving him a wide grin. Best to not make him blue screen so suddenly.

So, while doing your best to keep your excitement contained, you waited. Attended your usual classes, hung out with the boys at Purgatory Hall, laughed at the sudden shenanigans involving the brothers.

When Lucifer informs his brothers and you about Diavolo’s two-day invitation to his private beach, you still. It takes all of your self-control to not look at Levi with a hopeful smile.

But your excitement must’ve been palpable at the time. As you finished packing for the vacation, you received a text message from Levi later that day.

Come out to the shoreline on the first night. I’ll meet you there.

Once you all arrived, you did have fun with the other brothers on the first day, rather amused at how each one did what they could to spend some personal time with you. Seeing them in their swimwear was a nice bonus, too.

But once the sun set and night fell, you couldn’t hold back your eagerness anymore. Mainly as Levi had yet to return from the beach. The moment you caught Lucifer scanning the main room for Levi, you jumped to your feet.

“I’ll see if I can find him; be right back!”

Ignoring the shouts of surprise from behind, you rush out onto the sand barefoot.

Your eyes scan the open shoreline, looking for any sign of him. But there isn’t any sign of his purple locks anywhere.

However, you do notice the glowing lights just beneath the water’s surface. Bright dots of citrine, deep purple, blues undulate back and forth. Dark shapes, reminiscent of massive branches breech the surface, appearing familiar to you. You soon realize they’re heading towards a stretch of flat, high rocks a stone’s throw to the east.

Your rush after the shapes, struggling somewhat due to the soft sand underfoot. You ignore the sting of the rocks’ jagged edges digging into your soles as you scrabble up to the tallest stone. The pain is worth the sight you meet.

A massive serpentine creature rises up from the water, its glowing citrine eyes pinning you in place. The dots along its scaled, black body, bioluminescence, grow and dim with each of its breaths through its parted fanged mouth.

Its needle-like teeth and slitted pupils would put you on edge. But the familiar, coral-like horns and the soft, feathery protrusions on the side of its head put your fears to rest.

“Levi?”

The beast lowered its head, edging its round, smooth snout closer to you. It huffed out a hot puff of air at you in reply with a soft growl. You brought up your hands, entranced at how he truly looked, but paused. As if reading your thoughts, Levi gently bridged the little space between his scales and your hand. You rested your forehead against his scales with a bright grin.

“You,” you said softly as if sharing a secret, “look amazing.”

In his current form, all Levi could do is rumble in reply, which you were more than glad for. It made denying your honest words undoable.

But when he turns back into his more humanoid form, if he has any lingering doubts about how you see him, you’ll be there to sooth them. As his Player Two.

#demon #demons #exophilia #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me leviathan #I basically see Levi as a more complex-looking axolotl #'cause they're ridiculously cute

279 notes · View notes

ramune-raven-art · 2 years

Text

strystks info + rules! + Master post/info dump/designs sprites

god that's a fucking mouthfull...

what are strystks???

they are an open species!! you can make one without my permission, I just need to be pinged and credited for the species themselves!

info on their habitat: imagine a planet full of nothing but oceans and trees, no land. whatsoever, the closest you'll get is semi shallow water.

their nights are a bit longer than days, and their days are pretty warm! ((not super hot though, imagine beach day warm))

they truley don't have a sleep schedule, just whenever they want really.

certain tree clusters do have "sleep hours" where everyone in the cluster at least has to lay down in their leaf beds/be quiet. literal quiet hours.

idk what else to write so here's some sprites!!!

--------------

first one, is the sea-scaled strystks.

they're incredibly common, seeing as they're essentially living fossils. strystks had a similar evolutionary pattern to most vertebrae on earth, they started off in the water, and climbed their way up. literally, they climbed trees.

the sea-scalers are usually the lower classes, they have a lot of issues being out of the water, but they can climb trees.

they have gills, fins, webbed hands and feet, their scales are somewhat slimy, and they almost always smell like fresh fish. they can shoot through the water like a torpedo with their strong tail and back legs.

these guys grow a sort of seaweed/kelp that their species eats. they also farm fish like the little dudes in Luca lol, speaking of, their feathers are more like kept strands than feathers. so they kinda look like the Luca dudes hair.

they eat seaweed and fish, their teeth are shaped in a way they can easily catch fish.

--------------

secondly, a tree-glider.

they can't actually glide, they're just called this because of how gracefully they can fling themselves from tree to tree.

these guys evolution wise are pretty new. they're only here cause strystks have already spent almost a million years in the trees.

they're incredibly rare, so if you wanna make one keep that in mind!

they have what the sea-scalers. lack, long claws keen for climbing trees, tails that can wrap around almost anything, patterns on their hands to let them stick to wood like a gecko, and more upper body muscle/muscle in general. they're STRONG. most tree-gliders dislike water.

they eat mostly fruits and whatever other animal lives in the tree with them. their teeth are like a baboons.

--------------

finally we got good ol'classic strystks

the middle ground of the two, and the most powerful.

they lost their gills, but still have their smooth scales and swimming muscles, but they also have the claws and strength to climb trees.

they unlike tree-gliders love water, they swim often, and they're the most technically advanced of the three.

truley there isn't much to say about these.

they're just strystks!

--------------

How advanced are they?:

tech wise, not much. they just have enough tech to play sburb.

their "tech" is organic like trolls/all tomorrows ((if you know you know))

it's usually algae/plants

--------------

here's a chart showing where on the class system certain colours fall.

while the strystks aren't as dystopian as alternia, they still have racial segregation

a class system based on colours.

it's been shifted a lot throughout the species run, but at the moment it's this!

in clusters full of different colours, they have this system in place! and it's quite upsetting for lower classes in areas where higher classes recently moved in. It basically makes it so the lower classes have to serve the higher classes, they are stronger and more ideal mates, so they have no choice truley. And as I stated, some places are dystopian. this is what creates those places.

--------------

that's about it for now!

#ramune raven art #Homestuck #homestuck fanart #homestuck fan species #fan species #strystks

7 notes · View notes

writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

excerpt from acogs: agathon

been a while since yall have seen acogs content, hm? this has to be one of my favorite pieces of it, certainly one of my favorite backstory pieces. i'm so endlessly proud of this part and i just. ahhhh. please enjoy nikolai's innocent childhood bisexual love <3

wc 2100

When Nikolai was ten, he met a boy.

He had brown skin and golden eyes, and the wonder in them could’ve only been matched by Nikolai’s own. His hair never seemed to lie smooth, no matter how much he pushed it down, contrary to Nikolai’s, which always stuck flat to his head and forced his tickly bangs into his eyes. It still does.

He carried the sun around with him, captured pieces of it in his eyes, infused its warmth into everything he touched. Nikolai heard the sun in his laugh, saw it reflected in his smile. In his confused, cagey, ten year old heart, he understood he was around something special.

Agathon, that was his name. Agathon. So smoothly it rolled off the tongue.

He and his family, all seven of them, arrived in Nikolai’s town with their canvas covered wagon, their camels—this was when Windcarpets were less trusted than they are now—and right into Nikolai’s heart. They came from a remote village on the Urkon-Cairic border, a family who made their living from weaving rugs and clothes.

Nikolai was interested in them the day he saw them, but he always thought they paled in comparison to Agathon. His parents were kind to Nikolai, always offered him honey cakes and tea when he visited, and Agathon’s siblings shared their toys. Agathon’s eldest sister taught him to play the lute.

But Agathon…oh, Agathon.

Agathon took to Nikolai immediately. His first words to him were, “You have spots on your face!” which Nikolai later understood to be the light smattering of freckles that appear across his nose in the summertime, put there by the sun.

He and Agathon spent their days talking about everything and nothing, as ten year olds did, racing each other through the long grass to the west of their desert town. Where the Pelia ended on the north side, at the edge of the village, they would drink and dip their feet and shriek when the water was too cold.

In the winter, on the rare days when the cold rains came and they all had to go inside, Nikolai would beg his mother to let him stay at Agathon’s house until she gave in. The two of them slept side by side under layers of fur that only got used once a year, for occasions like this.

Agathon’s father would read them stories by the fire. Nikolai’s house didn’t have a fireplace, and he was always fascinated by this one. Those were the soundest nights of sleep he ever had, his head nearly buried under fur with Agathon’s hair in his face, his father’s soft voice lulling him to sleep. Nikolai took to calling him Father for a while.

Nikolai rapidly felt himself falling into something he was too young to know. All he understood was that his chest seemed to be expanding every day, a little more, filled with a little more sunlight and warmth every time Agathon laughed at one of his jokes.

Nikolai didn’t ever want to say goodbye to him at the end of the day, he wanted to stay for dinner and stay in Agathon’s room, sleeping on the floor by the fireplace if it was too hot for the furs. They would stay up all night talking and waiting restlessly for morning to come, where they could wander farther than their parents knew and would’ve never let them go had they known.

His mother never invited Agathon to their house, but that was okay. Nikolai didn’t want her sourness, her constant scolding bringing darkness to the light in his chest. One touch of Agathon’s hand and he swore he could fly into the very sun that beat down on them every day.

Nikolai once pressed his lips to Agathon’s cheek on impulse, no self-restraint so young, and he remembers the swoop in his stomach before Agathon turned his head and smiled at him with all the warmth in the world. Nikolai didn’t know what it meant, but he knew enough to sigh in relief and accept it when Agathon grabbed his hand. They ran through the grass field together that day, instead of a race.

And then, like most things in his life, his mother ruined everything.

That’s not something he realized until he was much older and she was dead. Hell, even recently, thanks to Katya, he’s been examining her ghost differently. Agathon was the first in many, many incidents she stripped away his privacy, his privileges, down to the way he thought about himself and his desires. Everything became about pleasing her just enough to keep her off his back.

Nikolai had been working up the nerve to tell Agathon how he felt for a few months, because even then he knew that sort of thing wasn’t always met kindly, when his mother broke the news. They were moving, going north to the capital city Thiria, leaving the town he’d lived in his whole life. Agathon wasn’t coming with them.

It would take a year, his mother said, but she would establish herself and her ideas enough to get her son elected by the community as queen. Nikolai had never had a day of sword training in his life, he couldn’t be a king, a fighter, but he had a silver tongue. He would be a queen.

The clever system of choosing queens and kings in every Actium country puts a pressure on the person to be worthy of the throne. If they are both a good diplomat and a good fighter, they choose whichever label they like best. If they are neither, they should not be on the throne. How simple.

After he’d be elected, his mother would buy herself all the fine clothes and indulge in all the food and get all the attention she’d lacked in her lonely life. Nikolai was merely an instrument. Which is exactly what happened.

It’s an accident that as he grew up in the throne, he started to care about Urkon and the people who brought their problems to him every day. When he learned about the ticking time bomb in his front yard, the one that wouldn’t ever explode but always had a small chance, he breathed through it and went on.

He grinned and bore the knowledge, at eleven, twelve, thirteen, that Urkon was so much more than his little western village and Agathon’s old home. He dealt with farmers who needed a land dispute settled, ambassadors from the west and east and north, he had servants waiting on him, silk and velvet, stuffy city air.

He goggled at just how much his mother didn’t care, but how much effort she put into pretending.

He has risen from nothing, as they all do, to luxury and power, bringing with him an unconscious air of the inexplicable magic that stems from the Staarenclock. From the cerulean diadem that drips from his hair while he sprawls on his throne, to the shining black paint on his fingernails, to the jewelry that rests on his neck, he attracts, he seduces, disappoints.

He’s never tried, and until he was queen, he never noticed. When he did, it became a tool to sate his momentary desires, a temporary fix for his long term ache, a way of fooling people. No one believes a pretty queen is capable of anything.

Good.

Nikolai doesn’t remember much from after his mother’s bombshell announcement, which is partly good. It’s a lot of gaps in numbness and anger he can never get back, and she’s not around to fill in the details. He remembers holding back tears so many times with Agathon, not wanting to ruin their last precious weeks together.

Nikolai went kicking and screaming. He doesn’t want to know how he looked to the villagers, to Agathon’s family. He remembers the tears running down Agathon’s face, the gold fading at long last from his sunshine eyes. Nikolai’s mother was dragging him away, he was no longer close enough to touch him and shudder through the warmth seeping into his skin. Just the knowledge that he no longer could made him ache for it all the more.

Agathon was screaming for him, too. The pair of them must’ve been the most dramatic thing the townsfolk had ever seen, acting like they were dying. Nikolai remembers the agony on Agathon’s mother’s face, the effort it was taking her to hold her son back from running to Nikolai again. He broke free anyway, sprinting toward Nikolai and tripping over himself.

They were locked in each other’s arms for one last time, ugly crying into each other’s shoulders. “I love you,” Nikolai said, as he had seen Agathon’s parents tell each other while they cooked side by side, laughed, shoved each other playfully when bickering. He knew it meant something. He knew it meant everything.

His mother picked him up and carried him on her shoulder the rest of the way, but he watched Agathon mouth it back.

He only had a year with Agathon, but being ripped away from him was like reaching into his chest and pulling out an artery. He had never known pain like that. He told his mother over and over that first year when she was working her way up in Thiria that his heart wouldn’t stop hurting, he missed home, he wanted to go back.

Of course, he didn’t miss the town that much. Thiria was intimidating, but there was so much to do, always something to occupy him. The one thing he missed more than anything in the world was Agathon and his sunshine smile.

As a child, his feelings were so much rawer. He didn’t bother repressing them because he didn’t know how yet, and his mother wasn’t deep enough yet in her madness to teach him to.

Two years later, when he was queen with his mother the real queen behind him, while he tried and failed every day to buck off her hold, he met Saige.

He had forgotten and moved on from Agathon somewhat, of course. He learned from both his mother and practicality that he couldn’t spend all day crying in bed and begging to go back, threatening to steal a camel or a Windcarpet when he got truly desperate. Agathon wasn’t in his head every moment of every day, but he took one look at Saige and it all came back.

The day he met her, he had heard nothing about her but the king who had been put through hell and needed no one but her war of vengeance, and she heard nothing about him but the queen whose mother always seemed to be there.

The day he met Saige, he got his mother to leave them alone for a while. Looking into her brown eyes, her little smirk, her friendly smile, a little piece of his chest ached, but in a different way than it did for Agathon. Hers was the ache after a dislocated joint snapped back into place. Hers was the stretch in the morning, an ebbing headache, the ache of waiting for a healing wound to finally close over. Something that punched the breath out of you, but in a way that was right. Like it was supposed to happen.

The day he met her, he heard Agathon’s parents in her voice, bickering, shoving each other, watched her move and saw them bumping hips as they did the dishes together. He saw Agathon mouthing his final words to him when she spoke.

He’s never told her this, but Saige healed him. It only got better after that day. After stumbling, falling, she guided his feet and helped him find his footing. She did not replace Agathon, because that would be a disservice to both of them. Nikolai found space easily in his heart for her. It was as though she had just been waiting to move in to the space he had prepared for years.

He loves her. He would burn down the world for her, as he hopes she would do for him.

He doesn’t tell Kayani that, however. He skims over the depth of his feelings for Saige—he’s at peace with them, he has nothing to be ashamed of, and he’s pretty sure she knows, but it’s for them. Not Kayani, not anyone else. Not that.

When Nikolai’s done, Kayani is still watching with rapt attention, a bit of shock. He looks up at the moon and inhales. He didn’t realize he’d been rambling so long. Saige is still asleep, thankfully.

“Did you ever try to find him again?” Kayani asks.

“No. It was never the right time, even after her death.” He thinks of it, now. Trying. But the thought makes his chest ache, so he puts it away.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

#writing #Lila’s wips: acogs #writeblr #fantasy #fantasy wip #my fantasy wip #my wip #bean's excerpts

28 notes · View notes

joheun-saram · 3 years

Text

To Make A Power Couple (knj) | 8

Chapter 8: Housewarming

previous | masterlist | next

Summary- Finally moved in together, Namjoon and Y/N relish their time together despite their schedules and stupid misunderstandings

word count- 8.8k

pairing- idol!namjoon x ceo!reader

rating- R

genre- series, fluff, smut, slight angst

warnings- extreme domestic fluff, mention of parental death, alcohol consumption, kink shaming (kinda? idk man), dom!joon, sub!reader, smut (unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex, marking, somewhat daddy kink, orgasm denial), safeword use (yellow), Namjoon being whipped but also being a dumbass, Y/N just trying to chill, Namjoon’s obsessed with her ass ig

a.n- apologies for this chapter taking literally forever! but i give you fluff for your patience. so much fluff omg. can i move in with joon already? but also we cant have this much fluff without a sprinkle of angst.

special s/o to @himbojk, @pars-ley, and @s0seo for beta reading parts for me and easing my worries 💕

As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask! 💌

taglist - @beach-bitch-bitch-beach, @sscheherazadee, @rjsmochii , @jinjccns , @joyful-jimin @sideblogger @agustdpeach @diamonddia-mond, @asdfghjklqwertyv, @cheesecakes-randomshitz, @goldenjongho

“Are you sure about this? It’s only been six months honey.” Your mother looked at you through the screen and you felt your heart tighten. She had that worried look on her face, the one that tells you that she will respect your decision but isn’t too happy about it. She looked different too, the wrinkles around her eyes more pronounced as she frowned and you wish you could convince her of your decision.

