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storiesbymads · 4 years

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SHE’S A WORKING GIRL NOW ¹ ( the internship . )

Y/N just got an internship at her childhood best friend’s brother’s company. The same brother who has no idea they’ve even met before.

general warnings: smut, age gap (about 8 years), angst

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You had known JJ Maybank since the first day of first grade. Funny how a teacher’s random seating chart had affected pretty much your whole life. If it hadn't been for said seating chart, you were absolutely, 100% sure that your life would’ve been on a completely different course than the one it was on now.

JJ had been your absolute best friend for as long as you could remember. Hell, for most of your life the two of you had shared everything--including a birthday party since your birthdays were three days apart. He had been there for every scraped knee, every failed test, every breakup. The two of you graduated high school attached at the hip and started college the same way that fall.

By the time junior year rolled around, you had both moved into a small apartment on the far side of town which, thankfully, meant no more student housing for either of you. Dorm life had been hell for you. Your roommate never seemed to fail at bringing someone new home every Friday night and would often kick you out leaving you to fend for yourself in the hallway. In all actuality, you stomped over to JJ’s dorm downstairs with your duvet wrapped around your shoulders and a scowl on your face when 2am rolled around and she still wasn’t done.

“Good morning to you to sunshine,” he would say after you vigorously knocked on the tacky, brick colored door. You would simply push past him into the room and throw yourself onto his twin bed while his own roommate remained fast asleep. Aaron--you ended up learning his name about six months after you started regularly crashing in their dorm-- was one of the loudest snorers you think you’d ever met but at least you had a bed.

“We’re so moving into our own place next year,” you would say as he shuffled into the bed, his feet situated where your head was and vice versa. Of course, it took you both another whole year to actually accomplish this dream but, somehow, you managed it.

Now, it was the summer before what was supposed to be your senior year--JJ was sure he wasn’t going to be graduating this year due to the fact that he’d failed more than a couple classes and you already knew you were going stay here as long as he was--and you were days away from starting an internship at Maybank Industries.

When you had originally applied for the internship, you had no idea it was JJ’s older brother who ran the company. You both thought it was just some funny coincidence. The fact that it was called Maybank Industries was what made JJ so adamant on you applying in the first place. Now, less than a week before your first day, you were forced to come to terms with the fact that you’d be working under the same Jesse Maybank you’d known since grade school.

Jesse had been in high school by the time you and JJ had really gotten close. He’d already seemingly maxed out his height at 6’4 and his blond hair was shaggy and often stuck to his forehead when he got home lacrosse practice. He was the first boy you’d ever had a crush on. The 8 year age gap didn’t really phase second grade you.

“I’m going to shoot myself on Monday. My sleep schedule is so fucked,” you groaned as you shuffled out of your bedroom to see JJ sprawled out on the love seat in your living room with a half eaten bowl of Frosted Flakes on the coffee table in front of him. You squinted as you read the digital clock on the microwave. 1:17 blinked back at you in bright red numerals.

“Morning, sunshine,” JJ said. You didn’t know how or when it had happened but he had managed to develop healthier sleeping habits than you. Waking up before noon sounded like hell to you and he’d done it three times this week.

“Fuck off,” you said, moving his feet so that you could sit down before setting them back on your lap. He grabbed the bowl of soggy cereal and took a bite. A shudder ran through your body as you faked a gag.

“Oh don’t be like that. It’s not my fault I don’t shovel my Frosted Flakes down my throat at hyper speed,” he said before setting it back down. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this argument and you were sure it wasn’t going to be the last.

“It’s how they’re supposed to be consumed. It should be considered a war crime to let them get all…” another fake gag. “Soggy.”

“Whatever. You’re just jealous because I’m able to retain the quality crunch the entire time,” you said. You focused your gaze on the small flat screen mounted to the wall to see that JJ had put on some crime drama. Probably Law & Order.

“So, who’s the killer?” you asked after a few moments of silence passed. The rest of the day passed like this; you and JJ managed to get through 6 episodes of SVU before you decided it was probably time to get up and do something productive. And by something productive you meant get dressed enough and go out to grab take out.

By the time your Monday morning alarm rolled around, you realized you should have attempted to regulate your sleep schedule a hell of a lot sooner than two nights before you were forced to get up at 5am. You flicked on your overhead light with a groan before starting your morning routine--well, some semblance of a morning routine since you really hadn’t done one since school ended.

The drive to Downtown Chapel Hill wasn’t long. Well, it shouldn’t have been long but for some reason it felt like everyone and their mother was out on the interstate this morning. You were just desperately hoping you weren’t late on your first day as you tried to push your car past 25 mph.

You couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to Jesse as you found yourself in a standstill on the roadway once again. You knew he wasn’t going to look like the boy you remembered but deep down you wish he was. Nothing could ever replace the 19 year old boy in your mind with his crystalline blue eyes and a smile that could make any girl weak in the knees.

A horn sounded behind you, pulling you from your day dream, “Fuck, sorry!”

At least you were going the posted speed limit now.

By the time you saw the Maybank Industries building coming into view, you were ten minutes away from being on time, eleven from being late. You could feel your anxiety rising in the back of your throat as you glanced back and forth from the road to the digital clock in your car.

“Mr. Maybank?” you asked tentatively through the frosted glass of his office door fifteen minutes later. You couldn’t help but picture that 19 year old opening the door and pulling you into a hug. That was if he even remembered you enough to pull you into a hug. And if he wasn’t pissed about his new intern being late.

“Come in,” he said. Wow, his voice was a lot deeper than you remember it being. And raspier.

You took in his whole office as you pushed open the door. The first thing you noticed was the gold plated nameplate with ‘Jesse Maybank’ engraved in bold letters with ‘CEO Maybank Industries’ in a finer print beneath it. Next you took in the view of downtown Chapel Hill out of the floor to ceiling windows behind his desk.

“Good Morning,” you said in a shaky voice. Sure, he’d been good looking when he left for college all those years ago but nothing could compare to how he looked right now. His shoulders had broadened significantly since he was nineteen and he filled out the white dress shirt he had rolled up to his elbows nicely. You were sure that if you hadn’t been leaning up against the door frame your knees would’ve caved in by now.

He hummed as he looked up from his laptop, finally making eye contact with you, “You must be my new intern.”

“Yes,” you nodded as you shifted your weight onto your other foot. He raised his eyebrows slightly, standing up to walk around the wooden desk and lean against the front of it. You couldn’t help but watch the sleeves of his shirt bulge slightly as he crossed his arms. “Oh, right. I’m Y/N.”

“You seem nervous, Y/N…” he trailed off, obviously expecting a continuation of your name. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten about you completely. You knew you looked different than when you were eleven but the name alone should’ve sparked something.

