#in with the lambs. when they start growing up they begin walking on two legs and eat humans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

byunbaekby · 4 years

Text

title — the following pairing — demon!haechan x female reader, slight jaemin x reader featuring — jaemin as reader’s roommate and crush word count — 6.9k genres — horror, angst warnings — language, religious concepts in accordance to demons and angels, mentions of murder, psychological and physical torture, elements of haunting, choking, degradation in a nonsexual context (donghyuck often refers to y/n as feeble or unintelligent), minor character death inspiration — monster by red velvet

“under a single light, why are there two shadows?” “i’m a little monster, be scared of me / i’ll bother you by making you only dream of me.” “see i’m just playing, no bad intentions / try to come out of the dream but monster lives forever.”

author’s message — for the #neohalloween event hosted by @nct-writers. this is my first time ever writing something of this genre, so i’m very excited and nervous to put this forward. thank you to @give-seconds for proof reading this and making it 100x better! much love ♡

also, this entire scenario is loosely generated from a superstition in hmong culture that you shouldn’t pick up anything you find laying around in public, for you might bring home something else with you.

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?”

Your roommate’s voice rings clear on the opposite side of the line. Though you’re shivering as a result of the cold, barren winter air, you try to get a response past your shaking lips. “I-I’m walking home, Jaem. Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?”

“Oh.” He immediately gets it; it’s never safe for a young woman to walk home alone, especially not in your neighborhood. “Of course… Where are you?”

You turn into the shortcut, your feet meeting the soft, pliable ground. The cemetery; it’s probably the worst shortcut you could ever take, but it cuts your walk home in half. “The cemetery…”

“Again? I told you that you should stop cutting through there, it’s not safe.”

You register his words in your ear as you eye a black bird resting atop a gravestone, peering at you with bright eyes. Casting your sight away from it, your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, roseate tier captured beneath the sharp incisor. “Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

Jaemin sighs on the other side. “Even worse, anyone hanging out in a cemetery at…” He pauses, likely to glance at his watch. “10:28 PM, is probably going to be weirder than someone you find out on the street on a Friday night.”

“Hey!” You tell him, clutching your bag close to you. “I’m a person hanging out in a cemetery at 10:28 PM.”

“My point exactly.”

You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving you, but you’re glad for Jaemin’s teasing. It helps get your mind off the fact that the hill you walk past casts a dark shadow over the path. As you walk past, engulfed in what seems to be the darkest area of the entire graveyard, you attempt to make easy conversation with your roommate to get it off your mind.

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask him, voice low as if someone were listening. Who knows, someone might be.

Jaemin easily sees through what you’re attempting to do, but he follows along anyway because he’s nice. “I did. I tried to wait for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Time passed by me in the library.”

“I know. Like damn, you should really lay off the studying sometimes and have fun.”

“I know, I know. You tell me, Renjun tells me, Professor Kim even—woah!”

You drop to the floor, the air flying out of your chest and dissipating into nothingness as you fall forward onto your chest. All the contents of your bag spill out, along with your phone, which lies a few feet away on the dirt.

Groan escaping your lips, you look down at your white jeans. Completely stained and covered in dirt. Damn.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N, you there?”

You can hear Jaemin’s muffled worried tone from where you are, but you focus on gathering your things from your bag first before you grab the phone. In the darkness of the night, you can’t even see everything, you just hope you manage to grab everything. It would definitely be your worst nightmare if you lost your Calculus homework due on Monday to the graveyard because you hadn’t grabbed it.

When you finally return everything to your bag, you press the phone to your ear. “Hey, sorry, I tripped.”

“You had me worried there! I was about to run out there myself,” nags Jaemin, and you can see in your mind the way his dark eyebrows must be furrowed in distaste.

“Sorry Jaem,” you apologize to him as you scurry down the path, ready to be free of the cemetery’s unsettling aura as soon as possible. “Please tell me you saved me some food, I’m starving...”

He feels it when you walk in. He senses the irrefutable change in the air, smells your delectable scent with his sharpness. His grave sits at the very top of the largest hill, giving him the perfect place to watch you from. The cemetery becomes alive with your entrance.

Ironic, isn’t it?

Sitting rather stylishly with his thin, gauntly body atop his gravestone, Donghyuck watches you with sharp, focused eyes. You’re so pretty. He smirks, observing the way you flutter through the graveyard, feet barely touching the ground in your feeble attempt to escape the ominous lot as soon as possible.

“Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.”

That’s where you’re wrong.

The dark demon can hardly keep the devilish grin off his tiers, watching you. Beautiful, you are.

He’s seen you a few times, in the handful of times you’ve dared to cut through the cemetery on your way home. With an amused, almost teasing shake of his head, he tsks. “Bad decision, little lamb.”

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask whoever you’re speaking to on the phone. Donghyuck can barely remember what human food tastes like. As a demon, he doesn’t eat humans, let alone get hungry, but if he had a choice, you’d definitely be his first choice.

Your soul is good. He wants it.

If he can’t have you, at least he can play with you a little.

It doesn’t take much. The moment you glide through the path and under the darkness of his hill, all it takes is the slightest snap of his fingers to send you flying forward. He’d love to make you stay down there, perhaps drag you down below with him, but that would be no fun.

Rather, he plucks off one of his rings, one of the many decorating his hands for absolutely no one to see, and tosses it seamlessly into the pile of your things spilled across the path. As he watches the way you carelessly shove everything back into your bag, his Cheshire grin grows even wider. Now, he has a reason to leave.

As you scurry away, Donghyuck jumps off his grave which he had occupied for decades, and lands on his feet. With a wipe of his hands on his jeans, he watches you go.

“Stupid little lamb. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

The rest of the walk home, you can swear there are steps behind you matching yours.

When you get home, you quickly slide into your bedroom amid Jaemin’s nagging sounds and slip off your white (well, brown now) jeans from your legs. After getting on some more comfortable clothes, you grab your dirtied jeans and make your way to the bathroom.

The restroom, however small, still has room for a washer and dryer, which you’re thankful for, seeing as you and Jaemin don’t have to pay a laundromat for your weekly laundry. You toss your jeans in the washer; normally you wouldn’t wash just one garment, but the dirt would likely stain your perfectly white jeans. After pressing start you make your way to the kitchen, where your roommate is reheating dinner for you.

The image of Jaemin’s broad back standing at the stove makes you smile to yourself for just a millisecond, so quick that it’s fleeting. Before you can take another moment to admire your roommate however, he turns to you with his trademark smile. “Hey, pick a movie. Let’s watch something.”

About fifteen minutes later, you’re eating your leftovers on the couch, Jaemin’s arm spread over your shoulders while the beginning scenes of The Conjuring play. You don’t have much, the apartment barely enough for the two of you to inhabit, and Jaemin is only your roommate, but you’ve gotten used to these kinds of nights. Simple, easy, sweet.

The light remainder of Jaemin’s daily cologne mixed in with his gentle cotton scent pervades into your senses, and you lean your head onto his shoulder with a smile. You’ve always wanted to be more with Jaemin, but you could settle for these comfortable nights of movies and platonic cuddling.

It’s something about having a full belly, Jaemin’s warmth, and the everlasting light traces of his scent that has you falling asleep, eyes drooping closed slowly into a peaceful suspension of consciousness.

You wake the first morning.

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up in bed. Recently you’ve developed a habit of falling asleep on movie nights, and Jaemin is always kind enough to place you gently back in your room.

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let out an unearthly sound as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head. When you unsheath the blanket from your legs, your unprepared toes meet the cold wooden floor, causing you to flutter across the room quickly and into the living area.

It’s Saturday, but Jaemin volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays, so you only prepare a bowl of cereal for yourself. If your roommate were here, he’d probably scold you for the lack of nutrition, so you toss a couple of berries into your frosted flakes.

After you finish up, washing your bowl at the sink, your eyes widen in realization; you left your jeans in the washer! Falling asleep mid-movie had caused you to completely forget about them, not drying them before you slept like you had told yourself. God, they probably stink by now, sitting wet for hours.

But when you slide open the door to the bathroom, you see your jeans resting atop the drying machine, folded neatly like they had been waiting for you. Perhaps they were.

Ah, you realize, mouth parting just the slightest. Jaemin must have dried them and folded them before he left for the hospital this morning. Another grateful smile spreads across your visage; you really do have the best roommate.

You spend the rest of the day studying, and prepare a nice dinner (which also means going grocery shopping) for Jaemin, as a little thank you for always being so thoughtful. He appreciates it when he comes home to a fully cooked meal, and there’s something about the way he smiles that has you feeling as though you’ve finally done something good to amount to all the times he’s saved your ass as a roommate. When the night ends, you both retire to your rooms.

In your lovesick daze, you fail to recognize that under the single lighting of your room, there are two shadows.

VII.

On the seventh day, Donghyuck’s displeasure is enough to choke him—that is, if he needed to breathe.

He had wanted to tease you, follow you home and play with you a little before revealing himself. But God, you are so dumb; he should have expected as much from a feeble, stupid little sheep anyways.

That first night, testing the waters, he had done your damn laundry for you. It was just a little fun, to get the ball rolling. Any superstitious person would have known. And what did you do? You had thought it to be your roommate. As the days went by, his teasing grew in quantity and intensity; hiding your keys, ripping apart your essays, perhaps all the menial and annoying things that some stupid schoolboy would do to grab the attention of a girl he liked. But your attention is lost, and he is not a stupid schoolboy. No, he is far from it.

Even as his antics have built up throughout the following days, you always found some excuse to play it off; you must be more clever than he thought. No, you weren’t; you were either extremely clumsy and forgetful, or you were simply denying his existence. It’s time to make himself known.

VIII.

It’s the eighth night when he appears in your dreams. No, not he. It.

You can sense it, the moment your suspension of consciousness becomes overtaken by him and you find yourself in a simple black room. It seems to extend in every which direction, as though you could run off in any given direction and never hit a wall. But you feel it watching you.

He’s behind your shoulder, and the moment his low, amused chuckle is heard in your ears you swipe around to face him, eyes wide. He’s beautiful; dark brown hair, smooth skin, a captivating honey color, and dark eyes.

Those eyes.

They pierce into your soul, as though they can see right through you. They probably can. He is not a person, you know. He is… more.

Dark eyes once overtaken with curiosity are now characterized by bleak amusement. Your breath hitches, and his voice comes out low. “Welcome.”

“What is this? Where am I?” Your voice comes out rapidly, shaking. You know nothing of this… thing before you but you can’t help but feel unsafe under its gaze.

“Now, that’s not very nice. I am very much a person, not an it,” he smirks beneath the shadow which casts itself upon his visage. You freeze; he can hear your thoughts.

This realization only further widens the Cheshire grin across his lips, and instinctively you take a step back further into the black nothingness. “G-Get out of my head,” you threaten to no avail.

The same mocking laugh leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, this is your head. This entire place is of your making. If you hate it so much,” he says, and suddenly he’s in front of you. His hand leaves the pockets of his black bottoms, lithe digits suddenly cupping your chin and tilting it upward so you are staring right into his dark empty orbs which come to life with the image of you. His fingers, dressed in various shades of gold rings, grip you. You should feel his warmth on your skin, you should feel the radiating human heat that you so often feel with Jaemin.

“Erase me from it.”

But you don’t feel anything behind his callused skin, and that’s what scares you the most.

Your throat runs dry and when he parts his lips, even his breath is cold. “But you’re scared.” When you fail to respond, he licks his lips, and his next words are characterized by sarcastic rancor. “What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Unless…” At this point, under his burning gaze that contrasts the ice-cold emptiness against your skin, your knees begin to buckle. The smile which accompanies his next words, revealing his pearly whites and perhaps his intentions, is sinister: “You’re not afraid of demons… are you?”

IX.

You wake in a cold sweat, and you’re more aware of Jaemin’s soothing voice telling you to breathe than the fact that you’re not breathing. Chest heaving and eyes wide, you search for something in Jaemin’s eyes to tether you back to earth, back to reality.

He’s not real, he’s not real. He can’t hurt you.

It was just a dream.

“Hey, hey,” Jaemin calls out to you, hands on your shoulders to steady you from your previous thrashing. You had awoken him with your screaming. “You okay? Breathe, Y/N, just,” he takes a pause to take a deep breath, silently instructing you to follow with him. “Breathe.” In a few moments, when your breathing pattern has begun to return to normal, steady breaths, he asks again, voice dripping with nothing but pure concern for you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s the first word you’ve spoken, so your voice comes out scratched and you’re reminded just how much air you need to actually speak coherently. “It was just… a bad dream.”

“Sounded a lot worse than a bad dream…” He responds, taking his respectful hands off of you and tucking them into the loose pockets of his fleece pajama bottoms. An image flashes before your eyes: that… person, hands tucked leisurely into their pockets, ominous smile enough to make you wonder what they were hiding in there.

You blink, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head, as though it could shake the image from your mind. When you open them once more, Jaemin is still standing next to your bed. “I’m okay, I promise,” you tell him, though it feels more as though you’re speaking to yourself. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” responds your roommate, who offers you a reassuring smile and another worried look before slipping out of your bedroom. When you’re finally alone, you bring a hand up to your forehead, where sweat has made your skin clammy and sticky.

You’re warm. He is not.

XII.

“You’re a demon.”

You say this on the twelfth night, finding yourself once again stranded in the same dark and endless room with the sharp-eyed devil. This time, there are two chairs and the two of you sit facing each other. He sits as though he has all the time in the world, and perhaps he does. Legs crossed leisurely and arms over his chest with his head tilted at you, he stares.

With your tense posture in your own chair, you wonder fleetingly how enough light exists in this black room that you can never seem to avoid staring at his mocking facial expression. You gulp, gripping onto nothing as you tighten your fists to prevent them from trembling. He’s not real, you have to remind yourself.

“When did you figure that out, little lamb? When I told you, probably?” His tone is insulting, as though you were stupid. You narrow your eyes, biting the flesh inside your cheek.

“Aw,” he coos, grinning at you with dark beguilement. “You’re frustrated.”

“Duh, I’m frustrated,” you huff, blowing some air from your mouth to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into your face. “You keep bringing me here with no jurisdiction or knowledge of who you are.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Three questions. Don’t make them stupid, though I know that’s hard for an incompetent human like yourself.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Next question. I’ll even be nice enough to abstain that as a question,” he responds, as though he’s doing you a favor.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Being a demon is rather boring, you see. Not here, not there.” He waves his hand around, as though pointing to heaven and its counterpart. “I found you, and you intrigued me.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Or rather, you found me. You invited me in.”

“I never did that,” you reply, indignant.

“But you did.” A dark eyebrow raises at you, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your anger from rising. “You never checked your bag, did you? Never found a gold ring, maybe?” He lifts his chin off of his palm, stretching out his fingers as though they were cramped. “Maybe one with DH engraved in it.”

You had. You had found the ring in your bag on Saturday and had figured it to be one of your own negligible accessories, tossing it into your jewelry box. Had there been letters engraved on it?

At the look on your face, a smile spreads across his features. “So you do remember.”

Despite the umbrage bubbling in your stomach, perhaps more feisty than you should be in the presence of a self-proclaimed demon, you have another question. Leaning forward just the slightest you ask, “Why haven’t you hurt me? Isn’t that what demons do?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and the easy-going expression on his face is quickly replaced by a darkened simper. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

Your fists tighten again. “N-No…”

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is dark now, his earlier lilted tone now descending into a deep pit. It’s almost demanding, as though he’s daring you to push his buttons and send him plummeting into a torturous rage. At the look of fear that swipes across your face, he chuckles once more. “Relax, little lamb. I’m just playing, no bad intentions here.”

You don’t believe him, not even for a second. If he’s really what he says he is… why does he torture you in this way, making you only dream of him? You push the thoughts from your mind, knowing that he has full access to your brain. “What’s your name?”

“Now you’re asking the good questions. You may call me…”

The corner of his lips tug upward into a smirk.

“Donghyuck.”

XIII.

The titles should shock you more than they do.

University Student Pleads Guilty to Murder of Three Female Students

College Killer: More Murders Revealed In Trial of Lee Donghyuck

Lee Donghyuck, Murderer of At Least Thirteen Victims, Sentenced To Death Penalty

He’s real.

It’s Friday night again, and you find yourself back at the library. Except this time, it’s not calculus nor world history that you are pondering. It’s not your psychology textbook that you are poured over.

No, the archives are open, and all it took was a little keyword into the filter to find just what you’re searching for. The only word you needed: Donghyuck.

He hadn’t been lying. Not about his identity or his demonic status.

When you read over the headlines and their accompanying stories, you don’t realize the way your pupils begin to shake, or the way that your heartbeat begins to accelerate as the truth dawns upon you.

He is real, he is dangerous, and he is haunting you.

XIV.

“So you know who I am.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Tonight, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it as Donghyuck walks circles around you. There are no chains, no straps to hold you down to the chair but you cannot move. Despite what he had told you the first night, that this is all your dream and that you have the ability to change anything, the opposite seems true.

He disappears behind you, and suddenly his voice is in your ear. Your breath hitches at the sudden gust of cold air on your sensitive skin as he speaks. “Are you afraid?”

“No.”

“You forget I’m in your head, sweetheart. I know everything, so don’t lie to me.”

He’s caught you.

You say nothing, and so he stands straight and makes himself present in your vision again. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s in your feeble nature.” His finger starts at your hand, bringing a chill down your spine. As he drags it slowly up the scope of your exposed arm, you hardly resist the instinct to shiver. “I just want to know, what are you afraid of?”

“Is it…” he speaks softly, teasingly throwing each word in your ear, like tossing small bites to a starved dog. “That I know each of your thoughts the moment you think it, and you only know my name? That I’m a dark spirit and can bring you enough pain to make you forget your name with just a snap of my fingers?”

His trailing hand, once tracing over the curve of your clavicle, suddenly grips your neck. Though only a light pressure is applied, you feel the wind knocked out of you by his sudden, unforeseen movement. “Or is it that because of me, sixteen women died and you might end up the same?”

With the little air you have left, you manage to squeeze out, “They said thirteen.”

Amusement shows on his visage before he finally lets your throat go, and you heave as you attempt to refill your lungs with air. “No,” he corrects, moving back to his original space, circling you like a shark locking its prey in uncharted waters. “They said at least thirteen. They never found the other three.”

The thought is enough to make you sick, but before you can manage to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up your throat, he speaks. “Don’t worry about them too much, my little lamb. You’ll join them soon.”

“You’re lying,” you spit out. “You keep threatening me, but you’re all talk and no proof. You can’t do anything to me, that’s why you only bother me in my dreams.”

Your sudden and unexpected quip seems to, rather than upset him, entertain him. “You think I can’t do anything to you outside of this box? Funny,” he scoffs, though he still maintains that grin on his lips. “Humans are so cocky, I learned that after they killed me.”

He stops pacing, and instead kneels before you, his face placed before yours. “I’ve done things, sweetheart. Remember the pants? The essay you spent five hours on torn up the morning after you printed it out? How about the dress you bought that I cut up until there was nothing left but shreds? You got really mad at your friend for quote-unquote, ‘pranking’ you.”

But Donghyuck is nothing if not honest. You’ve learned this.

“But on some level, you’re right.” His hand reaches up once more, but instead of resting it on your shoulder again, he gently caresses your cheek. It would be soft, romantic in any other case. But no, his touch makes your skin crawl. “I can’t hurt you, and I don’t know why. Don’t worry, I want to, but outside this dream…” His hand stops, and grips your chin instead. “I physically can’t. Tell me why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You have a cross on you somewhere, little lamb? Or, a guardian angel?”

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, voice louder as you turn your head sharply, ripping your chin from his grasp. In your ear, he tsks.

Now you’ve done it.

“Getting too comfortable, aren’t we? You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, voice dipping into dangerous territory as he reaches forward, gripping your throat once more. But this time, he digs his nails into the softness of your skin, and your choked scream is caught in your throat by his hands before it can ever leave.

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!”

Jaemin’s voice is the only thing carrying you back to sanity, and when you finally force your eyes open he’s before you, gripping your arms once again to prevent you from thrashing about. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he coos out in worry as you finally come to.

Your hand immediately flies to your neck which is, to your relief, not at all sore. The moment your eyes fall on him and you realize that the hand around your neck is no more, you fall into a bout of tears. Instinctively, your roommate holds you to his chest in a protective hug whilst you sob into his chest.

It’s not real, it’s not real. You keep telling yourself this like a mantra in your head as Jaemin rubs your head soothingly. But why does it feel so real?

“It’s okay,” Jaemin continues telling you, voice soft as his sweet familiar scent pervades your senses once again and your tense muscles begin to relax.

Minutes pass before you’ve calmed down, outright sobs now quiet whimpers. Jaemin begins to set you down back into bed, but you grab at his wrist before he can set you down. “What, what is it?” He asks, eyes immediately scanning your body for any sign of distress.

“Can you… can you stay with me?” It’s a large request, perhaps much too intrusive for someone who is supposed to just be your roommate. But lately, Jaemin feels… much more. Every night as you’ve been plagued by Donghyuck’s presence in your haunting nightmares, he has come to save you when you’re falling apart in screams.

He feels like a friend, and a… a protector.

Not at all fazed by your sudden request, Jaemin wears an abiding smile and nods. “Of course,” he says, sliding into your bed whilst you move over to make room for him. You feel much safer with him around, and now with him in your bed, your personal dreamcatcher, you naturally find yourself in his arms once more while you drift away into sleep, Donghyuck’s presence no longer occupying your dreams.

Neither of you take the time or attention to look, for if you had you would have seen, in the corner of the room furthest from the window, where the darkened corner seems to extend into an infinite world of black, Donghyuck looking less than pleased.

Your roommate needs to be handled.

XXI.

Something seemed to have changed that night when Jaemin first slipped into your bed. You have since not dreamed of Donghyuck even once, and you definitely do not miss him. Perhaps he is gone for good.

How stupid of you to think so, even knowing what Donghyuck is capable of. Perhaps you never truly knew, not before now, just how powerful he is, or just what kind of chaos he can incite.

It’s 3 PM on the twenty-first day when you finally find out just how evil he is.

Jaemin is in the hospital.

You had gotten the call on the bus ride home from campus; your roommate, jokes and boyish smiles for all the time you’ve known him, had been hit by a car just outside your apartment building. Now, he is in the hospital with broken ribs and a herniated disk, barely holding on for his life in a coma.

You’re not allowed in his room, but you do catch a glimpse of your roommate when his physician enters, and just the sliver of him that you see is enough to make you turn your head away.

You know who is responsible for this.

The door to your bedroom is thrown open, and before you can recognize the emptiness of the apartment without Jaemin’s presence around, you’re screaming into the void.

“I know you’re listening, you dick! Show yourself, fucking coward!”

The obscenities that leave your mouth seem to do the trick because before you can register it, you’re on the floor. As though the carpet is pulled out from under you, you go flying forward and the wind is knocked out of you as you meet the ground chest first.

You don’t have any time to breathe or recover, as immediately there is a force pulling you up by the shirt, and suddenly you’re no longer standing on the ground.

You see him.

You’ve seen him before, of course. He’s appeared in your dreams enough to have his sinister expression sewed in your thoughts at all hours of the day. But now… now he looks stronger. Less pale and more colorful. Even the aura which exudes from him… is more dangerous than ever.

Yet, he still wears that shit-eating smile on his lips as he watches you float in the air, collar squeezing at your throat and looking completely powerless. “Now, little lamb, those are not very nice words,” Donghyuck chastises as he approaches you. When he’s finally before you once more, he twitches his eyebrow upward just the slightest. “Missed me?”

“Not at all,” you manage, gathering the spit in your mouth to chuck it out at him.

Not even fazed, he simply wipes at the spit on his face, flicking it off in a negligible direction. “I’m not feeling welcomed,” he comments.

“Because you’re not,” you retort, thrashing about to no avail. “What did you do to Jaemin?”

The mention of your now critical roommate only makes his grin grow wider. “You see, sweetheart, I thought you’d be pretty proud of me. I found out what was keeping me from being able to inflict any real damage on you,” he says whilst his cold hand comes out to squeeze at your cheeks. “Your guardian angel has been taken care of.”

Wait, what? Then it dawns on you.

Jaemin is… your guardian angel.

“You look surprised. That’s okay, I didn’t know either.” Donghyuck releases your face, instead choosing to pace left and right before you, though he never lets his eyes leave you. “But then he started sleeping with you, and I couldn’t get into your mind. I put two and two together. With him around, I’d never be able to touch you.”

The glint in his eyes turns feral. “And you have an embarrassing school girl crush on him, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone. With every second that passes, his life is draining away, and I’m only getting stronger.”

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out once again, though your voice is more desperate than it had been the first time around. “What do you want?”

“You see, I figured that out too.” His mocking tone begins to seep away and is instead replaced by that familiar dark timbre of his as he approaches you once more, gripping your chin again in his fingers. Tilting your head up harshly, he stares endlessly into you and whispers, “I thought I was done with those petty murders, that the sight of women begging at my knees like dirt for mercy wouldn’t excite me as much anymore. But no… I want you to suffer. I want to destroy you, take away your happiness, and break you piece by piece, until you’re just begging for me to take you out of your misery.” The semblance of a smirk quirks at his lips. “Just like those other girls. Except this time, there’s no limit to what I can do. And when you do die, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.”

Tears sting your eyes at the horrible things he whispers to you, but you refuse to capitulate to him. “I’d rather die than do anything you say.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be dead just as soon. The fun hasn’t even started yet,” he teases. Suddenly, it’s as if the paranormal restraints on your limbs are cut free, as your body immediately falls to the floor, collecting in a pile. You hardly have the energy to lift your head, but you register the sound of Donghyuck’s voice as he walks away from you. “Rest up tonight, little lamb. You’ve got a long eternity ahead of you.”

Then he’s gone. You swear you will make use of the last twelve hours of your life.

First, you visit Jaemin again. You know you’re not allowed in, but you know his room number and there’s no one coming in to check up on him, you hope.

You don’t know if he really is your guardian angel, but above that, he is your friend.

“Hey,” you say softly, making your presence known as you sit down in the chair beside his hospital bed. It’s arbitrary… you know Jaemin doesn’t have parents around, and perhaps that only lends to the possibility that he really is someone sent here to protect you.

“How are you?” You scoff at yourself. “That’s stupid of me to ask, you’re in a coma. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you really are an angel, but thank you, Jaemin. For always… always being there for me, protecting me. Walking me through the cemetery, making dinner for me, chasing my nightmares away.”

Sitting there, staring at your friend’s lifeless body laying on the bed looking gray as a sheet, tears begin to sting your eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, I should have listened to you when you told me to be careful. And if I have to lose someone as amazing and… pure-hearted as you, I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, even if you don’t make it out of here, please… stay by my side.”

As your first tear breaks the barrier and begins to coast down your cheek, you reach out and grab his hand. It’s cold.

XXII.

It’s a little past midnight and though your fingers shake from the cold, you throw everything of yours that he’s touched into the bucket.

Even the things you weren’t completely sure of, you toss away anything that could have been influenced by his dark magic; the leftover shreds of your essay that you had recovered from the recycle, the pieces of fabric that he had obliterated your dress to, the white jeans you had worn that first night, and more. Finally, you throw in that godforsaken ring that had started it all.

You swore that you would never return to the cemetery again, but here you are. This time, you really can see everything at the top of the hill. You turn your head back to glower at the tombstone before you.

Lee Donghyuck.

What a piece of shit.

Though your fingers shake, you light the match without trouble. When you toss it into the basket of forsaken belongings, it is only a matter of seconds before Donghyuck appears, tethered to his tombstone once more.

Gripping at his body, he snarls out at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

That, you hardly even know. Following only the speculations found on the internet, you had unknowingly lured your monstrous demon back to his home.

It seems to work, as the greater the fire grows, the more pained Donghyuck’s expression seems to become.

Your voice finds its strength as you announce your intentions. “Erasing you.”

“You can’t do that to me, you don’t get to win!” Donghyuck yells in growing anger, reaching out to you but failing. With this inability of his to touch you, you tilt your chin higher, the orange tint of the flames reflecting off your strengthened pride.

“I believed you all this time, I let you scare me into thinking that you could overpower me. That you could hurt me,” you muse, staring without remorse at his pained form. “But I was wrong. You only exist as long as I let you. You can only hurt me as long as I believe you can.”

“I’ll be back,” declares Donghyuck as the fire roars, only sending him further into a realm of pain. Whilst he grips his limbs in pure fury, you shake your head.

“No, you won’t. Because you were right, this is my world. I’m the one with the power here: I have blood flowing through me, I have oxygen in my lungs, and I have a soul. You have none of those.” With your anger bursting at the seams, you kick over the metal bucket burning from the inside, instead tossing the trash over the dirt of Donghyuck’s grave. “And because of that, I’m not scared of you.”

As the fire burns out at the final thread, and the spirit which had infested your mind for twenty-two days begins to fade away in a fit of rage, you offer him the same powerful, mocking smile he had tattooed into your mind.

“Goodbye, Donghyuck. Rest in hell.”

CCCLXV.

“Hey, did you do the notes from the last lecture?”

Flipping through your binder, you nod and pull out the said notes, handing them over to the student sitting next to you. At this point, you’ve learned enough about her to know that on Mondays, she always asks for the notes. You’ve started printing extra copies for her.

It’s been a year.

You had taken a year off of university to return home. After everything that had happened and Jaemin’s death, you simply couldn’t bear to even step into your old apartment anymore. Over time, you’ve found that you’ve healed and you are no longer afraid.

Not afraid to return to school, at least.

“Here you go,” you tell her as you hand over the notes. “You can keep that copy.”

The look she wears is grateful. “Thanks!”

“Hey,” calls a voice on your right. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure, I—” You start, reaching into your pencil bag, but stop when your gaze falls upon the owner of the voice.

No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Before you is Donghyuck. Except it’s not. He’s… different.

His hair is no longer brown, but rather a light shade of blonde that accentuates his honey olive skin tone. Rather than all black, he is dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of light washed ripped jeans. Most strikingly of all, his signature sharp eyes are no longer clouded by dark evil, but are light with the sweet smile that he wears on his lips.

No… it’s not Donghyuck. After your return home, you had begun to see his face everywhere, and have since learned to distinguish between reality and trauma. When the stranger catches you staring, he tilts his head, smile growing further. “I’m Haechan.”

Shaking your head slightly to clear the thoughts, you go back to searching for a pen in your bag. “Uh, hi Haechan. Here you go,” you say as you hand the pen over to him.

