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lewdmommie · 11 months

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One night stand

Summary: y/n is forced to do some after hours training with König

🎀Warning🎀: 18+NSFW, Oral sex, raw sex, breeding, rough sex, fluff, slight angst,praise/degradation kink, size kink etc…

ClingyKönigxreader💗

Part 2.

Part 3

Word count: 4.k

“That was good but you’re leaving yourself open.” A gloved hand takes hold of your wrist. He lifts both arms, protecting your face. Your eyes dart up catching a brief moment of eye contact before he quickly looks away. Green. His eyes were green, you hadn’t noticed till now. König was sweet but he made sure to keep his distance from people—the fact that you were this close to him at all was a shock. Sgt. Ghost didn’t take kindly to your recent mistake on the last mission. He doubled your workload and put you on probation, because most of the Barracks were close friends of yours, he assigned you the quietest person on the team. Now you and König spend three hours a day training after hours. While your peers train together, you're mopping floors and cleaning toilets. Ghost doesn’t let you train during work hours in case your colleagues distract you. This was a punishment and he made that clear. “I’m sorry you have to do this with me everyday. This is my punishment, you shouldn’t have to suffer on my behalf.” He shakes his head at your apology.

“I don’t mind…I know how Ghost gets.” He places both hands on your hips, rotating your body. The truth is he really didn’t mind, most days he looked forward to seeing you. “Keep your core strong.” He instructs. His fingers travel up the curves of your body as he repositions you. His large hands warm up your waist as ungodly thoughts intrude your mind. The mask made it impossible for you to read his emotions, any expression came from his eyes (which he often hides). The only change you could see was the way his breath hitched as his finger accidentally grazes your breast. He was always so respectful when touching you, the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Once your body is angled correctly he lets go, taking a few steps back. It almost seemed like he was avoiding the closeness. “Now attack me and defend.” He orders. You lunge forward —jabbing left, right,left,right. He blocks every punch effortlessly, guarding his face. He dodges, dipping low and charging at you. His arms wrap around your thighs hoisting you up. Your fingers interlock beating down on his back, trying to break his iron grip. He stumbles, arms loosening just enough to break free. Your feet hit the ground, König grunts as your fist connects clean with his jaw. “Uhn that one actually hurt…good job.” He waves a hand of surrender while rubbing his cheek through the mask. You run over to help. “Are you alright I’m so sorry-“ his hand shoots out, snatching your arm, spinning you. His solid arm tightens around your neck trapping you in a chokehold. His breathing is shallow, body tensing as your ass presses against him. You reach up and caress his forearm. He hadn’t realized just how small you were compared to him till now, his body engulfed the entirety of your frame. He notes how perfectly you fit in his arms and how easy it’d be to break you. Your head rests just below his pecs, the smell of your hair product wafts up his mask, he inhales the sweet scent. His bicep flexes, tightening his grip, your eyes flutter and a quiet moan falls from your lips. You loved that light headed airy feeling of being choked.

“N-never let your guard down.” He let’s go, gently pushing you away, putting a giant gap between the two of you. “Even if you think someone is done, be prepared to attack…” he trails off getting distracted by how sexy you look after an intense workout. How fast your breathing is, how your hair is messy with sweat, how your lips part as you catch your breath. He wanted to be the one to work you out.

“Oh whatever you cheated .” You laugh squatting down as you catch your breath. König crouches, grabbing his flask from the ground. His large, veiny hands twist the top off in one swipe. Unconsciously, he lifts the bottom of his mask to drink, showing you a glimpse of the lower half of his face. His jaw tenses, a trickle of water spills down his chin as he swallows. His adams apple bobs with each gulp. You gawk at the scene in front of you, thinking it has to be a daydream.

“Water?” He holds the flask to you.

“S-sure.” You ease to a sitting position on your knees reaching for the bottle. You stare at the rim that just grazed his lips. Does this count as an indirect kiss? You think. He watches you place your lips in the exact spot he’d drank from, flushed with excitement. He wonders if your lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be. How they’d feel melding with his…how they’d feel wrapped around his dick. He doesn’t dwell on it too long, knowing that would never happen and that you didn’t see him that way.

“Have you eaten?” He asks, looking at you with big green eyes.

“Sergeant told the cafeteria to only feed me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch, so I haven’t eaten anything of value.” Your stomach grumbles on que.

“You must have really gotten on his bad side huh?” He offers you a hand,helping you to your feet.

“Unfortunately.” You dust off your pants and begin collecting your belongings.

“Since we wrapped up a bit early, how about I take you somewhere you can get real food.” He offers, packing his duffle bag.

“You know how tight ghost keeps the kitchen locked up…” you say with an annoyed tone.

“Who said anything about the kitchen?” His voice sounds mischievous.

“You don’t mean-?” You shake your head, stuffing your hat and jacket in the bag.

“Come on, he’ll never know I’ve worked with him long enough to know his blind spots.” He tilts his head expressively.

“Fine but if we get caught, you ordered me to go.” You hike your bag onto your shoulder, walking past him. He smiles behind you.

“Puedo pedir dos margaritas?(may I have two margaritas) Sí…un bistec nacho y un burrito de pollo(one steak nacho and one chicken burrito)Eso es todo, gracias(that's all thank you).” He says expertly, the waiter nods thanking you before going to pin the order up.

“Wow I’ve been deployed here longer than you and my Spanish is still choppy.” You toy with some lime slices on the table to keep yourself busy. König watches you closely, an amused look in his eye.

“I can speak a few languages but I’m not good at them all.” He looks you up and down, the lights from the club area illuminates your skin. Your hair is pulled in a now messy bun. Cute strands stick out from your training session. He is especially drawn to your lips, the way you lick and nibble your bottom lip when you’re nervous. His eyes dart away when you feel his gaze lingering and look up.

“What other languages do you speak?” You stare out into the dance floor, watching the locals swing and jump to the music. They looked carefree and happy, it’d been so long since you’ve felt good or even had a good time. Ghost saw a lot of potential in you so he stayed on your ass 24/7. Tough love is what he liked to call it.

“German is my first language.” He reveals.

“German? That’s so cool , say something in German.” He chuckles at your excitement.

“Ich möchte dich über diesen Tisch beugen und dich dazu bringen, mich ganz zu nehmen (I want to bend you over this table and make you take all of me)” he leans forward, green eyes boring into you as he says this,making sure you can hear him over the music. You had no idea what he just said but it made your thighs clench under the table.

“W-what does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you one day.” He shrugs. You toss a lime, it smacks his vest with a small thud.

“I thought friends don’t keep things from eachother.” You tease. The server brings out two large glasses with salted rims, there was no way you could finish this entire thing. He places the margaritas on either side of the table along with straws. König tears open his straw taking a long pull from his drink.

“Whoa it’s strong.” The fruity syrup barely covered the 3 shots of liquor . You indulge, sucking a mouth full of the frozen drink. It tastes strongly of strawberry slushie and tequila, the salted rim balances all the flavors with a sour finish. The alcohol must have been hitting him pretty fast because all he could imagine is him being that straw. How good the inside of your mouth must taste and feel.

“You’re right…I see why everyone is having such a good time.” You joke, taking another sip. A hearty laugh rumbles in his chest, he loved the way you always spoke your mind. It’s one of the qualities that always got you in trouble with ghost. Nothing made him laugh more than watching you stress ghost out with your witty personality.

“I guess we’d better join the party.” He raises his glass for a toast before chugging half.

The server brings out hot plates of food, everything looked and smelled amazing. Your stomach growls at the sight of real food, the liquor (coupled with only eating sandwiches for a week) takes effect making you absolutely demolish your burrito. König shyly slips a few chips under his mask, he never ate around people since it usually required the mask to come off.

“This is soooo good.” You say having another bite.

“I love this place. I come here often.” He slides in another chip.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to leave base unauthorized or maybe that’s just me.” Ghost had a tendency of giving you extra rules for your troublesome rap sheet.

“We aren’t but if you don’t get caught, did it ever happen?” He laughs, taking the final sip of his drink.

“And they call me the troublemaker.” You say glancing at the dance floor again.

“Do you want to?” He asks.

“Want to what? Dance?…no I don’t uh I don’t dance.” You dismiss quickly.

“ I’ve seen you knock grown men out y/n, dancing can’t be much harder than that.”

“You know you’re much more social than usual.” You observe.

“Only when I’m with you.” He grabs your hand leading you to the crowd.

The music thumps with bass, shaking the ground beneath your feet. A sexy song plays through the huge speakers near the DJ station. People couple up, swaying their bodies to the beat. König slips an arm around your lower back pulling you close. You struggle to find the tempo, moving left to right awkwardly. He takes your hand, spinning you around. His eyes trace the line of your body before pulling you back into his chest. You giggle at how ridiculous you look compared to his smooth rhythm. Your foot slams down on his toe as you try to find the beat “I’m so sorry! I’m so bad at this maybe I should sit-“

“Let’s try this instead.” His knee forces your legs apart, giving him control of your movements. The feeling of his thigh pressed firmly against your heat makes your head spin.

“Follow my lead.” He commands.

His waist sways back and fourth, rocking your bodies in unison. You copy his actions, grinding your hips together, the grip on your waist tightens. The fabric of your pants rub creating friction between your legs, his cock reacts to the closeness, beating as if it was dancing along with them. finding the rhythm, your body starts to move on its own.

“Scheisse (Shit)” he groans as you turn around and twirl your ass on him. His head falls back as you start to swirl your hips down and back up slowly. His big hand slides over your stomach holding you as close as possible, his rock hard member strains through his thick camo pants. Your eyes close as you grind into him, his finger grazes the exposed skin peeking from under your shirt. He trails that same finger up your torso, between your breast and up your neck. His hand rests at the base of your throat keeping hold of you as your bodies whirl around the dance floor. He spins you back around to face him, for once he demands eye contact and you’re the one shying away. You stare at the floor, giant hands cup your face pulling you to meet his feverish gaze.

“Don’t look away from me.” König’s voice sounds different, More rugged. His shoulders hunch as he leans down to your height as he speaks. “Bitte komm mit mir nach Hause” he whispers in your ear.

“What’s that?”

“Please come home with me.” He breathes.

“How the hell did you convince Ghost to let you room by yourself ?” You ask, stepping past the threshold.

“ My social skills and big personality helped with that.” He jokes sarcastically. König wasn’t required to room with anyone thanks to his close connection to the sergeant, leaving the two of you completely alone in his quarters.

“Well I guess if you don’t talk much there isn’t much you could say to get in trouble.” You ponder.

“Yeah you should try it.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.

“Try what exactly?” You ask appalled , holding your chest dramatically.

“Not talking. That mouth of yours is dangerous.”

“Give me one example where I said something worth getting punished for.” Your arms cross.

“If I recall correctly you said and I quote ‘why would I listen to a dude named Simon?’ ” he says in a high pitch voice mimicking yours.

“First of all he wasn’t supposed to hear that, wrong place at the wrong time on his part and secondly Simon is a funny name, the jokes practically write themselves.” He pauses for a second before doubling over with laughter.

His keys clatter on the kitchen counter as he wipes his tears of laughter away. You set your bags near the couch and sway on your heels nervously, unsure whether to sit or stand. Strong hands settle on your shoulders working away the tension you’ve been holding for god knows how long. Your head rolls back into his touch, he kneads your muscles like dough relieving any and all stress. “That feels so good, König.” You groan, closing your eyes.

“Come with me.” He grasps your hand leading you down a hall , stopping at a closed door. He twists the knob revealing a very plain bedroom, a queen sized bed with black sheets, a desk, and stacks of paperwork are all that decorate the space. There are two extra doors, one leading to the closet and the other to the bathroom. You laugh at his clumsiness. He’s clearly tipsy as he staggers to the door.

He slips his gloves off and opens the cabinet below the sink, rummaging around and pulling things out onto the bathroom floor. Finally, he emerges with a pink topped bottle. “Baby oil” the label reads.

“Strip.” He says, unbuckling his bulletproof vest and laying it on the desk chair.

“S-strip?”

“Yes, so I can massage you. That is what you want isn’t it?” He removes his thick camouflage jacket revealing the snug black material of his undershirt.

His muscles bulge veiny and tight, stretching the fabric. It was true, you did want his hands all over you. Ever since you two started training together, you found yourself fantasizing about being split by that monster of a man. Your hands fumble with the buckle of your pants as you kick your boots off. He advances, towering a wapping 6'6”. You shift with anticipation, looking up at him with gleaming eyes. The tips of his fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, swiping it over your head. Your scrunchie is taken along with it, freeing your hair (for my fellow natural haired girlies let’s just say you have braids or a wig). If you’d known you’d be stripping for someone tonight, you would have picked sexier underwear. He’s silent as he takes in how perfect you look in your plain gray and white bra/pantie combo.

“Lay on the bed.” He instructs unscrewing the baby oil top.

You listen, climbing up into the comfy cotton sheets, using your arms as pillows. He’s flustered at how obedient you are, since that wasn’t a side of you he’d seen before. The military couldn’t break you…but he would. He stands at the side of the bed admiring every dip and curve of your figure. Flipping the bottle upside down, Slick cool oil slides down your back. His thumbs rub circles along your spine, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. His long fingers slip under your bra strap, he huffs in frustration.

“In the way-“ he unclasps it skillfully. Your face is burning with embarrassment, there was no way you were laying in Königs bed half naked. A shiver runs down your leg as he slides down the elastic waist of your panties. He begins working and kneading your lower back, squeezing the plush skin of your ass. The crotch of your panties were soaked, leaving a huge wet spot on the gray fabric. He inhales, your arousal was palatable, his dick pulsates at the scent of your glistening womanhood. Your panties glide down over your ankles as he slides them off, tossing them into the corner.

“Flip over.” He grunts, tossing you around.

Your breast fall from the unclamped bra, hard nipples on full display. König doesn’t hesitate yanking and pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“On your knees.” His voice is breathy and low.

your eyes stay on him as you shift onto your knees, hands holding your chest shyly. Gently he pulls them away, slipping the straps down and off your arms. Because of his height, you’re at perfect eye level with his throbbing erection. His breath hitches as your elegant fingers undo the zipper of his pants, his earthy green eyes flutter. His big hand cradles your cheek as he watches you work to release him from the shackles of those annoying pants. His cock burst free, slapping his lower stomach. Although you couldn’t see his face, the state of his arousal was evident. Veins root from base to tip, beating rhythmically along the upward curve of his sex. His tip is blushed and oozing with pre-cum, his breathing accelerates with need. You run your tongue up the length of his rock hard shaft, he grunts head lolling back. Your lips wrap around the tip, tongue swirling and teasing him before opening nice and wide.

“Scheiße (Fuck)” he pants, caressing your cheek pulling your warm wet mouth down on his cock. It was even better than he’s imagined, his hand sets the pace rocking your head back and forth. Tears prick your eyes as he begins moving faster, fucking your throat. Each thrust deeper than the last, his hand moves to the base of your neck feeling how deep you can swallow him.

“You look so fucking pretty sucking my cock.” He wipes a stray tear with his thumb.

You gag as he pushes further, your throat muscles contract around him before he pulls back.

“Oh naughty naughty girl. You almost made me cum.” He teases, lightly pushing you back onto the bed. The mattress creaks from his massive size as he climbs between your legs, peering down at you. Your hand reaches under the mask, he firmly grips your wrist forcing it to the bed.

“Ask nicely.” He orders.

“Can I touch you…please.” You beg.

He releases your hand, it finds the bottom of the mask, sliding underneath to find the stubble of a 5 o'clock shadow and soft lips. Your finger strokes his lower lip, it is plump and warm.suddenly, his mouth opens nipping and sucking the skin of your curious finger. “Ah what are you-“ you moan arching your back. Pushing your hand away once more, he leans down, capturing your parted lips. Your lips dance in perfect harmony, melting into one another. He moans into your mouth, his jaw tenses as your tongue pushes through savoring the flavor that is König. The head of his dick pokes at your slippery slit begging for entry, you can feel how hot he is all over causing your temperature to rise.

“Open up for me, I’m gonna give you everything I have.” He groans, plunging inside with a flick of his hips. Your hands claw at the smooth skin of his back as you stretch around him, his girth almost too much to handle. You cry out as he thrust deeper “Just alittle more baby, you’re taking me so well…s’good s’fucking good.” He pants filling you to the brim. He stays still for a moment letting you adjust to his large size, the pressure in your pussy nearly makes you cum right then and there.

“I feel you twitching around me princess, you can’t cum yet, I’m not done breaking you.” He pulls back before slamming back in, hitting the back of your cervix with each thrust. There is a delicious ache in your belly as he impales you, the curve of his dick reaches places you didn’t even know existed.

“Ah ah s’to big I-I can’t I can’t.” You cry biting the skin of his chest to hold back your screams.

“You’re gonna take what…I…give…you.” He pounds with each word. He sits up pushing your knees to your chest forcing even deeper inside your velvety walls. This position gives him access to your stiff wet bud. With two fingers he spreads your creamy folds watching his dick pump in and out of you. Every thrust his cock emerges more coated than the last.

“Your pussy is so fucking gorgeous , look at that needy little clit.” He flicks your bud, rutting into you with all his strength. His long fingers grab your throat, your tongue lols out as he chokes you. He alternates the pressure taking you up and gently bringing you back down. “That pretty mouth isn’t so dangerous now.” Your quivering walls clench around him threatening to overflow.

“P-please I’m gonna…ah!” He pulls out, gripping your waist as he throws you around, roughly raising your ass to him. Before you can register the change he splits you apart once again, slapping your plush ass, leaving hot hand prints on your skin. Those giant hands push and pull you back on his cock, using your pussy to make himself cum.

“You have such a cute tummy.” He reaches around pressing on your lower belly feeling how full it is with his cock.

“You would make such a pretty mommy.” He praises fucking you faster and harder. That throws you over the edge, your body convulses and clamps down icing his dick with your sweetness.

His teeth clench with an inhuman growl as his rod twitches and throbs before shooting your insides with his hot seed.

“Late again huh, rookie? That’s an extra week.” You jump, turning around. Ghost stands over you. It was true last night’s events made it impossible to wake up at 5 am with the other soldiers. You ended up sneaking out of Königs bed in the middle of the night, hoping you could sneak back into your barracks undetected. The mission was success. You slipped into your bed at 2 a.m before anyone could realize you were gone. Unfortunately, that means you overslept, waking up three hours late.

“I was…sick.” You lie scrubbing the bathroom tiles diligently.

“Sick? You were fine yesterday.” He says with a flat tone.

“Must have eaten something bad, all those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches must have taken a toll.” You grunt, rubbing your stomach.

“Next time you’re sick. You report it to me in advance.” He orders.

“How can I predict when I’m gonna be sick?-“

“Don’t question me.” He spins on his heels walking out the bathroom.

“Okay Simon.” You mock.

“What was that rookie?” He calls back.

“Nothing Sargeant!” You exclaim.

He walks away finally, leaving you with the smell of bleach and toilet water. Your arms ache from scrubbing. throwing the sponge in the bucket of cleaning solution, you sit back against the wall thinking about last night. All morning you avoided seeing König, ducking and dodging him in the halls. Every time you thought of him, your face burned with embarrassment, there is no way you could look him in the eye after that. For now your plan is to just lay low in hopes he was too drunk to remember anything. It was nothing. Just a drunken one night stand.

“There you are.” He charges forward looking down at you.

“H-here I am whats up König…do you need a copy of that report-“

“Why did you sneak out last night.” He interrupts.

“Psh me? Sneak out I didn’t sneak out. I just went for a walk…and ended up in my bed.” You reach into the bucket with gloved hands wringing the sponge out.

“Why couldn’t we sleep together?” He asks.

You fly to your feet in a panic “Shhh! What if someone hears you?”

“So what?” He tilts his head in confusion.

“Superior and subordinate relationships are strictly prohibited!” You whisper/yell.

“Right…hm, okay in here then.” He takes your hand leading you into the stall furthest from the door, The lock clicks behind you.

“Can’t this wait till after hours.” You say with an annoyed tone.

“I want an explanation.” His arm rests on the wall above your head.

“This. This is why I snuck off, to avoid whatever this is. Now I’m stuck in a bathroom stall talking about…feelings.” You hold your stomach making a pained face.

“This isn’t funny.” His voice is low.

“You’re right it isn’t but it is complicated .”

“Y/n? You in here?” A voice calls.

You mouth shit, covering what you assumed was his mouth through the mask.

“Yeah! I was just cleaning!” You call back.

“Who were you talking too?” She asks her foot steps advancing.

“No one! Here I come!” You let him go squinting your eyes.

“This isn’t over.” He whispers sharply, moving to the side.

“I can see that.” You grumble walking out the stall to greet your friend.

…to be continued?

4K notes · View notes

stylesharrys · 3 months

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all that you are | part 1 [mafiarry]

authors note: okay it's here!! part one of this mini-series, it is a long one and there's lots of violence (and will be in all parts of this series), i will list all warnings so if you’re not comfortable reading, i totally understand!! if you are, grab yourself some snacks and get comfy cos you're in for a long ride! i really hope you guys love this series like i do <3 p.s. this used to be an oc fic, i have edited to make it reader instead, so if you come across any certain descriptions of the readers hair colour, skin etc. let me know as they were all supposed to be edited out!

word count: 19,592

warnings: mentions of blood and violence, sexual themes, mentions of r*pe, swearing, arranged marriage, mentions of alcohol and drug use

summary: y/n is thrown into her new life as harry’s wife, and harry has to learn and prepare himself to take over the new york famiglia.

Her tears have dried, though they still threaten to spill from her eyes. Eighteen is supposed to mean a party and your first sip of alcohol for a woman of the mafia.

Not for Y/N.

It’s an engagement party and her final social activity as a free woman. As if she could ever have been considered free. Women are never free. Only free for men to fuck and abuse whenever they please.

Y/N has never liked parties and she doesn’t exactly like people, either. Well, the only parties she’s ever attended are those of strict rules and professionalism and, maybe, being locked away your whole life does that to someone; makes you socially awkward and nervous in the presence of boys.

She shivers at the thought of a boy even noticing her, and now she’s engaged to the most attractive Made Man she’s ever heard of.

Her mother stands behind her, stern face and dressed in a tight lavender dress. She zips up Y/N’s cream dress and admires it in the mirror for a moment.

It’s form-fitting, small ruffles across the waist and it ends a few inches above her knees. It’s the most daring and revealing dress Y/N has ever worn, and it bubbles nerves and excitement within her.

Gaia gazes at her through the mirror with a distant look in her eyes. She can remember when she was Y/N’s age, married off to Giovanni. She can remember the fear and terror that consumed her body… that still does.

Y/N frowns. “Are you okay, Mother?”

It’s meant to come out much louder than it does. She sounds like a frail child. She is. Gaia snaps out of her trance and plasters on a smile, but it’s the same smile she uses after Giovanni finishes beating her. It doesn’t sit well in her daughter's stomach.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, figlia,” she tells her.

Y/N keeps her back to her and continues to admire the dress in the tall mirror. At least she’ll look pretty. Gaia brushes the top of her shoulders and twirls her curled locks around her finger.

“Behave tonight. This is more than just an engagement party. We can’t have Stefano changing his mind.” She warns.

She isn’t thinking about the heartache and pain Y/N will have to endure, she’s thinking about the countless nights that Giovanni will abuse her if this wedding doesn’t happen. Y/N nods her head, nerves bubbling in her stomach.

In thirty minutes, she’ll be surrounded by strangers as they judge and prod her. In thirty minutes, she’ll be meeting her future husband; one of the youngest, most dangerous Made Men in New York.

She’s known for two months now, since she got home from school and Giovanni broke the news. She spent the night fighting, sobbing and kicking and begging him not to throw her away like that. Begged for him not to hand her over to a man of such power, who will beat and hurt and abuse her.

Though when she thinks about it, it’s not much different from her current home life. She gave up fighting after he beat her bloody and blue. Her lip is still swollen from it and a soft bruise is hidden under her eye.

It’s lucky Gaia knows how to apply makeup. Y/N supposes she’s had enough bruises and scars of her own to hide over the years.

She thinks she should consider herself lucky, really. Most girls in Y/N’s position never even meet their husbands before their wedding day. At least she will have an entire night to find out who her sick father has chosen and have three years to prepare herself. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Her eyes meet Gaia’s in the mirror. She hopes to find a hint of sadness in them, a flicker of guilt that she’s allowing her husband to do such a thing to their daughter. Y/N can’t hate her, no matter how much she tries. Gaia doesn’t have a choice in the matter. This is business between her father and the New York Famiglia. She’ll only get a black eye and a bollocking if she tries to intervene.

“Where’s Bruno?” Y/N asks softly, voice hoarse from the way she cried herself to sleep the night before.

She hasn’t seen her brother in almost a week, and she’s beginning to wonder if he’s actually going to show up at the party tonight. She needs his support—not that he’ll ever really offer any. He’s too far up Giovanni’s ass.

Bruno Saccaro is his father's son. Dirty, loyal and merciless. He’s only three years older than Y/N, but every inch of his black heart serves for one thing only.

Murder.

He was initiated at thirteen, just two days after his first kill, where he tortured and maimed a man twice his age before stabbing him in the side of the head with his beloved knife. He’s sick, just like Giovanni.

Though when they were children, he was her protector, the second he took his first kill, he became blood-hungry and protecting his baby sister was at the bottom of his list of priorities. Y/N’s sure she isn’t even on the list anymore. The only thing Bruno cares about is pussy and the Famiglia. She wouldn’t be surprised if Bruno was the one that suggested marrying her off in the first place.

“Business,” Gaia responds. “He’ll be at the party later, don’t worry.” She must sense her discomfort, but even her words don’t soothe her.

Y/N can’t imagine what her brother will be like at the party. Will no doubt have his cock buried in some girl within the first ten minutes. The thought makes her heave. He’s not the brother she used to have. He’s just like their father now.

A soft tap on the door breaks Y/N from her daze and Maria pops her head through the crack in the door. Short pink hair is the first thing she sees and a relieved smile breaks onto her face.

Maria Saccaro. Y/N’s first and only cousin, barely three weeks younger than her and the only descendent of Romero Saccaro, Giovanni’s younger brother and Y/N’s Uncle.

“Auntie Gaia, can I have a moment with Y/N, please?” She asks softly, like butter wouldn’t melt on that pierced tongue of hers.

Y/N almost rolls her eyes at the girl. Her bright pink hair gives away everything anyone needs to know. Maria doesn’t obey rules, she breaks them and finds loopholes just to piss her father off.

Y/N remembers one night when they were ten, when Maria told her she purposely did stupid shit in hopes of giving her father a heart attack so he’d finally die. Six years later and she’s still unsuccessful. Though, Y/N did hear that her Uncle Romero has to watch his cholesterol. Maybe her cousin's insolence is finally paying off.

Gaia hums and leaves the room, not sparing a second glance at her niece, keeping the door ajar and Maria rolls her eyes, flouncing down onto the chaise lounge.

“God, your Mom is such a drip,” she scoffs.

Y/N stifles a laugh and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her mother may be good at makeup but nothing will ever cover up the insecurity in her eyes and three weeks of sleep deprivation under them.

Y/N shakes her head and turns to her cousin. “What did Uncle Romero say about your hair?” she asks, concern swimming in her eyes and Maria lifts her bangs from her face.

There’s a thick purple bruise across her temple and an angry line of stitching down the centre of it. Y/N gasps, hand covering her mouth with wide eyes. Maria shakes her hand in dismissal.

“He clubbed me with his fucking ashtray,” she sighs. “The look on his face was totally worth it, though,” she tries to break out in a grin but Y/N sees right through it.

Maria may act like she doesn’t give a shit, but really, she’s just as scared of her father as Y/N is of hers.

Romero Saccaro, Consigliere to his older brother, Giovanni, and widowed father to Maria. He’s been married twice already in his lifetime. His first wife was killed by his own hands and his second by suicide.

Maria could never blame her Mother for taking the easy way out. She often contemplates it herself. It’s a surprise that he hasn’t tried to marry Maria off yet to form an alliance. Though perhaps it’s for the best that no one has tried. She’s too temperamental, too disobedient. Her husband would get tired of her and give her back.

When an arranged marriage occurs, the husband is promised a beautiful, unscathed wife. While Maria is incredibly beautiful and just as much of a virgin as Y/N, she’s also gobby and dominant. She fights back, and that kind of attitude will get her killed. Maybe Romero does care for his daughter after all. Or maybe his ego is too big for his daughter to ruin.

“Can’t believe you’re meeting your future husband today. Happy fucking birthday,” she mutters out, words laced with venom.

Y/N sighs, shoulders sagging as the nerves come back with full force. “He’s worse than Father. Harry Dellucci kills for fun. At least Father waits until he has good reason to murder somebody… not that it makes it any better,” she mumbles.

Maria stares at her cousin with an incredulous look. “Uncle Giovanni is a fifty-year-old fuck-tard with bigger tits than me,” she begins, trying not to laugh at Y/N’s grimace. “Harry Styles-Dellucci is a twenty-two-year-old God, with a body of a God, the voice of a God-“

“Okay, I get it. He’s God-like,” Y/N cuts her off through a burst of laughter, cheeks flushed and Maria howls that maniacal laugh with her.

“Who’s God-like?” A thick, northern voice booms through their laughter and the room falls silent.

Y/N jumps in her skin out of fear, shrivels into herself as she turns on her feet. A tall, brown-haired man stands before them, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips in a cynical yet playful manner and Y/N’s heart plummets to her knees.

In all of his 6 foot glory, Harry Styles-Dellucci stands tall, thick body clad in a typical oxford suit and Y/N gulps at the hard sight of him.

Harry eyes his future bride. Soft hair curled and twisted into an elegant updo, gentle makeup on her brazen features, but the look in her eyes screams terror. She’s tiny. He knew she was only eighteen, but God, he hoped she’d be somewhat of a woman already. But she isn’t, she’s a child, and Harry struggles to keep that smirk on his lips.

She’s a child.

Mike stands beside him, eyes focused on Maria and her bright pink hair. She catches his intense gaze, the flirtatious smirk on his lips that screams mischief and she blushes, returning the look with false confidence.

Though she may try, even Maria is a blushing mess in the presence of mafia men. No amount of hair dye and secret piercings in the world can ever change that.

“Does Uncle Giovanni know you’re up here?” Maria quips and Harry turns to her, brows raised.

He knows who she is, who all of Y/N’s family and her tiny group of socialites are. He did his homework. He takes in her pink hair, the attitude in her eyes and the way she pops her hip out with a hand resting on it. Definitely the troublemaker.

“Giovanni sent me up here. I want to be alone with my fiancée for a moment before the celebrations begin,” he tells her.

God, his voice drips sex and the sound of it alone has both fear and comfort setting in Y/N’s stomach, and an unrelenting pulsing between her legs. She knows that feeling all too well, though she’ll never admit to it.

Y/N bites back a gasp and clears her throat. Harry watches her nervously twiddling her thumbs. “Is that even allowed? You’re not married yet.” Maria reminds him.

And thank God, Harry thinks to himself. She’s just a child.

“Maria, it’s okay. If Father sent him up, it’s okay. I’ll see you in a little while,” she nods to her cousin but Maria doesn’t want to leave her alone with the notorious Made Man and his right-hand man.

Harry notices her hesitancy.

“Mikey, why don’t you escort Maria downstairs.” His eyes never leave Y/N as he speaks in a slow, dulcet tone, but her eyes remain glued to the floor. Goosebumps break out onto her skin, but she isn’t cold.

Mike silently escorts the young girl out and closes the door behind him, leaving the soon-to-be couple alone. Harry squints at her. She’s curled into herself, fear dripping off her body in waves.

He takes a tentative step toward her, hands in his pockets and retrieves a small velvet box. Harry opens it and offers it to the girl.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers.

With arms around her middle, Y/N finally looks up at him and his breath is lodged in his throat. She’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Bright eyes and soft, gentle skin that he wants nothing more than to caress. If she’s this gorgeous now, Harry can’t comprehend what she’ll be like in three years time.

Being so up close, he sees her properly. The perfect slope of her nose, the sparkle in her distant eyes. He can see the sparse dotting of freckles across her nose and cheeks beneath the thin layer of makeup, the twitch in the arch of her shaped brows, the fullness of her painted lips.

Y/N takes the box from him slowly. The golden band stares right back at her, a thick diamond sitting in the centre and she lets out a shaky breath.

“It’s beautiful,” she forces herself to mutter out but Harry can see she’s trying to bite back a sob.

It is beautiful… but it’s plain, generic. A wedding ring should be personal, should mean something. Harry takes it from the box and gently reaches for her hand. Her skin is warm, even softer than it looks and his lips twitch. Y/N purses her lips. His fingers are rough and cold as he slides the ring onto her finger and just like that, she’s his.

The ring hangs heavy on her hand. A golden cage. She bites back another cry.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, hands close to her chest again and Harry tilts his head.

He can read her body like a book and he’s only known her for a few moments. There’s fear in the way she holds herself, but now her eyes are void of emotion, like she’s suddenly completely coming to terms with what will happen. Like she’s accepted it — like she’s empty.

Y/N looks back down to her feet and a strand of beautifully curled hair falls into her face. Harry reaches to brush it back, wonders if it’s also as soft as it looks, but she flinches back and he stills. Harry frowns. What has Giovanni done to the girl?

“Y/N,” he speaks softly, regarding the girl with a tone he’s only ever shown to his mother and sister.

The sound of her name slipping from his lips has her peering up at him, crystal eyes boring into his emerald ones and his heart leaps.

So fucking beautiful.

He reaches a hand against her face again and caresses her warm cheek. She flushes under his touch but doesn’t flinch away.

“Are you scared of me?” He asks.

Y/N gulps and lets out a shaky breath. “You’re a Made Man. You kill and you torture. Of course, I’m afraid of you,” she breathes and it’s the first proper sentence she’s directly said to him… that she’s afraid.

Harry remains quiet, letting himself revel in the sound of her voice. Silky soft, just like her skin and hair.

He dips his face down so he’s level with her. Even with her four-inch heels, he still towers above her, Y/N’s eyes level with his clavicle.

“I kill and torture those who deserve it, those who betray me,” he tells her. “But you are going to be my wife, Y/N. And fear has no place in a marriage.”

She dares to gaze up at him, his face stoic as she notices the sparse hairs that coat his chin and upper lip and she wishes she could read what he’s thinking, like he can read her. Her eyes are dazzling up at him, thick and dark lashes fluttering beneath the thin coating of mascara on them.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

“I’ve never not been afraid,” she admits and she isn’t sure why she’s telling him.

What if he uses the knowledge to prey on her? What if he laughs in her face? She doesn’t know why she tells him, but the bubbling in the pit of her stomach stops when she does. The confession burns something in the pit of Harry’s stomach and it’s only now that he notices the subtle discolouration beneath her left eye.

Bruises.

His thumb brushes over the soft skin and she shudders, tries to shy away but he keeps her head in place.

“He won’t hurt you anymore.”

Harry’s cocky smirk is gone as he peers down at her, a promising glint in his eyes and she’s never heard anything so tender and honest. She wants to believe him, that he won’t hurt her anymore. But she isn’t Harry’s wife yet, so Giovanni still has free reign over what he does to his daughter, no matter what Harry tries to promise.