“Y/L,” you said. At least now you could tell JJ you hadn’t been accepted in his brother’s internship program just because you were his best friend.

“Well, Miss Y/L/C,” he said. “There’s a stack of files on my desk that need to be sorted by lunch today.”

“O-Okay,” you stuttered, slowly pulling yourself off the door frame to pick up the files. You mentally cursed yourself for choosing to wear the tallest heels in your closet this morning. At least they made your legs look good.

“I expect them on my desk before you leave,” he said. You were praising God and anyone else that was up there that you made it back to the door without tripping.

“Yes sir,” you said as you struggled to close the door with the stack of files in your arms. You watched his frame through the frosted glass shuffle around his desk to sit down again. How the fuck were you going to make it through the summer if your heart almost fell out of your ass after one conversation?

The rest of the day passed by interminably slowly. The rest of the interns who had seemingly been at the company for a few years at this point--you didn’t understand why they chose to intern at the same company every summer if they never seemed to get a job out of it--and you felt incredibly out of the loop already. One of the interns, though, was kind enough to bring you a cup of coffee an hour or so after you had gotten there. Scout--you were sure you would forget her name in twenty minutes but she’d been nice enough to introduce herself--had apparently been with the company for the past three years with hope to become a paid intern come next month.

“Thank you. I really needed this,” you had said with a smile. She waved it off with a smile of her own before getting situated at her desk across the small room.

Other than that, though, the day had been boring to say the least. You didn’t know what you were expecting with this internship but sitting at a desk in an office with three other interns doing seemingly nothing for most of the day was not it. After you finished everything you’d needed to do with the files--with a lot a bit of help from the boy sitting next to you--you were forced to just sit at your desk and look like you were doing something productive.

You only had about an hour left in the work day but the coffee Scout had brought you that morning had worn off way past the point of you just being a little sleepy. Another small cup wouldn’t hurt anything. Especially since you’d caught yourself nodding off at your desk three times already. You pushed yourself up from the semi-comfortable desk chair to go look for the break room.

Thankfully, it was only a few doors down from the office you’d been working in all day and the door had been propped open with a door jamb. It only took you a second to realize Jesse was also in the small room. He was leaned up against one of the counter tops, stirring what you guessed was coffee in a stark white mug.

“Looks like you had the same idea as me,” you said softly, picking up a matching mug off the tray as well as one of the many Keurig pods next to it.

“Great minds think alike.” He lifted his mug in greeting before dropping the spoon into the sink. The low ceiling of the kitchen made him look even taller than usual.

It was silent for a few moments while your cup brewed in the machine. You fiddled with your thumbs to pass the time. It didn’t help that you could feel Jesse’s eyes on you the whole time. You didn’t know why he was still in the room, to be honest.

“You know,” he cleared his throat. “I can see your… uh…”

“My what?” you asked, dropping your hands and looking down your body. You were sure you’d worn the right bra this morning. You’d even gotten JJ to check before you walked out the door.

“Your garter belt,” he said. Sure enough, you glanced down at your pencil skirt which was hiked up to your mid thigh, a good two inches of the garter belt on your right leg on display. A rush of embarrassment flooded over you as you turned around, tugging the skirt down your legs.

“I’m so sorry, sir. Won’t happen again,” you sputtered out as you attempted to busy yourself with the tray of mugs. It would only be a few more seconds before your coffee finished and you’d be able to run back to your office.

“It’s fine,” he chuckled. You felt your chest tighten at the sound. He exhaled slightly before you heard the rustling of him moving around behind you. You suddenly became hyper aware of just how narrow the kitchen was. His hand was pressed against your waist as he shuffled past you. The size of his hand made sense, he was an incredibly large man, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that the width of his hand spanning half of your torso sent shivers down your spine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, sir?” you asked once he was fully out the door. He made a half-turn in the door frame, giving you a two finger salute in response.

“See you in the morning, Miss Y/L/N,” he said. You muttered something incoherent as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shaking your head, you grabbed the coffee that had been finished brewing for a solid minute before making your way back to your office.

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#the internship #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks series #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #best friend! jj maybank #jesse maybank #jj maybank series #series

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namjoonchronicles · 5 years

Text

rkive | nj

↳ namjoon, you

↳ 5k words

↳ 1/3 ‘take your wife to work’ fic

↳ husband!namjoon, domestic au, fluff

A soft caress on the side of his face as he lay asleep in the middle of your bed, invading the side that you assigned to yourself. You glide your hand down the length of his shoulder down his forearms before leaning down for a trail of kisses all over his cheeks.

“Wakey, wakey, baby…” you brushed your lips and spoke in gentle hushes, “you told me to wake you up at 8.30am, it’s now 8:35.”

He moans sleepily in return, eyes shut while his hand wildly search for the ends of the duvet, attempting to pull them up to cover his shoulders again. Of course. You passed the opposing wall a blank stare, the I-knew-this-was-gonna-happen face. You climbed on the bed, over his sleeping body, and to the curtains before yanking it open. Namjoon did nothing more but whine, rocking his body side to side--just like a child throwing morning tantrum. “Come on,” you knelt next to his lanky legs, his toes peeping out the ends of the duvets that didn’t manage to cover his whole being. He sat up after a while and leaned his forehead on your back. “I’m so sleepy…” he murmured.

“I can see that, so I brought coffee…” you reached the back of his head with your right hand, fluffing his bed hair. You feel him smiling against your back and how his lips moved to the back of your neck. “This is honestly why I married you…” he added a low deep chuckle that wasn’t intentionally sexual.

“Glad to be your honorary coffee maker…” you retorted and switched to face him, sitting on the bed still, to cup his face, “I am extremely underpaid.”

He began thumbing your side with a drowsy smile, almost drunken, chuckling. “With added benefits, I believe…” he pursed his lips, with his heavy-lidded eyes, fishing for a kiss. You clicked your tongue after a quick peck and pushed his face away before he could deepen them, giving him a lopsided smile, “In this economy? Sounds too good to be true if you ask me…”

“Am I asking, though?”

You took in a steady inhale, and your eyes turned into thin slits, peering at your husband and his snarky reply so early in the day.

“You will treat me with respect. You will treat me as a wife,” you prodded his chest with your index finger, “Or you will no longer have one.” You cocked an eyebrow and moved away from the bed despite him holding on loosely, “Hurry the fuck up, the pancake is getting cold…” you disappeared outside. Namjoon pushed both the heel of his palm on the mattress with a smile playing on his lips. His wife is feisty and he loves it. He won that conversation and he knows it. As soon as he stepped outside with the mug you coaxed him awake with, your phone camera was on him. He is being followed very closely.

“May I know what these footages are for?” He said, looking down the water washing down his mug. You zoomed into his fluffy arms. He wore tanks to sleep and his BCG Vaccine scar showing up pretty nicely from the distance you were filming him at.