When your fingers brush just the slightest, he’s cold.

You pull your hand back quickly, as though you had been burned. No, you tell yourself. It’s cold in here, the air conditioning is always on in the lecture hall. Turning back to face forward in your seat, you try to calm your breathing, pulling your cardigan closer to cover you. The stranger next to you pulls out a notebook from his bag, and in full view, begins to write in the corner.

Your professor is speaking, clicking on his projector, when Haechan slides his notebook over to you. There, written in perfect handwriting…

I told you I’d be back.

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #mlznet #neothestars #haechan angst #haechan fanfic #haechan scenarios #nct angst #haechan x reader #nct fanfic #haechan horror #neohalloween

355 notes · View notes

daebakinc · 3 years

Text

D-1: Brownie Points

Pairing: Pixie Baekhyun x Brownie Reader

Au: Fairy AU

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 1.8K

Empty! Empty, empty, empty!

You stomp your foot in frustration as you look at the two bowls in front of you. One should be filled with milk, the other honey with a bit of bread. Instead, there’s only a thin line of dried cream and a sheen of honey with crumbs of bread too small for a being as tiny as you.

Obviously it wasn’t that the family you live with forgot. Ever since you let the youngest child briefly glimpse you, the family has faithfully left the bowls out for you out of gratitude. After all, not every family is blessed with a brownie.

You know you’re an exceptional brownie too. You make sure the hay they harvest remains fresh and sweet, the sheep always have the softest wool to fetch the best price at market, and not a single animal or human falls ill on the farm. That��s just a little of what you do. But this family deserves it for their hard work and kind hearts.

It isn’t their fault there’s a thief about.

A rumbling growl comes from behind you. When you turn around, you see the family cat trotting towards you, something held in her mouth. That something has wings that glitter in the starlight.

As soon as you see what she has, you cross your arms and glare. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

The pixie grins cheekily despite the collar of his shirt being firmly gripped in a carnivore’s teeth. “Hello to you too, sweet pea. No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Wherever there’s mischief, there’s a pixie, and you, Baekhyun, are a frequent perpetrator on my farm.”

“Your farm?” Baekhyun cocks his head and examines you, squinting his eyes. “I didn’t know you turned human. Looks like you forgot some height.”

Ignoring him, you walk over to the cat and put a hand on its leg. “Diana, thank you for catching him. Could you release him please?”

With a chirp, the cat drops him and trots back off to the barn. Regrettably, Baekhyun doesn’t crumble into an undignified heap like he deserves. He catches himself before his toes even hit the ground, his wings fluttering fast as a hummingbirds. Dumb pixies always showing off their wings and how graceful they are.

“Thanks,” Baekhyun says, smiling even wider than before. “Well, I’m off!”

You grab his ankle before he can fly off. “Not so fast! You ate my dinner! I earned that with honest work and you stole it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why’re you making a big deal about it? It’s not like the humans are never going to feed you again.”

“It’s the principal of the thing. You pixies just fly around all night causing nothing but trouble. This isn’t the first time you’ve gone out of your way to cause problems I have to clean up!”

“Name one other time,” he huffs.

“When you tangled the plough horse’s mane and the harnesses so I had to spend a whole night just fixing those.”

“I-”

“When you unraveled all of the spinning from the day.”

“That-”

“When you made all the apples I picked turn sour.”

“Come on,” Baekhyun laughs. “You have to admit, the faces the humans made on that first bite were hilarious!”

They were, but Baekhyun is crazy if he thinks you’ll say it aloud. You know he doesn’t do all these things from a place of malice. He can’t help but cause little troubles because he’s a pixie; it’s what pixies do. But the way he seems to target you in particular just gets old sometimes.

Sighing, you let go of him. “Byun Baekhyun, just don’t mess with my farm, please. I have work to do.”

As you turn to go to the barn, Baekhyun flits in front of you. “Don’t you ever take a night off? To have fun? Do you even know that word?”

“I love my work,” you move around him, “so my work is fun. Unlike some people who’ve never worked a day in their life.”

Baekhyun flies alongside you over the damp grass. “Just take one night off. I know this really cool pond in the forest with these dragonflies big enough for us to ride! Sometimes unicorns even go there. I could take you.”

“No, Baekhyun. I have other things to do.”

“Fine. See ya later, brownie.”

The irritation in his voice surprises you. You’ve never heard him anything close to angry before. He’s always just happy Baekhyun. Turning to look at his face, you find he’s already gone.

“Oh well,” you think to yourself. He’ll get over it and be back to his tricks. Maybe you’ll get a few nights of peace if he really is miffed.

Your prediction seems correct. He doesn’t show up for the next three nights in a row. The quiet in the absence of his chatter at you makes your ears ring. Even if he never raised a finger to help, preferring to just fly around you and talk, you almost miss him. Then, you shake your head and think better of it.

The night of the new moon, while you’re refreshing the family’s store of dried herbs, you hear a sheep bleating. Lambing season is far off and your wards keep predators away... Still, you should check. When you slip out the front door, your feet freeze and your heart stops.

The sheep pasture is completely empty.

“Daisy!” you cry as you run towards the pasture. “Rosy! Camellia! Lilly! Tulip!”

Silence.

As you reach the gate, you find it wide open. You know it wasn’t like that when you checked at dusk. Whirling around, you run around the farm, calling every ewe’s name. They’re nowhere to be found. Then, you reach where the farm ends and the forest begins. There, stuck on a briar bush is a strand of wool.

You collapse to the ground. Tears stream down your face as you clutch the wool to your chest. They’re gone. The forest is enormous; there’s too much ground for you to cover without wings.

Someone says your name.

Your eyesight blurred, you look up.

It’s Baekhyun, his eyes concerned and mouth twisted downward in a frown. Hovering above you, one of his hands is outstretched toward you. Then, you see what’s in his other hand.

The rope that locks the pasture’s gate.

“You!” you screech. “You let the herd out!”

“Look,” Baekhyun lurches out of reach when you lunge for the rope. He actually does sound apologetic as he says, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for all of them to get out. I was just going to let out one-.”

“You’re sorry?” you yell. “They’re all gone, Baekhyun! Without the herd, the family is ruined! I’m ruined!”

“I just wanted you to come play with me...”

“Play with you?” You laugh, the sound harsh. You throw up your hands. “Well, congratulations! Soon, I’ll get to play with you whenever because soon, I’m going to be homeless when the family has to leave! And what family is going to want a brownie like me now?”

Baekhyun’s wings falter and his eyes dart from the pasture to the woods, like he’s finally realizing what he did. “I’m... I’m sorry,” he says softly. His eyes shine with tears, but you can’t find sympathy to spare.

“Go away, Baekhyun,” you whisper, brushing off your clothes and wiping at your face. Your chest feels heavy and hollow all at once.

“Wait!” Baekhyun flies in front of you, nearly hitting his head on yours. “I can fix it!”

“Whatever. Don’t you think you’ve ‘fixed’ enough tonight?” You take the rope from his hand, more tears choking your voice. “Just go.”

Not knowing what else to do, you trudge to the barn to do what you can. But even the simple magic of putting out hay and grooming the horse is exhausting. All you can think of is how after all this time of finding the perfect home and family, you’re going to lose it and have to start over again.

In the hay loft, you find Diana. She doesn’t crack an eye, but starts purring when you snuggle up to her. Just a short nap. Maybe this will all prove to be a bad dream when you wake up.

It feels like you just closed your eyes when a sound whispers its way into your ears.

You jolt up, listening. The pipe song is enticing and sweet, growing louder with each second. Pushing off the still sleeping cat, you run to the barn door.

At first, you see nothing. Then, movements of white in the forest. You hold your breath, unable to believe in miracles.

One sheep emerges from the woods. Another follows it, then another.

Joy and disbelief coursing through you, you sprint toward them, blind and deaf to everything else, calling, “Chamomile! Amaryllis! Peony!”

The lead ewe, Daisy, lowers her head and nudges you as you reach her, her breath hot as she snorts.

“You’re back,” you cry, clinging to her nose and breathing in her wooly smell.

“I got them all. I double checked.”

Baekhyun stands from his seat on Daisy’s shoulders. He glides down and lands in front of you, tucking his pipe into his belt. This is the first time you’ve actually see him touching earth. The sheep calmly continue walking past you to return to their pasture.

Baekhyun looks at his feet as he says, “I- I was wrong. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have messed with the animals. I know how much you care about them and the family.”

Who is this creature in front of you? It can’t be Baekhyun... He would never speak words like this.

“It’s my turn to guard the springs, so my brothers are all gone on their own adventures. I got lonely. I just wanted to have some fun with you since you’re the only other fairy around, but it was really selfish and stupid of me to try to get your attention this way.”

He’s not wrong, but you hadn’t known about his family. You’d thought he just liked bugging you for the heck of it.

“I really am sorry. I promise I’ll never do anything to you or the humans here again.” His wings droop and with a sigh, he turns his back to you. “I’ll leave you all alone for good.”

Baekhyun looks pathetic as he looks over his shoulder at you one more. Another sigh, and he starts walking away, wings dragging behind him. He looks so small and alone, you can’t help yourself.

“Baekhyun, wait!” you call.

He stops, but doesn’t look back.

“After I lock the gate... I haven’t eaten my honey, bread, and milk yet... If you want to join.”

#baekhyun scenario #exo scenario #baekhyun drabble #exo drabble #kpop drabbles #kpop scenarios

17 notes · View notes

frostsinth · 4 years

Photo

I watched the interdimensional door close, my breath caught in my throat, my heart racing. The dimension I had entered was dark, but seemed to sparkle like emeralds. Light seemed to float and shimmer in an almost solid form. It was hard to make out shapes or depth, but it was eerily beautiful.

“Well well,” Came a hoarse, rasping voice behind me, “What do we have here?”

I stiffened at the sound of the demon’s voice, and felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as heavy footsteps came from behind me. I closed my eyes, steeling my will and squaring my jaw. This was what I had wanted, I reminded myself. This was all part of the plan. And there was no backing out now.

Slowly, I turned, balling my fists tighter around my ceremonial robe, opening my eyes. Then I started a little in surprise.

The creature before me was not human; that was obvious. His huge eyes were black from corner to corner, and a smaller set rested behind the first. He had long twin horns curling out from his head like a bull’s before him, and huge, batlike pointed ears. When he saw me staring at him, he grinned, exposing his elongated mouth and sharp, pointy white teeth. About his shoulders and horns a fire cackled and snapped soundlessly, its flames licking about his form almost like hair. A long thick tail snaked behind him, its tip also supporting a brilliant blaze. But his huge, muscular torso was humanoid, as were his arms and legs. His large hands had five digits, the same as mine, albeit his were capped in deadly claws. Yet not at all the horrible grotesque thing that had been described to me by the solemn and grim Mothers of the Abbey.

Slowly, the great demon paced closer, his four eyes studying me hungrily. “What did they tell you, little lamb?”

His voice was harsh, like he spoke through smoke. And each word was thickly coated in a strange, skin tingling accent. I swallowed, facing him with my shoulders squared. His toothy grin grew a few more inches.

“The Mothers told me it is an honor to be Chosen,” I began, and was proud that my voice did not shake, “And that our Sacrifice is the only thing keeping the balance in our world.”

He eyed me, then slowly began to pace around me. I could feel the warmth of his fires, and resisted the urge to follow him with my own eyes, staring straight ahead instead. I felt his large hand reach out, and stiffened slightly as he pulled one pin from the elaborate hairstyle the Mothers had created. A few long strands tumbled loose down my back.

“And what did they tell you to expect?” He purred, reaching out and pulling another pin from its place.

“They told me you were cunning, and would try to trick me into breaking the deal you made with our ancestors. That you would seek to find a way into our world through me. And therefore I must resist, and only seek to satisfy you for one night, as is the agreement forged between you and our world.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye.

He chuckled; a deep, coarse sound, pulling out a final pin so that only a few strands remained curled up at the top of my head. Slowly, he came around to stand in front again, looming over me.

“All lies, of course.”

“I know.”

He seemed surprised, his black eyes twitching momentarily, and his lips curling back. “Is that so? Then why tell me them?”

“You asked me what I was told; not what I know.” I told him softly.

His chuckle was louder this time, echoing through the strange dimension like a snapping bolt of lightening. His grin returned, he reached out one longer finger. I resisted the urge to flinch as he tucked one strand of my long blonde hair behind my ear.

“You are... different, than the rest.” He noted, and a long tongue darted out, licking his lips. Dark eyes considered me for a moment again. “Then tell me, what do you know, little lamb?”

I took a deep steadying breath. “... I know that it is you that keeps the Mother Superior alive, not any god granted longevity. I know that your deal is with her, and in sacrificing a maiden every 10 years, you grant her the power to perform what she calls ‘miracles’. I know that she is not the holy prophet she pretends to be, and that she has deceived everyone this way for nearly two centuries.”

His hand lingered in my hair, and I saw his smile grow again. I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling my breath catching there. When I remembered to breathe, that is.

“Clever little lamb,” He purred, his huge thumb tracing my cheek. Then he slowly withdrew his hand, and I saw his dark eyes grow hungry. “And yet, here you stand. So I will offer to you what I offer each maiden the Mother Superior sends.”

His tail twitched, and he stepped closer, reaching out again. But instead of my hair this time, his hands moved to the front of my ceremonial robe. I felt my heart begin to beat against my chest like a panicked, caged bird. I’m certain he can feel it.

“To satisfy my hunger, you may offer yourself as my evening meal. Or-” His hand pushed under the silken fabric, sliding it off my shoulders “-You may feed me with your... flesh.”

The way his coarse voice dripped over the word, there was no question what he meant by that. I could almost feel his desire, radiating in waves off his body like the flames gave off heat.

“... I have a different offer in mind.” I told him, glancing away briefly.

His hands slid over my bare shoulders, the warmth of his palms making electricity zip beneath my skin. He pushed more of the thin robe down, exposing the tops of my breasts. I kept my arms firmly wrapped about myself, but otherwise stood still, waiting. It all hinged on this. Everything I wanted, everything I had planned for.

“Most of you take the first option,” He said, as if he had not heard me, “Some sort of pride, I suppose. Purity of heart and all that.” His hands traced greedily up my neck, and he cupped my jaw in them, tilting my head back to face him. “Every now and then, one will choose the latter,” His grin grew wicked, “But I suppose when I send them back, the Mother Superior finds an alternative method of disposal.”

My stomach rolled hot with his words, and I clenched my teeth. My already very low opinion of the woman sank further. His thumb traced my cheek again.

“And my offer?” I pressed quietly.

He grinned, leaning down. I had to blink rapidly as the light from his flames grew almost too much for my eyes to bear. His breath was just as hot as his fires, and splashed across my face as he spoke.

“What do you offer, little lamb?” He replied, sounding more than a little amused.

“A deal... A new deal.” I said.

He dropped his hands, taking a step back and studying me again. The humor in his face had faded a little, but the smile still tickled the corners of his huge mouth.

“I’m listening.”

I swallowed hard, straightening up to my full height. I still barely reached his waist.

“You will grant me all the power you grant Mother Superior, and more. You will be at my beck and call, mine to command,” I told him, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt, “And in exchange... You will walk the earthly plane at my side... And I shall satiate your hunger myself.”

His toothy grin returned, nearly splitting his face in half. He turned, walking a few feet away. The ground seemed to warp and lift around him, rising up to meet him. It was strange, for though I didn’t see him bend down, suddenly he was lounging on his elbows. Laying with his back on the ground.

“You would satiate my hunger?” He echoed, and his dark eyes narrowed, “..All of it?”

I slowly followed him, until I stood at his feet. My eyes skimmed over his muscular torso, down to his bare hips. His manhood was bare for me to see, and it seemed intrigued by my offer. Returning my gaze to his grinning face, I dropped my arms slowly, letting the robe fall to the ground. Standing naked before him.

His tongue reappeared, licking his lips. He bent over his knees, reaching up. I hesitated only momentarily before I placed my hand in his offered one. With a gentle pull, he lay me over his torso. His privates pressed into my stomach, and his legs wrapped around me. I bent my knees, curling against him and propping myself up on my elbows to look up at him.

“You would be at my beck and call... and I would be at yours.” I assured him.

His tail flicked back and forth like a cat’s as he considered this. One huge hand reached out again, touching my face. Skimming down my shoulder. Tracing over my collarbone.

“I can taste your hunger,” He almost moaned, “As palpably as my own... such greed, such desire...” He licked his lips again, “It is... delightful...” Another coarse, rumbling chuckle. This time I felt it in his chest beneath me. “Yes,... I do believe you would keep me well fed...” His hand moved down the small of my back, tracing over my hips, and I felt him hardening against my stomach. “In more ways than the one.”

“So we have a deal?”

Again he bared his pointy teeth, his black eyes crinkling with his smile. “Yesss, lamb.” He confirmed. “We have a deal.”

“How does it work?” I asked him warily, “Is there a contract? Terms to sign?”

His hand came back to my face, cupping it. “Just a kiss, lamb,” He purred, “And everything you desire shall be yours. I will be yours to command. After you feed me.”

I couldn’t help but glance at the flames engulfing his skull. “... Will it burn me?”

The demon pulled me up, bending down to meet me halfway. “It burns some. But you? Never, my lamb.”

I closed my eyes as he pressed his lips against mine, tasting of ash and sulfur...

I had a lot of fun making this picture and writing up this story. I like it so much, I might do a follow up. Especially if there’s interest in it. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this! And let me know if a follow up story line with a bit more... juicy parts is needed.

UPDATE: Find the continuation HERE

#monster lover #monster boyfriend #demon boyfriend #demon lover #demon deal #terato #exophilia #OC #romance #demon

425 notes · View notes

artyblogs · 3 years

Text

Best Wingman Ever

Read on Ao3

Summary: For @caruliaweek. Prompt: Surprise. After the fight in the pyramid, Julia doesn’t feel so hot, so she checks into a hospital. Carmen finds out and has concerns, so she goes to see her.

---

The longer the press conference goes on, the more discomfort Julia feels. It started in the pyramid, after Countess Cleo pushed her into that godforsaken pit, and she managed to catch the edge with her elbows. Her legs swung under her and something in her torso tore. Or broke. It certainly seemed like something snapped judging by the searing pain that lanced through her chest.

She was able to ignore the pain for the rest of the time they were in the pyramid, half because of the adrenaline coursing through her system, half because…well, it seemed pittance in the face of certain death. But now, in front of all these reporters, with the adrenaline draining from her body, the ache grows and grows until she sweats under her collar from the exertion of standing upright.

Every breath Julia takes is fire.

Either the reporters don’t notice what is happening, or they attribute Julia’s flush to the strong Egyptian sun, because they don’t ask what is wrong. They ask her if she will be heading the effort to catalogue all of these artifacts (she won’t be; all this treasure is technically on Egyptian soil, so it is up to the Egyptian government to come up with a plan), or if she will be working with Egyptologists and other archaeologists to catalogue them (again, that’s technically the jurisdiction of the Egyptian government. If invited, she’d help, but she needs to be invited).

Eventually, they have enough information for their segments, and Julia and Chase end the press conference and slink off towards the parking lot. Julia waits until they are out of earshot of the reporters, and far away enough to be indiscernible by the cameras, before she runs a cautious hand over her ribs.

It doesn’t seem like anything’s broken, but a simple swipe of her palm induces agony. Julia sinks to her knees.

“Miss Argent? What’s wrong?” Chase kneels next to her, his hands hovering, but not descending. He’s probably afraid of making things worse.

It feels like her chest is imploding. Julia tries to catch her breath, but cannot get any words out. Chase takes out his cell phone and dials a number.

“‘Allo? Please send an ambulance, there is an injured woman who needs help.”

---

Julia had hoped that she would be able to tough it out until she got back to the UK because at least there, she would have all of her identification. Here in this private hospital in Cairo, she has nothing. Besides the press conference and Chase, no one knows that she is here. The fact that a whole person could be disappeared like that, that she could be misplaced, is disquieting.

The walls of the hospital room muffle the car horns and loud voices in the street. If Julia closes her eyes, she can imagine that she is slowly sinking into sand, like so many forgotten baubles in the desert.

CLICK.

The door to her hospital room opens to reveal Chase, who carries a grease-stained paper bag and a cardboard drink tray with two paper cups.

“Miss Argent?”

“Agent Devineaux!” Julia tosses the thin, hospital blanket aside and—very, very carefully—sits up and unfolds her legs over the side of the hospital bed. In the back of her left hand there is taped an IV line, and she lightly pushes the IV rack a little to make room for him.

Chase gently closes the door behind him, then he takes the back of a visitor’s chair and drags it to her bedside. He places the tray of drinks on the side table next to a prescription bag, and holds out the greasy paper bag for Julia to open up.

Julia delves into it and finds two shawarma wraps carefully bundled in foil. “Which one is mine?”

“They are the same.”

Julia takes one of the wraps and opens it up, the foil shredding between her hands, and bites into it. The shawarma is a mess of sliced lamb and garlic and spices. Still hot. Smothered in yogurt and lemon juice. She had a similar shawarma years ago when she first visited Egypt during a field archaeology class, and she has been searching for a comparable place ever since.

Nothing has even come close. Julia licks a stray drop of yogurt from her thumb and takes another bite.

“They didn’t feed you, did they?”

Are her table manners that bad? Julia hesitates, then slowly shakes her head to agree. Chase frowns and unwraps his own shawarma. They eat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the muted noon adhan ring out across the city. Eventually, the food is done, and they crumple the foil into balls and toss them into the paper bag, and Chase holds out one of the drinks to Julia.

“Where is the medicine?” He asks.

“On the table. Can you get it?”

Chase opens the prescription bag and blanches. “Miss Argent, this is…eh….”

“It’s just one of each.” Julia chews on the straw and holds out her hand. “Do you mind?”

Thus begins an absurd process: Chase takes out a pill bottle, twists it open, and shakes a pill into Julia’s hand. Julia claps it into her mouth and takes a swig of water while Chase recaps the bottle and sets it aside on the side table.

They do this five times.

At last, Chase sets the empty bag next to the bottles and stares at the display ruefully. “Miss Argent?”

“Hmm?”

“What did they do to you?” He’s unusually subdued.

Julia’s ribs twinge. “I am an ancient historian, and VILE needed to decode ancient languages.”

Chase’s frown deepens. “I have taken similar pills for what I assume are similar kinds of injuries, Miss Argent. Please.”

“They were not nice people,” Julia finally says. She doesn’t…she cannot describe what happened, because to do so would require her to travel there in her mind.

“Miss Argent,” Chase says, now truly alarmed. It’s funny, in a way. A year ago, he would have probably given anything to shut her up and today, he can’t get her to say anything.

“I can describe what they looked like,” Julia says. She can do that, at least. Chase reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his cell phone, which he unlocks and gives to her.

The screen is cracked. Julia gingerly taps and swipes to navigate to a specific face-generating app, and uses sliding scales to change the different attributes.

“How are you getting back to Oxford?” Chase asks.

“There’s a British embassy down the street; I’ll go there first thing tomorrow,’ Julia says.

“Not today?”

“The doctor wants to keep me here overnight for observation.”

Another pause. Chase’s nose wrinkles as he scowls.

“It’ll keep, Agent Devineaux.” Julia takes a screenshot and refreshes the app to create another face.

Chase makes a noise as he sinks in his chair. “I shall go with you to the embassy tomorrow.”

Julia looks up. “Really?”

“You should not be alone. We do not know where VILE escaped to. They could still be here in Egypt.”

Julia is legitimately moved. She didn’t think it was possible for him to act this way. “Thank you, Agent.”

“Pas de problème.” Chase stares moodily out the window, so Julia returns to the app.

The minutes pass, but somehow it’s not as bad as before. Julia is in the middle of creating the last face when the screen blacks out for a call. She hands the phone back to Chase.

“Zari is calling you.”

“Eh?” Chase looks quizzically down at the phone, then takes the call. “‘Allo? Ah, Agent Zari. I will not be back for another forty-eight hours at least. What?” He pauses to listen. “Wait, now? But Miss Argent needs a security detail!” Chase tries to say more, but the voice on the other end rises in volume. Eventually, Chase’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Yes, yes, I’ll be on the next flight.” The call ends.

He turns to her and he might look as miserable as Julia feels. “Miss Argent, I, er.”

“Duty calls.” She says despite the sinking feeling in her gut. “You have three of the four faces at least. I’ll go to the embassy tomorrow, and you’ll visit me in Oxford when this is all over.”

“But VILE.”

“Aside from you, no one knows…no one knows I’m here. That anonymity will shield me.”

Chase’s jaw clenches, and he nods. “Until then, Miss Argent.”

“Goodbye, Agent Devineaux.”

He turns and leaves the hospital room.

---

Carmen does one more sweep of the hotel room before she zips her duffle for the final time. She doesn’t usually pack a lot on capers, but it pays to be vigilant.

“How is Jules getting back to the UK? Is Devineaux arranging that for her?”

Player absently hums as he types. “Oh yeah. She wouldn’t have any passport or anything, huh? Because she was kidnapped?”

“I want to make sure she isn’t stranded in Egypt.”

“I’ll take a look. And I could whip something up for her if Devineaux doesn’t have anything in place. How does sharing a plane with your favorite Oxford professor sound to you?”

“Ha ha.” Carmen throws a phone charger into the duffel and zips it closed. “Being close to Jules might not be such a good idea. VILE kidnapped her because of me.”

“VILE knows and now ACME knows too. You might as well go for broke, Red.”

“Go for broke doing what, exactly?” Carmen asks. “Don’t say, ‘Jules.’”

Player laughs. “I’m trying to be a good wingman here!”

“Jules has students, and bills, and maybe even a cat, or something. She has a life outside of all of this and I ruined that when I went to see her.”

“How dare you say that to me when I heard what she said when you guys talked in her office. What was it she called you? One of her ‘two key interests?’”

The sheer audacity. “Player.”

“Carmen.” But Player gasps and whispers a curse.

“What is it?”

“Uh.” More typing. “Julia isn’t going anywhere. She’s—uh. She’s checked into a hospital.”

All the hair whooshes out of Carmen’s lungs. When she last saw Julia, she was awake. She was responsive. She was standing unaided. She was…she was in VILE’s custody for at least twenty-four hours at that point, that’s what she was. Julia walking around in the pyramid this morning? Seemingly bright-eyed and bushy tailed? That doesn’t mean a thing if she’s in the hospital now.

BEEP. Carmen’s phone receives notifications as Player pushes an update to it. Address, map, and a plane ticket for the rescheduled flight back to Seattle. She pulls the duffle strap over her head and strides out of the hotel room.

---

In case of emergency, Player allegedly has a list of hospitals that he will trust with the safety of Team Red. Allegedly, because Carmen’s never seen Player’s desktop. When he tells her that Julia’s been admitted to one of those hospitals, it does little to ease the raging unease within her. Carmen gently opens the door to the hospital room and peers inside.

The blinds are drawn against the afternoon sun. A privacy screen is pulled halfway across the room, obscuring the single bed in the room. There is no television monitor, and instead a oscillating fan sweeps back and forth on low.

Carmen steps into the room and softly closes the door behind her. She lowers her duffel to the floor and creeps closer. While she didn’t see any local police, or any police-looking types staking out this hospital, and while she didn’t see any VILE operatives either, it helps to be cautious. When she peeks around the curtain, however, she only sees Julia.

Her glasses and suit jacket are gone, and a hospital blanket has been drawn up to her chest, but it is her. Carmen steps around the curtain to her, and she holds a hand a little ways from her mouth.

There’s a soft breath against her palm, and Carmen almost cries in relief.

“Red? Did you find her?” Player asks.

“She’s asleep,” Carmen whispers.

“Ah.” And Player falls silent.

She’s also alone. There are no guards, or orderlies, or nurses. Devineaux is nowhere to be found. If VILE found out that Julia was here, there would be nothing to stop them from taking her again. Carmen sinks down into the visitor’s chair.

Let them come. She will be enough to stop them.

Julia seems smaller in sleep. Her brow is smoothed free of complex thought, and her lips are slightly parted. A sunbeam falls across her face, highlighting the freckles dusting her cheeks. Julia’s dark hair is disheveled from the pillow, and her front fringe falls over her eyes. Carmen makes as it to smooth it away, but falters and instead, she pinches the hinges of Julia’s glasses and delicately lifts them from her face. She folds them, and starts looking for the rest of Julia’s things.

She finds pill bottles instead, lined up like soldiers at the back of the side table.

“Player?”

“Yeah?”

“When you found Jules’ file, it was bad, wasn’t it?” Carmen whispers.

“I didn’t look very long, because I didn’t want to snoop, but from what I did see? It wasn’t good.” He leans back from the mic and shouts something, then when he returns, he says, “I gotta go eat breakfast. Will you be okay for a minute?”

“Yeah. Go.” Carmen continues searching. She finds the rest of Julia’s things in a drawer in the side table. At the bottom are Julia’s shoes, over which is her suit jacket—carefully folded—and over that is her pendant. Carmen puts the glasses down beside the pendant and closes the drawer.

Julia wakes with a start. She gives a weak cry, and her feet kick out against the blanket. When she settles back down, she also puts a hand over her eyes.

“Jules?”

“Carmen?” Julia’s voice comes out strained and broken. Her hand cannot hide the furrow of her brow, nor can it hide the stuttering gasps she takes in a poor attempt to calm down.

“Surprise,” Carmen whispers. She holds her hand, the one with the IV line stuck into it, and Julia holds on tight. So tight that it might break her fingers and some dark part of Carmen thinks that she might deserve it. But it doesn’t last. Eventually, Julia’s breathing evens out, and her body relaxes against the bed, and her grip loosens, but she doesn’t let go. Julia drops her other hand to reveal red eyes.

She clears her throat. “How did you find me?”

It is so casual that it throws Carmen off. Are they really not going to discuss Julia’s state from not even a minute ago? But Julia looks at her expectantly, so she says, “Player found you. I was worried.”

“Thank you. I didn’t think….” Julia’s face screws up. “Thank you.”

“You shouldn’t. Jules, I am so sorry. VILE was never supposed to get a hold of you.”

“I’m not sorry,” Julia whispers. She winces as she eases up on the bed, and Carmen wants to help her, but doesn’t know how. Julia manages to sit upright anyway.

“You needed help. Was I supposed to say ’no?’” Julia asks. She even manages a half smile. “This was not your fault,” she says as she gestures to herself.

“They kidnapped you because of me.”