“Seven, actually. I love him, mom. I thought you liked him?” She had been nothing but supportive of your relationship, trusting you to make the right decisions. It had been the two of you for so long when you were younger that it always felt weird that you were on your own now. When your father had passed away when you were starting high school, she had done everything in her power to ensure you never felt like you were down a parent. As a senior partner at a management consultancy, she had long hours and business trips but she always picked you up from school and often took you with her on her business trips. Her trips are the reason that by the time you finished high school, you had been to pretty much every major city in North America. Not to mention that watching her working is the reason you were so good at what you did now.

You remember when the first year after your father’s death you had to go to a father-daughter school dance and she donned one of his old suits to take you. You danced with her that night, surrounded by your peers and their fathers, but smiling at her as you nuzzled into her neck, her scent mingling with your dad’s on the clothes. You felt safe and you decided you never wanted to disappoint her. Maybe that’s where your drive to succeed came from - from ensuring that your mom, who worked long hours but still had a homemade dinner on the table when you came back from school, was proud of you.

“I do like him, honey. Namjoon is probably the best boyfriend you’ve had. I’m just worried you both are moving too fast.” She sighed as she sipped her tea. “He’s a rockstar, I just want you to be happy but what if things changed?”

“A rockstar?” You giggled. Sometimes you forgot that your mom was kind of old school, not beyond judging a book by its cover. “He’d probably die of embarrassment to hear you say that.”

“Y/N I’m just saying. Be careful with your heart.” Her voice was stern as she looked at you through the screen, her eyes narrowed with her warning.

“I know mom. I’m sorry. I trust him, you know. I don’t think I knew what love was till I met him. Having him around makes me feel safe, less lonely.”

“He’s still responsible for my daughter being in a cast.” After the incident, your mother had grown a bit wary of your relationship. She knew he was famous but she never realised just how many sacrifices the two of you had made to be together. You knew she was aware that Namjoon would never hurt you but you still felt bad that she was worrying over what was an anomaly. Speaking to Namjoon, you knew that something of the sort had never happened to him and his members, even to his other idol friends. The thought of it being such a rare occurrence had given you assurance and you hoped it would translate to your worried mother an ocean away.

“Mom! It’s not his fault. We’ve been over this!”

“I know, I know. I’m your mom. I’m just worried.” She sighed as she resigned from the conversation. You knew your mom had your best interests at heart but she didn’t know Namjoon like you did. She had met him twice over the screen and then had spent countless hours googling him and sending you clips of him breaking things with texts calling him out (“he better not be this clumsy with your heart”). You love her but you never know how to convince her that she had nothing to worry about. “Anyways, how’s my favourite son Harry?”

And so the conversation moved on from her qualms about your soon-to-be live-in boyfriend to your business as you told her about the plans you had for your company and talked about your friends. As you went to bed after hanging up, you looked at the empty side. It was the first time in weeks you were sleeping without your boyfriend but you were giddy as you thought about the morning when he would finally move in and you would never see that empty side again.

------------

“Baby why are all your shelves empty? Why have I never noticed this before?” Namjoon stood frowning in the kitchen with a box of his dishes and cutlery, something you made fun of him about since he notoriously lives on take out, as he placed his plates in the shelves above your kitchen counters.

“Really Joon? Do you know who you’re dating?” You giggled as you hopped off the counter you were sitting at and stood next to him. Reaching up to extend your uninjured hand as far as it could, you looked at him as you just about reached the bottom shelf. You were not that short but whoever designed this apartment thought the shelves looked extra elegant if they were extra high.

“Aw! You’re so cute!” He cooed as he patted your head condescendingly, causing you to scowl and narrow your eyes at him. Before you could retort, he put his arms around your waist lifting you so you were eye level with the shelves. “See? Now you can reach! Teamwork!”

You laughed as he put you down, turning around to wrap your arm around him. “Can’t believe we live together now,” you whispered into his chest as you felt him kiss the top of your head. Placing your chin against him you looked up, speaking in a hushed tone. “Promise me you won’t start hating me and my little quirks.”

“I could never hate you, as long as you promise not to get annoyed by me practicing in our living room.” Namjoon looked at you with a wide smile, as he cupped your face, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. You hugged him as you looked across the kitchen island towards your large living room. The large shelf in the corner that once only housed only your books and vinyls was now filled with pieces of your boyfriend. The top shelves had his books with his own organization system (apparently organizing books based on colours was too chaotic for him) as his little collectible figurines stood at random places. Not to mention the tiny baby shoes he had added on one of the shelves (“They’re just cute! I’m totally not picturing a cute fat baby with your doe eyes!”).

You both had added another shelf near the balcony that now housed his extensive plant collection, in fact you had never seen this apartment more green, little plants scattered in the corners. In addition to your framed posters, there were now paintings from his collection, eclectic pieces that lit the blank white walls in color. You both had even moved the couch to the corner and added a mirror on the nearby wall that not only made the room look larger but would help Namjoon if he ever needed to practice his dances.

You sighed contentedly as what was once your home now became the both of yours, your hobbies and tastes intermingling in a perfect union. The den was now a studio, soundproofed and full of midi boards and amps - it seemed like a piece of Namjoon had a place in your home. The two of you had gone back and forth over where to live, whether to move into his house or buy a new place completely, but in the end you had decided your apartment would be best since it was close to both of your work places and because it housed the most memories you shared.

“Oh! Or we can buy a new place?” You looked up at Namjoon’s profile from where you laid next to him, you head in the crook of his arm, his fingers tracing circles on your skin, right above where your cast ended. You were both in bed, a few days after he asked you to move in together, eager to figure out where you would embark on your latest relationship milestone.

“What about here? I like it here. This is our spot.”

“Really you wanna move in here?”

“Yeah this is where we had our first official date. This is where we found out that Ken Burns documentaries make you fall asleep-” He grunted as you smacked his chest at his comment, laughing before continuing. “This is where I first found out how much I love your food. Heck, that living room was where I knew I was in love with you!”

“Oh? You haven’t told me that before.” The two of you turn on your sides to look at each other as you grinned at him in anticipation.

“Yeah it was like a few weeks after we became official. I came over and you were at the gym and when you came back we ordered like a massive pizza and you were so giddy while eating it, I don’t know if you noticed but I’m sure I had literal heart eyes.”

“You know you really like me and pizza together,” you joked as you played with the necklace he had given you, his hand coming to fiddle with the chain as well.

“What can I say? I like you covered in sauce.” He laughed as he held your chin and brought you in for a kiss, humming gently when you separate.

“Be honest though, you totally fell in love with me when I agreed to recreate that porn you like, didn’t you?”

“Ah fuck! You’re right, that’s like the number one reason we should move in here. This is where we found out calling me daddy makes you gag.”

“Yes I’m sure it was just calling you that and not your stupidly big dick.” You both broke into fits of laughter holding on to each other, falling back into the comforting silence, before Namjoon broke it looking at you with a smirk.

“So how about we break out that riding crop again? Hmm? Get you in some of that sexy lingerie?” He moved his arm lower from where it sat on your waist to your hips, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pajamas.

“But baby you said you loved my batman underwear,” you whined jokingly, giggling with your arm around his neck as you looked at him coyly.

“Honestly? I love you in anything.” He said earnestly as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, moving his body to lay on top of yours carefully avoiding your injured arm. “Or nothing…”

------------

The first week of living together was odd. The two of you had spent the month after deciding to move in together planning so much, even buying new furniture, but now that you were living together it was weird. It wasn’t a bad weird, in fact it was a very, very good weird. You and Namjoon had never lived with a partner before and much like when you first got together, it felt easy. Maybe it was practice from when Namjoon was over all the time, but it just felt so effortless being with each other.

You would be lying if you said your mother’s words hadn’t opened up an insecurity within you. You were messy, sure it was an organized mess, but you were messy. You tend to forget where you put things, and when you’re stressed even the smallest of inconveniences make you snap. However, somehow Namjoon just slotted himself into your life so seamlessly, you were finding it hard to believe how lucky you were.

On Monday, you came home and as usual threw whatever jacket you were wearing on the floor, he followed, silently picking it up and hanging it. Namjoon was organized and that made you remember where you left your keys on Tuesday, because now they were always in the cute little crab shaped plate near the foyer. On Wednesday you were infuriated with work and when you went to pee when you reached home, the toilet seat was up causing you to nearly topple in. But unlike usual when you would’ve torn whoever did that to pieces, you broke into a laugh, dialing Namjoon at practice and telling him you missed him. On Thursday, you had your doctor’s appointment to finally get the cast off, and when you returned home to excitedly show off your new arm, Namjoon frowned at the large scar before kissing it repeatedly and spending the night worshipping you. On Friday, the two of you saw the smog warning and donned some masks going to Yeouido Hangang Park, melding in with the mask-wearing strangers enjoying convenience store kimbap and beers as you read your book aloud to him, lounging on the sloping greens. That was also when he learned you didn’t know how to ride a bike, making it his responsibility to teach you.

“I still can’t believe you don’t know how to ride a bike!” Namjoon laughed as he held onto the handlebars. You struggled to keep the balance, your feet resting lightly on the pedals of the rented bike as he slowly pushed you.

“I skateboarded instead! You tell me that once you land an ollie!” you huffed, now pushing on the pedals, albeit gently. Namjoon found your hesitation adorable. He loved discovering these different sides of you. The fact that his always confident girlfriend seemed scared of something as simple as a bike when she was apparently doing tricks on a skateboard, made his heart swell. It was like you kept all your embarrassing secrets for him, you told him things that no one knew about you, and he couldn’t wait to discover more.

For Namjoon, moving in had been as easy as breathing, even though it had barely been a week. On Monday, he took a homemade lunch to work for the first time in a year. When he opened the box, the smell of your stew lingered in his studio and every time he returned from a meeting that day, the scent made him smile. On Tuesday, you came by his building to pick him up, waving excitedly as he wrapped up a livestream and tried not to giggle like a fool in love, which he very much was. Wednesday, he was having a tough time getting the new dance routine down, but then you called him out of the blue and it made his heart flutter, reenergizing him to finally nail the steps. When your cast came off on Thursday, he was again filled with guilt about his part in your attack, but your assurances helped him ease his mind. However, not as much as you screaming his name when he made you cum for the third time on his tongue. Namjoon had never felt so connected to someone before. Usually he would be scared to share so much of his life with another person, but with you he couldn’t wait. He felt extremely lucky just to be in your presence, soaking in the determined look on your face as he taught you how to ride a bike.

“Okay shit. Nevermind that’s really hot. Let’s go skateboarding next time,” he smiled at you mischievously, knowing that he was going to let go of the bike any second.

“I haven’t done that in ten - Oh my god! Don’t let go! Why are you letting go?” You looked behind you to see Namjoon put a thumb in the air in encouragement.

“You’re a big girl, you can do it. I believe in you!”

“I hate you! I’m gonna fall! How do I stop?!” You could feel the wind blowing through your hair as you steadily picked up speed, and you were terrified. How did you let your tree of a boyfriend talk you into this? There was a reason you had legs, why did you need these stupid wheels?!

“Just push the brakes and put your leg out.”

“Joon! Namjoon! I’m gonna fall!” You watched your life flash before your eyes as you cursed, falling on to the grass, your bike between your legs. Namjoon jogged up the few meters to stand above you, almost doubling over in laughter, causing you to cross your arms where you laid pouting at him. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Sorry! I just - you were going so slow! You literally fell in slow motion!” He continued laughing, even having the audacity to wipe a tear off his eye as you glared at him, before moving the bike and helping you up. “Come on up. There we go!” He beamed at you making it much harder to be mad at him when his eyes squinted in that adorable way they do when he’s extra pleased.

“If I break my arm again it’s your fault.” You leaned into him as he put an arm around you, the other walking the bike back to its station.

“Sorry, sorry! Okay I think that was enough practice. Let’s go home.” He pulled you closer, the bike now firmly locked and no longer charging him through the app. With your arms around his waist, you kind of felt bad giving up on learning so easily. He had seemed so excited when he suggested biking around the river.

“Sorry I can’t bike with you. I wanna share your hobbies!” You pouted, making Namjoon swoon.

“Baby we literally share like seven million hobbies. It’s okay if you don’t like biking. I hate all the Shark Tank episodes you make me sit through.” He laughed as you looked up at him, even with the mask covering half his face you could tell how his dimples would be poking through his cheeks at your comment.

“You said you liked them!”

“It was a month into dating you. I lied.” You rolled your eyes at his nonchalance as he smiled smugly. You knew he hated that show, he would always be getting up to go to the bathroom or get snacks during the pivotal moments. Well at least he was committed enough to not be on his phone when you watched together. Now that you think about it, he must really love you to sit through the marathon you had of it last month.

“So what else do you hate?”

“Arthur C Clarke. I don’t get why you love 2001 so much. It’s so pseudo philosophical and the sequels suck.”

“But the monolith Joon! The spark of curiosity and ambition! And like the combined consciousness! Come on!”

“Eh. Pretentious. Douglas Adams did it better.” He shrugged.

“I can’t believe you! Those are like two different concepts!” You laughed as he dissed one of your favourite books, enjoying his warmth against you as the two of you waited for the car to pick you up in the parking lot.

------------

Saturday would mark the first weekend of you both living together, and so it was time to celebrate. The two of you had taken the day off in preparation for the first party you would host together, in the apartment you lived together. Just the thought made you giddy. You walked around the grocery store, stocking up on snacks and alcohol as Hayoon, Namjoon’s favourite security personnel, helped you carry the basket that kept getting heavier. You still found it weird walking around with the 195cm, extremely buff older man, but with the attack still fresh in your head, it was comforting having the looming presence. You had noticed that people didn’t even look twice at you, when in the past your foreigner status would have had at least a few staring at you.

Thanking Hayoon for carrying your supplies and bidding him a goodbye, you walked into your living room to find your boyfriend dancing to music playing from his earphones. Somehow in the midst of cleaning and moving furniture to make room for the twenty something people you both had invited, he had started working. You couldn’t blame him when you yourself had taken the time in the car to answer a few emails. It gave you the perfect opportunity to share your present with him.

“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You walked over to block his view of himself in the mirror as he rolled his body to some unknown tune. It was quite funny watching his concentrated scowl turn into confusion, barely hearing you.

“Hmm?”

“Stop dancing! I’ve got a surprise!”

“Can’t stop babe I have to get this down before Monday.” Namjoon looked over your head into the mirror as he continued practicing his choreography, making you roll his eyes.

“Hmm maybe Kook would wanna go instead,” you said nonchalantly as you turned around and started to slowly back away, before Namjoon’s arm came around your waist, stopping you.

“Ah baby don’t do that. See, airpod out, I’m listening!” You grinned as Namjoon pulled his earphone out, stopping the music but continuing to dance.

“You know you look like one of the sims just dancing there without music,” you joked, giggling.

“Babbbbbe! Where are we going?” he whined.

“So you know how your favourite rapper is Nas?”

“Yes I’m aware.”

“I got backstage passes!”

“What? For me?” Namjoon stilled, a dopey grin on his face as you walked closer to him to show him the tickets on your phone. It wasn’t a huge present but when one of your clients had asked if you wanted to attend, you couldn’t refuse the tickets. It helped that your client owned the stadium the performance was at and had accommodated your special requests for privacy.

“And you get to watch from this barricade so you don’t have to worry about paparazzi or fans and you can just enjoy the show!” Namjoon’s heart swelled as he heard your words. You never failed to surprise him with how much you went out of your way to make him comfortable. Lately, you’d been making him want to declare your relationship to the world. It was a dumb fantasy and the two of you had talked (argued) about going public, but between the two of you it seemed that you were more against it.

“You’re coming with me right?” He put his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“I don’t know, I know I just said you’ll have privacy but what if someone sees us together? Maybe you can take Yoongi.” You look up at him with a frown, your hands on his chest, as you assessed the different ways the concert could affect your privacy. He hated how you had to overthink such a simple outing, mirroring your frown as he reached to relax the crease between your brows before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Shut up. I’m only taking you. The whole world can watch!” He grinned making you roll your eyes.

“You scare me with how easily you just said that.” You swatted at his chest. It really did scare you with how easily he’d been saying that lately. He wasn’t really an impulsive person, he usually thought everything through to the utmost detail and so his recent exclamations were worrying you. It’s not that you wouldn’t like to post one of the thousands of couple photos on your social media, it’s just you were worried about how toxic some netizens could be.

“Would it be so bad if everyone knew?” He pulled you closer, arms circling your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes with a little smile, wanting to play out his fantasy.

“Joon I’m not risking your career so we can go on a few dates.” You sighed, picking at his shirt at his chest where your hands laid.

“My fans will be happy to see me happy, baby.”

“Ugh let’s not argue about this right now. Do you like your surprise?” You put your arms around his neck as you peck his lips.

“Only if I get to enjoy it with you.”

“Yes yes I guess I’ll go see one of my favourite rappers with you.”

“I love you,” he whispered, bringing his lips to yours to kiss you gently. You returned it equally gently, getting lost in the warmth as he molded his lips to yours, tilting his head to get a better angle and squeezing your ass as he brought you even closer in his embrace. Before things could get heated, you pulled away, smiling as he followed your lips, eyes still closed. You pecked his lips a few times before moving away completely.

“Hey don’t let me distract you. Practice!”

“You’re such a tease. Meanie.” He pouted as you walked away with a wave in his direction, smirking at his petulance.

“Love you too Joonie!”