“For days that I terribly miss you,” you passed, “Because even though you’re always on your phone, you never have time to send me a cute self-portrait, so I’m making a video for myself…”

He fills his mug with plain water now, leaning against the counter, his black tank showing his ribs from this angle, he took a mouthful sip before talking through the mug, “For days you missed me? Am I hearing this correctly?”

You nodded from behind the camera, and Namjoon lifts his face and placed his mug aside, “Come here,” he ordered.

“Why.” “Just get here.” “No.” “If we’re saving that for our times away, shouldn’t there be a memorable scene.”

Intriguing, you thought.

“What do you have in mind--” “--you know what I have in mind.”

You had to stop recording because he was getting rather bold with his words and facial expressions. Sitting on one chair, you sat on his lap while sharing a plate of pancake, drenched with honey. You grimaced at the first bite he fed you. “How are you eating this much sweetness…” you commented.

“To chase away the bitterness of the coffee…” he shoved another bite-sized into his own mouth. You set your phone to lean against the vase, to shoot horizontally. “We’re back filming?” he asked, his palm gliding up and down your lower back, glancing once in a while at the camera.

“Is this camera going to follow me when we arrive at the studio building later?” he asked, looking at the food and then at you for confirmation. “Yes… you have a problem with that? You want to sue me for it?” you challenged him a smile, biting your lips and he broke eye contact immediately, scoffing. “Can you afford the legal fees going against me?” Namjoon licks the residue honey on the corner of his lips. “Now you’re just showing off your big dick energy, big boy…” you circled your arm around his neck and retorted, “Isn’t that what got you interested in the first place?” “Wow, almost six years of marriage and you still don’t know that I’m only after your money,” you nuzzled the tip of your nose on his.

Namjoon closes in, whispering hotly against your mouth, “I don’t care if you’re only using me for my money, I only want to earn for you...honey.” He embraces your lips with his own, kneading the flesh together in a rhythmic motion, with literal honey still lingering on his tongue, fully aware that your phone is filming his every move. He made sure that his tongue made a glimpse as it enters yours, him passing a glance at the lens from the corner of his eyes as if to remind himself that he was being recorded.

“I want a copy of this footage later,” he spoke in hushes, against your ear as you give the camera your clothed back. His dark brown eyes darting at the camera as he sinks his teeth onto your shoulder, playing the staring game with it.

“Who cares about what you want,” you darkly chuckled.

Brushing your teeth next to each other become a routine, now that he’s home more than he leaves the country. He pokes your side and pinched your cheek at any chance he gets, so that’s something. Something about being home with him felt natural but extraordinary because he rarely gets to do so in the early years of your marriage. “You know, when you rap, there’s this vein on the right side of your neck protruding out, and I think it’s so sexy…” you traced the length of the vein with your index finger, tiptoeing next to him, by memory.

“You think everything I do is sexy,” he shot back, and spit out foams into the sink before rinsing off with little thought. “But am I wrong though,” you pushed his entire body as he bends over with little strength, and he stumbles to the side a bit.

He leaves the bathroom with a playful kiss on your clothed butt cheek, hollering, “Of course you’re right. You’re always right…” on his way out. “You’re choosing my outfit today!” You reminded him.

“Got it!” He yelled from the walk-in wardrobe.

“I’m thinking of something sophisticated yet modest...something shapey but not too tight, maybe a little loose,” his index finger on his chin as he trudges forward then back repeatedly, “I’m thinking Versace?” He took out a printed silk blouse with blue pants.

You walked out with a black purse, commenting, “I look like a rich man’s mistress on a Mallorca getaway, spending his hard-earned money while he fucks another 19-year-old blonde, and I get to purchase a very handsome male companion with an Italian name like, Emanuele, whom I bore a child with; so I can get a run for the rich dude’s money when I file for divorce.”

Namjoon let out a delicious moan, “Very scandalous. I like it too.” He lifts his butt from the couch and followed you out the door.

“But if you were my mistress, I wouldn’t be fucking anyone else and Emanuele shall never exist. It’s just you, me and Mallorca,” he shut the door behind him and it automatically clicked locked.

He fastens his seatbelt while you fixed the rearview mirror because it’s been tilted in a weird angle after a sudden roll in the car the other day. You just can’t stop touching each other whenever you guys were left unsupervised. This is why you both have no friends apart from his members. “If you liked the veins in my neck, then I love the sexy mole on the apex of your left thigh…” the belt clicks while the car engine hurls on.

“How on earth did you remember I have a mole there? What’s with the sudden compliment about my body?” you eyed him with suspicions read all over your face. “It’s super sexy. When I think of it, I get super horny? Also, you have like three very prominent moles, from my memory… the thigh, the pinky toe and one behind your right ear,” he clicked his tongue while the car moves out the parking lot.

“The details of that description is honestly disturbing,” you shot, steering the wheel with both your hands, “We’re not going to be long in the studio building right? I don’t trust you being there with me without getting handsy, knowing your touchy ass.” You eyed him up and down, giving him a side glance with a slight warning. “Whenever I see you, I don’t want to behave…” Namjoon leans over to your side, grinning.

“See, this is what I’m talking about…” you darted emotionlessly.

You have never been inside of Namjoon’s office. Not since they moved. Namjoon said he renovated his studio again, changing the soundproof walls--or as you call it, sponge walls that offers a great cushion for any rough acts. Both of you are terribly explicit and have too many inside jokes for anyone to keep up with. Most of your friends can’t tell if you both were fighting or basically roasting each other to no end. The sarcasm gets too raw and merciless at times, coming from two very sensitive people the world had ever seen. Namjoon and you are like lovers who secretly hate each other when you’re around people and strangers, but can be very lovey-dovey when it’s least expected. That’s why when you took yourself inside the building after waiting for about twenty minutes in the car, you declared an insult to Namjoon who was on the phone at the time.

You immediately retracted silently and blinked repeatedly. Even as he extended his arm at you, you were cautious at the receptionist who was there waiting on her work station, standing up at Namjoon’s wave--that indicates he needed a paper and pen. You stood next to him as he listens attentively to the caller. When he hangs up, he scribbled a few more words that made no sense to you. “Babe, I think our trip is going to drag a bit longer since someone will be expecting to meet me in an hour,” he underlines a name twice and the receptionist bowed to you while Namjoon used his keycard to gain access inside the staff-only area. You saw that the place had large lounges.

“Can I expect an exclusive building tour with my husband?” you gave a pair of hopeful eyes and he was honestly so whipped for you, that it took very little for him to abide by your request. He had always wanted to offer you a tour of his new studio. Since he had been actively requesting several rooms and units in this new building to be made under his orders.

