#she isn’t straight I don’t make the rules

[total-dxmure]

ೃ࿔ CHERRY FLAVORED →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairing: mega fan!ellie williams x rock star!reader

summary: your guitarist was carted off to rehab after just one month into your recent tour. fuck. there’s only one thing you can do, and that’s hire a replacement. your band thinks it’s going to be nearly impossible to find someone that is on the same level of talent as your “beloved” guitarist. you don’t have high hopes that anyone can nail the songs quite like he did either, if you’re being brutally honest. enter ellie- she’s a mega fan. the girl knows every lyric and note like the back of her hand. . . and everything about you, which isn’t creepy at all. her apparent obsession with you is something that you and your tour manager can overlook if it means carrying on with the rest of the tour. forced proximity with a stalker-level fan . . . what’s the worst thing that could happen?

warnings: smut in next chapter, talk of substance abuse, the reader is a tease and a bit of a bitch but it’s hot i promise, ellie is obsessed with reader to an unhealthy degree.

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 READ: this account stands with palestine, and so— i require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. silence is complicity, do not scroll past this. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

It was the kind of love that tortured poets mused over. Ribs straining against a heavy heart. 

Ellie had deluded herself, as any love drunk person does, that she wouldn’t dissolve into a puddle on the floor if she were to meet you. She could keep her cool- downplay the crushing significance you held in her life. Your voice was constantly ringing in her ears. She could see your face in perfect clarity any time she closed her eyes. Pictures like snapshots played out behind her eyelids, and yet you always felt a million miles away for her. You were a perfect performer, situated on your sky-high pedestal, always out of her puny reach. 

Because Ellie, as much as she despised this fact and dreamed of greatness, was a nobody. She grew up in a tiny town of no noteworthiness, her adolescent years spent dreaming about the planets and playing guitar with Joel. By all accounts Ellie was normal, while you were certainly not. Still, she liked to tell herself that she’d somehow manage to make herself worthy of your affections if she were ever to be blessed with them. 

Finding herself in a situation like this seemed like an impossibility. She was partially convinced that she was daydreaming, having concocted some elaborate fantasy just to feed the insatiable ache. She was starved for you with no way to feed herself. 

All it had taken was a single audition tape. One. Single. Tape. Ellie was staring, wide eyed, at Gene fuckin’ Murray. 

The blood rushed from her head, hands breaking out instantaneously into a clammy sweat. She couldn’t think, couldn’t function at the realization that she was staring at one of the people that she had worshiped for years. Gene’s talent had been praised by the likes of Lars Ulrich and Danny Carey. He wasn’t popular just for his looks but for his undeniable talent. 

And he was staring straight at Ellie, arms crossed over his toned chest as he waited expectantly. She felt like an idiot. Should she be playing? If so, what did they want her to play? Surely one of their songs. She’d glossed past the fact that she was a megafan, instead making it sound like she was just looking for a successful band to join. She was talented. No, Ellie was really talented. 

She wasn’t just a technical player, but excelled at making her own rules. She enjoyed the creative freedom that playing the guitar granted, and felt as though the world needed more Jimi’s and Van Halen’s. Ellie excelled at thinking outside of the box. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

She wasn’t very successful when it came to women, but had no problem making her guitar scream and cry for her. 

So she took a deep breath and tried to steady her heart, once again stepping up to the mic. If there was one thing that all of your bandmates had in common, it was the attitude. She’d watched hundreds of interviews, had studied all of their movements and mannerisms. . .she understood you down to a science. 

“So do you want me to play or what?” Ellie spoke into the mic, gripping the neck of the guitar in the hopes that it might act as an anchor. She was scared that she might float away. 

The manager’s eyebrows twitched at her sudden change in attitude but he didn’t say anything, merely turned to look at Gene. For a second everyone just stared at her, like a bug under a microscope. After what felt like five minutes but was really just five seconds, Gene broke out into a grin, motioning to her with a flick of his wrist. He wasn’t confident in her, Ellie could tell. 

She had a sweet face, she knew that. Big green eyes and freckles- she was unsuspecting. People were usually shocked to find out that she had wrestled competitively in high school and had no problem putting a man three times her size on his ass. People expected very little from her, and perhaps that was part of Ellie’s real charm. 

“What song?” She was staring at Gene now, gripping her guitar pick between two sweat-slick fingers. 

“What ‘bout ‘Sometime Soon’? Know that one?” His tone was teasing. Condescending. 

The song was fast paced. It was supposed to be played loud and hard- one of your angrier songs. Ellie knew that you had been the one to write this one, meaning it was one of her favorites. The notes weren’t beginner friendly, but it wasn’t exactly hard for her. 

It was more style, less technical ability- which meant that Ellie would have no problem making this song her bitch. 

It was obvious that Gene was the one meant to judge her. The manager was just that- a manager. They needed an actual musician to listen in. So she took a deep breath and readied herself. . . 

and then the sound of your singing voice blasted into the booth. Drums, bass- she was meant to play with you. 

She almost missed her que, eyes widening in nervousness. She thought that she’d be playing all by her lonesome. She thought wrong it would seem. They’d started her off right in the middle of the song. Probably to throw her off. She jumped in, fingers sliding along the frets to shape out the correct notes. She tucked her guitar pick against the palm of her hand with her thumb, using the pads of her fingers to tap the strings. Faster. Faster. Faster. She didn’t look up from her guitar to look at the men’s reactions to her playing. Instead she just pretended she was standing in the living room of her apartment, hellbent on getting another noise complaint from the bitchy nextdoor neighbor. 

Her calloused fingers pinched the strings, satisfied with the way the guitar whined over the speakers. The guitar solo in this song was meant to be impressive- and it was, she had to give it to Leon. A lot of it was just bullshitting though. He’d admitted that he came up with the solo in the actual sound booth off of the top of his head while they were recording the song. 

The man was a god. He deserved “guitarist of the year” two years in a row. Ellie had the Los Angeles native beat though. Where he had grown up in the constant presence of “the greats”, Ellie had grown up in a constant state of boredom. She’d been playing the guitar since she was fourteen. Every day she’d sit down for hours and practice until her fingers bled. . . literally. She had thousands of hours on Leon, and she knew that with certainty. 

Ellie moved the guitar up and down gently with her fret hand, prolonging the last note so that it cried the way she wanted it to. The muscles in her arms were sore from how hard she had been tensing during the song. She’d been a lot more mechanical about it than she was used to, but she had something to prove. 

After a second she looked up from her guitar to gauge everyone’s reactions. The manager had dropped his cold and indifferent demeanor, instead flashing her a small smile. It bolstered her, gave her the strength to turn and look at Gene. 

He still had his arms crossed over his chest, and for a second Ellie was sure that he would tell her that she sucked. She widened her stance, shuffling her feet so that she was in a more defensive position. His heated gaze made her feel as though she needed to protect herself from whatever mental anguish he was about to put her through. 

“I thought she was kick ass,” Gene finally spoke up, giving Ellie a small thumbs up. Her face lit up into a wide smile before she could school her reaction into one of indifference. “What do you think? You’re the one that calls all the shots.” He spoke behind him, looking down at someone that had been hidden on the couch all along. 

Ellie squinted her eyes, taking a step closer to the glass to see if there was another businessman she’d somehow overlooked. 

She saw your hair before she saw anything else. It was freshly dyed, different than the last she’d seen you in all of the recent tabloid photos. You were clad in leather- pants so tight that they looked like a second skin. Your top was just as restrictive, breasts spilling out from the top, midriff revealed to show off the small silver piercing you had decorating your belly button. 

You were Hecate in the flesh- dark, sinister, mysterious and capable of anything. Ellie didn’t think that it would be possible, but you were even prettier in person. The sight of you sent a shock through her system, and for a second she felt her knees quiver, as if she could no longer hold up the weight of her own body. Her insides turned to mush; white, hot mush. 

The Stendhal syndrome: Ellie had been brought to the very precipice of existence by sight alone. She was so overcome by your mere existence that she felt her eyes begin to well up with tears. Body trembling, eyes locked on to your face and nothing else- it felt like she might faint. She remembered reading about the syndrome once before in an art history class she took in college. 

“Absorbed in the contemplation of sublime beauty. . . I reached the point where one encounters celestial sensations.” 

The urge to flee was just as great as the urge to get her hands on you was. She was thankful for the wide stance she was currently in, because if her legs had been any closer together then she was positive she would have lost her balance and fallen over. 

You were right there in front of her. You’d been right in front of her the entire time, she’d just been so focused on Gene that she hadn’t even seen you in her panic. She stumbled forward, her sneakered foot catching the jack for the amp. She slapped her hands over her ears as a blood curdling screech began blaring over the speakers. 

Ellie could have died. In fact. . . she just might. She dropped her guitar roughly on the ground as she raced over towards the amp, fingers shaking as she turned the knob to the volume.

The booth, once again, was silent. Silent enough to hear a pin drop. Slowly she turned, grimacing when she noticed the looks on everyone’s faces. She’d embarrassed herself and ruined her chance. Even worse was the fact that she’d humiliated herself in front of you. 

She had somehow deluded herself into believing that the two of you were soulmates over the years. She’d compared your birth charts, life numbers- had taken multiple celebrity compatibility tests. All signs pointed to a resounding yes. The two of you were star crossed lovers, cursed to never know one another. She had told herself that if she were ever to bump into you in person that she’d be able to keep her cool. Ellie was certain that she could pretend that she didn’t know who you are- could downplay the significance that you held  

Her ignorance was laughable. She’d been so overcome by your mere presence that she’d stumbled on air while standing completely still. You were standing up straight now, and even from her spot behind the thick glass she could tell how much taller you were than her. You had to be wearing heels or platforms, because according to Google you were- 

“You know how many auditions we’ve listened to today?” You had grappled the mic from the tech and were now hunched over his soundboard, the lights from all of the buttons and knobs casting strange, beautiful shadows over your face. Your eyeliner was dark and smoked out around your eyes, and in that moment Ellie wondered if you were an angel or a demon. “Twelve. Twelve fuckin’ people have walked into that booth today. Every single one of them has been absolute shit. So bad, in fact, that I’ve wanted to blow my fuckin’ brains out in this buildings tiny, piss-stained bathroom.” 

Ellie blanched, lips losing their pink color as the blood drained from her face. She was about to pass out. Her vision was already starting to tunnel. She grabbed onto one of the microphone stands to hold herself up, trying to keep her expression hard and unreadable. People often told her that she had “dead eyes”, and she could only pray that her face wasn’t giving her crushing grief away. It felt like someone had just died; like she had just died. Actually, she would have rather you just go ahead and stab her then tell her she sucked. You were her idol, her dream girl, her everything. 

And you were telling her that you’d rather blow your fucking brains out then listen to her play. How was she supposed to recover from this? She’d heard the saying “don’t meet your heroes” a thousand times, but this? She’d rather you just be a bitch to her. Actually, Ellie would probably like that. This was the worst thing she could have ever heard. Her nose twitched as tears began pooling in her eyes. She blinked a few times, praying that you couldn’t tell in the nearly pitch black room you were standing in. 

“But this?” You turned towards your manager and pointed passionately at Ellie. “This is music.” 

Breath left her lungs in a loud, audible whooshing sound, like a balloon deflating. Her shoulders relaxed, the hand that was white knuckling the mic stand falling limp at her side. No, you didn’t hate her. You liked her. 

You liked her. 

Everyone had their vices. Leon’s had, apparently, been copious amounts of prescription drugs- often consumed simultaneously. You were used to getting what you wanted. You drank whenever you wanted to, fucked just about anyone that peaked your interest and got away with your usual rotten antics and bitchy behavior. You lived the lifestyle that you’d always dreamt of, even when you were a little kid. 

You enjoyed putting on shows. You were flamboyant, loud, and weren’t afraid of expressing yourself. Teachers often described you as a “free thinker” back in your elementary school days. You dressed yourself for school each morning, each outfit louder and more daring than the next. You were an artist, and like most artists you had some inner demons that you fought against. You still fought tooth and nail, even to this day. 

Finally though, after what felt like a thousand years of waiting and biding your time, you had the life you had always yearned for. 

You sold out arenas, appeared on the front page of just about every magazine imaginable, and had celebrities clamoring over themselves to be your “best friend” of the week. Things were good. 

But also a bit empty. 

The friends that you’d made in your youth only used your name for bragging rights. Your parents had stopped showing up to concerts years ago, instead choosing to listen about your successes through their shitty television shows. Life felt a bit hollow.

Exciting. . . just different than you had always been used to. 

“Come play with us.” One of the women whined from her spot on your plush hotel mattress. The bombshell blonde was already stripped down to her underwear, her eyes glazed over from whatever overpriced alcohol she’d already taken from the suite's bar, at your expense no doubt. 

Your manager was used to the up-charges on the company card. He would probably be relieved in the morning when he found out that you didn’t break anything. There was still time for that, of course. It was only one in the morning, which meant you had nine more hours to get fucked up and wreck the cushy room. 

“I’m not feeling up to it right now.” You said simply, already disinterested in the two women you had invited to bed with you tonight. You were holding a beer bottle loosely between two of your fingers, swishing the remainder of the room temperature alcohol absentmindedly.

You weren’t much of an “observer” when it came to sex, more of a very active participant. Still, all you could do was sit back in one of the comfortable lounge chairs, muscles tense after a long show. You weren’t exactly sure why you’d invited the women back to the hotel. They were both attractive and had come onto you at the same time. It was obvious what they had been insinuating, and who were you to deny two beautiful women? The first thing that had popped into your head being “a threesome might make me happy”.

Except now you were bored out of your skull and would much rather be sleeping right now than watch two ditzy girls clumsily fondle each other’s fake breasts. 

“Please? I want you to fuck me so bad-” There was a knock at the door, causing both girls to go silent for a second. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaustion threatening to swallow you up whole. If it was your manager here to yell at you for “accidentally” breaking an amp at tonight's show you were going to scream. It was too late for that bullshit. Still, you saw this excuse as a blessing. 

“Hear that, ladies? Looks like we’ve gotta pack it up. Thanks for showing me a good time.” You stood up from the seat with a small groan, placing your beer bottle onto the counter clumsily. The glass clattered, almost spilling all over the shag carpet. 

The two girls groaned, obviously frustrated that they hadn’t successfully gotten you into bed with them. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you lately. If this had happened a few months ago then. . . well, you would have fucked them- no questions asked. Were you maturing out of your “wild and crazy” phase? No, you didn’t think so. 

You bent down, scooping up a discarded bra so that you could toss it onto the bed. Fabric rustled behind you as they began to quickly sort themselves out, hoping to beat you to the door. 

“Who is it?” You called out in a sing-song voice, deciding that if your manager was already angry enough to show up in front of your door at one in the morning then you might as well have a little fun with it. 

There was no reply on the other side of the door, causing you to scoff. He was giving you the silent treatment. You reached out for the door handle, only to have your shirt yanked on by one of the women. You could hear the seams ripping against the weight of her, her eyes wide with desperation. 

“Please let me show you a good time. I promise I’m good- I swear.” There was a fear of rejection there, you could tell. 

You felt a bit guilty and were quick to lean in to press a kiss on her cheek. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. I’m sure you would have been wonderful- but I’m tired. That’s all, okay? It’s nothing personal.” 

And with that you opened the door. The air from the hallway was brisk, causing goosebumps to instantly break out on your bare arms and legs. You were expecting the balding, bespectacled Barry to be standing on the other side of the door, all in a huff about “expenses” and “damages to the venue”. Blah, blah, blah. 

Instead it was Ellie. A very broken looking Ellie. 

The girls were quick to straighten out their outfits, their attention now turned towards the guitarist. Groupies like this didn’t care who they slept with, just so long as they were getting it in with someone that was in the band. 

“You’re Emma. . . right? The new guitarist? You were so great tonight. I mean- Leon was always a bit of a poser anyway. You’re killing it.” One of the girls started, moving to stand next to you in the doorway. 

You weren’t sure why, but you felt angry. Genuinely angry. Were you jealous of Ellie? No, because you were sure they would still rather fuck you than her. You’d been their first choice, afterall. Maybe you felt the need to shelter Ellie a bit? Yeah, that had to be it. She was still learning the ropes, and the last thing she needed was to be sexually harassed in a hotel hallway.

“. . . -lie” She was mumbling under her breath, eyes locked on the expensive carpet beneath her ratty old sneakers. 

She had changed out of her stage clothes and put on jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair looked wet too, meaning she’d already taken a shower. She smelled earthy- Alpine, even. 

You leaned against the frame, slamming your hand against the doorway to box the two women in, hoping to keep them away from the newbie. They flinched but both seemingly weren’t off put in their newfound pursuit. 

“You’re the most talented guitarist I’ve ever seen live. I mean. . . your solos were incredible.” You hadn’t managed to successfully remember the girl’s names. Just that they were friends with two guys that had worked security for the venue tonight. People often took advantage of connections like that in order to get close to you and your bandmates. It usually worked too. Tonight was different though. Tonight you had a real stick up your ass. 

Ashley? Amber? Sophie? God, you were bad with names.

“. . . -is Ellie.” Your guitarist mumbled again, slowly moving back down the hall in the direction of her suite. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion over her attitude, and you were quick to stumble out of your room and down the hall after her. 

“Wait! Emma, can we get an autograph!” One of the half naked girls called after the two of you, trying desperately to shrug on her shirt to follow after. 

Ellie turned then, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. You’d. . . You’d never seen her like that before. 

“My name is fucking Ellie! Who is Emma? Jesus fuckin’ Christ-” She dug her hand into the back pocket of her jeans, trying desperately to find her keycard. 

The girls gasped at her outburst, jostled by the look of pure evil on her face. Even you were taken aback, not used to this kind of attitude from her. Still, you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t know why she was acting like this. 

Ellie was what some would call a “mega fan”, though that would be putting it lightly. The word “stalker” would be more appropriate. Your manager knew that before he even messaged her for an audition. He’d checked all of her social media sites and scrubbed the internet for anything he could find on her. One thing was made very clear: 

Ellie was obsessed with you. 

For whatever reason she seemed to be keeping it a secret from Gene and Chris. All she fessed up to them was that she enjoyed your music, which was why she’d auditioned in the first place. She’d conveniently left out the dedicated fan blogs and the status of her cult-like following.

You didn’t mind it. Sure, it was a bit creepy. . . but she was talented and you liked her. She could hold her own against Gene and Chris’ constant asshole behavior, and had been receptive to Barry trying to teach her the ropes of the business. It was obvious that she wanted this, even if her motives weren’t exactly purely for the music. You’d let her be as close to you as she wanted if it meant that she’d continue playing the way that she does. The crowd had loved her, and it was only her second show with the band. 