------------

Namjoon was drunk. He promised himself at the beginning of the party that he would stay sober to ensure his first party with you went seamlessly, but then the Ilsan boys showed up. The Ilsan boys were his high school friends, dubbed so by you. To say you liked them would be a stretch, since he always got too drunk when they were around, but he couldn’t help it. They made him forget all about being an idol and let loose. They were some of the few people beside you and his family that had that effect. Sitting on the couch that was pulled up to the window, he felt the alcohol race through his veins, and he was in his feelings. Beside him, Harry talked to Sehun, one third of the Ilsan boys as they talked about some tv show. He was happy, so happy he was smiling to himself as he rocked his feet on the ground, a beer in hand. He was happy and as he watched you across the room, he was also a little annoyed.

You were talking to Kang, another one of the Ilsan boys, as Jungkook stood with his arms on top of your head for support and Hoseok laughed at some joke you made. Before the party the two of you had decided not to be the couple that only hung out with each other, and since this party was literally just your closest friends, it was not that hard to do. But right now all Namjoon wanted to do was be petty and shove Jungkook off of you, wrap his arms around you instead and tell you how horny your skinny jeans were making him. Alright, correction. Namjoon was drunk, happy, and horny.

He bit his lip as he followed your curves with his eyes, watching the way your chest rose as you laughed, and the way your throat moved with each sip of your whiskey. Okay, that’s it. Screw the decision, he was walking over. Plus, he had stayed away for the past three hours, even had to watch you belt out his favourite My Chemical Romance song as you wiggled your butt, that had to count for something. He made his way to your little group, swaying a little as he shoved Jungkook a little too aggressively off you, making him protest over his spilled beer, before putting an arm possessively over your shoulder. He grinned as you leaned in, continuing your conversation.

“As I was saying there is no way Y/N is a sub. No fucking way!” Kang bellowed from where he stood. Namjoon’s brows furrowed at his comment. Why was he talking about his girlfriend this way? He felt an irrational surge of anger through him. He knew Kang was crass, his talks often devolving to his sex capades a few shots in, but did he really not respect Namjoon enough to be talking this shit in his own home about his girlfriend during their housewarming party?

Namjoon’s grip tightened around you protectively as Kang kept talking about your sex life. You only hummed, seemingly bored as you drank. Turns out you were playing a game, instigated by Kang of course, where you had to guess the other person’s kink, and if someone guesses correctly, you drink if not then the guesser drinks. Apparently you were in the spotlight for the moment.

Namjoon tilted his head, eyes narrowed at his childhood friend and raised an eyebrow. Kang, luckily for him, got the hint, shutting up with an apologetic glance at Namjoon. However, everyone else in the little group seemed to have missed this little interaction.

“I don’t know… I’ve seen hyung’s porn collection. He definitely has a daddy kink.” Jungkook scratched his chin as he slurred out the words, like he was trying to decipher a difficult math problem.

“Dude Y/N would rather puke than call Namjoonie daddy.” Hoseok laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at you with a knowing smirk. You laughed, a little too hard in your tipsy state, and Namjoon felt his blood run cold. You had definitely said those words to him, even pretended to jokingly gag when he brought it up the first, and only, time. He stood straighter at Hoseok’s comment. Had you told him about this? Why would you tell Hoseok of all people? You weren’t even close!

His jaw ticked as the group laughed, oblivious to the sudden hurt he felt. He felt exposed, naked and vulnerable, all because of you. He didn’t know if his feelings were elevated with the alcohol in his body, but he suddenly felt like he was losing all trust in you. You didn’t even seem phased, not noticing that his arm was no longer around you as you giggled at their antics.

“Okay. Time to reveal the winner!” You started, your arms wide and voice low as Jungkook used Hoseok’s chest as a makeshift drum, tapping at it lightly in a drumroll.

“Nope.” Namjoon couldn’t help but cut you off. There was no way you were sharing intimate details of your sex life with these idiots. He didn’t know how things worked in Canada, but here in his house he sure as hell was not hearing his friends talk about your kinks. He grabbed your wrist, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the table before dragging you into the guest bathroom by the kitchen.

“Aww Joonie! Now I have to do three shots!” You pouted at him, oblivious to the storm brewing in his head.

“No.”

It was all he said before he crashed his lips to yours, taking your surprised yelp as an opportunity to roughly press his tongue to yours. He didn’t know what overcame him, he initially wanted to talk to you but something about the utter lack of remorse on your face snapped something in him. Oh those guys didn’t think you were a sub? He was going to prove them all wrong and make you beg for him while no one outside had a clue. It was his biggest turn on after all, to see you confidently striding through every room demanding respect and attention, only to turn into an obedient little girl for him.

He had been horny all night, rocking a semi every time he looked at you, and your little moans as you wrapped your arms around him now only made him harder. He kissed you with more force, removing your hands from around him and pinning them to the door behind you as his lips ventured down your neck to where your blouse started.

He let go of your hands, pleased to see them remain immobile against the door, and reached for your jeans, the same jeans that had been taunting him all evening. Kissing down your body, he pulled the jeans off your legs, turning you around roughly once you stepped out of them. With your ass in front of his face, he couldn’t help himself, biting at the flesh, smirking at your surprised yelp.

He stood up behind you, bending you over the sink. Pulling your shirt up and gripping your jaw, he placed the hem in your mouth. He kissed your neck, keeping his eyes on yours through the mirror as his hands pulled the cups of your bra down to grope you firmly. You didn’t know what had gotten into him suddenly, but you were not complaining, your shirt getting wet as did your panties. Wordlessly, he continued, his hands roaming your body to reach your heat where he didn’t hesitate to slide your panties to the side and thrust two fingers in, making you moan loudly at the sudden stretch.

At your moan, his lustful eyes met yours as he increased his speed, the sound of your squelching pussy filling the air. Namjoon couldn’t help himself anymore, he needed to be inside you, teach you a lesson for being so oblivious to him. Unbuttoning his jeans, he released his dick, already dripping with precum at how turned on he was at the prospect of one of your friends knowing what was happening behind doors. Without a second thought, he lined himself up at your entrance to plunge himself right to the hilt.

You moaned at the sudden aggressive move, your skin tingling with excitement to see your boyfriend this needy for you. Namjoon didn’t usually get this aggressive right off the bat, and his rare sexual desire made you heat up, mewling at the stretch. You braced yourself against the counter as you watched Namjoon’s face contorted in pleasure, his jaw tight as he rammed himself into you again and again, leaving your breathless and with your legs shaking.

“Fuck… I can’t believe we’re fucking in the bathroom… at our own party!” you moaned at a particularly hard thrust.

“That’s what you get for being such a fucking tease all night.” Namjoon leaned closer to speak in your ear, his chest molded to your back as one of his hands pulled your nipple while the other turned your head towards him, leaving sloppy wet kisses on your neck. You need more, needed to kiss him, needed his fingers on your clit, anything.

“Joonie…” you mewled, looking at him pleadingly.

“Ah don’t try to get all soft on me now baby.” He smacked your ass, aiming right where his bite mark was visible, making you preen. “Did you think you were funny telling Hobi how you gagged on my cock when I called myself daddy, hmm?” His hips moved hard, pushing you further into the sink, your walls clenching around him and you were sure your hips were going to bruise from where they slammed against the counter. Your skin was pebbling with goosebumps and you felt like you could feel every vein on his cock as he continued to move in you. With his hand on your jaw, he moved your face towards the mirror, enjoying the way your mouth was held open and eyes wide with want.

“Answer me baby. Did you like embarrassing me in front of our friends?” Namjoon knew he really shouldn’t bring his issues into the bedroom, especially when you allowed and trusted him with how you gave up control, but the concoction of hurt, anger and beer in his veins overrode his rationality.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you at his words, finally realizing what had gotten him so riled up. Making eye contact in the mirror, you couldn’t tell if this was all part of a scene he’d come up with or if he was serious. Before you could say anything, he spanked you again, his thrusts slowing, but somehow getting harder. Although you were concerned, you couldn’t deny how you could feel your orgasm rising, your walls tightening around him.

“Do you like seeing me get hurt in front of my friends?” He gritted out, his gaze darkened.

“H-hurt?” you stuttered, alarmed.

“Yeah baby, hurt. You think I like you sharing our secrets?” He was back at your neck, nipping the flesh and soothing it with his tongue. “You think I liked you and Hobi laughing at me, pretty girl?” he sneered, but you could see past it. Behind the lust in his eyes, he was actually hurt, his eyes glistening, and although you were enjoying this sudden, surprise sex, your needs could wait.

“Joon… fuck… yellow. Yellow.” You grunted, despite your body begging you to let him continue so you could cum. Suddenly Namjoon froze, pulling out. His eyes softened immediately with concern as he ran his hands up and down your arms to comfort you.

“Shitshitshit sorry! Was that too much? Too rough? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He spoke fast, trying to gauge your expression in the mirror.

“Are you okay? Are you actually mad about Hobi?” You turned around, cupping his face as you looked up at him. He sighed, biting his lip a couple of times and contemplating if he should talk about it now.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I just - it kinda fucked me up.” He averted your gaze, opting to look at the wall next to the two of you, and you felt your heart ache at his words. “Like I was pretty vulnerable when I shared that kink with you and I get it - it’s cliched and basic and you weren’t into it but I feel like you guys were laughing at me. I don’t like getting laughed at by my girlfriend behind my back with one of my best friends.” He looked at you towards the end of his statement, the fiery look back in his eyes. You knew he was mad, but truly he had no reason to be. In fact, thinking more about it made you sad that he would think that you would purposely kink shame him or laugh at him for any reason.

“I’m so sorry Joonie. It’s not even like that. I’m so sorry baby. Do you wanna talk about -” But before you could finish your sentence, he spun you around again.

“No.” He spoke firmly, lining himself once again, fully back into his dominant persona. “Much. Rather. Fuck. My. Frustrations. Out. Colour?” He punctuated each word with a snap of his hips, making you mewl, your earlier lost orgasm revving back up slowly.

“Green. Fuck Joon!” He bent you over further at your words, holding tightly to your hips as he fucked you.

“Tell me when you’re close, baby. You don’t get to cum tonight.” He spoke, his voice strained from his harsh movements. Oh, he must be really mad. Namjoon took pride in making you cum, often overstimulating you, but this was new. He’d never flat out denied you an orgasm before, and the thought made you want to cum even more.

“Joonie. I’m sorry. Please... fuck! You feel so good.” You mewled, looking at him with puppy eyes. You didn’t know how long you could hold your orgasm if he continued, the coil in your stomach tightening at his every move.

“No can do pretty girl you gotta learn your lesson.” He smirked, spanking your ass for good measure, the slap ricocheting through the walls of the small bathroom. You really hoped nobody needed to pee, glad that the music was pretty loud, you could almost sing along to the SHINEE track in the background.

“Please daddy?” You knew he was mad at you for this, but in your lust-addled, desperate mind you just wanted to do anything to please him.

“Fuck off! Don’t make me ban you from cumming all week.” He gritted out, almost panting with how fast he was going, chasing his own release as he spanked your ass twice.

“God. Oh my god, Joon!” You felt him get sloppy, almost on the brink of your orgasm. Namjoon could feel you tighten impossibly hard, and with one last thrust he pulled out, stroking himself before cumming on your ass with a loud groan. You whined, your head on your arms as you felt your orgasm ebb away, your clit throbbing in need.

Namjoon leaned next to you, catching his breath, as he looked at your wrecked state, legs shaking, hair a mess, your tits hanging out of your bra.

“Did you cum?” he asked, stroking your hair as you looked up at him.

“No…” He kissed you at that, gently and quickly.

“Good girl. Now let’s clean you up, we have a party to host.” He buckled his pants, as he handed you some toilet paper, fixing your shirt, and once you cleaned up, helping you put your pants back on. He was still hurt, but weirdly sated. He knew it would take time for him to get over this, but he still felt lucky knowing that you’d understand as he watched you fix your makeup in the mirror.

“Joon, are you still mad?” You spoke after a few minutes, voice uncharacteristically meek, making Namjoon wish he waited till after the party was over, so he could tend to you properly after being so rough.

“A little. It’s just kind of stings right now.” He spoke after a few beats of contemplation leaning against the sink. When in other relationships, he got used to just saying he was fine, with you he felt that he could be honest even if it hurt, and although he still felt somewhat betrayed, he couldn’t help himself.

“I’m sorry, truly. I swear it’s not what you think. We weren’t laughing at you, promise! I love you.” You looked at him with such sorrow that he almost felt stupid for having such feelings, wanting to pacify you, but he knew you’d hate it if he did so.

“Ah don’t make that face.” He pouted at you slightly, cupping your face in his hands.

“What face?” You ask, eyes wide, cheeks a little squished by his hands and he felt his heartbeat accelerate.

“That face! Makes me want to kiss you.” He whispered, before capturing your lips in a tender kiss, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

“Joonie… baby, talk to me.” You pleaded, you hands on his, but he just leaned down to peck your forehead instead.

“Shh, yellow on this convo for now. Let’s just go back to the party. I love you too, pretty girl.” He smoothed your hair once again, before moving to the door. He paused at your lack of movement, turning around to see you frowning as you looked at him. He knew you wanted to talk it out, it was in your nature to solve problems immediately, but Namjoon needed time. If he talked about it now, he would probably get angry, or worse start crying. He needed to think things through.

“Even when you’re mad?” you said quietly.

“Even when I’m mad. Now let’s go before anyone figures we’re missing.” He took your hand and walked you out, the party none the wiser of your little indiscretion. However, if anyone was paying attention, they would have noticed how off the mood was between the two of you, your smiles not reaching your eyes, and your cups always empty.

----------

You stared at the screen, the cursor blinking as you tried to put your thoughts together. This expansion into Japan was going to be the death of you. You had been working on the strategy for months now but nothing appealed to the board who never lost the opportunity to remind you of your age or lack thereof. With your combined shares Harry and you could technically override any of their decisions, but antagonizing the board further would only lead to more problems in the future so you just grinned and bore it.

You had spent all day at the office trying to figure out the new strategy to beat out the competing company that already existed in Tokyo to get sufficient market share to make the expansion viable. Siwon had been kind enough to be your scribe while you word vomited at him but as you looked at the page now it made little sense. You were kind of embarrassed that he had to type out this bullshit.

Frustrated at your lack of progress, you looked at the clock, and reading the 11:34 pm displayed there with a grimace as you stood up to walk to the kitchenette on your floor. Starting a pot of coffee you talked to yourself as you fidgeted with the cups, stacking them this way and that. You kind of wished Harry would’ve stayed late tonight to talk through the strategy with you but apparently Jen had been pretty annoyed with all his late nights so you had no choice but to do it alone. You didn’t mind it as much usually, you enjoyed the silence of the empty building, enjoyed filling it with your favourite songs as you worked through your thoughts.

Tonight however you were pretty annoyed to be working late. After the party, Namjoon had spent Sunday sulking about, still refusing to talk out what you thought was a minor issue of miscommunication. If you were being honest, part of your frustrations tonight might be due to the fact that a part of your brain kept pestering you with the same thoughts. Mom was right, you moved in and look, already not talking to each other. If you can’t resolve this tiny fight, how will you have a future? He’s probably sick of you already.

Trying to practice your coping mechanisms, you let the thoughts pass through your head. They were just negative thoughts, they did not define you as a person, do not react to them. You took a deep breath, focusing instead on the task ahead.

As you walked to your desk with your third cup of coffee of the evening and thought about your business plans, you started resenting your board more and more. It was one thing to want a flawless strategy but they failed to understand that there was literally no strategy in the world that would be as risk averse as they wanted. They thought you too impulsive, too bull-headed to do something that was low risk. They had the audacity to think that you were building all the riskiest strategies on purpose when in reality to get the outcome you wanted there had to be an equal amount of risk to go with it. Sighing, you started typing your thoughts, bulleted, on the doc as your phone rang.

“Namjoon?” you asked as soon as you picked up the phone, a bit surprised that this is how he was choosing to break his pseudo silent treatment.

“Just called so you’re not startled.” You heard Namjoon twice, once in your speaker and once from right in front of you. Regardless of his efforts, you jumped in your seat to see him standing in front of you. Holding your hand on your heart, you looked up at your boyfriend standing over your desk in a matching pair of grey sweats and sweater, a black mask under his chin as he looked at you with amusement at your reaction. It never failed to endear him how you were easily startled at the smallest things.

“Did you eat yet?” He asked as he leaned over the desk, his lips puckered. Sighing a yes, you kissed him, feeling your stress reduce at the touch, relieved that he seemed to be more open to communicating now.

“What brings you here?” You asked, reclining back in your seat as Namjoon pulled up a chair next to you.

“I just got done. Thought I’d pick you up.”

“How did you even know I was still here?”

“Boyfriend senses.” He winked, his arm resting on the back of his chair. You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, and really wishing he didn’t go all the way home to come back. “Fine. Siwon texted me. You know it’s bad form to worry your assistant so much he has to call your boyfriend for back up.”

“I’m sorry he texted you.” You leaned forward in your chair with a sheepish smile. Inside however, you were glad Siwon had given Namjoon a push to talk to you. Knowing Siwon you were sure it wasn’t a random concern but probably born out of your talk with him this morning.

He made a noise stating his displeasure at your apology and shaking his head, before reaching out to hold your hand where it lay on your lap. “So when’s this due?”