Y/N nods her head and takes a step back. She avoids his gaze and Harry knows she doesn’t believe him. The wedding isn’t for another three years. Three years of being under Giovanni’s hold and dreading the day they’re bound for life.

He never asked for this marriage either, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to make his wife’s life a living hell. He’s seen the pain and torture Stefano inflicts on his Mother and in early years, on his sister too, and he’d rather be slaughtered than to inflict that same pain on another so undeserving.

He always promised himself that whether he marries for love or for the Famiglia, he’ll never lay a hand on his wife. Never do anything to hurt her.

Harry wishes to change many things when he becomes Capo, but what men do to their wives can never be one of them. Once married, the woman becomes the man’s possession, and not even a Capo dei Capi can decide what husbands do to their wives. Willing or not.

Y/N doesn’t say anything on the matter though, she knows how it works and she’s too couped up in her own thoughts. She doesn’t want to argue back, so she bites her tongue and remains silent.

She doesn’t want to be one of those submissive housewives that keeps a nice house and their husband's bed warm. She doesn't want to be silent like her Mother. But she has to be realistic, and in her unfortunate luck, she’ll never be able to marry for love. She'll never have the freedom of going anywhere without a guard, or have a job or go to college. She'll never make friends with women her age, or go clubbing and sleep around a little.

She’s his possession.

Her life was signed away the day she was born. Hell, Giovanni started seeking eligible husbands when she was still in the womb, it didn’t matter that they were already in their 20’s at the time. She’s considering herself lucky that Harry is only four years older than her.

She’s come to terms with it. Of never being able to make any decisions for herself. Of never having freedom. Of never feeling loved or safe. She’s spent her whole life in denial, hoping, praying that a fairytale Prince would crash into her life and sweep her off her feet, take her away from the mafia and the pain. She’s always known better, but maybe now it’s only just sunk in.

She glances back down at the golden cage on her finger. A beautiful ring to bind her to a lifetime of misery.

“Our fathers think it’s best if we arrive together.” His rugged voice cuts through the silence again.

Y/N clears her throat and nods her head, patting down the soft material of her dress and it clings to her body even tighter than before. Harry stifles a groan at the sight of her round hips and straightens his back. The longer he watches her, the less childlike she looks.

He offers his hand to her, palm outstretched and Y/N gawks at it like it’s from another planet. His fingers are adorned with intricately styled rings and he almost forgets she’s probably never held a man’s hand before.

He’ll be her first everything and the thought alone makes him twitch in excitement. She takes his warm hand with a hidden blush on her cheeks.

When they arrive at the doors, all eyes are on him and her. Hushed whispers echo through the ballroom, talk of her beauty and how he’s going to corrupt and break her. Harry smirks at the attention, he always has been one for the spotlight, but Y/N cowers into herself.

Her grip on his hand becomes tighter but she doesn’t notice it. Harry doesn’t say anything.

He tightens his hold on hers just enough for the reassurance she needs. Harry leads them both into the ballroom, soft music playing from the little string quartet in the corner and it looks like a fairytale wedding.

But it’s not.

It’s a forced engagement party for an arranged marriage that she doesn’t have a choice in. Harry had the choice of who he could marry, he wasn’t going to complain about the situation when she wasn’t given the same.

The party consists of uncomfortable dancing, heavy alcohol and Y/N and Harry’s families subtly digging at the other. She’s been tucked under his heavy arm for over an hour, a third glass of champagne in her hand and she bravely ignores the warning look on Giovanni’s face.

He told her before the party she was allowed two glasses at most. She knows what happens when she disobeys him, yet she finds herself finishing the third glass and reaching for a fourth.

Harry notices, too. He squeezes her hip each time she finishes a glass. It’s not a warning, nor a recommendation to stop. It’s a reminder of what Giovanni will do if she continues. It’s his way of trying to protect her while he can’t just yet. She ignores it, nonetheless. Maybe a good beating might make her feel a little more alive.

As his cousins leave their side, she lets out a deep breath and her shoulders relax with her exhale. Before Harry can say anything else, a broad figure is making its way over and he feels Y/N stiffen beside him again.

He reaches down for her hand, their fingers bumping and he loops his pinkie finger around hers. The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by the guest as he holds his hand out for Harry to shake.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” his gruff voice speaks and Y/N peers up through her lashes.

Dante Vitiello, The Boss.

People quaked in Harry’s presence, but in Dante’s? There were hardly any survivors. He’s a ruthless killer, initiated at the age of 11 after he killed a man with his bare hands. Y/N supposes that’s where he got his nickname from; Dante ‘The Vice’ Vitiello. She shudders under his gaze. She doesn’t know the man, only the stories that brave souls dared to chatter.

But Harry… Harry knows Dante. He trained with him when he was younger and they both thought themselves as friendly colleagues, a few stressed nights often sharing one another's company in Harry’s club, surrounded by a few women that they tended to pass around.

They had a bond, one Harry knew would always secure his position as future Capo and Dante always knew Harry would come through. Then there’s that one thing they both have in common; a mutual hatred for the fucked system their ancestors put in place; arranged marriages, the presentation of the sheets, disrespecting women.

Harry thanks him as Dante addresses Y/N, palm barely open as he offers a soft hold. She takes his hand and Dante brings it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He can feel her body stiffen further but it’s tradition. He drops her hand gently and she curls closer to Harry again. Even in the mere hours of knowing him, she seeks comfort in his embrace.

Harry says nothing.

Dante doesn’t look back at her. Though she appears much older than just eighteen, he’s nearing thirty and the last thing he wants is to make her even more uncomfortable. Besides, he remembers how he felt when the last Boss kissed his fiancée’s hand and eyed her up like a piece of meat, all those years ago.

“I’m sure Stefano and Giovanni will talk to you later about the arrangement but I’d like to let you know in advance,” Dante begins.

His accent is much thicker since the last time Harry saw him. He’s a typical Italian man. Tall and broad, dark hair, structured face and a well-maintained stubble.

“The wedding is set for October 16th…” he turns to Y/N, “... two weeks after your twenty-first birthday. The wedding will be here, again, and after the formalities and traditions, the next day you’ll both go back to New York.” All three wince at the sugar-coated mention of the bloody sheets but Y/N is the only one that makes it known.

She zones out after that, too caught in her own thoughts. Harry’s attractive, undeniably, but it doesn’t make the idea of having to sleep with him on their wedding night any easier.

Maybe if he was a family friend that she grew up with and was forced to marry, it wouldn’t be so bad. She’d have that bond of trust and familiarity with him, but that’s not the case. She doesn’t know him, therefore she can’t trust him. Every man in her life has beaten and abused her. Every man apart from Gomez.

Her eyes flutter across the hall in search of him. Now that she’s thought of him, she doesn’t remember seeing him since he came with her to the Saccaro Mansion. She searches and searches until she finds him standing off to the side, hands folded in front of him.

His dark blond hair is swept back in a formal quiff and his suit is tight on his body. Y/N doesn’t shudder when she looks at him, instead, she finds a sense of relief and safety wash over her.

Antonio Gomez has been by her side since she was born. He was Giovanni’s right-hand man when he first became Capo and was trusted with the job of protecting his little baby girl when she was born.

Gomez was only twenty when he was trusted with her life and had vowed to himself to always protect her. She still remembers the first time Giovanni hit her. She was five and had dropped her water on the rug.

She remembers the sting of her Father’s hand across her chubby face and the way Gomez ran for him, pinned him against the wall. But she remembers the sound of Giovanni’s gun exploding as he put a bullet in Gomez’ thigh as a warning. He never protected Y/N from him again, despite how much he wanted to.

“Y/N?” she hears Harry’s drawled voice call her name and she snaps her eyes away from her guard and back up to her fiancée.

“I need to speak with my Father. Would you like to come or join your family?” he asks her quietly and she reaches up to scratch at the bridge of her nose, a nervous habit, when she realises their pinkies are still linked.

He lets go and she clears her throat, taking a small step back and patting down the dress that hasn’t given her the confidence she hoped it would.

“Uh, I’ll go see Maria,” she mumbles with pursed lips and awkwardly walks past him, not standing around long enough for him to reach down and kiss her cheek in a polite manner.

Instead, he watches her walk away to her gushing, pink-haired cousin who has definitely drunk at least two bottles of champagne in the past hour. He waits until Y/N reaches her and he sees her shoulders relax, then a hand sits on his and he turns, his Father already by his side.

“She’s a real beauty, Harry. Don’t know how you can wait another three years for your wedding day.” Stefano’s perverted voice leaks through his ears.

Harry tries not to grimace or put a bullet in his leg for his comment. “I like my women with consent,” he mumbles, eyes back on her curved frame as she nervously wrings her hands while listening to Maria.

Stefano barks out a laugh, like not wanting to rape someone is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Suit yourself.”

He thinks that’ll be the end of it, that no more will be said about his fiancée, but Mike joins them both, eyes alert and posture sturdy. He reaches Harry and stands beside him, hands folded across his chest.

“Pretty little thing you got over there,” he remarks teasingly, though his voice holds no threat. He’s just stating facts but it still doesn’t sit well with Harry.

Mike has been his guard for three years now, and was one of Stefano’s soldiers beforehand. Harry and Mike have always been close, always shared too much between them both and Harry’s right-hand man and best friend, Jeff.

The three of them often spend their nights at the club, fucked between six or seven girls with strobe lights flashing. It’s a much more regular occurrence than when Harry does it with Dante.

He supposes there won’t be any more of that when he’s married.

He hums. Y/N’s eyes find him as she listens to something Maria says. She holds his gaze but something is off. Her body is rigid as she stands straight but her shoulders are slumped. Harry stares at her for another moment, eyes squinted when he notices hers are void of emotion.

She stares at him, like he’s not even there. Her face is blank, an expression that his soldiers have taken years to master. Harry gulps down something he doesn’t understand.

He hopes he hasn’t already broken her.

When the evening is over and the guests have left, Y/N and Harry are standing idly by the exit. Their separate cars are waiting for them as they say their goodbyes, families watching from their cars. She hasn’t relaxed much as the night progressed and now that she’s standing back by his side, her shoulders are stiff again and there’s a lump in her throat.

She knows she won’t be seeing him for another three years, that this is a temporary goodbye. Her heart begins to thump. Is he going to kiss her? Is he allowed? They’re not married yet but they will be.

Harry senses her quarrel and reaches for her hand, pulling out a little flip phone from his inner jacket pocket and turns her palm upright, sitting it in her hand. Y/N frowns, fingers closing around the old device and she looks up at him with pinched brows and an upturned lip.

“Um… what…” she doesn’t quite know what to say, doesn’t know how to ask him why he’s giving her a brick burner phone.

Harry reaches for her other hand and brings it over the phone, covering it and holding her hands in his. “My number’s in there and so is Mikey’s in case ya can’t reach me. I don’t know if your Father allows you t’have one, but now you do,” he explains briefly.

She doesn’t tell Harry that she’s never been allowed one, that she’ll no doubt get a black eye and a bloody lip for hiding it from Giovanni.

Instead, her tongue swipes across her lower lip and she nods. “Thank you.”

She isn’t sure what she’s thanking him for? It’s an old burner phone with two numbers on it. She can’t access the internet, can’t play games. No doubt all other numbers are blocked and she’ll only be able to call him and his guard, but she still feels a sense of relief? Maybe because he gave her that little bit of freedom… could it even be considered that?

“If he lays a hand on you in these next three years, I want you to promise you’ll tell me. I don’t care what time it is, you tell me.” His face is stoic, stern and set jaw.

She can see the seriousness in his eyes and she nods, like she’s hypnotised by the way his concern and worry flitters in his eyes. Maybe she is, she’s never seen that look directed to her before, at least not for a very long time.

“I promise,” Y/N swears, her eyes on his, and for a moment, she forgets the whole arrangement, that he’s going to be her husband for the rest of her life.

Because for that fleeting second, she feels like a shy girl in front of a handsome man that makes her heart flutter. For a blink of an eye, she feels normal as he gazes down at her with a look she can’t point. But that’s all it is. A moment and a look.

He doesn’t expect her to actually tell him, not when he can tell how embarrassed she feels when it’s mentioned. So when he’s on the private jet back to New York that night and he gets a text, his heart sinks to his feet. He’d left her for three hours and Giovanni had his grubby hands on her already, punishing her for something she didn’t tell him.

From: Y/N

What was it that you said? That he wouldn’t hurt me anymore?

He calls her immediately, but before the first ring can sound through his ear, the call is ended. His grip on the phone tightens and it takes everything in him not to throw it across the fucking plane. He can’t afford Stefano pressuring him about what’s wrong, he can’t have him knowing that he wants to protect Y/N. He can’t show that weakness.

Mike sits beside him, clicking his tongue as Jeff sits across from them. No one says anything, they don’t need to. Harry always took pride in his stoic expressions in times of agitation or fear, but the boys know him better than that.

They grew with him, watched him master that monstrous cold exterior that refuses to falter when he was beaten and tortured. Harry has been forced to bite his tongue in worse scenarios, so why is something so minuscule so difficult for him?

“This isn’t going to end well. You’ve met her once and you’re getting attached,” Mike says quietly, lips barely moving so as to not attract Stefano’s attention while he talks on the phone to Harry’s Mother, no doubt scolding Anne for something he did wrong.

Harry’s knee is bouncing, a nervous tick he hasn’t shown in years. He’s pissed that Stefano wouldn’t allow Anne and Gemma to the engagement party, Harry wanted his mother and sister to meet his fiancée, needed that support, even if he would never admit that out loud.

Jeff reaches over and kicks Harry’s ankle, stopping the jitters and he gnaws at his inner cheek, nostrils flaring and gently shaking his head.

“Not getting attached, Mikey. Just don’t like the idea of her Father laying a hand on her,” he seethes quietly through gritted teeth and Jeff squints.

He’s known Harry his entire life, knows how he feels about the lack of respect women receive in mafia families, how much he fucking loves his Mum and Gemma. And he knows he’s never seen Harry this pissed over some girl before, much less some girl he’s met once and hasn’t even touched.

Nothing else is said on the matter and in the following sixteen months, he doesn’t hear from her. He calls often and most nights the call ends before it rings, and others, all it does is dial in his ears.

He knows she’s kept the phone on, that she’s been reading the two-weekly check-in texts that he makes. He can see every call she makes and texts she sends, but she doesn’t send or receive any. Only from him.

He’s found it difficult. He’s never believed in affairs or homewrecking, call him old fashioned, and being in an engagement to a woman he doesn’t know or love has taken its toll. He knew he’d never be able to marry for love, that he would have had to marry for the Famiglia, for power and status. And he truly thought he’d have no problem in remaining faithful to his future wife, that whether they grew to love each other or not, she would be able to quench his thirst.

But Harry didn’t expect to have to wait three years after getting engaged and for his fiancée to be only just legal when they first met. To him, a four-year age gap is nothing, but remembering she’s now just turned nineteen and he’s almost twenty-three, he feels a bit funny about the whole situation.

He’s cut down on his fucks of the week. No more endless nights at the club with Mike and Jeff, fucking six or seven of the dancers between them. He’s been re-acquainted with his hand and on the odd occasion that it isn’t enough, he’s found himself in one of the private rooms in the back of the bar with Lily, one of his favourite dancers and fucks, just like tonight.

It’s been a long day of calls and fights and bullets and blood, and he needed to fuck his frustrations out somewhere. It’s no surprise to him when he comes much sooner than usual, but Lily doesn’t seem to be complaining.

Harry always had a knack to make her cum long before he did. She’s panting and giggling, pushing those bleach blonde locks from her face as she readjusts her outfit and spins on her heels, dazed eyes and drunken smile.

Harry doesn’t need to look at her to know. She watches him tug off the condom and shove his softening, yet still impressive length back in his pants with a smirk, bottom lip caught between her teeth as he fixes his suit to a more presentable standard.

It’s when he’s tucking his shirt in that she notices the silver band around his ring finger and she’s reminded he’s engaged. Lily isn’t stupid, she’s been in the business long enough to know it’s an arranged one.

“You get married in a few months, right? Wonder if she’ll be able to satisfy you like I can… though you are here now, so I suppose she can’t,” she snickers, eyes dark like she thinks Harry is about to laugh and agree, like he’s pleased with his infidelity.

He isn’t. His eyes darken and not in the way she wants them to, bile rising to his throat. He’ll be damned if he lets anyone talk about his fiancée like that.

“Probably not, I hear she’s a little virgin anyway. But hey, maybe her Dad broke her in for y-”

Her back is smashing against the wall, air knocked out of her before she can finish her sentence. Harry’s got his ring-clad fingers gripping her chin and jaw, nose pressed to hers and he’s seething.

“You better watch your fucking mouth, Lily. Just because we fuck, doesn’t mean you can get away with shit. Have a little respect, or I won’t go so easy on your old man next week when he doesn’t have my fuckin’ money.”

He doesn’t stand around long enough to see the fear in her eyes grow. Instead, he lets go, grabs his gun and leaves the girl standing in shock, silent tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and a trembling jaw.

Harry’s never laid a forceful hand on a woman until now and he thought he’d hate himself for it, but right now, all he can think about is Y/N. Of the disgusting things Lily said.

He texts her when he gets to his car, his usual ‘just checking in, how are things?’ and he grows impatient when she doesn’t respond immediately. But she never responds immediately; usually, she never responds at all. He’s speeding his way back to the penthouse, knuckles white as he grips the wheel and it only takes the usual 20-minute-drive just six.

By the time he’s storming into the elevator and punching in the security code to get to his floor, his phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fishes it out quickly, shoulders tensing when he sees Maria’s name after he made it very clear to only contact him if it was an emergency for Y/N. He unlocks the phone and reads over the message.

From: Maria

He found the phone.

Harry’s blood runs cold, sweat dotting at his hairline and for a second, he feels an unfamiliar lump climb up his throat. All he sees is red and his chest is heaving. He hasn’t felt this angry in a long time, so rageful. Harry shakes his head, teeth gritted and jaw set hard. How fucking stupid does Giovanni think he is that Harry wouldn’t find out? That he wouldn’t have given another phone to Maria in case something like this happened? How fucking brave is he, laying a hand on something that belongs to Harry? How fucking dare he.

Harry’s dialling numbers before his mind can even catch up to his action and after the first three rings sound through his ears, he lets out a growl and seethes through his teeth.

“Move the wedding forward. I want her with me now.”

It feels like déjà vu, standing in front of the same curved mirror with her mother standing behind her, pulling the same distasteful expression.

The flowers decorating the bride’s suit are the same; beige carnation bouquets with baby’s breath scattered sparsely between. The same, stupid classical music plays from the same scratched record, and the same golden cage is still wrapped tight around her ring finger.

The only thing that’s changed is her.

She’s grown a few inches taller and she’s filled out nicely. Her hips have rounded well and her breasts are full and perky. The chubby cheeks left sometime six months ago and her facial structure is strong and defined.

Her eyes are different now, not the same as they were two years ago, and she’s cut most of her hair. It sits just below her shoulders now, gappy bangs long across her forehead.

She got Maria to cut it on her birthday.

Gaia is struggling behind her daughter, lacing the back bodice of her wedding dress. It’s pretty—gorgeous, actually; a long mesh train with embroidered roses and petals across the hem of it.

A perfect fit across the top, a generous amount of suitable cleavage and as it meets her hips, the embroidery fades and the dress gently puffs out, accentuating her curves just a little more.

She feels pretty, like a Princess, but she silently reminds herself this isn’t a fairytale wedding, no matter how badly she wishes it was. Y/N watches herself in the mirror, short hair curled and pinned perfectly, wavy bangs framing her face and she looks ethereal.

She doesn’t have a black eye beneath the makeup like last time, nor does she have a busted lip.

Gaia tugs at the back of the dress again.

“Succhialo, figlia,” she scolds and Y/N rolls her eyes but she sucks her stomach in even more, nonetheless.

The last few months leading up to the wedding have been gruelling, to say the least. Y/N has been poked and prodded by several tailors and designers and she’ll be happy once this whole thing is over with.

She’s also had time to think. With Harry’s insistent texts and sporadic calls, she’s felt a little more at ease about the situation, like she was starting to get to know him a little better through the blank messages.

But as she stands in front of the mirror again, her nerves are ten times bigger than two years ago.

Giovanni only told her three months ago that the wedding was being moved forward—that she’ll be a married woman before her both her 20th and 21st birthday.

She didn’t question it, not when by the looks of his face, it definitely wasn’t his idea and he didn’t have much of a say in the matter.

When she found out, a part of her was thankful, like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders because Giovanni wouldn’t be able to hurt her anymore. He hasn’t laid a hand on her since the night he found the burner phone.

She stupidly left it on the bed while she showered and Harry had texted her. She didn’t hear the message alert, nor her Father waiting for her in her room.

She did, however, know about the mistake she made when she left the bathroom in a towel and his fist kissed her cheek in a brisk greeting.

A lump rises in her throat at the memory. It didn’t stop there, why would it. She cried herself to sleep that night and every night after for three weeks.

She was unrecognisable for twelve days, bloody and bruised and banned from leaving the house. She tried to end it all that night, after he left her sobbing on her floor, naked and vulnerable.

Maria had stopped her just in time, snuck into her bedroom through the window and held her until she passed out.

She hasn’t looked her parents in the eye since. Gaia had stood by and watched it all, face stoic and void of emotion. Bruno ignored her screams of terror and begs of mercy.

And Gomez?

Gomez was shot in the foot for trying to intervene. She’s only had one thing giving her the will to power through this, to marry a monster.

Fear has no place in a marriage.

Maybe this arrangement will be her escape.

Y/N zones out as Gaia finishes lacing the back of her dress, too busy trying to calm the erratic thumping in her chest and will the pooling tears away. She blindly follows her mother out of the suite and down the stairs, holding her dress gently bunched in her hands.

It’s like everything moves in slow motion and all sounds are white noise. She can hear her heart thumping against her rib cage, can feel the sweat growing between her fingers, the lump forming in her throat as she notices Giovanni waiting for her outside of the chapel doors.

She stands behind him silently, not daring to make eye contact as Gaia takes a side entrance to join the rest of the guests.

They wait, Giovanni watching his daughter with cautious eyes. She’s too busy staring at the dark oak doors, knowing her future is waiting on the other side, another ring to bind her angelic soul to his tainted one.

Y/N feels her eyes stinging with burning tears as Giovanni loops his arm around hers and the double doors slowly open.

“You look beautiful, figlia,” he tells her through a strained whisper, like the words any normal father would shower his daughter with were burning his lungs.

The lump swells back in her throat. Of all her eighteen years of life, he’s never once said something so fatherly.

She can feel her chest aching, the idea that maybe seeing his little girl marry a stranger is hurting his heart like it’s hurting hers, but as she peers up at him for the first time in months, she sees a smile pulling on his lips.

His heart isn’t hurting. He’s just happy to get a power boost.

Y/N doesn’t pay attention to the piano ballad that begins to play softly as her father guides her through the arch of the chapel. She doesn’t acknowledge her family and his standing from their seats and cooing at the gorgeous young woman she’s turned into.

She stares at her feet as they take their first step into purgatory, before her eyes find the devil.

Harry freezes from his view at the altar. Clad in a slick red suit with ungodly curls, his mouth runs dry and knees almost buckle.

She’s fucking gorgeous.

He can feel his heart thumping in his chest as she gets closer, can feel the anger bubble in his blood at the sight of Giovanni’s arm looped around hers.

His hands are tensed into tight fists in front of him, jaw ticking and teeth gritted. But then he glances back at his bride and his heart skips a pulse.

She doesn’t have a veil over her head and he can see just how gorgeous she’s become. He hasn’t seen her in two years and now he feels speechless.

She dodges his gaze as her father kisses her cheek briskly, leaving her to walk the little step of the platform and stand before their families.

She turns to Harry, hands trembling as she picks at her nails. His gaze wavers from her face, drinking her in and as he eyes her generous chest, he notices the little green emerald that sits across her neck.

The emerald necklace he gifted her for her birthday two weeks ago.

Neither of them pay attention to the priest as she looks up at him through fluttering lashes. He’s grown even more attractive in the past two years and it’s intimidating.

She feels small under his soft gaze, but not unsafe. Maybe she just feels uncomfortable knowing what’s to come between them, what will be expected of her as his new wife.

Over his shoulder, Bruno stands tall with a cocky smirk and shimmering eyes. He doesn’t watch his baby sister be sold off to a killer. Instead, his eyes are on a blonde from Harry’s family, a dirty smirk on his lips.

Mike stands behind him, stuck out like a sore thumb. The only redhead in the entire chapel yet he fits right in.

It’s Mike behind them both that catches Y/N’s attention. He’s watching her closely, just like Gomez has for years but there’s something off in the way he observes her; like he’s memorising every tick and nerve in her body.

Her eyes land back on Harry but he’s been watching her the entire time. He doesn’t need to look over her shoulder to know his Mother is gleaming and sister picking her nails in boredom. He doesn’t need to look to know how apprehensive Maria is.

Neither of them can focus on what the official says. Y/N doesn’t dare look anywhere besides his face, trying to gauge his reaction, his mood.

He’s stoic as ever but a hint of a smirk tugs at the deep corners of his pink lips and his eyes are twinkling with a thrill of the unknown.

Hers are swimming in tears.

She tries to master his same expression, to prove she feels emptiness––but while her heart thumps shallowly in her chest, her eyes sting with the realisation that this is the end.

“You may now say your vows.”

The words drum through her ears and Harry nods, taking her hands in his open palms. Neither of them look away and Harry knows his Mother is trying to bite back a cry.

She always wanted her boy to marry for love, not for this.

Their official holds a small cream cushion, two pretty bands sitting on the velvet and Harry reaches for Y/N’s, lining it with her ring finger.

“With this ring, I take thee to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to love and care, and cherish every inch of your body and soul. I promise to protect and provide and stand by your side through light and dark. I promise my soul and heart to you, to our future children. I promise to love you until my final breath.”

Y/N feels a piece of her heart break as he slides the ring down her finger, greeting the engagement and promising their unprecedented future.

Her facade doesn’t falter and her mind draws blank.

She doesn’t think about her childhood, when Bruno used to carry her around the house on his back, when she and Maria painted each other's nails, when Gaia taught her Italian for the first time, or when Giovanni taught her how to tie her shoes.

Y/N’s mind rolls blank, like the person she was before is dead. Like she’s just been rebirthed into another life.

She reaches for the cushion and takes the band between her fingers, crowning it over Harry’s first knuckle as she looks back up at him.

An arranged marriage takes two, but she knows she’s in this alone.

“With this ring, I take thee to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, to love and support. I promise to stand by your side through the dark and the light. I offer my heart and soul, my body and mind. I promise to be eternally yours, until my final breath.”

And as she slides the ring past his second knuckle and the official pronounces them man and wife, the shaking begins.

Her body screams, igniting in a blazing fire, eyes frantic in terror and uncertainty.

But Harry gently cups his palms around her soft cheeks and with eyes on her, he kneels just enough to press his soft lips to her full ones and the uncomfortable burning eases into a welcoming warmth.

Her screams are silenced as his kiss offers a sense of comfort, like a mother and child’s first touch.

Y/N Saccaro dies a coward, but Y/N Styles-Delluci is born a survivor.

When they stand outside the chapel, she doesn’t have time to think about anything. She gripped his hand tightly as he led her down the aisle, ignoring the cheers of praise and excitement for the two.

They stand in the little entryway, side by side with Gomez a few steps to her side and Mike a few steps to Harry’s.

Giovanni and Gaia are the first to follow the newlyweds into the entryway, shaking Harry’s hand before moving along a few steps to shake Y/N’s.

Her parents look at her like she’s a stranger, no pained smiles or familiarity in their eyes. They move along as quickly as they came and Maria follows, her Father close behind.

She shakes Harry’s hand timidly before moving to her cousin, eyes watering and chin trembling.

Y/N doesn’t hesitate to pull her into a quick embrace, arms strong around one another and Y/N can feel her cousin’s heart thumping against her chest.

Romero is who pulls them both apart, offering his niece a firm handshake before a tight clasp on Maria’s shoulder pushes her away from the couple.

Y/N’s eyes are glued to them, wild in fear of what will happen to her best friend now she won’t be home to protect and comfort her.

Harry reaches for her hand, notices her worry and loops his pinky around hers, squeezing just enough to get her attention. When she turns back to him, she blinks back tears and her blurry vision settles on three bodies that stand by Harry’s side.

Stefano stands in front of the two women, shaking his son's hand with a proud smirk before he moves along to his daughter-in-law, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. There’s a dirty smirk on his lips and Y/N squeezes Harry’s finger.

“Welcome to the family, Y/N. You’re a Delluci now,” he grins.

She slips her hand from his hold and takes a tentative step closer to Harry’s side.

“Styles-Delluci,” Harry corrects him, jaw set and eyes gleaming a fire he’s desperate to burn.

Stefano grits his teeth behind closed lips and walks on, allowing Y/N to take a brief breath of relief before she’s quickly introduced to the rest of his immediate family.

Anne stands in front of the girl, eyes regarding her with concern and kindness. In a cream dress, she reaches for both of Y/N’s hands and smiles kindly at the young woman.

“My name is Anne, I’m Harry’s Mum,” she introduces herself.

Y/N looks back to her mother-in-law; a beautiful woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile. Every inch of her screams maternal natures, something she’s lacked all her life.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she replies politely, allowing Anne to pull her into a cautious embrace, close enough to ensure warmth, but far enough to not warrant fear.

She squeezes her softly, lips finding her ear.

“You’re safe with him, I promise,” Anne swears and Y/N can do nothing but nod.

When they pull away, Gemma stands by her mother with a gleaming smile and she sticks her hand out for her sister-in-law to shake.

“I’m Gemma, Harry’s little sister… and you're really pretty,” Gemma grins through chubby cheeks, a silent squeal of excitement.

She doesn’t understand the full extent of the marriage, Harry and Anne have always tried to shield the fifteen-year-old from the harsh truths of the world she was born into.

Y/N’s eyes widen and a shy smile tugs at the corners of her pink painted lips. She can feel her heart flutter in her chest and she reaches to shake Gemma’s hand softly.

Part of her nerves seems to falter around the Delluci women and Y/N misses the way Harry watches the exchange with thin lips but sparkling eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gemma. And you’re very pretty, too,” Y/N tells the young girl, a soft smile on her lips and the youngest Delluci blushes under her gaze, looping her arm around her mothers.

Harry reaches down slightly, bending to his mother’s level and pressing a kiss to her temple before turning to his sister to set his lips to the top of her head.

“We’ll see you both in there,” he tells them.

Y/N watches with curious eyes, can’t take her gaze off him as he stands by her side and their fingers brush again. This time, neither of them link their pinkies.

“They’re nice,” she finally speaks, gaze fluttering to the ground when Harry cranes his neck to look at her.

He hums with a small nod.

He doesn’t say anything else as the rest of the hundreds of family and friends filter their way through the little entrance, shaking the hands of the couple and offering words of congratulations to Harry.

Between great uncles and underbosses, Dante greets the newlyweds again. This time, he isn’t alone. There’s a gorgeous blonde on his arm, tucked in his side with a loving smile as she stares up at The Boss.

“Harry, Y/N, congratulations,” he shakes Harry’s hand first then reaches for Y/N.

He clasps another hand over her knuckles and nods politely. The blonde hugs Harry as he thanks her for coming and she turns Y/N, a bright smile on her lips.

“You make such a beautiful bride!” she gushes. “My name's Daigle, I’m Dante’s wife.”

Y/N’s eyes widen as she’s pulled into a warm embrace and another bundle of relief is whispered in her ear.

“You got lucky with Harry.”

When she pulls away, Y/N’s eyes are swimming with tears of relief and gratitude. The couple congratulates them again as they make their way toward the banquet hall.

As Y/N’s about to say something to her husband, to tell him she didn’t know Dante had a wife, his hand sits at the bottom of her back and pulls her to his side, effectively cutting her off before she can even start.

“Congratulations my boy, what an impressive little bride you’ve got yourself,” a dark voice rattles through her ears and Y/N feels herself coil into Harry’s side.

The man is a little shorter than her husband, dark hair on his balding scalp and a slight podge to his lower stomach. He looks at the young bride with a sickening grin that awakens something in the pit of her stomach.

This is what she’s used to.

The lingering looks from pervy uncles and passers-by. Being subjected to nothing but a pretty face, even since she was young.

“Uncle Salvatore,” Harry greets through pursed lips and gritted teeth.

Salvatore’s eyes are glued to Y/N’s chest and Harry’s blood is boiling, knows he’s going red in the face and the vein in his neck is no doubt ready to pop.

Salvatore reaches for Y/N’s hand and kisses her knuckles, gazing up at her with a creepy stare but it doesn’t make her squirm in discomfort. This is the look she’s grown accustomed to over the years.

She’s mastered her poker face when old men hit on her, touch her. For Y/N, this is the norm. What she isn’t used to and what does make her curl into Harry’s side, is Salvatore’s son.

“Nino Delluci…” he begins, eyes wonton as they reach the bride, “... And you are a sight for sore eyes. What in Hell are you doing with my cousin?”

She doesn’t break eye contact when he smirks down at her with hungry eyes, gnawing on his bottom lip. She doesn’t break eye contact when he reaches for her hand and kisses her knuckles.

Twice.

She only breaks eye contact when he hums something incoherent along the lines of ‘I’d love to make you bleed’ under his breath, while taking her in.

Harry’s grip on his wife’s side tightens.

“Can we go inside now?” she asks softly, a hand reaching up to rest on his chest.

Harry squares his shoulders, eyes firm on his cousin which only encourages Nino’s smug face. She doesn’t notice the small boy that gazes up at her with a lovestruck smile from Nino’s side, nor does she notice Salvatore smirking grimly by the door.

“So soon, baby? Don’t you wanna get to know your new family a little better?” Nino taunts, taking a step toward her but Harry’s quicker.

He gently nudges Y/N behind his towering frame and squares up to Nino, nostrils flared.

“Back the fuck off, Nino.” Harry’s jaw is locked in place, lips pursed.

His cousin chuckles to himself, hands up in surrender.

Gomez and Mike remain still in their positions. They know not to interfere unless it’s completely necessary. Nino walks away, the young boy following as Salvatore holds the door open for them.

Harry doesn’t let his posture fall as they walk through the door, and Y/N lets out a shaky breath, skin breaking out in goosebumps as she rolls her shoulders and twists her neck.

Harry turns back to her, eyes cautious as he tilts his head to get a better look. He knows Nino shook her up, that she’s used to the unwanted attention from older men, but never from men so close to her age.

But what he doesn’t realise is while Y/N heard him raise his voice, her mind was sent into turmoil. Will he shout at her like that? Should she feel safe because she knows he can protect her? Would he use that same tone with her if she doesn’t do what he wants?

“Your cousin’s a little forward,” she coughs out nervously, shaking her head to rid the thoughts. Harry’s heart ticks and he scoffs a laugh.

“My cousin’s a cunt,” he corrects her.