Staff lounges. Game room. Pantry. Everything is sleekly designed, with modern vibes. High ceiling and good lighting.

“This is where Taehyung sometimes lives, the game room,” Namjoon used his keycard to gain access to the exclusive room. “Where the recording studios at?” you wondered and Namjoon’s face switches into a goofy smile. He pointed his thumb to the hallway behind him, “This way, ma’am…” he walked sideways in order to continue looking at you.

The studio was everything you imagined and more. The intricated equipment on display, the recording booth. Your lips parted slightly in a wide smile, at awe of the place your husband spent most of his time in. This is where Namjoon regularly works in. He’d be sitting in one of these chairs, monitoring the recording session with high fidelity headphones around his head. You imagine him being all serious with his music and your heart flutter like a schoolgirl having a crush on a bad boy down the alley she wasn’t supposed to fall in love with. Namjoon pulls a chair out and sat at the same time you did. You couldn’t stop scanning the whole room with sparkling eyes. You never thought you would see it in real life. You’ve heard many songs recorded in this very room and you couldn’t help being absolutely awestruck.

“Where do you sit?” you asked him. “Right in that seat, you’re sitting in, recording engineer. BangPD sits here and Pdogg hyung, on that chair, usually,” he pointed to the long couch in the room.

You rested your elbow on the armrest, your chin on the heel of your palm, spinning softly in the chair that belonged to him. “Look how far you’ve come… this is. This is amazing, you’re amazing, you know that baby?” you gave him a glance, pursing your lips and returned your attention to the setting of the studio. Namjoon appeared bashful and you didn’t have to look at him to know that he’s turning red. “I’ve always wondered about your early days...how you began. How you bravely chose a path none of the people in your shoes would. You go against the wishes of your folks, and take the storm head first,” you paused, speaking with a little shake of your head, and, “Why are you so goddamn brave? What triggered you? Who was Namjoon before he is Namjoon? Do you know how much hazards there is for boys your age to embark on a hiphop journey? Drugs? Prostitution?... missing classes? The horror your parents must have faced, you naughty boy.”

Namjoon covered the upper part of his face, hiding his laugh right after, giggling. “I wasn’t a naughty boy…” he said.

“Sure you are.” “Am not, I promise…” he rested both of his elbows on his knees, thigh widespread as he sat facing you. The view of the studio as the background from your side, “I just remember wanting something so much that my inside feels like it’s ripping if I ever abandon it. I knew, I just knew that I want to be a musician, no matter how difficult it was going to be, or whom I may lost on the way...even if it means, myself. It’s not just hiphop to me, I found family, a brotherhood, a pact, a passion I couldn’t find anywhere else…”

You mirrored his actions, and touched the tips of his fingers with yours, lacing and unlacing them, “You’re capable of everything. That’s what your teacher told you.”

“Yes, I was capable of a lot of things… but none of it appealed to me. I could bow under the demands of conventional educational system, do what I do without an ounce of soul in my power--forever wondering if this was the life I truly wanted, knowing that I’m good at something else…it was very difficult to tell my father, especially,” Namjoon reminisce, his eyes dropped to the floor as the pain clearly never left his mind.

“You were starved for days, and stood at a corner within a circle as a punishment,” you spoke in place of him. He drops his head and then nodding. His pocket money was taken away. He had curfew. His family did everything they can to prevent Namjoon from seeing his brothers from the hiphop scene. He skipped classes while simultaneously doing well in his studies despite pouring his entire passion into music instead of his school books. The boy who sleeps in the back of the class from attending rap battle almost never failed any of his quizzes and exams. His treaty with his parents was as follow: if I manage to maintain a good score in classes, you’ll let me do music.

You cupped his chin in response to his silence, and made him stare into your eyes, “I, am proud of what you were, what you are and what you’ll become… and my love may not be enough to fill the holes you have in you, all the flaws you thought you have, and shortcomings that you’re afraid of showing… but I will always have your back, through thick and thin,” you granted him a chaste kiss on his lips, making a squeaking sound, “Even if we ever end up divorcing.” You smiled against his ear lobe. “If I ever made you think about divorcing me, you can rightfully pull me by the dick and I’ll make you want me again,” he commented.

“Can I go in there?” you pointed to the booth. “Absolutely,” Namjoon shot.

He watched you skipped towards the entrance of the recording booth with a fond smile. The speaker buzzed on, and the green light above turns on while the white tile outside the studio indicating, “In Session” lights up, simultaneously.

He lowers his mouth to the microphone, and pressed the intercom button before he speaks. “There’s a headphone on the neck of the tall stool if you put it on you’ll hear my voice better… without the echo,” he watched you put on the very headphone and you gave him a gleeful thumbs up like a kid putting on a fire suit at the fire station tour. Such an excited little baby, Namjoon thought.

He increases the receiving volume and told you that the microphone in the recording booth is up and ready to receive any sound and that you could say anything you want.

“Nice tits,” you bit your smile and pointed to him while drawing a heart shape with your index fingers. Namjoon gave you a fool in love grin, with a dumbfounded chuckle. Of all the things you could have said, you settled on that. This is what he loved about you. The fact that you could be tastefully affectionate, riddled with deep conversations he truly enjoys--at one point, and be an idiot, the next. It’s true what they say, that the union ripens with time like a fine wine. The longer you were together, the more you’re helplessly in love with one another. The secrets to the everlasting marriage? Consistently hitting on each other to no end.

Namjoon had to leave for the meeting. He is monitoring a recording session in the studio next door and at first, you were there to watch him work. But after a while, you felt like you haven’t finished exploring the entire building. As he stood by the chair of the sound engineer-in-charge, you tugged on his sleeve to have him leaning down so you could whisper in his ear. He nodded in return, crossing his arm, putting on his work mode as he straightens up. You grabbed your purse from the black long couch to leave the studio in a hurry and grinning excitedly all the while. Before you leave, Namjoon reminded you to, “Be careful. Keep your phone on at all times…”

Not long after you stepped out the studio, Namjoon tutted his tongue, shoving his hand to the back pocket of his jeans for his keycard, before rushing out the same door. His keycard at the end of the lanyard dangling meters away from the floor. You spun around at the call of your pet name and sped back to him. He had his lower half of the body inside the studio still, wanting to make sure you get access to all the rooms in this buildings. You kissed his chin and put the lanyard around your neck, turning away. Namjoon watched you enter the lift and you waved back at him enthusiastically. He is very much enamored by his wife.

You’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be in their wardrobe area. Most of the attires are owned by the company, and the stylist sometimes designs clothes that would suit them.