“Can we talk about Saturday night?” You answered his question with your own, dreading a mood swing, but impatient to explain your side and ease his worries. You really wanted things to go back to normal. Even though it had only been one day, you missed him. He had barely cuddled you in his sleep the last two nights, and you missed the intimacy, and as needy as it sounded in your head, you just wanted him to hold you.

He sighed deeply, leaving your hand to run his hands over his face. With his elbows on his knees, he hunched down, covering his face. He really should let you explain, but he was tired from practice and he didn’t know if he had the mental capacity to deal with an argument. “It’s okay. I’ll get over it.”

“Please. Let me explain.” You stood from your chair squatting in front of him and pulling his hands away to make him look at you. With another sigh of resignation, Namjoon nodded for you to continue.

“Hoseok doesn’t know anything. He said that as a joke randomly.” You spoke carefully, watching Namjoon’s eyes widen as he frowned. “Honestly he’s been your friend for so long I just assumed you told him that’s why he was looking at me like that. You know I didn’t agree or disagree. I just laughed because of the memory.”

Namjoon felt like an idiot. It was such a simple explanation. He was kicking himself for not thinking about this earlier, for spending a whole day avoiding you. As he looked at the earnesty in your eyes, he wanted to go back in time and smack himself on the head for making you feel guilty over this non-issue.

“I’m a fucking asshole,” he groaned, covering his face as he rolled his chair away from you in shame. You stood, walking over to him before pulling his hands away yet again, sitting in his lap sideways. His hands instinctively went around your waist, making sure you didn’t slip off.

“No I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed,” you whispered, frowning as you put your arms around his neck, playing with the hair on his nape.

“I’m such an idiot,” he sighed, rubbing his hand on your thigh, his touch sending a comforting warmth through you. “Also, I’m sorry for earlier.”

“For what?”

“Not letting you cum.” He looked so devastated, his lips pulled down by his guilt as he stared at you, that all you could do was giggle. It was silly that he thought some of the best sex you’d had was bad just because you didn’t cum.

“It’s fine you were in your dom persona.” You smoothed his hair as you kissed his cheek, making him shyly turn away from you, before he looked at you with a determination in his eyes.

“No it’s not fine. In all the research I’ve done one thing they always warned against was domming angry or like using it to resolve issues or punish your partner in a way they didn’t know what started the punishment, and I don’t know what came over me. I was mad and it was unfair of me to use our kinks against you.” He ranted, his frown getting deeper as his grip around you got tighter. With all his goofy antics around you usually, you forgot how serious Namjoon could get, and although the two of you had promised each other to be honest, it was still jarring to hear his rant. It meant he had been thinking about his actions and it bothered you that he was feeling guilty. When he stopped to take a breath, you brought his lips to yours, kissing him with all the affection you could muster. It wasn’t hard - showing him you loved him. In fact, it was the easiest thing to do, as you let your lips assure him and ease the storm in his head.

“I’m perfectly okay Joonie. It was hot.” You chuckled as you broke away and met his gaze filled with adoration. You felt lucky to have him in your life, and although this fight didn’t seem to have lasted that long, you missed him. Kissing him at midnight in your office, you felt content, your stress from the day melting away at his touch.

“Still. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you?” He said as he kissed you again. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You stood and as you packed your stuff, he clung on to you, nuzzling your neck, equally missing your touch. Although you were headed home, you felt it in his arms already.

previous | masterlist | next

120 notes · View notes

luminescencefics · 3 years

Text

you feel like home - part five

“I’ve got to go,” Ryan says, grabbing her mobile in one hand and flicking off the lights until she’s standing in her entranceway, throwing a gentle look over her shoulder to make sure that Luna is still sleeping soundlessly on her couch.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting.

story page // read on wattpad // join the taglist // banner credit

previous | story masterlist | next

***

In Which the World “Date” is Used Lightly

“This was a stupid idea—I’m not going.”

Ryan is staring at her complexion in the vanity mirror as she swipes another layer of mascara over her dark lashes. Her mobile is balancing between a glass bottle of foundation and an eyeshadow palette, with Fiona’s wide-eyed expression staring back at her. When she gasps, Ryan’s dark eyes dart down to the grainy image of her best mate who looks as if she’s about to reach through the screen and shake Ryan repeatedly until she gets her head on straight.

“You’re absolutely barking,” Fiona scoffs. Ryan places the wand back into the mascara bottle, running a shaky hand through her freshly-dried hair as she tries to remember why she even said yes to Harry in the first place.

When she thinks back on it now, she’ll blame it all on a rare moment of bravery. Or quite possibly, amnesia. Because for some strange reason, her brain momentarily short-circuited, completely forgetting about every other time she’s been in Harry’s presence and how she rarely can get through a few sentences around him. Now that she’s agreed to spend an entire evening with him, on his own turf, under the watchful eyes of his observant toddler?

Ryan can already feel the bile rising in her throat.

“Fiona, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not even sure I was thinking!” She’s panicking now, pacing back and forth on the navy blue tiled floors of her bathroom to try and quell the thumping of her heart. “He definitely doesn’t think it’s a date. I’m just making a fuss, because he didn’t even use those words! He only invited me over because he feels bad that I had to watch his kid for a few hours. That’s it. Nothing else.”

She isn’t even sure who she’s trying to convince at this point, but she is sure that her pacing is causing her breath to come out in uneven spurts, her chest rising and falling as she slowly pushes herself to the brink of a full-blown panic attack.

“Ry, will you please stop moving? You’re giving me a bloody migraine,” Fiona calls out. Ryan acquiesces, coming to a stop once again and leaning forward on the countertop of her vanity so that Fiona can see the redness tinge her cheeks and her mouth fall open as she tries to catch her breath.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice sounds shaky and fragile, the same way Jackson’s did whenever he mentioned his mother in the past tense a few hours earlier.

Suddenly, Ryan wishes she was somebody like Fiona. Somebody who didn’t overthink every situation she fell into. Somebody who didn’t have a near panic attack at the trivial notion of making pizzas at her attractive next-door neighbor’s flat. Somebody who could just be normal, without the added pretense of anxiety and social awkwardness that sometimes felt all too crippling.

“Will you stop with that? You can do this. You will do this, even if I have to drive all the way to Hampstead during a lockdown and drag you five meters to his fucking door.” Ryan frowns at Fiona through the screen, wishing for the first time since moving out that she was in the room across the hall from her, close enough so that she can hear her friend’s words of encouragement in person instead of through the tinny speakers of her mobile.

“Okay,” Ryan says quietly, reaching for her mascara and beginning to unscrew the wand before she stops abruptly, an afterthought on the tip of her tongue. “He probably doesn’t even think it’s a date anyway.”

Fiona groans loudly, frustration etched on her freckled face. “He wouldn’t have invited you over if he didn’t want to spend time with you, Ry.”

“But Jackson will be there, too. And he even called it ‘a proper thank you,’ so there’s really no need for me to be freaking out, right? I’m not even sure why I’m putting makeup on in the first place,” Ryan huffs, dropping the mascara on the countertop before releasing her forehead into her hands, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted.

It’s quiet for a few moments, and Ryan lifts her head slowly, wondering if Fiona hung up. When she sees her friend leaning closer towards the screen, her big, blue eyes wide and full of patience (an emotion that rarely crossed Fiona Kitchen’s face), Ryan cocks her head to the side in surprise.

“Ry,” Fiona says through an exhale, “I know you’re nervous. I know you’re scared. And I know this makes you feel uncomfortable and awkward, but Ryan—” the added stress on her name causes her to stare back at her blue-eyed friend unblinkingly, wondering how Fiona could be so understanding, “You said you felt something, yeah? This afternoon?”

Ryan nods, remembering the way Harry looked with a blush covering the apples of his cheeks, the way his body shifted in his trainers when he fumbled over his words, the way his eyes looked at everything else besides the brown of her own or the glasses on her face. The way she somehow made him nervous for the first time, and the way her brain seemingly shuts off whenever she’s in his presence.

The way she blinked and he was practically inches away from her face, his green eyes swirling with fascination and desire and all the other feelings that caused Ryan’s stomach to flutter—and she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she’s sure it had to mean something.

“See!” Fiona squeals, as if it were supposed to bring clarification. When Ryan stays silent, Fiona groans again in frustration. “He wants you to come! He’s probably just as nervous as you are.”

Ryan considers this for a moment, wondering if Fiona was on to something. “Stop harping on the word date, Ry, it’ll only drive you mad. He wants you there. You want to be there. Finish getting ready and have fun for once in your life!”

The proverbial kick in the arse from Fiona is exactly what Ryan needed, and in an uncharacteristic wave of confidence, she unscrews the mascara wand and finishes applying it to her other eye, brushes up her eyebrows so that they look somewhat even, and adds a bit of tinted lip balm to her pouty lips.

She settles on her trusted pair of light wash, straight-legged denim, a white thinly strapped vest paired with a chunky, cropped camel woolen cardigan overtop that hangs off one shoulder, and finishes off her comfortable look with an old pair of Reebok Club C trainers.

“Can’t you wear the brown booties I bought you last Christmas instead?” Fiona whines from her position propped up on Ryan’s dresser.

Ryan laughs, turning from the mirror to her friend. “It’s pizzas in his flat, Fee.”

Fiona scoffs and Ryan nervously pulls at the edges of her cardigan, obsessing over her outfit for the hundredth time, debating if she should have curled her hair instead of left it to air-dry into unkempt waves, or if she should add more makeup to her face, or if she should just strip it all off and wear leggings and an oversized jumper instead.

“Ry,” Fiona says through her mobile, and the urgency in her voice causes Ryan to spin on her heel, her back against the mirror and her eyes falling onto Fiona’s. “You look great.”

Those three words cause Ryan to finally breathe clearly for the first time since she started getting ready, and the relief that courses through her veins unfurl the tension-filled knots on her shoulders, releasing the rigidity of her neck. She feels pretty and she feels like she’s going to be okay, and when Ryan smiles brightly at Fiona, her friend imitates it, and suddenly she feels ready for her almost-maybe-sort-of date with Harry.

“Have fun, Ry! Give me all the dirty deets tomorrow. I want a full synopsis on how Harry is in bed, and don’t leave out the size of his—”

The red button on the bottom of her screen has never looked more inviting.

Ryan leaves the hallway light on and slips her mobile into her back pocket, opening the heavy oak of her door and closing it softly without turning the lock. She’ll only be next door, anyway.

With the last stretches of her confidence still flushing through her system, Ryan takes the short trek to Harry’s front door and knocks three times for good measure, leaning a bit forward when she hears the faint sounds of a record spinning on the slipmat, the needle creating that scratchy sound that only comes from choosing a turntable over a regular speaker. She can hear the indistinct echoes of Jackson’s giggles, and before she can hear anything else, the front door whips open and Ryan springs backward, standing upright as to not give away the fact that she was spying on her neighbors.

But the smirk on Harry’s lips and the upward arch of his eyebrows proves that she was caught red-handed.

So much for confidence.

“Hi, Ryan,” Harry says in that soft, slow voice of his that causes Ryan’s stomach to bottom out. When she finally lifts her eyes to fall onto his frame, she’s suddenly at a loss for words when she takes in his appearance.

His hair that was a disheveled mess earlier in the day with strands pulled upwards in every direction was now tamed, the ringlets forming perfect coils with the ends still a bit damp, as if he had rushed to take a shower before Ryan appeared. His torso was covered with another threadbare graphic shirt, the white sleeves falling just around the midpoint of his protruding biceps, with a blue tea towel hanging around his shoulder that had tiny flour fingerprints on the edge. Along his waist and down his legs were a pair of comfortable, camel-colored dress pants that Ryan would never think to match with a shirt that mentioned something about eating honey. And when Ryan’s eyes fall towards Harry’s feet, she sucks in a small breath when she realizes that he wasn’t wearing anything below—just the sight of his toes and what seemed to be lettering tattooed on his ankles.

Ryan was suddenly glad she chose not to add another layer of blush, because the way she was just so obviously checking him out made the colors of her cheeks flush a notable, deep pink.

“Hi, Harry,” she finally manages to say. And when her brown eyes finally creep up towards Harry’s face, she can see that his eyes are blown-out a bit, the greenness of the irises a bit harder to detect. His gaze seems to fall on the area of skin uncovered by the neckline of her cardigan, where a few layers of gold necklaces are stacked, practically tangling together.

Before they can redirect their gazes and gather their breaths, a loud “Ryan!” shouts out from behind Harry’s frame, where a messy-haired and bright-eyed Jackson can be found. He’s wearing pajamas and wielding a child-sized plastic rolling pin covered with flour, and the sight instantly brings a smile to Ryan’s face.

“Hey, champ,” she calls out, feeling herself regaining her composure.

“You and daddy match,” he says simply, his chubby finger floating between Harry’s trousers and Ryan’s chunky cardigan, the matching shades of brown distinguishable to the four-year-old standing in the entranceway.

Ryan offers a shy giggle and Harry looks at the articles of clothing, smiling when he notices that they are, in fact, matching in an off-handed sort of way. The trite realization brings a wide grin to his lips, and he begins to wonder what else he and Ryan have in common.

“Have you finished planning your toppings, Bubs?” Harry asks, opening the door wider so that Ryan can enter his flat, shutting it behind her once she’s infiltrated the entranceway.

Jackson goes off on a tangent, listing all of the possible toppings he could add to his personalized pizza. Ryan listens as she steps out of her trainers and leaves them near the shoe rack, trying her hardest to be polite. And when the trio enters the kitchen, she stops and watches Harry and Jackson fall into place behind the granite island, Harry lifting Jackson effortlessly on the barstool so that he can kneel on the leather cushion while spreading out red sauce over his much smaller dough, with Harry beside him beginning to roll out his own. Ryan averts her eyes to the floor when she notices Harry’s muscles constricting under his shirt when he pushes the rolling pin away from his body, stretching his long arms out just so that he can pull them back in.

When the spot near Harry remains vacant, he lifts his head up to see Ryan standing under the archway, wringing her hands in front of her body nervously. “C’mere, Ryan. We’ve got you a nice little setup.”

She notices the pre-floured area on the other side of Harry and slowly enters it, noticing how close she is to his body. The area isn’t as large as she once assumed, and when Harry continues to roll out his dough, she can feel his elbows brush against her arms and suddenly she feels a bit warm in his kitchen.

Ryan unbuttons the top button of the three on her cardigan so that the sleeves fall a bit lower on her shoulder, exposing her sweltering skin to the cooler air. The last thing she needs is to be a sweaty, awkward mess in front of Harry.

Harry notices her fidgeting in his periphery and stalls his movements when the olive skin of her shoulder closest to his body is uncovered. When she lifts her arms and begins formulating the dough, more inches of her skin begin to show from the looseness of the fabric, and when she reaches for her own rolling pin, he can make out the etchings of a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder blade.

He stays silent, gulping deeply when he realizes that he’s been staring for far too long.

“Ryan, can you help me with the pepperoni please?” Jackson asks from the other side of the countertop, and she stops spreading the sauce on her own pizza so that she can pop over and assist him. Harry’s a bit jaded, considering he’s usually the one to help his son make his pizza, but when he catches Jackson pointing at specific spots on the dough and Ryan placing the slices there expertly, sneaking a smaller piece into his hand so that he can munch on it quietly, Harry can’t help but sense that red-hot feeling of longing rush through his skin.

When Ryan goes back to her pizza, Harry finishes adding the mushrooms to his own before grabbing her attention. “Want a drink?”

“Please,” she responds, suddenly noticing how dry her throat had been.

“I’ve got wine, beer…” Harry sticks his head further into the fridge, “Juice?”

He smiles when he coaxes a pretty giggle from her mouth. “Beer works,” she calls over.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What’s a better combination than beer and pizza?”

Harry chuckles, grabbing two bottles of Carlsberg and opening them easily before handing one over to Ryan as she sprinkles cheese in a swirl over the red sauce of her pizza. He’s watching her as she brings the neck of the bottle to her lips and takes a generous sip, before reaching for the spinach and adding that to the dough.

“I lived off of this when I was at uni,” Ryan offers as she’s spreading her toppings generously, and Harry’s wondering if the distraction is allowing her to speak to him freely.

“Yeah?” he asks, coaxing.

She hums and takes another swig, and Harry finds that he can’t look anywhere else. “Every Thursday night during my final year. My best mate Fiona and I somehow got away with having no lectures on Friday, so every Thursday we’d order pizza and drink beer and watch The Only Way is Essex.”

“Sounds like my old flatmate, Niall,” Harry says between drinks. “Used to live above a kebab shack so we’d eat that almost every other night and whatever liquor was discounted at the shops.” Ryan sprinkles chopped up pieces of bell peppers over her unmade pizza. “Watched Great British Bake Off instead, obviously we were far more cultured.”

Ryan’s brown eyes lift to meet Harry’s, and she quirks her eyebrows in response to his obvious teasing. “Clearly you’re a far more sophisticated drunk than I gathered.”

“You gathered, huh? What were your predictions, then?” Ryan can’t tell if he’s flirting with her or not, because she’s never really found herself in this situation with Harry before. But when she takes in his direct eye contact and the half-smirk covering his face, and the way his attention only seems to fall on hers, she’s almost certain that he is.

“Sloppy, for starters.”

“Hey!” Harry interjects, facing her completely so that his back is towards Jackson, which in any other circumstance, would probably be a very bad decision.

Ryan giggles before continuing. “I mean, you take up far too much space as it is, I can only imagine a drunk Harry Styles flopping all over the place.”