“Absurd. I mean, yes, they did. But that still wasn’t your fault. You might as well rage against an earthquake for bringing down a building, or at lightning for striking a tower. Criminal syndicates kidnap people; that’s just what they do. If not me, then it would have been some other poor sod.”

“Jules.”

“I mean it, Carmen. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

When Julia says it like that, Carmen might be able to believe it. “How bad is it? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The bridge of Julia’s nose wrinkles, so Carmen asks instead, “What happened?”

“I said ‘no.’ The taller woman—they called her ‘Countess Cleo’—she said that she would only ask for my services once. So I said ’no.’” Her brows furrow again and she bows her head, casting shadows on her face. “Those two men, Vlad and Boris, they were very persuasive. And I tried, I really, really tried. But I couldn’t.” Julia trails off and when she looks up again, her eyes are glassy. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

The idea that Julia should ever think of herself deficient in any way, that she could be convinced that that was the case, is so painful that Carmen’s heart could break. It is also equally vexing, because it is clearly untrue. The boldest lies that Carmen has ever heard.

“How could you apologize for being so brave?” Carmen asks.

“I’m supposed to be a former secret agent.”

“And? I don’t care about some arbitrary threshold of toughness. I’m just glad that you’re alive.”

Julia smiles and stares down at their clasped hands. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too. Not that I’m in a rush, but the longer you’re here, the more dangerous it is for you. When are you getting discharged?”

“Next morning at the earliest. The doctors want to keep me overnight for observation.”

“So it’s that bad.”

“Carmen….”

But Carmen gestures to the pill bottles. “Jules. Come on. How bad is it?”

Julia sighs. “Hairline fractures in my fibs, and some minor internal bleeding.”

She mumbles this last part, but Carmen catches it anyway. Cold horror washes through her body. “Internal bleeding?”

“Minor internal bleeding. Carmen, don’t feel bad, or we’ll be going in circles all day.”

On the contrary. Carmen’s horror ignites into hot, unbridled rage, and she leaps out of her chair and starts pacing up and down the tiny room.

“Carmen?”

“They are never touching you again. Never again.” Carmen pauses just long enough to say before she continues to pace. Julia face softens a bit.

The door creaks open, and Carmen whirls around and grabs an extra chair. It’s one of those mass-produced plastic and wire things, light enough to throw across the room if needed. Julia too, falls silent.

But an orderly pokes their head in. “Visiting hours are over,” they says in Arabic. “Miss Santa Rosa, you must leave now.”

“No, no, she can stay,” someone else says from behind him. It sounds like the nurse who was manning the reception desk. “She’s her fiance. It’s in the file.”

“Eh? Okay.” The orderly turns back to them. “Have a good night.”

The door closes again.

The chair slips from Carmen’s nerveless fingers. On the bed, Julia turns away, her face and ears a brilliant red.

“You understood that,” Carmen says. It isn’t a question.

Julia, unable to speak, nods her head.

“Player, did you do that?” Carmen asks. Her earrings crackle to life.

“Do what?”

“The fiance thing.”

He chuckles. Actually chuckles. “Best wingman ever.”

Oh no. Carmen is going to die. She is going to shrivel up from mortification. What must Julia think? At the very least, she must think that Carmen’s such a creep.

“Do you want me to change it back?”

“You’ve done enough.”

Player chuckles again, this time with a darker tone. “So that’s a ‘no.’”

“Goodnight, Player.” And with that, Carmen taps her earring to mute.

“You can leave if you need to. You must be terribly busy,” Julia says.

“Never too busy for you,” Carmen says, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she can think too much about it. Julia flushes all over again.

---

Julia gasps awake, the ache in her ribs stealing her breath. Her left hand is clasped tight in Carmen’s, a lifeline tethering her to this this plane of existence.

She fell asleep.

They were talking. About anything and everything. One of those meandering conversations that are pointless, yet profound. Carmen is endlessly fascinating, of course. Julia couldn’t help but hang on her every word. When it was her turn to share, she tried her best to be as interesting, but she couldn’t help but feel so incredibly mundane. Carmen’s rapt attention must have been a facade done out of politeness, because there is no way that she could be just as interested in Julia. Carmen was just being kind.

They were just talking, and then the meds took over and she fell asleep.

“I’m right here, Jules.” Carmen’s worried face swims into focus and the bed dips as she sits next to her. The room is dark, save for a single nightlight plugged into a nearby outlet.

“Was it a nightmare?” Carmen asks.

“The pain from my ribs must be tricking my mind. Every time I go to sleep, I go right back to that safe house,” Julia whispers.

“What about a distraction?” Carmen asks. “If you felt something else, would that help?”

They both look at their hands. They’re still holding onto each other, with Carmen’s thumb gently pressing against Julia’s pale knuckle.

“It does seem to help,” Julia says. Somehow, realigning herself with reality is easier with Carmen around. Carmen’s brow furrows in thought, then she nods, as if making a decision.

“Okay, scoot.”

It takes Julia a moment to understand what Carmen means to do, and when she finally does figure it out, she briefly considers saying ‘no’ before the thought is immediately smothered without mercy. Perhaps it’s because Julia almost died this morning, or perhaps it’s because of the heady cocktail of medications currently running through her system. At any rate, Julia doesn’t say ’no.’

She scoots.

It takes a little maneuvering—Julia’s IV line has enough slack, but they don’t want to pinch it shut—and they take care to not jab elbows and knees, and the bed is already so narrow, but they manage it in the end. They end up facing each other, with Julia’s head cradled between Carmen’s arms, and their legs tangled together. Julia’s fingers curl in the belt of Carmen’s romper.

Carmen runs hot. The heat of her arm thrums against Julia’s ear. Her gray eyes are also very close. The distance between them is so negligible that if Julia were to move just a couple inches forward….

Well.

“Go to sleep,” Carmen whispers, her breath ghosting against Julia’s face. “I’ll be here.”

Julia closes her eyes and goes to sleep.

---

“Red.”

Carmen’s earrings turn on, and Player’s voice cuts through the still night.

“Red, wake up.”

Julia is still asleep. Carmen’s arm is getting a little numb, but hell, Julia can have it. She rolls away a little, not enough to disturb Julia, but just enough so that she can talk to Player without speaking directly into her face.

“What time is it?” She whispers.

“About one AM your time.” Player also lowers his voice to match hers, even though he’s a little speaker in her ear. “The Seattle base got torched.”

“What?”

“VILE destroyed it. They burned everything. And then in Oxford, another team torched Julia’s apartment and blew up her car. They blew it up, Red!”

Beside her, Julia stirs. “Wusrong?” She slurs.

Carmen’s heart sinks. “I’m so sorry, Jules.”

“This again? We talked about this, Carmen.” Julia’s sleepy expression melts away when Carmen doesn’t answer.

Carmen gently removes her arm from under Julia’s head, then maneuvers so that she doesn’t crush her, but she’s able to brace herself over her and align her head over hers so that she can also hear.

“Player? Explain.”

He explains. Julia tenses beneath her, and her hands tighten in Carmen’s clothes the longer he goes on.

“VILE must have wanted to retaliate, but when they couldn’t find either of you, they did the next best thing,” Player says.

“Phone,” Carmen says. She rolls off the bed and goes to her duffel bag. She takes out her phone and swipes across the screen to answer Player’s call. He appears on the screen, and she tosses the phone onto the foot of the bed. Julia sits up and leans over the phone.

“Player?”

It must be early evening where Player is, but it’s always difficult to discern anything with how dark his room is. He must have blackout curtains or something.

“I’ve got Carmen’s plane ticket sorted out, and I was gonna get you on a plane to Oxford, Julia, but I’m not sure I should do that anymore.”

Carmen slips on her shoes and ties the laces. “Put us on the same plane.”

“What?” Player asks.

“You were right about VILE and ACME. Jules isn’t safe as a civilian anymore, so she’s coming with me.” Finished, Carmen stands up and regards Julia, who has her hands over her eyes again.

“Jules?”

“Jay?” Player asks, slightly muffled from the hospital blanket.

“I placed my students’ papers on the coffee table. They were just there in bundles, because I meant to grade them. And there were plant clippings on the windowsill…I was growing them in jam jars.” Julia’s hand moves to cover her mouth, and she stares into the distance. “Gone.”

Player looks down at his keyboard. Carmen’s heart sinks in her chest. She did this. Julia lost everything because of her. Because she asked for her help, and this is how she’s rewarded.

“I’ve only lived in Oxford for half a year, but that flat was mine, and I….” But Julia stops and turns to the side table. She pulls open the drawer and there, nestled in the folds of her suit jacket, is her pendant. It glitters in the low light, and she lifts it out, the chain draping between her fingers.

“I was wrong,” Julia whispers. She slips her glasses back on and she stares very hard at the pendant.

“Jules?”

“Everything I need is right here. Everything else is replaceable.”

Player’s jaw drops, and he and Carmen share a look. “Just like that?”

“Sometimes it really is that simple. Don’t mistake me; it will be awful to replace everything when the time comes, but the fact is that they can be replaced. And I have insurance. My class will be fine. My students will be fine.” Julia unclasps the chain and tries—and fails—to put it on. She looks up at Carmen. “Do you mind?”

Carmen takes the ends of the chain and carefully clips it around Julia’s neck. Her fingertips graze her nape as she pulls away, and Julia catches her wrist.

“I won’t be put in a safe house. If I’m coming, I’ll be useful,” Julia whispers.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Carmen says. Julia smiles up at her.

“Plane’ll be ready in an hour,” Player says. The call ends, and Carmen slips the phone into her pocket.

“Then we shouldn’t waste time.” Carmen unhooks Julia from the IV and helps her shrug on her jacket. Julia slips her shoes on, and after picking up the duffle and the meds, the both of them vanish into the night.

Show it some love on Ao3!

#caruliaweek #carmen sandiego #julia argent #carulia #julethief #carjules #carmen x julia #my writing #fanfiction

36 notes · View notes

pineconesarecrunchy · 3 years

Text

Tea

Edelgard x F!Byleth

Note: This is post timeskip so minor spoilers for that

(This is part of a series! Previous work)

...

"Morning!"

"..."

"Miss Byleth?"

You suddenly jolt and lift you head up from where it was resting on the desk in front of you. Knocking over the nearest stack of papers while arising.

"Ack!" You mumble and scurry to pick up the papers.

"Sorry for startling you." you look up to meet Hubert's face. Edelgard's right hand man. He bends down to collect the papers with you. After gathering all you combine the piles you have collected and rest them on your desk.

"Busy are you?" He asks, leaning against your desk.

"Yes, as we all are."

"Hm. Indeed." Pause. The air with Hubert feels like the exact opposite. Edelgard's aura feels warm and comforting. Hubert feels like he's always cold and distant. You wonder how the two are able to bond so well. "I want to discuss something about Lady Edelgard."

"What about her?"

"I have noticed you wandering into her room like a lost lamb in the woods going home on a dark night. All alone, scurrying." You raise your eyebrows. "You cannot dispute me when I have actually seen you."

"Okay." More silence. The tension is so thick it would need to be cut with a butchers knife. What does he want from you? Is he trying to be protective of Edelgard? Will he forbid you from seeing her...impossible. He cannot do that! These thoughts of Hubert stepping between you and Edelgard makes your head swirl and stomach feel uneasy. You have to change the topic of conversation before—

"Have you been getting sleep lately, Miss Byleth?"

"I have been trying to, but as you can see with this upcoming battle, I have a lot of stuff to prepare for."

"I see..."

“I am running errands for the mercenaries while discussing with the kitchen and tenders at the greenhouse how much food we should set aside to ration for the upcoming battle. With the merchants changing as often as they do, it’s hard to bargain without checking to see what the kitchen crew needs to make meals and what foods we can grow in the greenhouse instead of buying. I am all over the place, calculating, spending, bargaining, and … just a lot to do Hubert. But, that is my job!”

“Alright…”

"How have you been, Hubert?" You could care less about his response.

"Why have you stopped wandering to her room?" Now he has piqued your interest.

"Excuse me, Hubert?"

"...Edelgard. Why have you stopped visiting her at night?"

" Hubert I am sorry, but topic of this conversation does not concern you—"

"What do you do—"

"This is extremely out of line and unprofessional! The only things you should ask me that concern Edelgard and I should be of business matters. Not personal." You pick up the few papers off of your desk that need to be worked on and believe working in your room would be your best bet rather this office. As you head for the door you can feel Hubert's eyes burning on your back.

As you set the stack on the desk of your room you cannot help but think of that exchange. What does Hubert want from you? Why did he feel the need to ask such questions? You feel a headache incoming and rest your head against your desk. Wonder why the past few days have been increasing the amount of headaches you get and with such intensity.

You glance out the window and see the sun setting. How long have you been resting as a response to your headache? You lick your parched lips, a nice warm cup of tea would be good right now. You cannot help begin to start wondering where Edelgard may be and if she would enjoy a cup as well. You get up and change to more comfortable outing clothes and ask around if anyone has seen her. The guards, passing merchants; mercenaries. The more people you ask, the less people seem to be roaming around every time you inquire. Why has not speaking with Edelgard make you feel this way?

It has only been a few days, but it feels like part of you is missing. You wake up without her next to you and the day already feels awful. Seeing a glimpse of her through the windows discussing with allies does not do it for you. You want to be with Edelgard and feel her by your side. The warmth of her arm around you, hand holding hand with fingers interlacing. To be so close to her, every inhale you can smell her flowery scent. You miss it so much. You miss Edelgard. Everyday without her feels painful...

Are you falling for the Emperor?

You quickly erase that question out of your mind. There is no way you possibly can… You should not even be thinking thoughts like that.

The moon is out now; maybe you should catch up on the work that you missed due to your headache. You head to your office finding it hard to believe that in your evening search, no one knew of her whereabouts. That is truly unbelievable—

"I heard you were looking for me." says a familiar voice. You look around the room of the office to see a fig ure perched upon your desk legs crossed. Silvery white hair illuminated by the stained glass windows in the office.

"E-Edelgard!"

"'E-Edelgard!'" she mocks you and laughs. She is not wearing her nightgown like last time, she's still in her emperor clothes. Beautifully crimson red. Maybe she had a meeting with allies... "Come on, By. El is perfectly fine. What did you want to discuss? You could have stopped by my office anytime." Of course! She would have been in her office, the one place you would think to check first...

"I had nothing to discuss."

"Really?"

"Honest."

"So will you tell me why you were looking for me?" You nod.

"I was going to ask you if you would like to join me for evening tea, but it is," you walk over to the window and look at the moon, "a bit late for that now." You can feel Edelgard get off the desk behind you and join your side looking out the stained glass window.

"So you wanted to see me?" She purrs.

"I..."

"You were the one who had wanted to stop accompanying me."

"Because I felt like your nightmares were easing."

"But, you never asked for my opinion."

"No, I did not..." you say wryly. "...But, were they easing by me accompanying you?"

"It was, but I've been working so much lately that as soon as I lay down to sleep I fall asleep instantly and I wake up recalling none of my nightmares nor dreams."

"That's great!"

"I would disagree." You raise your eyebrows. Does Edelgard wish she still had nightmares? You recall the times where in her sleep she would begin to shake and mumble. Sometimes she even cried in her sleep until you lulled her telling her everything's alright. Why would she wish to continue being the victim of that suffering?

"Why would wish to have nightmares?"

"So I could have an excuse to sleep with you." You look down at her while her eyes are fixed looking out the window. "You miss sleeping with me, don't you, By?" Dammit.

"..."

"You look like a wreck."

"..."

"You look worse than I do after a long night run.” She laughs at this, but you don't. It's like Edelgard can see through your front. Without her you do feel like a wreck. Maybe both of you benefitted from sleeping with each other.

"..."

"Byleth, will you say anything?"

"Anything."

"Haha!" She playfully slaps your arm. "Most times you're so stoic, but I knew you had some sense of humor within you!"

"You think I am stoic—"

"I will take up your offer on tea."

“But, it’s almost midnight.”

“Tea’s suppose energizing effects have no affect on me.” She says shrugging. “You?”

“One cup makes me sleepy.” You lie. Tea makes you restless, but you’re so desperate to not work right now. Accompanying Edelgard is a valid excuse to get out of your work.

“We can sleep together afterwards then.” She suggests.

“I have work to be done—“

“Work work work. You have to take a break sometime, By! Come on, for me.” Her eyes gleam with a beg that you have never seen from her before. You give in and nod. To this, she smiles greatly, taking your hand in hers and dragging you to the dinning hall’s kitchen.

The kitchen is empty, you expect there to be cleaners at this hour, but no one is there. She walks over to a tall cupboard and opens it. The shelves are lined with various tea serving equipment and tea assortments. From an array of colored porcelain cups to teas from foreign lands, the shelves are well equipped. Edelgard seems to have her eye on one of the teas on the higher shelf. She stretches to get it, on her tippy toes. Seeing her wobble trying to get it for you seems a bit…funny. It’s out of place to see the leader of the Empire struggling to reach for the box of Bergamot tea due to how vertically challenged she is. You stand behind her and grab the tea from the shelf, not realizing how close you are to her. She hits her behind into your pelvis trying to turn around, her face flushed, eyes averted from yours.

“Thank you.” She says quickly, taking the tea out of your hand. “I shall get some hot water. I have a serving tray in my room and some spare tea cups.”

She squeezes out from between you and the cupboard.

“Should I meet you in your room?” You ask.

“No, you may stay.” So you do.

When you return to Edelgard’s room, she mentions you can sit where you’d like so you choose to sit on her dressing table’s stool. She rests the filled teapot and Bergamot on top of her wooden drawer set and squats down to reach into the lowest drawer. Pulling out a serving tray along with two porcelain tea cups, she rises closing the drawer with the tip of her boot. She them places the items next to the teapot. Once everything is out of her hands, she immediately tosses her jacket onto the ground and kicks off her boots.

“Could you help me out of this please? I’m so tired and would like to put on something more comfortable before tea.” She asks her back towards you. “I had to wear this crimson dress while discussing business matters earlier. Hubert insisted because of ‘business formalities’ bleh. He usually helps me in and out of it, but he’s been… acting a bit strange lately.” You bring yourself to stand up and go over to Edelgard. She glances over her shoulder and takes your hands into hers. She guides your hand to the nape of her neck where the first button is. You undo it, hands barely keeping steady.

The rest is continued here

(on Archive of our own because it's rated mature)!

...

I hope you liked this fic!! I love writing Edelgard with a bit of sass and Byleth just taking it in lol. It's a lot of fun!

#edelgard three houses #timeskip edelgard #edeleth #fe3h #fe3h fanfiction #my writing

21 notes · View notes

midnightswithdearkatytspb · 3 years

Text

You’ve Been Everything (Steve Rogers x OFC!)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC!Orchid Black

Rating: PG-13 - Cursing & Angst

Word Count: 1,787

Side Characters: Natasha Romanoff and Frank Castle

Synopsis: They haven’t shared a bed in months, the snap has changed them both. There is no one to blame.

Info: Based off the song If This Is The End by Ryan McMullan. All mistakes are mine and the dividers are from @firefly-graphics ♥️ This was going to be a Drabble but it got away from me and also it was not my intention to use my face claim for Remedy for Orchid, but Ksenia Solo just fit.

Being a vigilante wasn’t easy when in a relationship, it especially wasn’t easy when you were with the one and only Steve Rogers, the former Captain America. Things had been hard for Steve way before the snap had even happened, it was straining their relationship, with him on the run, Orchid back in New York, working alongside the likes of Frank Castle, Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and occasionally the Spiderkid who had help and forcing Steve to go into hiding. (Not that Orchid blamed Peter, she had no one to blame really but Tony and Steve. Why couldn’t they be like two normal grown men and work their problems out, hell even go to couples counseling?) When the snap happened Foggy, Karen, Jessica, and Luke disappeared, Hell’s Kitchen needed Frank, Matt and her more than ever, along with Queens when Spiderkid didn’t return, Orchid was running ragged. While Steve was silent and stoic, it unnerved her.

What used to be nights curled up on the couch watching documentaries together, playing board games, and cooking together, turned into Orchid staying out late, walking the streets late into the early mornings, oftentimes sleeping on the couch, taking meals from Frank’s fridge of leftovers. Steve had taken to sleeping over at the compound many times, avoiding going back to the apartment in Brooklyn, any chance to avoid having to speak to his girlfriend. He had let Orchid down one too many times and the longing stares she gave him were just a reminder of it.

It was spring going on 3 years after the snap, Frank noticed the dark circles under Orchid's eyes were getting darker and darker. Sighing he scratched his jaw before clearing his throat earning the dark haired girl's attention.

“If Karen was here I would ask her to have this conversation was here, fuck, even Jessica, but since their not, I’ll do it. I think you need to break up with Nomad or whatever Stephen is going by these days. You can’t keep losing sleep over this relationship because whatever you guys have now is not a relationship. I mean you share more meals with me than you do him, I’ve shared a bed more with you than you have with him just this past year.” Before Frank could continue, Orchid reached out silencing the big guy.

“First off it’s Steve, and secondly I know you're right, it’s just, part of me still loves him. I mean whoever thought me Orchid Black would date a man like Steve? He was just so great at the beginning and even just before the whole Tony debacle. Even while searching for Bucky he made time for us, I made time for him, then when he went on the lamb, he made sure to get letters to me, he was a dream. It’s just fallen apart Frank after he lost Sam and Bucky, and I get it, I really do. I just wish he would let me in, but maybe I have this wall up to and it’s over you know?” Orchid felt the tears building up but she wasn’t going to let them fall, no she was going to be strong. She hadn’t cried since that day when she was at a steak out with Karen and Jessica, for both an article Karen was writing, bad guy she and Jessica were trying to take down, when suddenly her friends turned to ash right before her eyes. When she got back to Frank’s place she found out about Foggy and Luke, she cried.

“Then you know what needs to be done.” Frank sighed, taking a gulp of his freshly poured coffee. Reaching into the pocket of her ripped skinny jeans she pulled her phone out reading the time behind the cracked screen. If she left now, she could beat Steve back to the compound upstate and actually have a talk with him.

“Yeah, yeah I do. Can I borrow your truck to go upstate, to the compound?” Orchid looked up to see the keys to the Chevrolet that she had helped him restore hanging from his pointer. With a promise to return it safely within the next 12 or so hours she turned on heel making her way to say her goodbye.

Friday had just let her drive write on through the gates even though it had been over a year since she had last stepped foot on the compound. Orchid pulled as close as she could get to the front doors so that way she could get away fast, it also looked like it could rain any minute. Keeping her head down as to not bring attention to herself she walked into the building making her way to the Avengers living quarters.

“Hello Miss. Black I have informed Miss. Romanoff of your arrival and she asks you to please join her in the main conference room, she has the sangria.” letting a silent Fuck out from under her breathe, getting off the elevator she cracked her neck and knuckles trying her best to relax. Natasha stood in the doorway down the hall leaning against the door jam, a tiny smirk on her face, her red hair was growing in, mixing in with the white blonde she had gone while on the run, it was doing a nice ombré effect.

“You don’t call, you don’t text back, you don’t write to me, what did you do?” Orchid hugged Natasha as she walked into the conference room, she owed her everything, from her life, to the fact she was even ever with Steve. Blushing Orchid took a seat beside Natasha and crossed her legs in an extravagant leather highback chair, immediately taking a sip of the fruity wine drink, avoiding Natasha’s question.

“Okay, seriously this is unlike you, usually when we get together you have so much to talk about, but lately you have been avoiding me. Come to think of it, both you and Rogers have been avoiding me, him I can understand somewhat, but when I ask him about you he just changes the subject. Talk to me Black.” It was Natasha’s turn to take a drink of her wine, while examining her friend, her ex-protégé of sorts that she and Clint once saved while on a mission. The circles under her eyes were much darker than they once had been, she was thinner than she had been before the snap, not that she had much to lose, she looked to be in a state of permanent melancholy, which wasn’t hard to be in the state earth was in.

“I’m breaking up with Steve.” Natasha stopped mid-sip and looked Orchid in the eyes, the trained assassin almost looked surprised but she was trained so well that if you didn't know her you wouldn't know. “It’s just that as much as I love him that we could have found our way back to each other after the snap.” Orchid placed her glass on the table and pushed her long locks of hair back with her other hand, a nervous tick of hers. Natasha sighed before slugging back the rest of her drink.

“You know you’d think as someone who runs group therapy he would be trying to make things work with you.” Scoffing Natasha leaned back crossing her arms clearly annoyed with her super soldier friend. Orchid just shrugged, and stared out the windows as the rain was starting to come down heavily.

“Well, just because you aren’t with Steve anymore doesn’t mean you can’t come see me or you can’t talk to me anymore. You were mine and Clint’s friend before you ever started dating him, Clint would be upset to see you like this.” the familiar feeling of tears building up came back, but she swore she wouldn’t cry and she won’t. Friday alerted them to Steve arriving back at the compound, Orchid got off the expensive chair so she could meet Steve at the elevator, in hopes of speaking with him in the living room. Natasha grabbed her hand giving it 3 squeezes, Orchid returning the sentiment.

Steve wanted to eat and catch up with Natasha and see if she found out anything new from anyone, then hopefully turn in for the night. Today’s group had been longer than usual, Mark who lost both his wife and daughter in snap, had finally gotten the courage to tell his story, and because he did, Luciell who lost her folks, wife, and son spoke for the first time as well. The meetings by the end of them always had him thinking of Sam, making him wonder what he would say, what he would do for the folks, was he making him proud?

Orchid, she stood right outside the elevator when he got off it. He had not seen her since he had gone home to their shared apartment to get more clothes to bring back to the compound a couple weeks before. Orchid he noticed looked almost gaunt, not like the woman who had captured his attention years ago, the one he loved. Steve stood frozen staring at her, he didn’t notice the duffle at her feet till she slid it over to him.

“At one point in time I would have said you were the one for me and I’d like to think maybe you thought the same, but with all the pain we just didn’t cope all that well. It obviously tore us apart and we have been avoiding this for much too long trying to spare each other’s feelings, look where it’s gotten us.” Orchid’s voice cracked, so much for not crying. “We can’t even be in the same room as each other anymore and that’s not love Steve, so I’m doing you a favor and letting you go. You’ve been everything I could have ever asked for and so much more.” Getting on her tippy toes, Orchid leaned forward kissing Steve on the lips one last time. Not giving him a chance to talk or make a move, she sidestepped around him getting on the elevator letting the tears fall.

Perhaps part of her hoped that Steve would follow but the other part of her was just so relieved to have said goodbye. It was done and over. Upstairs Steve stood frozen eyes shut with a single tear slipping down the side of his face almost in shock. He knew it had been a long time coming but it still had hurt to see her go. An arm to his bicep pulled him from his gloom, a hope hit that it would be her coming back, but when he opened his eyes to Natasha’s green eyes.

“It’ll be okay.”

“Will it though?”

“Yeah.”

50 notes · View notes

honeymoonjin · 5 years

Text

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity. The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.”

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur, your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart.

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core.

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.”

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering.

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over.

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips.

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much.

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze.

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry.

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth.

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?”

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.”

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.”

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?”

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.”

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!”

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.”

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton.

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.”

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.”

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings.

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up.

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.”

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.”

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly.

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads.

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace.

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation.

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love.

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep.

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars.

—

You wake up before him that next morning.

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth.

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi.

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time?

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs.

6K notes · View notes

sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Part 2

Paramour (Diavolo x Reader)

You love Diavolo. And Diavolo loves you. But in the Devildom, relationships aren't as straightforward as that—and Diavolo being the future ruler of the Devildom certainly complicates things. So when you learn that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, a human, you're overjoyed. Yet, there are still issues. Big issues. Diavolo wants you to be his paramour—whatever that means. But you want to be his wife. And with each passing moment, it's beginning to feel like even love can't bridge the gap between your worlds.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

MASTERLIST

There were only two weeks left in the RAD student exchange program when Diavolo asked you to be his paramour. Thirteen days, when Barbatos had helped you move your things into Purgatory Hall.

By the time there were ten days remaining, the demon brothers—with the exception of Lucifer, who was still hesitant to be openly by your side in front of Diavolo—had thrown you a huge party (in Purgatory Hall, much to Luke's horror) and by the seven-day mark, you had taken the last of your final exams.

But these past four days have been beyond slow going without Diavolo by your side to make the time pass by.

You frown, memories of the demon flitting through your mind.

You never even had the chance to speak to him about your decision.

The man had walked into your room, mouth open and about to start a conversation, when he saw how bare the walls and dresser were. It took him less than a second to realize that you'd already prepared to leave, that you were abandoning him and his palace and his paramour situation behind.

Diavolo left the room before you could even open your mouth.

You sigh, a noise soft enough to have been carried away by the gentle breeze flowing through the courtyard, but Simeon hears it nonetheless.

"What's wrong, little lamb?" He asks, putting down the feathered pen he's using to write his report. Barbatos informed you that you're excused of yours, but the other exchange students still have to complete this final assignment before you all return to your respective realms.

"Nothing, Simeon." You glance away, not wanting to distract the angel. "You should continue working on your report."

The angel chuckles and moves his papers aside. "I have three more days before I leave. I'm sure I'll be able to find time to complete this later, so tell me what's on your mind, hm?"

You glance hesitantly at the angel. He already knows the full story: you'd spent nearly an hour in his arms as he consoled you while you cried over the stupidity of a paramour and how unfair the whole situation was. Simeon had agreed with you wholeheartedly back then, and hadn't pressed you for more details. But it's obvious he's aware of the lingering doubts in the back of your mind. No question, he knows that your strained relationship—your lack of a relationship, rather—with Diavolo is the cause of your distress. But it can't hurt to tell him the deeper truth, right?

"It's just..." You let your voice trail off. "I don't see how I can ever be as happy as I was with Diavolo with anyone else. I...it...it scares me, to think of what kind of life I'll be leading when I return to the human realm."

"I see," Simeon murmurs, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"And it's not just that," You continue. "What do I do when I go back? I've missed out on an entire year of life with my friends, and I know that when I return, it'll be like nothing happened because of all the protective magic spells and stuff, but what do I do with these memories? Do I keep them? Do I forget them? Are my memories...are they meaningless now?"

"Hey." Simeon interrupts your rambling, a light frown present on his face for the first time. He places his hands on your shoulders in a delicate but firm grip and forces you to look at him. "Your memories of your time here are not meaningless. Never say that, little lamb. Never."

He pulls you in for a comforting hug, arms wrapping tight around you to protect you from your own thoughts. You relax in his arms. His embrace is almost as reassuring as a certain redhead demon lord, and it's easy to close your eyes and forget the difficulties that have been plaguing your mind.