“No, I want my Gucci’s here today!” You heard a fairly familiar voice, coming from the hidden halls of the large space intended for clothes’ only. “Taehyung?” you guessed. The pretty boy came out from the dividers as if he walked out of a magazine shoot. Pink tinted glasses, flowery printed dress shirt with striking yellow trousers. Wrist decorated with multiple bangles and rings on fingers. Once he locked his eyes with you, he puts away his phone immediately. The person on them was still talking. He taps the ‘end call’ button and you blinked at him.

“Mrs. Kim Namjoon…” he recalled, letting on some sleazy drawl at the end of it. His expression was nothing at all polite. “Who’s day did you ruin with that abrupt end call, Taehyung…” it wasn’t a question, just a mild reality-check for the fantasy-stricken boy who sometimes needs to be called out.

Taehyung visibly shrinks twice in size as he plopped on the couch next to you. “...what’s bothering you sweetie?” you rubbed his back, joining him.

Taehyung took some time to reveal what’s on the inside, but that’s just typical Taehyung. He’s a little-guarded soul with glittering fences. Let’s so few in, but entranced all others. How could he not, with his handsome good looks and honey-dripped voice. He wanted to become a good lyricist, just like Namjoon is. You could tell their work apart because even though Namjoon’s work is poetic, Taehyung prefers to fall into the beauty of imagery as well as metaphors. Taehyung has a vivid imaginations a fellow artist and writers share, but he describes it differently.

“Retail therapy isn’t a thing, is it, noona?” he added an awkward chuckle at the end of it, laced with the bitterness of a lonely soul. “It is only a thing when you do have money,” you replied honestly, and from the sparkles, in his eyes, as he beamed at you, you knew he appreciated the sincerity.

“I’m trying to write a love song, but it had been sitting on my desk for about a week now… I kept trying to imagine a situation of being in love, but I’ve never been in it, so how will I write something I know nothing about…” his shoulders dropped as he sighed out the words, “I kept getting dissatisfied with the imagery I come up with, feeling that it’s not enough or too much… Namjoon hyung won’t have these problems, would he?”

You propped your elbow to rest on your knee, chin on the heel of your palm. Your wedding ring sparkling under the light of the hall. Nose scrunch as you showed disagreement on Taehyung’s accusations. Your eyes shot to the corner of the room along with a click of the tongue.

“Namjoon has a different approach on solving writer’s block. Yours happen to be retail therapy, and Namjoon, well Namjoon, sometimes he reads a comic book.” “Namjoon hyung has you. I have no one…” “That’s not true! Sometimes when we both deal with something difficult, we don’t talk about it to each other from the get-go, and that’s one of the flaws in our marriage that we’re still working on,” you paused and inhaled, “Being in love and staying in love are two different things… love is flawed. It’s nothing perfect. Listen, about your songwriting… Have you consulted anyone about it?”

“I’m consulting you…” Taehyung goofs, “But literally I’ve spoken to everyone including Yoongi hyung about it, but nothing helps.” “Your efforts will pay off, buddy,” you patted his forearms twice, “...maybe you’re too focused on it and it has stopped you from viewing in another perspective.”

“You guys talk back each other a lot, even in front of us, is it really like that back at home when no one sees?” Taehyung asked, and you could see from his face that he was a little amused. “Sometimes, I mean… Namjoon and I, we don’t hide anything from anyone. What you see is what you get. If I don’t like something he’s doing, I’ll call him out on it. Vice versa. We tease each other to no end, if that’s what you’re asking…” you shrugged. “Do you guys ever fight, like really fight…” he mirrored your movements, clawing his chin, as he scratches the stubbles under his jaw. “Definitely...Definitely,” you stressed on the second time you said it.

He’s stubborn, you’re stubborn. You want things to go your way, he wants things to go his. You’re all about managing finance, and he’s all about spending it. He wants a house outside the country and you want one close to home. You talk about priorities and often questions his. Emotional, spiritually, physically.

“Things will change when we have children, I promise you,” Namjoon once said. The way he laid it out so frankly, didn’t convince you one bit. This conversation has occurred once too many time and you’re starting to feel that the marriage you built on this foundation is beginning to brittle underneath the weight of his fame and responsibility. “I hope so…” you said in a whisper, barely believing what you said.

“I guess in marriage there is a lot of tolerance and understanding? Because when we think about the things that we did in order to build this relationship as strong as it is, makes you want to keep it that way, even through the occasional ‘earthquake’ and ‘mudslides’... He got options, I got options, but we’re here now, and that’s all that matter isn’t it?”

His lower lip protruded out, as he was thrown deep in thoughts. The common understanding is that love and marriage co-exists, but the longer a couple stays together, the more their friendship is put to the test. That’s why it’s important to befriend your partner before falling in love with them. At least, when the love ends, the friendship remains.

You excused yourself for wanting to see the rest of the building before Namjoon comes back and wanted to go home. It’s not every day you could roam around the most famous building in the country, home to many famous producers and their studios. This is basically your version of Disney World. This is where the magic happens. Seokjin once took a picture of the building rooftop garden and ever since you saw it, you’ve always wanted to take a look at the views from up there. It was as breathtaking as you expected.

The blue cloudless sky is turning to orange zest, floating in the air as the sun descends to indicate the day is almost ending. You’ve been here all day.

“It will take two minutes, he says,” you spoke to yourself, “It won’t be long, he says.” You carefully leaned your elbows on the wooden rails to watch the busy streets downstairs. All the red light and the white light decorating the traffic underneath you. Busy people everywhere. All rushing to go home to their loved ones, finding food and winding down after a hectic day. Namjoon never gets to spend that. He never was the one for a 9 to 5 job, because to him, inspiration can strike him anytime. There was this one that he stopped in the middle of eating because he had an idea on how to change the beat after the chorus belonging to a track. Or this one time he sat in bed, stripped down after a steamy lovemaking session because he knows what verse to write. You’re still salty about that.

Not because he started working right away. But because he doesn’t give himself a time to be just Kim Namjoon, the Kim Namjoon that has a wife and a normal life. Is this what he’s going to be when he has a kid, later?

We’ve spoken about kids before. We spoke about that a lot.

“I guess in marriage there’s a lot of tolerance and understanding…” your own voice piqued your thoughts as you rode the waves of reminiscing.

From Namjoon’s point of view, he understood that you too had given up so much for his work. You were patiently waiting at home, dutifully understood your responsibility as a wife, the homemaker, and he knows what troubling thoughts you might had had whenever he’s away. Just the same as he is.

As he works, as he tries to tirelessly be present in this studio where he stands, you are always in the back of his mind. And things don’t change even if he’s out of the country, performing, lecturing, educating, analyzing, designing. He ensured that you get calls from him, texts from him, pictures of what he’s doing and where he was. Always making sure you feel safe despite the distance. Because he saw how little you thought of yourself because he saw how your smile faltered when he spoke to his stylist, because he caught the hesitance in your voice when you feel slightly inferiored. He understood all the thing you didn’t have to say out loud. Because it’s hard to be in love when you’re two continents away.