“Aren’t you the clumsy one in this friendship of ours, Ryan?” Harry says with a small chuckle, flitting his finger back and forth between the pair of them. It’s only when he catches Ryan’s smile faltering, her body turning back towards her pizza and her eyes focusing on adding more vegetables, when Harry realizes that he’s said the wrong thing.

Before he can right himself, Jackson’s captured her attention, and suddenly she’s left him again—floating to the other side of the countertop and away from his body, and he tries his hardest not to frown when he no longer feels the warmth against his left side.

“Daddy, can I show Ryan my room, please? I want to show her the fort we made last night!” Jackson asks, and Harry looks up blankly, somehow forgetting that his son was even in the same room as them.

When two pairs of eyes fall on his frame, he blinks quickly before responding. “Right, uh, go ahead, Bubs. I’ll just pop these in the oven.”

Ryan feels a bit bad leaving Harry alone with their mess, but suddenly Jackson’s asking her to lift him off the barstool and onto the floor, placing his smaller hand in hers once his bare feet have touched the hardwood, dragging her through the living space and down the hallway into his bedroom at the end.

She takes in his room with childlike wonder, observing the deep blue walls and light wood flooring with a circular rug in the middle near all of Jackson’s toys. A twin-sized loft bed is nestled into the corner with a ladder leading up to the mattress. Underneath are two massive beanbag chairs surrounded by shorter bookshelves, and the hand-constructed fort put together by different items in the flat along with multi-colored quilts and stuffed animals.

When she cranes her neck up, Ryan can make out a cluster of stick-on neon yellow stars on his ceiling, and she smiles to herself, remembering how she had the same thing in her childhood bedroom.

Her neck swivels around the room as she takes in the little pieces of Jackson he’s left scattered around—Crayola-filled artwork hanging along the walls, small trainers and wellies falling out of the closet, a Paw Patrol juice cup on his nightstand. When Ryan takes a step towards it, she notices a picture frame behind the cup, an outline of three bodies upon first glance. It’s only once she’s stepped a bit closer when she realizes that it’s technically two and a half persons—a man, a woman, and a small baby.

With shaking hands Ryan clutches the wooden frame and immediately recognizes Harry as the body on the left. Albeit his hair was much longer and messier, there was no mistaking his boyish grin and sparkling eyes. This younger version of Harry still made her cheeks flush and her heart rate skyrocket, and for a brief moment she lets her mind wander at the prospect of potentially meeting this version of Harry when she was at a pub in uni, or out shopping around the city, or even running into him in the Underground. She wonders if she would fall for this version just as quickly as she did with the older version waiting right outside this very room, a version without a child and without responsibilities.

Ryan’s gaze falls to the figure his arm is wrapped tightly around, and with one look at the shape of her eyes and the slope of her nose, she knows instantly that this is Jackson’s mother. She’s beautiful—the type of beautiful that you couldn’t help but feel envious of, because her button nose and almond-shaped eyes and pouty lips and perfectly structured jawline were put together in such a fashion that made it seem almost unfair that one person could possess that type of beauty. Her blonde hair fell in curly ringlets down her back, and her eyes were so blue that Ryan was almost certain she could see herself through the reflection. She had that type of smile where her mouth sort of fell open and you could practically hear the laugh fall from her parted lips. Jackson was swaddled inside a green homemade quilt in her arms, and Ryan could only make out thin wisps of chocolate-colored hair, and suddenly she felt as if she was looking at an image that wasn’t meant for her eyes to see.

Before she could get caught, Jackson’s soft voice calls out to her from inside the fort, and Ryan’s forced to crouch down on her hands and knees and crawl her way through the opening.

“Do you like it?” Jackson asks once she’s seated across from him, her legs crossed underneath her torso so that the tips of her denim-clad knees brush against Jackson’s flannel ones.

“I love it,” Ryan replies, smiling when he flicks on the spinning nightlight against the wall, illuminating the inside. It’s only with the new light that Ryan notices the personalized touches Jackson added to the inside of his fort—the Tonka trucks along the floor, two grey pillows that seem to fit in a king-sized bedroom set, an iPad in the corner with a Marvel film queued up on Netflix, and a glamorous assortment of stuffed animals surrounding the border of the tent.

She’s quite impressed with his interior design skills, if she’s being honest.

“Me and daddy watched Spiderman here last night because we can’t go to the cinema no more. He asked me if I wanted to watch Harry Potter with him, but I told him no because we haven’t finished reading the book yet,” Jackson explains slowly. “I told him I’d only watch it with you anyways. I think he got a little sad about that.”

Ryan’s heart swells inside her chest. “Why will you only watch it with me, champ?”

“Because it’s our thing.” He says it so definitively that Ryan feels stupid for even questioning him in the first place, and the thought of him telling his father no, all because she spent an afternoon reading a few chapters with him, causes a warm feeling to rush through her insides. It’s a different type of warmth than the feeling she gets from Harry—instead of a sweltering wave of heat, it’s more subtle, more muted. It feels like wrapping yourself in a heavy blanket in the middle of winter when you’re laying on your mum’s couch, just before you’re about to fall asleep. It feels like comfort.

It feels like home.

Just as Jackson’s in the middle of telling her about the new Spiderman film, a fuller head of curls pops in through the front entrance. Ryan peeks over and sees that Harry’s smiling shyly, looking as if he’s afraid to interrupt their moment together.

“Pizza’s done,” he says quietly. Jackson practically jumps through the blanketed roof, pushing Harry’s shoulders so that he falls backward on his bum as he runs through the entrance with only the kitchen in his sight.

Before Ryan follows him, she makes sure to turn off the nightlight and rearrange the pillows she and Jackson were sitting on. When she crawls out of the tent on all fours, she looks up from the carpet and sees Harry watching her from the doorframe, a comical look in his eyes.

“Don’t,” Ryan says from her position on the floor, shaking her head in silent laughter once she hears Harry’s loud chuckles from across the room. Before she can get up on her own, she sees large bare feet in her line of vision, with a strong tattooed arm waiting to be held on to.

Her right hand clutches the outside of his own while the left falls into his palm, and with practically no effort, Harry heaves her upright so that she’s standing a few inches away from him. She blinks in the low light of Jackson’s room and realizes that she can still make out the freckles in Harry’s eyes. They’re suddenly in the same position as earlier when they’re standing far too close to each other and breathing a bit too heavy and saying absolutely nothing. It’s only when Harry reaches his right hand out to move her cardigan back into place on her exposed shoulder when she realizes that she’s still holding on to his left hand for dear life.

She unlatches her tight grip and lets her hands fall back to her sides, wondering if she’ll always feel as if her heart was going to burst through her skin whenever she stood too close to Harry. He coughs unnecessarily into his fist, stepping back slowly and giving her a forced smile.

“Let’s go eat.” His voice comes out low and scratchy, and it sounds as if he’s forgotten how to speak. Harry desperately is craving for a beer or water or anything to reprieve the dryness coating his throat, because he somehow has forgotten how to breathe correctly around Ryan, especially when she’s looking at him with messy hair and blown out eyes and tinged cheeks.

When they arrive back into the kitchen, Jackson’s already seated at the kitchen nook, working his way swiftly through his first slice of pepperoni pizza. Ryan slinks in next to him, already reaching for the stack of napkins in the center of the table and wiping his sauce-covered chin as if the motions were practically ingrained in her system. Harry watches a bit slackjawed, before refocusing and grabbing the half-emptied beer bottles from the counter and falling into the seat across from them.

“Thank you,” Ryan mumbles once Harry hands her beer over, and when their fingers brush during the exchange, she tries her hardest not to quiver from the rush of electricity crackling under her skin.

Harry nods and grabs a slice of his own, bringing it to his mouth and chewing. Ryan does the same, and when Jackson peers over at her pizza, squinting at each topping and trying to decide if he liked them or not, Ryan rips a small sliver and places it on his plate.

“What’s that?” Jackson asks through a mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

“Jackson, chew with your mouth closed,” Harry instructs from across the table.

“Sorry,” Jackson mumbles, trying his hardest to move his lips without opening his mouth, causing Ryan to giggle on the side of him.

“They’re bell peppers,” Ryan explains when Jackson holds a slice of green pepper in front of his eyes. He instantly squishes his face in disgust and places the vegetable back onto the slice, exchanging it for the pepperoni.

“Hey! Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Ryan exclaims from Jackson’s side.

He shakes his head so quickly that the curls on the top of his head begin to flutter. “I don’t like vegetables.”

Ryan rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah? Coming from the kid who eats dried fruits as a snack. I don’t believe you for a second.” Her light tone indicates that she was only teasing, and when she tickles Jackson’s side and he begins to laugh loudly, she giggles right along with him.

But Harry’s confused as he’s watching them interact, wondering how on earth Ryan knew that piece of information. “Dried fruits?”

Ryan nods when she realizes that Jackson’s chewing. “Yeah. He told me his mum used to feed him that for snack time.”

When she looks up and sees a look of puzzlement across Harry’s face, she’s suddenly wondering if she’s accidentally pried open Pandora’s box, unassumingly spilling out memories that he had forgotten long ago. Memories of a pretty woman with blonde hair and blue eyes who fed her son dried fruits and has slowly become the elephant in the room that neither Ryan nor Harry seem to want to address.

Ryan reaches for her beer, tipping the bottle back until its contents are sliding down her throat. When she notices Jackson’s cup of water is empty, she grabs it and sneaks past him out of the kitchen nook, recycling her bottle and filling up Jackson’s drink. Feeling Harry’s gaze on her lower back, she looks over her shoulder and asks, “Need another?” and it’s as if the uncomfortable interaction never even happened.

Once she’s back across the table from Harry, she looks down at her plate and realizes that Jackson’s stolen her piece with the vegetables, chewing slowly as if he were trying to decide right then and there if he enjoyed the taste.

Ryan feels her chest puff with pride and she’s not quite sure why the site of Harry’s toddler eating the vegetables off of her pizza makes her feel important in some odd, inconsequential way.

“I guess it’s okay,” Jackson offers, causing both Harry and Ryan to laugh loudly across from each other.

Not long after their plates are emptied and their beer bottles a bit lighter, Ryan can see Jackson stifle a yawn from her periphery. It’s cute, the way his eyes squint and his small fist tries its hardest to catch the breath leaving his mouth before anybody can notice. But Harry does, and he’s looking at Ryan with a knowing look on his face. “Think you tired him out.”

Expecting a fight from the sleepy toddler beside her, Ryan suddenly stiffens when she feels Jackson’s head rest against her arm, his tangled curls tickling below her chin. When she angles her head downward, she smiles when she sees him rubbing his eyes, expelling another deep yawn for good measure.

“It’s alright, we had quite the day,” Ryan agrees, ruffling Jackson’s hair softly. “Go ahead and take him to bed, I’ll put these plates away.”

Harry pauses halfway out of the kitchen nook, looking at the pretty girl with his sleeping son practically on her lap in wonderment. The domesticity of her proposal surges through his skin, causing his heart to pump faster inside his chest. He knows he’s being ridiculous—she’s probably just being nice, offering to put the plates in the dishwasher because she didn’t want to intrude on Jackson’s nighttime routine.

But still, his cheeks flush at the thought that maybe this could be a normal occurrence, and for a slight moment, he revels in it, thinking of all the what if’s and could be’s.

When he offers her a slight nod, Ryan places Jackson on the floor, before stacking the glass plates and bringing them over to the countertop near the sink. She turns around and smiles at the sight of Jackson holding Harry’s hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

But before he can get too far, Harry mumbles something that ends with Ryan’s name, and suddenly he’s ambling over to where she’s standing, blinking the sleep out of his eyes before he mumbles, “G’night Ryan.”

Ryan crouches before him, reaching him just at eye level. “Night, champ. Have a good sleep.”

All of a sudden, two tiny arms are wrapped around her neck, practically causing Ryan to fumble backward at the collision of Jackson’s small body falling into hers. She can feel his tiny hands gripping her brown hair, and after regaining her composure, her arms wrap around him fully so that she’s giving him a proper hug.

“Thanks fo’ today. I had the bestest time ever.” His sleepy admission causes Ryan’s breath to still, and that warm feeling is back—but instead of a warm quilt during winter, it feels like a heated blanket in the middle of summer, and suddenly she’s wondering what this all means.

And when he backs away slowly with a tiny wave, Ryan can only offer a shy smile, feeling far more confused than ever before. She’s too nervous to even look up at Harry’s face, because she’s almost certain that he’s probably horrified at the sight unfolding in front of him. Especially when he was fidgeting over her dried fruit comment, and the fact that Jackson’s mother’s beauty was incomparable to her own, and the fact that Jackson’s probably grown a little bit attached to Ryan, and she’s not sure if she can break his heart when she ultimately has to tell him the hard truth.

Ryan stands up quickly and gets back to loading the dishwasher, trying her hardest to focus on the task at hand instead of the whirring sound of her brain trying to formulate meaning to the situation she suddenly finds herself trapped in.

It’s only once she pushes the start button and takes a deep breath when she hears the familiar foot pattern of Harry entering the kitchen. She turns around and begins to tell him that she should probably be heading out too, but before she can even think to speak, Harry’s looking at her with an indescribable emotion in his eyes, and suddenly she can’t bring herself to move.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” Harry says slowly, reaching for his unfinished beer that Ryan moved to the island countertop, before bringing it to his lips with ease.

“It’s no bother, really. You did most of the cooking when I was in Jackson’s tent.” It’s a lame excuse and thankfully Harry doesn’t push it. Instead, he reaches into the fridge and offers up another beer, and how can Ryan say now when his boyish grin is back and she’s still trying to figure out what that look in his eyes means?

And that’s how they find themselves in Harry’s living room—with Harry perched on one end of the couch, watching Ryan fondly as she peers at all of the records lining his walls, figuring out which one to choose per his request.

“It’s not rocket science, Ryan,” Harry teases after a few minutes have gone by and his record player is still void of a vinyl.

“No, not rocket science. But it is quite an important decision,” Ryan counters, moving on to the next bookshelf and stopping at the K-N alphabetized section.

“Just pick what you like!” Harry exclaims through a chuckle.

Ryan stands up straight and turns around so that she’s staring at him head-on. “Music is your thing, isn’t it?”

Harry nods once he realizes that she’s waiting for a response.

“Right. So you’re going to judge me either way based on my decision—”

“—Whoa, who said I was going to—”

Ryan’s hand silences him. “It’s an internal judgment. Not a bad thing! I’d feel the same way if you were picking out a book in my flat.” She turns back around and bends at the knees, skimming through the M shelf.

“Fleetwood Mac is too easy. You obviously are into classic rock with the way you wear graphic t-shirts and have two Rolling Stones albums framed near your guitar. Also, don’t get me started on the George Michael lyrics tattooed on your ankles.” Ryan’s still scrounging through Harry’s record collection, therefore she can’t see the look of astonishment grace his features.

She stops right in the middle of her search and plucks a yellow album with a colored picture of mountains in the background. It’s simple enough and the cover of the album is what drew her in, and when she squints her eyes and makes out Joni Mitchell in loopy cursive, she shrugs, deeming it okay.

When Harry grabs it from her hands and looks at her with a shocked look on his face, she smiles back, feeling confident in her blind decision.

“Joni Mitchell? I’m quite impressed,” Harry says as he’s placing the vinyl on the record player, bringing the needle to the outer-most edge and heading back to his position on the couch once the cracking sounds of the first song begin to play.

“Don’t be,” Ryan responds, gripping her beer and beginning to follow him. “I only picked it because I liked the color.”

Harry’s head falls back in laughter, before asking, “I’m supposed to believe that you know nothing about music?”

“Exactly,” Ryan starts, walking past an end table filled with picture frames. “I’m just observant. You give off the classic rock vibe with one look at your workspace, and it doesn’t take an idiot to recognize Careless Whisper lyrics—quite the bold choice, might I add.” Before she can say anything else, she recognizes Jackson’s mum in another photograph, and suddenly she’s forgotten her point.

Harry’s arms are wrapped around her shoulders again, but instead of holding baby Jackson, she’s holding a beer and surrounded by four other people. Harry’s hair isn’t as long as in the first photograph, but it still falls well past his ears, so Ryan can only assume that this is from a time before Jackson was even a consideration. One arm falls around her shoulders, and his other arm is around the waist of a taller bloke with dark hair and a thick scarf around his neck. It seems to be winter, with the way everybody is wearing woolen coats and knitted jumpers. When Ryan squints, she can make out Christmas lights in the background, and she feels the elephant in the room come back, but this time she’s sick of running from it.

“Is this Jackson’s mum?” She’s not quite sure why she even bothered asking, because the way Harry’s eyes stop twinkling and the way his grin falls to a frown, Ryan already knows the answer without him having to speak.

“Yeah, her name’s Rachel,” Harry starts, placing his beer on the glass coffee table. “She’s just, uh, sort of not around anymore.”

It’s only once Harry’s still quiet, still looking pensive, when Ryan realizes how stupid she truly was. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” She’s fumbling again and shifting her feet and averting her eyes, and suddenly she wishes she were anywhere but here.

“Wait, what? Oh. Oh,” he laughs, sipping his beer. Ryan stares at him wide-eyed, wondering how on earth he could possibly find this funny. “Christ, she’s not dead, Ryan. She’s just, uh, not really around.”

Ryan nods stupidly before falling onto the other side of the couch, finishing her beer easily and placing the empty bottle on the table.