She was a bit shy, but that would pass eventually. You remember your early debut days vividly. You’d been just like her, maybe even a little worse. 

“Hey, stop for a second.” You reached out to grab her wrist, stopping her from fleeing after her outburst. She turned to glare at you, but her eyes softened as she took in your features. 

You could feel her arm trembling in your grasp, so you gently let go. No matter how many times you touched her or spent time with her, she still seemed to get overly nervous in your presence. It was endearing. 

“Aren’t you a bit busy? Don’t let me ruin your fun-” She was being sarcastic. 

“I was done with them by the time you knocked on the door. They aren’t exactly my type. I’m not sure why I even invited them back in the first place.” If you had to guess, you’d probably done it out of habit. You were used to inviting people back to your room or tour bus. 

Ellie didn’t seem pleased by your answer. If anything it seemed to upset her even more. She bristled, reaching back into her pocket for her keycard. What did she want to hear? That you hadn’t touched them? You groaned, wiping an exhausted hand down your face. 

The elevator dinged behind you, meaning the girls had finally taken the hint and were leaving with their tails tucked between their legs. 

“Are you jealous or something?” You asked once the elevator doors were closed. The last thing you needed were the girls trying to sell information to some shitty gossip magazine. 

She froze, eyes going wide and lips going pale. It was almost like she didn’t think that you knew all about her dirty little secret. A part of you wanted to tease her. Really make her squirm. 

“Why would I be jealous? Those girls weren’t exactly my type either.” She was good at playing things off. Ellie was a good liar. 

But you were good at sniffing out the bullshit. It was one of your many talents. 

“Not of me,” You leaned against the wall next to her door, watching with curious eyes as she began fumbling in her pockets for her key. “Of them. Do you wish I had taken you back to my room or something?” You cooed flirtatiously, flashing her one of your most sinister smiles. 

She coughed, turning around so that she could hide her face from you. This nearly had you groaning out loud in disappointment. Was she blushing? Do her freckles look even brighter when her skin gets all pink and hot? 

Nah, it was dangerous to think like this. Band members were always off limits. It was a recipe for disaster. The last thing you needed was another Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham situation on your hands. Your PR team wouldn’t be able to recover. They’d just barely gotten over the “Leon” incident by the skin of their teeth. 

Your old band member having to be tackled by three cops in a hotel lobby was horrible. It made you look sloppy. And sleeping with the brand new edition to the band was definitely sloppy. 

“You’re acting crazy.” Ellie told you, shoving the keycard into the lock so that she could clammer into her room. 

Pushing the boundaries was sort of your thing. You enjoyed being bad, fuck the consequences. Right about now you wanted to kiss Ellie. What would her reaction be? Was she a good kisser? You wanted to know. No- you needed to know. 

“You’re right. I’m talking nonsense, don’t listen to me,” You called after her into the room. “Sweet dreams.” 

And with that you sauntered back to your own room, practically purring in delight over the fact that it had been that easy to get to Ellie like that. You loved pushing the boundaries. . . and now you had a new toy to play with.

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[magics-neptunes-things]

Secret Love II

So, here we are with the second part! I don't really where I'm going with it right now to be honest, so I'm just gonna I’ll just let my imagination run wild.

Thanks for your reviews, don't hesitate leave me some, it always makes me very happy to know what you think of my writings :)

Enjoy!

P.S Part one is HERE

____________________________________________________________

A few hours after leaving your hotel room, you return there hoping to be as discreet as you were before. On tiptoe, you reach your bed and slip under the covers, your mind always with Alexia. She also went to her room, you both agreed that it was important to enjoy the last hours of sleep before dawn. While you are looking for sleep, you don't realize that Ona’s breathing is no longer as deep as when you left, indicating that she is awake.

"... going to be late!"

Ona’s voice comes to you like through a fog and you need a few blinks of eyes to finally fix your gaze on her face.

"Breakfast is in seven minutes, you know how is Vilda with late people"

Oh man. You jump of your bed, frantically searching for your clothes by making more mess than anything else. You sprint in the bathroom to wash your face and comb your hair in a messy bun, trying to get the sleep of your face.

"Ona go, don't be let yourself" you say to your roomate.

"You sure?" she asked, popping her head by the door.

"Yeah"

"Ok. Your shirt is upside down."

You swear before you put it right, jump in your sneakers and go out slamming the door of the room. Obviously the elevator doors close a few meters from you, so you decide to take the stairs. It’s a miracle you’re on time and you're not even the last one.

You spot Alexia, sitting next to Jenni and Irene, with the same fresh, rested look as if she had slept 12 hours straight. This woman, you thought, before serving you a breakfast tray and looking for a free place.

************************

"Y/N what's that?"

You turn around but Aitana had time to have a close look to the hickey Alexia made two days ago. Her loud question made everyone turn around, even if you all were supposed to be focused on your strength exercises.

"What are you talking about?" you ask, your mind racing while looking for a good excuse.

"You got a bruise on your neck"

At this point those who were furthest away turned their attention to their exercises, but you feel that the look of several of your teammates burning your back. You crossed Alexia's eyes for a second and open the mouth to talk, but another voice answers before you.

"It must have been when you fell while getting ready, the morning you were late. I thought she was gonna break her neck."

The second sentence is more for Aitana than for you, but she seems to accept this answer with even a small laugh before grabbing his dumbbell again. It's Ona's look that you cross this time and since you don’t know what to tell her, you’re starting to do your exercises again.

************************

"So, you and Alexia uh?"

You were back in your room, reading a book while listening some music. It was free time but it was so cold outside that you didn't want to go out for now. Ona had said nothing until now, even during the meal time when you found yourself sitting in front of her. Even if you knew the subject was coming at some point, you appreciate the fact that she chooses to be sure she isn’t being heard by anyone to bring the subject.

"Well... Maybe"

You can't fight back the smile on your face and your vague answer seems to be enough for your roommate.

"Who knows?" she asked.

"No one, apart from Alexia’s mother."

"Even Jenni?"

You bite your lip and shakes your head. You know Alexia want to talk about it with Jenni, she's her bestfriend after all. But you had a rule and she just get with it.

"We got together six months after I arrived in Barcelona, I had a hard time understanding what was happening the first time she tried to flirt with me."

You smile in spite of yourself, the flirting was not necessarily the strong of Alexia but you always found it touching.

"And then we broke up when we lost against Wolfsburg, she thought our relationship was what kept her from focusing on the game and the win."

You swallow with difficulty, these memories being particularly dark for both of you. But now that you’ve started talking about your story, you can’t stop. Especially since the Catalan seems to be an excellent listener.

"After that we lost the final... It was awful. I spent every second trying not to look at her, not to show anything to anyone. No one knew and they thought I was disappointed that we lost the final when I was in reality heartbroken."

Lost in your thoughts, your gaze on your hands, you notice only when you feel her presence that Ona left her bed to sit next to you. She places her hand on your arm and you look up at her smiling, which must probably seem strange to her given with what you're saying after.

"Weeks and months passed and we found ourselves training for the Euro. And you certainly don’t need me to remind you what happened with her ACL."

Ona’s grimace speaking of herself, you continue, leaning against the wall behind you.

"I wrote her several times to tell her that I was thinking about her, but she didn't answer. I didn't expect her though, I knew that she had cut contact with almost everyone. But when we were eliminated and I returned to Barcelona, I found her one time on my doormat. She was... I never saw her like that Ona. She was destroyed."

The memory of this moment gives you shivers and you shake yourself mentally to return to the present.

"I let her in and she talked about her insecurities. She told me she was supposed to be in rehab in 15 minutes, but she didn’t want to go. She felt that it was useless and that she would never play again. So I threatened to call her mother and took her there. That’s when we started seeing each other again and got back together soon after."

There was a small silence, during which Ona seemed to digest the information you had just given her. With frowns, she looks at you thoughtfully when answering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was this deep. And I’m sorry you both had to go through this without being able to tell anyone."

"It's in the past now. I can't talk for her but she makes me really happy. You really saved us this morning, but please keep it to yourself for now"

"I will"

She smiles and you kiss her cheek before she gets up to go to the bathroom. Thinking it's better to inform Alexia, you take your phone.

You - Can you talk?

Mi Reina ♥ - Yes, what's up?

You - Ona knows about us, I kind of just told her everything.

Mi Reina ♥ - Well she kind of cover you up this morning so it was obvious Guapa

You - Sorry if my girlfriend can't keep her lips to herself :)

Mi Reina ♥ - Touché.

Mi Reina ♥ - Can I talk to Jenni about us, since Ona knows?

You - If you want to, it's ok for me.

The next day, it didn’t take you long to realize that Alexia had spoken to Jenni. You have surprised the gaze of the striker several times, examining you with a thoughtfulness look. Every time you catch her looking at you, you were foolishly blushing and it was only when Alexia slapped her head that she stopped looking at you.

************************

Time pass and here you are, at the final of the World Cup. The more you advanced in the tournament, the harder it was to manage time for you and Alexia. But you had a few moments, thanks to Jenni and Ona who covered you a few times. You didn’t escape Jenni’s threatening conversation, based on "Hurt my best friend and you won’t see the light of the day again" but other than that she seems to have given you her blessing.

You were in the locker room once again, but this time it was the Final. You were playing against England, your last game of the tournament. You're not really listening what Vilda is saying, focused on your boots. You start the match, next to Alexia, Ona, Jenni and your others teammates. You’re stressed, you can’t wait for the game to start now.

You haven't forget the promise Alexia made this night in your hotel, but you haven't bring to topic again. Even if it doesn't happend, you couldn't be more happy.

What it seems an eternity later, you were on the fields and the referee was blowing in her whistle. You made it, you were World Champions. Tears of joy and relief invaded your eyes and you find yourself caught in a collective embrace, without really knowing who is tight against you. Cries of joy, tears and the cheering of the crowd around you seem to come from far away.

When you are able to stand up, you find yourself facing Ona who also huggs you before mumbling "I have to find Lucy". Of course she have to, not matter what is her relationship with her, they are really close.

You search for a particular person too, your eyes scanning around for pink hair. When you spot Alexia, she's on the ground and Jenni is helping her to stand up.

A bit like in a dream, you start running towards her before throwing yourself in her arms. The mix of emotion makes you feel like you’re floating when you wrap your legs around her waist and she hugs you back.

"We did it" you say, while she keeps you in her arms.

"Yes we did" she answers, with the most beautiful smile in her face.

If you weren't already madly in love with her, you'll probably fall again right now.

"So… What now?" you asked soflty after some seconds of silence you passed admiring her.

"I'm going to kiss you."

And she did, barely letting you the time to understand what she said. Keeping you in her arms, she approaches her face to yours and places her lips on yours, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Of course you hear exclamations of surprise around you, but you can’t focus on anything other than Alexia. She ends up putting you down, letting go your lips for a few seconds to catch her breath. You then kiss her a few seconds later, drawing her as close as possible.

You may have won the World Cup, but ultimately your greatest victory is her.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

[drabblesandimagines]

Imperfections

Leon Kennedy x female reader Fluffy festive nonsense

Leon squints at the small piece of paper, trying to decipher the name upon it. It’s not the handwriting he’s struggling with, more the fact he probably does need reading glasses and he hates to admit it. He looks around, making sure no-one is looking in his direction and holds it aloft, trying to find the perfect spot where the blurry squiggles will finally transform into a name.

A name he knows all too well, it turns out.

Yours.

You’ve been working for the department just shy of a year – a new recruit in February – and had been partnered with him on a fair few missions. He’d underestimated you at first, mistakeably deemed you too sweet a thing to be wrapped up in this sort of business, but you’d shown him your mettle from the off and especially when things had got dicey – held your own, got the job done, saved his ass a couple of times and all usually with that beautiful smile on your face.

God, Kennedy, he chides himself, smitten or what?

He folds up the slip of paper, sticks it in his wallet for safe-keeping and his mind begins to whirl - what in the hell is he going to get you?

Secret Santa at the DSO – a bit of holiday nonsense put forward as a suggestion to ‘boost morale’ and apparently the President had loved it, has thrown together a whole Holiday Mixer around having the exchange. Everyone working here isn’t depressed due to a lack of Christmas spirit, more the state of the world itself and the dark depths they’re forced to confront…

But, hey, Leon S Kennedy will do as he’s told as far as the President’s concerned, and so he’d stuck his hand in the Santa hat when it had been thrust in his direction, full of his colleagues’ names.

There’s rules – has to be in government-officiated fun – gifts to be exchanged at the Holiday Mixer in a week’s time and, to try and avoid an influx of gift cards and novelty socks, it must include a handmade element, with a $25 limit.

“So,” you plonk yourself down on his desk - right on a pile of manilla folders that were left there earlier for his upcoming briefing and he’d yet to tackle - and lean in, “who’d you get?”

He sweeps his hair out of his eyes and sits back a little in his chair to take you all in. “Uh-uh, that’s against the rules.” You roll your eyes at that. “And since when has Leon Kennedy been a stickler for the rules?”

“I just don’t wanna be on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Fine.” You pout, crossing your arms in fake annoyance. “I won’t tell you who I got either.”

“Good, cos I don’t remember asking... And don't make an old man joke."

“Wasn't gonna." He gives you a look and you can't help but smile. "Okay, but seriously - I get the handmade rule, I do,” you shuffle back a little more on his desk, making yourself comfortable as you get to your point, “but what I don’t get is why it’s mandatory to participate in the whole thing.”

“It’s not really mandatory. We’re a small operation – you don’t participate, you’ll show up on the President’s radar for not being a team player. You know he’s all about that.”

“Well, make us do a team building exercise - build a bridge out of newspaper, do trust falls or something besides try and be crafty.”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not doing a trust fall with you – not after last time.”

You open your mouth to reply – that was most definitely not meant to be a trust fall, Leon had just straight up fell - when Hunnigan pops her head around the cubicle, not even surprised to see you sitting on his desk, and gives the two of you a polite smile.

“Kennedy – intel briefing set for 1200. You prepped?”

“Sure am.”

Hunnigan eyes the pile of folders she clearly remembered placing on his desk first thing this morning, the exact ones which are nestled underneath your thighs.

“Uh-huh… Conference room seven. See you there.” She turns on her heels and departs, and you feel Leon’s hand ghost your thigh.

You look down, a little startled – sure there’s been flirtatious touches here and there, a time where you would’ve bet that month’s pay check that he was gonna kiss you after a particularly close call but swerved for your cheek at the last moment – and realise he’s tugging at the corner of a folder.

“Whilst I won’t deny that you’re an awful pretty paperweight, mind if I get back to work now?”

 You slide off – managing not to take the folders down with you - and mock a salute. “Yes, sir.”

--

The briefing is dull, which should be a good thing, really. No current BOW threats on the radar, though the threat level remains at orange. Leon can’t remember the last time they lowered it to yellow, so it seems a pointless system to him but he still throws in his two cents when called upon. He’s got another few weeks of desk duty to get through after Alcatraz after his medical - knows he’s not getting any younger and that’s why it’s taking him a little longer to recover after quite the beating.

Dismissed from the briefing, Leon swings by your desk on the way back to his, only to feel a little silly when he’s disappointed at the lack of you at it. There’s a shoebox sat on your desk though, lid taped on with a few rounds of parcel tape, but overall it looks a more than just a little worse for wear - crumpled corners and scuff marks all over the cardboard.

“Snooping, Kennedy?”

He can’t help the smile when you come to his side, your laptop tucked under your arm – must’ve had a meeting of your own. He holds up his mug, waving it from side to side in demonstration. “Was gonna see if you wanted a coffee, actually. That package looks a little suspect to get through the security check, right?”

You place your laptop down beside it and frown, before reading the return address. “Oh, no. It’s just some things that I asked my ex to send on. I forgot them in the move, only realized when I went to put my tree up last week…”

You trail off as you move the box towards you ever so slightly and there’s a horrible clinking sound that makes your stomach sink.

You grab a biro, jamming it through the tape lined around the edge as a make-shift knife and tentatively pull off the lid, bracing yourself for what you might discover within. Whilst you had safely stored them away in layers of bubble wrap, each in its own bo, he seems to have dumped them all out into the shoe box, one layer of bubble wrap on the bottom, another on top and they’ve obviously cracked together in transit, resulting in the shattered mess before you.

“Shit.” He comments, softly, watching as you pick up shards. “What are they?”

“My grandmother’s baubles.” Your voice goes flat as you pick up pieces of what once were precious memories and his heart aches. “She was a really talented artist before the arthritis got bad… Used to paint these and sell them at Christmas fairs.”

He’s silent as you continue picking through the pieces. There’s one that seems mostly intact, a smaller one but after further investigation there’s a big chunk missing from the side and you drop it back down in the box in defeat. Leon lays his hand on your shoulder then, seeing how you almost deflate in front of his very eyes, and he hopes to give you a reassuring squeeze – to let you know he’s here, he's always here for you, even if he’s not going to say it aloud. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” But he knows it’s not by how tight your voice is. You’ve never got emotional in front of him before, not even when you’d been injured had you let that stupid, gorgeous smile falter. “I… I have to head out. I’ll see you later.”

You place the lid back on the shoebox and shove it off the desk. It lands in the waste basket with another awful sound of broken ceramic.

“Whoa, wait, don’t you wan-?” He begins to protest but you shrug his hand off your shoulder, shaking your head and now keeping your eyes downcast.

“Sorry, I really have to go.” He swears you just about jog out of his sight, no real destination in mind.

Leon doesn’t see you the rest of the day, though he swings by your desk a few more times when he gets up to stretch his legs. The maintenance team will be in later – dispose of the shredded paperwork, wipe down surfaces empty the waste baskets… so he doesn’t think twice when he picks up the shoebox as he leaves, holding it tightly in the crook of his arm as if it were the broken pieces of your heart.

--

Later that evening after dinner, he sits on his sofa, changed into his sweats rather than stuffy shirt and suit trousers, a soda on the table in a heavy-bottomed glass – doesn’t drink anymore, isn’t worth it, but he still likes the weight of a good glass in his hand – with his laptop perched on his knees.

The cursor blinks in place before he slowly types in the search bar.

How to fix a broken ceramic bauble.

He’s good with his hands from weapons maintenance, can handle delicate stuff, so why couldn’t he glue some bits of ceramic back together into a sphere?

He scrolls down the search results – various how-to articles and videos. He reads through a few, learns that it can depend on such factors of where the break occurred, if it’s clean break or not, how thick the ceramic is and, after all that, there’s the danger it could look like a kid put it together for their mom at kindergarten with a pot of PVA glue and got bored halfway through.

He’s not put off, though, as he continues his scroll until something bright and gold catches his eye…

Kintsugi?

Huh. Sounds… promising.