Y/N’s eyes widen as she stares up at him, innocence swimming in her features. Harry forgets again that she’s been raised a young lady, that she’s never been around much potty mouth, and he realises just how much he’s going to corrupt her in this marriage.

As much as Harry wants to protect his wife, he won’t pretend to be someone he isn’t for the sake of an arranged marriage. His potty mouth is just one of the things she’ll have to get used to.

“Stay away from Nino. You may think I’m a monster, but I have my morals. Nino is merciless and evil. He will do whatever he wants and take whatever he pleases. No matter the consequences,” he warns her, his voice timid.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. She thinks her father is the same, so what could someone two decades younger do to scare her?

She listens, though; takes what he said into consideration. Y/N doesn’t have any desire to talk to Nino ever again.

Her fork has scraped across her full plate for almost forty minutes now. She’s not hungry, not even in the slightest.

Harry’s been watching her, peering over to his side and often gently nudging his elbow into her arm, nodding to the plate which only makes her shoulders slump.

Y/N hasn’t listened to any of the speeches from their families, nor has she acknowledged much of what Harry’s said to her all evening.

But Harry has hardly looked away.

He isn’t angry, he couldn’t be. But she’s only eaten a few mouthfuls of the meat and she’s almost drunk her body weight in champagne and rosé. He’s a little worried. Her eyes have been drooping for over fifteen minutes and her vibrant skin looks sickly grey.

The last thing he wants is for her to embarrass them both and throw up all over the head table.

“The potatoes are good,” he murmurs slowly in her ear.

She slowly turns her head to look at him, blinking slowly. She cranes her neck and purses her lips together. He’s handsome, that much she can’t deny, and in her hazy, drunken state, she wonders what her lips would feel like on hers again.

He is her husband now, surely she could just… reach up… connect their lips…

“And now for the first dance!” Y/N sinks back a little more in her chair and she suddenly feels sick for even considering kissing him again.

He’s dangerous and he’s a monster.

He doesn’t love you, he doesn’t care for you, Y/N, stop this!

Harry raises from his seat as all eyes find the couple.. He’s danced drunkenly with his Mother enough times to know how to cover up her alcohol intolerance.

She’s tucked in his side, their fingers intertwined as he guides them both to the dancefloor. The lights are dim, a twinkle from the fairy lights that are wrapped around wooden beams and looped across curtains illuminating the stuffy room.

With her hand in his, he raises it above her head and gently nudges her hip to spin beneath his arm. She falls gently into his chest with a soft ‘oof’ and Harry wraps his arms around her.

Y/N’s head rests against his hard pecs as he slowly begins to dance with her. She can’t keep up, though, the heels are too high in her drunken state and her knees start to buckle.

She feels her cheeks warm in embarrassment and she knows all eyes are on them. Harry hears her whine softly in his chest and with one arm around her waist, he gently lifts her so her feet sit on his.

He guides her arms around his neck, slowly stepping in a slow dance and she dares to peek up at him, innocent eyes and swollen lips. Harry cranes his neck down to meet her gaze, and those gorgeous eyes are swimming with threatening tears.

He doesn’t understand that she’s grateful for something as little as saving her from embarrassment. He doesn’t understand that she can’t understand her own thoughts.

Neither of them pay attention to the beautiful ballad that plays through the hall, nor do they appreciate the piano or string quartet that carries their dance.

Instead, she stares at him like it’ll be the last time she ever sees his handsome face, and he watches her with wonder and curiosity while his heart begs his mind not to break her like he knows he inevitably will.

For a fleeting moment, all of her doubts slip from her mind. She lets herself believe that he will protect her from pain and anguish, that he will love and cherish her, that she will be able to trust him for the rest of her life.

For a fleeting moment, she forgets again that this isn’t a marriage bound by love, but one bound by honour and duty.

Then the music stops and Salvatore takes a step forward, raising a half-empty glass in the air to gain the attention of the other guests.

“You wed her, now bed her!”

And just like that, the entirety of the male wedding party is chanting those same words. The pair pull apart and Y/N’s wide eyes are scanning the crowd for an escape. She knows she can’t run but fuck, does she want to.

“Wed her, now bed her! Wed her, now bed her!”

“Make a masterpiece on those sheets for us, Harry.”

“Make your wife bleed!”

“Wed her, now bed her!”

Her frantic eyes find those of her mothers, but Gaia looks away, head tilted and chin up like she can’t bear the thought of looking in her daughter's desperate eyes. Y/N begins to panic, chest rising and falling in terror and she finds Maria.

Her cousin stares at her in shock, jaw slack and she tries to run for her, to pull her away from Harry but Mike stands in her way, blocking her from Y/N and ultimately escorting her out of the hall.

Gomez watches, swallowing the bile that crawls up his throat. He knew this day would come, that one day Y/N would be married off and forced into a new life she never agreed to.

He just hoped it wouldn’t hurt so much watching it happen. With a tentative hand on her back, Harry leads Y/N out of the hall. The party follows, cheering them on as she holds her dress and wanders up the thick spiral stairs.

Their room is at the very far end of the hall, away from all the others where they can’t be disturbed… or heard.

Her heart thumps sporadically and the alcohol feels like it’s worn off, and she’s far too aware of what’s supposed to happen now.

Because now, she has to give herself to him. Every inch and fibre of her entire being is about to be his, by choice or not, he’s going to take it all.

He closes the door behind them as they wander in and the frantic terror begins, surges of confidence smacking her.

Harry turns to face her, face stoic as ever and she stumbles over her feet, hands reaching out to steady herself and she shoves at his chest. Harry can smell the alcohol on her breath. He doesn’t know if it’s the first or third bottle of champagne.

He cocks a brow at her bravery and she glares up at him through droopy eyes.

“Just because I’m a woman, doesn’t mean I’ll bow down to your every order.” She slurs, almost losing her footing.

Harry holds her up by her elbow.

He’s shocked by her sudden change in attitude and he has to bite back a laugh. Was this the real Y/N breaking through?

“Is that so?”

There’s an amused grin on his lips. He finds it fucking hilarious. He’s never been turned down by a woman before, but it’s too amusing to watch her in her drunken state for him to take her refusal as a punch to his ever-growing ego.

He was never going to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable state. Maybe that’s why he’s so amused by the situation.

Y/N stumbles again.

“If you so much as force yourself on me tonight, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

It’s an empty threat, Harry’s sure of it. He squints his eyes at his wife, but she doesn’t show any signs that she’s unsure of her own words. He thinks the seriousness of the situation is starting to sober her up and she’s brave, too brave.

“Think you’re forgetting who the Capo is here, princess.” He warns.

She holds her glare as he dips his head closer to her face. He expects her to look away, to cower under his gaze like every other woman, but she doesn’t. She holds her chin high.

“You’re not Capo yet. But when you are, I will make deals impossible, I will run and believe me, I can run. I will burn you and your stupid Famiglia.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and it’s not amusement. He no longer finds her insolence funny. It’s anger. Anger that she thinks she can talk to him like that and get away with it.

But he’s conflicted. He knows she’s scared, that she’s shaking as she grits her teeth and stares in defiance.

“Then I’ll just have to torture you like all the other traitors.”

Lies. Big fat lies.

He’d never lay a hand on a woman, traitor or not. But his blood still boils at Y/N’s stubbornness. He never intended on taking what is rightfully his without her permission.

Y/N coils in disgust, a sardonic laugh slipping past her lips. Her sad smile falls as quickly as it had appeared, and she’s back to looking stoic.

“Do it, I dare you. Because I’ll just keep rebelling. I’ll publicly humiliate us both, just to see you fall.” She threatens, and Harry wants to believe it’s an empty one.

He doesn’t think he’d ever go against his own morals, but she’s beginning to wear his patience thin, not that he’s ever had much of it.

“Then I’ll put a fucking bullet through your skull.” Another fucking lie.

She steps closer, alcohol thick on her breath but she looks as sober as the day they first met.

“Baby, I’ll be pulling the trigger. My life ended the day I was born. Killing me would do us both a favour. You might as well just get it over with.”

Harry regards the girl for a moment as her voice breaks. He tries to read her, to get a glint of any flicker of emotion he can. But there’s nothing. Plain emptiness. He knows that resolve would fall under the touch of a blade or pliers pulling off her painted fingernails.

The thought of someone even touching a hair on her perfect head sends fury through his veins.

He doesn’t notice just how angry the thought makes him until the metallic taste of blood lingers on his tongue, a taste all too familiar. He’s bit into his lip.

“Forget what I said on your birthday. Fear has every place in a marriage and I hope you’re fucking terrified.”

He spits blood on the white sheets, his saliva turning it pink as it soaks into the fabric. “There, you saved your virginity for the night.”

She stares at him, shoulders sagging just an inch as she wobbles on her feet. It’s like the alcohol is making another appearance as she grimaces at him.

“Who said I was a virgin?”

When dawn breaks and light filters through the musty room, Y/N stirs from her slumber with a groggy head and unsettled stomach.

At first, she doesn’t recall the night before, but from the dull throbbing across her temples, she knows alcohol had a strong play in the evening.

It’s when she shifts in the bed, that she realises something is off.

Her bed isn’t this soft… and the sheets in her room are definitely not white cotton. She turns her head, eyes meeting the sleeping face of the notorious mobster, and she shrieks, startling him from his light slumber.

Y/N falls off the bed in an attempt to flee the situation, but when she stands, she realises she’s not in her heavy wedding dress anymore and she feels light.

Bile crawls up her throat at the realisation that she’s in his dress shirt, that she isn’t wearing a bra and while the shirt ends mid-thigh, she’s only got on those sheer panties underneath.

Harry watches her gaze trail over his body–his very naked body, besides his black boxers. She gulps at the sight, shaking her head and trying to ignore his thick thighs and toned abdomen.

Her mind conjures up the worst.

She slept with him, he took what innocence she had left.

Her thoughts are only confirmed when she notices the dark pinkish spots of blood on the sheets and she feels sick, lightheaded – and she knows it’s not from the hangover.

Harry watches her freak for a moment, watches the regret and fear flood her eyes and he quickly realises she doesn’t remember a damn thing.

He doesn’t do anything to reassure her. Doesn’t remind her that he spat blood on the sheets, or that the reason she’s in his shirt is because she struggled too much to get out of her dress and didn’t have any other clothes to change into, so he gave her his shirt.

He doesn’t tell her that he didn’t lay a hand on her, that he waited until she was asleep before laying beside her peaceful body.

“You were willing, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he breaks the silence, voice rugged and he rubs the sleep from his eyes.

She doesn’t dare look at him, arms wrapped tightly around herself and she feels ashamed, so fucking ashamed. She believes him, though. He may be a monster but he’s known to be an honourable man, a man of his words, not a liar.

“And even if you weren’t…” he stands from the bed as an insistent knocking begins to pound on their door.

“You’re my wife now, so I have the right to take what I want.”

He doesn’t believe a word he just said. He’d never force himself on her or any other woman, no matter what. That’s one thing he’ll always stay true to.

Y/N backs into the wall at his words. She ignores him opening the door with a tired grin, ignores the gossiping women of the family flooding through the room and whispering about the frail wife.

Her mind is on such an overdrive that she doesn’t see the truth right in front of her. She doesn’t realise that her thighs don’t ache and her core isn’t tender. She doesn’t notice that she doesn’t have any bruises decorating her soft skin, that Harry’s back isn’t littered in claw marks like it should be.

She believes the worst because it’s all she’s ever known.

They take the sheets with giddy smiles and gushing giggles as Harry steps into his dress pants from last night.

There’s no robe for her to cover herself with and unless she wants to wear the wedding dress that carried her into her new, caged life, she’ll have to go downstairs in Harry’s shirt and her panties.

She keeps her distance from him as they descend the staircase, arms still tight around her middle and she curls a little, just to make sure the shirt covers everything.

Everybody is watching as they enter the hall again, waiting for the bloody sheets to be presented for men to howl at and women to blush over.

Y/N keeps her eyes glued to the ground, wiggling her painted toes and biting back a cry that wants to tumble from her trembling mouth.

She ignores the cheers of pervy uncles and distant cousins, pretends she doesn’t notice the praise Harry gets and the pity looks she recieves with jealousy glares from the women.

It isn’t until the fuss dies down that she dares to look up with tear-stained cheeks and a quivering chin. Gaia still refuses to look at her from across the hall, but Maria doesn’t waste a second to see her cousin when Harry turns to talk to Mike.

“Y/N…” she breathes softly, reaching for her cousin’s arm but Y/N shy’s away from her family's touch and clears her throat, blinking back tears.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” she mumbles hoarsely, shaking her head and looking away from her concerned eyes.

Maria frowns, glaring up at the tall man beside her and pointing a jabbed finger in his face.

“Hope you’re fucking proud of yourself,” she seethes.

Harry stares at the young girl. Her hair is blue now and her nose is pierced with a hoop, something he didn’t notice last night. He doesn’t entertain the girl, though. Instead, he shoves a hand in his trouser pocket and reaches for Y/N with the other.

They’re both shocked that she doesn’t cower away from his touch when he rests his palm on the small of her back.

“Let’s go get ready, then we can say goodbye. Jet leaves for New York in two hours,” he tells her.

Y/N doesn’t say anything about a honeymoon, doesn’t question why they aren’t going on one. She’s thankful they’ll only have to be on that plane for 4 hours together, there is no way in hell she could survive two weeks in complete isolation with him.

She gets ready in the bathroom, legs jelly as she changes from his shirt and her underwear. She throws the panties in the bin, not ever wanting to see them again.

She’s about to dress in what her mother packed; a beige pencil skirt and a flowy white blouse with four-inch heels, when she notices another small bag beside it.

She doesn’t need to wonder where it came from, she knows Maria found a way to pack her something more comfortable after a bad night and in preparation for a 4 hour flight.

So instead, she dresses in a pair of black leggings and an oversized grey sweater. Her hair is tied in a quick ponytail and her face is void of makeup and emotion.

She feels shy when she leaves the bathroom, wearing something so simple and looking so vulnerable. He’s dressed in another suit when she comes back into the bedroom, a simple black one with a white shirt and he’s strapping a gun to his chest when he notices her.

She looks tired, simple. She looks normal. He knows for a fact Gaia did not pack that outfit.

“You look comfy,” he mentions.

She swallows visibly and raises her chin, lips pursed as she stares at his forehead. He knows that trick. He knows she’s pretending to look him in the eye. He bites back a smile. She’s trying to hide her discomfort.

“The jet’s ready when you are. Would you like to say goodbye to your family now?”

A leather duffle bag hangs in his hand and her tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek as she shakes her head.

“Um… actually, I don’t… want to say goodbye…” she admits quietly.

It’s silent for a moment as Harry’s brows bunch and he tries to figure her out.

“You know we’re not just going to New York for a weekend away, right? You’re going to be moving there, to live with me. I don’t know when you’ll next see them again,” he reminds her carefully, his words slow like he needs her to comprehend them properly.

But Y/N nods her head and relieves a breath.

“I know,” she tells him, her voice the most confident he’s ever heard and he nods once, agreeing.

“Okay, then let’s go.”

She’s been sitting beside him the entire time, curled up against the window. Neither of them have said a word, both too in their heads.

For Harry, he thinks about how he’s lied to her, how he’s letting her believe he took her innocence. He thinks about her desire to leave without saying goodbye to her family, about what was said on their wedding night, how empty she looked.

For Y/N, she thinks about her new life. She wonders if it’ll be better or worse. When she was at home, Giovanni took his frustration out on her, was cruel and abusive if she or someone else annoyed him.

She wonders if Harry will be the same when they’re back on his land, in his territory. She only remembers one thing from their wedding night. Fear has every place in a marriage, and I hope you’re terrified. She hopes he didn’t mean it.

It’s only the newlyweds on the plane and sleep comes quicker to her than she expected. The others had taken another jet, insisting that Harry and Y/N needed more time alone together. Really, it was just Anne's way of making sure Y/N didn’t feel overwhelmed on a plane full of Delluci’s.

Harry doesn’t wake her when they stop midway to get fuel. She wakes hours after he sleeps beside her, but she doesn’t wake him. Instead, she observes him for a little while; acknowledges the twitch in the corner of his lip, the little movement behind his eyelids, the gentle snores that tumble through his throat.

She appreciates his dark lashes fanned across his cheekbones, his ungodly waves. This version of him doesn’t look scary, doesn’t look monstrous. This version of Harry looks approachable, soft… dare she think… vulnerable. His jaw isn’t set and his lips aren’t pursed.

She wants to reach forward and caress his cheek, maybe one day she might.

When they land back in New York, a car is waiting for them; tinted windows and bulletproof glass. Y/N isn’t silly. Harry helps her with her bags, piling them into the trunk and they both clamber inside.

A partition separates the couple from the driver as the journey begins again. Y/N is looking out of the window, the soft evening consuming her but she already misses the Californian views.

“I recently had the penthouse redecorated to give you some sense of home there,” Harry tells her and when she turns, his eyes are already on her face.

“I want you to remember that it isn’t just a place that you live in. It’s your home now. I want you to treat it as such,” he says.

Y/N nods but she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say. How do you treat a place like a home when there’s no sense of safety?

“And as for security,” he catches her attention again before she can focus her gaze back outside the window.

“Mike will be your new guard. I’ve known him for years and he’s good. I trust him. If you want to go anywhere and I’m not around to go with you, Mike needs to be by your side.” Y/N can’t help the frown that grows on her face.

Not only is he entrusted with her life, but she doesn’t know him, she can’t trust him.

“Why can’t Gomez still be my guard? Why can’t he come here and guard me?” she questions, brows knitted.

Harry scratches his nose.

“Because while your Father trusted him in his territory, I wouldn’t trust him to protect you in mine. Where you go, Mike goes. No arguments.”

First order.

Neither of them say anything else for the remainder of the drive, but when the driver pulls up to a stop, Y/N’s eyes are wide as she stares out the window in awe.

A fifty story building stands tall before her, tucked between two slightly shorter builds. Her parents' home is massive, but this is something else.

This… this was an apartment building?

Harry doesn’t say anything as he walks her inside the lobby; everything is all white and pristine. The blonde receptionist behind the desk offers Harry a flirty smile that Y/N watches him completely ignore and something flips in her stomach. In the elevator, he reaches for the code and shows her the seven digits he punches in.

“We’re in the penthouse, right at the top. That’s the code. Only a select few know it, so don’t go telling everyone,” he warns, standing back as the doors close.

When they arrive at the penthouse, Y/N doesn’t know what to expect, but softwood undertones and fluffy rugs are not it. He guides her inside as she takes it all in.

The entirety of the first floor is open planned, white walls with gorgeous art hanging across them. The kitchen is huge, black and white and Y/N feels her heart flutter at the thought of all the baking she’ll be able to do.

She isn’t given much time to admire it before Harry leads her through the kitchen towards a staircase.

“There’s a library and a gym up here and our bedroom, my home office is up here too,” he says, leading her up the stairs and into a dark room.

He flips on the light as she follows him inside.

“Our room? You mean we’re going to share the bed every night?” there’s a twinge of panic in her voice.

Harry doesn’t think anything of it other than she’s innocent, nervous about sleeping with his body so close to hers every night. But that’s not it, at least, not all of it.

Really, Y/N doesn’t understand why he even wanted to sleep with her on their wedding night in the first place, and now he wants to share a bed with her for the rest of their lives?

She thinks it’s a pride thing, to have his wife sleep in the same bed as him. That has to be it. Because compared to Harry’s past lovers and flings that Maria graciously told her about, Y/N is repulsive – doesn’t compare.

“Yeah… why? Is that a problem for you?” he asks softly.

Y/N shakes her head quickly, clearing her throat and pulling her sweater sleeves past her hands.

“No, not at all… just didn’t think you’d want me in your bed, is all,” she admits, but she doesn’t mean it in the way Harry takes it. He smirks to himself though.

“You’re my wife, Y/N. I’ll always want you in my bed,” he flirts, watching as her cheeks blush in realisation of how she made her statement sound.

She clears her throat awkwardly and Harry places her bag on the bed.

“Anyway, make yourself at home. I have some business to attend to, so Mike will be around, but remember if you want to leave, he goes with you.”

He brushes past her without another word or a kiss to her forehead like he usually would to his mother or little sister. Y/N thinks nothing of it, she much prefers the space.

It isn’t until she begins unpacking one of her bags that she notices a wrapped gift on her nightstand with her name written on a note that sits on top of it.

You’re not a prisoner anymore x

With furrowed brows, she tears the paper off the gift and opens the box. A phone sits waiting for her, her family’s phone numbers saved along with Harry’s, Mike’s and Anne’s already. She feels tears sting her eyes and with a trembling thumb, she calls Maria.

In the week of Y/N’s new life, she’s grown accustomed to her new place of residence. She’s gotten used to the penthouse by now, knows where everything is if she needs anything.

She’s spent a fair amount of time in the kitchen (after the first few days of refraining from using anything), making cookies and brownies for her and Mike to snack on.

She’s mainly tucked herself away in the library, often draped across the chaise with a soft blanket and a good book.

That’s about all she’s grown accustomed to, though. She hasn’t seen her husband, at least, not properly. She’s been asleep when he gets home and asleep when he leaves.

Y/N tries to consider herself lucky. She’s thankful that she hasn’t had to interact with him, save for the two days in passing when he offers her a tightlipped smile before scurrying out of the door.

She doesn’t know why his lack of presence brings a sense of uneasiness, not after she’s gotten to know Mike just a little bit over the past seven days.

Y/N tries not to dwell on the fact that she knows Mike’s favourite frosting flavour but has no idea what her husband’s birthday is. She doesn’t know why part of her wishes to know Harry better, wishes for some type of emotional intimacy between them both.

Y/N knows she needs to accept the fact that she’s safe with how things are, not wish for possible problems that could endanger her in the long run.

But then, she supposes she’s never not been endangered, so what does she know? Maybe she wishes for the sense of comfortability with her new spouse because he’s already offered her something she’s never had before: safety.

Maybe she supposes safety and comfortability are meant to come hand-in-hand. Or maybe she’s just lonely, craves the intimacy she no longer has with her cousin.

Either way, she doesn’t get that relief of intimacy from Harry. Instead, she learns an odd quirk of Mike’s every couple of days and loses herself in the stories that occupy her mind.

The library has become somewhat of a safe haven. And despite having the means to remain in contact with Maria, Romero tends to keep his daughter on a tighter leash now and Y/N often worries with the wonder if it’s her fault.

She thinks Giovanni may have said something to intervene, and she’s been letting blame sit idly on her shoulders as the week slowly strolled past.

It’s been hard for Y/N. She’s been confined to the many walls of the penthouse, despite having the ability to leave (with Mike, of course, something Harry made very clear). But she doesn’t want to leave her new home with her guard.

She wants her husband to show her around and maybe show a little attention to her. She tells herself it’s because she needs the reassurance that she hasn’t done anything wrong, that she hasn’t upset him.

She needs him to do something that suggests he doesn’t have a reason to hurt her.

It’s fucked and she knows it. That hearing nothing is considered bad news to her. Y/N hates not knowing, hates uncertainty. She should be well used to it by now, that’s all her life has ever been.

But things are drastically different in New York with Harry, even if it’s only been a week and she hasn’t seen him.

It doesn’t matter that she feels lighter at the fact of no longer being in Giovanni’s reach or hold. She needs Harry to communicate. She needs to know she’s not doing anything wrong.

But Harry’s a busy man, has business to attend to and bullets to fire. He doesn’t have the time right now to reassure his virgin wife of anything.

And why should he?

Not only did she directly disrespect him but she somehow, someway crawled under his skin and made him grow defensive of the frail woman. Weakness is something he can’t afford.

But it’s not that he hasn’t wanted to.

Women cowering under his influence has never been something Harry has enjoyed, but she isn’t just any woman anymore; she’s his wife, bound by love and honour and duty, she’s his wife.

Perhaps she’s in the same boat. Putting a label on a relationship tends to force some sense of kindred feelings on people.

A marriage is the union between two undying souls, for kindred lovers and harnessed spirits. A marriage is a symbol of devotion, trust and love. Everything their relationship is not.

Maybe that’s why he silently observes her while she sleeps, making sure her breathing is steady and comfortable, and why she misses his presence when he’s gone and wants to know more.

Stories of other lovers are what seem to take her mind off things best, but also have her brain reeling and mustering up impossible scenarios in the light of day, encouraging them to run wild through her head in the dead of night.

Y/N doesn’t know whether to be thankful of them or not--whether it gives her a sense of false hope or weightless relief.

Today is no different from the past six. She wakes alone with no idea where Harry is or what he’s doing.

After her shower and getting ready for the day, she finds herself in the library, lounging across the chaise with Jane Eyre in her hands, but she can’t seem to grasp the words on the first page.

It’s with a sigh that Y/N puts the book back and allows her fingers to brush against the spines of endless stories and fantasies.

There’s not a speck of dirt on the pad of her finger when she comes to the end of the shelf and she wonders if it’s because Harry secretly loves to read or because a maid frequents.

She can’t help but suppose it’s the latter. The thought of Harry reading is somewhat amusing to Y/N, but she knows it’s not something she can just rule out. She doesn’t know the man.

She’s huffing with boredom when she’s ready to leave the room, but as her eyes flitter effortlessly across the clinically white bookcases, she catches something golden that’s tucked away at the far end of the room, shoved beneath a lip at the bottom of a case.

With a tilted head and gently furrowed brows, she goes to inspect it, pulling out a large photo album.

It’s dusty, looks like it hasn’t come out to reminisce old times in a while and Y/N blows the thick coating of fine powder off. There’s nothing but soft, intricate golden leaves designed and embroidered across the expanse of the outer book and it feels heavy in her hands.

Maybe not the weight of the book itself, but the weight behind it.

She doesn’t know what compels her to leave the library with it wrapped in her arms, what forces her to sit on the couch with it out in the open on the coffee table in front of her.

Y/N feels sick at herself for even opening it, she knows old photos are precious past memories that she suspects someone like Harry would not particularly wish to share with his new wife.

It doesn’t stop her from looking, though – doesn’t stop her heart from aching and swelling at the sight of a three-year-old Harry wandering around butt-naked in a backyard with a cheesy grin on his lips and a green bucket hat on his head.

She keeps looking; flipping the pages with a gentle smile but it quickly fades with one of slight confusion.

The only people in the almost hundred photos are the same three: Harry, Anne, and a mysterious man. Y/N’s never seen him before but he looks familiar, she can’t help but see traces of Harry in him.

She supposes maybe it’s Harry’s uncle; maybe even a family friend and Y/N’s just thinking too deep into it. She needs to stop allowing her mind to think everything to be a fucking conspiracy.

She wants to appreciate the pure vulnerability she’s able to see in regards to Harry, even if it is just through photos that are almost twenty years old – older than her.

She doesn’t know whether she’ll get to see a side of him that isn’t stone cold and doesn’t absolutely petrify her.

Knowing some part of him used to be young and innocent offers a sense of relief, a reminder that he has some sanity about him; whether he wants to admit it or not.

She gets to the end of the photo album when she learns the strange man's name. On the back of a photo of the unfamiliar face and Harry digging dirt in the garden, dressed in overalls with a beer in the man’s hand and a sippy cup in Harry’s, there’s a little note written in what she supposes is Anne’s calligraphy.

Danny and Harry -- summer 2000 x

Y/N finds herself mumbling his name under her breath, brows furrowed as she scours her brain. She’s heard that name before, she’s sure of it.

She doesn’t have much time to continue her mindful search before the creaking of the living room floorboards quirk in her ears and Mike is slowly swaying into the room.

He’s dressed in a slick suit, something that Y/N has tried to tell him isn’t necessary and he has ignored, and his hands are stuffed in his pockets with a stoic expression on his regularly threatening face.

“Where’d you find that?” his low voice asks and even though it’s just about audible, it manages to sound through the room and ricochet against the walls and beams.

Y/N nearly jumps in her skin, despite already knowing of his presence.

She feels no threat from Mike--she knows he’s here to protect her and both he and Harry have made that very clear--but he’s still very intimidating in the way his posture holds him and his general blank expression.

It’s something about his eyes. Icy blue but she knows something dark burns behind them.

She clears her throat and quickly closes the book, tucking loose curls behind her ear. Y/N pushes the album to the centre of the coffee table and sits further back on the couch, as if to make a point--she’s just not sure what point she’s trying to make or prove.

She clears her throat.

“Uh, I found it in the library,” she explains lamely and Mike notices she can’t make eye contact with him.

He also knows she isn’t lying.

Over the week he’s been guarding her, he’s learnt all her ticks and tells. Y/N isn’t a liar, she’s just constantly in fear and silently requires the reassurance that she hasn’t done anything to upset anyone.

Mike hums, nodding his head, knows she has more to say; he knows what photos are in that book.

“There’s uh, there’s a lot of pictures of Harry with his Mom and some man… Danny,” she says carefully, articulating her words in a way that isn’t going to seem out of place or something he’ll consider mentioning to Harry to have her scolded and punished.

“That’s for Harry to explain, if he ever wishes to,” he responds cooly, hands still shoved in his pockets but Y/N’s eyes are fixed on the book and she wonders if she has the balls to try and push further.

“It’s just… he looks like him, you know? Looks like he could be a relative,” she speaks freely, though her throat feels like it’s being constricted.

She tries to word it casually, like she’s making an innocent observation but they both know it’s more than that. Mike doesn’t say anything for a few moments, allowing her to understand that he isn’t about to say anything in regards to the photos.

“Are you missing yours?” He asks, her eyes meeting him with a frown and he shifts his weight from his feet, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest.

He clears his throat.

“Your family, I mean… are you missing them? I know it's a long way from sunny California,” he tries to lighten the mood for her sake; he doesn’t particularly want her to grow agitated with him for not telling her part of Harry's past.

Y/N purses her lips and maybe keeping quiet would’ve been a better idea but Mike tends to run his mouth before really thinking out situations that involve sad emotions.

“Not really. I feel safer here than I ever have back in Cali,” she admits through a pathetic laugh, like she’s trying to cover up the hurt.

“Your Dad?” he asks in a gentle tone, one she’s never heard before but she’s only known him a week.

She smiles weakly, nodding her head and Mike hums, adjusting his suit as he stands taller. Y/N’s gnawing at the inside of her cheek and picking at the skin around her nails -- nervous habits, Mike’s come to learn -- so he takes a step closer to her and clears his throat once more.

“Come on. Let me take you for lunch and show you around New York a little,” he offers, a hint of a smile on his lips but Y/N thinks she might be seeing things.

She isn’t used to this type of kindness from men of any ages. She frowns harder.

“Is that a good idea? Won’t Harry be mad?” she twists her hands nervously.

“Harry entrusted me with your life, Y/N. I’ll always keep you safe when he’s not here. And you’re not a prisoner anymore. He’ll never treat you like one.”

It’s a little after three when Harry feels a nervous twitch in his cheek and a tick in his fingers. He’s been gnawing on his bottom lip for the past twelve minutes and both Gemma and Anne have noticed.

His mother is concerned for him while his younger sister offers a look of disgust and is five seconds away from chastising her brother about how chapped his lips will be.

“As much as your sister and I want to stay, Harry… we can’t. You’re going to have to prove to Stefano that you can do this. We believe in you.”

Her gentle voice tries to coax him back into the room but the only thing that does is when the elevator sounds just seconds later and he stands from the couch.

Harry doesn’t fucking know what’s gotten him in such an aggy and irritated mood. His palms are sweaty and he doesn’t know why. He tells himself it’s because Y/N’s never been out before and that she and Mike have been gone for almost three hours.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust either of them; he trusts Mike with his life and he trusts that Y/N won’t try something stupid. Ideally, Harry would have liked to have been the one to take Y/N out first, maybe to prove something to the people watching his every move, he’s not sure.

Part of him feels a little guilty. He hasn’t seen her for more than five minutes since she moved to New York and he feels a little bit sick. He’s taken her from her family and everything she’s ever known.

As her husband, it should be his duty to care for her and ensure she doesn’t feel alone in this transitioning time. But Harry has to remind himself that this isn’t any regular marriage and there are no loving feelings shared between the two beneath their label.

But that doesn’t make it easier for Harry to try and understand why he feels the way he does about the matter.

When the elevator doors slide open, she’s got a shy smile on her lips and her shoulders are drooped in a relaxed state. The sight is a jolt of relief to Harry.

Wife or not, he never wants a woman to feel unsafe or intimidated in his presence or his men’s. He takes a brief moment to quickly get a good look at her.

She seems a lot lighter in the way she carries herself since she arrived at her new home. In a pretty beige pinafore with a ribbed white turtleneck underneath, she looks pretty -- very pretty.

Her hair falls in loose curls that sit just past her shoulders and her plump lips are painted pink with a subtle gloss.

When her eyes flitter up from her feet, she finally notices him watching her, a warmth rising to her cheeks and she shuffles in the penthouse behind Mike.

Her eyes are too glued on Harry, worried she may have done something wrong, for her to notice the presence of Anne and Gemma.

It isn’t until Anne is cooing at her and pulling her into a motherly embrace that she breaks her nervous gaze on her husband and shakily returns the hug to her mother-in-law.

“Was worried we wouldn’t see you before we left, love. Mike took you out for lunch, Harry said,” she smiles warmly, holding the girl by her shoulders and Y/N nods, lips pursed inwardly.

“Before you left? Where are you going?” she asks, ignoring the latter part of her question but she doesn’t mean to… she wonders if Harry will scold her for it when they leave.

Anne lets out a soft huff.

“Back to England, love. Now you’re married, Harry’s got his trial period as Capo to prove himself in the event Stefano is no longer able to reign as Capo,” she explains briefly, hands waving a seemingly dismissive manner, like she doesn’t much care for the topic.

But Y/N sees the glimmer of fear in her eyes.

She nods her head and smiles softly at the youngest Delluci who’s already gleaming up at her. Y/N doesn’t know what it is, but knowing Gemma appears to like her makes her feel a little more at ease.

“Will we be seeing you soon?” Y/N queries shyly, wondering if Anne can sense her need of having them around.

She does, and she reaches for the young girl's hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“I hope so, darling.”

She zones out as Harry kisses their cheeks goodbye and sees them to the elevator, she’s too busy twiddling her thumbs and preparing herself for the numbing loneliness she'll be forced to face again tonight.

“Mike, you’re off for the night,” Harry’s low voice squeaks in her ears and Y/N’s head perks up, brows furrowed with sweaty palms.

“Do you not have work?” she blurts out before she can even think about what she’s doing.

Her face pales, head lowering as her gaze fixes on the floor. If she spoke like that to Giovanni, he would’ve kicked her to the ground by now.

Harry hates the way she quickly reels into herself, a vile taste on his tongue at the thought of her thinking he’d ever lay a hand on her like that.

He shakes his head and lowers his voice to a softer tone, ignoring the squinted look Mike gives him.

“Not tonight, I figured we could spend some time together,” he starts, dipping his head slightly as Y/N slowly raises hers to look up at him through mascara-coated lashes.

Mike bites back a smirk. In all his life, he’s known Harry to only ever use that soft tone with the women of his family: his mother and sister. He leaves the couple without another word and when Harry hears the elevator doors close again, he continues.

“I feel bad for not spending any time with you and leaving you all alone since we got here.”