“Because hey, you’re the famous one between us two,” Yeonjun spoke through the microphone. He got the pronunciations clear and in pitch. Namjoon slammed the stop button and tapped the pad of his index finger on his chin. “Alright, go home. We got it,” Donghyuk--also known as Supreme Boi; managed the recording with little hiccups. Yeonjun skips outside, beaming because it had been a long day for him as well. Namjoon gave him a shoulder squeeze and acknowledged his skills. Donghyuk carefully wraps up while noticing that Namjoon had plunged into exhaustion onto the black couch. “You gotta go thank your wife for that line, bro,” he gushed. Namjoon shuts his eyes and laid the back of his head on his wrist. “I’ll tell her that…” he drifts. Donghyuk spins his chair to face Namjoon, and tilted his head to one side, “I thought you said you came here with your wife?”

Namjoon rolls off the couch and dashed out the door at once. He tried to call her but she was on the phone with someone else. He walked past the pantry, past the lounge, past the wardrobe hall--but she was nowhere to be found. She’s not in the cafeteria too.

Namjoon headed back to his studio and there you were.

Sleeping on your side, on his black couch, curled in a ball. Koya the koala plushie in your arms, you don’t even use the armrest as your pillow. Namjoon slowly shut the door, making as little sound as possible, and knelt next to you. Wonders in his eyes, his dimples shallow and his lips curved into a small gentle smile. Softly, he tucked your baby hair behind your ear and thumbed your cheek. He ghosted his lips over the skin just above your eyebrow and shut his eyes as he stamped a kiss on them. You didn’t even stir, you must be really tired. He hooks his finger on a drawer underneath his work desk and took out the blanket you knitted for him to use on his nights away from home and spread them on you so you could stay warm.

With the lights dimmed to perfection, Namjoon manages to move you on top of him. “We have to head home…” he whispered. And it your dazed state, you said, “I am home.” Your nails scratching the thin fabric of his shirt, as you nuzzled your face into his chest where your ears are pressed against the soft thuds of his heartbeat.

“Home is wherever Namjoon is.”

And whenever he isn’t around, you’re homesick. He placed his palm over the back of your head, and slide it down your spine and then up again. With a soft exhale, he shuts his eyes and held you tighter--in the comfort of his studio, Rkive.

“So…” he begins, flickering eyes towards the on-going streets and then to you, who was driving beside him, “There’s no chance I’m going to get the footage you had been earnestly recording, right?”

“Correct,” you shot. The car radio plays rather dimly, in the background, just as preferred. You had a feeling that Namjoon will exercise his rights as a husband or as he’d like to call it, your non-negotiable life partner to gain his portions of the videos you made for his own selfish pleasure, so you attempt to hide the smile that was itching to get out, because right here, is where he lay out his arguments.

“You know, I’m the one that came up with Jungkook’s nickname ‘the golden maknae’...right?” he slowly shifts in his seat, covering his philtrum with his index finger, panning the view outside the moving car. “Known fact for someone who had been supporting you for a while, yes…” you quirked, in an elegant tone of someone who has the upper hand of the situation.

“Don’t you ever wonder if I were to give you a nickname, what it will be?” “...no, not really.” “A dictator.” “You’re just picking fights with me because you know you won’t get your hands on the videos. Are you seriously going to call me a dictator because I didn’t give you what you want? Did it ever occur to you that you don’t deserve the footage?”

Namjoon lands his palm over the expanse of your clothed thigh, a very possessive gesture that you’ve grown numb to. “Let’s negotiate…”

“Negotiate what…? All the negotiation is not up for discussion.” “I can make your footages a lot spicier.” ‘I like them sweet and bland; unlike your corrupted mind.”

He smirked, “Do you? Do you…?” “Siri, play Do You by RM.” And just like that, his smirk is gone. There’s no changing your mind, is there? Namjoon has to be a tad more creative. But he liked the challenge.

That’s why the moment he stepped into the apartment, his eyes darkens and his lips turned into a Cheshire grin.

Read the rest of ‘take your wife to work’ fics!

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irish-nlessing · 7 years

Note

Ooh alright! How about 3 or 21? (prompts)

21. Hey, have you seen the…..oh

A/N: For my dear dear friend Christina who attacked me with this image while I was trying to do a five hour drive home in a rain storm. @dibsonthat1d

The past two weeks had been out of control. Ever since Niall had released “Slow Hands” your life had been turned upside down. From the moment you first heard it you knew it would be a hit for him - a departure from “This Town”, but still distinctly “Niall”. After the initial furor had died down Niall jumped immediately into promo. Suitcases were packed. Guitars were in their cases. Itineraries were printed out. You’d known this was going to happen, Niall’s team had his schedule planned months ago. But knowing something is coming doesn’t necessarily take the sting out the actual event when it finally happens.

The day had finally arrived. Niall had finished his California shows and was headed out for another round of radio shows across the country. Even though the weeks would go by quickly, you’d gotten used to having him home. Even if he was doing ten or twelve hour days in the studio he was still waking up next to you and that made all the difference. Instead of dwelling on the empty feeling in the pit of your stomach as the front door clicked behind him, you decided to treat yourself to a hot bath and maybe a mani-pedi. Anything to take your mind off how quiet the huge house had suddenly become.

You padded across the sprawling kitchen and up the steps to the master suite. Ditching your jean shorts and tank in the hamper, you spied one of Niall’s shirts slung over the door handle to the closet. It was the white linen button down you’d gotten him for Christmas. You’d bought it on a whim for him from an eclectic little shop down in the valley. It was perfect for LA, soft and light, making the blue in his eyes burn bright. Clad in only your panties you swiped it off the handle and slipped your arms through the sleeves. It still smelled like his cologne. You pushed one of the buttons through the buttonhole to keep it closed and tucked your chin into the collar to nuzzle the fabric. It was the closest thing you had at the moment to being in his arms again.

Swinging your hips a bit, you hummed to yourself as you sorted some laundry on the bed and looked for a clean towel. Without even realizing it, you started belting out the words to Slow Hands. Dragging your fingers down the front of your shirt, your nipples pebbled under the thin fabric of Niall’s shirt. You even added in the “Woo!” along with a shake of your ass. Just as you started to hit the bridge and start singing about your fingertips and the show they were going to put on, a very familiar voice sounded from behind you.

“Hey, have you seen the….oh!”

You screamed and spun around, shocked to see Niall with his long arms spread across the door frame, eyes wide, and mouth parted. You clutched at your chest and tried to slow your heart rate. The surge of adrenaline started to subside and you dropped your arms to your sides. “You scared the shit outta me! What’re you doing back?”