"I'm sorry," You mumble. "I didn't mean it like that. None of you are meaningless to me, Simeon. I just..."

"You're worried." Simeon finishes your sentence. "You're worried about the future, and about how you're ever going to be this happy again."

You nod your head.

It hurts to hear it out loud, but Simeon has the truth of it.

Being in the Devildom has brought so much color into your life. Beyond constant near-death experiences with various demons trying to eat you and the boring studies you had to work on, meeting the angels and demons has shown you a new world altogether: one of magic, chaos, and thrill.

How will going back to the human world, to your humble little abode and your quiet little friends, ever compare to the experiences you've gone through here?

"My sweet little lamb," Simeon smiles. "Let me guarantee your happiness."

You raise an eyebrow at the angel. If those words came from any other man, you'd be running the other direction right now. But you trust Simeon, so you'll humor whatever idea is in his head.

But with his next words, it becomes apparent that the supposed 'little' idea in his head is bigger than you could have ever imagined; and just as effective, too.

"Let me take you to the Celestial Realm," He whispers into your ear. His eager emerald eyes never leave yours as he clasps your smaller hands in his own. "Let me take you to Michael. And when you return to the human realm, you'll return with an angel's blessing. Michael's Blessing. The blessing of eternal happiness."

***

Satan is growing concerned.

That's what the blonde claims, anyway.

"Goodness, Lucifer!" He exclaims at breakfast upon seeing Lucifer's furrowed brows. "I haven't seen you half this wrathful since that prank Mammon pulled four thousand years ago when he dyed your wings pink with the—"

"Quiet, Satan," Lucifer seethes. He's not in the mood for any of his brother's antics, not when this much rage is consuming him.

"I'm just saying," Satan murmurs, leaning back as he stabs into his breakfast with his fork. "The last time you were this angry, your wrath gave birth to me, and the last thing I want is another brother."

Lucifer scowls, pushing his chair back as he stands up and gets ready to leave for the day. His brothers love to taunt him, evidenced by Asmodeus joining in on the teasing with some remark about how scowls this intense would cause wrinkles, and the demon walked out of the breakfast hall to the sound of Mammon's laughter and Levi's LOLOLing.

On any other day, he'd reprimand his siblings and put them in their place.

But today, he's saving his wrath for a special someone.

He speed walks across the RAD campus, long legs taking him to his destination with more purpose and stride than he's ever carried before.

"Barbatos," He growls when the butler opens the door to Diavolo's castle.

"Lucifer," The demon greets plainly, a familiar, ever-knowing smile locked onto his face. The sight of such a smug look almost makes Lucifer lose control of himself before he stops, remembering the reason why he came here in the first place.

I'm here for Diavolo, he tells himself. Not to fight the godforsaken butler.

"How is Diavolo faring?" Lucifer asks, removing his coat. He begins walking to the prince's office, only to be stopped by Barbatos.

"Worse than usual, this morning. My lord has yet to leave his bedchambers, so unless you'd like to do his paperwork for him, I'd recommend you go there."

The future lord of the Devildom is moping around in bed at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday? Lucifer shakes his head. At this rate, he's never going to get better.

The demon knocks once at Diavolo's door, more to signify his presence than to actually ask for entry. He'd stopped doing that by the third day of MC's leave, when Diavolo had fallen too deep into despair to even respond to the ebony-haired demon's calls.

"Diavolo?" He murmurs, opening the door. He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice.

But the sight that greets him is strange, to say the least.

Pillows are thrown across the room, lamps shattered against the wall, the bedpost broken clean of the bed, the entire room privy to Diavolo's raw frustration at the situation before him. But all of that is akin to what the demon lord's room has been like on previous days.

This morning, though, in the center of it all stands a woman.

Lucifer stares at her for a moment, utterly confused as to who she is. He vaguely recognizes her, but from where?

"His wife," Barbatos clarifies from behind him. "Or future wife. She's been staying nearby ever since the proposal, and she stopped by to visit my lord last night. Upon learning of his...condition, she deduced that coming up here and consummating the marriage early might ease the prince of his current state."

"Well, it obviously didn't work." Lucifer crosses his arms in agitation, referring to the fact that she's fully clothed and clearly hasn't been touched since entering Diavolo's room. He gestures to the door in a motion for the she-demon to leave.

As she quietly walks out, though, Lucifer can't help but be relieved.

Lucifer knows how loyal his friend is, but the sight of a woman in his room still concerned him, upon first glance. If Diavolo had given her an heir, his whole situation with MC would truly be unsalvageable, the girl too human to think of his acts as anything other than infidelity.

The moment the door shuts, the tension in the room dissipates.

"Diavolo," Lucifer mumbles as he makes his way through the room, crossing his arms when he sees the unmoving stare of what had once been his proud friend.

"What." The sound comes out hoarse, more a word blurted than a real response, and Lucifer bends down to the eye level of his friend, who has still yet to even get out of bed.

Diavolo looks pitiful. Truly. Worse than each of the days before, but carrying the weight of them all the same. The demon's red locks seem darker, not as vibrant nor as soft as they normally look, instead having taken on the same cold, dead look as Diavolo's eyes.

And as Lucifer stares into the empty eyes of the man who was now deprived of his lover, words fail him.

He doesn't know what to say, where to begin, how to comfort this miserable demon.

The only person in all the realms who can do that is you, and the only way you would be returning is if Diavolo literally sacrifices millennia of Devildom tradition to wed you and make you his paramour in one—you, a woman who can't even yield him a biological heir.

Lucifer sighs, running a hand through his friend's hair.

"Go back to sleep," He advises, forgetting the reason why he had come here in the first place.

Slumber is the only peace he can see for his beloved friend.

***

Luke would be furious.

And tiny as the little angel is, you really don't want to ruin the remaining three days of your stay in the Devildom by yapping on about you being a bad influence on Simeon, which is why the two of you have to be overly secretive about sneaking out of Purgatory Hall.

"I think I'll retire early tonight," You say, standing up in the common room, reciting the line according to the plan you and Simeon had gone over in the evening. Perhaps you two were overthinking things, though, because neither Solomon nor Luke really reacts—both boys busying themselves with the completion of their own student exchange reports.

You cast the dark-skinned angel a glance as you walk out and make your way to your bedroom. A small part of you feels nervous. You've barely learned about the Celestial Realm, except for in your Angel Studies class. What if I embarrass myself in front of Michael? You wonder, beginning to pace. What if I embarrass Simeon?

"Little lamb?" Simeon calls, opening your door. He flashes you a warm smile when he sees you. "Wonderful, you're here. Are you ready to go?"

You give him a hesitant nod, and it takes less than a minute for him to open the window and the two of you to climb out.

"I love standing on the roof like this," Simeon informs you with a smile. He opens his arms up and spreads them, as if hugging the sky itself. "When I do this, I can feel every little breeze dancing through the night. Try it, little lamb, and close your eyes."

Wordlessly, you obey and shut your eyes, bringing your arms out. At first, it doesn't feel like much. In fact, all you can register is the light burn in your arms as you hold them for longer than you're used to—but then, you feel it.

It's quiet.

Subtle.

But it's there.

Your lips part as your bare arms begin to feel the breeze. The air moves gently, quietly, almost not at all. But the movement is there, and it fills your body up until it feels like you're flying higher and higher.

You let out a light laugh, about to open your eyes when Simeon's voice carries into your ears.

"Shh, little lamb," He murmurs. "Don't open your eyes."

And you're not sure if it's in that precise moment or a little later when you can feel the weightlessness of your own body, but you eventually realize that you're flying, soaring up, up, and up.

It's so much different from what you've experienced with demons.

No, in Diavolo's arms, flying was about the thrill of the ride: the wind fighting against your face as you cut through air where you didn't belong, every fiber of your being laughing and crying with joy as Diavolo flew you round and round.

But with Simeon, it's different.

It shouldn't even count as flying.

It's like gravity is pushing you away, urging you further and further into the sky like a balloon, except that you're not going to pop, and you're you.

And eventually, after the sensation becomes too much for you to bear in the darkness, you open your eyes.

You gasp.

"Tsk tsk." Simeon frowns, but his eyes are smiling. "What did I say about keeping your eyes closed?"

You don't bother humoring his question with a response, eyes glued to the sight beneath you. It's like another sky altogether, every single light in the Devildom a star on a black ground darker than night itself, truly a sight to behold. And when you finally pull your gaze high enough to look at Simeon, you realize that he is the real sight to behold.

"Y-your wings!" You exclaim, jaw slackened in pure awe of how divine the man looks. In his true form, Simeon looks even more stunning, his body radiating a soft glow as his snowy white wings spread out—two massive fliers majestic as they are untainted.

"Why would you ever ask me to close my eyes?" You ask, not understanding why the angel wouldn't want you to see such beautiful sights. Both the angel in front and the ground beneath you are more beautiful than anything you've laid your eyes upon in your entire life.

"I wanted you to see the Devildom lit up like this on the way down," Simeon chuckles. "Though I suppose it's only fair that you get to see it now."

You smile at the boy, before the new realization hits you—that you're flying on your own. Initially, you'd assumed that Simeon was the one pulling you up, lifting you into the sky by some invisible thread of divinity. But he's nearly three feet away from you as he continues to rise up, barely flapping his wings, so... "How am I flying?"

"The Blessing of an Angel," Simeon says with a grin. "You can collect blessings, little lamb. Each angel's blessing will manifest in a different form. My blessing is to bring people closer to their nature as an angel, and quite literally enables you to travel to the Celestial Realm. With wings."

With a single flap of his wings, Simeon brings his body behind yours, and you feel a hand begin to trace the outline of your back. Or at least, what feels like your back. You shudder as Simeon's fingers graze over a tender softness behind your body but on it all the same, and you just know that they're your wings. A single glance backward is enough to confirm it, the delicate whites nowhere near as majestic as Simeon's own figure but still stunning in their own right.

"Thank you," You murmur, following Simeon's lead as he instructs you on the ways of flight, teaching you how to use the new body parts. And then, before you know it, the two of you aren't just levitating upward but are truly flying, soaring through the skies straight into the heart of the Celestial Realm: an angel and a human, united in your journey above.

Not an hour later, you would repeat your gratitude to the archangel Michael as he offers you holy water to drink and rests his hand on your forehead, solemnly hearing out your request for his divine blessing.

And as you later crawl into bed, it strikes you just how much Simeon has managed to change in the short span of a few hours: you'd crawled out of your window as a mere heartbroken human. But returning, you carry Simeon's Blessing and Michael's Blessing: the blessing of holy flight and the blessing of eternal happiness.

And though nothing has truly happened with Diavolo to warrant such confident presumptions, you can't help but notice a quiet truth, before you finally give in to the temptations of Hypnos.

Indeed, your heart feels lighter.

***

Lucifer had saved you for last.

Simeon and Luke hadn't really needed much 'escorting,' given that all they had to do was spread their wings and fly to return to the Celestial Realm.

They'd been the first to depart.

Solomon had been the next one to go, bidding Asmodeus farewell in a suspicious promise to 'see each other soon' that concerned Lucifer, but he'd let it slide in lieu of getting rid of the shady sorcerer.

But that leaves you: the final exchange student.

And the time has finally come for you to go home.

He looks down at you, your face hesitant as your eyes widen in—what is the look on your face? Sadness? Fear? Anger? A mix of all things above?

"MC," He begins, the words feeling stiff as they come off his tongue. "I know that toward the end, things took a turn for the worse...but I truly did value your friendship in this year."

"And I, Lucifer." The demon relaxes when he sees you open your arms with a sheepish grin, eyes almost as shy and hesitant as the day he'd first met you. Lucifer doesn't waste a second in embracing you, pouring out of his arms all the feelings his pride would not permit him to vocalize.

I'm sorry, he tries to tell you. I'm sorry that things ended this way between you and Diavolo, especially when I know how happy you two were together. I'm sorry that I've had to take his side in this, and I'm sorry you were ever hurt.

And by the way you hug him back, squeezing his abdomen, it feels like you're telling him: I know.

"Is Diavolo not coming?" He hears you ask, tone wistful as you unbury your head from his chest.

Lucifer shakes his head softly, remembering how his friend had been even more unresponsive than usual this morning when asked if he would come to see you off.

"Mammon says he'll come visit," Lucifer remarks gently, trying to distract you. "Asmodeus and Beel, too. All of us will make time to visit you, in the end. You've been wonderful to have...we all feel that way."

Lucifer stresses that one word, trying to emphasize that he was speaking for the collective. For Diavolo. Even if the demon lord wouldn't be here to bid you farewell, Lucifer wants you to know that you've been precious to each and every one of them.

"Thank you, Luci." He hears you giggle, and for once, he doesn't even chastise you for using the nickname. "But it's time for me to go, isn't it?"

The demon sighs.

"It is."

"I'll miss you. All of you," You say, also emphasizing the word. The sentence means more than it seems. It's a quiet plea for Lucifer to tell Diavolo that, at the very least, your heart hasn't moved on.

"I'll be sure to let everyone know," The demon says, giving you just as cryptic a smile before wrapping you in a hug. He makes sure your eyes are closed as he turns into his demon form, summoning his powers to send you back.

At the back of his mind, he suspects that it won't be the last time he sees you. But no matter what instincts lie pooled in his gut, he can't shake the devastating sense of emptiness once you've vanished from his arms and vanished from the Devildom, returned to the human world.

It's where you belong, he tries to reason with himself. A human, among humans.

But deep inside, he knows the truth. And as much as he tries to deny it, his subconscious knows.

You belong with Diavolo.

***

The mark of the paramour is gone.

You remember, as Michael the Archangel had given you his blessing, that there'd been a searing pain in your stomach. Excruciating. Truly unlike anything you'd ever experienced before, though it was short enough.

Somehow, you've managed to pass weeks by without registering the lack of two black characters tainting your (s/c) abdomen, but as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you notice its absence.

Is this the 'eternal happiness' that Michael gave me? You scowl. In truth, you've yet to feel the effects of any revolutionary happiness. If anything, things have been worse than usual, these past few weeks.

"Damn it," You mutter, turning the lamp off. You don't want to see yourself in the mirror for a second longer.

You'd forced yourself out of bed to see the mark—to see the reminder that you once belonged to Diavolo, and he to you. You wanted to remember your time in the Devildom. You wanted proof that it was all real.

It doesn't matter that the characters on your stomach had proclaimed you a false lover, whatever that means. It was a connection to Diavolo. A contract, he had called it.

But even that little salvation has been stripped from you.

You choke back a sob, staring at your shriveled form. How long has it been since you left the Devildom?

Three weeks, says the calendar.

But without Simeon to cheer you up or the demon brothers to keep your mind occupied, it's felt like eons. Even your human friends have stopped visiting you, utterly unaware of the truth.

When you were surrounded by light and love and happiness, it was easy to tell yourself than you were healing from everything with Diavolo. But, looking back, you realize that you'd never been healing at all. No, even on the night you flew up to heaven with Simeon, you'd clung to the hope in your heart that Michael's Blessing of eternal happiness would somehow thrust you back into the arms of Diavolo.

But now I have no one to distract me, you think, staring at your hollowed cheeks. You haven't been eating as much, and it's showing. And I can't keep lying to myself that I'll ever end up with Diavolo.

You stare at your reflection, body seeming even more ghostly in the pale illumination of the moonlight as it streams in through your window.

You look dead.

And maybe, in some way, you are.

Can you ever love another as you loved Diavolo? It's impossible, you think, memories of your time with him beginning to stream through your mind.

Diavolo is a man unlike any other. Truly one of a kind, you think, remembering the very first time you'd expressed feelings for each other.

It was a Saturday when you first kissed him.

In fact, it had been Saturday the second time you kissed him as well, and probably the third and the fourth and the fifth times, until weeks later when two of you finally went public about your relationship.

But, in the beginning, Diavolo only saw you on Saturdays.

The man was committed to his plan of uniting the three realms, and he made every effort to make his precious exchange students feel welcome in the RAD. As far as you knew, he scheduled Solomon on Mondays, Simeon on Tuesdays, and Luke on Thursdays with the exceptional Friday—but you were the only one he saw over the weekend.

"Thank you for the tea, my lord." You smiled pleasantly at the man in front of you, wondering how someone so refined and gentle could possibly be a demon.

"Ah, how often must I say it? Drop the formalities, MC. Call me Diavolo!" He exclaimed with his usual ear-to-ear grin. It was a smile that always sent butterflies to your stomach, and you never failed to appreciate the little crinkle in his eye as he smiled at you from across the table.

"Of course, D-Diavolo." The name felt familiar on your tongue—you'd referred to him as such countless times in the presence of the demon brothers—but calling the future demon lord of the Devildom by his first name felt strangely personal as the two of you sat in his private garden, surrounded by flowers and sunshine, not even Barbatos present to intrude on your weekly meetings.

Well, they were called meetings. Diavolo treated them more as an opportunity for two old friends to catch up.

"So, how is school work going?" He asked, feigning interest in your performance at the academy. You knew it was just a ruse, though. Soon enough he would begin humoring his actual interests, asking questions about how you were liking your time in the House of Lamentation, what the family dynamic was like and, of course, there was always the one question he never failed to ask: whether any of you had managed to get a picture of Lucifer's sleeping face yet (and if so, to please forward the image to him).

The two of you eventually got caught up in the questions game, and soon enough, you had taken up his invitation to ask him things as well. It almost felt like the two of you were playing 20 Questions, and you told Diavolo as much.

"20 Questions? A human game? You must tell me how to play, MC." Diavolo's grin was expectant, and you quickly filled him in on the rules. Of course, as soon as he learned them, he decided that he wanted to play with you.

"You have to be truthful in this game?" Diavolo confirmed, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "And you cannot refuse a question, no matter what?"

"Nope!" You exclaimed cheerily in response. By then, the anxiety you felt at being in front of not only the strongest man in the Devildom but clearly the hottest one had faded, and you were almost teasing in your responses. "Of course, you can always back out if you're afraid of playing, Diavolo."

You batted your eyes innocently at the demon lord, trying to corner him into playing. Your plan worked like a charm.

"As if!" Diavolo exclaimed dramatically, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. He smiled confidently as he began the game. "I'll start. MC, how many objects did you help Mammon steal from my castle at the last feast?"

You felt your cheeks flush, not realizing that Diavolo had known about your assistance in Mammon's most recent attempts at thievery. The almost arrogant smirk on the man's face brought a response out of your mouth swiftly as you tried to put him back into his place.

"Three, but Lucifer made him put everything back. My turn: how did you know I helped Mammon steal from your castle?"

"Why, it was the first time he'd been successful in stealing anything from here. And there was only one thing that had changed," Diavolo winked. "You. And now, I'll go. What does the student body think of me, and the student council?"

The questions continued on like that, flirtatious undertones appearing every now and then, until the afternoon sun had gracefully rolled over Diavolo's castle into a sunset in the far west.

At the back of your mind, and probably his, too, you knew that you had long passed the concluding mark of twenty in this questions game, but you were too eager to value this rare, extra time with Diavolo to mention such a thing.

And it was then, right when the sun had dipped low enough to kiss the horizon and seemingly light up the ground and every petal in the garden, that Diavolo asked the question that would completely change the remainder of your stay in the Devildom.

"MC, if I asked you to kiss me, would you do it?"

For the first time in perhaps hours, you were silent. Your brain went blank at the prospect of laying your lips on the man you'd fantasized about, and you felt almost dumb as you stared at Diavolo.

After your flustered silence stretched into an awkward one, Diavolo apologized.

"I'm sorry, MC." He stood up, not meeting your eyes. "That was inappropriate of me. Very well, I'll see you next week for our—"

"Wait!" The prospect of losing your chance to kiss this stunning man spurred you into action. "I...I would! Kiss you, I mean. I would kiss you, if you asked."

Your cheeks were aflame, hotter than the setting sun itself as it outlined your body in a perfect silhouette that emphasized all your curves. You felt awkward as you stood in front of Diavolo, barely noticing the smirk spread across his face as he retook his seat, eyes fixated straight on you as you stood in front of him.

"I believe it's your turn to ask a question, then."

"Would..." You swallowed. "Would you do the same for me?"

The words felt stupid as they left your mouth. Stupid and childish and ridiculous. You should have said something better. Something flirtatious. Maybe something sexy? You cursed, hating how flustered the demon was making you feel, but his eventual answer reassured you.

"Yes," He hummed. "I absolutely would kiss you if you asked me to."

Your eyes widened at the answer, and you met his eyes for the first time since he asked you his embarrassing question.

"Do you like me?"

The sentence came out surprisingly clear, words of genuine curiosity and surprise as you asked your question. Diavolo, of course, was still a tease.

"Not your turn, darling," He said, using the playful nickname that would eventually become his most favorite term of endearment for you. "But I suppose I'd like to ask that. Do you like me, MC?"

Oh. Great.

If your cheeks were on fire before, now they were the molten lava-ridden depths of hell itself, burning hotter than anything you'd ever felt before. Diavolo smiled smugly as he placed a single finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. Only then did you realize just how much larger he was than you—truly a demon, taller than any human had a right to be and more muscular all the same.

His figure enveloped yours as he pulled you closer to him, bringing your face just inches away from his own.

"Because I like you, MC."

And with those words, the last of your restraint vanished, and you leaned forward to capture his lips with your own.

The man responded in full, using his strong arms to ease you into his lap, settling his hands on your waist as he pressed your body into his while the two of you made out. It was a hot collide of tongue and lip and passion as the two of you released all the tension that had built up through the intermittent teasing remarks of your questions game. By the time you were both moderately settled down, the sun had set, revealing the stars above you two.

"A-ah," Diavolo stuttered, suddenly leaning back. "I'm sorry, MC. I don't know what came over me."

You didn't leave your position on his lap, though. Whatever hesitance that had been previously holding you back vanished once you knew Diavolo felt the same way about you.

"Don't be," You laughed, laying a kiss against his oh-so-defined jaw.

"You're bold," He chuckled, bringing up a hand to play with your hair.

"And you're bolder," You swiftly responded, still not having forgotten that Diavolo was the one who had initiated this all in the first place. You stopped at the corner of the demon's jaw, nibbling at the skin.

"A human and a demon have no place together," Diavolo murmured, chuckling as you ignored his words. "Much less, a human and the ruler of the Devildom."

But the moment he had finished his sentence, you'd silenced him with a trail of kisses that ended on his lips, whatever weak protest he had dying then and there as the two of you continued to indulge in each other.

Looking back, you should have taken his words as a sign.

A warning.

You stare at yourself, wondering numbly what Diavolo would think if he could see you now.

I need to move on, you tell yourself. Come on.

For the first time since your return, you force your hands to tend to yourself. Your needs. You take a shower, brush your teeth, force a meal into your queasy stomach, and even dress yourself up in one of your favorite outfits.

Yep, you approach this situation Asmodeus-style: by forcing love onto yourself.

And honestly, by the time you're all dolled up, you feel a little bit better. The ache in your heart hasn't faded, but at least you're no longer worn down by oily hair or ugly sweatpants that are two sizes too big for you.

You decide to go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Get ready to return to your life as a normal human, with the moon as your witness.

And when you step out into the night, you really do feel the stinging bite of the cold as it coils around you in the wind, completely different from the last time you were out bare in the night with Simeon.

But you force yourself to take one step forward, and then another, until you're walking. You need this. As you stroll down the streets, gazing mindlessly at the flickering street lamps above you, you remember a little nursery rhyme your mother had taught you: A clear mind and a clear heart, you'll soon be able to make a fresh start.

Will this walk give you the clear mind you seek? A small smile flits onto your face at the thought, and you close your eyes in a quiet attempt to meditate some of the fears in your mind away.

And only then, when you're trying to forget all the events of the Devildom and get back in touch with your human roots, do you remember another thing your mother had taught you: Never walk the streets alone at night.

"Hey there, cutie. Whatcha doin' out so late at night?"

You stiffen, realizing that you've grown far too used to being under the demon brothers' protection at the Devildom. Back there, someone had always been watching over you, from close or from afar.

But you're on your own here.

And it seems that you'd forgotten that.

"I'm going home," You respond stiffly, not even turning around as you continue walking forward. You increase your pace.

"You don't wanna stay and chat with me?" The voice asks, creepy as it is intimidating.

"Leave me alone."

Perhaps you should have gone with a more polite way to decline the presence of whatever man is behind you, because the moment the hostile words leave your mouth, you find that he's moved faster than you can process, practically shoving your face into a wall as he grips your two hands behind your back.

"You're feisty, aren'tcha?" The voice laughs, and you feel a hardness press against your back. No! You want to shout, knowing all-too-well what this man is about to do. You can smell the liquor on his breath, disgusting and heavy. You begin squirming and resisting even more, opening your mouth to scream only to be met with the feeling of metal on your stomach. "Scream an' I'll cut your li'l belly open."

Diavolo! You shout in your head, wanting him, needing him to come to your protection. You feel tears begin to run down your cheek as the man grips your thighs, hands slowly sliding closer and closer to where you'd only permitted Diavolo to go, when his weight is ripped off your body altogether.

You hear the sound of screaming, punching, kicking, and you can't bring yourself to turn around. "D-Dia—"

"Shh," Your savior cooes, at your side in an instant. And you know it's awful, but when you recognize the sound of Lucifer's voice instead of your lover's, that only makes you cry harder as you sob into the demon's chest, choking out "thank you for saving me" over and over again.

Lucifer consoles you awkwardly, petting your hair until your tears have ceased.

"MC, I need you to come with me."

You nod your head, standing up and expecting Lucifer to lead you back to your apartment. But just as when he sent you off to the human realm, he simply wraps his arms around you, and you feel the familiar wave of magic wash over your senses as you cross back into what can only be the Devildom.

"W-why did you bring me back?" You ask, when you realize where you are. You stand up, wanting to run out of the room, out of these bedchambers where you've spent so many nights and mornings with your lover.

Suddenly, all memories of what had just happened with the man in the alley dissipate, and the little progress you've made in trying to move on from Diavolo completely fades.

"Fix him," Lucifer says, voice flat. He nudges you forward, and you don't need to turn around to know that he's already used his magic to leave the room.

Carefully, you approach the pile of blankets that you're so used to being buried under, only to find your half of the bed empty.

And the other half filled.

Your eyes widen as your gaze takes in the sight of Diavolo.

He's sleeping, thank goodness. You can't imagine that he would ever want you to see him in such an utterly disheveled state: his hair is unkempt, knotted and tangled when you bring a shaky hand to run through the neglected locks. Dark circles have appeared under his eyes, and it's easy to understand why—even Diavolo's current state of sleep looks restless and miserable. A thin sheen of sweat lies over his forehead and his chest, making you wonder whether the man has been even remotely aware of his health, and perhaps worst of all, the expression on his face as he sleeps is utterly distressed.

Remembering how you'd looked when you stood in front of your mirror not one hour ago in the human realm, you feel tears pool in the corners of your eyes.

He looks just as awful as you did.

Your heart breaks, shattering when you realize that these past few weeks have taken their toll on him as much as they have on you. It takes all your strength to choke back a sob as you stare at what was once a proud and happy prince, now reduced to what can only be considered the very personification of misery.

You stare at Diavolo, Lucifer's words flashing through your mind.

Fix him, he had said.

But is such a thing even possible anymore? Your eyes glance over your lover—or should you call him ex-lover?—and out of respect to the memory of the man you loved, you look away.

The Diavolo on this bed is nothing of the demon you remember. He's in pain, in misery.

He's shattered to the core, more broken than even you.

MASTERLIST

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ✔

Word count: 6.9k

Notes: Uh so there's definitely going to be a part 3 to this xD this part ended up being longer than planned sooo yeah >.> honestly, this whole part 2 was mostly setting up for the big conclusion in part 3 which is why there wasnt as much 1-on-1 action between MC and Diavolo (i really tried with that flashback T^T) but fear not :D All our thirst for daddy dia will be quenched in part 3!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 5/03/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

293 notes · View notes

lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Lightning In A Bottle Ch. 2

Nanohana wasn’t changed much, to the point that Nao was beginning to wonder how long she had been inside her crystal prison. She had no idea how much time had passed, but if the boy who had broken her out of the rock hadn’t recognized her or her flag it had to have been a while.

And that hat…

It had to be a duplicate, surely.

Nao tucked her hands into the pockets of her pants. Her high leather boots kept the sand out of her socks, at least, and when Luffy managed to burn whole sacks of Raindance powder her cape kept her dry. At her side, Odenta and Mikazuki hung as heavy comforts in their sheaths. They didn’t garner nearly as much attention in the city as Nao and the Gem’s had when they had arrived however long ago that was. Back there the city had emptied out as soon as they stepped foot in the sand covered streets of the Alabastan port.

No, no one even looked twice at them, there were so many people going through the city.

Not her, or Luffy in his hat.

How peculiar.

Nao made a mental note to get a hold of a newspaper as soon as she could, or maybe visit Ohara. They would have the best records about what she’d missed.

It would have to wait. Ohara was a long ways from Alabasta, and it would be hard to sail Blood Stone without someone else helping her. The ship was just a little felucca, hardly big enough for fifteen people, but she was tough as nails and made for the roughest waters in the world. All the same, it wasn’t safe to sail alone in the Grand Line, where the weather might change without warning, when there wasn’t someone to stay awake and keep watch. Not to mention Marine’s, other pirates, and all sorts of other dangers. Sea Kings probably hadn’t gone extinct since she went under. She’d rather not deal with them.

Nao was so busy contemplating her ship that she nearly walked right by the restaurant that Luffy went shooting into.

She had to backtrack to poke her head inside. A crowd had gathered, and Luffy was ignoring it entirely in face of ordering lunch. A pair of unconscious bodies lay through several broken walls.

Nao cocked her head. Had Luffy done that when hed stretched out and launched himself like a demented rubberband? She knew it had to be a Devil Fruit, but she didn’t expect him to go causing that much destruction mindlessly.

What a weird kid.

Ah well. Pirate.

Nao took a seat next to Luffy while the chef frantically started cooking. Whoever had been in before them had eaten a lot, with dirty plates stacked nearly to the ceiling. Now he was feeding Luffy, and her too.

Nao made a mental note to tip him well.

She casually elbowed Luffy’s face out of the way and stole a whole chicken to rip into.

“Hey!” he shouted around a mouthful of food. His head stretched unnaturally away on his neck. “That’s mine!”