Y/N feels part of her heart swell at his confession and she feels her cheeks blush harder than before. She offers a shy chuckle and shrugs her shoulders.

“Not all alone, Mike’s kept me a little company,” she’s nervous and she wonders if this is actually his way of making sure he gets laid tonight.

She doesn’t want to sleep with him again, doesn't want to go through the pain of remembering it this time.

She can feel herself beginning to panic, the sweat in her palms increasing by the second. Maybe if she plays along it won’t hurt so much, maybe he won’t be so hard on her.

She doesn’t want to think of him as such a person to do such a thing, but he’s a Made Man and Y/N is his wife. Her permission doesn’t matter.

He seems to notice her apprehension and takes a tentative step closer, trying to sag his shoulders to make himself look smaller; less intimidating.

“I thought maybe we could cook together? Get to know each other a little more,” he suggests and with a brief second of her gnawing on her inner cheek, she agrees.

They settle for making pizza. Harry’s kneading the dough as she stirs the tomato puree in a small bowl. She’s cut the pepperoni and mushrooms, a little plate full of peppers and spices ready to be sprinkled on when the dough is thick enough.

Y/N takes her time to admire Harry.

He’s got his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tie long forgotten on the couch and the first few buttons by his collar are undone, dark and sparse chest hair peeking through.

He looks good, she can’t lie about it. And there's something about seeing an easy smile on his lips that makes him seem all the more normal, she finds herself feeling comfortable in his presence, safe.

In the hour of prepping, they’ve learnt little bits of information about each other. Harry learnt that Y/N’s favourite colour is yellow because it brings her a sense of light. She told him that her favourite movie is Romeo and Juliet, “Cliche, I know,” and that ever since she was little, books have been her little escape from how bad her home life has always been.

He learnt about her relationship with her brother when she was growing up and how it all fell to shit when he was initiated, when he sided with their Father and left her alone.

It isn’t all one sided with learning new information. Y/N learnt about Harry’s ability to hold his breath for seven minutes, how he taught himself to play the guitar at a young age, and as much as he was tempted to tell her he once killed a man with his guitar string, he didn’t.

He lets her revel in the innocence he offers her in sheltered childhood memories. Like how he used to read Gemma bedtime stories and train with Mike and Jeff every evening.

It’s when he mentions how he once made homemade pizzas with Anne when he was younger and she thinks he’s opening up to her.

She doesn’t understand that he only tells her these things to make her feel a little more comfortable. She mistakes his consideration for trust.

“I uh, I found some old photos in the library this morning. A bunch of ones of you and your Mom,” she begins in a shaky tone and Harry hums, sprinkling the cheese over the tomato based path she created for him.

She dares to snatch a peek at his face, fearing the worst -- but he’s calm and concentrated as he evenly distributes slices of pepperoni in the cheese’s wake.

“And there was a man in them, too. You look kinda like him, you know,” she continues, fiddling with a couple of olives between her fingers and she’s too caught in the way they roll against her fingertips to notice his mood falter and body stiffen.

So she continues.

“Is he your uncle? I didn’t see him at uh, at the wedding,” she cranes her neck just enough to wince at his reaction and he’s sprinkling chopped onions and mushrooms with a little more force than he did with the cheese.

Y/N swallows.

“No. He was my father,” he tells her.

His voice is rough and short -- a quip, less than a casual reply. Y/N frowns at his bluntness and the new information, dropping the olives in the ceramic bowl and twisting to face him.

“What?” she asks, brows furrowed. “But I thought that—“

“That Stefano is my Father? No, my step-father. Why else do you think you and I are Styles-Delluci?”

His replies are short and blunt and he doesn’t miss the way she sinks into herself out of fear and embarrassment. Nothing more is said on the matter, Harry opting to change the subject and attempting to lighten the mood to the best of his ability, but Y/N doesn’t budge.

He’s come to learn that when she fears she’s upset someone or gotten herself in some kind of trouble, she tends to bottle herself up and doesn’t allow forgiveness upon her.

Or maybe it’s that she doesn’t believe the forgiveness is ever genuine and Harry starts to wonder if she’s ever even been forgiven before. The thought rattles something unsettling within the pit of Harry’s stomach.

They wait for the food to cook in silence and eat in silence, opposite ends of the dining table. Y/N keeps her gaze on her food while Harry keeps his gaze on her, but neither says a word.

Harry cleans the dishes while she showers and as they climb into bed together for the first time since she’s been there, their backs stay faced to the other as sleep consumes them.

omg please do let me know what you think so far of the series? the next part is out next week and it's another long one, too. feedback is massively appreciated!!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles imagines

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rafeandonlyrafe · 4 months

Text

flashing lights

words: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ only, brief smut, p in v sex, model!reader (a bit of influencer too but primarily a model), soft rafe, marriage, pregnancy

“so thats your new girl?” topper asks, eyes on you as you twirl to the music, long legs on show in the simple black dress.

“yeah, shes here for a month on vacation.” rafes also looking at you, unable to let his gaze stray, in case a man comes up and attempts to dance with you. you may not be an official item yet, considering you only met a couple days ago, but rafe is determined to spend the entire month that you’re here with you, and not let any other men pull your focus away.

“she looks so familiar.” the voice rings out before rafe even realizes that there's other people now sat in the circle of chairs and couches, too wrapped up in you.

the girl, who rafe recognizes from high school, begins to tap on her phone. “wait, shes a model.” “yeah, she told me.” rafe shrugs it off. he could have guessed your profession anyways, with how naturally stunning you are, and your height almost rivaling his, only a few inches shorter.

“no, like really famous model.” the girl turns her phone towards rafe, and he hates having to drag his eyes away from you to look at the screen, pulled open to a google search of your name.

“holy shit!” topper says for rafe, taking the phone from the girl as he clicks the first link to open up your instagram. “she has 20 MILLION followers, rafe.”

rafe glances from the phone to you as you turn to smile at him, still dancing to the music, glad to be free of all the attention and camera flashes. its why you chose the outer banks in the first place, somewhere more tucked away to take a month away from the spotlight.

“why are you so surprised, look at her.” rafe states before standing up, tired of letting you dance alone as he joins you on the makeshift dance floor, his hands coming to your waist as you give him a dazzling smile.

-- two years later --

camera lights flash and shouts ring out, but rafe is used to it now.

he smiles and waves, shocked that anyone would care about him, a nobody from north carolina, his only claim to fame is being your boyfriend, for a little over two years now.

rafe walks inside, having enough of the screaming and crowds as he takes in the area, chairs set up along a runway, a large prada sign on the white wall. your prestige has only grown since rafe began to date you, despite coming back to the outer banks several times to take a break and visit him. since rafe began to travel with you, you’ve gone from paris to milan to new york to london, gracing the covers of magazines and walking runways.

he tries to attend every show, taking on a pseudo-management role himself. your favorite part is dressing rafe in the mornings, having received clothing from so many brands, both mens and womens fit. rafe lets you choose, knowing you have the eye for fashion, and he loves to see how happy you get when he wears your outfit.

rafe walks through the seats until he finds the one with his name on it, front row. he sits down, scrolling on his phone as people begin to file in until the room is packed full.

he waits as the show begins, models walking down the runway. they don’t shine to him, not like you do when you step out, your face blank in the typical model expression as you strut down the runway, dressed in all denim with a pair of chunky sunglasses on your nose.

rafe is in awe every time he sees you work, whether its watching your fluid poses during a photoshoot or your long legs stomping down a runway.

he waits with bated breath for your second outfit, changing into a slouchy menswear-esque ensemble, only pulled in at your waist as the fabric swishes around your ankles.

he claps when everyone steps out for the final walk, but he doesn’t cheer for the designer, even if it is prada, as he makes eye contact with you, only ever a brief glance while you're walking the runway, knowing if you look for too long you will become entranced with his handsomeness.

rafe waits for you after the show along with some of the other family members or partners of the models, long after all the celebrities have gone, either to an afterparty or on to a different show.

“hey baby.” rafe smiles when you step out, hair still slicked up in a ponytail, face caked with makeup, but now in a pair of loose jeans and a plain white crop top.

“hi handsome.” you coo, pressing your lips against rafes. “did you like the show?” “i liked you in the show.” rafe says pointedly, making you blush. “are we going to the afterparty?” “nah.” you shake your head. “i have that carolina herrera show in the morning, and i want to spend some time with you.”

“i’ll never argue against spending alone time with you.” rafe says, slotting his arm around your waist as you exit the building, surprised when photographers are still waiting outside. you wave briefly before rushing towards the car, knowing the picture of you and rafe are bound to be spread all over instagram and pinterest before you even make it back to your hotel room.

“rafe, i’ve got a question.” you hum, stepping out onto the balcony, eyes looking to the ocean. you’re on a paid for vacation by a makeup brand, simply wanting a couple instagram story posts using their products in a get ready with me. you are supposed to be relaxing the rest of the time, but you crept onto your phone to read the latest email from your agent.

“what is it babe?” rafe asks as he pulls you down onto his lap, scantily dressed in only his swimsuit, not that you have worn much other than a bikini this whole trip.

“what would you think about me doing a lingerie photoshoot?” you haven’t accepted any jobs that would call for you to show off a lot of skin or be paired with a male model since you started dating rafe, lucky to be in a place to reject jobs.

“who is it for?” rafe asks.

“calvin klein. i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t them.” you admit. you find their style of black and white classic photos far more tasteful than traditional lingerie pictures.

“as long as i can be there during the shoot.” rafe says. he’s taken the role of your advocate and protector during photoshoots, easily able to read your face and speak up for you if needed, considering sometimes the models voice gets drowned out.

“of course.” you nod.

“then absolutely.” rafe pulls you in closer to his body. “i need a new lockscreen anyways.”

you roll your eyes but can’t help the laugh that bursts out of you as you turn towards the ocean, watching the waves roll onto the sand.

you step out behind the curtain, a tight fitting sports bra contrasting the loose jeans, slung open and zipper undone to show off your underwear as well as the calvin klein jeans.

you look over to rafe, who has his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as his eyes skate down your bare torso.

you most over to the white backdrop as the photographer begins to test the lighting, taking occasional snaps as things are adjusted.

the photoshoot is run just like any other and you’re finished faster than expected considering they’re solo shots and no change in location or background.

you keep the underwear and jeans on, simply throwing on a sweatshirt before getting into the taxi home with rafe, this time to your new york city apartment, having collected various homes and apartments around the world, depending on wherever you were doing business at the time. you consider the outer banks home though, returning every extended break with rafe.

“did you like the shoot?” you ask when you get home, rafe laying on bed while you tug the sweatshirt and jeans off, leaving you in just the calvin klein bra and panties.

“get over here.” rafe says, not caring about your question. he’s been desperate for you since you appeared from behind the curtain, not even trying to hide it as he watched the photoshoot, your eyes occasionally moving to him, giving him reassurance you were still good.

rafe makes you keep the underwear on, simply pulling it to the side once he’s got your back against the mattress to slide his cock deep inside of you. you push the sports bra up to let your breasts free, rafes palm instantly coming to cover your tit as he thrusts into you.

“i think you should do more shoots like that.” rafe says with a moan, cock pulsing inside of you.

“its nice to be back home.” you sigh, quickly applying some makeup, mostly just mascara and a glowy primer.

“agreed.” rafe kisses your shoulder, watching over your shoulder as you finish and then adjust your white dress, having decided to take a couple pictures on the beach for you to post as well as just enjoy a walk on the sand.

“alright, i’m ready.” you hum as you slip on your sandals. you lace your fingers with rafes before stepping out the back door. “you look handsome by the way.”

the suns golden light illuminates his skin. his outfit is simple, closer to what he wore before the fame. a simple white button down, loose fitting and you are sure would look delicious unbuttoned, showing off his muscles.

“thank you baby.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek, leading you down the beach until you come across a picnic set up. you glance around before realizing its for you.

“oh my god, its just like our first date!” you gush, stepping away from rafe to look at the spread.

“before we eat, i have a question to ask you.” you turn around to realize that rafe is on one knee, a velvet jewelry box in his hand.

“oh, rafe.” you press your hand to your mouth, tears already coming to your eyes as he opens the box, revealing a sparkling diamond ring. “will you marry me?”

“how am i supposed to look good next to a literal model?” rafe asks as he looks towards the camera, looking almost nervous for once in his life.

“we’ve taken pictures together before rafe.” you roll your eyes, adjusting your wedding dress. it’s actually four weeks after your wedding, but you wanted to get professional photos done with your new husband and asked one of your photographer friends who was more than willing to let you into their studio if they could post some of the photos on their instagram and website.

“mirror selfies and shit, this is more serious.” rafe says as you tug him over to the backdrop.

“you look so handsome, babe. don’t worry.” you smooth your hands over his shoulders. “just think back to our wedding day, we took so many pictures then.”

“i was too distracted by how excited i was to marry you.” rafe says, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder, the oscar de larenta dress you ended up deciding on being off the shoulder. it was a simple dress, but the closer you got you realized how intricate the lace detail is. “you look just like you did on our wedding day though, baby. the makeup artists did a great job.”

“just tanner.” you joke, having gone on your honeymoon already.

you look as the photographer begins to set up their lens, before you turn to whisper to rafe. “you can’t tell?” you question, pressing your hand to your stomach. you know there’s no way you’d already begin to show, considering your baby is no bigger than a seed, but that doesn’t stop you from getting worried about your pregnancy being discovered early.

“not at all.” rafe shakes his head, but can’t hide the smirk that comes to his face, knowing your tummy will soon swell with his child, having made sure of it many times on the honeymoon.

“i was thinking about how we could announce the baby.” you tell rafe as you pad into the kitchen. he’s still making the decaf coffee you were absolutely craving, more syrup and milk than coffee.

“how?” he hums, glancing over at you as you lean against the counter, rubbing your stomach, bump now obvious as you’re over 6 months along. you have managed to keep it a secret so far, saying you were taking a break from modeling to focus on your new marriage. there is of course a lot of speculation that you are pregnant, but it is to be expected.

“calvin klein shoot. like before, except i’ve got a big ol’ bump.” you laugh as rafe finishes you coffee off with some whip cream before sliding the mug to you. “and you can be in it too.”

rafe rolls his eyes as you giggle. “come on! the girls love you, you’re so handsome.”

“i’m not a model.” rafe argues back, but he already knows he’s going to agree, he’d do anything for you, his pregnant wife.

“yeah, but you’re hot like a model.” you shrug, taking a sip of coffee.

“i think this is just an excuse to get me shirtless and in underwear.” rafe laughs, pressing a kiss to your upper lip, cleaning off the whip cream that sat on your cupids bow.

“yeah, and what about it?”

“you know theres some hormone to make women forget the pain of birth?” you hum to rafe, keeping your voice soft. “because if you remembered then no one would never do it again.”

“really?” rafe whispers, his voice also hushed as to not wake the sleeping newborn cuddled up in his arms, wrapped in a soft hospital banket.

“yeah.” you nod. “but i don’t wanna forget a moment of this.”

“im sure you wont baby.” rafe kisses your head as your tiny daughter squirms in his arms, letting out a yawn in her slumber. “i suppose i need to use a different name for you now that we’ve got an actual baby.”

you giggle, resting your head against rafes shoulder as you look down on your perfect little girl, already an adorable mixture of you and rafe.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @rafecamerongirl @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @buckyswhxre @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld

#rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe fanfic #obx fic #outer banksoute

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earthtooz · 11 months

Text

x : CHANGE YOUR MIND ! :*+ﾟ

in which: it's 2 am and itoshi sae is outside your door, hoping for a second chance.

warnings: 1.2k words, angst to fluff with hurt/comfort, happy ending, exes to lovers, not at all realistic but it's itoshi sae ok and we're delusional, ooc!sae

a/n: second second chance romance fic for sae LOL he's just too easy to write for when it comes to exes to lovers. idk why the banner is so low quality but enjoy!

you wonder where itoshi sae finds the nerve. after breaking up with you six months ago ‘for the sake of his career’, you never thought sae would have the gall to show up at your apartment, let alone at 2am, rudely disrupting your sleep.

yet, here he is. a soccer prodigy and superstar in the flesh, standing under the harsh lighting of your apartment hallway that always casts an ugly glow on everyone except sae.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, gripping the door handle a little tighter.

“i just got off the plane,” he answers, evading your question.

“i know. i can see your suitcases.”

he doesn’t say anything more after that. before the breakup, you were able to read the untouchable itoshi sae, translating his stiff silences into words he could never say but wholeheartedly mean, breaking through his ego to then understand the messages of his heart. he only hopes that you can interpret the one he’s brought to you right now.

“can i come in?” asks the athlete, his question shy and lacking the usual demand that sits in his tone.

still, you furrow your eyebrows and stand your ground. “why on earth would i let you in?”

softness is a weapon that itoshi sae owns. he knows that with his typical hardened exterior the best way he can get through people sometimes is with pliability. even you have fallen for it.

he frowns, “because i’m tired and i want to sleep.”

“don’t you have your own five star hotel that your manager booked for you?”

“can i just come in?”

the nerve. “itoshi, please leave.”

“i will, i will, but will you hear me out first?”

“what could you possibly have to say that you didn’t befo-”

“-i love you.”

the world stills.

the air around you becomes delicate and you’re too scared to breathe in fear of disrupting the silence, but it feels like the floor beneath you just crumbled and you’re falling through the debris. you’re falling and the only thing you can do is search for sae in the chaos.

but you don’t hold on to him. no, not this time.

“that’s not fair, that’s not fair at all, sae, you can’t-” a sob tears your words apart, “-you can’t break my heart then come back six months later to tell me that you apparently love me, do you know how hard it was for me to just- ugh!”

in a fit of exasperation, you leave your post at the door and retreat back into your apartment. sae quietly slips through the crack you left open, closing the door with a soft click and you don’t even have the energy to chase him out. he even left his suitcases outside- not that anyone would take them at 4 in the morning.

“you left me so abruptly and carelessly. we were together for almost a year, sae, yet you threw me aside, called me a burden and moved on with a snap of your fingers! was it easy? moving on like that?”

instead of flinching at your yelling, sae simply stands at the entrance and accepts it, letting your words prick his skin and sink into him as if would make up for the pain you’ve been bathing in.

“do you know what that did to me?” your voice is quiet now, turned down a few notches.

he knows. he knows that you’ve been trying to get over it and not let the breakup impact your life too much, despite what he did. you’ve been going out with friends, treating yourself to everything you deserve, and finding a peace that he’s proud of you for. but sae also knows about the many nights you’ve spent crying and being sensitive to loving again, he hears about all of it from rin who lectured him when he first broke up with you and most likely, will lecture him again when he hears about sae’s unplanned visit.

sae was stupid and naive, but you were the first person he ever loved, and the world is colourless without your splash of influence.

sae knows he shouldn’t be here existing in your space after everything, however, the instant he stepped off the plane, the first thing his heart wanted was to see one of the few things he loves about japan, you.

“-so, please, just leave me alone and don’t come back,” you request.

the last thing sae is good at is following instructions, especially ones he doesn’t like.

“but, i love you,” he tries again. you fall to the couch with a defeated sigh, his persistence impaling your heart.

“stop it.”

somehow, he’s now standing beside you. “do you still love me too?”

“sae-”

“-if you don’t love me anymore i’ll leave.”

with your head in your hands, you lie to him, “i don’t want you to stay either way.”

“another chance, i’ll make it right, i’ll fix it with my life, y/n, just please say you love me too.”

“you’ll hurt me again.”

“i won’t,” he falls down onto the couch beside you, enveloping you with his frame. “i’ll be good and you can kill me if i’m not.”

you laugh. it’s dry and reserved, but you’re laughing and he begins rocking you side to side. “i don’t want to kill you.”

“rin will, then.”

you take your face out of your hands, looking at him properly for the first time since he arrived. “i-i don’t know, sae. you’ll leave again when you decide that you don’t want me.”

he doesn’t know how to tell you that whilst abroad, all he could think about was you. that during the mundane chores, the tedious trips to and from training, and all the times that he had won a match, he was thinking about you.

he thought about you in the music he played whilst cleaning, he thought about taking you to a restaurant he saw whilst on the way, and his thoughts about you are loudest when he has a medal around his neck yet all he wants to know is whether or not you’re watching.

but you’re not beside him singing along whilst he was mopping his floors, you weren’t there in his car pointing out every fun detail you saw, and he didn’t even know if you wanted anything to do with soccer after what him.

everytime, the yearning for you would grow, to the point that it lead him here when he should have gone to the hotel to wash up and sleep off the tiring trip instead.

but sitting here now and looking at your tear-stained face, he knows he’ll always prefer you- he’ll always find and choose you, so long as you let him.

“give me another chance,” and i’ll show you that i’ll never leave again.

“fine,” you surrender after a moment of silence and sae feels like he could jump to the moon. “but we take things slow-”

“-i love you,” he repeats, grabbing your face and pushing you down on the couch, peppering an endless stream of kisses on your skin. sae’s outburst of affection and happiness is uncharacteristic but contagious. “i love you, i love you, i love you.”

between each declaration is sae kissing a new part of your face, showering your cheeks, forehead, nose- everywhere with unbridled adoration that he has been keeping locked up for too long. you’re real between his hands, you’re real in his hold, you’re real beneath him, and he doesn’t want this dream to end. his kisses feel like healing promises and you melt right into them.

“i get it!” you giggle out, hands on his shoulders as to wrestle him off. “you don’t need to keep telling me, and promise me that we’re going to take it slow-”

a cold tear slides down your cheek, silencing your giggles. it’s not you who’s crying though, so you hug sae a little tighter.

something tells you that this second chance won’t backfire.

#sae x reader #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff #sae fluff #itoshi sae fluff #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock

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metalhoops · 1 year

Text

‘Of course, I remember you.’

As far as first words go, Eddie’s were a hell of a head-scratcher.

To catch up the uninitiated, everyone in the world has a soulmate. It’s been debated and speculated if a person can have more than one, but the mechanics behind soulmates was a pseudo-science at best and downright magic at worst. The first words a person’s soulmate spoke to them were inscribed somewhere on that person’s body, typically in their soulmate’s handwriting.

Doesn’t handwriting change over time? The uninitiated might ask, to which Eddie would repeat, it’s pseudo-science or magic. Either that or something like quantum mechanics, where people are pretty sure, one day we’ll understand how it works, but right now there are a lot of theories and only a little bit of evidence, most of which contradicts itself.

Most of the time, the words are boring and wholly unhelpful. He could count on two hands the number of people that simply had some variation of ‘hello’, tattooed somewhere on their body. From Eddie’s point of view, he got lucky.

He had a sentence of scratchy scrawl written on his inner arm stating, ‘of course, I remember you’. And really, what the hell was Eddie meant to make of that?

Typically, your tattoo lets you know you’d found your soulmate upon first meeting, but his words implied he’d meet his soulmate before they first speak and that it would be memorable. Wasn’t that goddamn frustrating?

His soulmate’s first words were right up there with ‘hello’ in Eddie’s list of ‘top five worse soulmate marks,’ because how the hell were those poor bastards meant to know if they’d just met the love of their life or if it was just their weird neighbour Tom? With his number one spot reserved for Gareth’s truly horrific, ‘I’d thought you’d be taller’. His soulmate was original. He’d give him that.

There was no surefire way to know your soulmate’s gender, same as there was no surefire way for a mother to ‘just know’ a baby’s gender before it was born. Yet if Eddie was being sacrilegious, as he so often was, he’d say he ‘just knew’ his soulmate was a guy.

There was nothing in the handwriting that gave it away. Nothing particularly ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine’ about the lettering. But ever since Eddie was a kid whenever he thought about his soulmate, he’d always think of them as ‘him’.

He would like this or that. He wouldn’t be an asshole, like the meathead jocks at Hawkins. He would be different. He’d be kind, caring, and of course, a total badass. Eddie just had to wait to meet him.

Steve’s soulmate mark drove him crazy.

‘You might not remember me’.

What the hell was Steve meant to do with that? Soulmate tattoos were meant to let you know when you’d met your soulmate, not that you’d already met them. In the days before Steve received the shake-up of his life in the form of Nancy Wheeler and the Upside Down, he had a reputation for sleeping around. He knew back then he’d been a little hopeless, but surely he’d said more than a couple of words to a girl before he slept with them.

It horrified Steve that he could meet his soulmate, in some respect, know them, and yet had never talked to them. Could he really be that much of a jerk?

He’d never thought Nancy was his soulmate. He knew their words didn’t match up. That didn’t mean he loved her any less. Statistically, the odds of meeting your soulmate were somewhere between getting crushed by a vending machine and winning the lottery. Steve’s parents weren’t soulmates and boy did that show, but a guy could dream. Call him a hopeless romantic, but Steve was holding out hope for them.

He’d almost thought his soulmate was Robin. It fit, right? They went to the same school, but they’d never really talked. He’d been so busy with his first day at a real job, he’d missed Robin’s first words to him. It wasn’t until later he’d started to expect it might be her. That was, until the pair were huddled beside each other on the floor of a bathroom stall. Robin was a lesbian and her first words, although interesting, definitely proved they weren’t soulmates.

When Steve was a kid, he’d spend hours daydreaming about what his soulmate would be like. She’d be outspoken. She’d be bold. She’d be able to make him laugh. When he’d gotten older, something changed. He didn’t know how to put it into words, at least not ones he was ready to say out loud. ‘She’ didn’t fit his soulmate quite right. So after high school, he started wondering what ‘they’ would be like. ‘They’ felt not quite right, but closer.

Their handwriting was distinct. It was all sharp-edges and odd-angles. It looked like it was trying to replicate something Steve couldn’t quite place until he walked into the record store at Starcourt and caught a glimpse of an Iron Maiden album cover. That gave Steve his first real clue as to what his soulmate might be like.

It would be another year before the same handwriting would stop him in his tracks. Dustin had marched into the Family Video store as they were shutting up shop, brandishing a notepad and talking about needing a ride to go play his fantasy game. Steve was always going to drive Dustin, but he’d been dragging his feet, to show the kid he wouldn’t always drop everything to take him places. A familiar sharp edged, odd angled handwriting stopped Steve cold.

“What are those?” Steve asked, trying to fain disinterest as his heart pounded in his ears.

“They’re notes from the last session. You know, so we can keep track of what’s happened so far in the campaign. Who’s doing what quests, how many hit points everyone’s got. Mike is currently—.” Steve couldn’t give a crap about Mike.

“Who’s writing is it?” Steve tried not to sound as desperate as he felt.

Robin must have known something was up because she moved to Steve’s side. With one glance at the notepad, she understood why Steve was acting so strangely. She’d seen his tattoo, she knew it was his soulmate’s handwriting.

“Our D.M.’s” Dustin replied. He might as well have been speaking in freaking code.

“Alright, I’ll drive you,” Steve gave in, hoping he could catch a glance of his soulmate. Maybe his tattoo was wrong, maybe he’d know his soulmate when he saw them.

They pulled up outside of the high school. He saw a group of people loitering outside the auditorium. Dustin had brought a lot of loose sheets of paper, so it only made sense Steve helped him carry his notebooks in. Most of the people there were familiar faces, the kids he’d babysat with a few exceptions.

“Well, if it isn’t our favourite bard. I’m glad you decided to grace us with your presence,” an oh-too-familiar voice crooned. A boy broke away from the crowd to meet Dustin.

He was Steve’s age. They’d gone to school together. The dude used to do all these weird soap-box sessions on their lunch table. They had gym together, and history. Steve didn’t think the two had ever actually spoken.

“I would’ve been here quicker if I hadn’t had to play twenty questions with Steve. Steve, you know Eddie, our D.M.? Weren’t you two in the same year?”

Eddie was practically shooting daggers at Dustin’s side profile, shaking his head discreetly as though hoping Steve didn’t remember who he was. He supposed Eddie always had a reputation.

“You might not remember me,” Eddie spoke before Steve could answer.

Holy shit.

“Of course, I remember you,” Steve argued and watched as Eddie’s eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates.

Both boys stood, slack-jawed and stiff-shouldered, peering at one another. Steve’s brain short-circuited, because holy shit, Eddie Munson was his soulmate. Holy shit he’d found them, him.

Steve dropped Dustin’s notes and swarmed forward without thinking, throwing his arms around Eddie. Much to his surprise, instead of freaking out, like any normal person, Eddie was waiting to catch him, leaving both of them to tumble ass backwards onto the parking lot asphalt.

They held each other in a bone-crushing hug. Steve buried his face in Eddie’s neck, surprised at how naturally the action came. He’d never hugged a man like this, hell he’d hugged no one like this. He was clinging so desperately to the man that he’d never thought he’d really find. Eddie pulled back slightly, trying to get a better look at Steve’s face. The guy’s eyes were alight with wonder and mischief.

“That was quite an entrance, Harrington. All for little old me?”

“I’ve been looking for you forever,” Steve admitted.

“Well, clearly you’ve been doing a shit job of it,” Eddie argued which earned a snort from Steve. His soulmate would be able to make him laugh.

“You’re not disappointed, you know? That your soulmate is the town Freak?”

Steve had given up on caring about labels, on caring about what other people thought. Since high school, he had changed. He was different. He didn’t want to be just another, shallow, meathead jock. He wanted to be different.

“No. Absolutely not. Why would I care?”

Dustin shattered the moment, clearing his throat and proclaiming,

“Alright, anyone care to tell me what the hell just happened?”

#steddie #steddie ficlet #fictlet #drabble #steddie drabble #obligatory soulmate au #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things 4 #steveddie #I love reading soulmate aus #but I've never written one #so first time for everything #metalhoops writes

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bonny-kookoo · 3 months

Text

Jungkook

𝐄𝖝𝖊𝖈𝖚𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 | Teaser

When second chances are wasted, there's only one thing left to do.

Tags/Warnings: Dystopian AU, Werewolf AU, Alpha!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Angst, Some fluff, romance but he's a bit weird about it pls let him cook he's awkward okay, Violence, crime and.. bad stuff.

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: oh look another werewolf fic oops. BTW if you do not like any of the tags or the trailer doesnt vibe with you, don't read the story. I literally have tons of other content for you instead. Thanks.

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“Do you think that people can change?”

No. Jungkook does not believe that people have the ability to shed their dark desires once they've shown their ugly faces to the world. Once someone has lost control over themselves and their inner demons even just once, it’s over. A wolf's inner beast set free won’t be tamed again, by anyone. There is no coming back from that- and a crime committed has to be punished, especially when there’s not even any effort put into areas trying to redeem one’s self. second chances should always be valued highly if given-

Because everyone has to face judgement for their actions, and if those second chances are wasted, he is the man who will execute the fitting punishment.

Jungkook doesn't believe in second chances.

A man who’s laid his hand on his wife will never truly change his mind and put the shackles onto himself after the line has been crossed. A cheating spouse will not suddenly become loyal as a dog again just because they realize the hurt they’ve caused. A murderer can’t give back the life they’ve taken even if they desperately want to. A young wolf lost to a frenzy can’t gain back their sanity with the snap of a finger.

He is part of the new world’s law.

Violence is the punishment put on people who can’t seem to keep themselves in check even after second chances. Violence is the final answer to the worst of the worst, the people who will never change.

Violence is the thing that changes people- from being alive to no longer being a threat to anyone ever again.

To Jungkook, these people are like maggots, infesting the cities and homes of families who just want to exist and live. Jungkook is the pest control, he removes those insects, cleans out the infestations.

Saves potential victims.

“I didn’t do anything!” the man slurs a little, alcohol in his veins causing him to visibly struggle with his bodily functions, even if he wants to desperately be sober in this moment. You’re sitting in the corner still, watching, well aware not to interfere with a man sent by the people in charge of the wolf’s law to carry out the final judgement.

“Evasion. Armed robbery, twice. Domestic abuse, twice. Attempted kidnap of a child while intoxicated.” Jungkook lists, having memorized what this person is being accused of- or rather yet, has already been judged for in the past. “You’ve shown that you do not aim to change.” He says, not even looking at you once. Instead, he just walks closer, like a predator, staring down his prey. “And now, keeping an omega hostage? Not exactly the actions of a man innocent.”

“I-“ the man tries, but he doesn’t get far with his words. “-There’s- nothing happened- Tell him! Nothing happened, right-?” He asks you, who’s staring him down.

Jungkook looks at you as well now, awaiting your answer.

You’ve got a life in your hands.

Your lips part, but you can’t speak- when suddenly, the man moves again, lifts his hand as he steps towards you, ready to intimidate you into answering if needed- but Jungkook is faster, having seen enough. Even if nothing happened- yet- surely if he was to leave, you’d be another body found. “Where- where are you taking me?” the man begs to know, unable to really go against the hand that holds the back of his head by the hair, fingers tightly dug into the locks to have a secure hold on him as he drags him into a corner or the small, run down house.

In this moment, Jungkook looks like a different person to you. There’s no trace of the man who just wants to help others. The hands that force this stranger to his knees aren’t the same that helped you stand earlier that day, hold gentle and without any intention to hurt. Those eyes are dark as coal, like two black voids swallowing any reflection whole.

“I'll take you straight to hell, where you belong.” Jungkook simply answers the man, before he lets go-

And takes out his gun, to fire the first shot of many.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jeon jungkook imagine #bts jeon jungkook x reader

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sleekista · 4 months

Text

ignored

alexia putellas x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: this photo is my roman empire and new tiktok pfp 😜 (my titles on fics or SO over dramatic icl)

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

Being the second captain of Barcelona, meant coming with a few responsibilities. Like showing new players around, and trying to include them in the atmosphere to make the whole move less daunting. It probably makes sense considering we are the best in the world.

Which is what’s happening right now, we’ve signed a new centre-back, considering we barely have any due to injuries. Currently we rely on a defensive midfielder, and anyone we deam can do it. Not ideal. January transfer is like heaven.

We walk around, talk about our lives a little bit as I try to make conversation more homey. Apparently she has a girlfriend who plays for PSG and I talk about Alexia, my other captain and long-time girlfriend. Who may (definitely) have a slight jealousy problem.

After a while of talking and walking, we make it to the gym and I announce the arrival.

“Everyone! As you know, we have a new person joining us! Make her feel welcome, included and we won’t have any problems. Got it?” They nod their heads going back to their respective activities as the new recruit smiles fondly at me, something which doesn’t go missed by Alexia.

I turn to face the CB.

“Now you, let’s get you headed for the locker room. I’ll show you your area and then you can go home for now. I’m assuming Jona has emailed you a schedule of everything?” She nods.

“Alright, now message me if you need anything and I’ll add you to the main group chat all of the girls are in.” She smiles and I lead her toward our changing rooms showing her where she’ll be.

“You can decorate a little bit, add some personality like some of the girls have. Anything you need can be kept here.” I point to a door at the end of the room.

“That’s the showers, obviously if you’re going anywhere after trainings. I know Patri likes to play music, so I suggest some strong noise-cancelling headphones if you don’t like the music. Any questions?” She shakes her head, I smile.

“Well then, go home. Settle into the new apartment, Ale and I live pretty close to you. Same with Ingrid and Mapi, who are also willing to answer anything else you have in mind.”

I pause.

“Now, if that girlfriend of yours ever comes to visit I’d like to meet her, I know it seems straightforward but I do like meeting new people.” I notice the recruit blushing, and pat her shoulder before leaving.