You watched as his gaze trailed up your bare legs, his throat bobbing as his eyes scanned up your torso and across your chest. “Forgot the box with my guitar pedals in it.” Taking a step into the room he tossed the grey paddy cap onto the side table and pulled his white henley over his head. You were still frozen in place, standing next to the bed with your arms hanging limply at your sides. Niall stepped in front of you and let the backs of his enormous hands just barely skim the front of your body. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so sexy in my life. Shaking your cute little arse to one of my songs. So fuckin’ hot.” You let out a shaky breath and gripped onto his bare shoulders, molding your lips onto his. His tongue swept against your lips, hot and sweet, begging to tangle with your own. You moaned into the kiss as he turned and pulled you against his chest. When his legs hit the mattress he sat in a heap and you wavered in between his legs and tried to steady yourself. His fingers trailed across the hem of your panties that were peeking out from under the open buttons of your shirt. “Always gets me goin’ when you wear my clothes ya know.”

You smiled and tucked your lip in your mouth. Pushing him back slightly so he was resting on his elbows you tugged at the button of his dark jeans. They popped open easily and you shimmied them off his thin legs leaving him in only a dark pair of boxers. You could see the outline of his cock, already hard and leaking, leaving a wet spot on the front of his shorts. Seeing how turned on his was for you only made the heat pool in your center more intensely. You kneeled on the bed and straddled his waist, rocking in slow circles over his length.

“You’re not weirded out - hearing me sing your own lyrics?”

Niall’s head lolled against his shoulder with the tip of his tongue trapped in his teeth as you rocked back and forth over his bulge. He sat up so you were pressed together and gripped the flesh of your hips, pulling you harshly against his hips you keened at the friction against your throbbing clit. Prickles of sweat cropped up across your flesh as your skin began to burn with want.

“Course not. Who do ya think I wrote them about?”

You smiled against his lips and pressed small kisses across his lips while you slipped the button open on your shirt. The soft material slipped over your shoulders exposing your chest. The coarse hair scattered across Niall’s chest prickled against the sensitive skin of your breasts. Your panties were wrecked by this point - soaked through with your arousal and clinging to your skin. You leaned back and rolled your hips forward. Your back arched and opened up the plane of your chest making the soft light from the bedside table flash across your skin.

“I hate it when you leave, Ni. Just skip the shows, stay home with me.” Your voice was pleading, asking for things you knew he couldn’t give. He pressed his palm over your heart, his long fingers grazing across the base of your throat.

“Don’t wanna ever leave, babe. But it’s my job - you know that. Besides, you’d skin me alive if I stayed home too long. Be bouncin’ off the walls and driving ya mad.”

You breathed out a laugh and tipped your forehead down meeting his gaze.

His lips spread in a wide smile. “There she is, there’s my sunshine. Always want ya to be happy, love.”

Niall covered your mouth with his own, deepening the kiss right away. He lifted his hips up and managed to shuffle his boxers off. You could feel the hot, hard length of his cock pressing up into your thigh with the dribbles of precum smearing against your skin. Niall cupped your sex and pulled your panties to the side. You lifted your hips slightly and felt the tip of his length start to sheath itself inside you. You let out a whine as you stretched around him and sank down until he was buried deep inside you. Instead of thrusting up into you Niall was sat completely still, dragging in lungfuls of air.

“Fuck. Fuck, feels so good inside ya. Gimme a second, want t’last for ya.”

You let your hands roam his shoulders while you traced the smattering of freckles littered across his neck with your tongue. When he finally started to move it wasn’t the harsh thrusts you expected with how worked up he was. Instead he held you close and rocked his hips into you. You could feel the tip of him deep inside your core massaging your g-spot. You gripped your nails into his broad shoulders and started to bounce up and down on his cock in a desperate attempt to feel his length drag along your walls. The coil in your belly was starting to unravel faster than it ever had before. You slid your hand down your belly to where your bodies were joined and started rubbing fast circles against your aching clit. Niall let out a strangled cry and maneuvered you onto your back against the duvet. He pulled out and slipped down between your legs before you even had the chance to cry out about the empty feeling between your legs.

He hooked his fingers in your panties and pulled them frantically off your legs. “Wasn’t gonna last if I had to watch you touch yourself like that. Lemme taste you.” He dipped his head down and nudged at your clit with his nose while he dragged his tongue through your folds. All you could do was whimper and grip the duvet tighter and tighter. He licked and sucked and flicked all over every centimeter of your soaking heat. When he finally latched into your clit and slid three of his fingers inside you, you completely fell to pieces. He worked you through your release as your body clenched and relaxed under him.

You could only babble and whimper as he pulled off of you, wiping away the leaking mess on his chin. He wrapped his hand around his cock, the purple tip shining and nearly ready to burst. He lined himself up and thrust back inside your swollen center, both of you crying out. You wrapped your legs around his hips trying to draw him into you as close as possible. He gripped onto your hand and laced his fingers with yours, trapping your arm above your head. Burying his face into the crook of your neck he lost himself in you, whispering over and over with each thrust, “Sunshine, love you, love you so much.”

When you felt the muscles in his back go taut as a bow string you knew he was close. With another thrust he cried out your name and sunk his teeth into your shoulder. You cried out at the sharp sting of his teeth and the soothing pulse of him emptying inside of you.

He stilled and rolled away, pulling you on top of his chest. Your hair splayed across his body, damp and tangled from being pressed into the pillows. The only sounds in the room were your heaving breaths and the soft hum of the fan blades whirring above you.

You were the first to break the silence. Your voice rough and low from how dry your throat had gotten.

“Niall?”

“Yeah sunshine?”

“You wrote a really fucking good song.”

He belted out a laugh and pulled you closer.

“You gave me a really fucking good reason to.”

#niall smut #niall fic #my writing #drabble prompt #i'm incapable of posting at a normal time

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oopscupcake · 7 years

Text

Cold Days

Hello everyone! After a bit of a long time I come back with a brand new oneshot.

Hope you like it, and thanks for reading my stories, it really means a lot to me :)

Enjoy!!!

Winter was being harsh, it had been since the very first day it stepped in the city.

On the other side of the window, the naked trees swung side to side to the unsteady rhythm of the strong currents of wind, their withered leaves flying free, lost in the air. The bright ball of sunshine hardly stood out in the grey sky above, this being covered by the deformed clouds moving slowly in one direction. People was barely seen in the streets, and the few ones spotted fought against the wild air hitting on their faces, restraining them from continuing their way properly.

Even the usually chirpy birds didn’t light up the day singing anymore, they just chose to stay inside their nests, warming each other to avoid the cruel climate.