“Finders keepers,” she said succinctly, and shoveled it into her face as fast as she could. Time hadn’t passed for her at all inside the stone. Her injuries from the battle weren’t healed, and she didn’t feel well rested. She was famished, but not starving like she’d spent months unconscious.

Nevertheless, she’d always been a big eater. She needed the energy to keep up with her lifestyle, and to keep herself strong enough to fight. She wouldn't let her broad shoulders shrivel or her powerful legs grow weak if she could help it. It was a death sentence.

She nearly bit Luffy’s hand inhaling spicy noodles next, and a hank of lamb. The chef was sweating and out of breath but he kept putting food on the counter and they kept eating. Luffy was chatting with the locals while he ate.

“Why’s there a hole in the wall? Is that some weird hobby of yours?”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO PUT THE HOLE IN THE WALL!”

She knew it.

Nao was in the middle of a plate of roasted peppers when one of the formerly-unconscious men climbed out of the hole in the wall. She watched him get slammed back down by a man in a fur coat, and the next thing she knew she was getting dragged through the streets of Nanohara by Luffy.

Why are we running? That guy isn’t even that strong...

“Tashigi!” the man chasing them shouted, “Stop them!”

Nao looked forwards to see a girl with a sword.

“I’ll handle her,” she offered Luffy, who nodded and let go so he could go bouncing up onto the rooftops like a ninja or something. In one smooth move Nao drew Odenta from her side and lifted it to block a blow from the other girl, Tashigi.

“Nice sword,” Nao grinned sharply at the girl over their locked blades. Her form was good, but she wasn’t very strong. Too bad.

“Yours is too. It’s a shame it’s being used by pirate scum!”

“Xeshishishi, tell you what, if you can beat me you can have her.”

The man who’d been smashed into the floor landed next to the two. An orange hat rested on his head and he had a bad slung over one shoulder. Black hair fell in soft waves to frame his cheeks, which were covered with freckles.

There was something familiar about him…

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said politely, startling both of them into looking away from their crossed blades to him instead. He tipped his hat towards them, then the building that Luffy had jumped up onto. He was blocked from it by their swords. “I have to catch up with my brother now.”

“Uh, sure,” said the marine girl. They pulled their blades away to make a path for him.

“Why are you telling us this…?” the redhead countered, looking confused. She faltered when she got a good look at his face, recognition shooting through her. Nao sucked in a breath. He looked like-

“Hey, hold on-!”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Portgas waved to them and shot over the rooftops, after his brother and the marine. Nao shook her head. She would see him again, if he was chasing Luffy.

Nao drew back and slashed again easily. Each move was economic and graceful. She spared no energy, partially because she simply didn’t have any. Tashigi blocked, but the force pushed her back a few feet.

Nao parried her next attack and side stepped to smack her on the back of the neck with Odenta, sending her careening to the ground.

Someone screamed, but no blood came from the fallen marine.

She touched the back of her neck in confusion. “Wha-?”

Nao didn’t answer.

She was already gone.

Nao ducked around a corner and ran after Luffy, following his Haki until she caught up with him and a group of colorful people. Hadn’t he said he was a pirate? Or he was going to be King of the Pirates. That was what he’d said. Well, to be king of them you needed to be a pirate in the first place, right?

That sounded right.

So these people were probably his crew.

When he saw her he grinned and threw his hand out. It stretched far enough to grab her by the wrist and yank her forwards.

“Hey! You made it past the sword lady!”

“Well yeah,” Nao landed beside him running. Her leg was starting to ache where a cut had caught her over the knee.

“Who are you supposed to be?” A curly haired young man with a long nose demanded, eying her.

“She’s a rock person I found,” Luffy said cheerfully.

“That. About sums it up,” Nao felt herself smile involuntarily. “I’m Roche Nao,” she said for the second time that day. She really hoped they stopped running soon. Her leg was seriously starting to ache.

“So Luffy picked up someone else weird,” an orange haired girl looked exasperated more than anything else. Nao felt like she should have been offended, but she just shrugged. She was too tired to be upset with people who hadn’t actually done anything to her.

Besides, she wasn’t wrong.

They came upon a pretty caraval, with a sweet looking figure head. A sheep. Nao felt herself smile. It was cute and light hearted, like this crew seemed to be. Nothing at all like the swift, devil faced Blood Stone. Her eyes were two carved rubies, and a pair of snakes twined around her in a macabre necklace that matched the one that hung beneath Nao’s own shirt.

“Permission to come aboard?” she asked Luffy lightly. The boy beamed at her and tipped the brim of his hat.

“Granted!”

They scampered onto the ship and in a whirlwind of motion they set sail. The caravel carried them away from the port. The pirate flag flapped in the wind, showing off a skull wearing a straw hat.

Seriously, what was up with that hat?

Had that up-and-coming volcano really given it to some upstart?

...actually. That sounded exactly like something he would do.

She realized that their little pet (a raccoon?) was staring at her only when he shouted suddenly.

“Ah! You’re bleeding!”

It was a testement to how tired she was that she hadn’t noticed that he was a mink, and not just a weird animal.

“Hah? Where?”

“Your leg! Quick, take off your pants and I’ll- ouch!”

The orange haired girl smacked him over the head. “Don’t ask it like that!” she scolded.

“But I need to see how bad it is! She might need a doctor!”

“You’re the doctor!”

Ah. Nao would have preferred they didn’t know she was actually injured, or weak, but there was nothing to be done about it. They seemed like good people anyhow, as far as pirates went.

“Well then, mister doctor, where’s your office?”

“A-ah! I don’t have a real office yet. We’ve been using the bathroom.”

“Then lead the way.”

The doctor, Tony Tony Chopper, guided her down to the bathroom. The Caravel was small without being cramped. Nao took off her boots and pants, now stained with blood, so he could clean and stitch her leg. He treated her smaller scrapes and bruises as well, and stuck bandaids across her cuts.

He left so she could clean herself properly, wash her hair and get the blood off of her. She watched the pink water wash down the drain and wondered where her crew was. What had happened to Elba, Talisa, Adrien and Pearl? Were Rize and Hinami still injured? Had the marine’s tended to their wounds? Tier had escaped into the sea before a blast from a marine flagship had sent them hurtling out of the little cove they’d been hiding in and beached their ship. Had she made it back to fishman island?

She needed to find out. She owed it to her crew after she had failed them all.

There was a knock on the door.

She cracked it open to find the blond man standing outside, holding a bundle of clothes in his arms. Her red hair dripped across her shoulders, but in a few minutes it would be dry and wildly curly again.

“I bought an extra outfit for Nami or Vivi, but now I see it was destiny that I have it ready for you!”

He had literal hearts in her eyes when he presented them to her.

Nao took them carefully. The clothes were lightweight and soft, so soft that they caught on the sword-callouses on her fingers.

“Thank you?” Her clothes weren’t ruined, by any means. Did she really need a new outfit?

“If you need any help changing I-”

She shut the door on his face. “Nope.”

They definitely didn’t recognize her. No one who did was stupid enough to flirt with her. Her dad would kill them.

Nao changed into the clothes and was disappointed to find that they were dancers clothes.

Yeah. No.

She couldn’t fight in that!

Instead she cleaned her pants as best as she could, used a small sewing kit she kept in her cape to fix the cut in them, and redressed.

She'll have to find a hair tie eventually.

When she came back up to deck the other man they’d run into was crouched on the outer rail. With his back partially to her while he chatted with someone else Nao caught a glimpse of a tattoo on his back.

It was familiar, too. He nodded to Nao when she came to stand beside the green haired man. Solo?

Most of his attention was on Luffy, not her.

“Luffy. Will you come join the Whitebeard Pirate Crew? With your friends, too, of course.”

Whitebeard pirates. Whitebeard. Edward Newgate.

Nao could feel a headache starting to throb behind her eyes.

“No way!”

The man laughed. “Just thought I'd ask! Whitebeard is the greatest pirate I've ever known. I want to make him the pirate king. Not you, Luffy.”

Nao internally winced. Brutal. They were obviously close. Childhood friends?

“That's okay! I'll just fight him.”

Nao blinked at Luffy’s back. Was he stupid? Or just crazy?

Either way, Nao liked him.

She couldn’t start her hunt for her crew yet. She didn’t know how long she was trapped, and she didn’t know where everyone had gone. She also wasn’t in any shape to go rushing off and finding out. Her mother would have killed her for doing something as impulsive as grabbing the nearest Marine and demanding to know where her crew had been taken. And her dad…

Her heart twisted in her chest. Nao shook her head. She wouldn't let herself have a breakdown yet. Not here. Not yet.

“Hey, Luffy.”

He turned his head to look at her. Nao offered him a half bow. “Sorry but, I’m going to have to take advantage of your hospitality for now. Until I can get in contact with my own crew.”

Luffy shot her cheerful grin. “Sure, okay. You can hang out with us for a while.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” the blue girl stepped forwards. Nao really needed to figure out everyone’s names. She only knew Luffy and Chopper. “We’re not here for tourism. Where we’ll be going is bound to be dangerous.”

Nao cocked her head. Yeah. “I appreciate you worrying. But I’m a pirate as much as anyone else. I won’t change my mind just because it’s dangerous.”

Besides, they were going to Yuba, where Nao was supposed to meet with her crew.

Molly should have already gotten there and set up shop.

“Wait for us, Moll. We’ll get there, even if it takes a while.”

Molly pursed her black-painted lips. “I don’t like it, captain. This splitting up stuff. You already sent Harry and Monty back to Zou. We’re stronger together.”

“I know we are. But with dad-”

“Don’t worry,” Nao looked the girl in the eye and lay her hand on Odenta’s hilt. “I won’t ask any of you to be responsible for me.”

“I am my own captain, after all.”

#one piece #One Piece Fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #original character #one piece strawhats #straw hat luffy #straw hat pirates

3 notes · View notes

thorinthehottotty · 4 years

Text

It Will Come Back (Part 2) - Dwalin

A/N: Requested by @saviorsong so here you go! I hope you like it.

Part 1

Warnings: little angst, lots of smut.

You promised yourself you wouldnt go to his chambers. But you couldn't help it. Not when your every waking thought was him. Even though your nights were suddenly achingly empty.

Two weeks was a torture of being unable to sleep and trying to get him out of your mind. You tried desperately to stay angry at him for ignoring you now, but every time you saw him your mind went fuzzy and hazed you into day dreaming of his wicked tongue.

You brought him an entire cake yesterday and he walked away from you! It hurt. Truly.

He'd left you an ultimatum. Court him or leave him be. It was very clear to you even if it wasn't outright spoken. You had enjoyed where you'd been with him before. The flirting was fun and no commit necessary.

You enjoyed his company and tried to be furious about the ill treatment of your body after you left, namely his lack of allowing you to finish. To be perfectly honest, you're glad he hadn't made you. If you'd orgasmed, it would have been right when his trainees had come in and that would have been even more mortifying than just the way he left you.

But a fire still burned in you. You still ached something terrible, no matter the relief you gave yourself, you always worked back to that unsatisfied state he left you in like it was some sort of magic. All you could think of was the debauchery that he preformed on you, how his mouth felt against you, what his hands would feel like in you.

How did you get here? You wonder as you find yourself suddenly in front of his door. Tears of frustration were prickling in your eyes. You hesitate, fist raised. You were stubborn! You were a dam! He was supposed to be chasing you!

But you were all too aware of the ache in your chest, the rising anxiety you felt with ever cold brush off he gave you. Now, you were overwhelmingly alone.

You missed him. You missed how his hooded eyes lit up when he saw you, how completely his hands enveloped yours. You just wanted to be pressed against his chest and be held by him.

You want so badly to knock and to leave but you stood frozen in the corridor in the middle of the night. The cold creeping up your legs. Your slip the only thing protecting you from the cold and it was doing a poor job.

Being in a bed warmed by a dwarf was more appealing than this. If you just set aside your pride-

No! He was crazy one! How dare he-

"Y/N!" Came a loud and sudden voice, making you whirl in terror. Dwalin strode toward you quickly, a bewildered look on his face as he sees your tears. "What are ya doing here?" He demands, grasping your shoulders. Even if his tone was loud and brash, it was like music to your ears.

He glanced over your nearly naked form and froze, hands tightening. "Did someone hurt ya?" He rumbled dangerously.

Sniffling, you shook your head, feeling yourself tremble under his hot hands. "I missed you," you respond and all at once the anger fades into annoyance.

"So ya show up here in nearly nothing in the middle of the night?" He grumbles, turning to unlock his door. He grumbles under his breath and you feel uncertain if you should flee. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

He holds the door open and gestures you inside. Wrapping your arms about yourself, you slip into his suite. You'd been here a few times to deliver food to him and always marvelled at the beauty of it.

As he closes the door you start to reach for him, but he slips past you with a glower at the fireplace. Hurt lashes through you. You should leave. He obviously was no longer interested in you.

"Mahal, Y/N, don't even think about it. Get over by this damn fire." You jump at his voice and hesitantly pad over to one of the couches, shivering on your way. He grabs the matches haphazardly tossed on the mantel and strikes them, grumbling quietly in Khudzul.

"I shouldn't have shown up here," you murmur quietly.

"Not in just yer night dress, no. Not all dwarves are honorable," he trails off bitterly. Was he referring to himself? Striking the match he holds it to the dry kindling and it quickly begins to catch. He simply tosses the match into the small flames and stands, leaning against the mantel for a moment.

Then he glances over at you, a confliction settling on his face. "I going to leave," you mutter, taking in his ruffled appearance, more tears prickle your eyes as you lift up from the couch. Bitterness rising in you.

"Sit! Down!" He roars. You glare up at him.

"No! I overstepped! Don't worry, I'll stop trying to talk to you." You start to twist away when he catches you by the arms again.

"Since when do ya care about overstepping?" He snaps.

"Since you're coming back from whatever dam's room!"

"Dam's room!? Yer definitely mad!"

"Then why are you just now getting home? Why do you look like you've been tangling with someone?"

"I was on watch, ya jealous lamb! Stop butting with yer button horns and sit!"

"Oh." You deflate, sinking back onto the couch in embarrassment. Dwalin gives a great sigh and peels at his coat. And you bury your face in your hands as he drapes the coat over you. He settles down on the couch beside you. Hesitantly, you glance up into his eyes and see nothing but frustration.

Maybe you'd die of mortification. But first you wanted to do one thing. He stiffened as you moved toward him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," you murmur, and pull yourself into his lap. He closes his eyes as you lean against him, absorbing his heat he's radiating.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Y/N, stop. Just stop. I don't want to play yer games." You grasp at his tunic, staring up at him. Even as he says this, his thumbs are lifting to stroke at your cheeks.

"I miss you," you repeat. "I didn't want a relationship. I didn't want to marry, but I miss you. I've never slept next to you but I miss it. I want to wake up next to you. I miss bringing you treats and lunch. I miss how you used to look at me," you stop when your voice cracks and the frustration melts from his face, instead into something softer.

He wipes at the fresh tears and you sniffle again.

"I shouldn't have taken advantage of ya like that. We're not even married and I-"

"Marry me." Maybe it was your hormones, maybe it was you being perched in his lap. His lips part in shock. "Please?" You add.

"Marry ya? Were not even courting!" You pull yourself up, pressing a pleading kiss to his lips.

"Marry me." You whisper. He groans against your mouth, one arm wrapping about you, the other falling to you thighs.

"I should court ya first," he breaths into your mouth. The fire was starting at his hot hands on your thighs. He gives a heady groan as your legs spread for him. Kissing him just felt so right. "We shouldn't."

Your eyes flash open to stare at him in horror. "Why not? You've already devoured me." Your choice of words makes him grin proudly.

"And a feast ya were. I want to do right by ya."

"Ugggghhh! You choose now to do right by me? That's not even fair!" He chuckles, stroking your knee with his thumb.

It wasn't! Now he was being the tease. Biting your lip, you grip the base of your slip and drag it up. His hand snatches your wrist. "I have little self control. Don't." His eyes are pleading.

"I can't do it myself," you admit quietly. His eyes grow large. "I've tried but you've ruined me. Please, I'll do anything." Dwalin tilts his head back and groans. "You told me to come find you. It's not a game, I promise. Please. Warm me up, Dwalin."

"I must be dreaming," he rumbles and releases your hand. He looks, watching as you draw it back. The whole room shifts. You do it slowly, putting on a bit of a show. His hand follows yours, drawing up the soft flesh of your thighs.

Sighing, you let your self fall into his touch, legs spreading open. Your touch starved self shivers at the heat of his hand smoothing higher and higher. You moan softly as he drags his fingers up and between your folds.

"Mahal, yer drenched," he murmurs and you give him a desperate look. And suddenly he's lifting you and settling you back on the sofa. He smiles when you reach for him. Instead of following you he shifts down and around your leg so he has a better view and is settled between you knees, kneeling on the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"To finish my feast," your eyes light up eagerly and he jerks your hips to the edge of the cushion. He wastes no time, there is no teasing this time. He's just as ravenous as last time. And his tongue is plunging into you, making you gasp and arch off the back of the couch. You grapple for the hard edge above you.

All of the touches he was offering you were deep and satisfying. The build was much quicker this time, leaving you moaning and crying beneath his mouth, especially when he began using his fingers on you.

You were quick to cum and it was fast, hard and satisfying as you practically mounted him.

"Let me court ya," he murmurs and you glance down to watch him kiss your thighs as you pantingly come down.

"Marry me," you argue. He chuckles.

"Let me court you and I'll fuck ya until ya can't walk tomorrow." You give him a groan.

"Fine," you sigh, too tingly to argue. He scoops you back up again, moving away from the fireplace which makes you whine. "Your room is going to be cold."

"Don't worry. I'll warm ya up." He chuckles as your head rolls to his shoulder. Your sex was buzzing from his attention. When he laid you down on his bed the furs were cold. You pass him a grumpy look as you hiss away from the coolness. Dwalin just chuckles at your ornery face and leans down to kiss you its gentle and sweet, you can taste yourself.

He only leans off you to shuffle out of his gear for the day. "What made ya finally decide to come to me?" He murmurs in the dark.

"I already told you. I missed you. You were supposed to chase me." He gives you a playful eyeroll as he sheds his tunic for you, making you gulp hard at his firmed body exposing itself to you for the first time.

"I did lass. For months."

When his body descended to yours you shiver at the heat of him, running your hands down his fuzzy chest. It was like heaven to be pressed to him like this. Suddenly, you can't remember why you were arguing and choose to stay quiet, leaning up to kiss him tenderly. He gives a throaty groan at the fierce kiss you give him.

And all at once you feel him targeting his cock with in you. The sudden intrusion should hurt but it stretches you with the utmost delight and your gasping and arching. When had he even pushed down his trousers. "Does it hurt?" He offers you, as you grasp at his enormous shoulders.

"No, mahal, please continue!" Dwalin grins and begins to rock his hips into yours at a shallow, slow pace. It's a delicious start.

"I never believed I'd ever have ya under me like this," he whispers with strain. There's nothing like the heat of his breath fanning your shoulder as he presses loving kisses into your skin. Nothing like his gentle words. "I dreamed of ya so many nights. Just wanted to hold ya. Love ya." His big hands glide up around your shoulders as his hot skin burns you compared to the coolness of the room.

You listen to him ramble on, something that seemed so out of character for him as he begins to rock deeper into you, letting his head fall against your neck. You were losing all sense being in his arms like this. It felt like stars exploding through your body, making you tremble and quake as the rumbles sweet nothings and caresses you with a delicacy you never imagined he could possess.

You didn't feel cold anymore, couldn't hear the moaning you gave. Every whimper you gave he praised you as you lost yourself in him. It was disorienting as he whispered his love for your repeatedly. Toward the end, when his hips became wild, bringing you to orgasm around him, he wrenched back, covering you in a way you were surprised about.

Pools of white slowly seeped through your night dress and rolled down your belly. You'd forgotten that you were even still wearing it as you panted. His eyes grew dark at the sight of you trembling. Honestly, him cumming in you hadn't been a thought that had made its way through you mind. It was probably for the best he wasn't spilling inside you like that. Especially when he was refusing to marry you just yet.

"Let's get ya out of that," he groans and pulls you to sit up so he can drag the fabric over your head. He crumples it in his hands and swipes over your belly to clean the rest of his mess haphazardly. "I'm going to start the fire, then we're going again." He promises. It makes your eyes widen. There was already a deep ache in your hips.

Perhaps you really wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow the idea thrilled you as Dwalin hikes up his trousers enough to move over to the fire. This was a sight you could get used to, you decide, dragging his tunic on in place of your night dress. "Don't take too long or I'll catch my death."

"Whose fault is that?" he scoffs and passes you a glance but double takes when he sees his tunic falling off one of your shoulders. A dark grin fills his face.

"You and your mouth."

"Oh, its my mouth, is it?"

"Yes."

"I'm starting to believe yer doin' this so I prove ya wrong."

Taglist: @tomisbaeholland @fizzyxcustard @queenofmankind @dumbassunderthemountain @dabisburntnut

#dwalin dwenesday #dwalin the hobbit #dwalin imagine #the hobbit dwalin #dwalin

87 notes · View notes

bertinellisbow · 4 years

Text

Protection [Part One]

[Roman Sionis x F!Reader x Victor Zsasz]

Description: Reader’s family is slaughtered, leaving her willing to do anything for protection from Gotham’s worst. Even if that mean being protected by Gotham’s worst.

Word Count: 4,061 words of pure filth.

Warnings: NSFW! 18+, DUBCON!, Fingering, virginity, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Roman being... worryingly nice. Porn without much plot.

A/N: Just watched BOP and Roman and Victor are my loves... Part one is more Roman x Reader, and part two will be more of both. Thanks for reading! This is my first time writing for these two, please go easy on me. As always, let me know if anything else needs tagged!

Desperation had taken over, you were wlling to do anything for protection at this point. You stood in front of Roman, shaking, tears brimming your eyes. He sat in front of you with Victor at his left side and Dinah at his right. Victor had been eyeing you up the whole time and Dinah kept giving you this sympathetic look, worry written all over her. She knew something you didn’t.

“You’re willing to do anything?”

“Anything, Mr. Sionis.”

Dinah flinched at that.

“Little bird,” Roman looked to Dinah, pausing for a moment.

Your eyes left Roman and you looked towards Victor, who was sizing you up. His eyes burned your skin. He was ready to pounce, you weren’t sure he wanted to kill you or fuck you. You almost hoped it was the former. Later, you would have wished it was the former.

“Please give us some time to think about this,” Roman shooed Dinah away, “Victor and I have some talking to do.”

Dinah nodded, not saying a word, her eyes never leaving you. Dinah slowly walked by you and mouthed ‘I’m so sorry’. Your stomach turned. The weight of everything was hitting, and your thoughts were running rampant.

You had just lost your family and everything was turning to shit. You stood in front of Gotham’s newest Godfather, offering yourself, like a lamb to slaughter. But you knew he could protect you. Protect you from every horrible villain coming after you.

“So,” Roman laced his finger together, “You didn’t inherit your family’s abilities.”

You shook your head, your heart into your throat. You thought about lying, but you knew Roman would want to see your abilities.

“Well, you really of no real use to me...”

Panic set in. You were scrambling for words, “Please, Mr.Sionis, I can’t- I’ll do absolutely anything for your protection.”

Victor shifted, his eyes never leaving you as Roman turned his head to him. He was really looking like he wanted to use that knife on you.

“Okay... I have a proposition. If you’re up for it, of course. If not, well, Victor will be taking care of you.”

You shut your eyes tightly, tears slowly falling down your face.

“It’s something simple, really.” Roman smirked, “All you need to do is fuck us.”

Victor clenched the knife in his hand and his eyes widened. His lips curled into a gruesome smile as he waited for your answer.

“Mr. Sionis-”

“You did say ‘anything’ dear...” Roman leaned over, his elbows resting on his thighs.

“I did, and I meant it, but... Both of you? I mean, you really don’t look like the sharing type...”

“I’m a man full of surprises, now, would you like Victor or me to do the honors of being first?”

You couldn’t answer, there was a lump in your throat. You had almost expected Roman to want to fuck you, but both of them? Your mind hadn’t touched that thought. You shook your head, not knowing how to answer.

“Fine, I’ll pick. Victor, fuck her brains out. I’ll be here, watching. Waiting.”

Roman smiled at you. He didn’t seem like the voyeuristic type... he really was full of surprises.

Victor stalked towards you and the thought of running briefly crossed your mind. You shifted your weight, your bare feet cold against the tile. You took a step back as Victor closed in on you and your heart pounded against your ribcage.

“Don’t run, little lamb, or do. It’ll really get Victor riled up.”

You inhaled sharply and your jaw clenched once Victor was within arms reach. Your eyes moved from victor and to over his shoulder, back towards Roman. The man was rubbing himself through his pants, waiting for the action to start.

Victor bought your attention back to him, his hands gripping your hips tightly. Too tightly.

“Are you going to be a good girl?” Victor whispered. All you could do was nod. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

“Do something bad, and you will be punished.” Roman muffled a moan from his chair.

“And, I’m very good at punishments.” Victor gripped your hips even tighter, if that was somehow possible.

“Get this show on the road. Fuck her, or I’ll kick your ass out and fuck her myself!”

“Hey!” Victor turned his head towards Roman, “Give me a minute, fuck.”

Victor turned back towards you and before you could blink up at him, his mouth was connected to your neck. His lips were rough against your soft skin. HIs hands pulled you closer to his body, pulling you into him. You could feel his hard on through his pants and you let out a strangled whine. He set your skin on fire and stomach twisted inside of you. You wanted to hate every minute of it, but your body wouldn’t let you.

“Have you ever fucked before, little lamb?” Roman asked, palming at himself.

“I-” You let out a loud gasp as Victor bit your neck, “No...”

You could feel Roman’s eyes burning into you, but you couldn’t look at him. Everything was becoming too much for you. Roman proding you, watching you, Victor biting at you skin, rather harshly, his hands most definitely leaving bruises on your skin. While, earlier, your mind was running a mile a minute, your head was empty now. If this was causing you to feel too much, you didn’t want to think what it would be like actually laying under one of those men.

“Get her ready for me Victor-”

“What?” Victor’s teeth were removed from your skin, and he stopped everything to turn and glare at Roman.

Roman looked at you like he was ready to defile you, as if you were some pure little girl he was going to absolutely conquer. He was going to take your ‘purity’ away.

“You’re not going to be her fucking first!” Roman shouted.

Victor looked like he was biting his tongue. “Whatever...”

Victor turned his attention back to you and looked down at you, like a predator that had just caught its prey. “So, I can do anything?”

“Whatever the fuck you wanna do as long as you leave her pussy for me.”

Victor’s lips pressed to yours and his hands wandered to your ass. He gave a harsh squeeze and you let out an involuntary moan. “Oh god!”

Victor’s tongue slipped into your mouth and darted around taking in as much as he could before Roman inevitably took over. Victor easily guided you towards the wall and pressed you against it. One of his legs pressed in between yours, your bloody dress rolling up slightly.

“God,” Victor lifted one of your legs and pressed his thigh harder against your pussy, “You taste so good.”

Your body seemed to disconnect from your mind and you began to grind against his thigh. Your brain was screaming for you to stop, but your pussy was not having that. Something about Victor’s absolute terrifying aura was turning you on as much as you hated to admit it.

“Little lamb,” Roman was touching himself again, “getting excited aren’t we?”

“Please,” you whined. Your brain was telling you to stop, but your body wanted nothing more than to be absolutely destroyed by Victor.

“What, what do you want?” Victor growled into your ear, biting your earlobe.

“I- I- I don’t know,” You were breathless, but not in a good way.

One of Victor’s hands moved from your body and suddenly, the spot he had been roughly holding was cold and yearning for his warmth once again.

“Get those fucking clothes off her.”

Your eyes snapped open and you looked at Victor like a deer in headlights. He grabbed his knife and you looked at the blade, the color draining from your face.

“Please,” you begged, trying to push him away, your body finally listening to your brain, “please don’t cut me!”

“Don’t worry,” Victor whispered into your ear, “as much as I’d love to see how good you’d look covered in your own blood, that can be done at a later time.”

It seemed to settle in, that there would be a next time if they really didn’t kill your ass after this. You swallowed hard and shut your eyes again when you felt the blade press against your chest, at the top of your dress.

Victor began to drag the blade down the worn fabric, your skin beginning to grow cold as the air hit it. Victor eagerly ripped the dress from your body and he stepped back to look at his handy work.

“You look so beautiful.”

Your chest was bare, causing you to draw your arms up around you, protecting your chest from their wandering eyes. Your eyes were wide as you looked at Victor.

“Now, now,” Victor pointed his knife at you, “be a good girl.”

Victor grabbed your arms and pulled them away from your chest. You didn’t fight back.

“Fuck,” Roman moaned quietly, his eyes glued to you, “move the fuck over Zsasz, I want to see the pretty little lamb.”

Victor’s hand moved to your cheek as he stepped aside, and he turned your head towards him. He pressed his lips to yours once more and bit your bottom lip. Your knees buckled and you let out a loud whimper.

“Fuck!” Roman yelled, “God, get moving I wanna fuck her already.”

Victor’s hand roamed towards your panties while Roman’s head was leaned back, feeling absolute pleasure as his hand wrapped around his dick. You had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be touching you there as he began to whisper to you.

“So wet already... After Roman is done with you... I’ll show you what fucking really means. Just be a good girl, alright?”

One of Victor’s hands moved to your cheek, his finger tracing over your bottom lip as his other hand traced you through your panties.

“Hey!” Roman yelled from his seat, “I told you don’t even think about touching her pussy!” Victor rolled his eyes, causing Roman more anger. “Since you wanna be such a dick, bring her to me! As soon as I get done with her, you can do whatever you want!”

Victor lit up. He didn’t seem to care about virginity. He just wanted to fuck you senseless. And knowing he could once Roman got through was enough for him.

Victor guided you to Roman, one hand on the small of your back, the other pressing a knife to your throat, just in case you did want to try and run.

“God, (y/n),” he actually said your name, you were surprised he even knew it, “you’re so beautiful, so innocent.”

Victor shoved you towards Roman, who was situating himself. He put his dick up, which confused the hell out of you, and he patted his thigh. “C’mere,” he sounded... a lot less aggressive than you imagined. You didn’t want him to turn though, so you obliged.

Roman’s gloved hands gently ran up your bare sides and you flinched. You sucked in air and looked away from Roman, who seemed not too happy about that. “(Y/n), look at me.” And you did. Your eyes met his and your heart jumped. “I want you to look at me while riding my thigh.”