- - - - -

Over the next couple days, I ensure the new defender is fitting in well and she is. Hanging out with Ingrid and Frido but also Keira and Aitana, it’s good to see.

Alexia might think differently. I noticed her getting worked up over something but I can’t imagine what. I can but I don’t know how when a quick instagram search could cease any of her worries. She’s too straight headed for that.

It’s after training when I see her approach, I’m speaking on tactics in the locker room when Alexia slides in next to me, her arm wrapping protectively around my waist. I smirk then hear what she has to say.

“Ready to go home amor?” She says, kissing my neck softly, something she’d rarely do in such a public setting. I stifle my laugh nodding and saying my goodbyes to everyone else, getting in the passenger seat of our car as Alexia insists she always drives.

I sigh, her jaw is set and I can tell something is wrong.

“Alexia, qué pasó?” She shakes her head, her knuckles growing whiter as she grips the steering wheel. I know I can’t do anything but I seem so helpless at the moment.

It’s a completely different change from the confidence in the change rooms to now not even speaking to me.

We head inside without saying a word, I head straight for a shower to hopefully get a grip on where the conversation with Alexia will lead.

- - - - -

After the shower, I walk into the living room and Alexia is sat with her legs crossed in the couch, staring straight ahead at the blank TV. I break the silence.

“If you stare at the poor TV any longer I think it’ll break.” She doesn’t say anything, just nodding slowly her eyes darting toward me before back in front.

“I will not do this Ale. You need to tell me your feelings or we can’t work this out.” She huffs leaning back.

“Lo siento, I just… missed you.” Her voice quiet, I nod in understanding, I spent a lot of time with the new defender.

“So in other words, you’re jealous?” She blows an air bubble between her lips. (do you guys know what i mean by that)

“Maybe.” I can barely hear her voice but I don’t need to.

“Well baby, nothing to worry about because A. she has a girlfriend and B. I love you more than anything. Never forget that. I’ll try make more time and maybe we can meet the new ones girlfriend when she comes to Spain.” She nods slowly.

“Sorry I acted this way.” I shake my head.

“No, it’s ok. I understand, I sort of put you aside. I’ve learnt and I’ll prioritise your feelings a little bit more in the future.” She nods, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Te amo Ale. Remember it forever.” I place my lips against hers, gently and full of passion that I’d never give to anyone but her.

When oxygen gets the best of us I rest my forehead against hers, breathing in everything of this moment. Oh, I never want to leave.

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #wlw #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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makoodles · 1 year

Note

tsu'tey with baby fever

TSU'TEY WITH BABY FEVER

alright babes, ya got me. i got so many asks about how tsu'tey would handle catching baby fever around his little human mate, so here we are! this is kind of a continuation of tìtunu, but it can be read as a standalone either!

pairing: tsu'tey x fem!human reader

word count: 6.8k

tags: fluff, pregnancy mention & discussion, tsu'tey catches baby fever bad, he is also very whipped

masterlist

baby fever

If you were to ask Tsu’tey, he would tell you that he’s never been happier. His life is truly as close to perfect as possible. The Omaticaya have reclaimed the forest as their home, he has established himself as an experienced warrior-teacher, and he has the sweetest little mate he could have ever asked for. It doesn’t matter that you’re human; you fit in his life so perfectly, he can’t stomach the thought of anyone else taking your place.

Life is good. He can’t remember the last time he was this content with himself and his place in the clan. Things are finally getting back to normal now that the Sky People have returned to wherever they came from, and the people are high-spirited and joyful.

When Jakesully and Neytiri choose to take on the child born from Grace’s demon false-Na’vi body, Tsu’tey hardly takes notice. He spends his evenings and nights nuzzling into you and losing himself in your body, and his mornings foraging for fruit for your shared breakfast. It’s an impossibly easy lifestyle, lackadaisical and whimsical, and he enjoys every second of it.

He can’t think of a single damn thing he’d change. At least, he couldn’t. But that starts to change around the time that Neytiri and Jake welcome their first son into the world.

The clan celebrates for days. The birth was quick and easy. Tsu’tey has never seen his old friend glowing so bright, and he joins in with the feasting and the dancing and the singing along with the rest of his People. The elation is almost palpable in the air; the people are happy for their Olo’eyktan and for Neytiri, and they take the easy birth of a strong baby as a good sign for the future.

Neteyam. He is a happy child. Even as a tiny baby, he rarely cries. He just takes in the world around him with wide, curious eyes. Neytiri holds him close and watches him as though she has birthed the personification of her heart, smiling and whispering soft words and songs to him every chance she gets.

Tsu’tey thinks it’s all very sweet, but that’s really all he thinks about it. He is pleased for his friends, but other than that he doesn’t think too much about things. He is busy, after all; much of his day is spent training the young warriors and hunters. It’s fulfilling, and he enjoys his work.

The change in his thinking doesn’t occur gradually – rather, it hits all at once, like a punch to the gut.

He returns to the village one evening to find your little form next to Neytiri and Jake by the cookfire. His hackles raise instinctively at the sight of you so damn close to Jakesully (an irrational reaction considering he is holding Kiri in his arms and Neytiri is also sitting right there, but he can’t help it), but he relaxes slightly as he approaches and sees that you’re just chatting.

When he gets close and gets a proper look at what you’re holding in your arms, he nearly trips gracelessly over his own feet.

Even as a newborn, Neteyam is almost comically large in your arms. His pudgy limbs wave in the air, and his big golden eyes gaze up at you in fascination. You return his look right back, your expression soft and awed as you coo at him.

At your side, Neytiri watches your every move carefully. It has taken her some time to warm up to you, given that you’re a living reminder of the people who had caused so much loss and destruction of her planet, but the two of you have slowly but steadily built up a sense of trust between each other. Still, she is visibly cautious when it comes to allowing you to hold the baby.

“Tsu’tey,” Jakesully calls, waving him over with a grin. “Come here, brother. Have you eaten?”

Tsu’tey feels as though he’s been struck between the eyes. He can’t tear his attention away from the baby in your arms nor the way you’re smiling at him. When you finally look up from Neteyam only to smile softly at Tsu’tey instead, he thinks his heart might actually explode. He tries to smile back at you, but he’s sure it comes across as a pained grimace instead.

His steps are less sure than before when he continues forward, choosing to settle down by your side. His eyes dart down to the baby in your lap and stick there. Neteyam stares back at him – it seems like neither of them quite know what to make of each other.

When he finally looks away from the baby, it’s just in time to see Neytiri and Jakesully exchanging an amused sort of look, as though they’re both trying not to laugh. You, on the other hand, look a little concerned.

“Are you alright?” You murmur, leaning into him.

You’ve rested against him like this a thousand times before, and yet Tsu’tey feels his mouth run dry. Oh, what is happening to him right now?

“Yes.” He says a little woodenly, before turning to Jakesully. “I have not eaten yet.”

Jake is still watching him with an odd little smirk, but he nods and hands him a nikt'chey filled with sweet meat and vegetables. Tsu’tey takes it with an appreciative nod, before tearing a bite out of it a little more savagely than he intended.

You’re still watching him confusedly, but you obviously decide not to ask any further questions. Instead, you look back down at Neteyam and run the pad of your index finger down the bridge of his wide nose. The baby’s mouth opens in a gummy little smile, and you smile behind your breathing mask on reflex.

“Sweet thing,” You coo at Neteyam as his little hands grab at your fingers, and Tsu’tey nearly chokes on his nikt'chey.

It’s just a baby, he thinks frantically to himself. Pull yourself together.

He’d be lying if he said that he never thought about starting a family with you, but it wasn’t ever a real, serious thought. It was just little daydreams, idle fantasies after mating with you so soft and lovingly and leaving you full of his release. But now, seeing you holding Jakesully and Neytiri’s baby, he starts thinking of you carrying his own baby. Thinks of you plump and round, belly swollen with the baby he put in you.

His fingers squeeze the wrap a little too hard, and some of the filling spills out over his fingers.

Jake laughs, a stupid little snicker that has Tsu’tey scowling at him. It’s unlikely that the Olo’eyktan knows exactly what he’s been thinking, but the demon has always been perceptive – he likely has a vague idea. Tsu’tey imagines that his expression has likely been rather telling.

“Hey,” Jakesully says suddenly. “Why don’t you hold Kiri for a moment?”

Tsu’tey goes still, before checking over his shoulder in case Jake was talking to someone else.

“Ah,” He says, a little uncomfortably. “I do not think-”

“Oh, yes!” You smile, shifting your hold on Neteyam so that he’s cradled to your chest as you look up at Tsu’tey. “You haven’t met either of the babies properly yet, have you?”

“I attended their birth celebrations-”

“That’s not meeting them.” You interrupt with an eyeroll, before gesturing Jake’s way.

Tsu’tey is still protesting when Jake deposits the other baby in his arms, and he stiffens as he scrambles to support Kiri’s head as it lolls on her weak little neck. His nikt'chey falls half-eaten to the ground as he tries to hold the baby as securely as possible.

If Neteyam looked small in your hands, Kiri looks tiny in his. Something in his stomach twists. Oh. Alright then.

“Aren’t they so cute?” You whisper to him, laying your head against his bicep and grinning down at the baby in his hands.

Tsu’tey just grunts. He’s not sure that he’ll actually be capable of making words right now if he tries.

His reticence doesn’t bother you – you’re so patient with him, never minding all that much when he goes broodingly silent. You’re so good at giving him space and time to think, to come to terms with all the thoughts that spin wildly around his head. But now, the space you offer only gives him more time to consider things that he really shouldn’t be considering.

“Yeah,” Jakesully drawls, and he wraps an arm around Neytiri’s shoulders before pressing a kiss to her temple. “We make cute babies.”

“You didn’t even make Kiri yourselves.” You point out with a laugh, rocking Neteyam softly against your chest as he lets out a quiet little babbling sound.

“Yeah, she just picked up on the cuteness by being around us,” Jake grins. “Like that science shit. What’s it called… osmosis.”

“That’s not how osmosis works, moron-”

Tsu’tey hardly hears a word either of you are saying. Kiri is shifting in his hands, her tiny pink mouth opening as she yawns with a flash of her gums. Her hair is downy and soft, and her tiny hands clench around air as she reaches out, seeking a grip on anything. Were all babies this lovely? He had no idea – he’s never really been around any.

His gaze slides sideways, towards you once more. On a good day he finds it difficult to keep his eyes off you, but now? With you holding a little Na’vi baby to your chest as though it’s all so perfectly natural, and smiling as though you’ve never been happier? Now, he’s finding it impossible to keep his eyes off you.

He would make cute babies with you. He just knows it.

A throat is cleared, and Tsu’tey is jarred from his thoughts. When he looks up, he finds that Neytiri is looking at him with a particularly knowing look. You’re still talking to Jake, laughing at whatever he’s saying, but Tsu’tey still grows flustered. He feels caught.

“Take her back.” He says, his voice gruff as he proffers the baby back to her parents.

Kiri’s tails waves lazily in mid-air before wrapping around his wrist, and Tsu’tey nearly crumbles entirely. Why was this happening right now? He was fine before this – now, he feels as though his mind is melting into absolute mush.

Neytiri raises an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed by his manner, but she accepts the baby back all the same. Kiri gurgles, and Neytiri coos softly at her before holding her protectively to her breast.

Still embarrassed at having been caught out, Tsu’tey’s eyes slide right back to you. This time though, you’re looking back at him. Neteyam’s head is resting sleepily against your chest and you’re stroking at the fluffy bits of hair on his head, but you’re watching him closely. There’s a little crease between your brows – you look concerned.

You look to Jake, and offer Neteyam out with a smile. “Better take the little guy too, then.”

Jake takes his son back, and Tsu’tey watches with a twitching tail as he smiles down at his son so proudly. He doesn’t fully realise that he’s staring until he feels your small little hand on his forearm, and then he looks down to see you peering up into his face. He knows that you would be able to read him all too easily, so he hurries to wipe his expression clean.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, low so that Jake and Neytiri can’t hear. “You’re quiet. Even more so than usual, I mean.”

“I am fine, ma’muntxate,” He says mechanically. He thinks once again of you with a rounded belly, happy and sated in your shared kelku, and wonders if his brain is rotting.

You’re still squinting at him, clearly unconvinced. “Is it because you dropped your food? I can get you more-”

“No,” He says, though it comes out distracted and unconvincing. “I am tired. I will go to bed now.”

“But don’t you want-”

Tsu’tey has always prided himself on being a fearless warrior, a mighty hunter. And yet in that moment, he ran from the cookfire like a coward to take refuge in the dark shelter of the kelku where no one could see how shamefaced he was.

Tsu’tey is embarrassed to admit that for several days, he avoids you like the plague.

He’s afraid that you’ll read his thoughts right off his face. He can barely even make eye contact with you. Now that he’s started thinking about it, it feels like he can’t think of anything else.

The thoughts of family, of children, have set into his thoughts like an infection. The thought of you carrying his baby is wonderful (and the thought of making the baby even better) but that’s not the only place his thoughts stray to. He thinks of raising the child, with you by his side.

Parenthood doesn’t suit everyone, he knows that, but you? You have so much unconditional love to give, he knows that you would be wonderful. When he thinks of himself as a father, a curl of excitement licks at his stomach. He imagines how it would feel to hold his child close, to teach them the ways of the people, how to hunt and provide. He thinks of how he would teach you how to weave a songcord, how you could both add on to it for every milestone.

It’s not fair, and he knows that. He was content before – he is content now. His life is good. He doesn’t need anything else, but he just… he can’t help but think. You are stronger than you look, but you are still delicate. There are many things your body can take, but a Na’vi pregnancy? Not likely. And that’s assuming that you actually could get pregnant. You may be sexually compatible, but that doesn’t mean that you’re going to be reproductively compatible. And that’s fine – really!

He’ll get over this moment of madness, he just needs a little bit of space to get his thoughts together.

He spends the next few days hunting deep in the forest, or lurking around the village in spots that you’re not likely to come looking for him. He ends up spending a lot of time in the hot springs north of the village, hoping that the hot water will soothe the ache in his shoulders from all that tension he’s been carrying around.

He had thought that he was being subtle, but he is not entirely oblivious to the looks that he’s been getting from others around the village. It was rare for him to spend so much time away from you, and he knows that everyone is wondering about it.

“Trouble in paradise?” Jakesully asks one day, following him around the village like an unwanted little pest.

“What?” Tsu’tey snaps; he is still unused to those irritating little human idioms.

“What is going on with you, man?” Jake asks, reaching out to grab at his arm.

Tsu’tey wrenches his arm free and bares his teeth in warning. Jake throws his hands up in surrender, but he doesn’t look sorry.

“Nothing is wrong.” Tsu’tey grumbles, rolling his shoulders and attempting to look unaffected.

Jakesully just raises an eyebrow. “Right. Look, whatever you argued about, just talk to her-”

Tsu’tey is surprised at that, though he tries not to show it. “We have not argued.”

“No?” Jake’s brows furrow. “Oh. Well, why are you being so weird, then? She’s all upset, you know. Thinks that you’re angry with her.”

Tsu’tey’s stomach sinks. Fuck, he knew that he was handling this badly. Now he’s gotten himself into one big mess.

Jakesully is still looking at him thoughtfully, but then his expression unfolds into realisation. “Oh, man. Is this about the baby thing?”

Tsu’tey nearly chokes at that. How could Jakesully have known?

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” Jake rolls his shoulders, and glances around quickly to ensure that no one is listening in. Tsu’tey has a furtive look around of his own, and then Jake is leaning in to talk quietly, “Look, I’m not judging. When Neytiri said she wants kids, I swear I couldn’t keep my hands off her-”

Tsu’tey whirls, baring his teeth in warning, but Jake just keeps going.

“Just talk to her, skxawng. It doesn’t matter if you have some weird pregnancy kink-”

“I do not!”

“She’s been sniffling around the place for days now, thinking that you’re not into her anymore!” Jake steamrolls over his protests. “Just tell her you want babies and that you’ve been acting like a total dickhead about it. You know she’ll forgive you, but she has to understand first.”

Tsu’tey stands there, feeling as though he had just been slapped around the head.

“She thinks I am not interested in her?” He repeats, bewildered. “But- we have mated before Eywa. She is my mate. How could I lose interest?”

Jakesully has a look of longsuffering about him, as though this conversation is ageing him years. “Yeah, well. Didn’t I tell you before that mating doesn’t work the same for humans? She’s worried you changed your mind.”

Tsu’tey is absolutely floored. He had tied himself to you for life when he had mated with you. Every success and failure, every triumph and heartbreak, every low and high, it was all to be shared with you. There would never be anyone else – the thought of there being anyone else made his stomach rebel.

“Why would she not tell me that she is feeling like this?” He wonders, a little hurt.

He’s not expecting the harsh shove that comes to his shoulder, and he hisses at Jakesully before stepping out of the way of another hit.

“You’re avoiding her, moron!” Jake snaps, apparently having officially lost patience. “How the hell can she tell you anything if you keep running from her?”

Tsu’tey’s ears flatten. He recognises that he is being unreasonable, and he shuffles uncomfortably on his feet.

“My desires are not fair to her,” He mumbles, shame-faced. “She is enough for me, she will always be enough for me, but I keep thinking…” He trails off, uncertain about how to voice his feelings. “I am thinking of possibilities.”

Jakesully is watching him with an expression that is uncomfortably knowing.

Tsu’tey clears his throat, embarrassed and irritable over his vulnerability. “She was very good with your children. Did you see?”

Jake’s face twitches into a smirk. “Yeah, man. I saw. Your reaction was pretty obvious.”

He grumbles, but doesn’t see any point in arguing. It probably was obvious.

Jake sighs, and reaches out to push at his shoulder again. This time it’s more gentle. “Go on. Go talk to her. This is stuff that she should be hearing.”

Jakesully has a point, to Tsu’tey’s irritation, and he bows his head.

“I will talk to her.” Tsu’tey mumbles, looking away.

As it happens, Tsu’tey doesn’t have to go looking for you at all. You find him.

He’s in the forest outside the village, hovering around the stream as he waits to spot a fish, when you emerge from the trees behind him.

His ears perk up in surprise at the sight of you. “What are you doing here, ma’yawntu? It is not safe for you to come into the forest alone-”

You don’t appear to be listening to him at all. Your eyes are narrowed and you glare at him as you hop down the rocks so that you can stand in front of him. When he reaches out to help you climb down to the shore of the river, you slap his hands away with a scowl.

“For fuck’s sake, will you just tell me what’s wrong?” You hiss, your expression all crumpled up and hurt. “Jake said that you weren’t angry at me, but I don’t understand why you’re avoiding me like this!”

His ears pin back against his head. He had planned to come and find you, but now it feels as though he’s been cornered. He hasn’t planned what he was going to say to you, and he finds himself floundering. How could he tell you? There was no easy way to put his desires into words.

“Of course I am not angry at you.” He mumbles, slinging his bow over his shoulder. After a beat of hesitation, he steps forward so that he’s kneeling in front of you at eye-level. “Sweet girl. I am sorry.”

“For what?” You demand. Your expression is all scrunched – he is confusing you, and his stomach sinks at the realisation that he has been upsetting you so much.

His tail lashes anxiously. How is he supposed to look you in the eyes and confess this? It is so selfish of him.

“You were very good with the babies.” He murmurs, fixing his gaze on your shoulder.

Even without looking directly at your face, he can see your look of bewilderment. To you, that probably seems like a non-sequitur.

“The babies?”

“Mm.”

You’re still staring at him blankly. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

“No,” He mumbles, his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. “It is the same subject.”

Very slowly, comprehension is beginning to dawn over your face. “So all this is about babies?”

Oh, he wants the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. You must think him disgusting. Do you think he is a bad mate? It is so selfish of him to wish for this, after all.

“Oh, Tsu’tey,” You sigh. “You idiot.”

His ears flatten as he frowns at you. “Why idiot?”

When you step forward and loop your arms around his shoulders, he perks up a little. Does this mean that you are not angry with him?

“Why wouldn’t you talk to me about this, skxawng?” You murmur, reaching out to run your fingers through his beaded braids. His eyelids flutter at the pleasant feeling and he leans into your hands. “You want a family?”

“You are my family.” He says quickly, shifting on his knees before raising his hands to rest against your little hips. That makes you smile.

“I know,” You breathe, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I know that. But I’m asking you about children.”

Tsu’tey’s sure that his pupils have expanded, and he can feel his tail swishing slowly from side to side. You’re not judging him at all; you’re just waiting for an honest answer. He feels his heart swell impossibly larger.

“I… have been thinking about it,” He says. His voice is low and embarrassed, but he raises his gaze so that he’s looking right into your eyes. “About you having my children.”

It feels like a dirty little secret, but you’re smiling at him so fondly.

“Yeah?” You breathe, grinning. “Well, why the fuck were you hiding from me, then?”

His ears twitch. “It felt… selfish, tìyawn. To wish for something you cannot give.”

That makes you frown. “Can’t give?”

His thumb strokes over your waist, his eyes drawn to your belly. “You are so small. You could not carry my child. It would be too dangerous, even if it were possible.”

You’re watching him thoughtfully, lips pursed. “Is this like, a thing for you? You just want to see me pregnant?”

He certainly can’t deny his interest in that, but it’s important that you know that’s not just it.

“Not only that,” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss the base of your throat. “I keep thinking… I think of you raising our child. I think of teaching them, of loving them. You would be wonderful with them, I know it. And I… I would like fatherhood, I think.”

Your expression has gone so soft, and when you lean in to kiss the top of his ear a shudder rips through him. His hands tighten around your waist, and he leans in to nuzzle insistently at your throat.

Oh, this little confession feels like having a weight lifted from his shoulders. You weren’t angry at him – you just listened, so full of understanding. How could he have expected anything less from you?

“Tsu’tey,” You murmur, tilting your head back with a sigh as he nips a soft kiss into your throat. “Come with me.”

He glances up at that, interest piqued. “Where?”

“The science outpost.”

Oh, now you have his attention. He perks up in delight, and moves to stand immediately. You have not lived among the other humans in the science outpost since you had mated with Tsu’tey and moved into his kelku, but that does not mean that you have not been back to the little human encampment since. It is the only place where it is safe for you to remove your breathing mask, and so the two of you make good use of your old bunk whenever you feel the need to.

“Let’s go then.” Tsu’tey says, doing a poor job at concealing his eagerness.

You just laugh, and take his hand as he leads the way through the forest. Several times he gets a little too impatient when you slowly clamber over roots or rocks, and he ends up scooping you right up into his arms as he barrels his way through the forest.

The science outpost isn’t too far away, but it still feels as though it takes an age to reach it. When the shoddy building finally looms up in the distance, Tsu’tey feels his stomach leap. It has been too long since he’s had full access to his little mate’s face, and he longs to kiss you properly. What will likely follow after the kissing is even more thrilling, and he feels his tail lash eagerly at the thought of taking you in that cramped little bed.

You’re laughing at his eagerness as he attempts to shoulder his way inside the building, clenching his jaw in irritation as he’s forced to wait for the pressurised doors to close behind them and regulate the atmosphere before the two of you are allowed past the entryway.

“Someone’s excited.” You say coyly, reaching up to remove your mask as soon as the doors slide open with a hiss, allowing you to enter the outpost properly.

Tsu’tey doesn’t care that several of the human scientists turn to look at the two of you when you step inside. He has not had access to your face for over a week now, and he catches you by the waist before leaning in for a quick, passionate kiss. He is excited, and he likes letting you know exactly how you make him feel.

The scientists are very used to the two of you by now, and he can hear them start to hastily gather up their things as they prepare to give you some privacy.

Good, He thinks smugly. They know when to leave.

But then, to his confusion, you break away from him.

“Wait, Norm!” You call out.

The lanky human scientist pauses, looking up with a visible wince. He looks anxious at the sight of you, and his gaze cuts towards Tsu’tey with a grimace.

“Ah. Hey.” He says weakly, lowering his files back down to the desk he had just scrambled to pick them from. “We’re actually headed out now! So, um, you can do whatever-”

“No,” You say quickly, growing visibly flustered at the insinuation. “We’re not here for that.”

Tsu’tey’s head swivels around to look at you, his brow drawing low. “We are not?”

You ignore him, swatting absently at his side as you focus on Norm. “Where’s Spider?”

Norm is looking from you to Tsu’tey, and Tsu’tey is looking blankly back at him. He has no more idea about what you’re doing here than the scientist does – especially since it appears that you hadn’t brought him here with mating in mind. He feels a little put out, honestly.

“He, uh… He’s been running wild all morning. He’s totally tuckered out now – he’s sleeping in the back.” Norm says at last, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” You smile at him, before reaching to take Tsu’tey’s hand in yours.

He goes easily when you tug at him, following you with a confused scowl as you lead him towards the back of the building. When you lead him into the living quarters, he looks wistfully towards your old bunk, but you pull him on insistently.

“Why are we here?” He mumbles, still scowling a little. He is happy to be here with you, but he doesn’t understand why you’ve brought him amongst the Sky People.

For a moment, you don’t answer. You just pull the little CO2 regulator off your bunk where it had been left the last time he was here, and push the breathing mask into his hands. He takes it with a grumble, and takes a deep inhale before looping it around his neck.

“I want to show you something.” You say simply, before raising his big hand to your mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

His ears rotate forward, pleased with the sensation of your soft lips against his skin. Unable to deny you anything, he follows you without complaint.

As you approach the back of the room, ducking under the privacy curtains, his ears pick up on soft, snuffling breathing.

“What is that?” He mutters to you, tugging at your hand.

You hush him, before pulling back one last privacy curtain to reveal a small bunk. The bed is occupied by a figure so small that Tsu’tey squints at it in bewilderment. It is a human child, obviously, no older than two years old, but he hadn’t ever imagined that human babies were so small.

Your eyes are fixed carefully onto his face as he steps forward to peer down at the child, but he doesn’t look at you. The child is fast asleep, his mouth dropped open as a little bit of drool glistens on his cheek. Golden, tangled curls are plastered to his forehead, and he snuffles sleepily as he nuzzles into the pillow under his head. He’s clearly being well-fed, but there are streaks of dirt around his plump face and across his legs.

“The science guys have been taking care of him as best as they can, especially Norm,” You murmur, your voice very soft to avoid waking the baby. “But you know how they are. Sometimes they forget to eat and shower themselves, nevermind a baby.”

Tsu’tey is still watching the child sleep, a confused frown beginning to creep across his face. He is not stupid. He has heard of this child before. His existence alone has been controversial for the People, though he has gone unseen and unheard of for the most part. Are you suggesting what he thinks you’re suggesting?

“He has no one,” You whisper to him, soothing in the dim light of the room. “I’ve been thinking of suggesting this for a while, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

“Yawntutsyìp, I know who this child’s father is.” He tries to keep his voice low like you, but he can’t help the rough edge that has crept in.

“He has no father.” You whisper back stubbornly. “He has no mother. Look at him.”

Ears flat, Tsu’tey obeys. His eyes travel over the child’s grimy skin, and he grimaces as his tail tucks low.

“He is a sky demon.” He grumbles, though he is already leaning closer to look at the child’s face.

“So am I,” You point out grimly. “You don’t always get to choose how your children turn out, you know.”

His children. Tentatively, he reaches out and rubs at a spot of dirt on the child’s leg. Instead of flinching away from his touch like he had expected, Spider leans into his hand. His throat tightens, and he wonders how often this child actually experiences physical contact – even asleep, he chases after it as though he’s starved of it.

“How will he breathe in the village?” Tsu’tey wonders, brow furrowed. “Your masks will not fit him.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see you biting at your lip. He realises that he’s just inadvertently conceded to you, and he tries not to sigh.

“Norm has made him a smaller one that will fit.” You murmur, edging closer to him. “You’re thinking about it?”

“It will be hard for him.” Tsu’tey is frowning, reaching for your hand and squeezing lightly at your hands to ensure that you’re listening to him. “He is too small. Too weak. This world is not made for him, and the People will find it difficult to accept him.”

You hum softly and edge closer, laying your head against his shoulder. The proximity makes him relax a little against you, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You could say the same about me, you know.” You say pointedly, nuzzling at his shoulder. “But you’ve taken care of me so far. I know you’d look after him, too.”

Even in this circumstance, he preens lightly under your praise. It means a lot to hear that you believe him to be a strong care-taker and a good provider, to both you and to a possible child.

“If we don’t care for him, he’ll be raised here,” You breathe. “He won’t get any proper care. Look at him – he’s not even two yet, and he’s being overlooked already. He needs attention, and looking after. And you just told me that you are willing to offer those things to a child.”

He is already nodding. He can see that you’re right – the human scientists are not capable of raising anything, they are not capable of seeing. They lack the ability to connect to anything, only able to appreciate his planet on a surface level.

Your attention shifts back to the child on the bed, and your face softens into a smile. “Hey, Spider. You remember me?”

Tsu’tey’s head snaps back around to find that the baby has awoken, and is staring up at him with wide eyes. Tsu’tey stares back, uneasy and curious. Slowly, Spider nods.

Your smile brightens. “This is Tsu’tey. Can you say hello?”

Spider does not say hello, but he does sit up so that he can peer curiously into Tsu’tey’s face. He doesn’t appear afraid at all, and Tsu’tey wonders if he is the first Na’vi that he has ever seen.

“Hello,” Tsu’tey rumbles, his English heavily accented.

The child’s fearlessness is admirable, especially in the face of one so much larger than him. Tsu’tey finds himself reluctantly impressed.

“Come here,” You murmur, reaching out your hands.

Tsu’tey watches with avid interest as the child crawls forward into your arms. You wrap him into your arms and pull him against your chest, stroking his mess of curls as he lays his head against your shoulder. What a quiet little thing.

Something odd curls in his chest at the sight. His small human mate, holding such a tiny human child. Cautiously, he curls his arm around your shoulders and feels you lean into him.

Oh, he thinks. The rush of emotions at the feeling of holding his mate and a child in his arms is startling, and he takes a deep breath as he nuzzles his nose into your hair. It feels right.

“I will have to finish building the rope bridge to our kelku,” He grumbles. “He will need a safe way of getting up there without breaking his neck. The ladder will not be enough for one so small.”

A big grin is blooming across your face, and you twist around to look at him over your shoulder. “Protective daddy mode activated already, huh?”

He doesn’t understand half of what that means, but he can’t stop the eager thump of his tail. Yes, he will be a good father. He will keep the child safe.

A very tiny smile begins to curl around his mouth, and he brushes his nose along your shoulder. With his face hidden from you, he finally has the courage to say, “I have always wanted a big family.”

He feels your little laugh more than he hears it, and then you say, “I have something else to show you.”

When you stand up straight, Spider clings to you. It’s a sweet sight. He doesn’t look like a demon, like this. He looks small and delicate and weak.

“Hey,” You murmur to Spider. “Want to go up high?”

When the child nods, you turn and hand him to Tsu’tey. He freezes, staring at the child that you’re offering him. Spider stares back at him, wide-eyed and inquisitive as his limbs dangle in the air.

“He wants to go on your shoulders,” You whisper pointedly, raising your eyebrows.

“Ah.” Tsu’tey manages, finally reaching to take him. It’s scarier than he had expected, taking the child into his hands. Spider is very small, and Tsu’tey’s hands practically dwarf him.

When Tsu’tey reaches to settle the baby on his shoulders, Spider’s tiny hands grab at his braids and tangle there. A quiet, almost impossible to hear, little laugh comes out of his mouth, and Tsu’tey feels the child leaning heavily against him for balance.

You’re looking up at them both so softly, and you smile as you reach to tug at Tsu’tey’s hand. As always, he follows you without asking questions.

When the two of you emerge from the living quarters with Spider on Tsu’tey’s shoulders, the two of you are subject to a lot of raised eyebrows and surprised sort of looks. Tsu’tey meets those looks with a dangerous glare of his own, and the curious human scientists are quick to look away.

He follows you through the laboratory, one of his hands settled cautiously over Spider’s very tiny thigh to prevent him from falling off his shoulders. Every so often the child will giggle softly, and one of Tsu’tey’s ears will flick in response.

At the back of the lab, there’s a large glass tank, and you gesture at it as you approach.

“Do you know what that is?” You ask, reaching out to tap lightly at the glass.

Tsu’tey frowns at it. The tube is not empty. It’s full of some kind of liquid, and floating in it is a body that is very familiar. It’s Grace. Or at least, what was once Grace’s avatar.

“A tube.” He says, rather unintelligently. He does not want to admit his ignorance, but you pick up on it anyway.

“Avatars are grown in tubes just like this.” You say, peering in at Grace with a sad smile. “Whole Na’vi bodies grown from half human, half Na’vi DNA. Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Demon technology.” Tsu’tey comments with a frown. Spider shifts on his shoulders, and he hurries to adjust his grip on the child.

You roll your eyes. “I thought you’d be used to demon technology by now, muntxatan,” His tail swishes at the term of endearment, but you just smile and continue, “My body might not be able to sustain a hybrid pregnancy, but it doesn’t need to. There’s no reason that this demon technology couldn’t be used to grow a baby from human and Na’vi DNA. It’d be kind of like IVF, in a way.”

That gives Tsu’tey pause, and he turns to look at the tube with a new perspective. He had never considered that the demon technology could be used for something like that. It is… a lot to absorb.

“You don’t have to think too much about it just yet,” Your voice is so soft, as though you know he has been overloaded. “But if you want a big family… well. I just wanted you to know that it’s possible.”

He doesn’t have the first idea of what to say. He has gone from believing that he was aberrant for wishing for this with you and being terrified to so much as voice his desires, to agreeing to take on a little demon baby, and already planning for more.

His ears swivel, his eyes wide and thoughtful. Slowly, he nods.

“We will discuss more later,” He murmurs, bringing his free hand low to rest on your lower back as Spider tugs at his braids. “We must take the child back to our kelku, first.”

“What’s the rush?” You ask, teasing at him.

Tsu’tey squares his shoulders, some of his old confidence returning. This is a challenge he is fit for, he’s sure of it. He will provide for his tiny weak mate and his new tiny weak son, and he will protect them to the best of his ability. You have been quick to learn the ways of the People – Spider will learn too, with guidance. His mouth twitches at the thought of teaching him customs, teaching him how to hunt, making him a songcord. All those nonsense dreams he had, now a reality.

“I have to finish that rope bridge.”

#tsu'tey fic #tsu'tey x reader #na'vi x human #na'vi x reader #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar 2 #awow #tsu'tey #avatar 2009 #terato #fluff #fics

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ldysmfrst · 23 days

Text

American Mate - (5) Heated Discussions

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 5 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 2765 (sorry it is so short)

Work count for Story: 19,008

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Ko-fi and a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, arguments, comfort, Alpha Space, close proximity, and scenting.

Story Summary: The Hybrid K-pop group BTS is on tour in America; of course, things don't start out the way they should, but after an encounter with Y/n, things change but will everyone follow Fate?

Keep Safe. Keep Safe. First, it was Taehyung, and now it's Yoongi. Alpha Space seems to be no joke. Derek was not lying when he said this mindset helps them protect. Let’s hope this doesn’t mean they will treat you like a child.