--

He does a test first. Practice makes perfect, and he’s determined he will make them as close to perfect again as he can… once he’s sure he’s got the hang of it. He buys a box of six ceramic baubles from a nearby department store, whacks one off the table edge gently until it shatters into reasonable-sized pieces, then sets about setting it back together with the kit he’d bought online – paid for express next-day delivery as well, no time to sit and wait around for 3-5 working days, longer in the Christmas build-up.

You’d not mentioned the baubles the next day in the office or how you’d rushed off, just came and sat on his desk with a coffee, had the usual back and forth banter but he can tell you’re a little flat, the light isn’t quite reaching your eyes as it once was and he hates it. You’d been excited for Christmas – even brought in a Christmas mug on the 1st of December – but it’s all been extinguished, now a DSO-logo stamped black mug in your hands.

It takes him the entire box over the next few evenings until he’s confident enough to tackle one of your prized possessions. Each bauble is unique – swirling patterns of pastel colours on all-white ceramic, but he treats the pieces like a puzzle as he slowly divides the piles into category of each bauble – four in total – and gently works out which piece belongs to which. There are bits that aren’t going to be a clean seam but he’s prepared for this in his practice rounds, still a little shake in his hand as he finally puts two and two together.

He likes the meaning behind the practice - embracing imperfections, not trying to hide the cracks or broken bits, but instead highlighting it, making it a feature with bright and beautiful gold. Lord knows he isn’t perfect, far from it, and he will never be the man he was before Raccoon City. A few years ago, when he was at his darkest, he would’ve described himself as beyond repair – too smashed up to ever be whole again.

Slowly but surely, he’s began to piece himself back together, embracing the fact that whilst he’s not quite whole and might never be, held together by his friends, his will and some glue and now your presence in his life giving him a little bit of sparkle.

He shakes his head, leans forward and switches off the made-for-TV Christmas movie.

--

Friday evening is here before he knows it and, frustratingly, an intel mission he’s on runs a little long – gets caught up in traffic. He needs to swing by his apartment to pick up your gift and needs to get changed while he’s at it – the dress code quite clear. He enters the hotel ball room in a shirt, suit jacket and trousers, sans tie, an over an hour and a bit late, carrying the gift bag as carefully as he would a baby or a bomb. The mixer already seems to be in full swing - there’s half a dozen round tables, discarded wrapping paper scattered across the tops of them as well as empty champagne glasses and he realizes he must’ve missed the gift exchange.

“There you are! I thought you were a no-show.” You tease, appearing at his side a little too quick to not have been waiting for him. You’re looking beautiful in your black cocktail dress, the one that hugs all the right places and your hair half up and half down, held in place with a red bow.

“Duty called. Did I miss the exchange?”

“Eh, kinda. It wasn’t a whole big thing. The President’s not coming – double booked himself, so everyone’s just been awkwardly exchanging gifts and downing more and more free drink.”

He tugs at the ribbon hanging down off your shoulder ever so gently.

“Well, you certainly look as pretty as a present. Please tell me you didn’t panic and gift yourself…”

You ignore him, loop your arm through his instead and guide him over to an empty table – there’s a large queue at the open bar and hopefully a few more minutes of privacy before making endless small talk – and encourage him to take a seat. As he does, you crouch besides another chair and fish for something underneath, pulling out a red and gold gift bag, an embarrassed smile as you hold it out to him.

“Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.”

He raises an eyebrow but still accepts the bag, placing it on the table. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Why?”

“You’re my Secret Santa?”

“Can you at least hold in the disappointment until after you open it?” You pout.

“No, I mean… I got you. We got each other.”

“What? That’s… weird.” You sit down heavily in the chair, looking a bit bemused. “What’s the statistics on that even happening?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to demand a re-count.” He rolls his eyes and holds out his own gift bag. “Ladies first.”

You smile, brushing your fingers with his as you take it, before placing the gift bag down on the table and see four small cardboard boxes nestled within. You take out the first one and unfold the tabs, carefully, before removing the piece of red tissue paper he’d nestled on top.

What lies below it makes your heart stop.

It’s your grandmother’s baubles, or one of them, now held back in one piece and held together with threads of beautiful gold.

You look at him and then back down at the bauble.

“Is this…?”

“Yeah.”

“Leon, I…”

He sees the tears in your eyes as you take out the remaining boxes with a shaking hand, lining them up on the table and revealing each one in turn.

“I hope they aren’t an insult to your grandmother’s memory.” He blurts out after sitting in silence, unsure of what to make of yours. “They were just about to be tossed and so I took them, did some research on repair techniques and, well…”

“Did you do this?” There it is – the smile, the real smile that lights up your eyes.

“What, you think this old dog can’t learn new tricks? Everything’s on the internet these days.” He shrugs off – he won’t tell you the hours he spent, the headaches he got from squinting as he pieced parts together. Hell, he’d do it all again if he had to.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful. I… I can’t believe you did this for me. I… I just, I mean…”

He places a hand on your knee, gives you a soft smile.

“There’s a lot I’d do for you, you know, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment as your eyes meet that you feel perhaps your cheeks have gone as red as the bow on top of your head and quickly try to deflect, nodding your head at his unopened gift bag.

“You should’ve let me go first - this is going to be such a disappointment in comparison.”

Leon gives your knee a squeeze before he peers into this gift bag, digging out a small gift box. He places it down on the table and tugs off the lid to find there’s a beautiful ridged glass nestled in red tissue paper, heavy-bottomed – you know his preference all right - but there’s something within the glass too. A mass of what appears to be red and green yarn, a little loop of black string at the top… He picks it up between two fingers.

“It’s…” He trails off, looking at the colours. “It’s certainly festive.”

“Okay, I can’t knit but I tried and that’s the important thing here, right?”

“No, no, it’s… cute.” He smiles. “And the glass – I love it. Just my style.”

You bite your lip, looking a little flustered and unsure, but he assumes you’re still feeling a little emotional over his present… until you try and yank the yarn from his hands.

“Hey!” He gets to his feet out of instinct of being attacked and clutches whatever it is closely to his chest.

“Look, if you just give me it, I can try some other craft thing. Just I was in a pity party all week and I stayed up all night doing that and it shows.” You get to your feet then, trying to weasel through fingers into his to retrieve it. “I can’t leave you with that, it’s not fair.”

“No, it’s mine.”

You don’t give up your attempt to wrestle it back, though Leon’s grip never falters. “You don’t even know what it’s meant to be!”

“Sure I do. It’s…” He retaliates, whipping it quickly above his head and yours – too high for you to snatch out of his hands despite your heels – and squints once more, comparing it against some of the festive décor in the hall.

“Oh.”

“It’s so dumb.” You begin your protest again, now trying to grab it from above your heads. “I just tho-” Leon wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you forward firmly against his chest, before he finally drops his other arm and cups your cheek, knitted mistletoe still in his fingers and kisses you firmly on the lips, swallowing down the rest of your sentence. He can’t help but grin as he feels you relax into his embrace, pressing your palm now flat against his chest. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, poking ever so gently to seek permission and-

“About goddamn time, Kennedy!” The shout of an inebriated agent causes the two of you to pull apart and you feel flustered by both the overdue kiss and what feels like the eyes of the entire DSO on the two of you.

Leon takes it all in his stride though, keeps a warm palm right on your lower back as he smiles and nods at whoever the hell it was that had interrupted, before pressing a sweet, solitary kiss to your cheek.

“Now, seeing as I’ve got this mistletoe, how about we go back to my place and try it out a little more, beautiful?”

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff

[essentiallyleaf]

day 17. intercrural sex. with. minju.

648 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, intercrural sex, handjob, noona minju, super subby reader (honestly kind of a wimp, but who isn’t a wimp for this girl), and they were roommates!

notes.

kinda short because i make the rules. or because i’m a bit of a cuck. close call. misjudgingly, leaf.

Minju comes back home after 2 a.m., the door creaking when she comes in, her boots knocking against the wooden floor as she takes them off, only the light of her phone’s screen illuminating her face.

“Noona? Why so late?” You ask in a low voice, more worried than curious.

“Hm? Are you still awake?” She whispers back.

“Usually you call to say you’ll be late…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. Were you staying up waiting for me?” She asks, flattered. “You know you can go to sleep next time, right?”

“I tried, I just couldn’t fall asleep.” You say in a saddened tone. “The bed feels really cold…”

“Does it? Want me to lie down with you, hm?” You nod your head in the dark. Somehow, Minju gets the message and lies down on top of you, her hands around your shoulders, your cheeks touching. She rubs hers against yours slowly, it feels fluffy like a cloud in the sky.

“Better? You think you can fall asleep now?”

“I don’t know… I don’t feel that tired anymore…”

“Hm, you stayed up so long to wait for me, I think you deserve a present”

She lifts her hips slightly to pull her dress up and her panties down, then lowers your pajama pants together with your boxers. She lets some saliva drop on her fingers and spreads it out, then wraps them around your half-erect length (it feels good to have Minju even just hug you) and strokes it lightly but thoroughly, even reaching down to knead your balls from time to time. You moan in her ear.

“Wait, wait, hehe~ This is not the present yet!”

When you reach full hardness, she holds your dick up, then wraps her thighs around it tightly, her ankles crossing, and you can feel the slight wetness of her slit coat part of your shaft. She lifts her hips up until your tip is touching the front of her pussy, then drops down until your belly buttons touch again, the last bit of your cock peeping between her plump buttcheeks. She repeats the same movement several times at a steady pace, and her thighs feel so soft around you, it’s like you’re dipping a spoon in a jar of honey. Or rather, a jar of honey being dropped repeatedly on a standing spoon, however that would work, physically.

“NoonacanIholdyou?” You blurt out, mostly lost in pleasure.

“Of course you can, honey” You quickly wrap your arms around her waist, so tightly that it’s honestly surprising she’s still able to breathe.

“You can touch down lower if you want~” You want.

You swiftly shift your hands down to grab her pillowy ass, she yelps in surprise, then immediately smiles adoringly. You let out what sounds like one big, drawn out groan, but really it goes on for minutes straight as she keeps pumping at an imperceptibly increasing pace. Minju’s thighs are heaven, a heaven that you can’t let go of, so reach even lower and hold, rub, massage her every bit of her softness with every bit of your palms and digits.

“Noona, I’m a-I’mboutta…”

“Hm, relax, and let go, then. Just let go, baby”

You thrust up a few times as you feel your peak coming, and while you whimper in her ear and keep holding for dear life onto her thighs and cheeks, spurts of white burst out and up in the air, landing on her pillow-like features, some of them hitting your hands, others all over your bed.

“Shhh, so nice, you came so much for me~” She whispers while caressing your scalp and slowly moving her hips in circles before stopping completely. You are spent, and need a couple minutes to even regain consciousness.

“Noona, did you- you wanna-”

“Mh-hm, I’m ok, baby. You seem very tired now, so I just need you to fall asleep, okay~?”

-

footnotes.

i suck at goodbyes. fadingly, leaf.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #girl group smut #idol smut #female idol smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #izone #minju #kim minju #izone minju #izone smut #minju smut #kim minju smut #izone minju smut

[voxlvrr]

˚₊‧꒰ა Adam with a work!alcoholic reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

`` ~ ୨ A/n : thank you all for 100 followers ! <333 also this is genuinely just pure fluff, may be a bit ooc ! ୧ ♡ ·

ꕥ ; Adam HATES your bad working habit, you’ll stay cooped up in your room for literal hours and days! you never take your eyes off the papers on your desk. the only time you actually come out just get coffee. Adam will use every excuse he can in the book so you’ll actually stop overworking yourself and come to bed with him or just eat something. but usually he’ll barge in with food he bought and set it on your desk, and use the time to spend time with you for awhile. but once he genuinely gets fed up with it he’ll just go behind your desk and snatch you up from your chair while obviously ignoring your protests. he’ll honestly straight up tell you that you need to stop your bad habits and that it’s actually starting to “piss him off” but later he’ll mumble that he actually cares about you just wants you stop. and once you promise that you’ll stop he’ll end up dragging you to bed with him cause he knows how many nights and mornings you’ve stayed up. but before you do that he’ll let you take care of yourself, like taking a shower, getting a change your clothes and brushing your hair. once that’s all taken care of he’ll literally never let you leave the bed all night, he genuinely couldn’t sleep at night when you weren’t with him. Often also leaving him restless like you. hell! even lute noticed how he isn’t like his usual self cause Adam genuinely missed your presence and he’s so glad that you’re finally back in his arms <3

ꕥ ; also Adam will try to make sera not give you so much work, which she’ll probably agree too. and once she does, he’ll probably start trying to convince you to take a break for once in awhile, or he’ll just take you out for awhile knowing that you’re stressed about all the work you’ve been given for the last couple of weeks. he’ll get you whatever you want! food?, already bought!,you want new outfits? He’ll buy it for you! literally whatever you want, just don’t stress about work <3

A little one shot under the cut here :)

ꕥ ; it was maybe 3:00 am or 4:00am..? damn it you lost track of time already. you’ve been overworking yourself even more lately since sera decided to move down the stupid extermination day. and now while that’s happening you have to approve some other rules for heaven and other shit that you genuinely don’t care about, as you looked at the window from your pitch black office only some moonlight shining in you could see some early risers up and about in the city. but mostly it’s peaceful and quiet which youre glad about. as you turn your head away from the window.

you then see Adam right in front of you, which scares the LIVING. shit out of you which you almost screamed but you were very. tired to scream you noticed that Adams mask was sitting right on your desk which was piled in reports and other things you forgot about hours ago, Adam then spoke “can’t you just hold off the work for the night? It’s literally fucking almost 4:00am, cmon! just come to bed alreadyyy!” You sighed profusely before you spoke in a low tired voice “listen - Adam. you know how i have to finish these reports and documents so I can bring them all to sera tomorrow, I can’t come to bed with you yet.” you responded before looking down at the papers before you and when you tried to reach the pen across the desk - Adam then snatched it and threw it somewhere across the room and before you could protest - Adam then gently took your wrist bringing you around from the table and towards his chest and then wrapped his soft wings around your figure. which made you even more tired than before. you then started drifting off until you fully fell asleep in his arms..

`` ~ ୨ this is was probably the longest fanfic I’ve made ! ^^ hope you all enjoyed

#adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader #alastor x reader #charlie morningstar #fluff #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #headcanon #romantic #vaggie hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hcs #x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin lute #husk hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #ooc

[shanastoryteller]

Blessed Samhain, Shana! more Lady Mo or something else genderbendy?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47

Lan Xichen hasn’t seen Wangji this upset in thirteen years and he has no idea what could be the cause. He guides him to A-Yao’s private garden, mind spinning. If Xuanyu were in some sort of immediate danger, Wangji would not leave her side. He’s sure of that and it’s all that’s keeping him from marching back to Jiang Yanli and demanding an explanation out of her himself. He hopes Sizhui hasn’t noticed the commotion, certain it will cause his nephew to worry, but he doesn’t spare too much thought on it because right now his first concern is his brother.

Worryingly, when they come to a stop Wangji just continues to stare at him blankly.

“What happened?” he asks, resisting the urge to grab him by his shoulders and shake him. “Did you and Xuanyu get into a disagreement?”

Perhaps something to do with Jin Guangshan? Lan Xichen has long abandoned the idea that she’s some sort of spy, as has A-Yao, but that doesn’t mean her father can’t want things from her, can’t be trying to make things difficult for her. Perhaps Jiang Yanli was warning her and Xuanyu and Wangji had a fight about it? They fight often enough that he can’t imagine anything that would send Wangji running.

“I’ve done something terrible,” Wangji says tonelessly. “This is my fault.”

Wangji faced down forty Lan clan elders and received forty lashings all without admitting a single moment of poor judgement or regret. Punishments he accepts easily – culpability, significantly less.

“What are you talking about?” he demands, trying to keep the alarm out of his voice. “What did you do?”

“Xuanyu,” he starts, then presses his lips together and shakes his head.

He would not harm Xuanyu. Even that spar that set half the clan to breaking the rules about gossip was not about harm. He’ll fight her, argue with her, spar with her, but Wangji worries and watches over Xuanyu constantly, vexed and surprised by her at turns, and Lan Xichen had felt aching relief when the woman his brother had been coerced to marry had turned out to be someone that Wangji couldn’t look away from.

He forces himself to sound calm. “What about Xuanyu?”

Wangji wets his lips and has to clear his throat twice before he can make himself speak. “She’s pregnant.”

Lan Xichen stares.

The relief is enough to make his knees week and his grip on Wangji’s shoulder doubles as a way to steady himself. “Wangji! You nearly gave me a heart attack! This is wonderful-”

“Wonderful?” he repeats, looking at him like he’s grown another head.

Some of that relief drains away. “Is it not? Is something wrong with the baby? Or Xuanyu? I know she was a little weak when you married, but she’s gotten so much stronger.” A terrible thought occurs to him. “Is she – she’s happy about it, isn’t she? She said that she likes kids and she’s so good with Sizhui, she must be happy.”

“I,” Wangji blinks, “I don’t – I didn’t ask–”

“Well, what did you say?” he asks in exasperation.

“I apologized.”

A-Yao isn’t here, but Lan Xichen feels the familiar urge to turn to him. “You apologized.” Wangji nods. “Xuanyu told you that she was carrying your child. And you apologized. Then left.”

He nods again, slower this time.

Lan Xichen grips the bridge of his nose.

“LAN WANGJI!”

They both turn to see Jiang Cheng headed straight for them, sword unsheathed and Zidian sparking, although that’s not the most alarming part. The last time Lan Xichen saw that look on Jiang Cheng’s face, they were on a battlefield.

This, at least, likely is Wangji’s fault.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #alexseanchai #untamed

[fckoffjakegyllenhaal]

fallingforyou (2)

// lottie matthew’s does not like you. you’re annoying, preppy, and way too nice. lottie doesn’t fail to show you time after time just how much she hates you. you finally get the message and steer clear of her, until senior year, when you both get paired up for a science project. //

warnings: asshole!lottie, sweet!reader, enemies to lovers, allusions to lottie’s shitty home life, lottie doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions. i picked random names for y/n’s siblings lol.

(this is part 2 of the series, read part 1 here.)

i read between the lines (i’ll take it one day at a time)

when you tell lottie ‘whenever’, you didn’t actually think she’d show up unannounced on wednesday evening. she’s wearing her soccer practice clothes, and her hair is tied in the usual pigtails it always is in whenever she practices. “y-you’re here.” you stutter a bit stupidly; you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt and biker shorts that are so short lottie assumes you aren’t wearing any pants. your glasses are off, and your hair is let down in unruly curls. she’s never seen you so… unguarded. she isn’t used to it. usually you’re wearing some girly outfit and those glasses that are almost as dorky as misty quigley’s.