“I’ve never done this before- I don’t-”

“Shh,” Roman placed a finger against your lips, “it’s not fucking rocket science. I’m trying to be nice.” He growled, becoming agitated with you, “I don’t want to hurt you, especially being your first... Don’t make me regret that.”

You nodded and gently placed your hands on his shoulders. You sighed as you tried to relax onto his thigh. Your gut wrenched as Roman grabbed your bruised hips and pushed you down onto him. You whimpered at his tight grip, his fingers really digging into the bruises Victor left.

“Goddamnit Victor, she’s bruising.”

Victor shrugged. Roman huffed and focused his attention back on you, “I guess I could walk you through this, little lamb. That would be the nice thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

you thought.

“Now... let’s see what about you got Victor so horny...”

Roman placed his lips to yours and began to trail kisses down your neck, gently (compared to Victor) nipping at your skin. “Grind,” He demanded. Your eyes were watching the ceiling, and you couldn’t seem to follow what he was saying.

Roman pushed his leg up, his toes the only thing on the ground, and then he quickly dropped his heel back to the floor, causing ecstasy to surge through you. You gasped for air, you didn’t want it to feel good, but it did. Without thinking you began to grind your hips down onto his thigh.

You let out a strangled moan and he gave you a terrifying smile, “See, this isn’t so bad in exchange for protection, is it? I promise, I’ll show a hell of fucking time, you’ll never want to leave.”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck. You leaned against him, your bare chest pressing against his and your forehead pressing against the crook of his neck. You sucked air through clenched teeth as Roman bounced his leg.

“Roman-” you choked out.

“What, what do you want? Do you want to cum for me?”

Roman began to bounce his leg more sporadically, starting and stopping randomly. “Come on, I want you to cum for me. Be a good girl and cum.” Roman’s fingers ran up and down your sides, causing your muscles to twitch under his touch. “I promise, I’ll make you feel so fucking good if you cum. I’ll fuck you right here.”

You were coming close now. Your hips rocked against his thigh and you shut your eyes tightly. Your head rolled back and Roman began kissing your throat, coaxing you into your orgasm.

“Roman,” you whined. Your brain was fuzzy, you didn’t want to be moaning his name, you didn’t want to enjoy this. But you were.

“Cum for me, (y/n).”

And you did. Your stomach turned and your skin was on fire. You let out a load moan as you kept grinding in him, your movements becoming slower. Your mouth fell open and your grip on his shoulders tightened.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful coming undone for me. I can’t to fuck you.”

You were coming down, you could feel your pussy almost spasming, and your breathing was heavy. “Not here...”

“What?”

“I'm not comfortable here-”

“Hey. Boss!”

Some good walked in, causing you to let out a scream and hug Roman close to you. You hid your head in his neck and Roman growled. “I’m busy! Fuck off!”

“But, Boss-”

“Victor, take care of him.”

Victor nodded and stalked after the man. Roman placed his hand below your chin and pulled your face from his neck, making you look at him.

“You were saying, little lamb?”

“Um- I don’t wanna do anything out here. I’d be more comfortable in your room.”

“Since you're so special, I guess I could do that for you. You are being a very good girl, after all.”

Roman easily picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he began carrying you to his room. You were dropped on his bed and he told you to scoot up. You did as you were told and pushed yourself up to the head board. Roman began undressing and another weight seemed to settle on you. This was really happening. You were really about to fuck a bad man for protection against the other bad men of Gotham.

He slowly removed his gloves and then pants. Before you knew it he was completely naked. You sucked in through your nose and cool air filled your lungs, adrenaline seeming to pump through your veins. You weren’t sure you were ready for whatever Roman was about to do.

“Fuck, little lamb, you’re so gorgeous. Take off your panties. I want to see that pretty little cunt of yours.”

You nodded and with shakey hands you grabbed at your underwear. Roman watched you closely, and you quickly noticed your nervousness was palpable. Roman stopped you and began to crawl up towards you, “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Roman’s lips pressed against your neck and began to move towards your chest. His fingers moved to the waistband of your underwear and he easily pulled them down your legs. You instinctively kicked them off and Roman smiled into your neck.

“Fuck- Victor and I have had our eyes on you since you moved to Gotham... I promise you’re in great hands. I won’t let anyone touch a hair on your pretty little head.”

You nodded and let out a whine. Roman’s fingers traced patterns into your thigh as his mouth latched onto one of your breasts. He began sucking at your nipple and he slowly pushed one of his fingers into you.

“Oh God!” Your hips bucked and Roman quickly pushed you against the bed.

“Be good, (y/n)... Since this is your first time, you get a free pass, but next time you get a little too eager I’ll let Victor punish you,” He hummed into your skin.

You nodded and steadied your hips. You almost wanted to know what Victor would do to you. But you didn’t want Roman to stop. His finger slowly moved in and out of you and his thumb quickly found your clit.

“Does this feel good, little lamb?” Roman questioned you, pulling away from your breasts and looking dead at you. You bit your lip and nodded, your eyes locking onto Roman’s. “Good, I’m going to add another finger okay, I promise itl’l feel so fucking good. You’re going to feel so fucking good.”

You didn’t even get to nod, Roman pushed another finger inside of you and your head lulled back, hitting the headboard. You let out a moan and kept your hips from bucking, you wanted to be a good girl, you needed to be one.

“Please Roman!” Your voice cracked, “Please, move faster.”

“Anything for you, my dear (y/n),” Roman began pumping his fingers in and out a little faster, his eyes burning into yours. “Cum for me.” He demanded, his thumb beginning to rub quick, but very precise circles against your clit.

You easily obliged, your pussy tightening around his fingers. Your eyes rolled back and your hands grabbed at his shoulders tightly. Roman just kept moving faster, letting you ride out your orgasm. A cry of ecstasy left your throat and you bucked into Roman.

“Now, now,” Roman pulled his fingers from you, “I thought you were going to be a good gir?”

“I will,” you mumbled, coming down from the high, “please, please don’t stop.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on it. But, I’m afraid I have to punish you now.” Roman placed his slick fingers in your mouth, “Suck.”

Your brows furrowed, but you did as he asked. You began to slowly suck on his fingers and then realized what he was doing. He was angling himself against you. Your stomach flipped and you swallowed hard. Breathing seemed to become harder as you waited with bated breath for his next move.

Roman gently, or as gentle as Roman could be, pushed into you and your face scrunched, hips bucking out of some unknown instinct. Breathing became harder and your mouth fell open.

“Focus on sucking on my fingers,” Roman looked down at you, “And keep your eyes on mine.”

With a nod, you began sucking again and you realized how vulnerable you really were, laid out below Roman, someone who could easily have you killed. Someone who could easily be your worst nightmare. But instead, he was fucking until you saw stars and as much as you wanted to hate it, it felt amazing.

“Good girl,” he praised you, causing something to spark inside of you.

“You're so beautiful taking my cock so well. I’m going to have to reward you.” Roman removed his fingers from your mouth and pressed his lips to yours. One of his hands held him above you, while the other held your hips steady.

“Fuck,” you mumbled into his lips, causing him to pull back, “please, I need you-”

He pushed further into you before pulling out, “Need me to what?”

“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I’ll be a really good girl, just fuck me!”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

Roman smirked before pushing back into you. He began to pick up speed and his hips slammed into yours. His mouth fell open slightly and he pressed his forehead to yours, “So pretty,” he huffed, “God, you’re perfect, you’re better than I ever imagined, little lamb. Fitting around my cock perfectly.”

Your hands grabbed the silk sheets under you and you scrunched them up, pulling at the material. “I’m sorry- I don’t-” You paused and a moan fell from your mouth, “I’ve never done this, I don’t know what to say.”

Your face was flushed and you felt nervous all over again. You just wanted to ensure your protection, you did not want to fuck up.

“You’re so fucking cute,” Roman slammed his hips into yours as he spoke, “So sweet, so fucking perfect.” Roman was getting close to cumming, and you were too. Roman realized that and took it upon himself to guide you through this.

“I want-” he grunted into your ear, “I want to cum at the same time.”

You nodded and Roman picked up his pace. Your hands moved to his back and your nails dug into his skin. Roman was pounding into you at this point, panting into your ear. He lifted himself back up and looked into your eyes again. “Fuck, little lamb-”

“Roman,” You said his first name causing Roman to get a little rougher with you, “I’m gonna-”

Roman moved slightly faster, seemingly reaching his peak as well. Roman let go of your waist and aggressively grabbed your ass, letting your buck your hips as much as you liked. As Roman pulled out, your hips followed his, not wanting to feel empty.

“I’m going to fill you up,” Roman hissed in your ear, “You’re mine, (y/n), all mine.”

With that, Roman came. Your orgasm quickly hit and our fingers scratched at his back a loud whine escaping you. Roman pulled your leg around his waist, and while his menstrations slowed, he seemed to have no intentions of stopping yet. He easily filled you up.

You lied under him, writhing with pleasure, trying to catch your breath. Roman slowed down and came to a stop. “Mr. Sionis,” you moaned, “please don’t move...please, just stay here.”

“Sh, I’m not going to leave you, not yet.” His hand ran down your side again, tracing soft circles against the sensitive skin. He stayed inside of you a few minutes, letting you both come down from your orgasms.

Roman eventually pulled out of you and rolled over beside you, “That’s the best pussy I’ve ever had,” Roman sighed out, “You’re definitely staying here, you’re safe here.”

Something came over you, and your pussy seemed to be controlling you instead of your brain, “This isn’t a one time thing, is it?”

“Oh no, my dear (y/n), you’re too good to pass up,” Roman’s eyes turned dark though, “there are a few kinks we need to work out, but over all, you’re a very good girl, and you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, your safety guaranteed. Victor and I will see to that.”

You had forgotten about him. It was almost as if he knew that, because as soon as he was mentioned, the door of the room opened and VIctor let himself in.

“Look boss,” Victor growled out, “is it my turn yet.”

You were too worn out to even hide yourself from him. And Roman seemed to not care that he was there, maybe it was normal, maybe Roman was worn out too.

“Szasz,” Roman sat up, “Let us clean up, fuck.”

Oh god, that meant Victor was really going to get to fuck your brains out.

#roman sionis #victor zsasz #roman sionis x reader #victor szasz xreader #roman sionis x reader x victor szasz #birds of prey #birds of prey imagine #tw dubcon

102 notes · View notes

ericsonclan · 3 years

Text

Practically Brothers

Summary: Marlon and Louis spend some time helping each other out before having a joke off later that night.

Word Count: 2602

Read on AO3:

“Careful, Lou! Don’t move so much!” Marlon warned as a bit of the vegetable oil spilled onto his pants leg.

“Shit, sorry!” Louis flashed an apologetic grin over at his best friend. “I just got excited I guess. We haven’t done a hairdo day in forever.”

Marlon smiled warmly at Louis’ words. It had been a while since they had done this. For the last couple years Louis and Marlon would get together in Louis’ room and surround themselves in the secret stash of pillows that Louis had (although everyone at Ericson knew about it so his stash wasn’t very secretive at all).

Once they got hidden away in the stash of pillows on his bed they would begin the process of helping each other with their hair. Life had been so hectic lately though that neither of them had had the time or energy for this special time together. With struggling to get enough food for everyone, making sure that the school was safe and dealing with more deadheads than they can count, everyone at the school was exhausted.

Marlon dipped his finger into the vegetable oil once more and began to moisturize Louis’ dreadlocks. Louis sat there quietly for a few moments before he began to whistle. Marlon bopped his head around here and there to the tune. The two of them enjoyed the peaceful moment as Marlon continued to work on Louis’ dreads. After a few seconds Louis stopped humming and his eyes wandered over to the small amount of vegetable oil that stood in an old soda bottle.

“I hope Omar never finds out how much of his vegetable oil we’ve stolen,” Louis’ words made Marlon pause for a moment before resuming. Louis didn’t have to look at his best friend’s face to know that he was smiling.

“Yeah, this will be a secret that we take to the grave,” Marlon held out his hand that wasn’t coated in the oil and Louis shook it firmly.

“We shook on it so now we gotta keep it a secret,” Louis smiled as he sat still.

“I was going to keep it a secret either way. Omar is scary when it comes to food,” Marlon’s words made Louis laugh softly.

“Isn’t that the truth,” Louis looked outside the window and noticed that some of the leaves were beginning to fall. Soon this season would be over and the cold harshness of winter would be upon them. Louis wondered how much stress would weigh on Marlon’s shoulders throughout that season. Marlon never seemed to take on more than he could bear. At least that was the impression that Louis had gotten over the years. Louis snuck a glance back at his friend. He was really thankful to have Marlon as a leader. He won hands down over all the shitty adults that had left them the moment the world went to hell.

“All done,” Marlon spoke up and wiped off the oil on his hands before he took off his letterman jacket. The blond tossed it beside him on his right and shifted his weight. Louis scooted over on his knees and grabbed the knife.

“Alright, dude, stay extremely still or I might accidentally shave off part of your mullet.” Louis smirked.

Marlon frowned over at his friend for a moment before a subtle smirk appeared on his lips. “That would be way too high a price to pay.”

“It would be a travesty,” Louis began to shave the right side of Marlon’s head where some new hair was growing in. He only needed to shave a small portion of it. “Have no fear, I won’t harm this majestic mane,” Louis grinned and continued his task. Once the right side was done he picked up his friend’s jacket and shook the loose hairs off onto the floor before tossing the jacket over on Marlon’s other side. Shuffling over, Louis began the process once again on the left side. The room was quiet except for some quips from Louis here and there. After a few minutes he was done. Louis scooted back and nodded proudly. “Yep, you are still rocking that eighties look!”

“Someone has to,” Marlon smiled and worked to get his jacket back on. He glanced out the window and saw the slant of the sun. “Shit, I need to go talk to Brody about the fishing shack. Could you find Aasim and go over the traps again? It will be easier if you’re there seeing as you’re the one who made them and all,”

“I’ll see if I can. My piano may be calling to me,” Louis got off of his bed and stretched.

“Louis, please. For me,”

Marlon’s tone made Louis pause before nodding. “Okay, I will be with Mr. Stick in the Mud in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!”

Marlon chuckled at Louis’ words then waved goodbye. Soon both of them were off to their respective tasks.

The day went by fairly smoothly. Marlon had been able to figure out a solution with Brody regarding the efficiency of the current fishing spot while Louis had fixed the traps. All it had cost was a headache that Aasim claimed he had gotten from Louis’ talking. Louis insisted this was a false accusation and that Aasim simply didn’t drink enough water that day.

Evening was quickly upon them. After Ruby and Sophie had worked to prep the ingredients with Omar for dinner and once the perfectionist chef himself signed off on the meal, dinner was served. Louis immediately took a spot next to Marlon who was sitting at a table with Ruby, Brody and Rosie. The pitbull casually sat beside Marlon who snuck little treats to her here and there when Ruby wasn’t looking.

The four of them ate the food happily, enjoying the warm, comforting stew that they had eaten for years and would continue to until the walkers got them or - as Sophie had proudly declared - old age did. She always believed that all of them could live until they were old and withered. Dinner continued to be peaceful as people at the different tables chatted and conversed until Marlon let out a huge burp.

“Good Lord,” Ruby waved a hand in front of her face and frowned at Marlon.

“Sorry,” Marlon smiled sheepishly and began to sip his stew when Louis spoke up.

“Yeah, you should be. This is a real burp!” Louis belched loudly, causing Marlon to nearly choke on his stew. The pair laughed loudly while Ruby got up and stormed off with a huff.

“Honestly, you two,” Brody got up and jogged after Ruby. The pair talked quietly for a minute before Brody offered that they could have some tea which brightened up Ruby’s mood immensely.

“Alright, Marlon, it's a joke-off time,” Louis grinned and saw the sparkle of joy in Marlon’s eyes.

“Okay, but you better get ready to lose. You’re the one that's going to get stuck with dish duty,” Marlon smirked over at Louis.

“That’s funny because I could’ve sworn I saw your name on the list for dish duty.” Louis returned the look back at his best friend.

Soon Mitch and Aasim moved to a table nearby Marlon and Louis’ table along with Willy who jumped down onto the spot next to Mitch. All of them were interested in seeing this joke-off. It had become a fairly regular routine with this pair. Marlon and Louis would throw back jokes back and forth and whoever ran out of jokes first or felt that the other one had done better would lose. The loser would then be stuck with an annoying chore.

Louis cleared his throat and decided to start the joke off. “I saw you picking flowers the other day for a girl,” Louis leaned forward and looked at his friend. “I bet Rosie liked them.”

Marlon smiled at that joke before adding in his own. “Hey Lou, the spiders called. They want their baby back,” Marlon smirked when he saw that Louis had understood he was referring to his hair.

“Oh ho ho, well played,” Louis grinned. No one else seemed impressed by these jokes. They were usually bad, corny or downright dumb jokes about Marlon or Louis. Occasionally Rosie or one of the other kids got thrown into the jokes but that was less frequent. Louis pondered his next joke for a while before delivering it with a smirk. “Marlon is so white that sunscreen puts him on,”

Marlon chuckled at that which made Louis laugh as well. “Oh yeah? Well, Louis, I hate to break it to you but the tooth fairy doesn’t take teeth that are lost on account of being a dumbass,”

Louis’ eyes widened at those words and he held his heart in mock sadness. Marlon began to laugh some more at that which in turn made Louis’ laughter grow. “Hey, Marlon, y’know why Rosie has a mattress in the headmaster’s office? It's because you smell so bad even she won’t sleep next to you,”

Marlon felt the zing of that one and immediately had a comeback. “Well the only reason your piano doesn't run away from your stank is because its legs don’t work!”

Louis paused at Marlon’s words, impressed by the reply. The pair was quiet for a second before they burst out laughing. The two of them continued to shoot jokes and zingers back and forth until Marlon held up his hands.

“Alright, alright, I’ll forfeit this round but you’d better watch out for next time,” He smiled competitively at his best friend. Louis returned the look and leaned his elbows on the table.

“We’ll see about that. After all, both of us are-”

“Idiots,” Violet butted into the conversation as she walked by with the twins and Tenn.

“Actually it's pronounced geniuses. We are joke masters.” Louis smiled at the blonde who rolled her eyes as Marlon and Louis high fived.

“Well, you’ll face the daunting task of being under the watchful eye of Omar as you clean dishes tomorrow,” Louis stood up from his spot.

“Oh boy, I can't wait,” Marlon quipped and rose as well.

“You still have one more night of freedom. So how about you join me in the music room?” Louis offered and Marlon nodded warmly.

“Sounds good to me, Lou. I just need to grab something from the headmaster’s office.” Marlon began to walk alongside Louis.

“Alright, then I shall see you soon. If you get lost, just follow the sound of my mesmerizing music,” Louis pulled on the sides of his coat as he strolled forward.

“Will do, but I think Rosie and I will be able to navigate the winding halls of the admin building just fine,” Marlon waved a quick goodbye to Louis before jogging up the stairs. Rosie followed close behind.

Minutes later Marlon had entered the office. He strolled forward and reached out for the map that lay on the table. His eyes wandered over it for a second before he felt Rosie pawing at his leg. “Sorry, girl,” Marlon gave the pitbull some loving pats and headscratches. “We can go hang out with Louis now,” Marlon tucked away the map in his pocket and grabbed the red pencil.

Rosie led the way down the stairs and happily trotted towards the music room where Louis had begun to play his music. Based on the strained notes and the slightly off-centered music, Marlon guessed that the piano was due for a tuning. Louis turned when he heard the door creak open thanks to Rosie’s paws whacking against it.

“Seems you were able to find the music room after all,” Louis smiled playfully at his friend who returned the smile.

“Yeah, it was a good thing I had Rosie with me.” Marlon sat down on one of the chairs and a pile of dust shot up and swarmed his face. He coughed loudly and Louis stopped his playing for a moment.

“You okay? Getting choked up because you lost the joke off?”

Louis’s words made Marlon look over with a competitive expression. “Ha, you wish,” Marlon coughed loudly for another moment before he took a deep breath.

Louis studied his best friend for a moment to make sure he was really okay before he began to play the piano again. His fingers danced around on the keys, creating a beautiful, playful melody that was only partially lost due to the untuned piano.

Marlon listened and smiled softly as he looked at the map. His mind quickly wandered back onto the safety of the school. He wondered if it was wise to start enforcing a tighter safe zone. After a few minutes Marlon decided against it. He wouldn’t make any major changes, at least not tonight. He doubted he’d be able to properly assess such a weighty decision at the end of the day when his energy was low. So instead he enjoyed his friend’s music.

After a little while Louis stopped his playing. “Y’know, maybe you should learn to play the piano,”

Louis’ words made Marlon glance up. “Yeah, well I bet I’d sound pretty shitty compared to you,”

“That's what practice is for. Surprising as it may be, I wasn’t always a piano master. Shocking, I know,”

Louis’ words made Marlon crack a smile. “I think I’ll stick to the guitar, thanks.”

“Well, I’m sure the day you track one down will come soon. With all the wild stuff we’ve found on some of these deadheads, I wouldn’t be surprised if we found one with a guitar,” Louis spun around on his piano bench to look at Marlon.

“That would be the dream. I miss playing guitar,” Marlon tilted his head back with a tired smile. “Well, it's getting late so I should head to bed.”

“Alright,” Louis rose up from his spot to sneak in some final pets for Rosie. He knelt down and whispered conspiratorially to the pitbull. “Make sure he actually gets some sleep, Rosie.”

“Hey, I can hear you,” Marlon looked down at his friends as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Damn, looks like we got caught, Rosie,” Louis’ gaze focused on the pitbull who was panting happily. “Alright, but seriously dude. Don’t push yourself,” Louis’ eyes locked with Marlon’s.

“I won’t,” Marlon smiled reassuringly and was relieved to see that his friend relaxed at those words before standing back up. Marlon continued to look at Louis for a moment before he walked forward and gave him a hug. Louis immediately returned it. The two of them held onto that hug for a moment before Marlon let go. He gave a final smile and wave, wishing Louis goodnight before heading off towards the headmaster’s office.

Marlon slowly walked down the hall, his eyes glancing around at all the graffiti that covered the walls as he walked up the stairs. Today had been a good day. He had been able to give his mind a few moments to get away from all the stress that being the leader brought, but now it was time to focus again.

Marlon glanced back at the music room as the sound of the piano filled the halls once more. He was really glad to have a friend like Louis. No, friend wasn’t the right word. Brother felt more fitting. Even though the world had gone to shit and life could be hell he knew he would always have Louis on his side. With that comforting thought putting Marlon’s heart at ease, he began to climb the stairs again, ready to continue his role as protector of the school.

#twdg #twdg louis #twdg marlon #twdg rosie #marlon rosie brotp #louis marlon brotp #fanfic

3 notes · View notes

skzsauce01 · 4 years

Text

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 9

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent thoughts

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST︱chapter list

O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!

Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?

Beautiful tyrant! Fiend angelical!

Dove-feathered raven, wolvish-ravening lamb!

He spends the night tossing and turning in bed, devising a plan to win you back. All the roads lead to getting Hyunjin out of the picture, but how does he do it? Eventually, the rain drumming against his window lulls him to sleep before he can finish fleshing out his idea, and when he wakes up in the morning, the storm has passed. Jisung takes it as a sign that the day will be better.

The preview of the show is happening at 3:30, and there’s a certain electricity in the air after school. Like Mr. Gi said, the cast and crew shirts came in the morning, and Jisung gets his before the preview begins. You and the girl playing Lady Montague are sorting out the shirts into piles according to size.

He goes up to you even though Lady Montague is closer to him. “Hey.”

You don’t look up from your shirt stacking. “Hi. What’s your size?”

“Medium,” he replies as he carefully watches you. At least you’re talking to him.

“Yeji has them,” you point to Lady Montague, still not looking at him.

“Thanks.”

He collects his shirt from Yeji and pulls it over his black hoodie. It makes him look puffy and bulky, and he waits for you to tease him like you normally would. Your eyes never stray from the shirts in your hands. He ruffles his hair, but you don’t even spare a glance. Both you and Yeji are starting to break down the boxes the shirts arrived in. It’s quiet except for the snapping of cardboard.

“The design is kind of nice,” he remarks in another attempt to get your attention.

“Yuna did it,” Yeji replies. Jisung is not pleased that she does, but he merely nods. “Hyunjin wanted to, but the design he came up with was so bad. Remember, Y/N?”

Your distant mood dissipates for a minute, and your familiar warmth is back. A wide grin crosses your face. “He really thought Comic Sans was a good font to use. And his drawing!”

“Ms. Park’s face when she saw it!”

“And Hyunjin’s reaction!”

The two of you are reminiscing and laughing. Jisung doesn’t understand a word of it, but you’re shining bright again. He feels a bit like an outsider, but his heart swells with pride, knowing that he was the cause of all this. However, the happy atmosphere slowly fades into a more mellow one, and the silence is back.

“Break a leg today,” he abruptly says. “See you on stage, Juliet.” He leaves the room but not before he hears you say, “Bye.”

It’s a good start.

He waits on stage for the play to begin with the rest of the floor crew. Over the speakers, Chan is playing different songs for the opening, and over the comms, he’s suggesting that he play one of his mixtapes. Neither Ms. Park or Mr. Gi agree apparently. A few minutes later, the actors, now all dressed in their costumes, are called onto stage for warm ups. In the meantime, the two house managers are sneaking looks outside into the hall outside the lobby and reporting back how many people are waiting. It’s turning out to be a lot.

Before the doors officially open, there’s a quick pep talk from both the director and tech director to everyone. Jisung studies the way you listen attentively and admires the slight curve on your lips as the director praises all their hard work. Your cheeks are tinged with pink with excitement, and you look restless. You repeatedly smooth out the pleats in your dress. Jisung scowls as he sees Hyunjin place a hand on your wrist mid motion and whisper something to you. You stop and flash him an apologetic grin. Goodness, he was controlling. Why doesn’t he just let you be you?

The show begins soon after, and you wait in the wings for your entrance in scene three. You, Yeji, and Yuna quietly talk amongst one another, which means Jisung can’t hear anything from where he is. Ryujin joins in at some point, and Jisung inches closer to eavesdrop, feigning the need to reorganize the already neatly arranged set pieces and props. He learns nothing substantial — it’s mostly just pre-show jitters talk — but at least you don’t jump when he brushes against you while switching around the swords.

You eventually make your appearance on stage, and there’s one audible cheer from the audience when you walk in. Hyunjin, who is now in the wings, quietly says, “Woo!” from his spot, which is unfortunately near Jisung’s usual waiting location.

“Oh, hey, Jisung,” he greets. He’s so flushed with adrenaline from performing in front of many people for the first time that he seems to have forgotten a tiny detail about their tenuous friendship: they hate each other, and said friendship does not exist. “Did you see how many people were in the audience? Wow, I can’t believe it.”

Changbin momentarily perks up at “Wow,” but he resumes reviewing the cues from his binder, leaving Jisung to deal with him alone. Both Yugyeom and Ryujin are on their phones, their faces lit up by their screens. Ryujin even has one earbud in.

“It’s the most famous play in the world. Of course, there’s going to be a lot of people,” he finally answers.

Hyunjin is in too good of a mood to be miffed by his rude tone. “Ah, you’re right. But still, that’s a lot of people. There’s so many eyes looking at you, it’s kind of weird.”

He could have said nothing, but he’s feeling extra mean towards Hyunjin today. “Are you nervous that you’ll mess up? It’s understandable if you do though since this is your first show.”

“I wish I was like Y/N,” he sighs. “She’s so good. You know, she said she gets so immersed in the play that her stage fright just kind of fades away.”

“Yeah, she told me, too,” he lies. It’s another competition: who does Y/N confide in more?

“I’m glad she’s Juliet. She’s perfect for the part.”

The sappiness in Hyunjin’s voice drips like slime, and Jisung’s top lip involuntarily curls up in disgust. Jisung knows he’s a lovesick fool, but he’s a much more classy one than him. He decides to end it there, so Hyunjin will shut up, and Jisung won’t get the urge to pummel him into the ground. They fall into silence, and the lights later go out when the scene ends.

During Romeo and Juliet’s kisses during the party scene, there’s gasps, cheers, and applause from the audience. It’s not real — he can see Hyunjin’s hand blocking your face — but he still shifts around in his seat. The close proximity between you two means that even a slight stumble would result in an actual kiss. Scenes like these are the only times Jisung prays that Hyunjin is a good actor for once and doesn’t mess up.

Normally, you just blush during the scene, but with the extra noise, you shake a bit when you say your next line. Jisung’s annoyance grows.

Because it’s a show and because he doesn’t want Mr. Gi to rip him into shreds, he promises himself to focus on the play, but it all goes out the window when you have a costume change. You curse when your pin snags your hair, and he instinctively goes over. His hand reaches for the pin, and you shrink when he hovers above you.

When he hands you the offending object, you politely thank him and then grab your dress from the rack. When you start unzipping the side of your costume, he turns away and replays the moment. There’s a new aura about you, and he doesn’t like it. Ever since you started close with Hyunjin, he has noticed that the radiance he fell in love with is slipping away. Normally you would joke about the incident to him or chat with him while waiting for your cues. He hasn’t even had a real conversation with you in days.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. His back is still facing you, but he can feel the vibrations on the floor when you step into your dress.

“Hi,” you hesitantly reply.

“We haven’t talked in a while.”

“We’ve both been busy with the play.”

He almost rolls his eyes. You’ve been busy with flirting with Hyunjin, and he’s been busy with the play. Yet he still makes time for you. “Yeah, I guess. Are you nervous about performing today?”

“A little bit.”

“Did you ever give back Hyunjin’s hoodie?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can. He already knows the answer though; he saw it hanging from the back of your chair in the classroom.

You sound amused, but he can sense the irritation underneath. “I think this is the third day in a row that you’ve asked me that.”

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

You don’t reply to him. Instead you call for Ryujin to help you with your mussed up hair, so Jisung leaves the scene. He catches you staring at him, and you quickly look away. It’s not a shy “Is he looking at me?” stare; it’s a repulsed “What’s wrong with him?” one.

The answer is you. You are what’s wrong with him. You hardly acknowledge his presence anymore, and you only pay attention to Hyunjin. What about him? He’s been there for you since the very beginning, but as soon as Hyunjin starts encroaching on his territory, he’s forgotten. The longer he keeps thinking about it, the angrier he gets. His hands start twitching for something to hit, and he decides on the rolling platform next to him. There’s a loud, satisfying thwack followed by a few confused looks.