Walking out of the elevator, you cannot help but smile at the rest of the Bangtan pack. While still in pain, you felt safe around them.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/n. I have a few things that I would like to discuss with you before we get going. Allow me to walk you to your van,” Manager Sejin directs you off to the side with a nod from Namjoon.

Yoongi closely follows you as you go with Manager Sejin. “Miss Y/n, thank you for your care and consideration in this situation. I can promise you that it will not be easy for the eight of you, but it will be worth it.”

As he speaks, you feel a tail wrap around your waist, and a hand touches your back. Looking over your shoulder, you see that Yoongi has his hand on your upper back but is facing away from you, looking at his packmates.

Noticing that the group has gathered in a circle, something significant is being discussed. Not wanting to keep Yoongi from doing something important, you look back at the manager.

“Manager Sejin, I do not feel so well. Can you please take me to the van? I would like to sit down and process things.” He nods and moves towards the van in front.

“Mr. Min,” you smile softly at the jaguar as he looks at you, keeping an ear tuned in to the group of men. “I am going to go sit in the van. I am sure that I will be fine there while I wait for you and your packmates.”

Adding a bit of a pout to your smile, you ask, “Can you go and make sure everything is okay so that we can go? My hand is really starting to hurt?”

“Yes. Van safe. Manager Safe. Go packhouse now.” Yoongi responds.

Unwrapping his tail, he pushes on your back softly, urging you to get in. He returns to the circle of hybrids in what looks like a new heated discussion.

After exiting the elevator, Taehyung makes to stay with you, Yoongi, and the manager but is stopped by Jungkook. The younger one knows Taehyung would want to be a part of the discussion that is soon to come, even if he is still in Alpha Space.

After you had gone off with Yoongi and their manager, the remaining packmates circled up at the youngest's request. The mates seek comfort in one another. Jungkook hugs Taehyung from behind, while Jimin hugs Hoseok around the waist as he leans against Seokjin.

Most of the pack had been through finding mates since there are six of them. Jungkook was the only one who understood the concept of what to do with a new mate but had never been on this side of the situation.

“There are two vans. Obviously, Yoongi will be going in the van with Y/n, but who is going with them?” asks Jungkook, looking around as it dawns on them.

The vans only fit five people in the back. Each mate immediately started proposing why they had to be in the same van as you, all at once.

Seokjin said he only got to speak to you before the observation room and needed to see if his Alpha would react like everyone else has so far.

Hoseok tops everyone, saying that he has only ever gotten to look at you, and it’s high time he was able to speak to the newest mate.

Jimin agrees with Hoseok and thinks he can help get Yoongi out of Alpha Space on the trip to the packhouse.

Taehyung keeps quiet, his Alpha Space pulling at him to be near you again soon. However, Taehyung’s Alpha was much calmer and understood that being the second youngest meant he would most likely not be allowed to go.

Jungkook argues that he was the one who got you to calm down in the break room, and your instincts are already reacting to him. Therefore, he is the best person to keep you calm from here on out.

Rubbing his temples, Namjoon lets out a sigh. He said you were ‘no trouble,’ but you really are gonna be trouble for them, but not in a way he is worried about. It's just going to be a change in dynamic.

“Guys, we all want to spend time with our new mate, but we must remember that she is human and doesn’t understand. Right now, all she knows is that Yoongi is deep in Alpha Space, and we, as a pack, must help her situation.”

“How are we going to tell her, Hyung? If her family member's statement is true, she won’t believe us,” Jimin says, looking your way, ears flat in concern.

“That is a good question. I don’t have an answer right now.”

“We may not have much time to come up with something. She needs to know. She needs to understand,” Hoseok voices with watery eyes. If what that man upstairs said truly is the kind of person you are, they must help you grow to recognize yourself.

Moving to hug Hoseok with the others, Jungkook adds, “She may know about hybrids, but she doesn’t know enough about the Alpha-side of the culture, and what’s even worse is that she doesn’t know how precious she is.”

“That’s it! I go in van. Show Mate real!” Taehyung finally speaks up. He turns to walk toward you with a puffed tail and determination, only to be stopped by Soekjin.

“No, you have spent time with her. She knows you care, but she still thinks I am looking at one of the playmates they introduced us to. I am going to go with her.”

Within seconds, they are back to all talking over each other. Each of them demanded the other stay behind with justifications. This time, Namjoon joins in the fray. None of them notice that you have entered the van, and Yoongi is standing just outside the circle, watching the hushed chaos.

With a stern voice that is just a bit louder than everyone else, Yoongi declares, “Packhouse, go now. Mate in pain.”

Silence takes over the group as they all look in your direction. Though you are inside the van, they can still see you. Taking in your appearance, they notice your wrist keeps swelling more, your face is paler, and you are bouncing your leg with nerves.

"Yoongi-hyung is right. We need to go. Yoongi, Hoseok, Jungkook, and I will go with Y/n. The rest of you will go in the other van,” Pack Alpha says with a hint of Alpha voice, trying his best to get everyone going.

“No,” Soekjin counters. “I pull the eldest card. Kookie, I am sorry but you should go with the others and help with Tae. I want to talk with her.”

“Hyuuunnnnggg,” whined the youngest, “fine, I will sit in the reject van.” Jungkook stomps off to the second van. His ears droopy, and his shoulders rounded like a scolded child.

“We got our bun,” Jimin says as he follows, pulling the still crystal-eyed Taehyung along. He mutters promises of scenting, nesting, and various kinds of cuddles if the Alpha joins him and the bunny in the second van.

Taking a seat in the van, you notice two captain chairs and a bench seat. Not knowing where everyone else sat, you figured Yoongi’s Alpha would practically require him to sit near you, which meant the bench seat would be the best.

Sitting in the middle of the bench but on the edge of the seat, you bounce your leg while you wait because your anxiety is still bugging you. Your wrist is throbbing now.

You wish you had something to drink as you eye the bottles of water sitting in the different cup holders. Wishing they had something more potent, you keep quiet, and your eyes return to watching the group talk.

Noticing where your line of sight was, Manager Sejin grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler built into the center console, opened it, and held it out to you. “Would you like something to drink? We only have water.”

“Oh, thank you, Sir. I didn’t want to take something that belonged to the pack.”

Shaking his head, Manager Sejin can smell your nervousness as his eyes flit over your form. Then he takes a quick look at the pack. They are still deep in discussion. Finally, he looks you in the eye.

With a sigh, “Miss y/n, may I give you some advice?”

Swallowing your water quickly, you give him your full attention and nod.

“You are a person. A person that has needs, wants, and desires. Don’t be afraid to speak up. Ask for things. Demand things. I know they can be a bit much but they are each a person just like you. Idol or not.”

At the sound of footsteps, both of you look to see some of them approaching. Before he moves to the front seat, he says, “They will be there for you.”

You are not sure what was more surprising. The fact that the two captain's chairs could turn to face the backseat or that Yoongi allowed you to be sandwiched between his older packmates.

Seokjin entered first. He sat on the bench to your left, and you hurried over to give him room. This was short-lived because next came Hoseok.

Hoseok gracefully wiggled his way to your right side on the bench. No wonder he was a dance god, you thought to yourself as you dropped your eyes to the floor to avoid watching his chest and hips pass your face.

This puts you in the middle and unable to keep any respectful distance between yourself and them. Feeling a blush creep up your neck and face as the two men’s bodies pressed against your larger form, you move to sit on one of the other chairs.

“Sit. Safe. Hyungs…hmmm…” Yoongi starts to explain, but his Alpha Space limits his words since he and his Alpha don’t want to give too much information about you being their mate just yet.

“Sit, please, doll. Yoongi will want to sit near the door to be your first line of defense. I guess you could say,” Hoseok speaks up gently, pulling at your elbow and guiding you back to your seat.

“Yes. Keep Safe. Guard.” Yoongi says with the look of a drill sergeant on his face as he takes the chair near the door. Namjoon, having already taken his seat in the other chair, spun it to face you.

“Guarding the door, got it but I could sit in the chair and Mr. Prime Alpha could sit with you. I am sure it would be more comfortable with him here than with me.”

Next thing you know, you are face-to-face with Seokjin as he leans his chest across your body to tighten you in. You hold your breath as you make eye contact with his deep, intelligent eyes.

“I do hope you are not implying what I think you are,” Seokjin comments while handing Hoseok your seatbelt.

His eyes are searching yours for something. As your blush deepens, a smirk grows on his face before he says, “you are much more cozy to sit with than Joon, Miss y/n.”

You are dizzy at the thought of making yourself ‘cozy’ with Seokjin. Blinking rapidly, you try to return to this reality and out of the gutter as you chuckle a response, “Ah, cozy, haha, I don’t think Gabriel Iglesias uses that in his levels.”

A mixture of hissing and growls fills the van. Your eyes snap up to see that Seokjin is the one hissing as he sits back correctly. Looking over, you see Namjoon’s jaw is set, and Yoongi’s eyes have narrowed as they growl.

Instinctually, you lean away from the dangerous noise makers which causes you to press against Hoseok. Placing a hand back on your elbow, he leans forward, whispering in your right ear, “Doll, I think you have had some rather mean and disrespectful people around you in your past, but you are with us now.”

“We do not allow for anyone to be self-deprecating. From the look on Yoongi’s face this isn’t the first time you have done this.”

Not taking your eyes off the three men whom you seemed to piss off yet again, “It’s not self-deprecation. It’s pointing out the truth, which helps me stay grounded.”

A soft hiss is heard in your ear, causing you to jolt forward, only to be stopped by an arm now around your waist. Hoseok chuckles as he pulls you back against his chest. His warm breath only adds warmth to your already heated skin.

Whispering in your other ear, “While it is nice that you are so instinctually responsive to us, doll. You must learn to listen when you are told something. In time you will believe what we tell you as well.”

While time in the van seemingly stops and sound becomes non-existent, the focus is on you as you battle your various reactions.

Your body responds in a mix of ways. The lean but fit body pressed against your back warms you, causing your heart rate to race. However, the deep chuckles, hot breath on your neck, and primal eyes watching you cause heat to start pooling lower on your body.

Your mind is back in your damn nightmare because you cannot seem to go more than five minutes without causing some kind of adverse reaction from the world’s most famous male K-pop band.

To top it off, you are internally scolding yourself for losing your professionalism when all you want to do is figure out how to make them stop being upset at you and hide before they notice that you are getting riled up over basically nothing.

Your gutter of a mind now takes the nightmare of being hunted by the pack of Alphas in a much different direction.

“Kookie! Kookie! Come on, bun. You know Jin-hyung is only trying to find ways to help,” Jimin coos at the upset bunny hybrid. Shaking his head, Jimin wonders why it is his job always to calm down these two lovebirds.

Realizing Jungkook is a lost cause, Jimin undoes his seatbelt and sits in Taehyung’s lap, gaining his attention. Jimin asks, “Alpha, is this okay? We really need Tae Tae back to help with Kookie and our newest mate. If I scent you well, can you let go?”

The crystal blue eyes look over his slightly older mate,”Scent then help mates.”

Smiling sweetly at the Alpha, Jimin noses at his jaw, causing the tiger to tilt his head to grant more space. Scooting forward and resting fully on Tae’s thighs, Jimin rubs his cheek along Tae’s jawline. Soft puffs of warm air blow across Tae’s neck, causing the Alpha’s breath to hitch.

Continuing his journey, Jimin sniffs down the tip of his ear, down his neck to the bend where the scent of ebony wood is most robust. Pressing a soft kiss to the gland, the scenting session continues.

The scent of ebony wood, oranges, and vanilla mixes. It is not long before the pouting bunny hybrid starts to watch his hyungs. Long forgotten is the reason why he is upset as he slowly releases his own calming cinnamon-like scent into the mix.

Realizing that he has successfully got one of the two mates into a better mood, Jimin ups the ante. Shifting his weight forward, he lays his body flush against Taehyung. Within moments, Taehyung’s hand gripped Jimin’s tiny waist, pulling him in tighter.

Chirping happily at the response, Jimin kisses up and down Taehyung’s neck. When Taehyung starts to scent Jimin back, Jimin nips over the scent gland and laves it with his tongue, mixing their scents deeper.

Soon, the youngest joined them on the bench, sniffing the air and whining. Shifting closer, his bunny tail wiggled, and his ears stood as tall as they could inside the van.

“Tae-hyung, Minie-hyung, can I join? Please?” Jungkook asks as he softly places a hand on Jimin’s thigh.

Nodding, Jumin moves to the other side of Taehyung’s neck, and Jungkook takes his place. Drowning the spaced-out Alpha in the loving scents of his two mates.

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fellshish · 5 months

Note

I understand that. Michael Sheen is attractive but the more I think about Aziraphale, the more he pisses me off because the worst thing he could have said was turning Crowley back into an angel. Crowley hates heaven and doesn’t wanna be an angel. Why does Aziraphale refuse to admit that both heaven and hell suck and why does he say that Crowley is a bad guy when he isn’t one?

Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were calling Michael Sheen unattractive :))

Ok, a lot to unpack here. But i love thinking about good omens so thank you for asking.

First of all, Aziraphale didn’t say Crowley is a bad guy. Crowley said that they asked him back to hell but he’s “not rejoining their team” and he said no. To that aziraphale replied “obviously you said no to hell, you’re the bad guys”. Not the most diplomatic way to say it, he should have said “they’re the bad guys”, but beneath the words is this: he thinks it’s logical crowley said no because he doesn’t think crowley is a right fit for hell. Because crowley is good.

Does he think crowley is right for heaven, then? Not as is — but perhaps as it could be. They could make it better, together. Crowley would be safe there: no longer hated and hunted by heaven or hell. Under aziraphale’s protection. The metatron made it very clear he knew what him and crowley had been up to for all those years, and there was a veiled threat in that, in my opinion.

Now aziraphale & heaven — it’s complicated. Aziraphale doesn’t like thinking about it. He likes living in blissful ignorance enjoying human delights such as books and theater. The last thing he wants to do is work. And over the past 6,000 years he has learned to see shades of grey but he’s also been unable to make real changes. And overall he considers heaven to be better than hell, still. There’s no real alternative.

His choice at the end of season 2, to me, makes a lot of sense. Let’s put it this way. Let’s say you’ve been working for a big charity for the longest time. There are flaws in the company: not everyone who deserves it, is getting help. The charity is being run really badly.

Then, they offer you a new position. You can run the charity. You can change it, but it’ll be hard and you’ll have to give up your current life. Your best friend says: we should just run off together and be happy together. Could you turn your back on the charity? Knowing you could’ve made a difference — or at least tried? That there are people who need help, that aren’t getting it, because you made a selfish choice?

Aziraphale and crowley both have their own flaws in their reasoning, their own motivations. I don’t think aziraphale is more wrong for choosing heaven than crowley is wrong for wanting to be cut off from everything.

The truth is this: the second coming is being put into motion. Aziraphale and crowley are humanity’s only hope.

Aziraphale thinks he can make a difference by influencing heaven. I don’t think he’s mean, or out of character, for that choice.

I do think he should tell crowley he loves him though.

#my asks #good omens #aziraphale #justice for aziraphale

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marvelsswansong · 2 years

Text

total mystery

summary: The new mystery on the block isn’t a new supernatural entity or government scientists. But rather the fact that somehow, the preppy, popular, cheer co-captain and class president of Hawkins High is dating Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson: repeat senior and leader of the Hellfire Club.

tags: Eddie x fem!reader, everyone at Hawkins High (1) simps for you and (2) cannot believe their eyes and ears lol, pure fluff, typical opposites attract romance, Steve and Robin banter, Jason slander, humor, one OC named Carl, Eddie just being really goddamn in love to the point it's sickening

☆ word count: 3.8K+ ☆

a/n: the chokehold this man has over all of us... I get it now. Also I changed some stuff from the show to fit the story so please overlook any discrepancies!!! also i feel like i wrote too many kisses i'm sorry if that's annoying haha

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 ��𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

“Did you hear?” Robin doesn’t even bother to greet Steve, seemingly out of breath and frazzled as she slides behind the counter of Family Video. Raising his eyebrow in confusion, Steve frowns and shakes his head sideways.

“Hear what?”

Robin grins mischeviously, looking side to side before leaning over to whisper.

“Apparently, (Y/n) (L/n) is dating Eddie Munson.”

Steve almost chokes on the can of diet coke he’s drinking, the carbonated liquid burning his throat as he coughs repeatedly to catch his breath. Robin looks way too amused for her own good, simply swinging her legs off of the counter as she adjusts her name tag onto her shirt. He has no idea how she can be so casual about it all, when Steve's eyes are almost bugging out of their sockets.

“THE (Y/n)? Like, co-captain of the cheer team, student president for two years in a row, only wears dresses and skirts to school every day (Y/n)?”

Robins rolls her eyes at her best friend’s dramatic reaction.

“Obviously. Do you know any other girls at Hawkins High with her exact name?”

Steve was suddenly grateful that today was a slow day - there was an eldery couple at the back looking through the historical fiction section and a young son and his mother lazily flicking through the new arrivals section, but otherwise the store was quite empty. Giving him a perfect excuse to press Robin for more information on this salacious rumor.

“Where did you even hear this?"

Robin shrugs, sliding off the counter to begin sorting through the cash register.

“Had to take a bus here and a group of juniors happened to be sitting in front of me. It’s all they could talk about for the entire twenty minute ride.”

Steve suppresses an eye roll at her response, turning sideways to glare at the busy brunette.

“Oh come on, then you CAN’T take the rumor seriously. People gossip all the time at Hawkins High! Most likely, someone saw them interacting in a very innocent manner - like running into each other in the hallway - and spun a romantic story out of it to fill their boredom.”

Robin clicks her tongue, shrugging her shoulders once more before closing the register and looking up at him with a sigh.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, Steve. It’s just what I heard. And…” she pauses, chuckling. “In a weird way, I can kind of see it happening.”

“You’re completely out of your mind, Buckley.” Steve counters, confident that she's wrong.

“Yeah? How much you willing to bet for it?” Robin has a gut feeling that she’s right, and she’ll never pass up a chance to (a) prove Steve Harrington wrong and (b) make some money from it. Luckily, Steve seems to take the bait, straightening up at her proposal.

“Please, I’m confident enough to bet you $20 out the gate.”

“$20?! You’re-”

Then as fate would have it, the front door swings open and you enter the store, your white tweed jacket and matching skirt a sore contrast to the bright blue and red neon color palette of the store. Clutching a small leather handbag over your left shoulder, you seem a bit lost on where to start, before you make your way over to the new arrivals section. Steve hasn’t really seen you since his graduation a year ago - he was always aware of you, and the two of you did share some mutual friends - but he’d never really taken the time to get to know you.

But now, staring at you from the counter, Steven wishes he had made the effort to at least befriend you. He's watching in awe as your perfectly manicured nails tap alongside the cover of a random action movie, your bright eyes squinting at the title before turning it over to examine another tape. The neon glow from the signs above seem to illuminate your face perfectly, exposing your soft blush and sticky lipgloss, your lips parting ever so slightly to sound out the movie titles.

“Oy.” Robin then elbows him on the side, causing Steve to wince in mock pain. “Stop ogling at her. I know she’s hot, but she’s taken, remember?”

Steve glares at her response, before rolling up his sleeves and stretching his neck.

“Yeah right. Anyways. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go help our new… customer.”

Robin attempts to stop him but now there’s a line of previous customers at the checkout counter, effectively pinning her to behind the cash register. But then she spots Eddie’s van pull up in the parking lot outside, and suddenly that didn't seem so bad. Oh, this was going to be so interesting for her to watch.

You’re stuck trying to decide between two movies - Footloose and Sixteen Candles - when Steve casually strolls up next to you, flipping on his boyish charm. You sense someone else’s presence behind you and turn around to see Steve Harrington, pointing at the two selections you’re holding with a smile on his face.

“They’re both really good picks, but I prefer Footloose. It’s the perfect mix of comedy and drama. Plus you can’t go wrong with Kevin Bacon dancing to rock music in a town where it’s illegal.”

His comment makes you giggle - a light, melodic sound that makes Steve's whole body buzz with warmth.

“Thanks, Steve. Good to see you here, I haven’t seen you around since-”

“Since graduation, yeah. You’re almost there too, huh?” he teases, and you shift nervously on your feet.

“Oh yeah, senior year and all! I can’t believe my four years are coming to an end. It feels like just yesterday that I was a freshman, starting out in Hawkins as the new kid with zero friends. I’m so glad I’m not a freshman anymore.” you laugh nervously.

“I’m glad you’re not a freshman anymore, either.” Steve offers, stepping closer to you.

“Why’s that?” you hum, amused. Steve's grin widens as he prepares his next sentence.

“Cause now that you’re no longer a freshman, I can ask you-”

But Steve doesn't get to finish his sentence when two strong arms suddenly wrap around your waist, accompanied by a voice whispering “boo” into your ears. You jump at the sudden contact and noise, before realization dawns on you and you turn around to face Eddie, a semi-frown etched on your face.

“You jerk! You almost gave me a heart attack.” you smack him in the chest with your bag lightly, causing him to double over in laughter.

“I’m sorry, princess. But you’re just too fun to tease.”

Princess.

Steve’s blood runs ice cold at the nickname, as his eyes do a double take at the sight of you two together. His gaze follows as Eddie wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you right up against him as the metalhead takes out one of the movies from your hands and inspects it in the light.

“Sixteen Candles, huh? I know I said you could pick the movie this time but you’re really killing me with these choices, angel.”

“Oh actually, Steve recommended Footloose so I think we should rent that one!” you excitedly respond, linking your fingers with his.

“Sounds good to me. Can we check this one out?” Eddie asks politely, as Steve blinks wordlessly for a few moments. He’s shell shocked, embarrassed and confused as he forces himself to nod, trodding up to the counter and practically shoving Robin to the side to scan the damn VHS.

“Hi Robin!” you greet the girl at the counter with a wide smile, as her eyes light up.

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I do! One of my big campaigns last year was to increase the budget for our school’s band. You're amazing, by the way."

The two of you engage in light dialogue, but it all falls on deaf ears for Steve. Quickly completing the transaction and giving Eddie a forced grin, he watches as Eddie links his fingers with yours again, walking you away from the counter.

“Oh, wait!” you pause in your tracks, turning around to look at Steve. “Steve, you wanted to ask me something?”

The silence in the store is almost painful, with you looking at Steve with such innocence and wonder, Robin (badly) stifling her laugh behind Steve, and Steve’s ears going pink with embarrassment.

“No, it’s uh, it’s nothing! It was about student government but I can just ask someone else in the committee.”

You frown at his response, concerned.

“Are you sure? You can ask me right now!”

God, Steve wishes there was a hole he could dive under right now because the embarrassment is becoming almost unbearable.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

You give him another dazzling smile, bidding him and Robin goodbye, before the door closes behind you and Eddie, your laughter ringing in Steve's ears as Eddie impatiently pulls you towards his car. Steve can basically feel Robin’s gaze burning into his back as he turns around, dejected and mortified. Robin opens her mouth to tease him, but Steve quickly holds his hand up to stop his best friend from speaking.

“I know, I know. That was pathetic.”

“And I was right.” Robin smugly adds. “About (Y/n) and Eddie.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Robin lets a few moments of silence pass before she pokes him on the side.

“So, about the $20….”

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

“The two of them together? No fucking way.” Jason put out the lit cigarette dangling from his mouth as he leanged against the metal railings of the Starcourt Mall, glaring at his teammate, Carl, who had just said that he had seen you and Eddie making out behind the bleachers last Friday. “(Y/n) is like, one of the hottest girls in school. Why the hell would she settle for a freak like him?”

“Beats me, man. Maybe it was just a one time thing?” Carl weakly offers, shrugging his shoulders. Jason doesn’t seem very satisfied at his friend’s answer, craning his neck and looking over the side of the railings. The mall is as busy as it gets on a Saturday like today, with families, couples and friend groups pushing against each other from store to store.

“I’ll see it when I believe it.” Jason puffs out his chest in annoyance, his tone laced with a twinge of anger and animosity that intrigues Carl.

“You have something against her or something?”

As soon as the question leaves Carl’s mouth, he remembers - last week’s party, by Chrissy’s pool house. Jason had strolled up to you with a drink in hand before asking you out, which you had flat out declined in front of basically the whole basketball team. It seemed as if the memory is also suddenly in Jason’s mind as the blonde rolls his eyes and shoves past his friend, swearing under his breath.

“You know damn well I don’t. Just shut the fuck up, okay? Let's just get some food."

His tone is decisive and Carl knows better than to push the blonde's temper any further.

“Sure.”

The two of them don’t speak whilst walking towards the food court, the distant sound of muffled conversations and music from stores filling the air. Jason is taking his time to look around, comparing his options, when he hears your unmistakable laughter from the end of the hall. He tears his gaze away from the booth, only to see you perched on Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson’s lap, feeding him spoonfuls of ice cream as his ring clad fingers brush against your exposed knees.

The sight makes the jock feel sick with anger and jealousy, and suddenly he’s glad that the mall is bustling with people. Through the crowds and crowds of strangers, the two of you seem blissfully unaware of the star basketball player’s envious gaze, too caught up in each other’s presence to notice anything else but each other. Then you kiss Eddie’s cheek, whispering something in his ears before leaving the ice cream cup in his hands to walk off somewhere.

Ignoring Carl’s protests to just “leave them alone”, Jason finds himself strolling up to his enemy, Jason's steps forceful and hurried. Eddie’s smile falters ever so slightly when he looks up at who’s suddenly standing in front of him, before an amused smirk appears on his face.

“Jason. What a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the honor, my good sir?” his voice is dripping with sarcasm and more than ever, Jason wants to smack the damn expression off of his face.

“Cut the shit, Munson. What the fuck are you doing with (Y/n)?” Jason aggressively questions.

“I was kissing her, duh.” Eddie responds as a matter-of-factedly, enjoying being able to tease the jock. It’s not often that Eddie has the true upper hand, actual power over someone like Jason - so he’s relishing in it now, watching the basketball player’s confident facade crumble like chalk as his chest heaves in angry breaths.

“I know that, jackass. I’m asking what the fuck you’re doing kissing HER.” the blonde presses, but Eddie simply leans back against the table nonchalantly, totally unbothered.

“She’s my girlfriend, buddy. What else would we be doing? Because if you’re worried that's all we do-” Eddie pauses, before leaning forward with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “No need. We do a lot more, if you get what I mean.”

Jason’s hands flare upwards to land a punch on Eddie's face but Carl beats the blonde to it, wrapping a hand on Jason’s wrist and tugging his friend backwards.

“He’s not worth it, dude. Besides, your mom said you’d be grounded if you got arrested for assault one more time.”

Jason stares straightforward at Eddie Munson with nothing but hatred in his heart, whilst the metalhead looks proud and relaxed, amused at how everything has played out. Shoving his teammate off, Jason straightens up, brushing his varsity jacket sleeves with his hands before pointing a finger in Eddie’s face.

“This is far from over, Munson.”

“Cool.”

Eddie’s more than aware that Jason is still staring at the two of you from across the dining hall, ignoring Carl’s attempts at conversation, and it’s what propels Eddie to do what he does when you return from the bathroom.

“I’m back!” you sing, sitting back down onto Eddie’s lap. You notice that Eddie's expression is now different, still sweet but something a bit sinister in his eyes, and it makes you tilt your head in confusion. “Anything happen while I’m gone?”

Eddie looks at your face, brushing your cheeks with his left hand, whilst his right hand rests on your upper thigh. He thanks whatever gods are up there that you’ve chosen to wear his favorite black dress today, cinched in at the waist with a belt, the fabric soft and the length just above your knees. Placing the ice cream to the side, he brings your face down for a hungry kiss, the taste of chocolate and raspberry still lingering on your lips. The knowledge that the smug blonde asshole - Jason Carver - is watching with seething jealousy across the hall makes it all the more satisfying when you eagerly return the kiss, Eddie’s left hand raising to pull you in closer by your neck.

After a few heated moments Eddie leans back and you let out a few breaths, frazzled and dazed at your boyfriend’s sudden affection.

“I’m definitely not complaining but… what was that for, Eds?”

Eddie decides not to give Jason the satisfaction of looking over at him, instead opting to lace his fingers with yours and gaze at you lovingly.

“Can’t I just kiss my beautiful girlfriend because I want to?”

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

“And now, we have entered into the mystical lands of fa- Hello? Are any of you listening?” Eddie waves a hand in front of the freshmen boys' faces, noticing that their minds seem to be somewhere else. They sit there, unmoving, before Mike whispers something to Lucas, who in turn elbows Dustin.

“Right. Uh, we have a question for you. That's non D&D related.” he awkwardly starts to ask, causing Eddie to sigh.

“We’re in the middle of a campaign.” Eddie pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We know, we know, but it’s important.” Dustin insists, and Eddie can’t help but comply: he does have a soft spot for these kids, after all.

“Alright then.” Eddie sits himself down on a spare plastic chair facing the kids. “What is it?”

A moment of silence passes before Dustin blurts out the question that's been plaguging his and his friends' minds for the past few days.

“Can you give us tips on how to pick up girls?”

The question makes Eddie laugh, his head thrown backwards as a loud laugh rips through his throat, before his smile is wiped off by the serious looks on the kids’ faces.

“Oh, you’re being serious? Seriously? Why the hell would you ask me of all people that?”

“Because we heard-” Mike starts, only to be shot a warning glare by Lucas that makes him shut up. That catches Eddie’s attention, pointing the end of his ruler to Mike.

“No. What is it? Speak.”

“We heard that you’re dating (Y/n). Like, cheer co-captain and class president (Y/n).”

The mention of your name makes his heart warm and it’s hard to fight off the smile from rising onto his face.

“You heard right, Wheeler.”��

The boys’ eyes light up at the admission before they all start speaking at once, clearly excited.

“Wait, really? I thought it was just Hawkins gossip.” “I knew it! I called it beforehand, honestly.” “So that’s why we want to know how you did it!”

Raising his hands in mock surrender, Eddie shakes his head sideways at the freshmen boys’ antics.

“Look kiddos, I’m flattered that you’d want my advice on dating but I really don’t have much to tell you.”

Lucas groans at that.

“Oh, come on! There has to be something you said or did to land a girlfriend like (Y/n)! Tell us, please?”

The conversation is then interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door, before the door swings open to reveal you smiling sheepishly behind it. On your left hand you’re holding what looks to be Eddie’s beloved roleplaying notebook as you walk over and kiss Eddie on the cheek. You quickly realize that you’ve walked in on a fully active campaign, turning to look at three young freshman boys practically gawking at the sight of you being affectionate with Eddie.

“Oh. Hi there. I’m-”

“(Y/n) (L/n).” Dustin finishes for you, and you laugh. Eddie squints his eyes at the boys, clearly noticing the infatuation glazing over their eyes. It makes him pull you down onto his lap, resting his head on your shoulder as you laugh - you know that’s code for ‘I’m jealous, please give me attention.’

“That’s right. And you three must be-”

“Dustin.”

“Lucas.”

“Mike.”

The three of them seem to be really good friends, you note, almost in sync with the way they introduce themselves and fumble to straighten up their posture in your presence. It’s incredibly adorable, and you can easily see why Eddie is so protective and taken with them.

“Nice to meet you all. I’m so sorry for interrupting your game, I just noticed that Eddie left this behind in PreCalc and wanted to return it to him-”

“It’s fine, princess. Actually you have impeccable timing, because these three boys wanted to know how I managed to land myself a girl like you.” Eddie says, rubbing circles into your left palm.

You laugh at Eddie's comment, before you see that Dustin, Lucas and Mike have leaned over to hear your response, completely serious expression on their faces.

“Oh. You guys genuinely want to know?” you're surprised.

The young boys all nod empathetically, and you casually look over at your boyfriend, who is smiling down at you mischievously.

“Well go on, baby. Tell them how I won a girl like you over.”

“Okay. Um… Eddie didn’t really have to do anything to win me over. I fell for him because he's... him. He’s charming, kind and funny. He’s passionate about music and protecting his friends. He’s wholly and unapologetically himself in an environment that tries to sap any kind of authenticity from you. If anything, I don’t know how I was so lucky enough to land a boyfriend like Eddie.” you finish, looking back at the senior with a soft smile on your face. Eddie's secretly getting choked up at your kind words but masking it behind a boyish smirk, shifting you on his lap.

“Aw, all those nice things and you didn’t even mention my devilishly handsome looks!” he complains.

You roll your eyes at his antics before looking back at the three boys.

“Yes, that too. It helped that Eddie is a good looking man. There. You happy?”

Eddie swears he can see the whole universe in your eyes. He never wants to stop looking into them.

“With you? Always.”

The boys collectively groan in disgust when Eddie pulls you down for a swift kiss, with Lucas loudly yelling that he was going to throw up. Eddie tells them to shut up as you stifle a laugh, quickly getting up and re-adjusting the varsity jacket on your shoulder.

“I should get going. I slipped out of a student council meeting to come down here to give Eddie the notebook. Are we still on for tonight?” you ask Eddie, who nods in response.

“Of course.”

The room’s still masked in stunned silence when you wave the boys goodbye and disappear into the hallway, the rest of the D&D game long forgotten in their minds. Eddie waves his hands in front of their faces again, exasperated at their lack of focus.

“Oi, freshmen! Can we get back to the game now?”

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

Eddie swears the only quiet moments with you in this bustling, nosy town is in his bedroom. You’re laying against his chest, your body laying between his legs as he gently attempts you teach you the first few notes of his new song. Your skirt’s bunched up to your thighs and your frilly socks are rubbing against his bare legs, your cute giggles escaping every so often when he compliments you on getting a note right by kissing your face.

The sun’s started to set, bathing the trailer in red and orange glow, and he swears you look practically angelic in this light. Hair frayed around your face, your lower teeth biting your lips in concentration, your delicate fingers thrumming lightly against the guitar. With every shift against Eddie, your cardigan falls down to expose your shoulder and Eddie resists the urge to mark you up right then and there.

Noticing that he’s stopped instructing you on what to do, you stop playing, looking up at him with curiosity.

“Is something wrong?”

God, Eddie thinks, the kids were right. He has no idea how he has landed someone like you.

“Everything’s perfect, princess. Just… a lot of thoughts are in my head at the moment.”

You frown at his response, setting the guitar to the side before pulling back to face Eddie.

“Is it about all the Hawkins students getting on your ass about us dating? I’m really sorry, I tried to do some gossip patrol today but people really like talking and drama and-”

“No, no, it’s fine.” he assures you, placing two warm hands on your face. “I get why people talk. I mean me, Eddie Munson. Freak of the school, best known for supposedly devil worshipping and not being able to pass senior year. Getting to kiss and hold hands with you, miss co-captain and class president? Of course people would wanna talk."

Your expression softens at his admission.

“Well… you know what they say, opposites attract.” you tease, leaning forward to kiss him lightly. This time, your lips taste like cherry - he figures you must’ve been applying cherry chapstick whilst he was in the bathroom a few minutes ago. He’s hungry for more, never satisfied with just one kiss as he pulls you back onto him once more.

“I guess they do.”

The entire school doesn’t understand how you two are dating. Eddie isn’t quite sure why either. But he’s more than happy to let it be a mystery - so long as he gets to continue to hold onto you like this.