“you told me to come whenever. it’s whenever.” lottie blurts out, as she attempts to walk past you but she stops herself. “sorry.” she mutters as she leans down to untie her cleats. you shake your head quickly, stopping her, “oh it’s okay! you don’t have to do that, my mom doesn’t care about shoes.” you assure her and lottie slowly stands up straight, stopping herself from taking her cleats off. her parents would reprimand her time and time again for wearing shoes in the house. she always thought the rule was stupid, considering her parents didn’t even clean their house. the maids did it for them.

right away lottie notices your house is very loud. there are two younger boys watching tv in the living room, screaming as they talked to each other. “those are my brothers. ignore them. i do.” you dismissively explain as you begin to lead lottie towards the hallway. you stop halfway, turning to gaze at her, “did you want anything to drink? i have soda, water, apple juice…” you trail off, and lottie’s cheeks tint. she’s thirsty; she just finished practicing after all. she nods, “apple juice.” she answers. you nod as you rush to the kitchen, leaving her standing alone.

“y/n!!” a loud, angry, feminine voice from the end of the hall causes lottie to look over in the direction it’s coming from. she sees an older girl standing by an open bedroom, waiting for you to respond. “y/n!!” she shouts again, “she’s in the kitchen.” lottie answers bluntly, in order to avoid from hearing the college student shriek again. “i was getting juice! do you have to yell so loudly?” you ask cattily, in a tone lottie has never heard from you. lottie immediately remembers what you said the other day, about your older sister being a bitch.

your older sister marches up to you, fury in her eyes and for a second lottie is afraid the older girl might punch you in the face. “i need you to tell me if this outfit makes me look fat.” she says sternly and lottie watches the interaction in shock, as you shake your head. “no, i think it’s cute— hey is that my top!?” you shriek, and the older girl lets out a tinkling laugh as she rushes away and retreats back into one of the bedrooms. “elise!! i haven’t even worn that yet!“ you whine, but the only response you get is more obnoxious laughter.

you sigh, handing lottie a glass of cold apple juice. “i told you she’s a bitch.” you point out as you begin to lead lottie down the hallway. the room all the way at the end is yours, and as soon as lottie walks in she sees all the books on your shelves above your bed. she then notices how pink your bedsheets are, and how much color there is around the room. it’s not too much color, but it’s clear you’re unintentionally a very colorful person. there are polaroid pictures of you and your siblings around the room; some on your desk, some pinned on the wall. you even have a few of you and nat.

lottie sees the baby pictures and the ones of you and your older sister as babies in a bath tub together. another little girl who looks just like you seems to appear in the pictures after elise is already three, and you’re one. then after that, the little girl is by your side in every picture; practically glued to your side. you always look so happy in each snapped moment, even in the ones you aren’t smiling in, your eyes show you’re happy and safe. another thing lottie realizes she envies about you. your house is twice as small as hers, with twice as many people… it’s loud and the living room is messy…

… yet lottie likes your house more than hers, and she’s only been here for ten minutes. maybe that’s why natalie’s always over here; always talking about hanging out at your place after parties. you never went to any parties… lottie’s only seen you at one and after that you didn’t come to any more. you’ve never shown up at any of hers that’s for sure. “that’s my little sister.” you interrupt her thoughts, as you notice her eyeing the pictures. “you two look… close.” she observes, and you giggle as you take a seat on your bed, reaching for your backpack on the floor. “yeah, don’t tell elise but sabrina was technically my first friend ever. i tell her everything.” you admit and lottie nods.

“i’ve seen her around school. i didn’t even know she was your sister.” she confesses, causing you to shrug. “she’s working on being the most ‘popular’ girl in school. she’s been a little busy.” you half joke and lottie nods, “she’s on the jv cheer team, right?” she asks curiously as you flip open your chemistry notebook. “yup. she’s been following becky martin around like a puppy since the year started.” you answer curtly and lottie snorts at the obvious change in your tone. “what? jealous your little sister is becoming more popular than you?” she questions with a taunting sneer, and you frown.

“no, i don’t care about that. sabrina is pretty, of course she’s gonna be more popular. i just don’t think she needs to be like becky martin to do it.” you explain, and lottie is a bit surprised by the truthfulness of your response, and before she can reply, you’re beating her to it. “so i was thinking you could do all the physical presenting, and i can just recite everything and write it all. of course you’re gonna help by giving me your ideas and what you think…” you trail off, before looking at her. “is that okay with you?” you inquire, and she nods. “yeah, that’s fine. whatever.” she sounds like she doesn’t care and this makes you shake your head, holding yourself back from saying something snarky.

lottie isn’t the only one who gets snappy when she’s annoyed, you’re just better at biting your tongue than she is.

over the next few days, lottie shows up at your house after practice ends, and she stays until after the sun sets. she doesn’t mean to stay for that long. the first day she came over, she genuinely just lost track of time. for some reason being around you isn’t as torturous as she thought it would be. in fact, being around you, especially in a cozy home that seems full of lightheartedness and noise… is shockingly nice. particularly because she knows what’s waiting for her at home. absolutely nothing.

right away the other yellowjackets notice a change in lottie’s behavior. she isn’t snappy or angry anymore; sure she still talks shit whenever someone tries her, but that’s how lottie’s always been. natalie is the first who notices lottie isn’t scowling or grumpy anymore. mari is especially thankful for it during soccer practice. “so, y/n told me you’ve actually been a decent human being to her.” natalie starts, as she walks out of the locker room with lottie. it’s monday, and practice had just ended a little later than expected.

“if that’s what she wants to call it, then yeah, sure.” lottie mutters, as she makes her way to the parking lot. “hey, before you go, y/n told me to tell you not to show up to her house today. something came up.” natalie causes lottie to stop in her tracks, not even caring that her driver was waiting for her in the car. “what do you mean? she didn’t tell me anything.” lottie says and natalie chuckles, “said she couldn’t find you after lunch.” the blonde’s response is simple yet it doesn’t seem to satisfy lottie. “what came up? she literally said she was free every day after school.” lottie sounds annoyed now.

natalie looks a bit puzzled for a second, before a wave of realization hits her. “wait… are you actually upset you can’t go to y/n’s today? i figured you’d be thrilled.” natalie says in this unrecognizable way that makes lottie glare. “i’m not upset about anything! excuse me if i just want to get this project over with.” lottie hisses defensively, and natalie only smirks in response. “uh, okay matthews; whatever you say. just don’t show up at her house today, okay?” she asks warningly, making lottie roll her eyes. “i heard you the first time.” the raven haired girl snaps.

and just like that, lottie’s bad mood returns. who would’ve guessed that charlotte isobel matthews would actually enjoy being in your cramped house, and inside of your girly bedroom.

lottie knows you didn’t cancel yesterday on purpose. she knows you’ve been smiling more at her in the hallways, and she knows she’s definitely been nicer to you over the last few days than she ever has in her high school career. maybe it’s because instead of being stuck in her big empty house after school, she’s spending her days cramped up in your room, or noisy living room… the smell of whatever your mother had made for lunch still lingering in the air. lottie enjoyed it. perhaps that’s why the next day at school she takes her bad mood out on you. she bumps shoulders with you when you try to talk to her in the hall, walking past you as if she didn’t even hear you.

she didn’t even look back to see the frown on your face. you couldn’t help but feel confused and a bit sad; you figured you both were over this silly, pointless feud. this stupid, meaningless battle. but it was like lottie had other ideas. right when you thought you two were on the same page, she proved to you that you weren’t even reading the same book. you try not to think about lottie the entire day, but it’s hard. you notice her at lunch; she doesn’t even look at you. that isn’t abnormal, but she has this everlasting scowl on her face. when fifth period finally rolls around, you can’t help but feel a bundle of nerves budding inside the pit of your stomach. seeing lottie matthews always has this affect on you.

lottie’s already in class when you walk in, and this time, her head tilts to the side, and her dark eyes lock with yours. your breath gets lodged in your windpipe, and your step falters on your way to your seat. you try your absolute hardest not to look at lottie, or her insufferably pretty face. you take your note book and chemistry book out, along with a pencil, before averting your gaze forward. (even though the class hasn’t even started yet.)

the bell rings, and the rest of the students shuffle in, taking a seat before your teacher starts blabbering on and on. it’s usually easy to keep yourself busy during class; easy to focus… but for some reason, sharing a class with lottie matthews seems to be a curse. you can never seem to concentrate fully. when someone taps on your back, you turn around and jenny myers hands you a folded note. you furrow your eyebrows, as she gestures to lottie who’s not even bothering to look at you. you take the note and face forward again.

“you skipping out on me again today?”

you turn your head to glare at the raven haired jock after reading the note. she only smirks at your clearly agitated expression, feeling a wave of satisfaction at being the one to frustrate you. you quickly look down at the note, and scribble something back.

“i was at my grandmas house yesterday. sorry, jerk.”

you pass the note back to lottie, and you avert your attention onto ms. weinstein again who is now talking about another subject. you mentally curse lottie matthews for being so fucking distracting.

#yellowjackets #lottie matthews x reader #lottie x fem reader angst #lottie matthews x fem reader #lottie matthews #lottie matthews angst #lottie matthews x you #lottie x reader #lottie matthews x y/n #lottie matthews icons #enemies to lovers #lottie mathews x reader #lottie yellowjackets

[jarofstyles]

Illicit - 7

Heyyy... How ya'll doing :-) We got a fun part in store...

Check out our Patreon for early access to the next few parts and 100+ exclusive writings!

Illicit Masterlist

WC- 3.6k

Warnings- blackmail, stalking, angst, vengeful H... Buckle up

-----------

They got a call about a week later - just not the call they were expecting. 

It was Niall, telling him to check his texts for the links he sent. 

CHEATING SCANDAL- Harry Styles with Mystery Woman

Is Our ‘It Couple’ Calling It Quits? Photos Point Towards A Torrid Affair

Katherine Brant Heartbroken- Sources Tell All!

Lip Locked and Illicit- Styles & Brant Are No More?

Who Is Harry Styles’ Mystery Woman? Read Here For More!

The headlines themselves didn’t bother him, no. He had already assumed she would go to the press to whine about the fact he cheated, despite there being no actual relationship to be seen- they’d never even properly kissed. He knew she would be bitter and angry and of course, out to try and get what she thought of as revenge. But what he hadn’t expected was the level of insane she actually was. 

Photos taken inside his home- inside his office, taken from what would have had to have been the closet, caught Y/N in his lap, in his shirt. His finger was curled under her chin and they were locked in a kiss, his other hand under the shirt. There was no mistaking who it was, considering he had been to the side to welcome her into his lap. His telltale signs of it being him, from his tattooed forearm to his hair and prominent nose, all of it outed him. 

And her. 

Harry was silently fuming as Y/N sat next to him, her body trembling slightly. There was no one who could blame her. It was violating, the photos. An intimate moment between the two of them, a tender moment of love ruined by the fact that someone had been there without being invited. Someone who had taken photos and god knew what else of them was some sort of  blackmail? Something to prove a point? He didn’t know. All he was positive about was the fact that he was going to ruin this girl’s life. 

“H-How did she even get inside?” Y/N’s voice cracked slightly as she looked at him with swollen eyes. Her tears had been silent, shocked at the level of violation she felt. Of course, she knew it was traditionally wrong to steal someone’s man- but he had pursued her. He had been the one to tell her about the contract, and rightfully so, didn’t break any technical rules. But now their plans of how they’d announced they’d come out as a couple were ruined, and she knew that her phone was more than likely blowing up upstairs in his bedroom. He’d called the police, waiting for both them and his lawyer to show up with his jaw tight, his tense arm around her trying his best to comfort her- but he was stuck in his own mind. 

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” He mumbled, staring at the wall. They’d barely managed to get dressed and be presentable, Harry in just a button up and his trousers with his hair in its natural state, and she was still reeling. It had been the worst way to wake up, hearing Harry bark on the phone and feel the tension rolling off of him in waves. She was used to his tenderness, his soft hours. It was unsettling to hear that first thing in the morning. Usually, he left business things until he was ready- which was why she knew from his tone, his posture and his face that the thing he was upset about was most definitely serious. “I will make sure the security in this building gets to a whole other level of clearance passes- or we move. This is unacceptable. But Brant isn’t answering me.” 

Harry felt like if he clenched his jaw any harder that his teeth would shatter. His spine was straight and his touch on her not as soothing as he’d like, but his mind was going a mile a minute. He was fuming, so angry that he felt lightheaded. How had she managed to bypass security again? 

One thing to know about Harry was that he hated when things didn’t go his way. It brought out the absolute worst in him in ways he wasn’t necessarily proud of. The man knew it, he knew more than anything he wasn’t a good person to be around, but he wasn’t going to leave and let Y/N wallow in this alone. Internally he was upset even more so, because if he had just dissolved the contract as soon as he met her, none of this would have happened. As usual, he was greedy and wanted to have his cake and eat it too, but it had never backfired this badly before. Granted, he never usually dealt with women so desperate for social notoriety as Katherine, but still.  

This was his fault and he knew it. 

Guilt wasn’t an emotion he knew much of. Not one he dealt with often, anyways. He was very analytical, logical and some would even say diabolical. He wasn’t one to say sorry, he wasn’t one to dwell on things, but all he could think about was the fact this was avoidable and he was just selfish. His selfishness hadn’t really affected him in this sort of way before. His stomach hurt, seeing her swollen eyes and sad expression on her beautiful face. While he hadn’t published the photos himself, it tore him to bits to know this was avoidable.

“I’m…” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, baby.” Turning to look at her, he tried to shake off some of his anger. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.” It was a weak response to the situation but he was lost as to what to do to make her feel better at this moment. Harry was a man of action, not a man of words. He was quiet and didn’t talk to many people for a reason. Y/N was his best friend, the one he felt he could communicate with the best, but his tongue was tied and searching for the correct words to say. 

Y/N stayed quiet for a moment, looking at her lap. It was hard to tell what she was thinking when he couldn’t see her eyes. “Can I just ask… why did you keep it going?” She asked, voice quiet. It shook a little bit, pouring salt in the gaping wound. “Like, what were you really gaining out of it? You’re already one of the wealthiest men in one of the wealthiest families. What did this contract have over you?” 

This was something he was asking himself now, but the answer he could come up with wasn’t one he liked. It was selfishness and since meeting Y/N, he had tried his best- or at least he thought so- to be selfless and giving towards her. Apparently, that hadn’t been good enough. His hand grabbed her own, frowning slightly when she flinched before bringing her knuckles up to his mouth to give her hand apologetic kisses. How he was going to fix this sort of thing, he didn’t know. “I… It was pride.” He admitted, albeit hesitantly. “I was happy that I’d won the bid over everyone else, initially. I like getting what I want, even more what other people want. I figured that It couldn’t hurt. Let her use my name, get people off my back for being an ‘eternal bachelor’, all of that. I didn’t like her and didn’t act like a boyfriend, I knew I was not obligated to be monogamous or faithful to her.. But you changed it all.” He let out a breath, speaking against her knuckles. 

“Just pride?” Y/N laughed sadly. It twinged his stomach, but she was right to be disappointed in him. 

“I’ve never lied to you, and I don’t plan on starting now. She became the last thing on my mind when I met you. I knew… almost immediately that I wanted something serious. I’d never felt that way in my life, and you were all I could focus on. She was like an annoying fly that buzzed in but my focus was on you. It was an oversight. I know I should have just ended it then and gave up the contract. It was childish, but you’ve got to understand that I’m not a nice person, Y/N. I’ve never thought about considering someone else’s feelings until you. Being nice in my position gets you nowhere but fucked over.” His brows wrinkled together as he felt her hand drop from his grip, placed back on her lap. 

“I know you aren’t nice, Harry, and I know that I’m the exception to the rule but… you always say you never want me hurt.” Taking a quivering breath, she avoided looking at him. “Don’t you know how much it hurt to see someone else be referred to as your girlfriend? Seeing her flaunt you around and lie, take time away from us because she thought she had the right to have you?” Her throat felt tight as she felt him shift on the couch to face her properly. “Can you imagine how you’d feel if I were doing it? If someone else thought they had rights to me, posted me around, the rest of the world thinking I belonged to someone else, saw me next to them, pretending I was theirs?”

Immediately he felt rage. Even more than was his base level from today. He’d had this thought but hearing it vocalized stung. It hurt, damn it. “I’d kill them.” He said lowly. “And I know. I know, baby. And I’m sorry.” Hesitantly he grabbed her chin, tilting her up to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t say that a lot, or enough to you, but I regret it. I regret every bit.” His fingers brushed her cheek, feeling her lean into them. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, nor her kindness, but somehow he had managed to get her to love him. He knew she would, even if he had to grovel for a few weeks. 

“I know. It still hurts me, though. There’s nothing we can do to change it, but I just wish.. I wish we could go ahead with our original plan. That she hadn’t fucked it up and took such intimate photos of us, outing us like that. I wanted our relationship to be public, I wanted everyone to know I’m yours- but not like this.” Her knees were gathered against her chest. Harry despised that she was folding into herself, pulled away mentally despite letting her face rest in his hand. “I feel so gross. You can see the bottom of my ass in the photos, and god knows what else she took. I’m just happy we didn’t have sex there.” She shuddered. 

“She’s not going to get away with it, Y/N.” Harry stressed. “I am going to spend every day trying to make up for the pain that I’ve put you through, and I know that it isn’t something that can be fixed overnight but I love you.” He promised, keeping her gaze. “I swear to you, I’m going to make sure that this is fixed to the best of my abilities. I’m going to take her down, no matter the cost.” 

—----

“Are you sure this is the route you want to take?” Mitch asked as Harry sipped his drink. 

“Yes. I’ve never talked to them before, and I’m positive it’s going to make front page. She wants attention that badly? I’m going to give her a headline.” He smirked, tapping his nails against the frosty glass. 

When Harry heard back from Brant, he had never heard a man be more apologetic and horrified in his life. There was no question that it was his daughter who was responsible for the photos and breaking in, and he had indulged in Harry that she had indeed been cut off but- no one could find her. She was in the wind and none of her friends was giving up her location. She had acted impulsively and didn’t think through the consequences, with both her father and the law looking for her. 

It was unsettling to know that she was unaccounted for knowing that she would go to desperate lengths now, cut off from the wealth she had made her entire personality and wanted for breaking and entering, as well as robbing him. Yes, she had taken some of the jewelry he had bought Y/N for Christmas along with a few other designer items. Desperation, he knows, and she was backed into a corner. What she had at first probably imagined as the greatest revenge was going to be her downfall. 

Harry was the last person with any fear regarding playing dirty. He was known for his malicious eyes and his sharp tongue, never one to tell a lie- so no one was going to notice if he stretched the truth to the paparazzi that had been purposely called to wait outside the bar. Giving her a taste of her own medicine. If she wanted to attempt to harm his relationship, make the love of his life uncomfortable, he was going to ensure she knew he had no intentions of backing down. She deserved not only a verbal attack but jail time.