Harry woke up to the feeling of Jess’s tight grip around his torso, her hands finding each other on the middle of his chest. She was clinging to him in search for any hint of warmness, her body outside the heavy duvet used to isolate themselves from the cold room.

Times were being genuinely hard, apart from going through the hardest winter up to the moment, they didn't count on the so necessary heating system, as It was broken down. Their best allies on those moments were warm pyjamas, soft sleeping gowns and covers, lots of covers.

Jess was shaking, her tanned colour replaced by a pale look. In the moment he touched her freezing skin he didn’t waste any second in placing back the warm material over her “Gosh love, you’re gonna get a cold” he whispered concerned, before planting a peck on the tip of her red nose. He knew she was fast asleep, and that his warn wouldn’t have any use at all, but he couldn’t help his paternal side from showing up every now and then.

The green-eyed boy stepped out of the bed, his entire body shivered at the sudden contact of his warm feet with the cold wooden floor. As he searched for his flabby kitten slippers under the bed, he heard his girlfriend cough a few times. He made sure she was well covered before making his way out of the room.

***

With the sound of Harry cooking breakfast as a background, Jess slowly woke up, feeling weak as ever. She tried to prop herself up, regretting the movement immediately, as she felt a painful pressure on her temple. Hacking coughs left out of her mouth nonstop, and although she tried to contain them, it was useless. She reached out for the glass of water on the nightstand, thanking God Harry didn’t drink all of it. After some sips, which felt like glory, her coughing attack calmed down, but, when everything seemed to get better, the headache gained prominence, making her feel dizzy at any sharp movement given.

Softly, she buried in the covers, groaning in annoyance.

Harry wasn’t yet aware about her flu, nevertheless, he had a feeling, judging by the look she had early that morning, so when he got into the room to a coughing Jess it was no surprise. He slipped in the bed silently and hugged her from behind, making her be the little spoon “Hey, beautiful. How are you feeling?” “Like if a lorry had run all over me” her answer was followed by another attempt of attack, but this time Harry was quick to hand her the glass “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you today, okay?” he said while moving away some locks of hair off her face and pecking the area where her jawline and ear met. The intense warmness there made him softly flip her and cup her cheeks gently, joining his forehead with hers “Have you taken your temperature?” she shook her head, eyes closed “I figured. That’s why I brought this, sit up and lift your arm” She obliged, slowly sitting. Harry caressed her warm cheek after placing the thermometer on her armpit “Now wait, I’m gonna bring you some breakfast” “Hmm, I’m not hungry, really” “Jess, I know at moments like this you’re not in the mood of eating a big breakfast, but you need it before taking painkillers, remember?” Jess pouted, trying to convince him not to bring any food. Of course Harry knew that game, she usually did it when wanting to get away with something, and it worked, she knew that extremely well. “Okay, how about drinking the tea I’ve made specially for you and one of those cupcakes we baked yesterday? Not gonna give you any other option anyways” Jess smiled, nodding. Could she ask for a better boyfriend? he was so caring and sweet, her heart would melt of fondness any time. Before he left the room, she blew him a kiss which he caught between his hands and brought to his chest.

Jess ate her breakfast peacefully, waiting for Harry to come back after finding the painkillers. A loud hit was heard, followed by the curly-haired boy lowly cursing. She shook her head, sure he had hit with the doorknob, like he always did, as the clumsy boy he was “Is everything okay Haz?” “Yeah boo, everything’s alright!” He walked to the room rubbing the left side of his hip “Found them. Hasn’t the therm-” he didn’t get to finish the sentence when the high beep of the device cut him “Okay, let’s see… Damn Jess you’re really hot!” his comment was quickly followed by a subtle snickle “What’s so funny?” “You’re-really-hot… get it?” she puffed “Only you, Harry Edward Styles, could make that terrible joke” she tried to fight against the little smile that formed in her face, but the light curvature on the corner of her lips gave her away “I’m just trying to cheer you up, and by that cute smile I can tell I’m succeeding”

***

Jess’ head rested on top of Harry’s chest, lifting up and down slowly at sync with his calm breathings. Her eyes felt heavier and heavier with every brush of his fingertips on her hair, in his unsuccessful attempt of braiding some locks of it. She could feel the buzz his low vocal chords sent out while humming to the unknown melody which covered the calm silence of the room “Get some rest love, you’ll wake up feeling much better” Those were the last words she heard before falling in a deep sleep.

***

After three good hours, the characteristic smell of chicken soup slipped through the air Jess breathed in. Her stomach groaned out loud at the scent and she knew Harry was right about his previous last words. The headache had almost gone away and the high temperature disappeared without leaving any print behind.

Jess got out of the four walls she had been in all day and walked to where her boyfriend found. His singing stopped her from getting in the kitchen, hiding behind the doorframe to watch a long-legged boy swinging his hips to the rhythm of ‘All about that bass’. He must had been having a great time because at one point of the song he wiggled his ass, which made her giggle, revealing her spying “Hey boo! I see you much better” “Yeah Haz, thanks for taking care of me” she walked arms wide open to hug him tightly, in an attempt to thank him “It’s nothing, that’s what you'd have done for me anyways” she pecked his cheek, as he fully wrapped his arms around her figure “I have something prepared for you” he took her hand and carried her to the bathroom, where a full warm tub awaited “I figured this would do great for your fully recovery so...” “You didn’t have to, really. This is too much” He put a finger on her lips “Stop saying that, I want you to be as comfortable as possible, and that’s just what I’m doing”

Jess waited for Harry to leave, but he just stared at her without pronouncing a word “Haz?” “Oh yeah… do you want me to help you?” he let out a smirk as he grabbed the hem of her jumper, lifting it teasingly. She picked his hands and placed them behind his back “Why don’t you go and finish what you were doing?” realisation hit him as he shouted “The soup!” before flying out of the room, Jess mumbled a “Dork” and he answered back saying “Heard you!”

After having eaten, the couple ended what was left of the day laying on the sofa, each of them on one end of it, feet touching. Harry ran his fingers all the way through Jess’ sole making her tremble at the sensation “Stop, it tickles!” they began a feet fight, which wasn’t new between them, and, as always, he won.

“By the way, I saw that wiggle game before… you did it quite good” Harry lifted his head from the journal he was writing in, a frown in his face “What?” “In the kitchen, you were dancing and did it, it was pretty funny” A smirk appeared on his face, sign of an idea crossing his mind “I could teach you but, what would you give me in advance?” Jess gave him a thoughtful stare, before suggesting “I could teach you how to braid properly” Harry smiled nodding, as if he had been hopping she said that “Like that treat. Now c’mere, you’re too far, I want to cuddle” she moved next to him, and let him rest his curly-haired head on her chest, as he nuzzled in search for more contact.

“Thanks for taking care of me today Haz”

“I’ll always will love.”

MASTERLIST.

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