He doesn’t care.

Just another week, he tells himself. Before he never has to see this play or Hyunjin again.

During intermission, he sits by himself while the other cast and crew members go into the audience to talk with their friends who came to see the preview. You have a whole crowd of people around you, asking questions about the wretched kisses. He sees you repeatedly shaking your head, but that doesn’t stop anyone.

A similar thing happens when the show ends. After the bows and applause, you stick around in the audience to let your friends discuss the play with you. Jisung joins Chan, Jeongin, and Seungmin in the back of the house to listen in and to sit on Jeongin’s cushy rolling chair. Chan is still arguing about playing his mixtape over the speakers with Mr. Gi.

“There’s hardly anyone here anymore,” he protests. “And it’s like this one, too,” he says, referring to the current song playing.

Jisung fiddles with the knobs on the light board while straining to hear your conversation a few rows down. He surreptitiously turns down the volume of the music when Chan reaches for his phone.

He can catch a few key phrases said by your friends. He then wishes he could kick everyone out of the auditorium, so he can never hear, “Did you and Hwang Hyunjin kiss for real this time?” again. You say that you’re tired of replying to that particular question, but you seem too pleased by the prospect of kissing Hyunjin to actually be. Hyunjin, who is not too far away, is no different; he turns bashful when his friends ask, “Did you and L/N Y/N actually kiss?”

Jisung turns the volume back up, and his fingers “accidentally” slip, blasting the auditorium with the screech of a violin. Everybody winces, and he apologizes. No one starts leaving though.

At long last, they are dismissed for the day. There’s another pep talk about opening night, but no one’s really listening. They’re allowed to leave two hours earlier than normal, but Jisung feels more drained than usual. You’re the opposite. He passes you on his way to the prop room, and you’re talking animatedly with Yuna about the cast and crew dinner after the final show. Even as you head up the stairs, there’s a bounce in your step.

When he returns from his trip, you’re already inside the classroom, standing over Hyunjin, who is sitting down. There are other people in the room, but he can’t bring himself to go in. He hasn’t had the outside-looking-in feeling in a long time, but it hits him at full force right there. The two of you are both wearing the black cast and crew shirts, but they somehow look different from the one Jisung’s wearing, like it’s a deliberate couples outfit instead of a uniform for theater.

Hyunjin gazes at you like an astronomer would at the stars, and you have an identical expression on. Your lips move, but Jisung can’t make out the words. A soft smile spreads across Hyunjin’s face, and he absentmindedly winds a dangling lock of your hair with his index finger. You don’t flinch at the motion at all, but instead mirror Hyunjin’s smile. Jisung watches with bated breath and wonders when you got so bold. What happened to the girl who was too shy to stage kiss? Now you were being disgustingly close with your co-star off stage.

People start filing out of the room to go home. Soon, there’s no one but the two of you. You’re still mumbling, and Hyunjin’s replying at the same volume. Jisung still can’t move his legs to walk in. He could easily pop the bubble you and Hyunjin are in, but he’s frozen to his spot.

Hyunjin suddenly stands up, making you take a step back. Jisung can hear the hitch of your breath from where he is; that’s how surprised you are. Hyunjin then cups your face with his hands, but he’s not practicing a stage kiss. He places his forehead against yours, and your eyelids flutter close. You tilt your chin up and slowly wrap your hands around his wrists. At the same time, he lowers his lips to yours.

Jisung can’t breathe, and silence swallows the white noise around him. A million thoughts fill his head, but the single image of you and Hyunjin kissing is burned in his memory. He’s numb, then cold, then hot. It’s only a few seconds, but it feels like several lifetimes to him. His whole body starts shaking uncontrollably, and when he blinks, his vision has a crimson filter over it. He wants spilled blood, shattered ribs, shallow gasps.

Hyunjin is the first to separate. He looks stunned by what he just did, and he’s even more so when you pull him in for a second one. It’s longer and deeper, and when the two of you finally resurface for air, you’re flustered. You nervously lick your lips and squeak at the implication. Hyunjin softly laughs and hugs you close to his chest. He’s beaming, and you’re burying your face into his t-shirt.

Blood thrums in Jisung’s ears. He can hear his heartbeat, its erratic thumping and skipped beats. Meanwhile, the pretty, delicate image he has of you contorts into an ugly, slashed counterfeit painting. He hates you so much. As much as Hyunjin, maybe more. He gave you everything he could, and this is how you treat him.

His rage melts the ice at his feet, but instead of walking inside to confront the problem, he goes to his refuge, the restroom. Thankfully, everyone has gone home for the day, and no one is present. He screams bloody murder and kicks all the stall doors until the bangs echo throughout the room. He hates you, he hates you, he hates you. How can you betray him like that? With Hyunjin, his sworn enemy? You are as good as dead to him.

His reflection shows that he has the eyes of a feral animal, but he doesn’t even care anymore. He storms to the classroom to collect his belongings, disregarding how disheveled he looks. No one else is in the room, and he’s a little disappointed that you or Hyunjin can’t see what you’ve done to him. When he heads out to the parking lot, you and Hyunjin are sitting close to each other while you wait for your parents to pick you up. He glares daggers in your direction and flings open the driver’s door of his car.

Just one week, he tells himself. Before he never has to see you or Hyunjin ever again.

~ ad.gray

29 notes · View notes

talesofstyles · 5 years

Text

Mess Is Mine III

Guys, it’s here! Massive thank you for the realllly nice messages about the first and second part and I hope you like this one. This is the longest piece that I’ve ever written (12k!) but this is also quite possibly my favourite one so far and I hope you like it too. It’s gonna get fifty shades of grey kind of so don’t say I didn’t warn you fgshshshshshsh.

Ok but serious warning: smut. This is my first time writing smut this detail. Also labour and delivery. I don’t know if that actually requires a warning but you know just in case.

Hope you like it! Part I Part II

p.s. special thanks to nora the other baby from the group chat @theasstour for reading the smut part and getting excited with me!! love you!! fgsgsgshshsh

Four months after their first date, Harry and YN have been on countless dates. Lunch dates in between their work (this one is pretty rare because they’re both super busy during the day, but they managed to do it twice), dinners, with and without the kids, they’ve spent quite a lot of time together. They both have no idea how they could keep their relationship under the radar so far but they’re definitely thankful for it.

It’s Friday night and Harry is taking YN out for another date night. The night is quite special for them because for the first time ever since they started dating, they’ll have the whole night just for themselves. Finn and Pippa are with their dad and Gemma has insisted to watch Anya for the night for some much-needed quality time with her niece—which is quite the perfect timing too because Michal is still away in NYC for a work trip—before the baby arrives in about three weeks.

“Y’look absolutely stunning, m’love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the taxi’s door for YN, before reaching his hand out for her to hold as she steps out from the car. He truly is a living proof that chivalry still exists.

“Thank you,” YN smiles, looking down to hide the fact that she’s blushing a little. The light is low outside but she looks down still just to be on the safe side. “You look…”

Harry chuckles as he waits patiently for YN to finish her sentence, taking her hand in his as they walk into the restaurant in Mayfair. “Okay? Fine? Good? Amazing? Shaggable?”

YN snorts at the last word and hastily stifle it. This is a posh restaurant and the guests are talking in hushed low murmurs. People are already looking at them. “Don’t make me laugh.”

The waitress shows them to the table that Harry has reserved for them, perfectly tucked away in one of the corners of the room. Neither of them has been there before, but both of them fall in love instantly with the place. The dimly lit setting of the restaurant creates a romantic atmosphere that makes it perfect for a date night.

Onima is a slice of Greece in London, hidden by a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it door on Avery Row, right in the heart of Mayfair. YN has lived in London for years but she could probably count how many times she went to Mayfair with her fingers, and even then, she’s pretty sure that they always have something to do with James’s clients. Other than that, probably not. Why would she? It’s so completely posh.

YN still can’t look away from the man before her eyes, smiling at him as he pours some water into their glasses. He is wearing a button-up black shirt, first few buttons undone as usual (she is not complaining) paired with a light coloured trousers. The trousers have love embroidered at the bottom of one of the legs, giving it a nice little detail that she absolutely adores.

When Harry picked YN up at her home, both of them laughed at each other because they were basically wearing the same colour without even realising. The black and ivory monochrome dress that YN is wearing matches perfectly the colour of Harry’s shirt and trousers. Initially, she wanted to change before they left so they wouldn’t be all matchy, but there’s no way Harry is going to let her out of that dress before the night is over. With the way Harry gawks at her people would think that she is wearing something nuts while actually it’s just a maxi dress and the cut isn’t even that low, which means it leaves everything to the imagination. Luckily Harry has one hell of imagination.

“Ready?” YN asks him as soon as the waitress walks away from their table after bringing them the menu. Both of them have a pen and a piece of paper in front of them as well as the menu.

“In the count of three,” Harry smirks, already holding the menu so he can flip it over right away after the countdown. “One, two, three… go!”

YN immediately grabs the grey folder in front of her, turning it over and begins scanning the words quickly and try to guess what Harry is going to order. Making a teasing remark as she does, “you’re going down, Styles.”

“Oh, I will,” Harry looks up for a second, grinning at her mischievously. “Definitely. Don’t worry about that.”

“Harry!” YN scolds him, her tone chastising. She turns scarlet at Harry’s remarks.

The man just laughs as he scribbles a few words on the page. Putting the pen down as he finishes and folds the paper neatly and put it under the grey folder. “Done.”

“Done,” YN exclaims just as the waitress arrives at their table.

“Hello,” the waitress greets them. “Are you ready to order?”

“Yes,” YN smiles at her, waiting for her to get her notepad ready before she continues. “I’d like a champagne, tempura prawns and the linguini.”

“We’ll just get a bottle of champagne,” Harry starts as she finishes writing. “and I’d like the grilled octopus and the rack of lamb.”

“Got you!” YN exclaims after the waitress walks away, pushing the piece of paper towards Harry. “Grilled octopus, rack of lamb. Ha ha. Told ya you’re going down.”

Harry’s grin widens. “You didn’t write champagne,” he starts. “Meanwhile, darlin’, I’ve got everything on this paper. Champagne, tempura and linguini.”

“When did you get so good?!”

Harry chuckles. “I know you nearly went for that other prawns,” he begins to show off. “But then you found the tempura and you couldn’t say no to anything deep fried.”

“Alright big head,” YN retorts.

After their first date, when YN reminded him that they needed to take things slow, Harry really took that seriously. Their relationship is growing stronger each day but four months into it, things still haven’t really been physical between the two of them. YN can’t really complain because it’s what she wanted, it’s what both of them wanted actually, knowing the stake is higher because it’s not just another relationship where there are just two people. This one has five people in it, and they really don’t want to rush things just to mess things up in the end.

But this doesn’t mean that it has been easy. Especially when he’s looking like that. And she doesn’t make it easy for Harry either. During the first month, there were only heated snog sessions. Neither of them is complaining because, fuck, they’re both equally a good kisser, but all the grinding surely wasn’t enough.

Four weeks into their relationship, things finally started to get a little bit saucier. They did things to each other here and there, but somehow managed to keep the main course saved for later. Both of them know that the build up tension would make it so much better when they finally have their first night together.

They don’t say it out loud, but tonight, even in the dim light they can see clear as day that look in each other’s eyes as if it screams, “this is it!”. Dinner was amazing, but they’re definitely not staying for dinner, knowing there’s a more important matter to do.

Both of them are glad they don’t take the car, not only because so they can drink and still be responsible adults, but fuck, the second they step into the taxi and away from wandering eyes, they can’t keep their hands off each other.

After telling the driver hastily his address, Harry doesn’t think twice before hovering over her, smashing his lips against hers. She hungrily pushes back, her mouth open, tongue pushing past his clenched teeth to the moist space within. He grips her head firmly as if to keep her from escaping. He works his mouth against hers, their tongues battling back and forth like wrestlers, each trying to pin the other.

His hand slides down from her jaw to her waist, before creeping back up and resting against her breast. Squeezing it gently, causing her to let out a little whimper straight into his mouth. Then both of his hands run to the small of her back, blindly searching for the clasp of her bra.

YN doesn’t even realise it when he’s trying to unhook her bra. Suddenly she feels the piece of clothing drops to her stomach. She wiggles a little to let it out completely, beyond grateful that she isn’t wearing a tight dress and mentally write a note in her head to pick it up before she gets off the taxi when they arrive at Harry’s place.

He finds her nipple through the dress and begins twisting it. The fabric helps to heighten the sensation, making YN groans lowly against his plump lips. He forces his tongue into her mouth when she gasps, and she shamelessly bucks her hips against his in response.

The journey from Mayfair to Harry’s home in Hampstead only takes about twenty minutes but it sure feels like forever for both of them (and God, probably even more so for the poor driver). They sigh in relief at the sight of Harry’s home, and they thank the driver nonchalantly as Harry hands him some cash. She hopes he gives the driver one hell of a tip because he deserves it.

He unlocks the door quickly and pins her against the door right away as soon as they step inside to resume their kiss. Somehow, even with Harry’s rather dominant position, the kiss changes drastically from when they were still in the car. This time it’s less rushed, less rough and much more passionate. This is the kind of kiss that comes with total surrender. The kind of kiss that shows connection; the unfolding of one person into the other, and the seal which says that you are almost one person.

It begins with a gentle, soft touching of the lips. Both feeling one another. It’s an unhurried, sensuous joining of body and soul and complete arousal of the senses. He’s got one arm around her waist, in the small of her back. The other arm around the back of her shoulder. He’s enveloping her in a gentle, reassuring embrace.

Their lips locking together. She’s got her arms around his neck. They both know that neither of them will forget this kiss. This is certainly the kind of kiss that sears into the brain and never leave.

“Oh, fuck!” She pulls away from the kiss abruptly, looking at Harry in horror. “I forgot my bra in the backseat!”

He smiles and glances down at her chest. Her nipples now prominent through her dress and she instinctively folds her arms to cover them. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“But it’s La Perla!” She exclaims. “I got a really good deal for that. It costs five hundred quids but I only paid for two.”

“Darlin’, we’ll get you ten of ‘em.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs. “You haven’t even seen it in the light.”

“Did yeh put it on f’me?” Harry grins at her. His hands back on her waist.

“Yeah,” YN nods. “M’tits look really good in it.”

“Honestly, darlin’, to me they’ll look even better naked,” Harry chuckles. “I appreciate it, but don’t fret about that, alright?”

“God, what if the driver has a wife and his wife finds it tomorrow morning? She’ll think he’s cheating on her,” YN can’t help but wonder, making Harry laugh even harder.

To YN surprise, Harry suddenly picks her up bridal style, making her squeal. “Harry! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Finally ‘avin my way wi’you.”

YN is a little confused at first when Harry carries her past his bed and heads into the en suite instead. But the confusion turns into excitement when he sets her back down on her feet in front of the sink and begins unzipping the side of her dress right away, not wanting to waste much time to get her out of that dress.

As the dress pools around her ankles, he turns her to face him. She runs her fingers through his hair as he kisses down her chest, stopping to suck her nipple into his mouth. His five o’clock shadow scrapes against her sensitive area in a way that makes her toes curl. She lets out a whimper, looking down at him as he repeats his action on the other one.

Harry eases in two of his fingers into her pulsing core without so much as a warning, smirking when she lets out a silent scream and clutches his forearm with both hands as he rubs a particular spot against her inner wall. It’s the kind of smirk that makes her core burns as he keeps moving, fucking her slowly and thoroughly with his fingers.

Each syllable that he whispers in her ear is pure filth yet he coos it ever so sweetly, making her head spin as he rubs her bundle of nerves, two of his digits are knuckle deep inside her. It’s a sickly sweet experience. She swears his voice has never sounded as deep before, making her want nothing more than to just hide her face in the crook of his neck and cry.

“Gonna make a mess on m’fingers, darlin’?” Harry murmurs lowly and YN just nods, letting out another whimper that ends straight into his mouth when he captures her lips again.

Harry pulls away and turns her around again so she’s facing the mirror. He kneels down in front of her, sandwiched between her legs and the counter. Smiling as he thrusts his fingers back into her, looking at her directly in the eyes as he does.

She elicits her first audible moan as his tongue darts out, joining his fingers on her slick flesh, spreading her core open and dipping into it just the barest amount, enough to make her shivers and begs for more. A smirk never leaves his face as he continues teasing her, his fingers lightly massaging her bundle of nerves while his tongue circles her entrance. The man has an oral fixation and it’s not one that comes without benefits.

He pulls one of her legs over his shoulder, mouth never leaving her heat. “Look at the mirror,” he tells her.

She fights to stay quiet as he swirls his tongue over her button before sucking it between his lips. He groans rather loudly, the vibration making her body jumps in response. But she does what he asks her to do, her eyes turning to the mirror to watch her own reflection. She can’t see him as he thrust his tongue as deep as he can into her pulsing heat, his hands spreading her wide open for his access. “Can you see yourself, love?”

She nods, her hands flat against the counter as she locks eyes with herself in the mirror. Her skin flushes red and her breathing gets heavier as Harry teases her folds with his tongue.

“’Av watched yeh so many times when you come,” he says in between licks. “Know exactly when you’re gonna break f’me.”

He draws away his tongue, replacing it with a single long thick finger, pushing it up to the knuckle and she whines, pushing back against him for more. “S’it good?”

YN nods but Harry shakes his head. “Tell me,” he breathes. “Y’need to tell me how it feels.”

“Good-” YN chokes. “Feels- feels good.”

“But you need more?” She nods at his question, gasping as he adds a second finger. Immediately pumping in and out of her slowly, curling the tips to find the spot that he knows will leave her trembling.

He adds a third finger all of sudden, stretching her out completely and groaning deeply as he does. She looks down at him for a second, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of his fingers moving in and out of her.

“Eyes on the mirror, darlin’,” he reminds when he realises that her eyes are on him, and she obeys. “Want you t’see yourself as I make you come.”

She goes quiet when she comes, mouth gaping in a silent scream of pleasure as it charges through her entire body. He still licks her through her high, only slowing down a little before eventually stopping his action altogether.

Harry’s back on his feet, smiling at YN who’s still trying to even her breathing when his phone rings. He fishes it out from his pocket, eyebrows snapping together as he reads ‘Gem’ on the screen and immediately press tap the button to answer the call.

“Gem? Everything alright?” He asks her as soon as she picks up her phone.

“H- ouch, Harry? I think I’m in labour.”

***

As soon as they get to Gemma’s place, they go on their own separate ways; Harry takes Gemma to the hospital and YN takes Anya to stay the night with her at her home. It’s not Anya’s first night staying at YN’s home, but it’s the first time she’s staying without Harry, and that’s why YN is a little worried that she might have a rough time.

“Darlin’,” YN looks down at Anya as she unlocks her front door. “Finn and Pippa aren’t home so it’s just going to be the two of us, that alright?”

Anya nods. “S’okay,”

“And daddy needs to be with auntie Gem and probably won’t be back until tomorrow. If you’re feeling sad because you miss daddy, tell me so I can call him for you, alright?” YN tells her and Anya just walks nonchalantly before her into the house.

“I’m okay,” Anya starts. “M’a big girl! I won’t cry.”

YN smiles at her. “You are a big girl.”

“And it’s okay if I don’t have my daddy,” Anya continues. “Because I have my mummy!”

YN turns to the two and a half year old in astonishment. “What?!”

“I’m okay because I’m with my mummy!” Anya repeats herself as she plops down onto the couch.

YN panics. She doesn’t want Harry to think that she’s the one who tells Anya that she is her mummy. This is probably a little too soon for that. Things have been going really well with the two of them and she doesn’t want to scare Harry away.

“Oh sweet girl,” YN begins at last after a few seconds of silence. “I’m not your mummy. But hey, you’ve got a daddy! And he’s a really good one!”

“Yes, you are!” Anya insists. “You’re MY mummy! MY mummy!”

YN’s heart breaks as Anya’s bottom lip begins to quiver and big tears roll down her rosy cheeks. “Oh no, no no no, don’t cry, come here my love,” she immediately pulls Anya into a hug, squeezing her little body and kissing her cheek.

“You’re my- my mummy,” says Anya in choked tones.

“Alright, alright. No tears, yeah?” YN doesn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. Besides its nearly midnight, maybe she’s just tired because she’s still awake way past her bedtime. But instead of getting her to bed, she’s got another idea to cheer her up. She stands up and takes Anya’s hand in hers. “Come here.”

The little girl just walks beside her. And as they step into the kitchen, YN picks Anya up and sits her on the kitchen island. “Stay still, okay?” She reminds her, smiling as she walks towards her fridge and pulls out a pint of Ben & Jerry from the freezer.

“Ice cweams!” Anya cheers excitedly.

“Would you like some?” YN smiles as she takes out two spoons from the drawer and hands one to Anya.

Anya nods frantically. “Yes please!”

YN has never been with just Anya before. Most of the time Harry and her kids were around as well so it’s rare for YN to get the chance to have a little conversation just the two of them.

She knows right from the start that Harry did a really good job raising his daughter, and she swears she’s not just saying that because she has to. Anya is so sweet and calm (as calm as a two year old can be!) and polite and rarely throws a fit. She knows that he must be so proud of his little girl.

“Should we get you to bed?” YN turns to Anya, knowing that if she doesn’t stop her, she’ll probably finish the whole thing.

“Wanna sleep with mummy,” Anya says as she hands her spoon back to YN.

“Okay,” YN smiles at her as she chucks the ice cream back in the freezer and put the spoons in the sink before getting some water for the two of them. Then she takes Anya into her arms. The little girl immediately clings her arms around her neck as YN takes her upstairs to her bedroom, stopping in the living room to get Anya’s overnight bag as well.

YN puts the little girl back on her feet and takes her toiletries out from the bag. Taking her to the en suite so she can help her to brush her teeth before she tucks her in bed.

“All done!” YN says, running her fingers through Anya’s hair and smiling at her reflection in the mirror. Anya’s hair is a little lighter than Harry’s, it looks exactly just like Finn’s current hair. Finn was a blond baby and stayed blond throughout his toddler years, but it grew darker after he turned four last year. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Wait!” Anya stops her. “We need to do affirmations!”

“Oh, you do that with daddy?” YN asks her.

“Mhm,” she hums before she begins, grinning at her own reflection in the mirror. “I’m smart. I’m beautiful. I’m kind. I’m loved,”

“So very loved,” YN adds, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m strong,” says Anya, flashing her little muscles and YN laughs. “I’m brave. I’m not better than anyone, nobody’s better than me. I work hard.”

“Good job!” YN praises her. “Is that all?”

“We’re not done yet,” Anya tells her. “Mummy, you need to ask me my name.”

YN still tenses every time Anya calls her that but she quickly brushes it off. “What’s your name?”

“Anya Marigold Styles!”

“Your middle name is Marigold?” YN turns to her in surprise. “Pippa’s middle name is Marie!”

The little girl responds with giggles. “Then you need to ask me if I fall.”

YN’s eyebrows snap together in confusion but she does what Anya asks her to. “If you fall?”

“I get back up!” Anya answers proudly. “Then, mummy, y’need to tell me I’m your best girl.”

“M’best girl,” YN says as she leans down to kiss her cheek. “Now what usually daddy does next?”

“Give me a kiss but you already did,” she chuckles.

“Come on then,” YN looks down at her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

***

The sound of her phone ringing wakes YN up and she immediately picks it up from the bedside table and answers it before it wakes Anya who’s still cuddled up to her side. It’s Harry.

“Hello?” YN whispers.

“YN! You were right, it’s a boy!” Harry exclaims in excitement. “I’m an uncle!”

YN smiles instantly. A new life is always exciting and she truly is happy for them. “I knew it!” She whispers proudly. Gemma and Michal didn’t want to find out the gender, but they all had their guesses. Everyone thought it was going to be a girl except Michal and YN, and if her two pregnancies ever taught her anything, it’s to trust the father’s instincts regarding the gender. And she was right. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks, darlin’,” says Harry. YN can’t see him but she knows he’s smiling. “By the way, why are we whispering? Oh, and how was last night?”

YN chuckles lightly. “Anya is still asleep, and it was good.”

“She slept with you?” Harry asks her, surprised.

“Mhm,” she hums. “By the way, Harry, I’ve got something to tell you, but-”

“What is it, love?” Harry lets out a nervous chuckle. “S’it something bad? You’re scaring me right now.”

“No, no,” YN quickly responds, almost cutting him. “S’not a bad thing, but thought you should know.”

“Don’t scare me like that,” Harry says. “What is it then?”

“Anya called me mummy last night,” YN begins. “And I swear I didn’t ask her to. It wasn’t my idea. But when I told her that I wasn’t, she started crying so I just let her. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, so if-“

“YN,” Harry cuts her off. “I know.”

“What?!” Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “She’s been referring you as mummy for a while now. I swear I didn’t tell her to either, t’was all her. I’ve tried to tell her that you’re Finn and Pippa’s mum and not hers but she threw a fit every time. Are you alright with it? I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable. Fuck, I’ll talk to her and-“

“Harry,” this time YN cuts him off. “I’m okay with it. It’s alright, I promise. How about you though?”

“Darlin’ I’m buzzin’,” Harry chuckles.

“Is Michal there yet?” YN asks. “And your mum?”

“No,” Harry answers. “Both are still on their way. But we FaceTimed Michal when the baby was about to come out so he didn’t miss it.”

“You were in the room?” YN asks him in surprise.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckles. “I couldn’t leave her alone but she made sure I stayed near her head.”

YN laughs. “Tell Gemma I said congratulations,” she adds. “I can’t wait to see both of them.”

“I will.”

YN is about to go back to sleep beside Anya after she puts her phone back on the bedside table but she hears some noises from downstairs. She knows that must be James and the kids because sometimes James still takes them home so the four of them can eat breakfast together even if it’s James’s turn with the kids.

She is smiling to herself, excited to see the kids because she misses them. That, until she realises that Anya is with her and James hasn’t even met Harry yet let alone Anya. She tries to keep her new relationship to herself, but of course, the kids talk. She knows that he knows about her and Harry although he never says anything to her.

It’s not that she is scared of him knowing, it’s just… it’s weird. James was basically her first love (no, we’re not going to count that bloke that she kissed when she was 12). They’ve known each other for ten years. They were married for seven. They had two children together. So it’s pretty understandable that she doesn’t want to talk about her new bit with him.

Anya wakes up when YN sits up, immediately smiling at YN as YN mumbles a little good morning. Anya is adorable. As YN looks at her, waiting for her to fully get the sleep away from her eyes before they head downstairs, she realises how much she looks like her father. She is exactly the little girl version of Harry, only slightly cuter and less of a trouble than her father when he was around her age according to Harry’s mum.

“Mummy!” Pippa exclaims excitedly as she spots her mum walking down the stairs and getting more excited as she spots her little best friend trailing behind her mum. “Oh, Anya’s here! Anyaaaaa!”

James is cracking some eggs into the bowl as YN and Anya walk into the kitchen. He looks a little surprised when he sees the little girl but he brilliantly hides his astonishment with a grin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” YN greets him back.

“Did we have a secret kid that you’re not telling me?”

YN’s eyes widen. “No!”

“I was joking,” James chuckles. Tilting his head to Anya who’s already chatting to Pippa as he continues. “I know she’s Harry Styles’s daughter.”

YN doesn’t respond, choosing to walk past him to pour some coffee from the pot into a mug instead.

“How’s it going?” He asks nonchalantly.

YN turns to face him. “What?”

“You,” he says, pausing to take a bite of a cherry tomato before he continues. “And your new bit.”

“James, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to talk about it,” YN slumps against the cabinet.

“I just need to know something,” he says after a bit of silence. “Is he a good father?”

YN nods. “Yes.”

“Does he make you happy?”

YN nods again. “He does.”

“That’s all I need to know.”

***

“Have you got any plans with the kids today?” YN asks James who’s sat on the other couch. They put on some cartoon after breakfast and they’re watching it together in the living room.

James has always been one of those guys who loves being around kids. Even long before they had Finn, James likes to randomly ask to hold other people’s babies. He seems to always know how to talk to little ones and most kids love him.

That’s why as weird as it looks like, YN is not surprised seeing Anya cuddled up to James’s side. Pippa on the other side and Finn on YN’s. He’s naturally good with kids and it has only been about two hours but Anya likes him already.

“Nah,” James shakes his head. “Just gonna hang around here. Might take them to the playground later though.”

“Oh,” YN responds nonchalantly while freaking out inside. Harry just texted her a couple minutes prior, telling her that he’s on his way from the hospital so he’s going to arrive any minute now, yet it looks like James is not going anywhere.

YN is freaking out, but she knows that the two of them are bound to meet sooner or later anyway. YN and Harry have known each other for six months and have been going out for four, so she knows that she’s lucky she could string it out that long.

The sound of the doorbell startles them and YN is quick to stand on her feet, mumbling “I’ll get it” and rushing to the front door in hope to give Harry a very last minute heads-up, telling him that James is in the living room. She leaves the detail about the fact that his daughter is cuddled up to his side because there is no way he is going to believe that unless he sees it with his own eyes.

“Hello,” Harry says as he walks into the living room with YN.

“Ah,” James glances over his shoulder to see Harry and stands up quickly to shake his hand. “Hi! S’Harry, is it? I’m James, nice to meet you mate.”

“Hi, yeah,” Harry smiles at him and shakes his hand. “Good to finally meet you.”

“Daddy!” Anya runs towards Harry and instantly put her arms in the air, silently asking him to pick her up.

“My darling girl!” Harry smiles as he looks down at Anya, immediately picking her up. Giving her a few kisses on the cheek as she clings her arms around his neck. “Were you good last night?”

Anya nods. “Mhm,” she hums. “I slept with mummy!”

Harry’s eyes widen for a second when his little girl says mummy. She told him a few times that she thought YN was her mother, but he never heard her call YN mummy on her face until that moment. He’s surprised but he quickly brushes it off, setting Anya back on her feet before walking towards Pippa and Finn to give them a hug and a kiss on top of both their heads.

YN can see the look on James’s face when he hears Anya referring her as mummy. He brushes it off as fast as Harry does but YN knows that he’s just as surprised. YN is looking at the telly, trying to make it look like she’s actually watching it instead of just staring at it blankly as she hears her ex-husband and her new bit having a small chat.

“YN?” James says quietly, trying to catch YN’s attention from the telly as Harry turns to Finn and begin talking with him. “Can we?” He says, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

YN nods. Giving Harry a quick I-don’t-know-what’s-happening-either look as she walks towards the kitchen with James so they can have a little bit of privacy when they talk.