“As long as you’re sure.” He patted his arm. “Where is Y/N at? She’s been attached to your side lately.” Harry had been taking time himself to get security temporarily for his love, not trusting the unhinged nature of Katherine running in the streets untracked. He’d also hired extra for his building, and his lawyers were working on a breach of contract for the prior company that had let her slip through the cracks due to a bribe. He’d seen it himself on camera. 

“She’s with Hannah. They’re getting manicures done at my place, so I gave her the time to do something for herself. Hired one to come to the house. She’s been a bit quiet lately, shaken up from it. I don’t blame her. I knew something was off that morning.” That’s why he hadn’t fucked her like he’d intended that morning. Something felt wrong. He’d never been more happy that he followed his instincts. 

“I got you. Is she okay though?” 

Harry sighed. “Yeah. We had a rough day, the first day. She was withdrawn. But it’s okay now. She’s a little jumpy at home, but since I got security she’s been better.” The one topic the man was soft about was her. Mitch was one of the ones he legitimately trusted in his circle and one of the few people that he liked genuinely, so he didn’t mind speaking to him. “But I’ve better get this show on the road. I know they’re out there.” He’d had his driver text him updates about the building crowd outside the bar. 

“Be safe, man.” Mitch smacked his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve got to deal with it.”

Harry appreciated it. He wished Y/N didn’t have to. That was feeding his revenge thirst more than anything. Remembering how she’d turned in on herself and genuinely looked horrified, how she had cried in his lap with how many people texted and called her to ask her what was happening, the idea of being labeled a homewrecker making her heart hurt. It hurt his, too, considering she was the only one he’d ever want to make a home with. 

Before Y/N, he thought of love as a weakness. A distraction, something to avoid. He himself thought he was incapable of it besides familial love, avoiding making connections because of the way he’d been fucked over in his youth. Of course he’d never expected love to become a driving force for him. Motivation. Wanting to build up higher and go harder so he could provide for her and their future family, to set things up so they’d never have to worry about a thing.  The woman had changed his perspective on everything. 

It’s why he decided the best course of action was to face the very people Katherine loved to pander to, give them the story they wanted. He never spoke to paparazzi, he considered it an invasion of privacy every time he saw one, but this would reach the masses. 

Pulling his jacket over his shoulders and his sunglasses over his eyes, he nodded at the guard who opened the door and opened himself up to the blur of flashing lights. Even his shades didn’t help the slight blindness, slowly walking until they started yelling at him. 

“Harry, who’s the girl?”

“Where’s Katherine?!”

“Why did you cheat?” 

“Hey, Harry, did you two break up?”

“Having a break up drink?”

He paused in the middle, looking around the mess of photographers who knew better this time than to get too close before opening his mouth. 

“I didn’t cheat on Katherine. Our relationship was something she manipulated into a contract. I’ve never considered her to be mine, nor will I ever. I let her run her mouth and say what she wanted because, frankly, her father was an acquaintance at one point. She’s the one who’s been obsessed with me, stalking me and breaking into my home. I told her to call off her charade of a relationship with me weeks ago, but instead she decided to break into my home, take violating photos of the woman I’m in love with and I in an intimate moment, and robbed me. She isn’t the feminist she claims to be with taking revealing and intimate photos of another woman. It’s violating and cruel, and I will not stop until she’s caught and my girlfriend feels safe again. ” He took a breath before lowering her sunglasses, looking at the cameras that were recording. 

“So no, I’m not having a breakup drink. It’s celebratory that she’s going to be arrested on multiple counts. No one knows where she is, but I’m sure she will come crawling out when the things she pawned for money runs out. There’s an active warrant out for her arrest, so if you see her…  Call the police.” He scoffed. “And for the record, I never cheated. Fidelity was never a clause.” Taking the glasses back to his face, he briskly walked towards the car, heart beating steadily in his chest. There was a mess of questions being shouted at him from behind, loud flashes from the cameras taking photos a mile a minute, but he didn’t stop. He’d said what he said. 

Harry was well aware of the fact that this was going to be spread like wildfire. It was going to be international headlines and he’d just started a firestorm across social media and the gossip channels, but that was the goal. Katherine had so desperately tried to carefully curate her image to be a girl supporting, philanthropic, kind, sweet wealthy girl, but she was nothing of the sort. She was nasty, cruel, vapid, fueled on the validation of others- and Harry was taking that away from her. Taking the one thing that mattered most after her father took away the money. There were no regrets. 

Slipping in the car, he placed the sunglasses on his head before checking his phone. 

Y/N: Look!!

Y/N: [Image Attachment]

Y/N: I did what you said :) 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat as he got a selfie from her with her nails the baby blue color he had suggested, silver stars as accents on a few fingers. It had been a choice she showed him when going through her nail pinterest board, and he thought it was cute. 

The photo was a reminder of just what exactly he was doing this for. Her. His sweet, angel faced girl sitting back in the apartment with the kindest heart he’d ever known. His heart had softened for her alone, making him weak to the touch. Feeling a little lighter just from seeing her face, his smile twitched on the corner of his lips as he typed out a reply. 

H: Gorgeous, my love. 

H: Is Hannah still there?

Y/N: Nooo, she had date night w Niall. 

Y/N: Salvatore is here though, he’s watching the door. 

Y/N: Can’t he watch TV with me or something? He must be bored. :////

Harry hated that he had to have security inside his home but he just didn’t know how deranged Katherine may actually be. 

H: I don’t pay him to watch television, pet. I pay him to watch the door. So, no. 

H:  Let’s stay off our phones tonight. 

Y/N: …Okay. 

Y/N: Do I want to know what you said or did?

H: Nope x

Y/N: I’m just going to trust you and say fine lol 

Y/N: Want to have ice cream when you’re back tho?

His smile grew to a full one at the last message. Y/N’s wants were so simple. All she wanted was to spend time with him, be close to him. That’s what he wanted too, but he’d never seen someone be so simple in the best way. There were no games with her, no fucking around. It was something he’d always admired about her, one of the many reasons the ring sitting in his office drawer was burning a hole in it. He wanted to make her his, officially but it wasn’t the right time. 

Soon, though. He didn’t like her walking around without his ring on her finger. 

H: You know I love sweet things, darling. Of course I do. 

Y/N: That’s why I’m your favorite 0:) hehe

H: My favorite in the world. 

H: Hang tight, my love. I’m coming home to you x

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #illicit #illicitrry #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshots #harry styles au #harry fanfic #harry fluff #harry angst #harry smut

[daechwitatamic]

All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t || MYG

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: All That Holly, Jolly Sh*t

WC: 11k

Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)

Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

Rating: NSFW - minors DNI

Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love 

A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic! 

I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!

Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!

“Anything new with you? How’s work?”

You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies. 

You admit to being a little bit on edge. 

You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world. 

Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.

Until this year.

No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.

You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.

You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.

“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”

“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”

“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.

She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote. 

“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”

“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings. 

“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out. 

There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below. 

Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately. 

“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.

You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.

“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”

“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”

“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”

Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk. 

“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye. 

You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.

You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker. 

He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money. 

He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. 

He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks. 

Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”

Five years. But who’s counting? 

“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?” 

He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”

“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”

He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”

He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.

You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.

“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently. 

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.

“Do what?”

“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”

Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble. 

He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

Maybe that used to be the case. 

The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”

He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”

“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”

He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell. 

“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”

Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”

That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard. 

“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.

He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”

He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.

Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle. 

“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”

“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.” 

“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”

You flip him off, smiling. 

Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”

Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”

“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”

Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”

When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair. 

The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.

That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list. 

Like it didn’t hurt him at all. 

None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?

You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone? 

No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi. 

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.

You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.

That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace. 

The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”

“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”

“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.

“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”

“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.

Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone. 

Not here, in front of him. 

Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list. 

The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.

From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself. 

“Good,” Taehyung says seriously. “Don’t leave me.”

You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.

“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly. 

Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.

You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”

You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”

Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”

You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”

“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest. 

“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party. 

“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.

“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”

He refuses to look at you. 

After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app. 

In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia. 

You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.

“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”

“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly. 

“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”

“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”

You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.

Or maybe you are.

“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”

“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive. 

You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?

He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”

You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address. 

“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address. 

The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.

“Did your family move?” you ask finally.

Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.

“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.

He mumbles something, still not looking at you.

“What?” you snap. “You what?”

“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor. 

“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”

“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored. 

Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.

But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot. 

Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.

Reasons five through whatever, moot. 

You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies. 

“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”

What life? You wonder. 

The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.

It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones. 

Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that. 

You always break your own rules for him.

The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you. 

“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.

Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks. 

He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.

You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.

And he’s back, Yoongi is back. 

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.

“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry. 

Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.

“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”

“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”

“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.

He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”

He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time. 

You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to. 

Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again. 

“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past. 

“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”

“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it. 

You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly. 

He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”

“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”

“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”

He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom. 

When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering. 

It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.

“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”

“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”

You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is. 

When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.

You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. 

“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”

He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”

He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.

“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.

He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.

You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.

You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.

A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.

The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”

“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…

He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently. 

It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.

Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.

He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”

You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”

He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”

You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”

Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”

You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”

He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”

You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.

He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”

“You know I do.”

He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”

You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?

Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.

“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”

You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?

He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly.  “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”

You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”

He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”

You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”

He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.

“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”

“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”

You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.

He knows.

“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”

You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.

He says your name, still so soft, so quiet. 

“What?”

“Don’t cry.”

It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”

“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”

You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure. 

“But now?” you prod. 

He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”

You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning. 

He knows.

He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.” 

You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”

“Your city.”

“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.

He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?” 

You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in. 

“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”

Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?

But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already. 

He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek. 

His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours. 

Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.

His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.

You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip. 

He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet. 

He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly. 

Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.

“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter. 

“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do. 

“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes. 

It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side. 

“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”

He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”

“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband. 

It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale. 

He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.

You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.

And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.

He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside. 

Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that? 

He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.

You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.

“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”

“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”

He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.

He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.

You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.

When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.

“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor. 

“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys. 

You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.

“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.

“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”

“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?

Of course you do. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”

“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.

“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet. 

You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.

He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before. 

You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust. 

“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.

“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines. 

You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”

He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.

“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.

The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.

“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”

“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core. 

“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit. 

The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.

You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.

“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse. 

“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.

“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.

“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”

“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different. 

“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.

You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together. 

You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts. 

“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him. 

“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.

“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you. 

You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.

“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”

“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.

You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.

You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going. 

It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.

“Hi,” he murmurs. 

“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.

You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.

“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”

You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.

“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth. 

You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach. 

You’re not sure where you go from here. 

You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you. 

You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.

Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.

You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair. 

You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.

“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys. 

“I just wanted to answer a few -”

“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold. 

“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”

He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.

“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.

“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it. 

You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”

He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses. 

You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?” 

It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you? 

And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.

“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”

You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs. 

“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.

“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”

Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.

You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing. 

“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.

“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.

Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes. 

“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.

“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”

“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up. 

He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees. 

He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.

“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.

You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.

“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”

You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv. 

“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice. 

He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”

“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.

He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”

You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”

He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”

You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top. 

Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run. 

Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now. 

Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”

“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)

#bss2022 #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #min yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts x reader #exes to lovers #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fic #yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #suga smut #suga fluff #suga x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n #yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x y/n #fic: holly jolly sh*t #1k #2k

[specialagentlokitty]

Carlisle x reader - the peace of you

Hello, could I request your 2024 prompt number 3 with Carlisle X fem Reader? Maybe the reader is immortal and has lost her family/friends/lover and had been suffering with loneliness and abuse until she met Carlisle and his family? Because he's a vamp and he knows what it's like to outlive people? And Edward can hear how happy she is around his adoptive dad - Anon 💜

3: “He/she/they carry more anger and pain then the whole universe combined, I can see it. Betrayal, hurt, deception, heartache, they’ve been through it all. He/she/they walked through hell a thousand times.” “Why are you telling me this?” “Because the only time I’ve ever seen true peace in his/her’s/their eyes is when he/she/they saw you.”

Sitting in your shop, you rested your feet on the chair opposite you, flicking through some of the books you had delivered while a few people wondered the shop.

The door went, and the bell sounded.

“Afternoon.” You called.

“Hey, have you seen Edward?”

You glanced up at the teenager unimpressed, a straight looking on your face.

“I’m not his keeper, I don’t keep track of all the vampires in the area Bella. If you can’t find your boyfriend that’s not my issue.”

She furrowed her brows a little.

“Seriously? You always know where people are.”

“I’m a bounty hunter, I know where people are when they’ve got a bounty, Edward doesn’t, so, if you’re not here to buy something go away.”

“Just tell me.”

You narrowed your eyes at her and she shuffled back a little, making her way towards the doors before she left.

You didn’t like humans, but you had to live among them, and you especially didn’t like her.

So ready to just throw away her human life, everything she had just for a boy she met.

It annoyed you.

A few seconds later and the bell went again, and you grumbled.

“I already told you I don’t know where he is.”

“Well, that would be good to know except I’ve already found the person I was looking for.”

You set your book down and stood up, walking around the desk to stand in front of it as the other vampire walked around.

He smiled softly at you and you gave a tiny one back.

“What can I do for you Carlisle? You’re not my usual clientele.”

“No, I’m not here about a bounty, I was wondering if you had any of these.”

He handed you a list and you looked through, nodding to yourself.

“Yeah, I’ve got them. Do you want me to bring them to yours?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you so much.”

You smiled at him, setting the list on your desk and you glanced at him before turning away.

“Yeah, I’ll be around later that’s no problem. How is everything?”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“Honestly? It’s all over the place, but I can’t do anything about it, he loves her, we need to protect that.”

“Even if it means putting yourself in danger?”

“Everybody has someone, Bella is the someone Edward has, it’s important we protect that.”

You gave a small shrug.

“Maybe, but maybe it isn’t worth it.”

“I know you don’t fully agree with the way we do things, but I am really grateful for everything you do to help.”

“Don’t worry about it, you should go, I’ll sort these.”

Carlisle nodded, glancing at you one last time before he left.

The moment you came into town he was smitten with you, but he was finding it hard to grow close to you.

You kept everybody at arms length, you made it clear that you were by yourself, you did things your way with your own rules, and there wasn’t much they could do about it.

You didn’t hunt on their grounds, you ran your shop just outside their territory, but sometimes if they came to you for help you would help.

You were like a box of mysteries, just then he think he has you figured out there’s something new there that surprises him.

Later that night you turned up at their house with the box of books, and you carried it upstairs, setting it down on the counter and began to take them out.

You were talking to Rosalie and Alice about them, explaining what they were about and what was in them, and Carlisle stood across the room watching you.

“Why not ask her on a date?” Emmett asked.

Carlisle shook his head.

“I could never do that.”

“Yes you could, and you deserve it.” Edward said.

“She isn’t exactly the most social person, there is just no way she would agree, I think I would rather try be friends.”

Edward glanced at his adoptive father before looking at you.

You glanced at Carlisle, and all the noise Edward heard in your head just seemed to stop, then when you looked away it picked up again.

“She carry’s more anger and pain then the whole universe combined, I can see it. Betrayal, hurt, deception, heartache, they’ve been through it all. She walked through hell a thousand times.”

Carlisle turned to Edward, his back towards you.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Edward smiled a little, gesturing to you with his head.

“Because the only time I’ve ever seen true peace in her eyes is when she saw you.”

Carlisle turned back around to face you, and the moment you connected eyes with him you smiled.

“I think it’s worth a chance.”

With that, Edward left, and Carlisle walked over to help you, all the others quickly leaving.

“You seem to enjoy being around them.” He said.

“It’s nice knowing you guys get the whole immortality thing, and I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not.”

“I understand that, it does get exhausting after a while.”

You nodded your head, resting your arms on the counter.

“At least when you’re human you know everything stops when you die, as a vampire you still have to live with all that pain from your human life and more. You have to do it alone.”

“You don’t have to.”

You turned to him, furrowing your brows a little.

“You can still find people, have a family, friends to support you.”

You scoffed a little.

“Nobody wants to be around a vampire who’s bounty hunter.”

Carlisle smiled softly, turning fully to face you.

“I do.”

You stood back up, looking at him utterly confused.

“I want to be around you, I would like to be with you. You’ve spent so long by yourself that you’ve forgetting life still has beautiful moments, even for a vampire, I want you to see that it still does. I want to see you smile (Y/N).”

“Carlisle…��

“If you don’t want that then it’s okay, I hope we can stay as friends but the offer is there, just a drink, that’s all. Nothing more unless that is what you want.”

You stared at him, and he could see the little spark in your eyes that was there when you saw him.

Usually you held a cold and callous look, but when you looked at him it was with nothing but pure softness, fondness.

“You don’t have to be alone..” he whispered.

“People will talk.”

Carlisle reached out, taking your hand in his.

“Then let them, I want you around, I know everybody else here wants you around as well.”

You smiled, looking away.

“I haven’t been for a drink in a while, I cant even remember what I like.”

He chuckled.

“Well, I have plenty of options for you to chose from.”

He raised your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles before he let go.

“Take some time, think about it.”

“I will.”

You left a few moments later, his offer still running around in your head.

A life as a vampire wasn’t easy, and you thought there was nothing else too it, but you couldn’t lie when you said the world was definitely better when you were around Carlisle.

You didn’t have to think too much about his offer, you were going to accept, but you didn’t want to come across as too eager so you decided to wait before agreeing, and at least it would find you time to find something to wear.

Carlisle didn’t need Edward to tell him that you would agree to his offer, he could see it on your face, the pure happiness you had when he had asked.

He had a good feeling you would agree, and he couldn’t wait for you to tell him so he could see you again, because there was nothing in this world quite like you

#twilight #twilight x reader #twilight x you #twilight x y/n #twilight imagine #Carlisle Cullen #Carlisle Cullen x reader #carlisle Cullen x you #carlisle cullen imagine

[monsterbachelors]

The Three Don'ts of Sabertooth Brewing

[contains semi-public sex + fem!reader]

SUMMARY: You visit Yanu at work on a slow night. One thing leads to another and just when things get exciting, something both unpleasant and unexpected forces you to take a rain check on back-alley romps.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

A smile brightens your face when you see the Sabertooth Brewing sign from across the street. The venue doesn’t look like an appropriate place for a young lady without nefarious motives but at the same time, the entirety of the Copper Valley district doesn’t appear so. Nonetheless, you couldn’t think of a safer place to be. Whatever turf wars the former copper miners lead, they all agreed to omit Yanu and his business. It reached the point where some locals called the bar “the embassy” as it’s the only neutral ground in the neighbourhood.