“We grew up together,” Harry starts, and Ryan brings her eyes up to look at his face and finds that he’s alarmingly calm. “When I came back home after uni we just sort of started hanging out with our sixth form mates again. Rachel and I never really were anything, but it was during that time after uni when you feel really lost and have no idea what you want to do with your life, so we just found comfort in each other, I suppose.” He pauses and Ryan wants to tell him that he really doesn’t owe her an explanation, but before she can say anything he’s shifted his eyes from the floor to her face and she knows that for some reason he wants to tell her.

“I hate to call it an accident, because Jackson’s the best little guy I could have ever asked for. But all of a sudden Rachel was pregnant and I was panicking because a kid wasn’t ever in the cards for me. Not so soon. And not with somebody I—”

Ryan nods, assuring him that she knows exactly what he means even if Harry can’t bring himself to admit it.

“So we… tried, I guess. She couldn’t bring herself to, uh, terminate it—him,” he winces softly and Ryan suddenly wants to grab his hand and never let go. “After he was born, we really tried. Got a flat near Finsbury Park and really did the best we could. And I was in, I was fully committed, one hundred percent. But, uh, Rachel. Rachel wasn’t.”

Ryan feels incredibly sad for Harry all of a sudden. Not the Harry that’s sitting before her—successful, kind, handsome. But the Harry she never met, the Harry she imagined when she first saw the photograph with Rachel in Jackson’s room. The one with long hair and big eyes, the one who didn’t really deserve to deal with the burden of raising a child on his own. The one who did it anyway, selflessly.

“She wanted to go to law school. Had all these dreams about being a career woman and living in a posh flat in the middle of the city. A baby wasn’t in her plans, either, I suppose.” He pauses and offers Ryan an encouraging smile when he sees the look of anguish on her face. “It’s okay, really. Didn’t want to stick around where I wasn’t wanted, right? Didn’t want that for Jackson, either.”

“We’re okay, now. Still friends and such. She sees Jackson one long weekend out of every month, and I think he’s getting used to it. But with covid and everything, she just hasn’t really been around much. So it’s an adjustment.” Ryan can tell that Harry really isn’t okay with everything, because how could you still be friends with somebody you made a child with? That same somebody who decided it wasn’t meant for her? That same somebody who let the responsibility fall onto one parent?

But one look into his eyes, Ryan can see that even after all that heartache and stress and pain, that Harry somehow did it. He raised a great kid, he figured out a career path, he ended up doing it all on his own—and suddenly Ryan feels quite in awe of the man sitting across from her.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” The words fall from her lips without a second thought, and she can feel the brightness from Harry’s grin, her own eyes squinting when she takes in the image of a beaming Harry with fluffy curls and strong arms and a stupid look plastered on his face.

Harry suddenly wonders if he should scoot closer towards her on the couch. Because she’s looking at him with bright, brown eyes, pouty tinted lips and a look on her face that he just wants to unravel. But he’s timid, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm her with the story he just told her and the feelings that are brewing in his stomach.

So he changes the subject.

“Jackson really likes you.” His words cause the apples of Ryan’s cheeks to raise.

“Yeah, well, guess I can sort of relate to him in a way,” her words come out so softly that Harry had to lean forward to make sure he heard her correctly. Because suddenly Ryan’s giving him information while looking into his eyes—not focusing on spreading out her pizza toppings, not mulling over which record to pick. She’s looking directly at him.

And Harry’s almost certain this is better than sitting closer to her.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Well, I was around the same age as him when my parents split up,” Ryan frowns when she realizes the direction their conversation is heading in. “I mean, not that you and Rachel were ever married or whatever. Or that you’re doing a bad job, I just, uh,” Harry encourages her to continue with a gentle nod, but suddenly Ryan is aware that her throat is closing up and her mind has gone blank. Her thoughts are just a swirling mess inside her brain, disappearing on the tip of her tongue the second she tries to formulate her response.

She can feel her social anxiety take hold, and she desperately needs a minute.

So she tells him. “Just, hold on. Give me a minute.”

Harry is nothing but patient, and when he can hear the breath lodged in her throat, her chest compressing as Ryan tries her hardest to push it out of her lungs, he reaches for the hand squeezing her thigh, rubbing soothing motions on the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down.

Ryan’s eyes immediately look into green, and she can feel her chest fall as the breath finally leaves her parted lips. With one look into Harry’s eyes, one graze of his hand on the back of her own, she can feel her breathing regulate, and suddenly she’s calm for the first time all night.

“Lost you again,” Harry whispers.

Ryan nods thrice, feeling her skin prickle with goosebumps even though her insides are sweltering. “Sometimes I can’t think when I’m around you,” she admits.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?” Harry asks gently.

“Not really,” Ryan gulps harshly, forcing her eyes to look into Harry’s. “Not for me.”

It’s quiet, safe for the opening guitar riff of Car On a Hill playing softly in the background. Harry feels his body shifting just the smallest bit towards Ryan’s, so subtle that she can barely recognize it as it’s happening. She’s trapped in his eyes, swirling greens and golden hues spotted with freckles telling her to lean in, to come closer, to push herself into his personal space the way he’s been dreaming about ever since she left with his tea mug the day before.

And she wants to, so badly, that suddenly it’s all she can think about. The confidence Fiona instilled in her hours earlier is back, and when her eyes dart down to Harry’s cherry lips, taking in the chapped ridges and the way his tongue darts out to lick the dryness away, she’s almost certain he wants the same thing as her.

His hand is still on hers and that’s all of the affirmation she needs, so with one fell swoop she makes a move to close the gap between them. And just as Ryan is centimeters away from his lips and her eyelids are about to shut—

—Nothing.

At the last moment, Harry backed away the smallest of inches, but it was enough for Ryan to understand that he didn’t, in fact, want the same thing as her.

So with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Ryan stands up abruptly, ripping her hand out from under his own warm palm, offering a lame, “I should go,” before grabbing her trainers from near the shoe rack and heading straight for his door without even stopping to put them on her feet.

Before Harry can hear his front door close, he kicks into high gear, running after Ryan before she can get away again. Because he’s an absolute fucking idiot for backing away, for his muscles turning rigid and his mind swirling with far too many thoughts.

But once he’s reached the entranceway, he finds nobody there. Just the sight of his door half-closed and the hallway rug upturned at the corner. And when he peeks his head out into the hallway and hears the sound of heavy oak closing, he realizes that he’s missed his chance.

And there’s nobody to blame but himself.

*** A/N: Hi guys, please don’t hate me. Here’s part five of you feel like home, aka the longest part I’ve posted so far. Originally I was going to have it be two parts, but because I didn’t want to create another title, it’s just one. I know this is probably not how we thought (or wanted) the “date” to go, but I promise there’s more to the story! Part six will be posted on Thursday December 3, so feel free to chat (or yell) at me in the meantime. This was a submission for the 1DFF Quarantine Challenge, which has other amazing writers participating as well, so feel free to check out the page! And to everybody celebrating tomorrow, have a safe and happy Thanksgiving. x

taglist: @stylishmuser @vikki1220 @greatestview @verorax @cronias13 @adoremp3 @ilovegolden @taintedwonder @stepping-into-the-light @onlyphysicallypresent @dontwanttobealone @justsaying20 @elemayox @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @halloweenniall @live-at-the-forum @kakayam @harryinsweatersandbandanas @hopelessly-harry @ficnarry @morethanamelodyy @niallgolden @harryswinterberries @caramello-styles @harrysstyle @greatestview @solllaris @niallgolden

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry fic #harry styles x ofc #harry styles x reader #harry x ofc #harry imagines #1dff #1dffupdates #fic: home #1dffquarantine

134 notes · View notes

minithefutureawaits09 · 3 years

Text

So I’m having a bit of a writers explosion so where better to do this?

Pairing: Spirk

Universe: AOS, Alternate.

Warnings: This is fairly angsty but don’t worry I‘m putting plenty of comfort at the end.

let’s begin.

Jim laid buried underneath the layers of blankets and sheets in his bed. Hiding from the world for a few minutes, allowing a moment to draw those shudders closed, to let any and every emotion that wanted to cross his face in privacy. He knew this wasn’t very ‘James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the .U.S.S. Enterprise.’ of him, but he couldn’t care less at the moment. It felt like his heart had been squished into countless little pieces and the ache echoed up to the top of his head, tips of his fingers, and his toes.

He’d gotten into a very heated—, (or well, as heated as one could get with a Vulcan he mused), Heated argument with his Boyfriend about something. Hell, he couldn’t remember what it was he was supposed to be mad over anymore because the hurt was all too consuming. The words he had said in anger,

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Guess I see where I stand then.”

“Well maybe if you could actually grow a pair and tell them that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation would we?”

“I’m Nothing now? Our relationship is nothing now? Well if you were going to lead me on for the past couple months, maybe you should’ve just kept your mouth shut and not said a word.”

“Oh go screw off, Spock!”

“Get the hell out of my quarters! and that’s an order from your captain, Commander!”

Each one sending stabs back through his system from the memory. He knew he messed up, and messed up bad. He doesn’t remember if technically he had the right to be angry or not, and the guilt was eating him away. Into nothingness. A husk, void of anything.

However, he couldn’t find the strength to move. Spock’s words too haunted his thoughts, and it made him question everything. Did Spock love him? Did he mean what he said? Was the past couple of blissful months all a lie? Was everything over? Had he ruined the best thing that‘d ever happened to him? The questions circled his brain, and everything told him to seek out the officer in question but he couldn’t. He knew he didn’t deserve his company. Should he just give him what he wanted?

That’s right, he remembers now. They were fighting over Spock’s wish to resign from Star-Fleet. Something about ’duty’ and being next to his father’s side, and implied settling down. Which he knows this might be selfish, but Jim needs him. Needs him here, as his First officer, his friend, his lover. Maybe in another timeline he’d be encouraging him to do so, to purse that chance, but not this one.

He’d wanted him so badly, was it truly messed up that he wanted to keep him now that he had him? Maybe it was. Maybe it was because he was keeping him from the duty Spock felt the need to pursue. They’d agreed from the beginning that duty came first. Did this fall under that category? It did...didn’t it? Duty was the word he was using, so duty it must be.

So he was in the wrong. He knew it. He freaking. Knew it. So there’s only one way to rectify this. Give his...Soon-to-be-Former First officer what he wanted. He forced his eyes to open, even though they ached from hours of sobbing. He was thankful he dimmed the lights earlier this morning, as it was bright enough to see but not enough to hurt his eyes. He wiped at his eyes with a soft blanket in front of him, before using all of his willpower to sit up.

He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose for the umpteenth time, though it didn’t do much. He still couldn’t breathe very well through it. Doesn’t matter though, he can breathe through his mouth just fine. Just as he‘s gotten his feet off the side of the bed he hears the doors to their joint bathroom sliding open. The bright light illuminating the silhouette of the being whose quarters are on the other side.

He squints but can just barely meet the eyes staring back at him until the doors slide close again and conceal the bright light. That’s when he all-out avoids them. Hanging his head in silence, but the Vulcan breaks it first.

“Jim,“

Jim head lifts at the sound of his name, and how sad and broken it fell from those lips.

“Spock,”

His was worse, broken, quiet and horse. He puts his hands out, reaching for the man. Seeking comfort, even if his brain is telling him he doesn’t need nor deserve such a luxury. That his own words from earlier were so awful that they really don’t desrve forgiveness.

In a blur he feels warmth spreading from his fingers and setting off a fresh batch of tears in the works. He’s somewhat aware that he’s sobbing out ’I’m so sorry’ and the man’s name. His face only buried in the soft fabric of what Jim can only assume was Spock’s pajamas or robe.

“Jim, T’hy’la. It is not your fault.”

Gentle hands held his, as he watches the figure now kneel before him. One hand reaching to cup his face, and wipe away the tears, even if he couldn’t meet the brown eyes staring intensely at him. His thoughts are telling him it is, and he’s convinced himself it is. So he responds,

”it— it is my—my fault, Spock,”

He whispered then added,

“I said such awful things to you, and I forgot we agreed duty came first. I was just getting up to sign the papers-,”

Jim was cut off as he was quickly pulled into Spock’s lap off the bed. Both of the Vulcan’s arms holding him in a firm grasp as he straddled the man’s lap. One hand found its way into his hair, as he rested it on the shoulder in front of him.

“No. You had every right to be mad at me, ashayam.“

He’d opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to speaking,

“I do not wish to be anywhere but by your side. I know you wanted to wait further, but I informed my father that I will be staying here with you. My T’hy’la.”

Jim was confused, he knew what Ashayam meant, ‘beloved.’ His partner told him that early on in their relationship- well. Week two, (if you want to be specific), of their two month relationship. T’hy’la on the other hand, he’s heard tossed around from his First officer’s counterpart, Selik. He never asked what it meant though because the thought always slipped from him. Why that of all things in that sentence he was hung up on he’s not sure.

“What does that word mean, and could we move back to the bed...please?”

He doesn’t try and fight it as his partner pick him up in order for them to the bed in answer to his request. Now laying on his side, facing someone who he couldn’t look in the eye yet. Held firmly by their arms, as the explain action makes him freeze.

“T’hy’la means friend, brother, and lover. Which I neglected to see until our disagreement took place.“

This only further instilled his confusion.

“Spock I don’t understand,”

He lifted his gaze to meet those brown orbs, comparable to that of chocolate. His eyes slide close as he feels a forehead pressing against his own.

“T’hy’la is a rare occurrence on Vulcan. The closest one can get would be a soulmate. If I took that position beside my father, I would be leaving behind the other half of myself.”

This makes Jim object,

“Spock as much as I want to be, I don’t think I’m your Tuh-do-la thingy. If we really were soulmates, I wouldn’t have said—“

Again, words were stopped short, but for a different reason. This time it was for the soft lips pressed against his own, ones that tasted faintly of a tea of some sort. When they broke his Vulcan spoke,

”Again. You were angry, and I deeply apologize for hurting you. I know you may not believe me now, after I jeopardized our relationship, but my Jim, I promise you will soon.”

This was followed by a series of kisses until Spock gently coaxed Jim into sleep and shortly followed suit. Assuring every question thrown his way that he wasn’t going anywhere anymore, and that he truly apologized for his actions.

Even as he drifted off, Jim knew now that every word he said. He was loved, and to the depths that love went. That the past months prior weren’t a lie, and it wasn’t selfish to want his parter after desperately pining after him.

#spirk au #star trek spirk #angst #spirk fanfic #aos spirk #romance #jim kirk #commander spock #fanfic

37 notes · View notes

the-fiction-witch · 3 years

Text

Watts

TV SHOW: THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER (KINDA) RATING: SAD + SWEET

Writers notes: My brain today : Hu? I wonder what’s benny watt’s backstory? who knows... Lets make him one! that's sad and tragic and kinda adorable... lets do this.

I sat against the harsh plastic chair, my feet against the ice cold stones of the basement floor, the chill coming under the door spreading across the whole apartment, the windows dark rain battering them every so often thunder cracking across the sky, I sat up a little in my chair and moved a piece playing the toughest game I could play, Against myself. I pulled my shirt over me a little more but not wanting to do up another button, it wasn't that cold. I was lost in my own world a while my mind started to wander.

One of the first things I can recall, it was a bright sunny day, the sky blue, the warmth of mid July in full swing, The tall buildings around all shaken and half broken, all the windows taped up, many of them blacked out, The sweet sounds of the radio playing some nice tunes, I was hopping along the tall fence posts jumping from tall wooden post to tall wooden post down the long garden, trying not to fall. I saw the door to next door open, her hair up in a bun, her dress half torn and repaired, the washing basket on her hip, she was shocked but then her face softened as she smiled at me

"Benjamin watts? what are you doing up there?" she laughs

"Playing" I told her

"what are you playing?" she asks coming over

"Frogs"

"Well alright," she laughs putting her basket down by her washing line string, she got her little cloth out her apron pocket giving it a lick and cleaning some dirt off my nose "You be careful Little man"

"I will Mrs Linley" I smiled hopping to the next post

"why don't you go out and play with the other kiddos?"

"There not as fun as playing by myself"

"Why don't you go with little Lilly take her to the park for an ice cream"

"Lilly's boring"

"BENNY!" I heard the harsh male voice yell so I quickly jumped down from the fence seeing him stood looming over the backdoor of the house in his usual suit with his cane, his belt done tight with his knife sat there as usual "Dinner" He says so I nodded heading inside sitting at the table where he set down a bowl of gross smelling soup I instantly turned my nose up at it "Eat it. You're lucky I even feed you" He says muttering to himself as he usually did "Ungrateful little bastard, You know I don't have to. I could have sent you to the poor house with the other kids, not out the goodness of my heart I look after you"

"Then why do you Papa?"

"Because your mother asks it off me." he sighed sitting at the table with his own soup and some bread "We've been over this" He says "I want nothing to do with my daughter, never was my business, and if she wasn't so busy I wouldn't be the one taking care of you, You little bastard"

"What's a bastard Papa?"

"You are a bastard benny. By definition, Maybe you wouldn't be if your mother kept her legs shut and had some idea who your father was" He sighed "if your mother wasn't so busy, taking care of the soldiers I'd leave you with her," he explained "eat your dinner"

"Yes papa" I sighed "when will mummy be back?"