-> a/n: I hope we get to see a lot more from him in the show in vol 2 and onwards! Anyways, I really hope y'all enjoyed it: please let me know if you did and if you'd like me to write more in this fandom by liking/commenting/reblogging and what not.

❤️ Drink water, nourish your body and be kind to yourself today ❤️

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fics #eddie munson #1k #2k #3k #4k #5k #6k

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yoongiseesawmp3 · 1 year

Text

bla bla bla (m) - hongjoong

part of the idol series.

summary: idol!hongjoong x staff!reader. it’s the thrill of being with someone off limits that pulls you to hongjoong. hushed conversations, discreet kisses, rushed sex. you can’t let anyone else at the company know that this has been going on so long, but the more time you spend with him the more madly in love you fall for kim hongjoong, leader of ateez.

word count: 15.6k

warnings: there’s so much smut, i’m sorry. afab reader. unprotected sex, semi unrealistic cum play, oral (f&m), mutual masturbation, hand stuff, public sex, spanking, panty gag, gendered terms and terms like slut/whore

masterlist

hongjoong is always trying something.

a new beat pad, your nerves, an outfit that’s totally out there. but you’re embarrassingly endeared by it all, and you do your best to hide it every day. being his main stylist makes that hard, though. you spend countless hours with him in close proximity to you, being his charming, artistic self, and you have to pretend not to eat it up. at least while other people are around.

when it’s just the two of you though? he’s usually got you wrapped around his cock, either on your knees with your cheeks hollowed out for him, or bent over the nearest surface begging for mercy. doesn’t matter where or who can hear. he can’t get enough of you, and you can’t get enough of him. that’s what makes your job challenging, and exciting as hell.

today is no different. the boys are coming in for fittings of their new stage outfits for the next leg of the tour, and you’ve got all of hongjoong’s outfits hung before you in an orderly manner. you had also set out yeosang and jongho’s, being in charge of their outfits usually as well, but there’s enough staff here today for you each to help the members individually. that makes the fittings go by quicker so the boys can get back to work, and you and your team have more time to make adjustments if the boys need anything changed.

like always, hongjoong struts in right on time, carrying that confident air with him everywhere he goes. it’s not cockiness, per se, but he knows he’s the coolest person in any room he walks into. that drew you to him initially, because you also have to be the coolest person anywhere you go. that made you and hongjoong click instantly, ooo-ing and ah-ing over each others’ accessories, sharing what interesting things you did over the weekend, or what exciting things you were working on. if you had to admit it though, hongjoong is way cooler than you are. he would say the same about you, and he does today as he walks up to you and blatantly checks you out.

“where’d you get that sweater?” he asks, handing you one of the coffees he’s holding. “it’s really cool. i like the yellow.”

“why, you trying to copy me?” you ask, playing into this half-hearted gatekeeping you try to do with each other. you pretend to refuse, and later, when hongjoong is free, you take him to your favorite spots and he takes you to his. this sweater was actually from a boutique he told you about, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

“no?” he says easily, leaning in before he continues. “if i wanted to copy you i’d just steal this the next time i’m at your place.” he pulls back, a smirk on his lips, and as you stand there slightly stunned he smacks his lips and looks to the rack of clothes next to you. “so, just start with whatever?”

“uh, no,” you say, grabbing his hand to stop him from grabbing just anything. “you should know by now i have a system. put on the new world fit, robe and all. i made some alterations and i’m not sure they’re right for your proportions.”

“i’m sure it’s fine,” he says quietly as he takes the pieces off the hanger. then, looking at you with his eyebrow quirked, “alright if i just change here?”

“go ahead,” you motion, turning slightly to give him some privacy. you see the rest of the boys in various states of undress, san giving you an awkward little smile before he pulls his shirt off. you see a flash of jongho’s bare legs in one of the changing areas, and you’re pretty sure mingi accidentally pulled his boxers down as he took off his outside pants, but you won’t comment on it. hongjoong clearing his throat brings you back to your task, and you turn around to see he’s followed your directions, hood up and everything. you smile as he pretends to use the force, he must be spending too much time with seonghwa. ignoring him you ask, “how’s the length?”

“hm?” he asks, looking at you with a glint in his eye. you hold his gaze for a moment, challenging him to take it further. eventually you just motion to the end of the robe, asking “how’s the hem? i took it in a couple inches so you won’t trip over it anymore.”

“i wasn’t tripping over it,” he grumbles as he takes the hood down, looking at the hem anyway. “..but it is better, thank you.”

“good, now take it off.”

“cheeky.”

“just the robe,” you roll your eyes. “let me see the top.”

“it feels tighter,” he comments, flexing his arms slightly. “did you take this in too?”

“no,” you shake your head. “i might have to let it out, i heard you’ve been exercising a lot recently.” another shared look, both of you daring the other to crack. yes, hongjoong has been working out lately, but that’s just so he can get more creative with you in the sack. he’s been so insistent on trying a position that requires him to hold you up the whole time, so you told him you’d do it if he bulked up first. you’re both surely thinking of this promise currently, but wooyoung’s voice cuts through the moment.

“hey hyung, you are getting more muscle,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “it’s kinda sexy.”

“is it?” hongjoong asks, turning to you for confirmation. you make a face as you reply.

“eh, kinda. it’d be sexier if it didn’t create more work for me to do,” you sigh, and hongjoong rolls his eyes. as you move in closer to retake some of his measurements, just to check, he whispers low enough just for you to hear.

“you know you like it,” he says. “what did you call them the other day? my big beefy arms?”

“and your tits,” you reply back, just as quiet, your measuring tape struggling to hold in your grasp as you measure the stretch over his chest. “your tits are nice and big now too.”

“if only there was a way for yours to get bigger,” he tsks, and you laugh as you push him back, instructing him to try on another outfit. there’s plenty that don’t need changes, or he can just look at the alterations (a new button here, a deeper pocket for the mic pack there) and give his okay to the changes. finally, you get to one of the last outfits, what you call his fireworks fit.

“put these on,” you say, holding up a new pair of leather pants. “you wore the old ones out, but i couldn’t find the exact pair we had the first time. let me see if these look alright.”

“is this necessary?” he whines. “you know i hate getting into these.”

“yeah, but it’s so worth it when you are,” you tease, licking your lips dramatically, earning a laugh from jongho next to you. he finished a few minutes ago, not much of his wardrobe needing to be changed. he asks you a quick question about some shoes, and you make a note to get him a size up next time. when you’re done, hongjoong is dressed, eyeing himself in the mirror next to you. you walk up behind him, adjusting the shoulder seams of his top before you say quietly, “your little booty just looks so good in these.”

“little?!” he twirls around, eyes wide and offended. you can’t help the cackle you let out, surprised your comment would affect him so much. he tries to hush you, but the remaining members and stylists eye you both suspiciously. wooyoung looks like he’s about to say something when hongjoong cuts him off, “mind your business, jung.”

“you’re being loud, kim.”

“respect your elders!” hongjoong shouts back, and you can tell this session is gonna derail quickly. you place your hands on hongjoong’s shoulders, guiding him to the changing area so he’ll be out of wooyoung’s splash zone. once you’re both settled behind the curtain, hongjoong smiles down at you. “hey.”

“hey,” you say half hearted, eyes focusing on fixing the way the shirt lays on his chest. “i don’t like the way this looks, it falls like this and that’s sloppy to me-”

“y/n,” hongjoong whispers, and you stop to meet his eyes. he smiles at you again, brighter this time, and tries once more. “hi beautiful.”

“hey handsome,” you say, relaxing into him. you lay your head on his chest briefly, his hands coming up to cup yours. “i’m exhausted.”

“me too,” he sighs, bringing your hands to his lips. he presses soft kisses to your knuckles as he continues. “wish you could come over tonight, but i think some of the managers are catching on.”

“we wouldn’t do much sleeping if i came over anyway,” you say suggestively, and he chuckles, the low rumble warming your cheeks as your head nuzzles further into his chest.

“yeah, but that’s the thing,” he starts. “can’t tell if i’m not sleeping well because i’m not fucking you till the sun comes up, or if it’s cause you’re not sleeping next to me.” he sighs, playing with your fingers as he goes on. “guess we’ll just have to wait for the weekend though. you still free saturday?”

“yep,” you nod. “i’m all yours.”

“that’s what i like to hear,” he smirks, pecking you quickly. “we better get back out there, i don’t want wooyoung on my ass too.”

“you gotta stop arguing with him when i’m around,” you say, and hongjoong stops to look at you questioningly. “because i’m not afraid of him and i’ll give him a nice little sucker punch if he gives you too much trouble.”

“don’t mind him, sugar,” he says before placing a kiss to the top of your head. “he just likes getting a reaction out of people, so if you punched him that’d just encourage him to do it again.”

“he’s a weird one.”

“yeah,” hongjoong sighs, his lips still planted in your hair. you can barely hear him breathe in, and then he asks, “are you using a new shampoo?”

“no?” you ask, pulling back. “why?”

“you smell different,” he scowls.

“baby,” you smile, cupping his cheek. “i think it’s because i’ve been at my house so much recently. i’m just using my regular shampoo, not yours, or whatever the guys have in the showers.”

“don’t like that,” he shakes his head. “i’ll see if i can sneak you in later tonight.”

“hongjoong, i-”

“no, babe, i miss you,” he says sternly. “you’re coming over, no excuses.”

“ok,” you say, defeated. “just text me when the coast is clear.”

you get a text around 10pm that hongjoong is finally at the dorm (”sorry, my bad, i started a new song and-”) so you head over soon after that. you’re not sure if tomorrow’s one of those days you might have to sneak out before the crack of dawn, so you don’t want to waste a minute of your time with hongjoong.

as you make the short trip to his, your mind wanders to this whole set up you have. sneaking around, having to worry about when you need to leave his house so no one sees you, it’s tiring. sometimes you’d like to go over to your boyfriend’s house just because. or whatever it is hongjoong is to you. because a boyfriend isn’t someone you hide away with to steal some kisses or creep around with in the wee hours of the night. you should bring this up to him, at least voice your concerns - what could you both really do about it though? no matter what you say to him your situation would be the same, so might as well keep things the way they are. because things are nice. hongjoong is sweeter than anyone you’ve been with before, and you’re afraid of maybe someday having to find someone else who makes you feel the way he makes you feel.

you’re still pondering what you could possibly say to him as you walk into the familiar building, making your way up to his floor. as you get closer to the boys’ dorm, you’re met with a wonderful smell. wooyoung must have cooked dinner, and you hope they saved you some, you were starving. you barely have to knock on the door before hongjoong is tearing it open to cover you in kisses, starting at your forehead and spazzing his way down to your lips. when you finally meet in a soft kiss, you smile into his lips and he does the same, pulling back just long enough to look at you as he grabs you by the cheeks, and then he’s kissing you again gently.

“i missed you,” he says into your mouth, making you chuckle.

“because it’s been so long,” you say with a roll of your eyes, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck to play with the hair on the back of his head. “how’s the song? better than the one you started yesterday?”

“baby,” he groans. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to keep you waiting that long, i just was-”

“inspired, i know,” you smile softly. “i’m glad you got to work on it. i just hope i can hear this one, unlike all the others you’ve been hiding from me lately.”

“they’re not good enough yet,” he sighs. “and you know i have to do everything in my power to impress you.”

“well don’t try so hard,” you whisper, kissing him sweetly. “it doesn’t take much.”

“i’ll start tomorrow,” he says with a cheeky smile, sliding his hands to your shoulders to spin you around, facing their living room. you were right, there was food, but hongjoong had set their living room up to look like a fancy restaurant, candles laid out and flowers on the coffee table amidst all the food. it takes your breath away, and hongjoong watches you proudly as he waits for a response.

“joongie,” you melt, turning back to him and wrapping him in a tight hug. “why’d you do this?”

“wanted you to have something nice,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “you’ve been working a lot this week, thought it’d be nice for you to get pampered a little.”

“well i love it,” you say as he guides you to the couch. he hands you your favorite blanket from his room, and you quickly wrap yourself in it as he makes your plate. “wooyoung helped?”

“yes,” hongjoong groans. “god, he’s never teased me so much before. i almost made him stop and put me out of my misery, but seeing you happy like this made it worth it.”

“aw, how sweet,” you coo as you take the plate he’s holding out for you. “thank you, really. i don’t know how to tell you how much this means to me.”

“save it,” he smiles shyly. “it’ll just embarrass us both.”

“but you’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you say through a mouthful of food. “fuck, this is good. wooyoung is a genius.”

“damn, do i need to learn how to cook now?”

“well you should learn anyway,” you say, pointing an accusing fork in his direction. “but it’s sweet that you’re jealous.”

“am not.”

“are too. now eat your food so we can make out some more.”

once the food is cleared (you and hongjoong are both very adamant about cleaning up after yourselves) you go back to the couch, but hongjoong pulls you to sit in his lap. his hands settle on your waist as your legs fall to the outside of his thighs, and you place your hands on his shoulders, pinching his cheek for good measure. he pinches your ass in retaliation, and that’s all the encouragement you need to dive back into his lips. you spend some time lost in each other like this, slowly making out, and you let your hips roll experimentally. hongjoong tightens his hold on you, keeping you in place, and you whine.

“sorry sugar,” he sighs. “all the boys are home, and seonghwa’s asleep already. i can’t kick him out tonight, so don’t make me hard.”

“i can’t stop you from popping a boner-”

“you can behave and not do anything to make it worse though,” he scolds, and you’re quiet long enough for him to dip back down to your lips, his tongue caressing yours. you moan into his mouth, and you feel his dick twitch beneath you.

“see? i didn’t even mean to get that reaction,” you pout, and hongjoong kisses it away.

“maybe we should just watch a movie then,” he says, looking around for the remote. you stop him, grabbing his face by the chin. he looks at you challengingly as he waits for you to speak.

“it’s late,” you say, and he nods. “so everyone is probably asleep.”

“yeah babe, i said hwa was asleep in-”

“no no, forget him,” you say. “everyone’s asleep? so we have the living room to ourselves?”

“oh,” hongjoong finally realizes, stammering as he continues. “uh, i mean, yeah, we could, but...”

“but what?”

“all my condoms are in my room,” he whispers, almost like if he says it quietly it won’t bother you.

“oh,” you sigh. “well, just hand stuff then. take your pants off.”

“no, you!” you hop up easily, pulling your pants down and grabbing hongjoong’s blanket. you drape it over yourself as he pulls his pants and boxers down quickly, encasing you both in the fabric as you sit back in his lap. your clothed core just barely brushes his tip and he jerks, making you smile.

“and you said we should just watch a movie,” you smirk, spitting in your hand before reaching for hongjoong’s cock. he watches your every move with an animalistic look in his eye, like he wants to devour you whole. both of you focus your gaze to hongjoong’s lap, your hand carefully wrapping around him and using your spit to get him slick. you have to spit again, partly because it’ll help and also because you know it drives hongjoong crazy when you make a mess, so you do it and your hand returns to its place around his cock. you stroke him a few times, trying to get him hard quickly. he thinks you’re just trying to get him off faster, so he tsks and pulls you further up his lap so his cock is almost laying on top of your cunt. it gives him a better angle to pull your panties aside, slowly pushing one finger into your slick to check how wet you are.

“needy baby,” he sighs, feeling the way your cunt swallows his digit tightly. “always ready for me, huh?”

“always,” you whine, grinding up to get more friction. hongjoong removes his hand completely, but you keep stroking him steadily. his hand moves up to your clit, using your wetness to drag over it lazily. you buck up again and he uses his free hand to hold you down, but in this position he’s still the one trapped under you. you can’t help but arch up as hongjoong dips two fingers back to your core, fucking into you slowly and scissoring his fingers open deep inside you.

“taking my fingers so good baby,” he breathes out, focusing hard on not fucking your hand wildly as he gets harder. “doing so good for me, make me feel so good.”

“want your cock, joong,” you pout, and he shakes his head.

“you’ve got it, sugar,” he says, bucking up into your hand to mark his words. “what more do you need?”

“need you inside,” you whisper, and his cock twitches at the idea of taking you raw. “i felt that baby, i know you want it, please just a little bit, please-”

“y/n, you sure?” hongjoong asks, and you meet eyes. you nod, affirming with a hushed “yes” that this is okay, that this is something you’ve wanted for quite some time now but you didn’t know how to say. hongjoong holds your gaze a little longer before going back to your core, fucking into you relentlessly now with three fingers. “guess i gotta get you ready then. you gotta be quiet for me though, can you do that?”

“mhm,” you whisper, trying to prove how good you’ll be starting now. once hongjoong’s satisfied with how open you are, he slides his fingers out and replaces your hand over his cock. he strokes himself once, twice, before holding your panties farther away so he can slide into your weeping cunt. you cry out at the warm feeling of him, and he groans at the feeling of you clenching around him without any protection. he knows this should be off limits, but now that he’s had a taste he can’t have you any other way. he keeps pushing until he’s sheathed fully inside you, he gives you a second to adjust, your arms falling to his biceps. you squeeze his arms tightly, telling him it’s alright to keep going. he pulls you off of him almost completely, just the tip still nestled inside your walls, and then he pulls you back down on his lap, pulling a shriek from deep in your chest. your hands fly to your mouth, heart pounding at the thought of waking the boys and because of the dark look hongjoong’s giving you.

“i said be quiet,” he warns, and you start to defend yourself but he quiets you with his hand covered in your slick, he offers you his fingers, and you know to suck and clean them off. you can taste some of his precum too, and you moan softly at the taste. while you’re distracted by your new task, hongjoong pulls back again and thrusts shallowly into you, rocking you over his lap so his cock just buries into you deeper and deeper. you’re moaning around his fingers, grateful they’re muffling some of your sounds, otherwise hongjoong would stop and leave you to get yourself off.

“mmf,” you mumble around his fingers, and he pulls them from your mouth, a line of saliva falling from their tips and coating your chin. hongjoong jolts at the sight, pulling another little cry from your lips. “my clit, play with my clit, please.”

“you’re that close?” hongjoong asks, and you nod frantically as you start bouncing on his cock, feeling him deep in your stomach. he places a hand at your hip, his thumb pointed down so he can capture your clit with every bounce of your hips. you try your best to keep your moans to a minimum, but when you collapse on hongjoong’s chest, too tired to keep riding him, he forgets why you were even trying to be quiet in the first place. his hands grab your hips firmly, his own high just around the corner, and he fucks you hard and fast, making you shake above him. you cry out one last time, your walls clenching around him so hard it’s impossible for him to move. when you start coming down, your hole spasming around his cock, he comes, trying his best to pull out before he gets too much inside you but you stop him.

“no, baby, please it’s okay,” you assure him, and he freely let’s go, your cunt pumping him for every last drop of come. when he pulls out, some of it dribbles onto your outer lips and hongjoong tries his best to file that image away for the nights you can’t see each other. you slump into his shoulder, breathing slowing down, and hongjoong can tell you’re about to go to sleep.

“nope,” he says, pushing you up. “let’s get you cleaned off.”

“leave it,” you mumble into his shoulder. “can’t move. sleep here.”

“you gonna form a full sentence any time soon?” hongjoong jokes, and you shake your head.

“just pull my panties up,” you say, finally sitting up enough to assess the damage. your pussy is covered in his release, more dripping out of your hole, and you both watch as you clench to stop it from dripping further. the sight alone has you both ready to go again, but it’s late.

“keep this safe for me then, yeah?” he asks, covering your stained pussy with your panties, and you push his shoulder pathetically.

“gross.”

“i mean it, i’m gonna check tomorrow and i expect to see every drop-”

“hongjoong!” you whine, a smile threatening to give you away. “stop talking. just lay down with me, yeah?”

you fell asleep on the couch, which, in hindsight, was a bad idea for a lot of reasons. the worst one is the situation you find yourself in right now, hongjoong asleep on top of you, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and the front door opening to reveal a manager. hongjoong has enough time to poke his head above the couch (thankfully it hides you, for the most part), and he rushes to cover the rest of you with his blanket. he plays it off like he’s straightening up, waving to the manager at the door checking his phone. the boys had to rehearse soon for the tour, so hongjoong goes to grab the other guys and you lay as still and quiet as possible on the couch.

one by one, the members make their way out of their rooms, doing a good job of not noticing you. yeosang does though, face showing shock at the pair of eyeballs staring at him between the cushions. the manager asks if he’s alright and he plays it off, and you think you’ve made it through. it’s just joong and seonghwa left, and you see hongjoong leave next, doing his best to convey something to you with his eyes but you can’t pick up on it. seonghwa comes out last, pretending like he’s looking for something.

“what’s wrong?” the manager asks, and seonghwa explains he’s missing his phone.

“one of the guys might have taken it down to the cars, do you mind checking for me? i’ll look up here and come down if i find it,” he asks, and the manager reluctantly leaves. a few seconds after the door closes, seonghwa looks at you. “hey y/n.”

“hey seonghwa.”

“had a good night?” he asks, and you shrug.

“it was alright,” you say nonchalantly, sitting up to stretch out. “so what’s the move?”

“we’re going to a rehearsal space for a couple hours,” he explains. “wait maybe thirty minutes and then you can head out, hongjoong will see you later when we get back to the company and i’m sure he’ll do or say something despicable to you.”

“can’t wait,” you yawn, falling back down on the couch to sleep a little longer before you can leave.

so, you fell asleep. like for a long time. you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing, and your heart drops to your ass when you see it’s someone from kq. you realize you’re about an hour late, which is so cool and so fun. you scramble off the couch, rushing into the bathroom to attempt to make yourself look like you’re not making a walk of shame into the office. then you notice your clothes, you’re in sweats and a hoodie, so not necessarily work appropriate. you internally scream and head to hongjoong’s room, hoping he has some clean clothes you can change into for work. you do your best to find clothes that are inconspicuous, like if someone with a keen eye looked at you they wouldn’t notice you’re wearing hongjoong’s clothes. you head out the door once you’re satisfied with the look (a sweater you’ve been wanting to “borrow” with a collared shirt underneath that still smells like joong and black slacks) and take out your phone to make an excuse for being late. you have to stop by a designer’s shop to pick up some sample pieces for their next comeback, so you assure your coworker you got caught up at the shop and you’re coming back to the offices soon. you just cross your fingers and toes that’ll satisfy them and save your ass.

hongjoong spent the morning worried, because he’s never had such a close call before. it was stupid of him to let you both fall asleep on the couch, and he’s been beating himself up about it since. but he makes himself feel even worse when the boys get back to the company and he can’t find you anywhere. you’re never late, so hopefully you’re just hidden away working hard somewhere. hongjoong hopes that’s it, and not that you overslept because he’s got a million reasons in his mind over how that could be his fault. he just goes to a rehearsal room with mingi to pass the time, going over their parts together to clean everything up for tour.

about an hour later, hongjoong steps out to grab a water and his ears perk up at your voice. he hears you down the hall, your voice carrying from a slightly cracked door in the office area. he quietly walks closer, not eavesdropping exactly, just choosing intentionally to get water from the fountain next to that office rather than the one right outside the practice room. as he stands there he catches the faintest trace of a conversation.

“so you understand why we can’t risk this happening anymore,” the other staff says sternly, and hongjoong thinks you must be getting reprimanded for being late. he starts berating himself again, thinking it’s all his fault, when he hears you speak.

“i understand,” you respond, your voice shaking. weird, hongjoong thinks. you’re good at keeping your cool at work. what could make you this upset?

he doesn’t have time to ponder that for long, because the conversation wraps up and he hears shuffling from the office. he scurries back to the hallway he came from so he won’t get caught snooping, but he turns back just in time to catch you walking away quickly, wiping at your face. were you crying? then he catches the eye of the staff standing to the side, and she gives him a pointed look, tight-lipped with a warning in her eyes. hongjoong almost feels a shiver run down his spine, but he shakes it off and goes back to practice, shooting you a quick text to make sure you’re okay.

the next break he gets, he leaps for his phone and sees that you haven’t replied. he tells mingi he’s stepping out again, and he nods, saying he might go grab food with the members before they continue. hongjoong waves him off, trying to figure out if he should text you again or just go find you. he opts for the second one, and he has to wander a little to figure out where you are. he checks your office, nothing. understandable, considering you’re having a bad day. then he looks at the balcony, because that’s your go to hideaway in the office. still nothing. he finally finds you in the last place he’d think to check, the wardrobe room. surrounded by years of stage outfits, donated pieces, and looks curated for each member, he sees you hidden in a rack of old kingdom outfits. you look up at the sound of his footsteps, giving him a half hearted smile as he gets closer.

“hi sugar,” he says softly. “what’s going on?”

“bad day,” you shrug. “sorry i’ve been mia.”

“s’okay,” he tells you, hand coming up to rub your back. “have you eaten?”

“not yet,” you shake your head. “haven’t had time. i overslept, and uh, got into some trouble. so a lunch break isn’t really in my schedule today.” something about the way you said that makes hongjoong think there’s something you’re leaving out, but he doesn’t push it.

“i can go grab you something?” he offers. “i was probably gonna go to 7/11, do you want some snacks? that way you don’t have to stop and eat, you can just eat as you work.”

“okay,” you nod, and hongjoong smiles. he’s about to leave when he allows himself to sweep his eyes over you, and his smile grows as he notices you’re decked out in his clothes.

“you thief,” he says, and you chuckle. a small victory, considering hongjoong can tell you had been crying at some point. “went shopping in my closet, hm?”

“i didn’t have time to go home and change,” you explain. “so i had to pull some stuff out of the archive and prevent the world’s worst walk of shame.”

“well you look cute,” he says, coming closer. “sexy, actually. i love it when you wear my clothes.”

“really?” you ask, a glimmer in your eyes. “how sexy?”

“depends,” hongjoong replies, “let me see your panties.”

“joong!”

“no, baby, remember what i said last night?”

“oh, when you were being nasty?”

“yeah,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “show me.”

“hongjoong-”

“y/n,” he warns, and you slowly pull your pants down, followed soon after by your stained panties. hongjoong knocks your legs further apart before he falls to his knees, and you gasp, trying to pull him back up.

“kim hongjoong, stop that right now,” you hiss. “someone could come in here.”

“no they can’t, i locked the door,” he says, his hands sliding around your waist to grab you by the ass. he looks at your pussy, still dirty from the night before, and he sighs. “you’re perfect for me, baby,” he whispers, admiring the way your pussy clenches at his words. he’s too focused on your cum stained lips to notice the way your eyes well up at the complicated things you’re feeling, but before you can get caught up in your thoughts hongjoong swipes his tongue between your lips to distract you. he groans at the taste of himself lingering on your cunt, and he dives back in to clean you up. his hands on your ass help him grind you onto his tongue, and you let out a shaky moan when he swipes over your clit. he stays there, alternating between light kitten licks that make your legs jolt or harsh sucks that send a strike of electricity straight through you. hongjoong is relentless, playing with your clit before kissing and sucking his way down to your entrance, admiring the way your slick has coated your lips for him. “you’re delicious,” he growls, tongue slurping obscenely at your entrance, and your legs buckle at the feeling. he holds onto you tighter, trying to keep you up while he fucks his tongue into you.

“hongjoong, too much,” you whine. “‘m gonna come.”

“good,” he grumbles, detaching from you long enough to look up at you between your legs. “that’s kinda the point, sugar.”

“but-”

“stop talking,” he orders, kissing right on top of your clit. “just enjoy it baby.” he holds his thumb up to you, and you take it in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the warm digit. hongjoong brings it down to your clit, drawing lazy circles on your bundle of nerves as he goes back to making out with your cunt. it’s getting harder for you to stand on your own, so you grip your hands into his hair for some leverage. you’re grinding down into his face, your arousal coating his chin as he eats you like a man starved. you’re staring down at him, mesmerized, and when his eyes flick up to meet yours it sends you over the edge. you let out a choked moan, and hongjoong buries his tongue in your cunt to collect every drop of your release. when he’s satisfied that you’re done, he slowly pulls away from you, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. he stands and brings your pants back up for you, helping you get dressed again before he leaves.

“i thought you were getting our lunch,” you say breathlessly, and hongjoong smirks like the devil as he responds.

“i can’t get that at 7/11.”

you spend the rest of the day keeping your distance from hongjoong, which isn’t hard considering both of your schedules. you’ve got to start packing tour outfits, and he’s in back to back rehearsals until late tonight. you stay after everyone else on your team leaves just to make up for the time you lost this morning, and you’re running through the building trying to keep up with all your packing lists. there’s a pair of shoes missing, and if san left them in the rehearsal room again you’re gonna kill him. so you’re running from room to room trying to find these boots, and as you take a corner too fast you literally run into hongjoong.

“whoa, where’s the fire sugar?” he asks with a smirk as he steadies you, admiring the way you’ve pulled your hair back to keep it out of your face. you were going to respond, but you see a manager poke his head out of a rehearsal room so you duck away, mumbling to hongjoong about the shoes. he’s left confused, but just writes it off as you being stressed. he figures he’ll have time to ask about it tonight.

except, he doesn’t get a chance to do that. you end up leaving shortly after your literal run-in with joong, and you shoot him a text that you’ll be going to sleep as soon as you get home which is basically code for bye, see you tomorrow, please don’t text me and wake me up. hongjoong’s feelings are a little hurt, but again, he knows how stressful work is right now, it’s just as bad (if not worse) for him, so he takes this as a night of rest and decides to bother you double time tomorrow.

when it’s finally time for the guys to leave, hongjoong finds seonghwa and waits with him for their car. hongjoong immediately opens your texts, wanting to tell you he’s on the way home, but then he remembers you’re already asleep and puts his phone up.

“y/n coming over tonight?” hwa asks through a yawn.

“nope,” hongjoong replies curtly. “we both need our rest.”

“gross.”

“not like that. well, a little but that’s not the reason. y/n had a long day today so i’m sure this extra sleep is needed,” joong explains, and hwa nods.

“yeah, i heard one of the managers saying she got quite the talking to this morning,” seonghwa says, side-eying hongjoong. “any idea what that was about?”

“no,” hongjoong shakes his head. “we didn’t talk much today. busy, you know.”

“well, i just know i’d be shitting bricks if my girlfriend was over and a manager walked in on us cuddled up on the couch,” hwa mumbles, and hongjoong bucks up at his words.

“y/n isn’t my girlfriend,” he says, sounding unsure even as he says it. “we’re...friends. close friends-”

“who suck and fuck every chance they get?” hwa asks, eyebrows raised. “not to mention the sappy way you talk to her, and the way you look at her like she makes all the flowers grow.”

“what? i do not,” hongjoong scoffs.

“do too.”

“stop that,” joong grumbles. “i don’t know what..this..is, honestly. i just know i really care for y/n.”

“then maybe you should be more careful about being seen by other staff,” seonghwa warns. “i’m just saying, if they had to get rid of someone because they find out you two are canoodling, it wouldn’t be you.”

“yeah,” hongjoong says, lost in thought. was that why you were off today? had the manager this morning noticed something, and gone on to snitch about it? hongjoong’ll wring his neck if that’s the case, but he knows for sure he needs to talk to you asap. he needs to know what’s going on, right now.

before your alarm even goes off the next day, you’re pulled out of your sleep by your phone constantly ringing. you thought you heard it in your dreams, going off once then going silent. then it went off again, pulling you out of your sleep, confused. then it rang again and that’s when you realized it was actually happening, so you reach for it and answer.

“hello?” you ask groggily.

“open the door,” hongjoong says on the other end.

“hongjoong?”

“yeah, it’s me, come let me in,” he says quickly, then adds, “pretty please.”

“hongjoong, i-”

“please, y/n,” he says again. “i need to know what’s going on.”

“ok, just a second.”

soon, hongjoong is sitting at your kitchen table, watching as you move around making your morning coffee. like always, you make his first even though he didn’t ask for one, and when you finally have your own cup you take a seat across from him.

“so,” you start. “what’s up? why’d you come here so early?”

“what happened yesterday?” he asks. “like really happened. i heard you in a meeting, and when i found you in the storage room it looked like you had been crying. and then not wanting to see me last night...” he trails off, looking back up at you. “what’s going on?”

“um,” you clear your throat. “well, uh, so. apparently kq has been onto us for sometime. they’ve all had their suspicions, some managers said suddenly you were a lot happier and less mean-”

“whoa, i’m not mean!”

“their words not mine,” you clarify, and keep going. “they said they could tell a difference in you, after...uh, after i was assigned to be your main stylist. and then they just noticed us getting closer, i guess? so when the manager walked in on us yesterday, he saw, um, he saw my stuff by the door, and that’s when he went higher up and told them there might be something going on. when i was late on top of all that, i got called into a meeting as soon as i got to work and it was made very clear my job is on the line if i don’t stop..whatever this is.”

“wow,” hongjoong sighs. “so, what is this?”

“hongjoong,” you whine, and his heart clenches. “i don’t want to define this right now. i just told you i could get fired if we keep this up and you’re worried about a label?”

“well, yeah,” he begins, “because if we’re just messing around then that’s harder for us to defend if we get in trouble again, but if you’re actually my girlfriend then-”

“you don’t get it joong,” you cut him off. “it was very clear that i was the only one in trouble. they never even mentioned you yesterday, the entire time it was just about what i’ve done wrong by getting involved with you. you’re safe, i’m the one they can kick out if they see me as a threat.”

“you’re not a threat though,” he says quietly. “you’re my y/n.”

you reach across your little kitchen table, squeezing his hand in yours. you hold his gaze, his eyes hopeful, and sadly he notices that your eyes tell a different story.

“i’m sorry, hongjoong, but..i can’t do this,” you say shakily. “i need this job. i love this job. and i don’t want to do anything to risk that, not right now. i’m..i’m sorry.” hongjoong holds your gaze for a moment longer, but he can tell your mind is made up. he softly slips his hand out of yours, puts his dirty mug in the dishwasher, and then walks out the front door.

you didn’t realize how hard it would be to watch hongjoong walk away like that, but you knew it would be hard facing him at work with the way things had to end. a couple days after he stomped out of your apartment, you find yourself doing the final fitting for their tour outfits, the adjustments made and needing one final look. you’ve got hongjoong to your left and yeosang to your right, but they’re the only two you have to take care of today. jongho with his perfect proportions didn’t need any changes save for a new pair of shoes, and he’s already tried those on.

you don’t want to get too close to hongjoong (either from fear of attraction or the fear that you’ll internally combust) so you spend a lot of time helping yeosang and catching up with him, asking him about the tour and just being friendly, nothing more. but hongjoong watches on, stewing silently as he tries on piece after piece, just barely grunting out your name to get your approval before he moves on to the next. when he’s tried the last piece, you tell him he’s free to go, and he’s out of the room faster than you can give him the all clear. you turn back to yeosang, who shrugs, saying something about how hongjoong always gets bitchy under a lot of stress. you laugh with him, knowing that’s not the only reason for joong’s sour mood, but there’s not much you can do about it now.

not long after that, hongjoong is holed up in his studio when he hears a knock at the door. he doesn’t want company, but he tells them to come in anyway. it’s seonghwa, who shuffles in and sits on the couch behind hongjoong.

“is there any reason why y/n is looking at your tour outfits all sad?” he asks.

“no?” hongjoong replies. “not my business.”

“hm,” seonghwa huffs. “since when is y/n not your business.”