The rough-looking miners curtly nod at you as you walk past them. A cloud of smoke and soot surrounds the two men. They always stand near the entrance of the locale but never go inside. Smoking one cigarette after another, their job must be to ensure that Yanu stays largely unbothered by the conflicts of Copper Valley. So far, they’ve been excellent at doing their duties.

You giggle quietly as you read the sign hanging on the front door:

Don’t: - fight - spill drinks - ask Q’rill to make a mojito

A bell chimes when you push the door open. Low, yellow lights make the interior look cosy. Conversations held by the patrons sitting in booths and around small tables are drowned out by a trio playing a familiar swing tune. The smell of cigarette smoke fills your lungs and sticks to your clothes. Two waiters weave between tables and clients, faux joy plastered to their faces. One of them notices you - she gives you a quick wave and nods towards the long bar counter.

Although he is surrounded by bottles filled with colourful drinks, it’s impossible to overlook Yanu. Maybe it’s a general rule or perhaps it’s just your fatal affliction. He’s wearing a shirt, a vest and a pair of tailored pants - exactly what one would expect a bartender to wear. Seemingly lost in thought, he’s just wiping some glasses but still, there is something unspeakably captivating about him. An aura that paints him as extraordinary and not just the way he is.

Yanu must notice you approaching out of the corner of his eye. When his gaze meets yours, his expression immediately changes. The deep, pink scar across his blind right eye gives the rakshasa a certain edge but even that isn’t enough to hide the pure adoration painted all over his face. His blue iris stares at you lovingly until a shadow of mischief dances across Yanu’s features.

“My, my, I don’t recall having an appointment with a princess,” he speaks with pretend surprise.

“Princesses don’t make appointments,” you answer casually. Sitting on the high bar stool, you’re still significantly shorter than the rakshasa behind the counter. “They just show up when they want to.”

He chuckles in a low voice. “Gods bless them for that.”

Yanu leans on his forearms on the counter and hangs his head to let you kiss his cheek. Round, furry ears adorned with silver jewellery flutter as they brush against your hair. It tickles when his whiskers touch your face. 

Feeling his breath against your skin, you don’t have to speak loudly. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“You,” he points an accusatory finger at you, “interrupt my every coherent thought but I’ve learnt to enjoy that.”

Suddenly, your face gets hot. “I’m being serious, Yanu,” you say through flustered giggles. Even after all this time, it’s beyond easy for him to make you giddy.

“Likewise.” He winks at you before standing up straight. “So how can I spoil a princess’s palate?”

“Hm… I feel like elderberry.”

“Drunk all the time, feeling fine on elderberry wine*,” he sings while looking around for ingredients. The idea for a cocktail comes to him in an instant as befits a true connoisseur.

Yanu appears to be in a trance as he pours and mixes lemonade, vodka, St-Germain and some thyme. Every action is quick and decisive but never careless. Similarly, you are in a sort of trance, too - watching his white shirt and elegant black vest strain around the muscles of his arms. One day the seams of the garments might just let go but say, would it really be so bad?

The rakshasa pours elderflower syrup into the shaker. With a swift flick of his wrist, the shaker with your cocktail-to-be flips in the air. The metal cup makes a full circle only to be caught again by his hand, its content poured into a square drinking glass.

He looks at you in anticipation. Satisfaction is written all over his face. “Pretty nice, right?”

But you’re in a bantering mood tonight. Not letting him see how in awe you truly are, you only raise your eyebrows. “You have huge arms. It would be more impressive if you dropped that.”

Yanu sighs dramatically. He shakes his head and crosses his arms across his chest. If it wasn’t for the glimmer of amusement in his good eye, you’d think he’s genuinely upset. “And here I thought that a lowlife like me could impress a princess.”

“Well…” you ponder for a moment, “there are a few things you could do with your hands that would be impressive.”

Something changes about his demeanour. The amusement stayed but now it is joined by some darkness that leaves an aftertaste of chocolates with brandy - warming and rejuvenatingly bittersweet.

“Really?” he asks in a low voice. His blue eye is watching you intensely, almost looking through you. “Pray tell, what do you have in mind?”

Perhaps there’s some perversion to it but you enjoy leaving his question unanswered for a while. Slowly, you sip on the drink, silently enjoying the perfectly balanced flavours. Not too sweet, not too sour. A true testimony of how well Yanu knows you. That passionate gaze of his never once leaves you, catching even the smallest of movements. A predator or a lover? - how similar these two can be.

“A princess shouldn’t be saying such things out loud,” you finally say.

Yanu leans on his arms against the bar counter. With each exhale, his warm breath gently brushes against your face. There’s some intensity hidden under his casual demeanour as though if you were to play your cards right, he might just cause scandalous immodesty in full view of the clients.

“Will she share them away from prying ears?” More than a question, it’s a suggestion. One that you have neither the will nor the want to reject.

Feigning innocence, you shrug your shoulders. “Perhaps.”

The rakshasa only chuckles. He stands up straight and calls out to someone:

“Hey, Q’rill! Watch the bar for me for a bit, eh?”

The drow, equally well-dressed as Yanu, doesn’t even look your way. Still cutting a lemon into pieces, he answers in a heavy accent, “Got you, boss.”

Not waiting for a sign or a word of encouragement, you get off the stool and walk towards the closer end of the counter. Ever the gentleman, Yanu lifts the wooden part, letting you go behind the bar. But that’s not where the two of you are headed - you follow him through the back of the brewery, only to leave through the staff door.

The alley is dark and narrow. Something rattles in the skip filled with trash, probably a rat or two. In the distance, far away from where you’re standing, cars drive by every now and again. Muffled swing music played by the trio inside the bar sounds like an ambience of a faraway world.

Yanu pushes you against the wall. He’s towering over you - if he so wished, he could effortlessly throw you over his shoulder and carry off.  The bricks are cold against your back but soon you find them refreshing when compared to the warmth beaming from the rakshasa. His rough tongue slowly licks the side of your neck. It’s strange, tickling and absolutely delightful. 

One of his hands lifts your leg, resting your knee against his hips. Lustful greediness has him grabbing and groping whatever part of your thigh and ass.

Just when a pleased sigh leaves your lips, Yanu stops licking your neck and nuzzles it instead.

“So how can I impress my princess?” he purrs into your ear. 

He’s not waiting for an answer - not really. Not when you feel his clothed erection grinding against your groin. You can almost feel your arousal dripping down your legs.

Yanu’s other hand slides into your underwear. His fingers, thick and furry, sensually rub your clit in circles. Breath hitches in your throat. “Would this impress her?” he asks.

“Maybe,” you manage to say between whimpers.

The rakshasa only hums in response. It’s hard to say whether your answer satisfies him.

A loud moan escapes your lips as Yanu easily slips his fingers inside your pussy. The stretch is already more than enough for you. Slow strokes have him reaching deliciously deep inside you.

“You look so pretty like this, princess.”

Looking for support, your hands grab his shoulders. It feels as though your abdomen is suddenly set on fire, your coherent thoughts swimming away and turning into static, if not disappearing completely. There is only Yanu, his quiet groans against your neck and his thick fingers hitting that perfect spot.

“Faster, please,” you squeal.

With utmost pleasure, he obliges immediately. It feels so good you could scream but not a sound leaves your agape mouth. If you weren’t so lost in your pleasure, maybe you’d notice your legs quivering. Your grip on his shoulders only tightens, earning a chuckle from him.

“My princess is going to come?” Yanu coos.

No answer comes from you, only another pathetic moan. Desperate to orgasm, you begin rubbing your clit. It’s “allowed” in these extraordinary circumstances. No doubt Yanu’s “I live to please you” attitude will come back behind closed doors and between the white sheets of your bed.

Your vagina is clenching around his relentlessly thrusting fingers, your whole body begins shaking. A cry gets stuck in your throat. The wave of pleasure, the climax he so eagerly gives you, washes over you more like a tsunami than a wave. It drowns out your thoughts, your breathing, your strength. Fortunately, Yanu has a tight grip around your leg, keeping you standing straight. He’s still sliding in and out of you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

Finally, he slips his fingers out of you. You’re about to say something, thank him or praise him, when a loud crash resounds from inside the bar. Someone’s yelling but the voice is too muffled for either of you to understand what’s the matter.

Yanu and you exchange a look of both confusion and worry. Then, as though lovers know something akin to telepathy, the two of you chuckle.

“Mojito,” you say simultaneously.

When your laughter, contrary to the row next door, dies down, you let out a sigh. “Guess we’ll have to postpone our little escapade.” 

Yanu brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. He’s a cheeky man, staring right into your eyes while doing something so indecent. “I’m fine with that,” comes the answer.

But you can play that game, too.

Low groan rumbles inside his chest when your hand teasingly rubs his prominent bulge. He clenches his fists, doing his utmost best to keep himself collected. You could so easily make him fail at that…

“Are you, though?” you ask with faux innocence.

Although you’ve just had a great orgasm, you can feel your pussy throbbing again. As your mind wanders for a second or two, pondering possibilities, your mouth starts watering.

Yanu firmly grabs the wrist of your hand caressing his crotch. Keeping you in place, he grinds against your palm. Through clenched teeth, he growls into your ear.

“I’m a big boy,” the rakshasa purrs. “I can wait a few hours.”

“I know you’re big, boy,” you retort in an equally sultry voice. “I’ll see you home.”

In a loving gesture, he nuzzles against your neck one last time. “Don’t stray.”

After that, he watches you walk away. Only when you disappear behind the corner does he go back inside the bar. As much as he likes Q’rill, he’d much rather go back home with you.

_____

*Lyrics from "Elderberry wine" by Elton John. A bit of an anachronism, yes, but a damn good song.

If you see any books, plays, movies, paintings or songs mentioned, it's most probably something very close to my heart :)

I'm also a complete greenhorn in writing smut, so bear with me as I learn on the go.

#monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster smut #teratophillia #monster fucker #monster bachelors of dawncrest #monster x human #monster x female #monster x reader #monster x you #rakshasa x reader #rakshasa smut #rakshasa x you #rakshasa x human #monsterkink #monster kink #monster fucking #terato

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [31] - Chamomile

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: A ballroom can be a place of reconciliation.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of trauma and violence.

Word Count: 4400

Series Masterlist

The following days after that night were interesting.

Granted things were still quite tense between you two, but perhaps because now you knew that neither of you wanted to walk away from this no matter how terrible that fight had been, there was also an unspoken agreement of peace. 

You passed by the hallway, fixing your gloves as you went downstairs and as soon as you reached the foyer, you saw Benedict entering the house.

“Husband,” you greeted him in a half joking manner as you walked past him, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat.

“Wife,” he joked back, making you bite down on your smile but you stopped dead on your tracks as the thought hit you, and you turned around.

“Benedict wait,” you said, making him stop at the bottom of the stairs before he turned around as well to look at you.

“Yes?”

“We have the Coleshill ball tonight,” you said. “Don’t forget.”

“I haven’t,” he assured you. “At eight, I know. Are we going together?”

“I’ll be back before evening,” you said, shifting your weight. “So we can.”

He nodded and you cleared your throat, motioning at him.

“I mean if it’s fine with you, that is.”

“It’s fine—of course it’s fine,” he said quickly. “I just asked because you’re leaving, so…”

“To my uncle’s,” you replied and offered him a small smile. “Any luck with Lottie?”

“Not at all,” he said with a sigh. “And you?”

“I went there yesterday, she just sent a maid downstairs to tell me she was ill so she ‘couldn’t talk to me’,” you used air quotes and Benedict hummed.

“Same here,” he said. “Anthony says he saw her for a moment, she went to the drawing room to tell him she didn’t want to talk to him, and went straight back to her room.”  

“So she’s not speaking to any of us,” you clicked her tongue. “Great. I’ll talk to her during tonight’s ball, it’s fine.”

“You sound confident.”

“I try,” you murmured. “But if I get to talk to her, I’ll tell her the truth. Just so you know.”

“I doubt we have much of a choice on that, she already knows the general idea,” he commented and you shifted your weight.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “I really didn’t know she was there. I was arguing with Josie, and…”

“Not your fault,” he said, waving a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. And Josie?”

“She’ll come around,” you said. “By the way, if she knows then Bess knows as well. And probably Andrew.”

“Alright,” he said and cleared his throat. “I was thinking maybe I should talk to Josie.”

Your eyes widened. “What?” you asked. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I think she’d want an explanation about this whole thing.”

“Josie isn’t the type to listen to explanations.”

“I’ll try anyway,” he said and thought for a moment. “I should probably try it with a body armor though.”

“She’s not going to stab you,” you said, and shook your head. “She’s not. She knows better.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Both,” you muttered and took a deep breath. “Just—you know. It’ll be fine but be careful.”

“I will.”

“Also make sure there are witnesses around but it’ll be fine,” you added and he pulled his brows together.

“You are terrible at assuring people.”

“I’m working on it,” you admitted and clapped your hands together, offering him a smile. “It’ll be fine, hooray!”

He paused for a moment and blinked a couple of times, then nodded quite enthusiastically.

“Baby steps,” he said as if trying to encourage you. “We’ll get you there.”

You grimaced, making him chuckle and you both stared at each other for a moment, then you frowned, trying to snap out of it.

“Anyway, I’d better go.”

“Right,” Benedict said, shaking his head slightly. “See you when you come back.”  

“Sure thing,” you said and you walked out of the house, then approached the carriage as the coachman opened the door for you.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“My uncle’s house,” you said and got in the carriage. “Thank you.”

                                   *

When you got to your uncle’s house, there was no sign of Teddy or your aunt, and you looked around, then made your way to the closed door of your uncle’s study to knock on it.

“Come in!” he called out and you opened the door to peek your head in.

“Good morning uncle.”

“Oh my Clover is here!” he smiled and got up from his seat. You walked to him to hug him with a laugh.

“Were you busy?”

“Not at all, just going over…” he motioned at his desk. “Never mind. Your aunt and Teddy are outside at the park.”

“Oh that’s alright,” you said. “I was actually hoping I could talk to you?”

“Of course, sit down, sit down!” he said and called for the maid passing by the door, then asked her for some cookies and tea. You sat down on the sofa and he came to take his place on the armchair.

“To what do I owe this wonderful surprise?”

“I need your wisdom.”

“It’s at your service,” he joked as the maid walked in, carrying a tray.

“Thank you,” you said as she placed the cookies and tea on the small coffee table, then curtsied and left the room. You took a sip of your tea and leaned back.

“Any other letters?”

“None,” he said. “As I’ve told you.”

“That’s a relief at least.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” he assured you. “Now, what do you need my wisdom for?”

You looked down at the tea cup in your hand, then raised your glances.

“You and auntie have been married for a long time,” you started. “And auntie says you two fell in love after your first dance.”

“We did,” he said with a smile. “I thought I was dreaming when I first saw her.”

You licked your lips. “And you’re…you still love each other.”

“We do.”

“So you’ve never had a fight or anything right?”

He tilted his head. “Clover, what is this about?”

You took a deep breath, then cleared your throat.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you started. “Let’s say you and auntie had a fight and hypothetically it was a big fight and hypothetically you said things.”

“A lot of hypotheticals.”

“I woke up curious,” you replied and he chuckled.

“Is everything alright between you and Benedict?”

“Sure,” you said. “So? What would you do if that happened?”

He reached out to grab a cookie, then hummed.

“To answer your first question, we did have fights, me and your aunt,” he said and you frowned.

“You have the perfect marriage.”

“Perfect marriages don’t just happen, Clover,” he said. “Especially at the start of the said marriage. Yes we were in love, we still are but it doesn’t mean we didn’t have arguments. Every couple is bound to have them sooner or later.”

“Why did you have a fight?”

“Well, marriage is a huge change in one’s life. Takes a bit of time to get used to,” he said. “The important thing is to never forget how much you love the person you’re married to, no matter what you’re fighting over.”

You pressed your lips together and he gave you a small smile.

“How bad was the fight?”

“I uh—I said things,” you admitted and paused for a moment. “Not necessarily nice things.”

“Ah,” he said. “An apology could work, perhaps?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you try?”

“…No,” you said after a beat and sat up straighter. “I have another question.”

“Ask away dear.”

“How did you know?” you asked. “That you were in love with auntie?”

He thought for a couple of seconds, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I suppose I realized that no one else but her made me happier,” he said. “When I imagined my future, anything else was a detail as long as she was there. She was my first thought as I woke up and last thought as I went to sleep and I couldn’t…I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I didn’t have her in my life.”

You blinked a couple of times; the idea was way too familiar to you. You swallowed thickly, then let out a huff of breath and buried your palms into your eyes.

“He loves you,” he said, making you lower your hands. “Anyone could see that. A fight won’t change things as long as you two talk about what happened.”

“That’s not my strongest suit,” you murmured and he chuckled.

“No harm in trying.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Perhaps because it is easy?” he asked. “If you’re wondering the key to a good marriage, it’s knowing when to listen and when to apologize.”

You slipped a little on the sofa and hummed.

“What if I try to apologize and he doesn’t want to hear it?”

“No offense Clover but out of the two of you, I’d say it’s you who doesn’t want to hear apologies and not him.”

You pouted your lips.

“That’s not…” you started to protest, then let out a noise of agreement and shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, you might be right about that.”

                                  *

Coleshill Ball was an absolute blast. Lord Easton had apparently decided to attend along with Lucy and Henry, and he was instantly surrounded by many people trying to talk to him. He had only had a couple of seconds to greet you and Benedict before his many admirers started talking over each other, eager to have a conversation with him. The orchestra was very talented as well, so everyone seemed to be having fun, dancing and socializing.

Everyone except you, Benedict and Anthony. The three of you found yourselves huddled in the corner of the room while Lottie adamantly ignored you, busy with her conversation with Lord Finney after their dance. Lord Finney hadn’t stopped eyeing Lottie with a small smirk you didn’t like since the end of their dance, and you could swear if you tried to pass by Anthony’s eyesight, you would have dropped dead from a thousand invisible daggers he was glaring at Lord Finney whereas Benedict looked nearly impatient, biting inside his cheek.

“Can I stab him?” you asked to no one in particular and both Benedict and Anthony answered at the same time.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You looked up at Benedict. “The head of the family said yes.”

“Now you want to listen to someone?” he asked you. “Not to mention him of all people? You don’t even like him.”

“I’m standing right here Ben.”

“She doesn’t like you Anthony,” Benedict deadpanned without so much as sparing him a glance and you made a face.

“I have no idea what you speak of,” you mused. “I’ve been nothing but nice to Anthony.”

Anthony leaned forward to look at you around Benedict’s arm, a look of disbelief etched in his features. “This is you being nice?”

“You’re standing here alive and well, so yes.”