“Want anything?” James asks her as he grabs a beer from the fridge and closing the door when he sees YN shaking her head.

“What is it?” YN asks him.

“So,” he begins as he gulps his beer. “Anya calls you mummy?”

“Well, she threw a fit when I told her I wasn’t so I just let her,” YN shrugs. “Not a big deal.”

“What are you talking about?” He turns to her, surprised. “Of course it’s a big deal!”

“Honestly, James, I’m fine with it,” YN says faintly. There’s a huge pause. And YN can see that James is frowning ahead in that silent way he gets when his brain is dealing with some huge, knotty problem. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t want Finn and Pippa to call him daddy,” James says quietly, YN can barely hear him. “I’m their dad.”

“James,” YN’s looks soften at her ex-husband. “They won’t if you don’t want them to, I promise. You’re their daddy, you’ll always be. They love you so much and they know exactly how much you love them. Nobody is going to replace you.”

“How long have you known each other?” James turns to her. There is something about the way he is looking at YN that makes her slightly uncomfortable. She can feel the tension shifting.

“James,” YN tries to stop him. “I really don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“How long?”

YN knows that he won’t give up before she answers him, so she just answers it to make their little chat ends as quickly as possible. “Six months.”

“Ha!” He says. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“That was the last time you let me sleep here.”

“Our marriage ended nearly two years ago,” YN looks at him sternly. “The fact that I stopped sleeping with you six months ago may or may not have anything to do with him. We should’ve stopped a long time ago anyway.”

“Is this you throwing me away ‘cause you’ve found a new man?” He frowns. “Tha’ what you’re trying t’say?”

She turns to him in astonishment. “Are you joking?”

“Always thought you’ll realise that we’ve made a mistake and we’ll-” he feigns innocence, and he doesn’t have to finish his sentence for YN to know exactly what he’s going to say next.

YN chuckles dryly. “You are mad.”

“I still love you,” he says, looking far away in the window, away from YN’s deathly glare. “Never stopped lovin’ yeh.”

YN doesn’t say anything in response. She just shakes her head at him in disbelief before walking away to the living room. Smiling as if she doesn’t feel like she wants to plot a murder. “Harry, darlin’,” she says to Harry, emphasising the pet name, making sure James hears it. “Can you help me to cook lunch?”

“F’course,” Harry promptly says before standing up and follows her to the kitchen. Offering James a quick smile as he walks past him into the living room and plops down on the couch.

YN takes out a couple things from the fridge and lays it all on the counter before taking a pot from the cabinet and fills it with water, handing it to Harry afterwards for him to put on the cooker.

“Fuck me he’s fit,” he whispers quietly to YN as he turns on the cooker. “He’s really good lookin’.”

YN chuckles. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror?”

“I’m serious,” Harry looks at her. “I’ve seen that picture of him with the kids in the living room but he looks unreal in person.”

“What can I say?” YN deadpans. “I don’t shag uggos.”

Both Harry and James end up staying the whole day at YN’s home, and every minute, things are getting more awkward than the last. They’re both clearly trying to one-up one another, fighting for either YN’s or the kids’ attention and by the time they finished dinner, YN has had enough with both of them.

James had just left and the kids are playing in the nursery before bedtime. YN finally gets some alone time with Harry just the two of them, and YN has been waiting for this for quite a while. She knows Harry has something bothering him in his mind. He’s been awfully quiet the last two hours and YN is almost sure it must have something to do with her ex-husband.

“Hey, are you alright?” YN says as he pours some wine into a glass, sliding it across the kitchen island for Harry before she pours some for herself. “Been awfully quiet.”

“Just realised something,” he says, pausing to take a slug of his wine. “James is still wearing his wedding band.”

“Oh, I know where this is going,” YN scoffs.

“I’m just saying,” he sounds unconvincing.

YN lets out a heavy sigh. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Harry answers promptly.

“Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?” YN asks him again.

Harry shakes his head.

“Then why are you even telling me this?” YN says in annoyance.

Harry raises his voice. “You asked me!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about what he wears and you should too,” YN chooses to ignore his answer. “We’re almost divorced. The ring meant the world when we were together but now it’s just a piece of cold metal.”

“I’m just saying,” he breaks off. “I think he’s still hoping to get you back.”

“Harry, honestly, you’re pissing me off,” YN sighs heavily. “I’ve told you twice, clear as day, that I don’t want him anymore. Then it shouldn’t matter whether or not he wants to get back together with me. I don’t want it. Don’t want him. I want you.”

Harry smiles at her out of the blue. “Do you realise something?”

“What?” YN asks, clearly still annoyed probably not at him but at the whole thing. It has been a day for her emotionally. One hell of a day.

“This is our first fight,” Harry grins at her, pulling her close to him by her waist.

“Yeah and am still fuming,” YN rolls her eyes.

“I love you,” Harry says nonchalantly.

YN’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?!”

“Is that really a surprise?” Harry chuckles.

“Well, not really but this is the first time you said that.”

“Been dying to tell you this for ages,” he admits, intertwining his fingers with hers. “But we agreed to take things slow.”

YN smiles at him. “I love you too.”

“Eh, I quite like you,” Harry jokes and YN pinches his waist playfully in response. “Ouch! M’joking!”

“You were mean,” YN laughs.

“I love you,” Harry looks at her, bringing her knuckles to his lips so he could kiss them. “Completely besotted, absolutely enamoured, hopelessly in love wi’ you.”

This time, she responds by cupping his jaw, brushing her lips against his. Softly, delicately, just long enough that she can inhale his breath. He can feel the warmth of her skin, and even after she pulls away, the taste of her lip balm lingers.

***

It’s Sunday, and Harry and Anya are already at YN’s home to pick her and the kids up at 10 o’clock sharp so they can all go together to the hospital to see Gemma and the baby. The kids are all bouncing with excitement to see the baby and they have been talking about him nonstop.

“Who’s excited to see the baby?!” Harry says as he begins to drive, raising his hand in the air, making the kids and YN giggle. He truly is a kid at heart.

“Meeee!” The kids cheer excitedly as they raise their hands as well.

“Be good at the hospital, alright?” YN reminds them softly. “All three of you.”

“Okay, mummy,” says Anya.

Pippa turns to her little friend. “She’s my mummy.”

“Yeah,” Anya nods. “But she’s my mummy too.”

“Oh, okay,” Pippa agrees. “Does that mean your daddy is my daddy too?”

“Pippa,” Finn looks at his little sister. “We already have a daddy.”

YN and Harry are both trying their hardest not to laugh as they listen to the kids’ conversation in the backseat.

“S’okay!” Anya insists. “You can have two daddies! Right, daddy?”

“I don’t want another daddy!” Finn exclaims in frustration. “I already have a daddy.”

Realising that Finn is getting upset, Harry quickly chimes in. “Finn, mate, how about a papa? Do you have a papa?”

Harry looks at Finn through the rear view mirror and the little guy shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“Can I be your papa?” Harry asks him.

“Yeah!” Finn says excitedly. “You can be my papa!”

“Can you be my papa too?” Pippa chimes in.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Harry answers.

“Mummy! I have a papa!” Pippa immediately brags to her mum and YN laughs.

“I see.”

***

“Hello,” YN says in a hushed tone as she enters Gemma’s room in case the baby is asleep, can’t help but aww-ing instantly as soon as she spots the sleeping baby boy in his little bassinet by the window next to Gemma’s bed.

“Hiiii,” Gemma greets them excitedly. “Come in!”

“Congrats, Gem,” YN walks towards Gemma’s bed and Gemma immediately pulls her into a hug. “How are you feeling?”

“So happy, and not as rough as yesterday,” Gemma chuckles. She looks tired but YN has also never seen her happier. Having a baby is a magical moment and YN secretly hopes that she can experience it just once more with Harry one day. “Hi, come here and see the baby,” she tells the kids who are standing at the end of her bed before picking out the baby from the bassinet into her arms.

“Oh, he’s beautiful,” YN sighs in adoration. The baby was born two weeks early but he looks really healthy and oh so adorable. “Have you named him?”

“Yeah,” Gemma smiles. “Michal came up with Hugo just this morning and I love it. Hugo it is.”

“Oh, Hugo!” Harry coos at the baby. “M’little Hugster! Gonna give your uncle Harry lots of hugs, aren’t you? Yeah?”

“He’s bald,” Anya giggles and they all laugh at her innocent remark.

They stay for a little while at the hospital because none of the kids wants to go home and luckily they’re still at the hospital when Harry’s mum gets there so they get to see her as well. Knowing Harry had to take Gemma the other day to the hospital and ended his night with YN early because neither Michal nor Anne was in town when Gemma went to labour, Anne offers to babysit all three of the kids for the night and even bring Finn and Pippa to school tomorrow morning. YN hesitated at first because she doesn’t want to trouble her, but both Harry and Anne insisted so she caved in the end.

So the plan for them right now is to go out and have lunch, then Harry will drop YN and her kids home before he goes to his own home with Anya. They will get ready and Harry and Anya will come at YN’s around six and wait for Anne to pick the kids up from YN’s place before the two of them leave for a date night.

“The baby is really cute,” says Finn in the car as Harry begins to drive.

“He really is, isn’t he?” Harry smiles through the rear view mirror.

“Mummy,” says Pippa, pausing for a second before she continues. “Can we please have a baby brother?”

YN who’s currently taking a sip of water spits her water everywhere, earning a laugh from Harry. “What?!”

“Daddy!” Anya chimes in. “I want a baby too! A boy baby!”

“You mean baby boy?” Pippa corrects her.

“Yeah,” says Anya. “I’ll be good, daddy, I promise!”

“Well,” Harry begins at last. Still trying to stifle a giggle while stealing glances at YN. “We’ve got baby Hugo. Tha’ enough for now, I suppose?”

***

Harry shows up at YN’s home at 6pm sharp, and YN’s insides clench as soon as she sees him when she opens her door. He smirks at her, knowing exactly what he’s doing to her. He is wearing his old custom Gucci suit, the one that he wore in Dunkirk’s premiere in London years ago and to a couple weddings afterwards. He wears it tieless, of course, the crisp white button-up shirt underneath is undone. And those rings… there is no way she is going to let him take them off later.

“Y’alright, love?” He asks her after he sets Anya down on her feet so she can run inside to see Pippa and Finn. The smirk is still visible on his face. “Y’look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

YN bites her bottom lip subconsciously before letting out a chuckle. “Fuck,” YN mumbles. “Y’look-”

“Well,” Harry shrugs. “Gotta pull out my A-game, don’t I? Certain someone told me yesterday she doesn’t shag uggos.”

Half an hour later Anne arrives to pick the kids up to stay the night at her London home, and after closing the front door after them, Harry walks upstairs to YN’s room where she gets ready. Harry has spent countless nights in there so he knows exactly where it is.

YN is still in her bathrobe when he steps into the bedroom, smiling through the mirror at his reflection from the door. Her hair is done and she’s just putting the last bit of some make-up before she slips into her outfit for the night. Her black lace jumpsuit is ready on the bed, waiting for her.

Harry is still standing by the door, staring at her intensely. He folds his arms across his chest, not a word comes out of his mouth.

“You gonna stand there and gawk at me all night or are you coming in and help me get into my outfit?” YN smirks at him through the mirror.

He walks towards her, stopping to stand behind her. He places one of his hands on her shoulder, before wetting his lips as he dips his hand into the pocket of his suit trousers, never breaking eye contact through the mirror as he does.

YN realises that he’s getting something out of his pocket when she sees his arms moving upward, her eyes shift from looking at his deep green eyes to the hand in his pocket to see what he’s got in there.

There’s a string. He’s holding the string as he slowly pulls it out, taking his sweet time. YN’s eyes widen when she sees a small, silver ball at the end of the string, and Harry swears her eyes are about to pop out when she sees the second ball. Now that it’s out, Harry holds it by the string, holding it in front of YN for her to take a closer look.

“What the hell is that?” She looks at the balls quizzically, her brows knit together in confusion.

Harry shakes his hand a little, causing whatever it is inside the balls to roll around, creating the tiniest noise. “S’called Ben Wa balls,” he says before he brings it up and takes one of the balls into his mouth to wet it. The sight makes YN’s stomach drops and it feels like forever for her before he takes it out of his mouth with a pop. “And you’re wearing it tonight.”

“Oh,” YN panics and shakes her head. “You’re not putting those in-”

“They don’t go in there,” Harry shakes his head gently. “Stand up and bend over, darlin’.”

YN does what he asks her to, even though she is still not one hundred per cent sure about what he’s about to do. Harry takes the moment to put the second ball into his mouth and suck it a little to make sure it’s completely wet.

He takes off her bathrobe so she is only in her strapless bra and a pair of knickers before his eyes. The fact that they’re matching brings a smile to Harry’s lips. She feels like her heart is about to jump out of her body when his fingers come in contact with her, pulling her knickers to the side.

She takes a lungful of air as he inserts the ball into her core slowly one by one. It’s something she’s never felt before, certainly a foreign feeling. He kisses the back of her neck before pulling her knickers back into place, letting her stand up straight.

“Alright?” He asks, smiling at her through the mirror in front of them.

“Yeah,” YN chokes out. “Weird, but- what do they do?”

Harry chuckles a little. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And Harry’s right. As she bends down to pick up her outfit from the bed, she feels the movement of the balls inside of her. She gasps, her eyes widen in surprise, and she looks at Harry in shock. “Holy-”

Harry simply laughs at her, already get the feeling that this is going to be one hell of a night.

***

“Stop squirming,” Harry chuckles as he takes YN’s hand in his as they walk into The Shard. “They’re just little balls, s’nothing your pussy can’t handle, yeah?”

“Harry!” YN’s eyes widen in horror as she scolds him.

The view is breathtaking. From the 31st floor, they can clearly see how beautiful London is at night from the floor to ceiling windows all around the restaurant. Regarding the size of the dining room, it is rather large and pretty busy, but somehow it remains intimate and the lighting is so dimmed that they bet they can barely see the neighbouring table.

She still doesn’t know how Harry managed to secure a window table in the corner for them. The view is just so spectacular that she even forgets about the balls for a second as she looks over to St Paul’s Cathedral.

“D’you realise something?” Harry smiles at her across the table, taking a sip of the signature cocktail that both of them ordered.

“What is it?” YN questions him.

“We’ll hit our six months anniversary on Tuesday,” Harry informs her.

YN chuckles. Immediately regretting her action when she feels the balls shift a little inside her, making their presence known, and YN can’t help but let out a small gasp. She closes her eyes for a second but she can hear Harry chuckling across the table. “It’s not our anniversary,” she begins at last.

“It is!” He insists. “S’the anniversary of the first time we met, at the studio.”

“When is our real anniversary then?” YN asks, wanting to see whether or not Harry will take the bait. “When we went on that first date?”

“Was thinking,” Harry clears his throat before he continues. “I was just thinking- well, today’s a good day. Pretty good date to remember. S’your favourite number.”

YN’s grinning at him now. “What are you trying to say, Styles?”

“Should we make it official?” He suggests, grinning wider at her. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

YN lets out a giggle. “God, I hate that word.”

“What?” He asks her. “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” she laughs. “Dunno why. Bit cringey.”

Harry joins her in laughter before he continues. “But you want to, right? Make us official, I mean,” Harry asks her again. “We don’t have to use that word. Ever.”

“Course I do, H,” says YN, smiling at him across the table. “I love you. My kids love you. I’m keeping you.”

Harry chuckles at her last statement. “Good,” he nods. “I’m keeping you too.”

***

The view, the food, the person in front of them, everything is perfect but they can’t wait anymore for it to be over. YN can’t keep squirming in her seat because of those bloody balls inside her and sure, it’s fun for Harry to see her like that at first but the fact that he can’t do anything to her is torturing him as well.

That’s why YN is glad when Harry asks for the bills instead when the waitress comes back to ask whether or not they want dessert. They haven’t got time for bloody desserts.

Harry practically drags YN out of the restaurant as soon as possible, immediately walking towards the lift and stealing a quick kiss when he sees that nobody’s looking. He’s about to press the down button on the lift but a brilliant idea struck him.

“Where are we going?” YN turns to him in confusion when he presses the up button.

He presses his lips against hers again for a second before he pulls away, grinning at her. “There’s a hotel upstairs.”

***

“H- Harry,” YN breathes out heavily, still squirming as she waits for Harry to open the door to their suite, giving him a hurry-the-fuck-up look. The balls are driving YN up the wall at this point, having had enough of the constant subtle, tingly sensation every time she moves even just an inch.

He pins her against the door hastily as it flings open, aiming for her neck right away. He’s got his hands around her waist, and he spends no longer than a few seconds before finding the spot that makes her arches her back, it’s simply ridiculous how good his accuracy is when it comes to her body. There isn’t a button he doesn’t know how to locate and press until she breaks in his hands.

“Harry,” YN sighs in frustration. “The balls.”

Harry can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“Please,” YN begs him. “Take those damn balls out. I- I can’t. S’too much.”

“Go to the bed, love,” Harry instructs her and she begins to walk to the bed slowly to keep the movement of the balls as minimum as possible.

She is sitting at the end of the bed, pressing her thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure but Harry quickly shoves his knee between her legs, spreading her thighs again, smirking at her as he does, earning a frustrated groan from her side.

His suit is thrown somewhere in their suite. His shirt is now wrinkly and messy, and most of the buttons are undone. He takes her hand so she stands up just long enough for him to take her out of her lace jumpsuit, groaning when he sees that so much more of her skin is now exposed to him.

He pushes her down by her shoulder so she’s laying on the bed before climbing on top of her. Their lips come together again and he takes his time to gently look for her lips with his tongue.

As the kiss gets more intense, their hands begin to wander. YN’s hands are pressed on his chest, slowly yet surely going further south to where he needs her the most. Harry’s hands creep around her back, and she lifts her back just enough for Harry to unhook her bra.

“Fuck,” Harry growls when the piece of clothing comes off and she is bare from the waist above before his eyes. He doesn’t waste another second before going down and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first before flicking his tongue repeatedly over the firm bud.

“H- Harry,” she whimpers. “I swear to God if you don’t take those sodding balls out right now I’m going to chop off yours and feed them to my neighbour’s dog.”

Harry laughs. “Patience, darlin’.”

“No!” YN practically shrieks. “S’enough!”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’,” he says, his voice a little slurred. “I’ve got you, yeah?”

Harry takes her knickers off at last, slowly, leaving a trail of kisses on every inch of her leg. She whines when he sucks her inside thigh a little harder than usual, definitely leaving a mark behind.

She lets out a shaky gasp when she feels him starting to tug the string of those sodding balls. He pulls them out slowly one by one, enjoying the sight of her trembling already in front of him yet they’ve only just started.

YN sighs in relief when they’re finally out. Looking at the glistening metals, Harry purrs and the simple tone of it makes YN’s core flex around nothing.

He slides his hand between her thighs, rubbing his fingers over her bundle of nerves gently at first before he pinches it between his thumb and index finger when he realises that she’s about to come. The pressure is enough to add a bit of pain and stops the orgasm that’s only seconds away dead in its track.

His lips brush against hers softly as he thrusts two digits at once into her, finding her completely drenched already. “Thought you need more persuading,” he teases.

She lets out a silent scream, her hips instinctively buck towards his hand as he curls his fingers inside of her. The gentle yet constant stimulation from the toy earlier slowly turns her in the lead-up and it doesn’t take long for her to break in front of him.

“Y’taste amazin’,” he mumbles as he sucks his glistening fingers off. She doesn’t respond, eyes fixed on the floor to ceiling windows overlooking London behind Harry instead. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking. And it’s a no.”

“What?” She asks lowly.

“We’re not shaggin’ against that bloody window. I know it’s amazin’, but not for our first time. Wanna do it properly,” Harry says and YN chuckles, having no idea about how the hell he knows what she’s thinking about. “Got all night here, yeah? Save that for round two.”

“Round two already, huh?” YN jokes, still trying to even her breathing. “Y’talk big game, Styles.”

“Let me take you, YN,” he growls in her ear and she swears it’s the hottest sound she has ever heard.

YN smiles at him. “You’re the one stalling.”

She spreads her thighs willingly, running her fingers through his hair as he leaves a trail of kisses down her chest.

“I love you,” he whispers in her ear, squeezing himself between her thighs. His thick member presses against her entrance. The first couple of inches enter easily but when he’s met with resistance, he draws back, letting her body accept him at its own pace.

Then Harry tries again. The tip of his member thrusts into her, every inch opening her up slowly until he’s fully inside of her. He stops his movement and kisses her passionately as he waits for her to adjust to his size.

“God, Harry,” YN gasps. “Did you ever hurt someone with that?”

Harry laughs out loud and the vibration from his laughter only heightens the sensation. The pleasurable burn fills all your senses and his kisses only stoke the fires into swirling flames.

“Harry,” she whimpers. “Fuck, you’re so-”

Harry grins proudly, sucking her jaw. “I’m so what?”

“Big,” she blurts out and he burst out laughing, shaking his head as he captures her lips again, pushing inside of her mouth with his ridiculously long tongue.

She moans a little when his shaft twitches inside of her. Harry holds himself up, pulling back a few inches before slamming into her all the way in.

“Go,” she whispers in his ear and he nods before he starts moving. Words give way to grunts and moans, hands wandering as they move together. He moves agonisingly slow at first, making her nerves tremble with the stretch and the pleasurable burn that accompany his intrusion of her body.

He kisses her until she’s gasping for breath as he fucks into her. One of his hands is strategically placed under her, holding her at an angle that allows him to hit her sweet spot with every stroke.

His mouth drops to suck her nipple as he keeps pushing in and pulling out, coaxing her pulsing core to stretch around him. She sobs her pleasure into the pillow, squirming underneath him as he hits painful depths.

“M’gonna-” YN chokes out. “M’gonna-”

“Come,” Harry tells her, not slowing down his movement even just a little and slamming into her over and over instead. “Come all over me, darlin’. Come wi’ me.”

They hit their highs within seconds, together, in one another’s embrace. Harry keeps fucking her through it and he lets out a deep groan as she pulses around him. Her entire body shuddering. Their breathing is heavy, and he slowly pulls himself out of her.

“Fuck!” Harry‘s eyes widen in horror. “Sorry, I forgot- we forgot. We didn’t use-”

YN laughs. “Relax, m’on the pills.”

Harry sighs in relief. “Okay, s’not that I don’t want to have a baby with you. Because I do, I really do. S’just-”

“Can you stop talking and just take me against the window like you promised?” YN cuts him off, smirking at the man beside her. “Get round two started, hmm?”

Harry howls. “Can you even stand up?”

“Probably not,” YN shrugs. “But you can hold me, can’t you?”

Harry shakes his head and laugh before pulling himself up and rests his head against his hand. Both of them are still in their most vulnerable state. He looks down at her, smiling as he whispers, “I love you,” before leaning down to press another gentle kiss against her lips.

***

“How are you feeling?” Harry turns to her, grinning from ear to ear as they walk hand in hand to the triage room so they can assess her.

YN smiles at her husband. “Still can’t believe it’s happening.”

Six months after James and YN got decree absolute, Harry and YN got married and moved into their new family home in South Kensington. Luckily, James agreed to move back into his old home when he was still married with YN so they didn’t have to sell the house and the kids didn’t have to say goodbye to their childhood home. It had so many good memories and they truly loved that cosy maisonette.

It has been two years since Harry and YN first met, and they’re at the birthing unit because YN’s contractions are two and a half minutes to four minutes apart now. She is thirty seven weeks along with twins (honeymoon babies!) and they can’t be more excited.

“I can tell by just looking at you that you’re not in labour,” says the midwife. Which is true. The contractions were so intense at home but now they have slowed down somehow as soon as they get to the birthing unit.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” YN sighs. “They were so frequent and strong at home and I don’t know why they’ve completely calmed down for some reason.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a common thing,” the midwife smiles at her. “When ladies come into an unfamiliar environment, their bodies can produce adrenaline that fights against the labour and basically slows it down.”

“What should we do then?” Harry asks her.

“I’m going to send you back home to progress more there,” answers the midwife. “Come back here if the pain gets worse.”

Feeling a little deflated, they go home. The kids are at school and YN’s parents are going to pick them up and bring them to their home in Farnham and they’re going to stay there for a week.

Much to YN’s annoyance, as soon as they get home, things kick up a notch again. She tries to just lay down in bed and Harry gives her a hot water bottle in hope that she will be able to try and rest as much as she can but when the contractions come again, they’re so unbearable lying down.

“Harry,” YN whimpers in pain. “It hurts.”

She is clinging onto Harry’s neck as he holds her through another contraction. It is getting more frequent and it’s killing Harry to see her like this. “I know my love,” he tries to comfort her. “But you can do this, yeah? Just think, you’re one less contraction away from meeting our babies. We’ll get to hold them soon.”

“But when?!” She yells in frustration. “Oh God, I yelled at you. I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey hey, s’fine, love,” Harry pulls her into a hug, tight enough not to squeeze the babies. “You’re in pain. ‘Sides, you didn’t yell at me. You just yelled near me.”

She chuckles at his Friends reference. “Dunno what would I do without you.”

Harry just smiles at her. “Sit down, darlin’, I’ll give you a back rub.”

YN sits down at the edge of the bed and Harry begins massaging her lower back and it really helps with the pain. “This feels oddly familiar,” YN states.

“What gets them in there also gets them out,” Harry chuckles.

It’s 4:30pm, and there are no babies yet. Harry and YN already try everything they can to help with the pain but they’re just too intense. He’s been rubbing her back since last night and YN knows that his hands must be killing him but it’s the only thing that helps with the pain.

The contractions are now further apart, but when they come they’re on another level. Harry even cries seeing her in that much pain, and it has been nearly sixteen hours yet there is still no sign of babies.

By 6pm the contractions are getting so intense that Harry can’t help and just take her to the hospital. Thankfully they take her to the birthing room this time, setting monitors for YN and the babies right away along with a drip in her arm. They also give her gas and air to help with the pain.

“Hello,” a midwife enters their room. “How are we feeling now?”

“Tired. And it hurts.”

“We’re gonna call in an anesthesiologist to put in an epidural. Do you want to change your mind before we do? Everything looks good, the babies are doing well so we’ll totally support you if you want an unmedicated birth.”

“No,” YN shakes her head. She is beyond exhausted. “Just give me the drugs.”

“Okay,” Harry and the entire medical team in the room laugh. “But we need to check you ag- oh! They’re probably coming sooner than we thought. I can feel the head of baby A already. I’m sorry, love, but it might be too late for an epidural now.”

“What?!”

The next half an hour is a blur for YN. The midwife was right and not long after she examined her, the pushing urge becomes greater and there are more health professionals in the room. They cancelled the anesthesiologist and called two paediatricians instead because things are progressing so fast.

“Oh! The head is just there,” says the midwife. “We’ll need you to start pushing soon, okay?”

“Y’alright?” Harry turns to her, holding her hand and kissing her knuckles. “You’re doing so good, m’love,”

“Ready?” The OB asks her. YN has an obstetrician and two midwives assisting her in the room, definitely more people than when she gave birth to Finn and Pippa. “Take a deep breath and push push push!”

YN begins to push as they count one to ten, but then sighing in defeat afterwards. “H, I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Harry nods at her, squeezing her hand gently and leaning down to press a kiss on her forehead. “You’ve got this. You’re doing so good.”

“You’re so close, darling!” One of the midwives encourages her. “Give us another push, yeah? You can do this!”

“You’ve got this, my love,” Harry affirms her, wiping YN’s tears with his thumb and his eyes aren’t exactly dry either. “We’ll meet our babies soon.”

“One, two, three- push push push!” The OB counts again and YN begins to push again, squeezing Harry’s hand as she does.

“Dad!” The OB says excitedly while YN is still pushing. “Would you like to catch baby A?”

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise and he nods frantically, leaning down to press another kiss on YN’s forehead before rushing down to catch his baby. A few more pushes and the first baby is out on Harry’s hand.

“OH!” Harry exclaims as he holds his son and the whole room is clapping in excitement. “It’s a boy!”

They take a moment to wipe the baby on Harry’s arms before bringing him to YN so she can kiss her baby’s head before she has to start pushing again for baby B. “He’s beautiful,” YN mumbles.

“We need you to push again, darling,” says the midwife. YN nods weakly and begins pushing.

“Dad!” The OB calls Harry again. “Baby B is waiting for you! And, oh, this one has lots of hair!”

Harry rushes to catch his baby again. “YN!” He exclaims when the baby comes out into his hand. “We have a girl!”

***

Harry takes the kids to the hospital straight away to meet their new baby siblings after he picks them up from school, and the kids are beyond excited. Before they come up to YN’s room, Harry helps them to make a little card for their mummy and new baby sister and brother and they get two balloons to take upstairs with them.

“Mummy!” All three of the big kids cheer excitedly as they walk into the room, running to their mummy to give her a quick hug before going to the bassinets next to YN’s bed to see the babies. Harry and YN laugh at how excited they are to see their baby siblings.

“Hi babies!” Anya says, waving her little hand at them. “We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Papa, what’s the babies’ name?” Finn asks Harry.

“This is baby Mila,” Harry says, smiling down at the sleeping baby girl in her bassinet.

“We haven’t named baby boy yet,” YN adds. “Do you guys have any name that you like?”

“Flynn!” Both girls say excitedly at the same time.

“What?” YN chuckles, surprised. “Where did you get the idea?”

“Nana let us watch Tangled this morning before school,” says Finn.

“I quite like Flynn,” Harry turns to YN, smiling. “S’really cute.”

“S’cute but don’t you think it’s too close to Finn?”

Harry shrugs, smiling. “Well, they’re brothers.”

“Alright then,” YN says at last. “Who wants to hold baby Mila and baby Flynn?”

***

A week after they brought the babies home, Harry and YN have never felt more exhausted yet happier in their lives. Having twins is insane. They’re constantly feeding, changing, burping, soothing, passing babies back and forth in rotation, round the clock.

“Harry,” YN says weakly. “Could you please change the TV channel? My hands are full of baby and I’ve watched thirteen straight hours of Jeremy Kyle.”

Harry chuckles lightly, yawning as he reaches out for the remote. “What do you wanna watch?”

“Anything other than Jeremy Kyle,” YN answers. “Harry, let’s not have any more after this, okay?”

Harry lets out another chuckle as he begins flicking through the channels.

“Did you get that? Are you listening, H?” YN turns to him. “No. More. Babies. Ever!”

The spin-off

1K notes · View notes