"When the war is over," he says "your mother as much as we have our differences, she does a good job, and an important job. Nurses are usually good girls, your mother… happens to be an exception, but nurses are good girls, you'll marry a nurse one day"

"Will I?"

"Course you will. You'll get a war at your age Benny, you'll meet a lovely nurse, get married and have your own little kiddos" he says "Watts always have nurses"

"What if I don't wanna be a soldier?"

"Then you and your mother are dead to me" he says before the sound of the warning erupted across the city, he stood up and grabbed the bag by the door pushing me out the seat I nodded and ran out the house And into the garden as the sun was setting, he slowing followed as he locked the house up, I ran down to the shelter jumping on my little bed, he followed and locked the door up behind him sitting on his own. It grew terrifyingly quiet as for moments the world sat on the edge “Benny, Play” He ordered clicking his fingers pointing to the little chess board he had set up on the table between the beds, I happily smiled going and playing against him. He would often try to trick me but I always beat him “Good game kid” He cracked a smile shaking my hand

“Can I papa? Can I?” I asked bouncing my on the bed

“Alright, until the raid’s over” he says taking his hat from the side and sitting it on my head “Again?”

“Again” I smiled excitedly setting the board up again,

“But not to many, you need to get to bed”

I sat at the table the chess board set, waiting. It was getting so late now I wonder what was happening, Someone had come to the door before we had began our game I didn’t know why, My grandpa just took them to the other room I could heard talking, arguing even if I tried not to listen.

“Why can’t his father take him?”

“There’s no mention of him anywhere we can’t find him” “Well he has to be somewhere” “Noel. If you don’t keep him. He’ll get swept up with the rest of the kids, There’s hundreds, maybe thousands of them, homeless, lost there families, you know if he goes into the system, he won’t get out till he’s eighteen.”

“I don’t see why I should keep him

“He’s your grandchild” “He’s a bastard! I never much wanted anything to do with my daughter why should I clean up after her mess”

“Because she’s not coming back. Not for him. Not for you. You’re all he has in the world.”

The door opened moments later the woman from the door came over to me touching my hair moving it out of my eyes for me “Hi Benny”

“Hello” I answered not sure what was going on

“Benny, I need you to answer something for me” she smiled moving to her knee

“Okay” I nodded seeing my grandpa stood leaning on the door to the other room

“Would you Like to stay here? In this little house with your grandpa? Or would you like me to take you to a nice place with lots of other children… lots of nice children who, Have lost their mommies too”

I looked to my grandpa and he seemed to be waiting for the answer too, I didn’t know what they wanted from me…

“I would like to stay here with papa”

“Okay sweetheart” she smiled “Then he stays with you”

“What if I said… you’d be better off there Benny?” He asks

“I’d still rather stay”

“Fine. But I hear a word of complaint out your little bastard mouth, one tantrum, one teenage rebellion. You’re going. You choose to stay here with me, and don’t you ever fucking forget it” He warned

“Yes Papa”

“Go to your room” He ordered and I nodded going out the house and out to the little shelter, our house had only ever had one bedroom and there wasn’t much space for me, even so he would rather I sleep out here said I was safer to always sleep in here, were I couldn’t get hurt, My boards sat along the other bed, my trophies lines along the little wall, I shut the little door and got cosy in the little dark shelter.

I sat in the old beaten up pick up listening to the radio on low, I was going over the games of the people I was to play against, running through it all in my head.

“You gonna win?” He asks

“I’m planning on it” “Don’t get cocky.” He warns “worst train in the world cockiness. Gets you into trouble. Don’t write checks with your mouth that your ass can’t cash benny”

“I know,”

“I know you know. Doesn't it mean you shouldn’t listen” He says “You're going out after?”

“No, home. Do some work” “You’ve never gonna met a girl at one of these things” “I know,”

“..... If there’s a boy-” “I’m not Gay Papa” I laughed

“Aren’t you? You're fourteen, how do you know?”

“Because I like girls”

“You’re fourteen. You don’t know what you like. I thought alot like what then I was your age”

“And?”

“And. You shouldn’t set yourself up to fail, I was married when I was not much older then you. Don’t… rush yourself with things is all I’m saying” “Is that why you didn’t wanna be with grandma anymore?”

“Somewhat, there was a lot of things between me and your grandma. Don’t worry about it” He says as he stopped at the little hotel doing the tournament “Hey,” He says stopping me from opening the door “Good luck you little bastard” He laughs putting his hat on my head

“I thought I don’t get it till I win?” I asked fiddling with it

“You’ll win. You’re a Watts, Go on you’ll be late” He says

“Thanks Papa” I smiled

“Go on run along you little bastard”

I tried to force it all away, I didn’t want to think about it. I folded the letter up and left it on the table, the cold chill of the apartment starting to get to me. This place was small, dirty, cold, and depressing but… I liked it. It felt like home, all the years of sitting playing chess in bomb shelters because he was too scared to let me come out, I wish I could have seen him again… I wish we hadn’t lost touch, then again he never liked how I went on from there, much less everything else, I had seen him a few times at key moments but he rarely spoke much, or phoned much, he kinda just… backed off. Knowing I had my own life and my own things, I don’t think he minded, but still. I would have liked to have seen him again.

“Benny?” I heard making me sit up a little seeing y/n stood at the bedroom door dressed for work already in her little blue and white dress, her hair done up in beautiful braids, minimal make up as it would get ruined on her shift anyway “Can you settle him? Else I’ll be late for work” she smiled

“Course I can” I laughed getting up and taking our little baby from her sitting him on my hip “Hey kiddo” I laughed giving his head a kiss trying to make him settle down.

“He won’t stop fussing” she laughs

“Boys do” I shrug

“Ummm… are all watts boys such fussy little monsters?” she laughs

“We are assholes” I sighed

“Umm Have to make sure I have a girl this time then” she smiled tapping her tiny little tummy she wasn’t even a full three months yet, “Are you okay benny?” she asks

“Yeah, I’m fine” I shrug

“Alright, don’t get wrapped up about it okay,” she smiled giving me a hug “Milks in the fridge, I’ll be home for dinner” she smiled giving me a kiss

“See you later darling” I told her

“Love you” she giggled

“Love you too” I laughed giving her an extra kiss, she smiled back and gave his head a kiss too before she got her bag

“You boys have fun” she laughed as she opened the door and hurried off to work, I smiled taking him sitting in his high chair by the table, he liked watching my play chess even if was only just about a year old. He kept making grabby hands towards the side of the table where my hat sat so I laughed picking it up and sitting it on his head even if it was miles too big for him

“It’s okay luke. You’ll grow into it” I laughed “But you're not having it properly, till you win. That's the rules, same for you as it was for me. Hey. You’re a watts. And that's the one thing no one can ever take away from you” I told him

#tbs #tbs fanfiction #thomas #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomassangster #thomas sangster imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #benny #benny x reader #benny smut #benny imagine #benny watts #BENNYWATTS #bennywattssmut #benny watts imagine #benny watts smut

48 notes · View notes

immortalcoelacanth · 3 years

Text

Between the Walls, Chapter 4: Cheating the System (Dream SMP fic)

God dammit I forgot to post this before I passed out, so it’s a rare super late/early post from me XD

Word count: 5826

Summary: In which Tommy learns about many things. The purpose of the mob farm, what gunpowder is, and that Techno has a horse named Carl.

Over the course of the next couple days, Tommy learned several things. He learned that Techno’s favourite vegetable was a potato, something about it tasting like victory and being easy to grow. He learned that the upper floor of the house, the only space he had been unable to reach since digging upward tunnels was a bitch, housed not only Techno’s bed but a bell as well. Honestly, he was more surprised about the hybrid having a bed than anything else since he rarely seemed to sleep.

He also learned what the true purpose of the mob farm was.

The borrower had been looking out one of the many windows, still a bit anxious about being out in the open but ultimately adapting quite well to his new environment, when he spotted Techno outside. Nothing about this really interested him, he occasionally watched the hybrid gather resources nearby or take trips to the village to trade, but what caught his attention was the fact that Techno was going to the mob farm this time.

Now curious, he leaned against the window and watched as Techno brushed some freshly fallen snow off the ground, revealing a previously hidden trapdoor.

Seeing an opportunity to both mildly annoy Techno and figure out what was up with that random trap door, he quickly ducked into the nearby passage and made his way down to the ground. From there, he shimmied out of the entrance he had made in the wooden framework of the house, winding up on the stone stairs.

Entrances and exits to the house were always the first thing borrowers made. Escape routes were important and all, and he doubted the hybrid had noticed the practically invisible entrance, consisting of nothing other than a sheet of wood that could be moved back and forth.

It was a sliding door, Tubbo called it. He had picked up the design during a conversation with some other borrowers and shared it with Tommy once he got home. They had, naturally, tried it out and built their own special, hidden sliding door and used the space behind it as a sort of secret storage.

Hopefully it was still hidden, protecting the treasures they had gathered over the years. The sparkling red dust that Tubbo liked to mess with, the worn bee plushie, the old jukebox Tubbo had managed to fix up, and the discs they would listen to late at night.

Cat and Mellohi.

He skidded to a halt once he reached the railing, nearly falling off in the process, and quickly cupped his hands around his mouth.

“HEY TECHNOOOOOOO!” Tommy shouted at the top of his lungs. “BIG MAN! WHAT’RE YOU UP TO?!”

While the hybrid didn’t show any signs of being surprised, something that the borrower was just the slightest bit disappointed about, he did see those large, pointed ears twitch before Techno turned to face him. He waved both of his arms, bouncing up and down, and he watched as Techno reluctantly made his way over.

“So, what’s up with those trapdoors?” He immediately asked, leaning forward and peering around the hybrid as he tried to catch another glimpse of the aforementioned trapdoors. “Got some secret room full of women you’ve been hidin’?”

“... I don’t think there are any words in the English language to convey the emotion I just felt, and no.” Techno calmly replied. “It’s for the mob farm. The hoppers and chests.”

“... You keeping frogs down there?” Tommy grinned as he heard the disappointed sigh the hybrid let out in response to his question. He had no clue what a hopper was, but it sounded weird.

“It’d be easier to just show you.” Techno said, choosing to completely ignore the borrower’s question as the last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge it. “C’mere-”

“Wait! Wait! Don’t pick me up! Blade, let me ride on your shoulder!” Tommy exclaimed as he clasped his hands together. “It’ll be cool!”

“Wh-no.” Techno balked at the request. “That is possibly the worst idea I’ve ever heard on so many levels.”

“But I’ll be tall-”

“And that’s even more of an incentive to say no.”

Tommy inhaled and used his backup plan. “Please, please, please, please please, please, please, please-”

His pleading was cut off when Techno reached out and picked him up, yet again without bothering to warn the borrower. He was moments away from shouting, wanting to curse the hybrid for making a habit out of randomly picking him up, but the sudden drop onto Techno’s shoulder cut him off.

Immediately, he found himself surrounded by the fluffy trim of the cape and he impulsively ran a hand through the surprisingly soft material. It was warm, very warm, due to both the body heat the hybrid was giving off as well as the natural insulation provided by the cape. He glanced upwards, noticing the large, pointed ear above him, and a mischievous grin crossed his face.

The borrower quickly inhaled and, without warning, blew a quick puff of air up towards Techno’s ear. He was immediately rewarded with a full body shudder from the hybrid as his ear twitched wildly. That evil look appeared once more, and he quickly inhaled-

Just in time to be met with a sharp flick on his forehead. It was Techno’s retaliation, and he let out a loud yelp before massaging the aching spot.

“What the fuck was that for?!”

“You acting like a gremlin.” The hybrid replied while staring at the borrower out of the corner of his eye. Tommy nervously swallowed. “And don’t do that again.”

“R-Right! Got it, big man!”

With that boundary drawn, Techno made his way back over to the trapdoors. He ignored the surprised shout that came from Tommy as he started moving as well as the uncomfortable memories that roiled in his mind. Moments of people whispering as he passed, pointing at him.

At his ears.

Looks of disgust and distrust, as though he were some kind of freak walking through the streets. The insults and jeers that filled his childhood, eventually turning to words of praise and awe-

He suppressed the shudder and pushed down the images that plagued his mind of a time that had long since passed. There was no point dwelling on such things, remembering them, and in an attempt to distract himself, he opened the trapdoors and jumped down.

Whatever Tommy was expecting when the duo descended into the room connected to the mob farm, it certainly wasn’t this.

He could see the faint glow coming from those weird blocks, something he still needed to ask Techno about, lighting up the small space. The room itself was made out of stone, smelling faintly of dirt, and featured some chests that had been placed directly below the glowing blocks. Some strange, metal devices linked the two, and the borrower briefly wondered whether those were the “hoppers” Techno had talked about.

Before he could ask what anything was, or why the hybrid had decided to make the farm in the first place, Techno made his way over to one of the chests, crouched down, and opened it, revealing all the loot that the mob farm had generated while the borrower had been acting as bait.

There were some drops that Tommy was familiar with, the bones and rotten flesh being the main ones. Back in Borrowton, there had been groups who would go out and scavenge what loot they could find after the mobs had burnt up in the bright sunlight. It had been a dangerous job, but the rewards were worth it.

Especially when the occasional chunk of iron was found. He would never be able to forget Tubbo’s excited rambling about what new tools would be made. Fixing old, broken things was his favourite pastime, even more so when he and Tommy got something out of it, and it was one of the main sources of motivation for Tommy to go out and steal things.

Well, that and spite.

Bones had been surprisingly rare with how common skeletons were supposed to be, but he had always supposed that was because of the local wolf population getting to them first. No one wanted to challenge the local wildlife, even if it meant getting vital supplies.

However, the rest of the items left Tommy scratching his head in confusion as he tried to figure out what they were. One looked like some weird, reddish eye. String, or something that resembled string, was also pretty common and he quietly wondered if that was from the occasional spider he had seen. The only other thing he struggled to identify were the random piles of some strange, grey coloured powder.

Interestingly enough, it was these piles of powder that Techno seemed the most interested in, based on the appreciative hum he let out upon seeing how much had been collected.

“It’s gunpowder.” The hybrid replied. After hearing the confused noise the borrower made, he continued speaking. “Creepers drop it.”

“Oh.” Tommy had seen the large, somewhat fuzzy, green mob before. It was always from a distance since they apparently exploded. “So it blows up?”

Techno just grinned in response as he slowly sorted through the loot, gathering as much of the gunpowder as he could and adding it to a bag, making the borrower instinctively shudder. There was just something about that look, the amount of malice he radiated that made him want nothing more than to run, to hide and find somewhere he would be safe.

He hated it, of course, and determinedly shoved the emotions down. He was a big man, and he wouldn’t show any fear! He was stronger than that!

“Bit of a shit explanation, that is.” Tommy huffed. “Just smilin’ like someone who’s scheming. Are you scheming, Blade?”

“Not at all.” The sarcastic drawl clearly indicated otherwise, but the borrower decided not to press any further. He had his own things to worry about and the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in whatever Techno was hinting at.

Prioritize, Tommy had to prioritize. For as much as he unintentionally enjoyed his time with the hybrid, it would be best if he kept his distance as much as possible and only interacted when he really needed to. Less attachment would make it easier to leave.

It was a sound plan.

Too bad Tommy always sucked at following plans.

The next day, he ended up learning that Techno used to have a horse named Carl.

The loud bang that shook the house, walls trembling before going still, was the first indication Tommy had that something bad had happened. The next was the furious, yet short-lived, shouting he heard coming from the front yard. He faintly heard something about a retirement fund?

He didn’t really care about whatever a retirement fund was as most of his attention was focused on whatever could make Techno sound so angry. It was the first time he had ever heard such anger from the hybrid, which was concerning in and of itself, and he hesitantly made his way out towards the shouting. After creeping through his hidden door, he found Techno pacing in the snow, a somewhat crumpled piece of paper held in his hands.

Maybe that was the source of his anger…?

“Uh, Blade?” Tommy hesitantly called out. He cringed as the hybrid whirled around, red eyes shining with rage, and quietly wondered why he always got himself into these stupidly dangerous situations. “You… lookin’ a bit mad there, bruv-”

“They took Carl.”

“Uh, Carl?”

“My horse.” Techno replied, voice strangely monotone after his enraged outburst moments ago. “He’s stuck in some underground maze.”

“... So, when are we breaking him out?”

“We?” The hybrid repeated, anger fading as it was replaced by confusion.

“Well, yeah! You think I can’t help?!”

“... You’re a tiny person-”

“I am a big man with a big brain!” Tommy retorted as he pointed a finger at Techno. “And I’m great at puzzles-”

That was an absolute lie, Tubbo had always been the better out of the two when solving puzzles or riddles. He was far more patient than Tommy.

“Plus they’re probably counting on you being alone and stuff, not having a master puzzle solver with you!”

The hybrid hated to admit it, but in a way Tommy did have a point. Though he doubted the kid was as much of a master at solving puzzles as he claimed, his diminutive size could come in handy, and the sooner he got Carl out of that maze, the better.

“Alright-”

“Yes!” The borrower cheered, eagerly hopping into the offered hand before jumping onto Techno’s shoulder. He quickly made himself comfy, ignoring the exasperated look on Techno’s face, and tapped the side of his neck. “Let’s go!”

“I have to get supplies.”

“... Let’s go after we get supplies!”

Fortunately, preparing for their journey did not take long, and in no time at all, Techno set out and strode into the tundra. As they were leaving, Tommy noticed how some of the stones that made up the front porch were cracked. He could see the point of impact and how the damage spread outwards.