Benedict suppressed a laugh, and you took a deep breath, pursing your lips.

“You know what, that’s enough,” you said. “The next dance will not start for a half an hour, I’ll go there and talk to her.”

“And Finney?”

“I’ll threaten him,” you said and Benedict nodded.

“Want me to come with you?”

“I can intimidate people by myself Benedict, have some faith,” you told him and walked away from them to approach Lottie and Lord Finney.

“Lottie,” you said as you reached them. “Good evening.”

She stole a look at you, pouting. “Good evening to you too Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“…Fair enough,” you muttered and nodded in Finney’s direction. “Leave us.”

“Mrs. Bridgerton—”

You turned to him, your eyes narrowing into a cold glare as your voice lowered into a growl.

“I said leave.”

A look of intimidation crossed his eyes and he swallowed thickly, then took a step back and bowed his head before walking away from you both.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Lottie said and you shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not interested in being nice,” you commented and gave her a small smile. “Can we talk Lottie? Please?”

Her brows furrowed for a moment, that pout still apparent on her lips.

“Five minutes is all I ask,” you said. “I’d like to explain myself if you’d let me.”

She thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh.

“Fine.”

“Great,” you said, a smile lighting up your face, “Let’s go outside.”

She followed you out of the ballroom and you both stepped outside to the garden. Thankfully there weren’t people around which was no wonder considering how fun the ball was inside, so you approached the nearest bench and sat down, Lottie taking her spot next to you.

“So?” she asked. “If you’re going to tell me any more lies—”

“I’m not,” you cut her off and shook your head. “I’m not going to lie to you, and I’m sorry that I did. I really am.”

That seemed to take her by surprise and she frowned slightly.

“And I know you heard my and Josie’s argument but I don’t think of you gullible or anything, it was just something I said because I was frustrated with Josie and the whole thing. I hope you know that.”

She nodded and thought for a moment.

“Tell me everything,” she said. “From the very beginning.”

So you did. If anything, it was such a relief that you felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders, and when you were finished a silence fell upon you both before Lottie let out a breath.

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Exactly. You know what the ton thinks of me, they say Benedict married me because I trapped him or lured him away from you, or I planned it—”

“That’s not true.”

“And if they thought a scandal happened, you know what they would say about me,” you said. “So we told no one. The only reason we told Anthony was because he—he needed to know, considering everything. As I said, even my family doesn’t know.”

“Did you not trust me?”

“That’s not the reason,” you shook your head. “Lottie, you were so happy for us. I just couldn’t…I couldn’t bring myself to disappoint you and I’m sure Benedict feels the same.”

“You could never disappoint me,” she said. “I was just—I was sad.”

“I know.”

She nibbled on her lip and took a deep breath.

“Well,” she said. “At least it’s a relief that it wasn’t all a lie.”

“What?”

“Benedict and you have a love marriage.”

You raised your brows. “Uh, Lottie—”

“You two got married because you were caught kissing.”

“That’s lust Lottie, not love,” you said in a haste and she rolled her eyes at you.

“You honestly can’t see how he looks at you?” she asked. “Or how you look at him?”

Your heart skipped a beat and you sat up straighter. “Well because we had to pretend to be in love—”

“No one is that good of a pretender,” she said. “Not even you. And I’ve known Benedict for a long time, so I’d be able to tell if he were in fact pretending. It’s alright if you can’t see it yet, but I will be here to say I told you so when you finally realize that it is in fact a love marriage.”

You tried to swallow the nervous lump in your throat and averted your glances.

“Benedict and I are…” you trailed off. “We’re bound.”

“By marriage?”

“By fate.”

“By your hearts as well,” she pointed out and smiled at you, then pulled you into a hug. You hugged her back, and heaved a sigh when she pulled back.

“I’d better go, otherwise my next dance partner will assume I’m avoiding him,” she sighed and stood up. “Are you coming?”

“I think I’ll get some fresh air, it helps me think,” you said. “But I could also intimidate your next dance partner if you’d like.”

“I don’t wish to be rude,” she told you with a giggle and you saw Anthony stepping out of the house, making you tilt your head. Lottie turned around as he made his way to you.

“Charlotte, can we—?”

“No because I’m still angry at you,” Lottie said. “And I’m angry at Benny too, make sure to tell him that please.”

You pressed your lips together to contain your laughter at Anthony’s puzzled expression, but before he could say anything, Lottie stuck her nose in the air and walked past him to go back into the house. Anthony threw his head back and heaved a sigh while you leaned back, resting your elbows on the back of the bench.

“She forgave you?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

“And she refuses to talk to me.”

“I have a more charming personality than you do.”

“Not really,” he said. “I mean just because your marriage is turbulent, doesn’t mean you should go around making others’ the same as well.”

You pulled your brows together in confusion. “You’re not married, in case it has escaped your notice.”

“I could’ve been,” he pointed out, “if I could get some spare time from the string of scandals you all throw at me. First you and Benedict, then Daphne and Simon, and now Colin wants to marry Miss Marina.”

“Wait really?” you asked. “It feels like yesterday he was getting all nervous to even talk to her. They grow up so fast.”

“Colin is older than you, Y/N.”

“That’s irrelevant,” you said and he came to sit beside you.

“So yeah, if everyone could stop for a moment to let me at least court Charlotte without getting in the way, it would be much appreciated.”

You smiled slightly and shrugged your shoulders.

“Patience is a virtue they say,” you said. “Perhaps waiting patiently will teach you a valuable lesson in the meantime.”

He scoffed. “Have you ever waited patiently for anything?”

“I’ve been waiting patiently for this conversation to end ever since you opened your mouth,” you retorted and rolled your eyes. “But if anything, she wants to marry you too.”

He turned to you, hope shining in his eyes. “She said that?”

“She mentioned it, yes,” you said. “So until she decides to forgive you, send her flowers, proclaim your undying love on a bent knee, whatever it is that in love people do.”

He nodded slowly, then cleared his throat.

“Speaking of that,” he said. “Is everything okay between Benedict and you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” you said and stole a glance at him. “What did he tell you?”

“He mentioned that you two had an argument but judging by the tortured look on his face for the last weeks up until a couple of days ago, I’d say it’s something more than a simple argument.”

You bit on your nail, keeping your gaze on the house.

“I’m not very pleasant when I’m angry,” you said and he raised his brows.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not very pleasant when you’re not angry either,” he stated and you turned your head to make a face at him.

“I would say I’m more pleasant than you but let’s be honest, it’s not like you’re setting a high standard there” you told him, making his lips twitch in amusement.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But just so you know; whatever it is that is bothering you, whatever happened between you and Benedict, if my help is needed in any way it’s at your service.”

You blinked a couple of times, furrowing your brows.

“…Why?”

“Because you’re family.”

A tentative smile curled your lips and your eyes darted over his face to get a hint of insincerity, but it wasn’t there.

“Thank you,” you mumbled after a pause and he shook his head.

“Don’t mention it,” he said and you saw Benedict stepping outside. Anthony turned to look at him, then stood up.

“I’ll try my chances to talk to Charlotte,” he said and walked away from you, passing by Benedict to get in the house. Benedict put his hands in his pockets and approached you.

“Hello there.”

“Hello,” you said and stuck your nose in the air in an exaggerated smug manner. “Lottie forgave me.”

He tilted his head. “Really?”

“Yes but she’s still angry at you and Anthony,” you said and he hummed.

“That explains why she glared at me when she got back in the ballroom just now.”

You grinned. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“I appreciate that,” he said with a chuckle and motioned at the bench. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” you said and he sat beside you, making you bite down on your lip, stealing a look at him.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

“I’m…” you paused for a moment, your heart climbing up to your throat in nervousness, making you take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

A look of surprise crossed his face and you sat up straighter, turning to see him better.

“I don’t…I don’t really pay attention to the words I say when I’m angry, which is no excuse but—I’m working on it,” you said, nodding as if trying to encourage yourself. “And I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean any of that.”

A soft light appeared in his eyes and he nodded.

“Your apology is heard and accepted,” he quoted you, making you frown in doubt.

“That easily?”

“Mm hm,” he said. “That easily.”

“I would’ve made me suffer more.”

“Good thing we’re complete opposites then,” he said and you bit back a smile.

“Good thing for me at the very least,” you commented as the beginning notes of the orchestra’s dance tune reached your ears. Benedict stole a look at you.

“Do you want to dance?”

“I don’t feel like going back inside,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Too crowded.”

“Who said we needed to go back inside?” he asked as he stood up to offer his hand. A scoff of laughter escaped from your mouth, and your eyes went from his hand up to his face to see whether he was jesting or not. That playful lopsided grin curled his lips as you placed your hand in his, and he pulled you up to your feet.

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh I absolutely am,” he said as he entwined his fingers with yours and you let him twirl you before he pulled you closer, a giggle climbing up your throat despite you trying to repress it.

You two were standing much closer than this dance -or any dance- required, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You rested a hand on his broad chest, feeling the thrumming of his heart underneath your fingertips and he sneaked an arm around your waist, burying his nose into your hair while you two swayed slowly with the tune.

“I missed this,” Benedict murmured into your hair and you closed your eyes for a moment, inhaling his pleasant scent as discreetly as you could, all your senses full of him.

“Dancing?”

“Holding you,” he said softly and you smiled, opening your eyes but not pulling back.

“It’s peaceful,” you whispered and he hummed, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb, the simple gesture making your stomach do a happy flip.

“It is.”

“I missed it too,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “It’s been—”

“Hey lovebirds!” Henry’s voice cut through you and you pulled back, both you and Benedict turning to look at him. Lucy elbowed Henry.

“I told you not to interrupt!”

“They can continue that later on,” Henry said as you felt your cheeks burn, shifting your weight before you managed to smile at them.

“Hello.”

“We have a party to catch, come on,” Henry held up an envelope. “Apparently Jane felt like throwing a celebration for the sake of it all of a sudden, Thomas just sent word. You’re both invited as well.”

“Everyone is already there,” Lucy added and Henry grinned.

“Gordon is coming as well—we’ll go get the carriage,” he said and they both walked away from you. Benedict heaved a sigh.

“I don’t think—” you paused for a moment. “I think I’ll skip this one but you should go.”

“Oh no, I don’t have to be there,” he said in a haste and you smiled slightly.

“Benedict,” you said. “Go have fun, it’s been a while. I would’ve come with if it were any other time, but I think I should try to make things better between Lottie and Anthony—don’t tell him I said that.”

He pulled his brows together. “Sorry, you’ll try to make things better between them?”

“Yes.”

“Who are you and what did you do to my wife?”

Your heart skipped a beat at that but you bit back a smile, then heaved a sigh.

“What can I say? I’m very compassionate.”

He shot you a playful look before pointing at the house with his thumb. “Was there something in the lemonade?”

“I feel responsible,” you said. “And I don’t know, he’s—he’s family, so I should just at least try to patch things between them. Put in a good word and such.”

That made him smile before he cleared his throat.

“I don’t have to go, it’s just some party,” he insisted. “I’ll help you.”

“Lottie isn’t talking to you either, I doubt you’d be much of a help,” you reminded him and let out a laugh. “Go. I swear this is not me setting you up for…for a fight in the morning. I’ll make things better between those two and then go home. I doubt I’ll be able to talk to you when we go into that ballroom anyway, no reason for you to come with.”

He thought for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” you said. “Go have fun. I’ll come with you to the other one, I promise.”

He looked at you as if trying to read your mind and took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be home early, okay? Definitely before you go to sleep.”

“Alright,” you said. “Well I have a very stubborn friend to convince, so if you’ll excuse me...”

He smiled softly, then held your hand to place a kiss on the back of it, making your heartbeat faster.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.”

“Deal,” you said, your cheeks still burning. “Have fun, give everyone my regards.”

“Good luck with those two,” he said, nodding in the direction of the house before walking away from you and you heaved a sigh, then licked your lips.

“Alright,” you muttered, painfully aware of the smile on your face as you made your way to the house. “This should be interesting.”

Chapter 32

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

[tinydeskwriter]

Actress!y/n Talking About Harry in Interviews Over the Years (2014-2017)

A/n: before committing into writing 2014 til 2023 I want to see you guys opinion, and I just watched a bunch of interviews to get ideas from. Just as a career background for the reader: She’s a former Disney Channel star, from the Miley, Selena, Demi, Jonas Brothers generation, she went into Hunger Games to solidify herself, before going for more Award bait movies and a musical career. She won Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress in 2016 and Best Actress in 2017, this has happened before once at the Academy Awards, Tom Hanks if I am not mistaken.

word count: 2964

The Ellen DeGeneres Show, Oct, 2014:

“And we are back with Y/n Y/l/n.” Ellen said to the audience before turning back to the young artist sitting in her couch. “So, you’re single…”

The people cheered in the audience.

“I like how you say this and it isn’t even a question.”Y/n joked looking a the people in the audience, making everyone laugh, including the presenter, who laughed a little embarrassed by the misstep. “But, yeah, I’am single and ready to mingle.”

“So just to clear up rumours: you aren’t hooking up with your hunk of a co-star?”the blonde joked, keeping up with the young woman sarcasm and good humor. 

“Which one? You have to be specific here, I literally have a lot of male co-star, but as a personal rule, I don’t date them… or hook up.” The young actress clarified, looking at Ellen and them the public. “But I specially don’t hook up with guys in relationships, that’s really trash person behavior.”The girl’s response was applauded by the women in the audience. “Thank you, thank you,”She said seriously, signaling them to calm down, “don’t go applauding me for not doing something I wouldn’t want done to me.”

Which generated a new wave of applause.

“Now, calm down guys, we have a game to play” Ellen asked the audience, waiting for the noise in the studio to subside before turning to the guest in the couch, “So, you’re single, and ready to mingle, so we’re going to play a game, so I can get to know your type, and perhaps help you find love, and end your loneliness.” The presenter said looking at Y/n while ‘Who’d You Rather?’ appeared on the back screen. “It’s a little game of Who’d You Rather? We are going to put two pictures in the screen and you’re going to choose one guy over the other.”

“O-kay.”the young actress agreed, looking to the screen.

“Perfect, let’s start with Nick Jonas or Harry Styles?”The host asked as pictures of the two man showed up in the screen.

Y/n looks pointedly at Ellen, who’s hiding a little smile while looking straight to the young artist.

“I’ve been really enjoying Nick Jonas’s music.” The actress said admiring the picture of he two men on screen. “‘Chains’ is just so sexy, and ‘Jealous’ is kinda of sexy and funny, I totally see his appeal…”

“I am feeling a ‘but’ coming.”Ellen interrupted her.

Y/n paused for a moment amid the crowd cheering, laughing at they enthusiasm. “But, I don’t know Nick Jonas, and I kinda of know Mr.Styles…”The crowd went crazy with her declaring to know the One Direction singer. “Harry is such a nice guy, so very polite.”

“So, Harry Styles, because he’s polite?”Ellen asked her with that knowing smile.

Y/n just hided her face with one hand, she knew the blonde was doing that on purpose, probably with her boyfriend’s blessing to torture her in national television.

She just nodded in agreement without taking her face off her hand.

“Okay, nice, so Harry Styles or Michael B Jordan?”Ellen asked, seeming to be having the time of her life.

Y/n raised her face, looking at the two pictures.

“I mean…”The young woman put a finger in her lower lip, arching her eyebrow towards the audience. “Gosh, this is tough, but I am nothing if not constant, so Styles.”

“Harry Styles or Zac Efron?”

“I don’t feel like Zac is age appropriated for me, so I will keep Harry.”She knew that Harry was probably having a lot of fun in her dressing room.

“You know this is only a pretend game, right?”The presenter asked, making even Y/n break character. “Now, Harry Styles or Bruno Mars?”

“Bruno is a very talented man, but I will keep my answer, I feel like he’s a little older for me, different phases, while Harry and I are around the same age, so, I am going with Harry.”She shrugged.

“Harry Styles or John Meyer?” Ellen asked.

“Give me some Harry Styles.” She didn’t even had to ponder her answer, the whole world probably knew already that John Meyer was a walking red-flag.

“Harry Styles or Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“Jake is hot, I had a major crush a few years back, but that had been said, I got over it, so, Styles.”The young woman said without taking her eyes off the hem of her Oscar de la Renta dress.

“Harry Styles or Calvin Harris?”

“You know, I am starting to think that you took those guys from a Taylor Swift’s exes list.” The actress commented, making the audience go wild as Ellen laughed. “That said, Calvin Harris is Taylor Swift’s boyfriend, so I kinda of feel obligated to choose Mr.Styles.”

“I’s not because you want to choose Harry…”Y/n hated he cynical smile in Ellen’s face.

“Noooo-no-noo-no.” The actress denied hilariously. “I’am a respectful girl, I don’t want other girl’s man, and that’s why I’am keeping Harry Styles.”

“Perfect.” Ellen said still smiling, “Yeah, Harry Styles or Jared Leto?”

“Wouldn’t it be fun, if I came the whole game with Harry just to switch him for Jared Leto?”She asked, knowing the uproar it would cause. “Jared is so handsome, so very talented, he’s vegan… but like, he’s in his forties, kinda of my mom’s age, it would be weird, so let’s keep Harry.”Not even Ellen was been able to keep a straight face anymore. “I mean, we came all this way, I feel like settling for Harry.”

“I think you’re one of the few twenty-years old that would ever say that.” Ellen said, making Y/n laugh, the two looked at the screen expecting the next guy, only to have Harry photo single out in the middle of the screen. “Looks like we have a winner, Mr. Harry Styles, wouldn’t it be funny if he was backstage?”

The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, Nov, 2015

“You’ve had quite the year, you released a album, that it’s absolutely amazing and is at the top of every chart, and you starred in three fantastic movies this year: Cinderella, Carol and The Hunger Games Mockingjay Part II, which by the way is premiering tomorrow…” Jimmy Fallon said to the cheering of the audience.

“Yeah, feels like the end of a era.” Y/n said with a bright smile, crossing her legs and resting one elbow on the support of the armchair.

“This is the last installment in the franchise, it must be quite a special premiere,” Jimmy said. “early this year, during Cinderella’s London premiere you had a very special guest at the red carpet with you, are you bringing him again for this premiere, or that was a one time only thing? Are you guys still friends?” He joked using the term the actress herself had used before when referring to hers and Harry’s relationship.

The actress blushed a little, a shy smile on her face as the audience cheered.

“We’re still great friends, the closest…” the young woman said full of innuendos as Jimmy smiled wildly. “You know, I actually didn’t know he was coming to the Cinderella UK premiere till I was ready to leave the hotel.” She told he host. “He was supposed to be on a plane to South Africa, where he had a show the very next day.”