“since i got dumped last night,” hongjoong replies, turning around to face his friend. “listen dude, i don’t really want to talk about it right now, ok? kind of still in the pissed off phase.”

“i heard about the meeting yesterday,” hwa says, making hongjoong groan.

“great, so now all our business is just floating around the company, that’s mature of everyone.”

“so is sleeping with your stylist.”

“hey, i wasn’t just sleeping with her, ok?” hongjoong defends himself. “like i said last night..i really care about her.”

“then what are you gonna do?”

“nothing,” hongjoong shrugs. “i tried last night, she didn’t want my help. so i guess it ends here.”

“no it doesn’t,” hwa shakes his head. “you two won’t be able to stay away from each other long.”

“thanks for having faith in me man.”

“i give you till the end of the week, tops,” hwa says. “but at the latest, before we leave for tour. i know it would piss you off to leave before you’ve cleaned this up.”

“get out of my studio.”

“don’t get mad at me cause i’m right!” seonghwa shrieks, but he stands and walks to the door anyway. “i’m just saying, if it’s worth fighting for, you should. you deserve some love. and a good lay, but if you could start keeping that to yourself i’d appreciate it.”

turns out hongjoong doesn’t have to worry about fixing this before they leave for tour. he heard through one of the managers that you would be coming with them, taking the place of one of the more senior stylists. and of course, the news of you and hongjoong hooking up has spread throughout the company, so you’ve been assigned to seonghwa and yeosang for the tour. getting used to the new role, and the hectic life of being on tour, you haven’t had time to stop and think how much you really miss hongjoong. your job has kept you pretty busy the first few stops, and you don’t even have time to catch his eye in the dressing rooms because you feel like you’re so all over the place. it worries hongjoong, seeing you so stressed, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it.

he also has to watch you be all buddy buddy with seonghwa and yeosang, getting close to do touch ups on make up or fix their outfits in between stages. while he knows that’s your job, you have to do those things, he also thinks about how you chose your job over him just about every minute of every day. it’s hard for hongjoong to admit, but he was down bad for you, and he’s having a hard time adjusting.

one night, after an off day in london, a lot of the staff went out with the guys to a lowkey restaurant. hongjoong was exhausted, but he went anyway. not because wooyoung basically begged him, but because he wanted a chance to be around you like nothing had happened. if he just happened to sit with you at dinner, that wouldn’t turn heads, would it?

except, hongjoong is so excited by this idea he gets to the restaurant way before you. he wonders where you are, what you’ve been doing all day, would you even come to dinner at all? if he could, he would save you a seat at his table, but he can’t do that. instead he joins seonghwa and some others, scanning the menu absentmindedly until he hears the bell ding above the door. he looks up instinctively, and does a double take when he sees you. you look like you’re glowing, a couple shopping bags in tow and a new bag slung over your shoulder that hongjoong recognizes as a piece from your favorite designer’s new collection.

“oooh, y/n, you bought us presents?” wooyoung asks, sitting next to hongjoong. he doesn’t miss the way your eyes glance over him first before looking at wooyoung to respond.

“no?” you reply. “these are all for me, you wouldn’t fit.” you approach the two tables taken up by the boys and the staff, and your eyes linger on hongjoong’s table making sure there’s no seats there before another stylist calls you over to sit next to her. you shove your bags (carefully) under the table, telling everyone sitting there that you’re not against violence if they mess with them. you settle into your seat and look up, locking eyes with hongjoong. he’s directly across from you at the other table, a window right between the members to give hongjoong a perfect view of you. you give him a tightlipped smile, heart constricting the longer you look at him.

“nice bag,” he mouths, pointing down to your purse. you smile genuinely then, because of course he would recognize it. you had talked about getting a matching set together, something subtle but cool to signify your...bond. you still don’t know how to define whatever it was you had with hongjoong, but you need to stop reminding yourself of it before your stomach turns at the thought. you look down at the menu, trying to ignore the feeling of hongjoong’s eyes on you all night.

the next day, there’s a show. you’re doing your job like normal, adjusting things here and there on yeosang’s first stage outfit, laughing at some silly joke he made. you catch yourself laughing around him a lot, not aware that he’s doing it to cheer you up. you just assume it’s yeosang being yeosang, but he sees how torn up hongjoong is so he knows you must be going through it just as bad.

after you get yeosang and seonghwa settled into their new world robes, you head to another dressing room in search of more safety pins. you didn’t think about whose dressing room it was, you just knew the more organized stylists worked in here and you could always pilfer supplies from them. you sneak in and hover over the table by the door, expecting the room to be full and that you can just slip in and back out. but you hear someone clear their throat, and your skin runs cold when you look up and see hongjoong watching you through the mirrors on the wall.

“hey sugar,” he says, a sad smile on his face. you whip around to face him, heartbeat accelerating as he walks closer to you.

“hongjoong, i’m sorry, i didn’t know you were in here,” you try not to stammer out. “i just needed. um. i got what i needed. so i’ll just..go.” you try to spin back around and out the door, but hongjoong grabs your wrist too quickly, pulling you dangerously close to his chest.

“what’s the rush?” he whispers into your ear, brushing your hair to the side.

“th-the concert, joong, you need to-”

“i need to talk to you,” he says sternly, turning you around in his arms.

“what are you doing?” you ask stubbornly, backing up to the door, which is a bad move because hongjoong just follows you until you’re caged in, his chest pressed to yours. you register the faint sound of him locking the door behind you, and your intake of breath makes him smirk.

“having fun?” he asks calmly, and you look at him confused. “on tour? it’s your first time, it looks like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“it’s...alright,” you say tentatively. “i’m exhausted, but i like it so far.”

“that’s good,” hongjoong nods, picking up a piece of your hair and twirling it between his fingers. “and your new...assignment?”

“are you referring to my promotion?” you ask, and you’re just a little bit satisfied by the surprised look on hongjoong’s face. “yeah, you don’t know everything, mister. they promoted me, i’m one of the head stylists now. that’s why i went on a shopping spree yesterday.”

“wow, y/n, that’s..that’s incredible, congratulations,” hongjoong stutters, and you smile at him sweetly. “i’m really happy for you. you deserve this more than anyone. really.”

“well thank you,” you mumble, your head dropping to ignore his intense stare. “so i hope you understand...why i had to...why this was my only choice.”

hongjoong lifts your chin delicately, noticing with a gasp that you’re crying. he’s quick to wipe your tears, and he moves to wrap you up in his arms. you push him away, shaking your head as you wipe at your eyes more. he carefully reaches out for your hands, bringing them down and rubbing soothing patterns over your knuckles.

“i guess i understand,” he sighs. “you’re just so smart and sexy and good at your job.” you roll your eyes, trying to pull your hands back but he holds tighter, squeezing your hands in his. “i knew you’d get a chance like this someday. but, come on, did they have to place you with seonghwa and yeosang?”

“hongjoong you’re insufferable,” you laugh, your head falling forward to land on his shoulder. the alarms start going off in your mind when you realize what you’ve done, but they start shrieking and howling when you feel hongjoong’s hands leaving yours in favor of curling around your waist. you lift your head up to look at him and say, “you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“hm, no?” he considers for a moment, hands sliding down to squeeze your ass teasingly. “i’m still crazy about you, so no, i have not.”

“hongjoong, we shouldn’t,” you hiss, shifting enough in his hold that you can feel how wet you are just from being this close to him again.

“but we both want to,” he says, and when you don’t disagree, hongjoong smiles the most shit eating grin you’ve ever seen. “stop me now, sugar. if you really don’t want this as much as i do, say something and i’ll stop. promise. i can walk away right now-”

“we have to be quick,” you whisper out, and hongjoong feels himself harden at the thought of you being just as needy for him as he is for you. his hands squeeze your ass one more time, then he taps your cheeks to signal for you to jump. you wrap your legs around him easily, and he puts you down on the counter in front of one of the vanities. there’s a moment where you’re both staring, unsure of what to do now that you’ve gotten this far, so you wrap your arms around his neck and say, “kiss me.”

hongjoong’s hands cup your face, pulling you up to meet him as his lips crash into yours. it’s sloppy, and in seconds you’re breathing hard into each other’s mouths, hongjoong licking at your lips to let him in. his hands brush over your chest and you gasp, granting him the access he needs to finally taste you again. he groans into your mouth, your tongue meeting his for the first time in what felt like years. he keeps playing with your chest, but he eventually gets tired of the fabric in the way and moves to take your shirt off. you have to physically push him to make him stop, and with a gasp for air you manage to say, “we can’t get undressed. you have to be onstage soon.”

“ugh, fine,” he groans, leaning in to kiss you one more time. then, into your mouth, he growls, “i need you to turn around for me. over the vanity.” he steps back, undoing his pants as you bend over for him and pull your pants and panties down. he groans at the sight of your pussy glistening for him, and he tugs on your hair to get your attention. “look back at me. don’t look in the mirror, i want you just looking at me, ok baby?” you nod, eyes locked on his as he pumps himself a few more times before lining up at your wet entrance. “i don’t have a condom, is that ok?”

“god, hongjoong, yes, just fuck me before i regret this-” and you choke on your words as he thrusts himself fully inside, the warmth almost driving him insane. he could never forget what it feels like to be inside you, but he sure missed it. the way you clench around him, the way your ass looks delectable as he pulls out and thrusts back in, and your moans. oh god, he could come at the sound of your voice alone. once you got your voice back, you started chanting his name, your hair falling down around your face as he rocks into you repeatedly. your eyes stay on his the entire time, and he’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of you wrapped around him again that he stops inside you to take some breaths. he lifts your right leg up, placing it on the vanity with your upper body so he can get deeper. your pants and panties fall off your leg, and you stumble out of them completely to find a comfortable position. when it looks like you’re settled again, hongjoong thrusts slowly, pulling a moan from deep within your chest.

“i missed this baby, i missed you,” he breathes out before he keeps going, pounding into you at a faster pace than before. in this position, he’s hitting as deep as he can, and you’re back to a blubbering mess. you’re babbling out his name, various cuss words, and repeating everyone once in a while how he has a perfect cock. watching you fall apart around him sends hongjoong into overdrive, and he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to make sure you keep your eyes on him. you clench around him at the sight of his animalistic gaze, and he groans out, “fuck, keep doing that and i’ll come.”

“give it to me, please,” you beg. “please, hongjoong, please, come for me baby, i need it, please!”

“you want me to come inside you baby?” and you nod. “uh uh, need to hear you say it.”

“fuck me, fuck,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. hongjoong pulls on your hair again to bring your attention back to him. “please baby, come inside me, wanna feel your come dripping down my pussy, please, i need it-” and then he’s coming, coating your walls with so much come he’s afraid it’ll start dripping out before he even finishes. feeling hongjoong coming inside you sets off your own release with a choked moan, and hongjoong thrusts softly to guide you both through it. when you’re done spasming around him, he pulls out carefully, his cock covered in your releases. he bends down to grab your panties, wiping himself off with the fabric. you carefully get down from the counter, feeling hongjoong’s come leaking from you already. you look down for your pants, but when you can’t find your panties you look up to him quickly.

“where are they?” you ask accusingly, and he just smiles.

“somewhere safe,” he says seriously, and you push his arm.

“hongjoong, give them back, i can feel you dripping out of me already-”

“then you got what you wanted, right sugar?” he asks, and you blush profusely. “if memory serves, you asked for this.”

“i hate you,” you grumble, pulling your shorts up anyway.

“yeah, about that,” hongjoong says, and the sound of someone jiggling the door handle makes you both freeze. you grip onto hongjoong tightly, complete fear in your eyes as whoever it is keeps trying to door. hongjoong steps closer and tries to calmly ask, “who is it? i’m, uh, changing.”

“it’s me,” seonghwa replies, and you both let out a sigh of relief. “i don’t care what you’re doing, but wrap it up. five minutes to mics, dude.”

“o-ok, thanks,” hongjoong replies, and you push him toward the door. in a hushed tone, he turns to you and says, “hold on sugar, i have something to tell you.”

“we don’t really have time to talk about this hongjoong, we’re close to getting caught again, and we can’t-”

“i think i’m in love with you,” hongjoong whispers, and if it hadn’t been just the two of you in the room you would’ve missed it. you stop cold, staring at him with your mouth slightly open.

“you’re joking,” is the only thing you can think to say.

“i’m not yeosang,” hongjoong says coldly, and you scoff.

“you can’t just say that, joong,” you tell him. “you have to mean it-”

“you think i don’t mean it?” he asks, hurt. he watches you to try and read your expression, but you’re not giving him any context clues, so he sighs, “whatever. i love you. take it or leave it.”

you watch as he unlocks the door and slips out, not another word or glance your way. you give it a few seconds, listening intently for the sounds of anyone outside. when you think the coast is clear, you grab the things you came here for in the first place and slip back into the hallway unnoticed.

after the concert, you’re busy getting the last of seonghwa and yeosang’s outfits packed up for the next stop. like always, seonghwa stops by and asks if you need any help, but you politely decline and he hangs around anyway, telling you little stories about the show so you have some company.

“hongjoong had a really great night too,” seonghwa points out, eyeing you carefully as he goes on. “he seemed very motivated, for some reason.”

“hm, good for him,” you hum, and then you nod to the case seonghwa is leaning on. “can you open that for me?”

“sure,” he says, helping you while he watches hongjoong walk by behind you. he doesn’t think anything of seonghwa hanging around you, that’s really the only person he doesn’t mind you being close with aside from him. he just nods at hwa and he nods back, something unspoken between them that you don’t pick up on. “did you get to see any of the show tonight? i think you would’ve liked it.”

“ah, no,” you sigh. “i was a little tired so i just rested back here. i’m sure you guys did great though.”

“hongjoong especially,” seonghwa reiterates, and you look at him apprehensively.

“yeah, you mentioned that. listen, i should get these to the truck-”

“i’m just saying, for whatever reason, tonight of all nights, hongjoong had his best show of the tour,” seonghwa says, looking directly at you. “he’s like a changed man.”

“what are you trying to imply, seonghwa?” you finally ask. “because i don’t think i’m getting it.”

“he’s better when you’re with him!” he whisper shouts. “now i don’t totally agree with you two risking your careers over this, but he cares about you enough that he’s willing to do it. he’s a better person when you’re in his life. really in it. i think i’m the only one that knows why, but everyone noticed how different he was tonight after he suspiciously came out of a locked dressing room,” a pointed look at you. “so just think about how you want this to end up. you have to be around each other a lot anyway, so why spend it pretending you hate each other when you clearly don’t?”

you’re quiet for a moment, focusing on the clasp of the case in front of you. “didn’t know you were hongjoong’s relationship doctor.”

“oh, you’re perfect for each other,” seonghwa groans. “he told me the same thing when i tried to talk to him. don’t believe me, fine, but don’t expect a clear sign like this again. hongjoong is gonna keep his distance if you don’t make a move.” he starts walking away then, but you calling his name softly brings him back. he smiles smugly and asks, “yes?”

“um,” you clear your throat, taking a few steps closer to him so no one will overhear. “uh, do you know if he’s got his own room tonight?”

“my stuff’s already in with yunho and san,” seonghwa replies. “because i am a good friend, not a relationship doctor. you two need to do the doctor part yourselves, i am simply the kind soul who doesn’t want to see two people he cares about be miserable for the rest of forever.”

“you’re so giving,” you tease, and then genuinely, “thank you. we’ll talk tonight.”

“good luck,” seonghwa smiles at you before he leaves.

back at the hotel, you spent quite some time cleaning yourself up. you weren’t stalling on purpose, but you kept finding things to do before you went to hongjoong’s room. you know he stays up late, so you have time, but you need to pull the band aid off and just go. you’d like to have an idea of what to say when you see him, but when you think about it your mind just becomes a tangled mess. as you get ready to leave, an idea pops into your head, and you take care of that quickly before heading a few floors up to hongjoong’s room.

you took the elevator further down the hallway, so hopefully any other staff still heading to their rooms won’t see you on the main elevator. you have to walk a little farther to hongjoong’s room though, so you have plenty of time for your heart to start racing the closer you get. as you reach up to knock on his door, it feels like your heart will beat out of your chest at any moment, but seconds later when hongjoong opens the door, it completely calms. he smiles, unsure of what he’s seeing as he starts to speak, but you cut him off with a soft, “surprise?”

“it sure is,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. he looks you up and down, all cozy in the hotel robe but still with your battered keroppi slippers on your feet. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“i think we need to talk,” you tell him. “can i come in?”

“listen, y/n, i said everything i needed to say,” he replies. “if you have anything to add, you can tell me right here.”

“well,” you start, and he’s watching your face intently, not noticing your hands trailing down to the belt of the robe. “it’s kinda cold out here, i’m feeling a draft,” you say as you undo the belt, pulling one side of the robe back so hongjoong can see you don’t have anything on underneath. “can i come in now?”

“you’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hand reaching out to grip your bare waist as he pulls you into the room with him. he closes the door quietly behind him, and you stay close by so you can grab his hand when he’s done. wordlessly, you take him to the bed you assume is his and stand before it. more of the robe has fallen open, and hongjoong blatantly checks you out. “alright. your turn to talk.”

“i...can’t,” you start, and hongjoong looks on with a hurt in his eyes that you wish you could fix. "i’m not good with words, so i’ve been wracking my brain for what to say and i can’t come up with anything good.”

“you could say you love me back,” hongjoong mutters, and you groan at his words, grabbing his hands.

“hongjoong, please,” you whine. “i can’t put into words how i feel, so i wanted to show you.”

“show me?” he asks, intrigued. “show me how?”

“well,” you sigh, playing with his fingers. “what do you want to do with me?”

“sugar, what i want to do with you would take me days,” he warns.

“hm, we only have a couple of hours. what do you want to start with?” you ask teasingly, staring at him patiently. you can see him working through this in his head, and you desperately hope he doesn’t tell you to leave.

“on your knees for me,” he finally says, and you obey instantly. you sink down in front of him, your robe falling off your shoulders and pooling around you. “good girl. hands in your lap, that’s it, and keep them there. want you to watch, no touching.”

“hongjoong, what-”

“ah ah,” he tsks, undoing his pants. “you’re gonna watch me get off, because this is what you wanted right? you didn’t want us to be together anymore, and we can’t touch if we’re not together.”

“baby, please,” you beg. “what happened in the dressing room then?”

“what happened in the dressing room was a mistake,” he says, and you feel a pang in your chest as he pulls his boxers down just enough to free his half hard cock. he starts stroking himself as he goes on, “unless you want to talk about it?”

“i-i don’t know...”

“right,” he hums, picking up speed as he gets harder. “guess you just have to sit there then. thanks for the pretty view, sugar.” he punctuates his words with a step closer to you, his tip dangerously close to your lips. all you’d have to do is lean forward just a little to take him in you mouth and- “stop that,” he says from above you, watching intently. “look up at me, don’t be so cock hungry.”

you whimper at his words, looking up to his sharp eyes. he winks at you when your eyes meet, and when he starts meeting his pumping hand with little thrusts you watch as his face contorts into pleasure, a moan slipping past his lips. you even catch the slightest hint of a smirk after because he’s enjoying himself so much. while his eyes are locked on yours, an idea pops into your head, and you wriggle your hips just enough to spread your legs below you. to hongjoong it just looks like you’re getting comfortable. as he focuses on your chest and how your nipples are reacting to the cold air, he misses the way your hand trails down to your core to meet your dripping folds. you rub your middle finger through your slick and make a swipe at your clit, a quiet moan traveling up through your chest. hongjoong stops immediately, glaring down at you as he watches you play with yourself. he’s stopped fucking his hand and the only noise in the room is the sound of your quickened breath and the mess between your legs.

“what are you doing?” he asks calmly.

“nothing,” you reply with a shaky breath, slipping a finger inside your entrance to stroke at your walls. “why’d you stop?”

“you’re not listening to me-” hongjoong starts, but you cut him off.

“ah ah,” you mock him. “i can’t touch you. doesn’t mean i can’t, fuck, doesn’t mean i can’t touch myself.”

“fine,” he decides, stepping away from you to lean against the bed. “i wanna see you get off with your fingers alone.”

“fine,” you agree, leaning back on one hand while bringing your other hand up to your lips. you suck on two of your fingers, holding hongjoong’s gaze while he strokes himself lazily. you bring your fingers back to your core, circling your entrance before you start fucking yourself on them, already knowing this won’t be enough. you try working yourself up by rolling your hips, stroking that soft spot inside you, but it’s not enough. you sit up so you can bring your other hand down to your clit, and hongjoong just watches on amused. he’s wondering how long this little show can last, but he’ll appreciate every second of it.

“feel good baby?” he asks mockingly, and you moan maybe too loud to try to convince him that it does. it’s not that it doesn’t feel good, it does, it’s just not as good as you know hongjoong could be. “how long will you keep this up?”

“keep what up?” you grit your teeth, grinding down into your own touch, legs jerking at the oversensitivity. the room is quiet for a moment as you feel yourself getting closer to a peak you know you can’t reach, but amidst the silence you hear hongjoong calling for you.

“baby,” he says softly, and you look up to a smirking hongjoong. “proposition for ya.”

“what?”

“make me come with that mouth of yours, and then i’ll help you out.”

“thought we couldn’t touch,” you bite back, gasping as you pull your fingers out of your cunt. “don’t want you to make another mistake, baby.”

“just shut up and come here,” hongjoong growls, staring down at you with a welcome challenge in his eyes. you shuffle the short distance forward to bring you closer to his waiting cock, and you swipe your fingers through your folds once more before wrapping the same hand around his dick. hongjoong moans lowly as he watches you work him in your hands, getting incredibly hard as he waits for you to wrap your lips around him.

“that’s enough playing around sugar,” he says sternly. “now swallow it.”

you obey quickly, using the hand that’s wrapped around him to guide him to your lips. you nip at the tip playfully, and he bucks up to make you hurry, his cock slapping against your lips obscenely. you open wide for him, doing your best to keep your lips securely around his shaft. you bob up and down quickly, encouraged by the promise of getting off if you can make him come. the only sounds in the room are hongjoong’s low pants and your mouth swallowing around him, but it’s music to his ears. he’s missed having you so intimately, but more than that he’s missed you.

you can tell hongjoong is getting close, his chest rising and falling quickly and his dick twitching in your mouth, heavy on your tongue. you pull him out briefly, gathering a few breaths before you look up to him and tell him hoarsely, “i want you to fuck my throat, joongie.” you open your mouth up to him again, tongue hanging loosely, and he guides his cock to your waiting lips.

“grab onto my thighs baby, you’ll need it,” he warns you, and you take his advice. as soon as you’ve got a hold of him, he starts fucking your throat, making you gag. you try to swallow around him with each thrust, driving him crazy enough until you know he can’t take it anymore. you think he’s about to come down your throat and you get excited at the promise of tasting him again, but he pulls away from you completely.

“what the fuck,” you whine, precum and spit coating your chin. “was i not doing a good job?”

“no, you did well considering you can’t use your mouth to say what i want to hear,” he says meanly, and deflated, you fall back onto your calves.

“so that’s it?” you ask, and hongjoong laughs at you.

“sugar, we’re just getting started,” he smiles.

“but i don’t get to taste your come?” you whine, and he shakes his head. “where are you gonna come then?” and you watch as hongjoong reaches into his pocket, pulling out a crumbled piece of fabric. he shakes it out and you notice it’s your panties from earlier. you watch as he lays it over his hand before bringing it down to his cock, pumping himself a couple times before his body shudders and he comes into your panties. when he finishes, he looks at his hand, sighing as he holds it up to you.

“open,” he says simply, and you listen, your mouth falling open for him once again. he carefully shoves your panties into your mouth, his come coating your tongue as he says, “need you to be quiet for this next part, ok? unless you wanna give my manager a show. and then you’ll really get your way, huh? they’ll never let us within a mile of each other if they could hear how i’m about to make you feel. now over my lap, baby. time for your punishment.” you make a sound of protest, looking at him confused, and he answers, “you broke the rules sugar. you touched me.”

you try to complain, call him names, accuse him of playing games with you, but you can’t. instead you just do as he says, laying facedown into the mattress over his lap with your ass on display. his hand instantly cracks over your ass, making you jolt and squeak into your gag.

“i’d tell you to count, but i wouldn’t be able to hear you,” he teases, running his hand over your ass cheeks. “so i’ll keep track for you. that’s one, you get nine more.” you squirm in his hold as his hand lands on your ass over and over again, whining at the pain yet grinding down into his thighs to relieve the growing pleasure between your legs. he notices this, and in between spanks he starts dipping two fingers into your core, groaning at the way your arousal drips down into his palm. you forget that you’re even being punished, enjoying the way he’s stroking your walls, when he pulls his hand from you completely and instead smacks your cunt. you scream into your gag, pushing your face into the mattress as your hips buck into his touch. “you liked that sugar? my baby’s so slutty for me. try to scream again, whore.” and he smacks your cunt again, the sharp shock to your core sending you closer to the edge. without warning, he plunges three fingers deep into your core, his free hand rubbing brutally over your clit as you writhe in his hold and start to come. your moans reach a pitch so high you can’t even hear yourself anymore, and hongjoong keeps fucking you through your release until he hears you whimper in overstimulation. he carefully removes his hands from your core, pulling your hair to make you look at him as he cleans your release off of his fingers. gently, he helps you lay completely on the bed, whispering, “i’ll be right back.”

you register hongjoong coming back to you to remove your panties from your mouth. then you feel his hands on your hips with a wet washcloth that he uses to clean you up. you start drifting off to sleep as you feel him place a kiss on each hip, whispering something up to you that you don’t catch. he lets you rest there, grabbing a change of clothes before he heads to the bathroom to wash off. you don’t know how long you were asleep for, but when you wake up again you hear the water running and you don’t see hongjoong anywhere. you get up, wincing at the pain in your lower half, looking for your robe and slippers so you can go back to your room. as you finish, the water shuts off, and you hastily make your way to the door. you’re halfway to the elevator when hongjoong comes back into the room, his face falling when he sees an empty bed. but really, what did he expect? you didn’t love him. you cared more about your job than you cared about him, so he should’ve known this would happen. as he moves around doing his nightly routine, trying to forget the day’s events that all involved you.

the tour stops that follow are exhausting. there’s shows, there’s fansigns, the boys have other commitments in between, and it’s impossible for you to get a moment alone with hongjoong. that doesn’t stop him from stealing glances at you every chance he gets, and you do your best to pretend that doesn’t affect you. you’re trying to set a plan into motion, because you’ve finally decided what you want this to be.

so when the tour makes its way to paris, you get to work. you’ve been making calls and setting up meetings to make sure this all happens the way you want, so you’ll be busy today. the boys have a rest day, and while you relish in the freedom of not being confined to their schedule, you start making things right. meanwhile, hongjoong finds himself bored in his room, wondering what you’re up to.

he leaves his hotel room, wandering around trying to work up the nerve to find you. as he heads to the elevator, san pops his head out of his room and calls for hongjoong. some of the boys are watching a movie together and then they’re gonna go shopping, and san won’t let hongjoong leave without joining them for at least a couple hours. part one of the plan, done.

while joong is being forced to enjoy his group’s company, seonghwa shoots you a cryptic text that you assume means the plan is going well. you check your phone happily knowing everything is working smoothly so far. the hard part comes next, and you psych yourself up as you head into the cafe you found just down the street. you smile as you see some of your coworkers waiting for you, and you take a deep breath before joining them for what’s sure to be a difficult conversation.

that night, hongjoong comes back to his hotel room tired, arms laden with new designer pieces he can’t wait to wear. specifically he can’t wait for you to see what he found, because he knows you’ll appreciate everything as much as he does. he’s about to dump his bags and just text you, inviting you to his room, but he stops when he sees a note on his pillow. it’s an invitation to a paris fashion week event with one of his favorite designers. he’s not sure how this could have happened, but he knows you made it possible. it warms hongjoong’s heart to know you did something like this for him, and then his face warms at the thought of attending this with you. he’s worrying about what to wear to the event when he gets a text. he jumps to read it, smiling when he sees your name lighting his screen.

“meet me tomorrow before breakfast for a fitting?”

to say you’re nervous is an understatement. you barely slept the night before because you wanted to make sure everything today runs smoothly. you’d hate to go to all this trouble just for a little mishap to ruin it all, so you’ve been worrying since you sent that text to hongjoong yesterday.

and hongjoong? he’s fine. he slept like a baby last night knowing he’d spend most of the day with you, and as he gets ready to see you he’s calm and collected. he thinks he’s got this whole thing figured out, and he’s ready to ease all your worries with the plan he’s laid out in his head. you asked him to come to your room for the fitting, so he heads up early, just eager to see you and tell you what he’s come up with. when he gets to your door and you open it at the first knock, the sight in front of him takes his breath away.

first of all, you look beautiful. you look like a page out of a catalogue, dressed head to toe in this designer’s new collection. you look chic, confident, and sexy as hell. then there’s the room behind you. there’s two racks of clothes overflowing with stunning pieces, and hongjoong is standing at the door with stars in his eyes and a surprised look on his face. slowly, he turns to you, reaching for your hands.

“how did this happen?” he asks, looking at you in awe.

“i made some calls,” you shrug. “come in, i have so much to show you.”

you go through the pieces quickly, explaining he needs to pick two outfits: one to keep and one to wear to the event. he looks on in admiration (for you or the clothes, we may never know) and carefully touches the fabric as you speak, appreciating the little details of the pieces before him. as you’re talking, there’s one suit he keeps playing with, and you smile as you ask, “that’s your favorite?”

“yeah,” he nods, looking over his shoulder at you. “i love the color, and the buttons, and the way it’s cut over here-”

“try it on then,” you encourage, and you take the suit off the rack before leading hongjoong to your bathroom. “take your time with it, but come show me when you’re dressed.”

hongjoong disappears briefly, and you can hear him rushing to get his clothes off. you’re sure you heard him bump something into the counter, but you don’t push him about it. you just sit down on your bed, kicking your feet, as you wait for him to come out. when he’s ready, he steps back into your room and clears his throat. now it’s your turn to be in shock, utterly stunned at how perfect hongjoong looks standing before you in this tan suit.

“do you like it?” you ask excitedly, and hongjoong nods. “give us a spin then.” he turns around slowly, and you whistle teasingly so that when he turns back to you there’s a shy smile on his face. “how’s the fit?”

“perfect,” he replies. “it’s like it was made for me.”

“well it was,” you tell him, stepping up to fix his cuffs. “i gave them your measurements last week, i’m just glad they were able to tailor it in time.”

“you did this for me?” he asks in disbelief. “why?”

“because,” you start, adjusting his lapels now. you keep speaking, trying to hide the slight shake to your voice. “because i didn’t know how to tell you i loved you. so i had to show you.”

hongjoong is quiet, and you’re scared for a moment that you crossed a line. you’re worried you said the wrong thing. afraid that this is too much, and hongjoong doesn’t want this anymore. but a gentle hand reaches out to tilt your chin so you’re staring into hongjoong’s eyes, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“can i kiss you?” he asks quietly, and you whisper a soft yes. he cups your cheeks, pulling you closer until your lips meet his. usually when you kiss hongjoong it’s sweet but fast, passionate but hurried. this is different. his lips move over yours slowly, his hands caressing you all the way down from your neck to your waist, holding you like he’s afraid to let you go. you’re both reluctant to pull away, but eventually you need to take a breath so you place your hands on his chest to push back. his grip around your waist tightens, and he kisses you harder, trying to put all of his love for you into this one touch. you have to push him off, laughing at how he chases you and pulls you even closer.

“baby, stop,” you giggle. “need a breather.”

“too bad,” he says, kissing from your lips down to your chin and further down to your neck. “not letting you go ever again.”

“that’s gonna make our lives a little harder, don’t you think?” you joke, and he stops to look at you seriously.

“no,” he tells you. “this is gonna work. we’ll make it work for us. it’ll be hard but worth it.” he holds your gaze a moment longer and you lean back in to kiss him.

“can i say something though?” you ask. “make sure we’re on the same page?”

“please,” hongjoong nods.

“do you wanna sit down at least?” you offer, and he shakes his head.

“nope,” squeezing you tighter, “this is fine with me.”

“fine,” you laugh. “i’m sorry i didn’t say anything earlier,” you begin. “but i can’t have you thinking this is all just fun and games. we could seriously get in trouble here, especially me. so i have to be careful.”

“i know that,” hongjoong tries, but you stop him.

“i have to be careful,” you repeat, and he nods. “it’s a really serious thing. and if i don’t know what i am to you, it’s hard for me to risk the career i’ve built because of this incredibly charming guy i happen to work with.”

“for what it’s worth,” hongjoong says, “even if we weren’t together, if i was just some loser pining for the girl he works with, i would still love you.”

“hongjoong.” you whine. “you’re not making this easier for me.”

“okay,” he says, detaching his arms from around you and grabbing your hands tightly in his. “let me make it easier then. be my girlfriend. date me. stay over and come to work with me in the mornings. let me handle the shit, you just be my y/n again. because i miss you. i miss us. hell, i even miss your doofus dog. it might be silly, but when i would come to your apartment, it felt like we were a little family, like we had a furry little son. it was nice. it was normal. nothing in my life is normal, but you make me feel like a person. just like any other guy. you don’t treat me like kim hongjoong, leader of ateez. you treat me like hongjoong. you make me feel like myself. that’s why it was so easy for me to say i love you. you make all of this feel like it’s normal. like this is how life is supposed to be. so i’m tired of all this sneaking around shit. be my girlfriend. be in love with me.”

“i-i never knew you felt that way,” you say, a little choked up. hongjoong reaches up to cup your face, thumbs ready to catch any tears that might come. you lean forward, your forehead touching his. “but you’re my hongjoong, how could i treat you any differently?” he laughs softly, hands squeezing your cheeks. you look at him, so close, so beautiful, and you think how easy it will be going forward. “that’s why i quit.”

hongjoong pulls back from you in shock, surprise written all over his face. he tries to speak, but he can’t even think of what to ask. after all of this, you picked him?

“you..what?”

“i quit,” you shrug. “well, stepped down. and when they asked why, i told them i couldn’t work with you directly anymore. i think they knew why, but they understood.”

“but you just got a promotion,” hongjoong says. “you’re so good at what you do. and the guys! you’re so good to us. what are we gonna do without you?”

“baby,” you laugh, cupping his cheeks now. “they just put me in a different department. same pay, similar tasks, just not working directly with you. my job is more external now. that’s how i got us invited to fashion week. i’m basically the kq rep that goes out and bothers all these designers to get them to send us clothes, and then the stylist team gets to choose what pieces to use. i’m actually kind of the boss now, which is nice.”

“i can’t believe you,” hongjoong smiles. “you’re sneaky.”

“nah, i’m just a sap who’s in love,” you tease.

“wait,” hongjoong says, “i haven’t heard you say it yet.”

“say what?”

“i love you,” he explains. “you haven’t said i love you yet. i wanna hear you say it.”

“oh, that i love you?” you ask, and hongjoong blushes. “you want me to say i love you? because i do. i love you.”

“say it again,” he smiles, leaning in closer until your lips are just barely touching.

“i love you,” you whisper, lips grazing his. “i love you i love you i love you.”

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