Had… had Techno punched it?

It took all of his strength to suppress his laughter, and even then he caught a glimpse of the hybrid staring at him in confusion before shaking his head. Nope, Techno was not going to ask about what that laughter was about. He had more important things to focus on at the moment, like getting to wherever the hell this maze was, and ignoring the inane chatter coming from the borrower.

By the time the sun had begun to set, the pair reached their destination.

“So I guess this is where your horse is.” Tommy commented as he stared at the stone entryway leading deep underground. His eyes momentarily lingered on the strange, orange, glowing things in the ground before he looked up at Techno. He couldn’t see much of the hybrid’s face due to his vantage point, but he could easily see how tense his jaw was.

Gritting his teeth as he thought about the best way to solve this maze without losing one of his lives, Carl, or his items.

“Yeah.” He grumbled as he approached the entrance, eyes briefly scanning over the sign that stated only he could enter. A quick hit with his axe split the wooden sign in half, pieces tumbling to the ground as he made his way forward.

“Apparently, if any blocks get broken Carl’s gonna burn to death.” The hybrid explained, descending into the start of the maze. “If it was anything else I’d get someone, probably Skeppy, to do it for me, but I don’t want someone to troll me by breaking a block and killing Carl.”

He then glanced down at Tommy. “And that’s where you come in.”

“... We’re gonna cheat the system?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fuck yeah!” Tommy cheered, throwing his arms up into the air in excitement. “Pog! We’ve gotta rub it in their stupid faces after we get Carl back!”

That got a small smile out of Techno, and he felt his mood lift for the first time since reading that stupid note. The kid could be so damn obnoxious and annoying, but sometimes he was alright.

So, after quickly checking out the nearby chest to see if there was any loot in it and finding nothing, he moved on and investigated the lectern nearby. He picked up the book resting on it, and opened it.

Huh, at least whoever designed this place was nice enough to leave hints.

Techno scanned over the words written in the book as he glanced at the arrows on the wall. “So, they need to be in a specific pattern-”

“I’ve got this.” Tommy scoffed as he cut Techno off. “Just lift me up to one of those frames and I’ll handle the rest.”

Mildly intrigued to see what the borrower had in mind, the hybrid held out a hand for Tommy to jump into. From there, he lifted the kid up to the item frame and watched as he skillfully jammed a tiny knife into the space between the frame and the wall, wiggled it loose, and slipped into the crack.

Suddenly, the arrow on the item frame started turning, rotating in place until Techno heard a click come from it. The borrower stuck his head out of the crack and grinned. “Got it! Take me to the next one!”

This process was repeated with each of the item frames, Tommy prying them open and messing with the redstone behind the wall until the arrow was in the correct position. Hardly any time had passed before the final click sounded and a section of the wall slid open.

Techno grinned. “... So you were a good investment-”

“Fuck yeah!” Tommy smirked while flexing his arms. “Big brain move to invest in these muscles!”

“... I take it back.”

“Hey!”

Progressing deeper into the maze, Techno easily kicking aside the empty lectern that was in his way, he took note of the bed placed in a cramped corner and the sign above it. A warning of death and respawns, and the implications made him snort in amusement.

Him? Die in this stupid maze? Not going to happen when he had Tommy to throw into the dangerous sections. Speaking of which…

“Time for you to do your thing.” He said as he scooped the borrower off his shoulder and placed him on the ground. “Apparently there’s a lot of death up ahead, probably lava. Try not to die.”

“Awwwww, the Blade cares-”

“It’d be a pain in the ass to replace you.”

“... Fucking dick.” Tommy grumbled as he stomped off. “It’d be impossible to replace me, you can’t replace perfection!”

He didn’t bother listening to whatever the hybrid’s response was as, in a mildly unnerving display of attention and focus, he approached the latest challenge he needed to overcome.

Tommy hummed as he investigated the next section of the maze. It certainly looked complicated, with all the pressure plates and strange devices, but there were two things that he quickly noticed that left him grinning. The first was that the pressure plates didn’t really detect him thanks to how small he was, and the other was that not all of the stone blocks were perfectly flush with one another, leaving the occasional gap that was just big enough for him to fit through.

Perfect.

He cracked his knuckles and got to work.

Crawling through the gaps yielded several pieces of information, the main one being that Techno had been correct in his guess that there would be lava. There were tons of spots where it had been used, each dead end filled with the glowing, molten fluid. It was chilling to realize how many times whoever kidnapped Carl wanted Techno to die, and Tommy could not help but wonder why.

Why steal Techno’s horse? Why go through all the trouble?

Something else he noticed was the strange, dark coloured sand with swirls and shapes in it. He had been hesitant to walk in it at first, and when he did he noticed that the sand seemed to stick to his boots, making it hard for him to move at anything other than a snail’s pace. Fortunately, he was able to easily skip these sections and in no time at all, he found himself staring at another lectern.

Fuck yeah!

With a victorious grin on his face, the borrower scampered back through the cracks and gaps in the blocks before finding his way back to Techno.

“You solved it?”

“Of course I did! Big man, I better get a reward for this-”

“Your reward is me not punting you every time you decide to act like a gremlin child.” The hybrid teased as he stepped forward and scooped the sputtering Tommy up. He stepped onto the pressure plate, momentarily disoriented as he was moved around, and then gestured for the borrower to begin guiding him.

Every so often, Tommy would get Techno to pause as he quickly checked to make sure the path they were following was correct before continuing to lead him. He could feel both his pride and ego swelling at his success, even after the teasing from earlier. This maze was easy!

And that thought stayed in his mind for only a couple of seconds before the pair reached the next section. While the borrower did not see the hint, he did catch sight of the smile that crossed Techno’s face once he was done reading it, which made him smile too.

Oh yeah, this next part was gonna be easy as hell-

Or so the borrower thought, until he was blasted in the face by the roaring heat of a room full of lava. The viscous fluid dripped from the ceiling and filled the pit which took up the bottom of the room. Several tiny platforms were suspended above the deadly obstacle, and multiple ladders lined the walls.

“It’s all fucking lava!” Tommy shrieked, voice cracking painfully. “Techno, move!”

“Gimme a sec.” Techno tersely replied as he jumped from the starting platform to the nearest ladder. His concentration was momentarily thrown off as he felt a pair of arms wrap around the side of his neck and a tiny body press itself against him.

It was Tommy, and he was trembling in fear.

Discomfort ran through him, but the hybrid ignored it as he continued to jump from ladder to platform. He carefully dodged the bits of lava that fell from the ceiling and unconsciously raised the shoulder the borrower was on, blocking any potential lava that might land on him.

It was a gesture that only Tommy noticed, his eyes widening in surprise as the protective positioning registered. It was just like back with the librarian. Techno was trying to keep him safe…

Soon enough, Techno’s boots hit stone. This sound snapped Tommy out of his dazed state, and he awkwardly let go of the neck he had been clinging to and looked off to the side.

Don’t say anything, just don’t mention it-

“Welp, hope you don’t mind more lava-”

“THERE’S MORE?!” The borrower wailed as he looked in front of them, taking in the multiple different pathways that were full of lava. “WHY THE FUCK IS THERE MORE?!”

“Bruh, if you’re gonna keep being so loud I’m sticking you in a bottle.”

“Technoblade, you’re subjecting me to this torture again! Wh-what about my emotions?! The trauma?! I’ll never be able to look at anything orange ever again!” Just as Tommy was about to continue his rant, Techno lifted a bottle of some strange, glowing liquid up for him to see.

“It’s a good thing I decided to brew a fire resistance potion, then.”

“... A what?” The borrower blinked in confusion, and the hybrid rolled his eyes before explaining further.

“It’ll make us immune to fire damage for a bit-”

“Immune-why didn’t you use that in the other room then?!”

“I didn’t wanna waste it, duh.”

He ignored the enraged sputtering coming from Tommy and quickly splashed some of the potion on the kid, getting a loud curse in response, before dousing himself with the rest of it. After quickly checking to make sure the fire resistance was actually working on the borrower, a quiet sigh of relief escaping him when he saw those signature orange swirls, he then glanced at the hint book.

He who fails, may lose, but maybe not again…

Again…?

“Two, maybe?” Techno mumbled to himself as he approached the second opening. He both felt and heard Tommy start to panic, listened to the anxious mumbles and felt the nervous shifting on his shoulder, and decided it was best to get this part over and done with.

Without warning the borrower, he quickly lunged into the lava, pushed through it, and found himself in a stream of water. He was immediately met with more shouting courtesy of Tommy.

“What the fuck, man?! Why the fuck would you do that without warning me?!”

“So I didn’t have to listen to your yelling…” Techno started to say, but his voice trailed off as he looked down the next passage and noticed something moving in the distance.

Something horse shaped and wearing diamond armor.

“CARL!”

He immediately raced off, passing the two rooms that had clearly been left open on accident in his haste to get to his horse. Tommy was nearly knocked off his shoulder, but just barely managed to hold on thanks to the fur trim behind him.

“How about a bit of warning, next time?!” The borrower shouted, ultimately being ignored as Techno chose to focus on showering Carl with love and affection instead. He whispered gently to the horse, brushing a hand through Carl’s mane and promising that they would be home soon, that everything would be alright.

Tommy pretended to gag. “Can’t believe you’re going soft, Blade, and over a horse too.”

“I’ll have you know that Carl is the best horse in the world, and deserves nothing less than perfection.” Techno proudly stated. He looked so happy, definitely the happiest Tommy had ever seen him, and it was so…

Weird.

Rather than continue to tease the hybrid further, the borrower just let out a loud, exasperated sigh, arms dropping to his sides. “Well you better finish up your reunion so we can get outta here!”

Unfortunately for Tommy, it was this outburst that caught the horse’s attention. Carl let out a snort and shifted so his muzzle was pointed at Techno’s shoulder where the borrower was. Tommy winced as he felt a puff of warm air run over him before frantically looking at Techno. “What the fuck do I do?!”

“Relax, Carl’s just saying hello.”

“... So I should say hay back-” The pun was cut off by a quick flick to Tommy’s forehead. As the borrower grumbled as rubbed at the sore spot, Techno offered his own suggestion.

“The last thing you should do is offend Carl, especially with any of your shitty jokes-”

“They’re not shit!”

Carl let out snort of his own at Tommy’s objection, as if disagreeing with the borrower despite only having just met him a couple moments prior, making Techno let out his own laugh.

“I can’t believe I’m being bullied by a bastard and his horse.” Tommy grumbled. He was snapped out of his sour mood when another puff of warm air rolled over him, Carl still clearly intrigued by the tiny being. Feeling both curious and nervous, Tommy hesitantly held a hand out towards the horse.

“Hello there… Carl…”

This was insanity, absolute insanity, and the borrower was certain he was going to die. However, his assumption was immediately disproven when the muzzle of the horse was pressed against his hand.

Unfortunately, the affectionate gesture was a bit too strong for Tommy, nearly knocking him over before Techno reached out to steady him.

“Looks like Carl approves.” The hybrid chuckled, getting a half-hearted glare from the borrower.

“At least he’s got good taste.” Tommy mumbled as he gently patted the horse, starting a bit more comfortable. “Everyone approves of me, I’m fantastic.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

A couple more moments passed with Carl investigating the strange, tiny new creature before the horse let out a snort and shook his head. One of his hooves pawed at the ground, a clear sign that he was more than ready to leave the cramped space he had been stuck in.

Having saddled up Carl and made sure he was alright for the journey back home, the group emerged out of the dark tunnel into moonlight. Techno let out a quiet, relieved sigh, happy to be out of the cramped maze, while Tommy just slumped against the side of his neck. The duo were exhausted and both wanted nothing more than to pass out.

… But sleep was not the only thing on Tommy’s mind. He kept thinking back to the maze, to the puzzles he had helped the hybrid overcome. He had been helpful, very helpful, and it was likely Carl wouldn’t have been saved if it weren’t for him.

He was important, his help had been important, and he wanted to know if…

If Techno realized that.

He wanted the validation, craved it, and despite how anxious he was everything in him begged him to speak up and voice those words.

Ask him, ask him-

“Techno,” Tommy began, looking up so he could catch a glimpse of the hybrid’s face. “Did… did I do good?”

“No,” He felt his heart shatter hearing that word. Again, again someone had not thanked him for his work.

“You did great.” The rough sensation of a finger being pressed against the top of his head and ruffling his hair snapped Tommy out of his spiral, and by the time the ruffling stopped he was able to look up and see the smile on Techno’s face.

A true, genuine smile.

You did great.

Great.

...

Why?

Why had a man who was practically a stranger to him, someone he had known for less than a week, been able to say the words he had been dying to hear from the people who had known him since he was a child?

Why had one of the most emotionally reserved people Tommy had ever met been able to express the appreciation towards his actions that he had only ever experienced with Tubbo?

Why was Technoblade one of the two people he now felt safe around? How the hell had the hybrid managed to earn his trust so fast with how much of a prick he could be?! And why the fuck was he crying over something so stupid-

But it wasn’t stupid.

It was a sign of him being valued, being wanted. A sign that, despite how annoying and obnoxious he could be at times, someone cared about him. It was what had drawn him to Tubbo in the first place, the foundations of their friendship.

The fact that they genuinely cared about one another when no one else did.

I miss Tubbo.

A choked sob burst out of Tommy and he quickly pressed his forearm over his face as he struggled to suppress the sounds of his crying, damn he had been crying a lot.

He was unaware of how the ear above him twitched, Techno obviously hearing the sounds of his distress despite how hard he tried to hide it. He was equally unaware of the look of discomfort that briefly crossed the hybrid’s face before fading to neutrality.

Emotions, the last thing he wanted to deal with.

… Or really knew how to deal with. Years worth of being a social outcast, repressing his own emotions, and just having a general sense of anxiety towards interacting with people had left him woefully unprepared when it came to displaying empathy. The people who mattered most to him, Phil and-

The soothing sounds of someone playing a guitar. That teasing laughter and lighthearted sparkle in his eyes.

Wilbur.

Both of them knew, or had known, when he was trying to help out and show that empathy he struggled with. The words he was unable to say, always out of reach, conveyed through physical acts. The occasional, awkward hug, leaning against them…

Stealing Wilbur’s beanie and ruffling his hair, warm curls bouncing and wrapping around his fingers. The sounds of his laughter.

Fuck.

This was why he didn’t do emotions. Too many bad memories and negative feelings he didn’t want to deal with.

After what felt like an eternity passed, with Techno being seconds away from breaking down and begging the borrower to just stop being sad please I don’t know how to deal with this, he heard the kid sitting on his shoulder let out a shaky sigh.

“Fuckin’ bullshit is what it is.” Tommy bitterly mumbled, arms crossed and posture defensive. Techno let out a soft hum of agreement, and the borrower could feel the corresponding rumble through the neck he was leaning against. He instinctively started relaxing, sighing softly as his eyes closed.

Neither of the duo made any mention of what had just happened, both uncomfortable with the display of emotions for various reasons, but the awkward air lingered.

It was suffocating and only brought attention back to what had just happened, making it impossible to escape from the embarrassing display of feelings. As such, Tommy cleared his throat and decided to strike up a conversation.

“So, what about me?”

“Heh?” Techno blinked and tried to stare at the borrower, only really succeeding in catching a glimpse of his sprawled out legs.

“You’ve got this cool horse and all,” He started to ramble, gesturing with his arms despite knowing that the hybrid had no way to see. “With-with diamond armor, or some crap-”

“I should start trying to upgrade Carl’s armor.” Techno suddenly said, tuning out Tommy’s rambling as he contemplated whether it would be worth it to try and make netherite horse armor. “He deserves it.”

“I am talking, bruv! I thought you had manners?!” Tommy huffed as he angrily jabbed the side of the hybrid’s neck. He openly scowled when Techno started laughing.

“You were talking? I thought that was a fly buzzing around-”

“Prick!”

The insult was followed by more slapping as Techno laughed loud enough to nearly knock the borrower off his shoulder. He just barely managed to grab onto the furry trim of the cape as he glared up at Techno.

“You keep fucking picking on me for bein’ short and shit.”

“I don’t pick on you because you’re short. I pick on you because it’s easy.”

“Well… well your mum’s easy.” Tommy grumbled, crossing his arms and looking off to the side. He ignored how Techno continued to laugh, or he did until he came up with a suitable rebuttal.

“... I think I’d like a moth as a cool animal friend.”

Yup, that got the laughter to stop immediately. “Tommy, you’re not keeping a moth in my house.”

“It’s our house, bruv! And she’d be nice!” Tommy continued, pretending he didn’t hear Techno speak. “I’d have to give her a great name though. How about Clementine?”

“Tommy if you let one moth into my house, I swear-”

The borrower burst into loud cackles, arms braced against his stomach as he threw his head back and laughed. He tilted backwards, nearly falling off of his perch, and just barely managed to righten himself. Due to this, he didn’t catch the faint smile that crossed the hybrid’s face, nor did he see how those red eyes seemed to brighten for a moment, despite the inner turmoil that the owner felt.

Maybe, just maybe, Techno could admit to himself that it was nice having some company.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The fastest way to a piglin hybrid's heart is through his prized, retirement securing horse!

#my story #fanfiction #dream smp #dream smp fic #sleepy bois inc #sleepy bois inc fic #borrower au #dsmp tommy #dsmp techno #borrower!tommy

59 notes · View notes