“He surprised you?” Jimmy asked, clearly pleased that the private young actress was opening up, for the very first time, about her very private relationship at his show. “And for those in the audience who doesn’t know, ‘he’ is the One Direction’s heartthrob, Harry Styles.”

The female in the audience went wild to the mere mention of his name.

“He did, I had invited him, because we were in that point of our relationship where we decided to be less secretive, so I was attending every show of his that my schedule allowed, trying to be a supportive girlfriend.” She explained, smiling when thinking about her handsome boyfriend. “At that point so far, his tour schedule hadn’t allowed him to go to my premieres, and then he surprised me, he was waiting for me inside the car, my sister slash assistant helped him.” The audience once again went crazy.

“Is he coming with you tomorrow?”

“He is, he had  last minute suit fitting today, it’s so amazing to be able to bring him with me,”Y/n admitted with a smile. “since the band went in a break, we’ve been able to spend so much time together, no more tour for a while.”

“How long have you guys been together? If you don’t mind me asking?” Jimmy was leaning slightly over the table, his body directed towards her.

“Sometime.”She replied vaguely, with a mysterious smile. “Longer than most people imagine, thats for sure.”

The Jimmy Kimmel Live!, March, 2016.

“Congrats on a very successful Award Season, I think you kind of won every award out there, you won the Academy Award of Best Supportive Actress for Carol, the Golden Globes, Cannes back in May, you just won five Grammy’s for your first album, Y/n Y/l/n I” The host said as soon as they’re both seated. “And, last but not least, congratulations on your marriage.” He gave emphases to the word ‘marriage’. 

In what became a viral moment, Y/n Y/l/n had thanked her husband ‘H’ for being ‘just the most supportive and amazing hubby’

“When did you guys get married?”Kimmel asked. “We see each other all the time, I feel like this is the kind of thing you tell your neighbor.” Jimmy said with a smile. “Am I getting a new neighbor? Are you guys moving out…?Honestly I am kind of hurt I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

“Thank you.” Y/n said with a polite. “So, we got married back in December, we are going to England for Christmas with his family, we had got engaged in France during a couple’s vacay, and we didn’t want to wait,” She told him. “The only people there were our parents and sisters, but we’re planning a bigger ceremony sometime this year or the next.”She clarified.

“Will I be invited?”The host asked.

“For sure, you know I adore you, you’re one of my favorite neighbors.” Y/n agreed. 

And it wasn’t as if she was going to say ‘no’ in national television. 

“I know this is something your going to be asked about a lot,” Kimmel continued. “Did you change your last name? Because I feel like Styles is a cool name to have.”

“I did,” She admitted as the audience went wild. “Legally I am Mrs. Harry Styles, but professionally I am still going to be Y/n Y/l/n.”

The Ellen DeGeneres’s Show, Dec, 2016.

“Congratulations.” Ellen said pointing at her belly. “Last time you’re on the show you had just got married, and won a Academy Award for Carol, I wasn’t able to attend your wedding, because you guys decided to get married in Italy…”

“But I send you and Portia your gift basket.” Y/n interrupted, smiling at the memory of their idyllic wedding at their Italian villa back in May.

“And we loved it, thank you, it was very nice of you and Harry.” The host said as a picture of the basket was shown on the screen behind them, Y/n handwritten note for all to see. “So, you won a Oscar, you won five Grammys, you got married, La La Land went amazing in Cannes, and now your having a little baby, I remember the first time you told me about you and Harry, back in 2014, you’re here for a interview about The Hunger Games and he tagged along…”

“You made me play ‘Who’d You Rather?’ and he was in the dressing room having the time of his life…”

“Yeah, well, I was having fun too.” Ellen admitted making the audience laugh. “Back then it was all very secretive, you’re at the beginning of your relationship, so I didn’t ask you how you guys met, but Harry was here later with 1D, and he didn’t get into much detail, but he said you guys were set up on a blind date.”

“Hold up.”Y/n raised her hand. “Did he actually said ‘WE’? Because recollections may vary.” The actress said with humor. “IF memory serves me right, I was basically ambushed into a blind date with him, he actually ASKED our mutual friend to set us up after he found out she knew me, and then my sister in law waited until after we announced we are having a baby to tell me that Harry had a crush on me since 2006, and he basically had a poster of Rosie Lewis, my Disney Channel character, on his childhood bedroom and…”The audience starts to laugh. “Hold on guys, and apparently he told Gem, my sister in law: you don’t believe me now, but we are soul mates, one day I am going to marry that girl.” 

“And you didn’t run for the hill? It’s kinda of creepy.” Ellen said with a funny face that made people laugh.

“It’s…”The actress seemed a little at loss of word in how o defend her husband, but kept a amused smile on her face. “I think is kind of cute, is a little creepy, sure, but it’s nice to know he was crazy about me since forever and that I was his celebrity crush.” She said to the ‘awn’ of the audience. “I mean, I always thought that when it comes to Harry it would be some thirty-something year old cougar.”

 The Late Late Night Show with James Corden, Aug, 2017

 “Oh, My Gosh! This is absolutely disgusting.” Y/n said looking at all the smelly disgusting food in front of her. 

“I know!”James said in pure joy. “You go first. To eat, I’m going to give you a little cod sperm.” He turned the table until he dish was in front of he, he took the card with the questions and laugh. “Y/n, your husband, Harry Styles, was part of one of the world’s biggest boybands, One Direction, list the boys from your favorite to your least favorite, vocally.”

Y/n was silent for a second, only looking at James with half-closed eyes, she speared the cod fish sperm with her fork, lifting i in the air, causing the audience to react.

“There is no way I am eating this.” The artist said, putting it down, she rests her elbows on the table and intertwined her fingers. “I don’t think it is really hard to answer this.” She rested her chin on her fingers, looking defiantly at a shocked James. “My question is: to rank the five boys or minus Zayn?”

“Let’s do it minus Zayn.”The host said. “Are you really going to answer it?”

“I am not eating it. So… H first, I feel that he was the one with the strongest vocals, Niall, because he has this really lovely voice, Liam and then Louis.” She said without getting into detail about the last two.

#

“I’am giving you the bull penis now.” Said James. “Y/n, rank those Harry Styles hair style’s”

The man proceeded to show her three pictures, one of 2011 baby!Harry, in all his preppy glory and curls, 

2015 longhair!Harry and 2017 Dunkirk!Harry.

“I mean…”The artist sighed. “ I love him, he’s my husband, I honestly think he is hot no mater what.” The actress clarified. “That being said, long-hair!Harry was the H I started to date back in 2014, he looked like  such a bad boy but he was actually a pretty shy guy, so soft and caring, I loved that hair, that hair makes me feel things, so I will say that this one is my favorite.”

“I honestly found it disturbing to hear you speaking of him like that.”James said seriously, making the audience laugh. 

“Shush James, this is a serious matter,” Y/n jokingly reprimanded her husband’s friend. “Short hair Harry, which is his Dunkirk haircut by the way, is also very hot, he’s in a suits phase now, with all those silk shirts, and it’s just so very ‘daddy’ you know,” The young woman said admiring her husband’s picture.  “He’s also just so lucky to no longer have that long hair, because Atticus is just in that phase that he is happy to pull things.” She laughed seeing James shaking his head with eyes closed as the audience cheered.

“I honestly will never be able to erase you calling Harry ‘daddy’”

“But he is, we have a son together James, I wasn’t even saying it in a sex tone, so get over it, Harry is a daddy, I call him daddy all the time,” She picked the picture of her husband, showing it to James, “just look at him, he’s such a DILF, who wouldn’t want to call him daddy?” The audience went wild.

The host hided his face behind baby!Harry picture.

“Y/n I don’t need the specifics, just give us the ranking.”

“I don’t want to hurt my husbands feelings about his hair choices, you put yourself in this situation James, you said: do you want to play a really fun game?”Y/n said with a mischievous smile. “It isn’t that funny anymore is it?”She laughs. “Ok, let’s move on. So, baby!harry, he looks cute, I think 2011 Y/n would totally have a crush on him too.”

“So your ranking is 2015 long-hair, 2017 short-hair and baby!Harry?”asked James.

“Yeah.”Y/n agreed, “I honestly would fu** him in all those hairstyles, he’s just so dreamy, you know?”

PART TWO

#harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles x actress!yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you

[thecuriousquest]

Brother Dabi with a reader that cowers, whimpers, cries, ect, ect whenever he touches her or raises his voice. Sadly he’s confused as to why she’s like that and just makes it worse (if you feel like adding comfort in the end that’s 100% up to you, I’m happy with whatever)

What Are You Really Afraid of?

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug @palesweetscherryblossom

Warnings: Platonic yandere themes, NSFW (physical abuse), Enji is abusive, past event of abuse briefly mentioned; the abuse mentions hair pulling (not sexual), slapping, beating with belt, and condescending behavior; hurt/comfort

Master List

Request Rules

—————————————————————————

Touya doesn’t understand why you’re so scared of him. Sure, he teases you like a big brother does. Sometimes, he can be a little rough while playing around with you. But all in all, he can’t fathom why you’re deathly terrified of him all of a sudden.

He has to get to the bottom of this.

When you come home from school, he decides to turn off the television and confront you.

You notice the heavy clunk of his combat boots drawing closer and closer. You take off for the stairs, but he cuts you off, standing right in front of them before you can even get to the landing.

“You and me are gonna have a talk.”

He grabs you by your elbow and drags you up to his room. He shuts the door behind him, locking it, trapping you.

When he turns back to face you, there are tears blurring your vision, your fists are clenched, and you’re trembling like a leaf in the wind. Seeing you like this when he hasn’t even done anything makes his heart clench with anger, but he forces himself to calm down. Taking a deep breath and counting to five in his head, he points at the bed for you to sit down.

“Go on. Sit. I want to talk to you.”

“Touya…please, I just want to go to my room.”

“And I want to know why you act like this when you’re around me.”

Taking a seat on his flannel sheets, you notice that he stays by the door with his hands shoved in his pockets. You aren’t sure if he’s trying to come off as non threatening or if he’s trying to show you that you won’t be able to run away from him by blocking your only exit.

“Good girl. Now, can you tell me what’s going on?”

It’s not that you hate Touya. You’ve loved him all your life. Sure, he can be rough with you at times, but he’s always been your warrior, your protector.

Recently, after a pretty horrible beating from your father while Touya was away with work, you just can’t look into his eyes and not see Enji. He shares those same electric cerulean orbs with your father. Your dad’s flames can reach the same cobalt hue as your brother’s quirk, and that thought is also unsettling.

But you know Touya isn’t like your father, but you can’t help but see him in your brother! It’s confusing, and it leaves your head and heart aching.

The tears finally flow over your lower lids, and you break down. Elbows resting on knees while your hands rake through vibrant, scarlet locks. Your father would scold you and tell you to sit like a lady, but Touya doesn’t say anything. Touya only stands there, shifting on his feet. You can tell he’s debating whether to give you space or solace.

“Hey, what’s going on? Y/N, I don’t understand-“

“Fucking shut up! Just stop talking!” You blow up at him. Looking into his wide eyes, you point a finger at him. “What would you have done if I didn’t want to come in here with you?!”

That question is rather unexpected. He doesn’t like the tone his baby sister is taking with him, but now isn’t the time for scolding. He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“I would’ve just picked you up,” he admits. It’s what he usually does. All he has to do is sling you over a shoulder and carry you off to wherever he wants you to be.

“Exactly! You’d just pick me up. Just do whatever the hell you want with me. Just like Dad.”

And that, THAT, causes him to snap. He stands up straight, hands out of his pockets, and he stomps over to you.

“You think I’m just like that monster? Is that what you believe?”

It’s not…but isn’t it? Isn’t that what all this has been about?

“Well?” He’s calm but firm.

“Why do you two have to have the same eye color? Ever since he beat me and you came back, it’s all I can think about. I hate it! I hate that looking at you reminds me of what he did to me!”

And now he understands but it’s something that he doesn’t know how to fix.

Touya releases a pent up breath, his fingers combing through his mass of black hair. “Jesus, kid, what did he do to you?” he asks while taking a seat next to you on the bed.

You really don’t want to relive that night, the night a few days before he came back from a work trip. It’s just too painful.

Maybe it will help to vent though. Touya’s always been a great listener.

“He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me to his room. He slapped me and took his belt to me. I tried to get away. It only made him angrier. It was even worse when he told me you wouldn’t be there to come to my rescue. It was like he was taunting me.”

Hesitantly, he places a hand on your back, watching for a reaction. When you don’t try to pull away, he wraps an arm around you, letting you cry on his shoulder. You clutch his shirt.

“I’m sorry! I was just scared!”

“I know. I get it. Dad can be…Dad. I’ll never treat you like that, and you better get that through your thick skull.”

“I don’t have a thick skull,” you pout.

Touya snorts. “Yeah, you do. We all do. Even Shoto has a thick skull. Damn near can’t get anything through to him.”

This causes you to giggle at the thought of your socially awkward older brother.

You sit and talk with Touya-Nii a little while longer until he sends you off so that he can have a chat with Enji.

Said chat may or may not include Touya beating the living shit out of his father until he can barely stand or breathe.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #my hero acedamia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #platonic yandere dabi #platonic yandere big brother #yandere dabi x reader #yandere dabi

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Homie Hopper pt 4 - Charles Leclerc

Charles Leclerc x Gasly!reader - Pierre Gasly x sister!reader - Lando Norris x Gasly!reader - Yuki Tsunoda x plantonic!reader

Summary: Pierre’s sister has been friends with Charles all these years too, and after she oversteps and gets bitten. He finds himself guilty and sorry for it. But nothing feels worse than when she sets out to make him eat his words.

Beginning to notice that Charles is a bit of a homie hopper if rumours are true and I felt inspired to create a story with a character that calls him out and maybe leaves him realising he’s avoided feelings.

Use of y/n

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 5

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Having a rubber band accidentally flung into her eye mid conversation with Yuki because he can’t stop fiddling with it is not how y/n wanted this conversation to go.

“Yuki! Jesus. Are you trying to blind me?” Y/n groans rubbing her eye that feels like it just whipped. 

“Sorry! Sorry, it just jumped out my hand.” Yuki gasps as Lando appears with his usual mischievous grin. “We’ve got company.”

“I heard that Charles is on a mission to win you over. I don’t think I can take him in a fight, so I just wanted you to know I will surrender you to him if he asks.” Lando states which would earn an eye roll if she wasn’t still trying to tend to her eye. “Are you ok?”

“Yuki pinged a rubber band into my eye, I think I’m blind.” Y/n cries out dramatically before standing up and managing to bump straight into Lando. “Shit, can you help me to a bathroom? Or the medical centre?”

“Don’t tell Pierre I’ve blinded you.” Yuki audibly pouts moving around to her other side as they each move to help her walk, despite only one eye being injured, the other one is very much blurred with tears.

After a brief check up with a doctor saying that it was most likely just the initial hit and that if her vision is impaired then she’d need to come back. Lando and Yuki leave with her while she grins linking their hands and skipping between the two drivers who definitely feel like they’re being forced to do this against their will.

“Anyway, don’t avoid the topic. You and Charles, what’s happening?” Yuki asks recalling the previous conversation that was left unfinished with Lando.

“Nothing. Not really. I mean there was a bit of a moment, but nothing came from it. Where’d you hear this?”

“Carlos.”

“This grid is honestly the worst.” Y/n mutters then spotting her brother who spots her and seems to try and run. “Pierre! Get back here!”

Dropping Lando and Yuki’s hands to chase her brother who is making it painfully obvious that he’s hiding something by running like she’s got a knife in her hand.

“Pierre!”

Y/n manages to corner him in the Alpine unit and he sighs in defeat raising his hands.

“I know you know something, what’s going on with Charles?”

“I don’t know, I was just going to tell him to keep his hands off of you.” Pierre declares which earns a frown from his sister. “Y/n, just the other week he was speaking to you horribly. He is my friend and he is your friend but that’s all he’s ever going to be.”

Pierre stepping in and complicating situations isn’t out of his character. When she started dating her ex-boyfriend, granted they were all very much younger, he decided to step up to his brotherly duties and threatened to run him over. Which earned a warning from their parents that he would be pulled from his racing career if he tried.

She can’t pulled that card, mainly because she knows Pierre isn’t silly enough to risk an actual seat in the grid just to run Charles over.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not for you to decide.”

“Oh come on, y/n. I know you had a crush, but I thought you were over it by this big age.” An age insult and the embarrassment of pointing out her crush was not as subtle as she might’ve thought before now. “It is breaking so many rules for you two to date each other?”

“What rules?”

“The rules of you being my sister and him being my best friend.”

“Oh please. That’s so stupid-but we’re not even dating. So-”

“But you want to.”

“I don’t know!”

Pierre’s gaze holds her own for a few moments before he begins to break into laughter which might’ve just been the last turn y/n expected this conversation to take. But his laughter only annoys her in a way that only a sibling’s laugh can.

“What?”

“You are standing here arguing with me, but I think I just realised that it doesn’t matter what I say. Charles won’t care what I say if you tell him not to listen to me.” Pierre shrugs while I frown. “But you play with him too much, like you did with your food when you were a child.”

“I’m not playing with him.”

“The deal with Lando?”

Dammit. Should’ve known it would get out and Pierre “gossip central” would know about it. Probably weaselled it out of Lando himself.

“If you don’t talk to him, I’ll talk to him and give him my prepared speech.”

Y/n finds that as very good motivation to leave her brother’s presence almost immediately and get on the hunt for the Monegasque.

-------

Charles was either avoiding her or moving around the paddock with accidental stealth but either way, he’s proving to be an impossible job to find.

It’s been over an hour and honestly, y/n’s found nearly every other driver and even asked for the help of staff to navigate where the Ferrari driver might be.

But finally she finds Carlos, who has also been conveniently hard to find, and he points her out to the back of the motorhome where Charles is doing a bit of a workout.

He spots her immediately and the dimples that appear on his cheeks work well to instantly distract her from the mission she came here on. Which isn’t hard since she’s been walking around looking around for him for so long that she has no idea what she’s meant to be saying.

“Hello, you look like you’ve been running.” Charles laughs lightly putting down the skipping rope. “Your eye? Is it ok?”

“Yuki accidentally hit it with a rubber band. I uhh...I haven’t been running.” No, she’s just completely flushed being around him for some reason. How embarrassing. “I was looking for you. Is this where you hide or something?”

“Sometimes. How can I help you?”

This is it. Just say it.

Just say it while he looks like he might’ve just sent y/n into a heat, maybe just about ready to pounce on the driver. But y/n has to remain focused and keep herself.

“So there’s been some rumours floating around the paddock and I’ve been asked about them. But I really can’t answer because I don’t know. So can you just tell me where we stand with each other?”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fanfic #charles #leclerc #charles leclerc #fanfic #f1 #formula1